rareslash | (no subject)

Inspired by A Clockwork Orange
Alexander De Large with a minimum of one OMC
Non-consensual

Now, my dearest and only friend, there are some events which one begins to expect to occur daily, without question. The rise and fall of the sun, for example. Well, it was just like this that your humble narrator began to expect on a regular basis to find himself being pulled into some dark area or another for a bit of the ultraviolence. You’d think with all sorts of people running about with all kinds of different business, a day might gooly by in which I was forgotten, but oh no. No one seemed able to forget old Alex. I could never say for certain why I never seemed to be overlooked when someone got the urge for a bit of in-out, but one day someone felt the need to explain it to me.
“You’ve got a great malenky plot there, malchick. Why, look at this itty-bitty waist. Just like a lady. And look how this thing sticks out so perfectly, just asking for it.” This comment was accompanied by a strong slap, delivered squarely onto the area in question.
I was just about to ask him why he felt the need to golly on like that, when it occurred to me that the time he stopped govoreeting would probably be about the time that the real business began and I wasn’t particularly looking forward to that. So I just said nothing.
“You’re not much of a govoreeter, are you?” the veck asked, patting my bottom. “That’s okay. All I need you to do is look pretty.”
I glared at him. That comment was quite simply and without a doubt, factually inaccurate. “I? Alex the Large? Pretty?” he asked. “I am not. I’m a veck.”
This got a bolshy guff from the other fellow.
“You? A veck? “ he asked. “You’re funny. Hold on a bit.” He shoved me onto the bed, violently, in order to encourage the holding on a bit. “Nelson!” he called out. “Nelson, come in here.”
Another veck, larger than the original one, walked in. “Eh?” he asked.
The veck pulled me up so that my backside was perfectly presented to Nelson. “This malenky thing here says he isn’t pretty,” he said, “That he’s a real veck.”
Nelson walked up. “With a bottom like that?” he asked, giving it a squeeze. “The malenky thing’s asking for it with a bottom like that.”
“That’s exactly what I said!” Nelson’s droog said, obviously awful happy to have a consensus in his favor.
Nelson immediately plunged two fingers into my asshole without any warning whatsoever. “Fuck off!” I shouted. Now, you might say I’m a bit of a hypocrite for condemning the ultraviolence when it’s against me, but you absolutely must kopat that there was no artistry whatsoever when this Nelson did it. No craft, no nuance, no imagination. And, besides all that, I didn’t like the feeling one bit.
Nelson shoved me to the floor hard and kicked me. “You do not want to tell me to ‘fuck off’,” he said. “Now. Do you want to be a well-behaved malenky thing or a dead veck?”
I didn’t like either of those options. So I said, “I don’t like either of those options.”
I felt a blow to my head with some object or another.
I opened my eyes and looked around the cell. When I saw the two men playing cards in one corner, I recalled the events that lead up to my getting knocked out. With a bit of surprise, I realized that I didn’t feel sore.
“He’s awake,” Nelson said to his droog.
“Oh dolly,” the fellow said, “Fillytime at last.”
They both approached me. I frowned. “Why didn’t you get the whole business over while I was asleep?” I asked.
They both guffed. “What’d be the fun in that?” Nelson asked, smacking my bum hard.
I thought that waiting for me to wake up was most inconsiderate of them. But, not really wanting any more head trauma, I went over to one of the cots and lied down on my stomach.
“You trained him quick!” Nelson’s droog said happily.
The two of them came over and inspected my plot carefully. “I wan you with your nose pressed against the mattress and your bottom sticking straight up in the air,” Nelson informed me.
I got into the position, although I would have quite preferred not to. I felt this Nelson fellow penetrate me and cried out with pain. I felt a rooker put over my rot to silence my cries. His violent thrusts seemed to itty on forever. Each one was harder than the last. When he finally climaxed and pulled out, I was far too in pain to feel relieved.
“My turn,” his droog said immediately.
“No!” I shouted. “No, no, no. One per day!” I thought that one per day was excessive, but who am I, your humbler narrator, to decide these things?
“Hush,” Nelson said.
“I want you on your back,” Nelson’s droog said. Nelson flipped me over so that I didn’t have to put in the effort. Then the other fellow grabbed both my legs by the ankles and pulled them up, then pushed them down near my head. Somehow, he’d managed to find the one position more humiliation than the one Nelson had me in.
He started getting ready to slide into me and I realized I had limited time in which to negotiate a reprieve.
“Can’t I use my mouth?” I asked in a moment of desperation.
The veck guffed and guffed and guffed. “You want that, pretty malenky thing?” he asked. “You want to suck on my cock?”
“Yes,” I said, desperately needing a bit of relief for my poor backside.
He grinned and pinched my bum. “You’ll get to do that plenty,” he assured me. “But right now, I really want to spat your pretty malenky bottom.”
He thrust into me violently. Unlike his friend Mr. Nelson, he didn’t bother keeping me from platching out. My shouts were gromky and echoed through the prison, not that anyone was much bothered by the shoom.
I was really beginning to dislike this business of ultraviolence. And I couldn’t wait to be back on the proper end of it.