FSE

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Martyn knelt on the floor of his bedroom. Porn played on the computer ahead of him, not that he was paying attention to it. Instead, his attention had been captured by the challenge positioned beneath his tail hole - a silicone butt plug that was unremarkable in shape, but extraordinary in size. With a twelve-inch circumference at its widest point, the horse could only take around half before it began to feel like an un-lubed knot bashing its way into his tailhole. Each successive bounce on the toy, and the squeeze of a tight chastity cage, worked to mould him into a kept hole.

“Kept hole will be ready Saturday evenings 5 onwards, and Thursday evenings 6 onwards…”

And so, Martyn had spent the last five hours of his Saturday deeply distracted and deeply aroused. His Sir finished work at half nine on a Saturday at the latest, and then it would take thirty-two minutes for his Sir to return from work. As the clock ticked closer to 10 P.M., the horse tried to focus on fitting the entire plug but there were only ten minutes left on the clock, and he was nowhere close to taking it all.

Martyn scrambled up from his squat to take a quick break and fetch a lidless tub of lube from his desk. He dipped his fingers and scooped up a considerable amount of the stuff before slathering it over the plug, paying particular attention to the tip and the ridge. He applied a smaller scoop to recoat his tailhole, inside and out. All four of his fingers proved to be no ordeal. He kept them inside of himself, spreading the lube everywhere he touched as he positioned himself above the plug. When he grew desperate for something thicker, Martyn popped his fingers free and descended onto the plug as far as he could go and held there until the count of five. On five he rose back up sharply and gave himself a short rest before trying again.

He felt like a trained dog salivating as the clock ticked closer to dinner time. There was no promise that his Sir would show, but as the digits on his computer's clock flipped to 22:00 he began to work harder and faster. A draining ache had seized the horse’s legs, having been held in a squat for most of the night. It wasn’t long before a slight tremble appeared in both of them; a warning, or rather a threat, that they’d give way soon.

With a deep breath, Martyn let his legs creep forward to bring himself out of the crouch, leaned back against the bed and let gravity sink him onto the plug. Desperate gasps escaped him as he shut his eyes to focus on the feeling of being spread wide, doing his best not to tense as he did. All he had to do was take it; to do that, all he had to do was breathe.

Keeping himself slack, Martyn took a second expansive breath and let the plug bore deeper and deeper until the tension at his hole forced him to stop. He paused, rising off the plug ever so slightly, and then with a third breath pressed down until he felt it pop inside.

Immediately his legs were seized with fits. He caught himself on the bed and leaned back further to avoid sitting on the thick base of the plug. Everything south of his waistline throbbed for various reasons. A thin stream of precum leaked from the tip of his caged cock, no doubt forced out from having his prostate squished. Martyn held the plug for seven seconds before he instinctively forced it out. He could barely hear it hit the floor over the sound of his whorish moan.

Flopped back against the bed, Martyn took a moment to collect himself as he idly rubbed at his caged cock. He’d have stayed there longer had he not heard the sound of the front door opening. The whistling told him that it was undoubtedly his Sir.

Martyn had called him Sir Stockton at their first encounter in the bathroom of a bar, exchanged first names on the second, fucked in Sir Stockton’s apartment on the third, a park on the fourth and then Martyn had handed over a set of keys along with temporary ownership of his tailhole on the fifth. Their encounters were well into the double digits now.

“Kept hole knows where to be when the door opens.”

Without thinking, Martyn scrambled for the plug he’d just ejected and shoved it against his hole, squatting as he did to leverage it against the floor. His hole was still slack enough from the first penetration to take it with little effort. From there, he had just enough time to prostrate himself on the bed facing towards the door before it opened and a rhino, Sir Titus, stepped in.

Martyn looked up at the rhino for a second to marvel at the man’s heavyweight physique. The rhino was already unzipping his boiler suit to strip into something more suitable. Underneath he wore nothing but a fabric jockstrap. He’d gone to work in that and so his sweat had been marinating for hours in that. Martyn would spend hours huffing that. Out of obedience, Martyn bowed his head again.

“You’re well trained, aren’t you, Hole?” Beyond that Titus made no indication as to Martyn’s prostration on the bed.

The horse nodded; his heart was beating too loudly in his chest for him to speak.

“Work was the usual. People not knowing how to change their lightbulb, one or two blocked sinks, a minor patching job…”

Titus slung a backpack that he’d been carrying in one hand onto the floor, pulled up the footstool and began to pull out the contents of the bag. A pair of elbow length, latex gloves; a water bottle of lube; and a dark red handkerchief.

Martyn heard the floorboards creak as the rhino stood up. A glimpse of Titus’ black, polished, steel-toe cap boots was the last thing he saw before the room went dark.

A moment later Martyn felt the rhino lean onto the bed. Two hands wrapped tight around the horse’s hips. They gave one reassuring squeeze and then worked their way up the horse’s body touching, prodding and poking. Titus flicked the horse’s chastity cage, tugged on his nipples and fondled his balls as he continued to recount his day.

When one wandering hand cupped his caged cock, Martyn immediately bucked his hips forward to grind down against it.

“Do you want me to stop teasing?” Came the rhino’s chuckle. “I’ll stop teasing.”

Titus rewarded his Hole’s patience by shoving his crotch straight at its lips. The horse immediately huffed to take in a deep breath of sweat and musk, scents that dragged his mind to tranquil, submissive thoughts. His second breath caught the smell of latex as Titus snapped on the elbow-length gloves.

Mere seconds later, the taste of latex was in his mouth. An invading thumb pushed down on his tongue, fingers held onto his chin and together they opened his mouth as wide as it would go. That latex taste was taken away and quickly replaced by the tangy, saltiness of a sweaty jockstrap. It was a familiar taste, especially when it came from the rhino. Martyn craved that taste. He suckled on it without a second thought, draining it for every hint of sweat it could offer.

“Hole, how would you like to meet the next milestone of your stretch goals early?”

Titus’ firm and commanding voice brought Martyn back to reality; only then did the horse notice the hand that had wrapped around the flared base of the butt plug. The rhino’s fingers circled his rim, threatening to yank it free.

_ “I keep Holes for three months. If they’re good enough, I keep them for longer.”_

The answer was muffled by the jockstrap in his mouth:

“I will if you want me to, Sir Stockton.” The answer came naturally to him, even though the pleasure of having the plug slowly pulled from him was becoming increasingly apparent.

“And what do you want?”

It would be no easy feat to meet his next milestone early. A thousand punches in one night… But then again, he had never taken this plug before Titus had ordered it. Martyn thought he had heard the hint of an order in Sir Stockton’, though perhaps he just wanted to find it.

“I want it.”

Titus did not yank the plug free but instead began to turn it as he pulled to tug even more on Martyn’s sensitive lips. The horse gasped, legs kicking and twitching. His mouth gradually stretched open into a deep moan as the largest part of the plug approached his entrance. It struggled to escape until suddenly all of that building tension popped with the plug, leaving him to pant for air as his hole twitched.

Martyn was turned around to face the headboard and a fresh coating of lube was applied to his hole. The initial penetration after having his hole plugged for a few minutes was surprisingly challenging. It was as if his hole had conformed to the shape invading it, and now without it, his pussy was still trying to squeeze down on it. A vial of poppers found its way into Martyn’s hand to help.

Familiar and practised, he inhaled without hesitation and felt the shiver run over him. Then, all at once, he felt his muscles relax as two lubed fingers advanced on his hole. At first, they stroked his entrance, sending a different shiver up his spine.

Multiple times now Martyn had taken Titus’ arms to the tattoos; the rhino had a swirl of roses around his bicep and upper forearm. His greedy lips had kissed their way up past the ink so many times, but he always moaned at the first feeling of his prostate being touched. It was a short flash of electricity that sent him leaning back against the penetration, already hungry for more.

Two fingers became three. Three of Martyn’s own was hardly anything, three of Titus’ made the horse tense up.

“Relax.”

Martyn obeyed, like he always did, and shuddered as he sighed to sink further into the bed. Titus' fingers continued to work away at him. They coaxed and nudged to stretch him open as much as three fingers could. Every wall received a deep and slow treatment that left nowhere untouched to prepare him for more.

Then four fingers were working their way in and out of him; fingers that gradually curled up to grow taller and more challenging until Titus’ knuckles were bumping against the horse’s rim. The feeling of knuckles bearing down on his back door was a familiar one, as was what came next. He felt the rhino’s knuckles retreat, moving back ever so slightly so that a fresh helping of lube could be squirted onto them, and then return to shove forward.

“Have a hit of your poppers, Hole.”

Martyn brought the vial to his nose and drank deep. The moment the high hit him, Titus tucked his thumb and finally forced his fist inside. It hit as a driving punch that used that first exhale of relaxation to break through and carry his fist into Martyn’s hole.

What would normally be a long-staying blow was instead a painfully quick visit. Sir Stockton’s fists went in and out like a punch. Martyn made an ugly noise; something between a bray and a moan. He hadn’t finished blurting out the noise when punch two rolled in. Punch three and four came a second later, closely followed by five and six. Pleasure ate at his mind as Titus’ fists ate at his ass.

On strike seven his rim began to suckle on Sir Stockton’s fist. He recalled the early days of his apprenticeship with Titus, times when he was required to call out each and every one of Titus’ blows. If he tried that now he’d lose his voice before they were even halfway done.

On punch ten Martyn’s rim swallowed Titus’ fist. Punch fifteen and Martyn started to push back, begging his ass to blow out into a gape. It became, not quite a gaping doughnut or a budding rose, but a hot, pink gash that held for a second. It begged to be forced wider before closing with a hungry swallow.

Sir Stockton stopped for a second to scoop escaping lube back to the horse’s gape. A cream was already beginning to form around Martyn’s rim.

Titus purposefully made his fist bigger, so that it did not pop right back inside of Martyn. Instead, he had to grind it against the horse’s hole, forcing wailing moans out of Martyn as he exerted his way back in. The moment his fist was inside it was snatched right back out dragging long tendrils of lube with it which were in turn pummelled right back in. Each one of these cycles was orgasmic, causing Martyn to shake his leg and grind his head into the pillow. Each strike was more pleasurable than the last, until the horse began to tense, and the rhino slowed down.

Now Titus spoke between sluggard, firm jabs, sending Martyn into a fit of pleasured twitches.

“How many was that, Hole?”

Titus’ Hole shuddered as he replied:

“I have no idea.”

His thoughts were blocked out by the lazy punches still drilling in and out of him.

“We’re at thirty, Hole. Count for me.”

“Thirty-one!” Martin whimpered as the fist popped in and out with a wet shlick.

“Thirty-two!”

“Thirty-three!”

The horse did all he could not to miscount. If he missed or added one Titus would make some belittling remark that ended in Martyn receiving an extra punch. He tried to keep time as the strikes grew faster, building up to that boiling point he knew so well.

A sudden jump in speed caught him off guard, bringing him to yelp as he reached forty-four. He missed forty-five and couldn’t catch his breath in time for forty-six. A jolt of tension sparked in the horse, but Titus did not yield as he delivered the final four with a firmness that battered the horse’s hole.

On fifty, the horse jerked away, gasping and whimpering from the bruising. He looked back at Titus with lust, and the rhino looked down at Martyn with craving in his eyes. The way it quivered with each of the horse’s whimpers excited him, stirring more thoughts in his dirty mind.

“Can you do something for me, Hole?” The question was rhetorical as he immediately followed it with: “Roll over, legs in the air and hold them up for me.”

The obedient Martyn rolled. He did not need to be able to see to take up this new position, as Titus used his hands to guide the horse. Martyn was guided back against the pillows, moving them to the headboard, then swung his legs up for Titus to catch. He held Martyn’s legs there for just a moment so that the horse could bring his hands up between his legs to prise apart his thighs whilst somewhat resting.

Without warning the mattress of the bed shifted as the rhino climbed onto it. The man was upon Martyn within moments, wrapping an arm around his left leg to pull him closer and straight onto his fist. Like before, the fist tore free just as suddenly. Titus loosened his grasp to let Martyn slip back a bit. This only served to give him the space to pull the horse back onto his fist to repeat the process again and again.

A fierce, primal energy built up between them as Martyn rocked himself back and forth on the rhino’s fist until that fist hit the right spot. Releasing his grasp on one of his legs Martyn desperately grabbed for the rhino’s wrist. Titus pulled the horse further onto it to plunge his fist wrist deep. The fist escaped all the same, but on the next punch, it dug as deep as the horse wanted, as deep as he needed. These strikes rocked Martyn, shaking him to his core as drips of pre cum escaped from his cock.

With the horse flipped like this Titus could check in on his sub’s dick. The horse’s chastity cage was a lattice of bars that sat locked around the base of his equine cock. It left room for him to grow, but only so that he could feel himself straining against the metal. It was obvious when his caged cock was trying (and failing) to get hard because his Prince Albert would clink against the metal. With the shifting movement of the bed and his cock flipping between hard and flaccid, little trails of pre cum ran in every direction along Martyn’s shaft.

Their wrestling continued until Titus had worked the horse back to the headboard. Repositioned, he reached into the pocket of his boiler suit for something. At the same time, Titus shoved his fist deeper into Martyn’s hole. As he fished for whatever was in his pocket he made the same motions with his other fist, rolling it against Martyn’s walls. Martyn’s drawled curses masked the sound of Titus uncapping a marker pen.

“That’s one hundred, Hole.” Titus declared as he marked the back of Martyn’s left thigh with a single, black dash.

This milestone was rewarded with bondage and a plug.

Soon after, Martyn recognized and tensed at the feeling of the familiar, girthy butt plug kissing its tip against his hole.

“Relax. I gave it a fresh coat of lube.” The rhino reassured him.

As he did, Titus used the palm of his hand to urge the butt plug forwards. When the horse gave no complaint, Titus applied a modicum more force and was surprised to find it gulped in. With just the smallest amount of extra effort, Martyn gasped a moan as a familiar, thick intrusion compressed his prostate.

A jolt, a tingle of electrical pleasure, ran through him. He twitched, tensing his caged cock and shivering as a particularly thick drop of pre-cum escaped him. A month ago, Martyn might have been unable to hold back his orgasm at that lightning feeling, but the cage and the education he’d received helped him ride the feeling out.

“Hold it there, Hole.” The rhino commanded as he took his hands off the plug and stepped away.

Martyn tried his best to keep the plug in place, but its surprise entrance had his hole desperate to push it out. Stopping it meant tensing. Tensing meant pushing the feeling of an orgasm closer to the boiling point. Doing nothing meant dropping it.

Martyn could feel the plug slipping. He could feel every individual inch of it as he slowly lost his grasp, he squirmed more and more with each of those inches. The closer it got to dropping the more it tugged at his lips; the more it tugged at his lips the closer he got to cumming. He brayed a noise that sounded somewhere between disappointment and relief when Titus finally stepped back in to hold the plug in place.

“Push it out.”

Martyn tried only to feel the plug go nowhere, except further back into him. The rhino was yet to move his hand. The horse opened his mouth to point out this injustice when Titus repeated:

“Push it out.”

After Martyn tried twice, Titus finally took his hand away and Martyn let it drop as his mouth hung open. Another whore’s bray escaped him. His body quivered as his asshole flexed and his hooves pulled at the bedsheets as his knees twitched. The plug left a loud absence that Martyn desperately needed to fill.

Almost as if he could read the horse’s mind, Titus plucked the plug from the bed and pressed it back against Martyn’s hole. All the horse had to do was relax for just a moment and the toy suddenly popped in.

Like before, Martyn gasped and tensed as the plug went in, then relaxed and moaned to tease it out.

“Again.” Titus commanded.

Martyn and his body performed to the rhino’s voice, conditioned on the rush of the plug pulling out like an engorged knot.

At some point, Titus started to count.

“Twelve… Thirteen.” He’d say firmly whenever the plug dropped into his hand.

At first, the numbers were staggered with time enough for a few breaths between them. Martyn’s breathing calmed and his heart stopped racing. Instead, they synched to the slow, steady pace of the plug fucking he had found himself receiving. Whenever Martyn got accustomed to the speed, Titus would drill five or so fast jabs in to keep the horse excited.

The number grew until Martyn’s hole was slack enough that the plug felt no bigger than a particularly challenging set of fingers.

“Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine. Eighty.”

He could take it just as easily as he could take four fingers. It felt comfortable, snug almost, as the lightning in his prostate transformed into an ache. The only way to soothe that ache was to have something, anything, filling him.

“Hold.”

As Martyn snapped himself out of the rhythm he’d become enthralled by, Titus brought Martyn’s hands up above his head to clasp them together. With these in place, Titus wound a black, hemp rope around Martyn’s wrists. The end of the rope around Martyn’s wrist was pulled upwards to the metal frame of the four-poster bed, then secured around one of the horizontal poles. Though Martyn’s hands had been bound together, his ankles were bound separately. Both went upwards, then in opposite directions where they became tied to the frame as well. This kept his legs apart and up to expose his hole.

“Ready for my hands, Hole?”

“Yes. Please, please…” Martyn began to mutter his begs as he felt Titus’ hands creep closer.

He dropped the plug on instinct and Titus slipped a fist inside.

Like before, the fist was immediately retracted with a wet plop only to be instantly replaced by the rhino’s second fist. As one went in for a punch, the other pulled back to recover from the last. They went in as fists but stretched into a palm as they left to test the horse’s hole.

“Two hundred, but most of those were the plug. We’ll go for three hundred.”

Martyn made no complaint as his words were replaced with breathy moans and, eventually, unintelligent grunts.

The pleasure from each punch became increasingly heightened as a ramping presence took hold within Martyn’s gut. It grew with every cycle until he was forced to roll his hips along with the motion, pathetically grinding up to receive even the slightest amount of extra stimulation. Having lost his ability to properly verbalise his pleasure, pathetically bleating and squeezing down on Titus’ hand was all he could do.

Titus began to slide one hand off the other to keep a steady pace of punches drilling into Martyn’s hole. This repetitive, but powerful motion knocked Martyn back into a deep subspace that only subsided when Titus called out:

“Three hundred.”

The punching stopped. Titus marked this milestone off on Martyn’s thigh. When the fisting resumed, two fists pressed against Martyn’s hole instead of one. Another challenge for the night. Titus didn’t have to say anything for Martyn to know what the rhino was asking.

Martyn stopped thinking about the one thousand punches and instead imagined how good two fists would feel. Not caring that it might stall him from reaching his milestone, Martyn forced himself to go slack and shuddered in anticipation. Titus clasped his hands together flat, tucked his thumbs in and pushed forward.

Even with Titus making his hands as small as possible taking both proved to be an intense struggle. The rhino narrowed his fingers and flattened his palms, but that only helped as far as the knuckles. Past that, the horse’s hole began to resist.

Martyn’s head swayed, his eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth hung agape as Titus’s fists began to penetrate him. It was a gradual, slow advance that chiselled away at any resistance piece by piece. He could feel the horse’s hole stretching, it just needed encouragement.

“You’re doing good, Hole. Almost there.”

Titus untucked his thumbs, flattened his palms that extra bit and surged right in. A deep guttural groan from Martyn told him to pause, letting the horse catch his breath. Martyn hadn’t needed the pause because of pain or tension, but because he found himself on the edge again.

The hands inside of him started moving again. First, the rhino pumped them back and forth. He didn’t care about speed or vigour – these were slow and careful to allow Martyn’s hole to adjust. Then the fists started to claw deeper, testing for the point at which they couldn’t push any further.

He found it another twenty or so prods later, forearm deep. Titus leaned forward to batter his way through only to knuckle against Martyn’s tension.

“Feels like you’re still tensing, Hole. Worried about making a mess of your sheets?”

Martyn was too dazed to respond properly and instead moaned. Titus took that as a yes.

Keeping the other in, Titus removed a hand causing the horse to shudder. As he moaned and writhed, Titus rolled his hand inside the horse. This only provoked further moans of pleasure and jittery legs from Martyn. Titus’ hand worked its way out in one smooth motion but stopped just as it was about to pop free.

“401.” Titus declared, then shoved his fist in forearm deep.

As he did, Titus pressed his free palm against Martyn’s bladder from the outside and pincered it with his fist on the inside. Immediately the horse’s piss soaked Titus’ upper arm. He tried his best not to piss directly on the rhino, but counter to this, the rhino grabbed Martyn’s cock to aim it at the both of them. Forcing himself not to piss should have been an option, but Martyn couldn’t tense with a hand pillaging his insides.

The stream remained unbroken for six seconds. In the last two of these six seconds, Titus slipped a forearm inside the horse. As the horse’s stream stuttered to a close, that forearm slipped further until it had been swallowed past the elbow. When Titus withdrew his arm Martyn’s vision flashed white with pleasure. His eyes refocused to the site of Titus smearing more lube on his hands, skin glistening with piss and lube. He smiled. Proud. Excited. Martyn returned that smile and greedily accepted the rhino’s fists again.

Titus began to push outwards to test the horse’s walls. It was like working with dough; gentle, but firm and repetitive moments would shape Martyn exactly how the rhino needed him.

With this done Titus began to curl his hands up, turning them from shovels to fists. He locked his fingers, tucked his thumbs in again, and continued to work with the swaying motion. Occasionally Martyn would wince and tense up as Titus punched too fast, when this happened Titus would slow down or stop until the horse released the tension. Then the work could continue.

Eventually, Titus found his two fists inside the horse’s hole, elbow-deep, side by side. He was slow to take them out of their sleeve, but Titus relished the sight of Martyn’s hole blowing out to form the beginning of a lip big enough to suck on. Having fully sunk into the depths of pleasure, Martyn was yet to notice. He knew that his dick was dripping against his inner thigh, bouncing and clinking against the cage with each punch, but he was oblivious to his budding rose.

Titus freed one of the horse’s arms so that he could huff his poppers. A combination of the pissing himself and the poppers helped more of Martyn be as loose as his hole. Previously restrained in his noises, the now near-hysterical horse was a cacophony of pleasured sounds. He groaned whenever Titus dragged a fist over his prostate, howled whenever he pumped them too fast, but whimpered when the punches were too slow. At one point he came close to crying with elation; when the rhino shocked the horse’s puffy lips and engorged prostate with what felt like lightning-fast bursts of punches.

It was not long after this that the horse finally came. It felt like a wet dream; he felt his cock tense; felt it spurt and then felt cum clogging the inside of his cage. There was little satisfaction and no relief. The yearning for an orgasm was still there, so salient he couldn’t ignore it.

“600 hundred.”

Titus’ announcement shook Martyn from the haze. How had it already been six hundred? He hadn’t heard or felt Titus declare the five hundred mark. Martyn was in disbelief until he felt the aching of his hole. His legs were equally tired, so much so that he imagined he’d be unable to move them when Titus eventually released him. Regardless, he was still desperate for more.

Titus noticed Martyn’s exhaustion but recognised the horse’s piggy determination to keep going. The horse knew his safe word, he would use it if he needed it. The rhino stepped back from using two fists and focused on using a single one like a piston. One hand prised the horse’s ass open as the other ploughed forwards like a jackhammer.

The song of lewd squelches grew faster with each punch. Titus worked hard to keep the speed consistent, powering through the tiredness in his arms to make the horse sing.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck…” Martyn chanted under his breath.

His hole was too thoroughly used for him to clench down on the fist. He tried to push back to slow the bashes rolling in, but that only made Titus punch harder. Accepting that he was truly powerless to do anything except let his asshole take the beating, Martyn started to mumble:

“Yesyesyesyesyes.” He repeated until he eventually fell back into a mess of unintelligible moans, panted breaths and whimpers.

The punches just kept coming. The lips of his ass blew out, wrapping around the invading fist they kissed, caressed and slowly swallowed more and more. He felt the marker scratch a line onto his ass. Was that 700? It couldn’t have been, but Titus suddenly ripped his fist back with a previously unseen force.

The horse howled in surprise and pleasure as his ass blossomed. Titus grabbed at it, fishing both sets of his fingers down flat against the side to keep the horse’s gape open. He failed to stop it from spilling back, but even so, he couldn’t help but lick his lips in delight. Using two fingers from either hand, he hooked them against the sides and pulled to wrench the walls of Martyn’s tailhole apart.

“Push for me, Hole”

And Martyn did. At first, only a stream of lube escaped him, but then a breathtaking, red rose began to peek. Titus released one hand from the horse’s gape so that he could punch. The rose disappeared behind the fist as it was forced back inside, only to bloom even larger than before when the fist broke out. Martyn didn’t dare stop pushing, until at last he felt his ass spill out and heard Titus moan.

“Now there’s a good Hole.”

Now Titus brought his fists back to Martyn’s hole not to stretch or exert it, but to reward. He slipped an entire fist in with ease and quickly followed with four fingers from the other hand. His thumb, however, remained pressed against the outside to prevent him from plunging too deep as he flurried his fingers against the horse’s prostate. Martyn’s voice built up into a flood of gasps culminating in one final, increasingly shocked moan as Titus suddenly tore his first fist back and plunged the second one in.

Titus cycled between his fists. One plunged in to grind back and forth for a few drills only to then rip free for the other fist. Each time Martyn tensed harder than the last, causing Titus to push that extra bit harder to break through. In turn, Martyn would push back against the fists until, at last, he bloomed. The vibrant colours of his prolapse were barely visible underneath the cream of lube that had formed. Licking his lips, Titus applied another dose of that lube to his hands and then dived back in just as the horse’s rose retreated.

Titus plunged one fist in until shoving any further only pushed out lube. As he yanked his fist free, the horse’s prolapse came with it. Martyn’s prolapse was greeted by prying fingers, prodding and stretching to coax it out enough for it to stay. His fingers hooked inside to prevent the horse’s rose from wilting. It twitched and throbbed, trying to retreat, but soon settled.

“Six hundred and fifty-two punches.”

Titus stepped back to admire the latest rose he’d crafted. It spilt past his puffy rim in a gross display. Titus couldn’t wait to make it grow, but for now, it was more than enough to fulfil his perverse fantasies.

Guiding his dick forwards, Titus kissed the head of his cock against Martyn’s rose. He moaned as his cock seemed to fall straight into the folds of Martyn’s ruined hole. It conformed perfectly for the rhino and allowed him to thrust forward hilt in just one try. The wet, silkiness of the horse’s guts snug against his balls was a strange, but deeply arousing feeling; one that excited Titus into beginning to thrust.

Both were wordless as Titus christened his latest fleshlight. Neither could conjure words beyond growled cusses and so they opted to communicate with these grunts. Martyn begged the rhino to go faster, so the rhino started to slam his hips against Martyn’s spread ass.

Titus watched the hanging prolapse squish with every thrust, then stretch when he pulled his hips back. With each tug Martyn’s prolapse grew, protruding further than before. Titus looked on with a lustful glint in his eyes as it did. Martyn pushed and strained to help his prolapse grow until an explosion of pleasure forced him to clench his eyes as his entire body shook.

With his eyes forced closed there was no way for him to know if he’d just soaked Titus’ belly with piss or cum, but whatever it was that had splashed against him it spurred Titus into his final thrusts. He plunged deep. Pumped once, twice, three times. These pumps continued even as the first dregs of the load leaked from Martyn’s prolapse, dripping off the rhino’s balls and down to the floor.

Titus hilted once more, then grasped the horse’s prolapse with his twitching cock inside. His hips were motionless as he stroked his softening prick until he was able to withdraw.

As Titus’ cock came free, Martyn stopped tensing and flopped back against the bed with a sigh of relief. This instantly switched into another moan of pleasure, as he suddenly found his hole being filled again. Titus’ fist had yet again found its way into the ruined hole. This, and the bondage that kept him bound to the bed, told him that their night was not yet over.

“Now there’s a Hole worth keeping.”

Martyn babbled something unintelligible in response.

“What was that, Hole?”

Titus’ fist popped free, forcing a gasp from Martyn who kicked and squirmed in his bindings.

“What number was that?”

Grinning, the rhino returned his balled-up fists to the horse’s hole.

“Six hundred and thirty-three…”

“Six hundred and thirty-four…