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Spamton sat against the trash dumpster, knees pressed against his chest as his hands fumbled with a matchbox, trying to get one lit. A bent cigarrete dangled from between his wooden teeth. Of course he hasn't been able to buy smokes by himself in a long long time, but God hasn't completely abandoned him yet, being able to find some long cigarrete butts scattered along the streets. It was a gross thing to do, but people have done worse, and Spamton stopped caring about hygiene a long time ago.
He finally managed to get a matchstick lit and hurried to light his second hand cigarette. He took a long drag and leaned back against the dumpster, the coldness of the metal seeping through the weathered fabric of his old suit jacket. Cyber City nights were always freezing cold, Spamton didn't feel it much, but it was still there, nagging, present. The only thing he couldn't quite ignore when he daydreamed.
Besides the putrid smell of the dumpster.
Spamton propped himself upwards when the thought cleared into his mind, looking back at the black bags protruding from the open lid. It doesn't usually smell like this. It's not the usual rot of fruit or old food. This one was meat.
He got up, dusting off his pants slightly, more out of habit than actual care. He stubbed out the cigarette against his own sleeve to make sure he didn't accidentally set anything on fire and climbed up into the metal dumpster with practiced ease, landing onto his hands and knees on the mass of plastic garbage bags and other miscellaneous rubbish. The bags felt cold, adapted to the temperature of the night. The smell was almost unbearable. Spamton didn't really mind it. When you live among garbage you get used to all type of smells. But tonight, the stench was particularly foul, much worse than usual, and that's what made him curious.
He crawled to the other side of the dumpster and sat down beside the garbage bag from which the smell seemed to be coming. It was smaller and dripping a nasty brown liquid. Spamton gently picked it up and placed it in front of him. The terrible stench was much stronger now. Carefully, he tore the plastic open. For a man so used to living around literal rot, he gagged. There they were. There had to be thousands of maggots, a yellowish beige with little black spots on them, all writhing in a large mass. Spamton couldn't even see the rotten tissue they were clinging out, completely covered by them. Dozens more maggots clung to the inside of the plastic bag, which was coated with a thick light brown slime.
It was such a repulsive sight. He had seens maggots feeding on rotten things before, of course, but never so many. Never in such state of decay. That meat—it had to be some kind of meat, Spamton couldn't imagine anything else becoming so infested after putrefaction— It must have been left to rot for days, fermenting into repulsiveness, before being thrown into his dumpster. No way it could have gotten into this condition this fast, he would have noticed much earlier. He turned his gaze away momentarily, both shocked and grossed out before he got his shit together. It took a few minutes to get proper control of himself before clumsily tying the torn plastic up, the corners of his perpetual smile faltering in an attempted wince as some of the slime got onto his fingers.
He had to get rid of this bag fast, the garbage truck wouldn't come collect until next week and he was definitely not sleeping on top of that colony of filth. He looked around, mortified, thinking about where he could put this during the week. He decided it'd be better if he left it in an alley near this one, throw his problem at someone else, like always. He decided to do it first thing tomorrow. It was the middle of the night, it was pitch black, and he was tired. He carefully climbed down, the bag held in his hand, his arm stretched to its limit to keep the rot as far away from him as possible.
Spamton left the bag against the side of the dumpster, on the opposite side of where he was previously leaning on. He climbed back up to check if the liquid had seeped through onto more of the bags, but they seemed fine. He felt some relief.
He went back to his side, leaning back against it. The smell was still there, but it was now null, finally ignorable. He searched the sewn pockets of his suit jacket to retrieve another half-finished cigarette he had found on the floor earlier that day. He lit it up with another matchstick and allowed himself to relax. He allowed his mind to wander again, blissfully ignoring the rot he lived among.
He dreamed of big things. He fantasized about where he began, about his childhood, about where he had been, about his former greatness, about his fame, about his comforts. He dreamed about his future, he dreamed about where he would be, he dreamed about his future greatness, so big it'd surpass his past glory, so big it'd surpass this dull, pre-written life. Nowhere in his dreams and fantasies could his present exist. It was a point of conception between himself and the miserable reality he was stuck in. His eyes were closed in bliss, head leaned back against the cold metal wall. Spamton enjoyed his dreams in private, enjoyed his loneliness.
That didn't last, however. It never did.
He was jolted out of his fantasies when he felt someone standing right next to him. He looked up. It was a man. Taller, much taller. He vaguely reminded Spamton to a lightner, to a human, specifically.
Spamton debated for a second whether to kick him out or greet him. He leaned for the first option.
“[Get Off 50% Off] MY-” He was interrupted.
“I don't remember asking you to fucking talk.”
The man said, his voice a harsh whisper as he moved closer. Spamton jerked in surprise, whatever retort he had dying in his throat. People don't usually treat him like this. He usually gets fear, disgust, or simple indifference, never... this. The man eyed him all over, a glare that spoke of barely restrained violence. He seemed momentarily satisfied with Spamton's stunned silence. ”That’s it, you little shit.” The words didn't particularly hurt him but he was still astonished at the sudden violence. It's not every day that a man comes out of nowhere with so much aggression.
Spamton stared wide-eyed up at him, cigarrete forgotten in his hand, only jerking back when the man crouched down, almost eye-level to him but still towering. The man grabbed his knee and forced his leg spread apart, and that's when Spamton realized what was happening. The man leaned down towards his face, Spamton flinched back again, shaking silently as he turned his head away.
Spamton didn't know why this was happening, how men like this always ended up finding him. He wasn't even young and handsome anymore, and still, it seemed that perverts always found their way back to him. He was tired, low, scared. The man said something that seemed like a question. Spamton didn't process it. It was only when he felt the stranger's hand move up from his thigh to his crotch, gripping through the fabric of his pants and mashing hard, when he finally tried to speak.
Nothing but a whimper came out, either out lf fear or out of pain. Years of learning to live among the streets, years of getting used to fight to survive, and in seconds, all the fear was back. Spamton wanted to throw up.
“[Please Re-” He managed to utter out before he was cut off again, this time by himself, as the man squeezed harder. He tried to close his legs, but they were forcefully held open as the man held him with both hands now. The stranger in front of him smiled.
His hand left Spamton's crotch to hold his chin, making him look into his eyes. Spamton's eyes were wide with terror and panic.
“You’re here all alone? Do you sleep here?” he asked. Spamton let out a sob as he felt his crotch being squeezed again.
Spamton only whined in response, shaking his head no to both questions. He hadn't even processed them. Whatever this man said, the answer was a no. The man stroked his hair with nauseating gentleness.
The man stood him up and took him further into the alley, on the side of the dumpster that faced away from the the entrance to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted at all. On the side of the dumpster Spamton had left that damned trash bag just a few minutes ago.
“If you scream, I'm gonna strangle you.” Is all he said before shoving Spamton hard against the dumpster’s side, thankfully ignoring the bag. Spamton's blurry mind understood the deathly warning. He stayed silent.
The man tore down Spamton's pants. His genitalia hadn't really changed much after becoming what he is now, still the classic anatomy of the cock and balls, despite not being fully organic anymore. Spamton clenched his eyes shut, bracing himself for what was coming. Most men always did the same thing; grope him and hurt him until they got bored and left. Unfortunately, this one seemed to want much more than that.
The man unzipped his pants and crouched down again, making Spamton sit down against the metal wall to tower over him once again, trapping him. The man stroked himself, his penis rock hard and dripping. Spamton didn't look at it, he didn't look at the stranger at all, head turned sway and eyes closed tightly as he shook silently. That frustrated the man, who reached down with his free hand to violently shake Spamton by the neck, forcing him to open his eyes as a reflex and grabbed him by the jaw.
The man finally forced Spamton's legs apart. Spamton obediently didn't screamed, but tensed immediately, struggling and trying to clench his thighs together. The man moved overwhelmingly closer and Spamton whined exalted. The man reeked of alcohol. He was drunk.
The stranger forced himself between Spamton's short legs, thankfully ignoring the attempted kicks as he wrapped a hand around his own cock and guided it to Spamton's crotch, sliding the broad glans down against the puppet’s ballsack before aligning himself with the tightly furled hole beneath the perineum. He stopped momentarily to spit on his hand and stroke himself as a miserable type of lube; not for Spamton's comfort, evidently, but for an easer glide for himself.
Spamton whimpered louder than before, now desperate to get away from the man, his back slamming hard against the cold, stale wall behind him as he tried to pull away. The man didn't allow it, tightening his grip on Spamton's hip before thrusting inside as hard as he could.
Spamton screamed.
He defied the previous warning. The man slammed a hand against Spamton's mouth, keeping him silent as he started slam-fucking him hard against the trash dumpster, holding his head painfully against it. Spamton sobbed and cried, the sound muffled by the man's palm.
The friction was dry. Painful. Cutting. Spamton was sure something inside tore. He kept trying to kick the man away, but his legs were locked on the man's sides. It hurt so much. He wanted to throw up. He prayed for it to stop.
Before long, the thrusting became faster and after a few longer, rougher thrusts, he shuddered and filled Spamton's rectum. Spamton sobbed.
The man pulled out roughly and leaned back, Spamton whined weakly in response. His abuser finally looked in direction to the plastic trash bag, frowning in disgust as he finally seemed to caught the unbearable scent. Spamton was too distressed to even notice it anymore, now crying and sobbing freely as his body trembled violently.
The light brown slime had seeped through the black plastic onto the alley floor. The man looked at it with a now blank expression, before looking back at his whimpering victim. He smiled perniciously.
The man reached over, keeping one hand firmly planted on Spamton's tummy to keep him pinned down beneath his much taller body. The man grabbed the bag and carefully dragged it closer. He opened it with one hand, and, just as Spamton had done, turned his gaze away, hissing with disgust.
Spamton only looked at the now open bag again, hyperventilating violently but no longer just sobbing. It took a few seconds for the man to regain control and look back at the maggot-filled mass. He stroked his softening cock again while staring at it, trying to work up the courage to continue.
Finally, he reached over again and scooped some of the slime on his finger and decided to bring it to Spamton's nose. The stench was horrible. Spamton whined, turning his face away. The man smiled.
The man pushed Spamton's legs further apart, and dragged his slimy fingers against Spamton's glans. Spamton yelped again in sheer disgust and horror. The digestive juice of the maggots, full of bacteria, forced onto his skin, on his most private areas.
The man stroked Spamton's cock, using the vomitive fluid as lube. Spamton cried, his skin crawling as he now went back to struggle against his executioner, his attempts futile against the man's superior strength and size.
Spamton was gagging.
The man finally removed his hand, Spamton whined. The man took a deep breath and let his fingers touch the top of the maggot mass lightly. They felt so alive. It made the man both nauseous and fascinated, but most of all, it made him curious, and in men like him, curiosity is cruel for those among him.
He sunk his fingers into the mass and felt the solid meat beneath. He carefully broke it apart. The meat was in such a deep state of putrefaction that it had turned a sickly gray. There were even more maggots penetrating in it, feeding from the dead tissue. He broke off a small chunk of meat and held it for a moment, fighting the urge to gag. He felt butterflies in his stomach, and a knot in his throat. He gathered the courage to keep on again, fed on his cruel, sadistic fascination.
He leaned forward, pressing the hand on Spamton's tummy even harder down, making him whimper hard again. Spamton felt so weak. His lower body hurt so much. It burns. He was too distressed to notice what the man was holding, his gaze too blurry with tears to even identify it if he was forced to see it. The man gritted his teeth and pushed Spamton's legs further apart again, as the little shit wouldn't stop trying to close them every time he got slightly distracted. He aimed properly and forcefully pushed the maggot-covered chunk of meat into Spamton's stretched, cummy anus.
Spamton screamed and jolted violently, now with pain, disgust, fear and confusion. He managed to proper himself up slightly to look down between his legs, his jaw slacking with horror. He gagged and sobbed brokenly as he saw what had just been forced inside him. He didn't even struggle anymore, just staring, utterly astonished, traumatized, horrified. The man grunted softly as he forced the chunk of meat further in, and then, totally unexpectedly, Spamton orgasmed. A quick, sharp one that only made him release a pitiful amount of semen, his penis soft against his thigh, but twitching.
Shame, disgust and fear built up in Spamton's tummy. He sobbed loudly, praying for everything to stop. No one listened. God hated Spamton too. He could feel the maggots moving inside him, some managing to crawl out and squirm on his rim and perineum. The crying was uncontrollable now. The man wasn't stopping. Spamton felt so filthy, so disgusting. The constant movement of the maggots inside and on him made him gag violently.
The man pulled the meat out in a sudden, quick movement. Spamton cried out in pain. The man threw the still maggot-covered mass away, and it landed near the bag. Some maggots were still trapped in Spamton. Spamton's body rejected everything violently, now struggling again and gagging with each breath he took. He was trembling so much he was practically vibrating. The man above him smiled cruelly and adjusted his hips, brutally entering Spamton again.
The man buried his cock to the hilt, his heavy balls pressing tight against Spamton's backside. He didn't mind the maggots crawling onto them and on his cock. He stayed still for a few seconds, his hands firmly holding Spamton's waist, seeing how the puppet's tummy bulged with the sheer mass of the man's cock, the size difference forcing Spamton's body beyond its limits. He started thrusting again, his pace quick and sharp. Spamton cried and whimpered, shaking his head desperately as he futilely tried to pull away.
The man reamed into his now loosened ass. Spamton's cries were silenced with a sudden, brutal punch. Blood exploded out of his now awkwardly bent nose. His sobs became weaker due to the pain. The man held his head up by his hair and punched him again on the jaw. Spamton begged for mercy, the man didn't listen. The stranger neared orgasm again. He slammed Spamton's head against the dumpster's side and punched him repeatedly on the stomach and chest as he gave a few deeper thrusts before cumming inside him for the second time that night.
Spamton orgasmed again. The man grunted satisfied as he felt the puppet's spasming body clench around his cock so good. He pulled out carelessly and stood up, swatting away the maggots clinging to his slick penis before tucking it back in his pants. He kicked Spamton in the stomach, and then kicked him harder on the balls, laughing as Spamton curled inwards, sobbing loudly in pain.
As Spamton cried, the man found a discarded beer bottle scattered in a corner and picked it up, crouching down again to shove it into Spamton's stretched ass. The puppet's exhausted body just took it. The man stood up again and kicked the protruding bottle repeatedly, frustration flaring momentarily in him as he stomped on Spamton's ass until he finally heard the glass shatter inside him. Spamton was too weak to even scream, only whimpering and sobbing pathetically. The man kicked his stomach again, the sheer brutally and ruin of it made Spamton think he was going to kill him, but the man didn't. He only made him wish that he did.
The man picked up Spamton's bloody, infested body, now completely unresisting, and tossed him back into the dumpster.
“Don’t cry anymore. This was all your fault. Don't even try to tell anyone about this, alright?? Keep your mouth shut.” He hovered mockingly over Spamton, tugging at his black hair twice before letting go. He laughed to himself as he walked away. The man hoped Spamton would live through this, the puppet had been a fun toy, and the man was more than willing to play with him again another time.
Spamton was left alone again, lying limp on top of the plastic trash bags. He whispered weak ‘No’s to himself repeatedly, weeping pathetically. Why did these kind of things keep happening? Maybe the man was right. It was all his fault. He was the one responsible for living here. He was the one who caused this to happen to him. He did all this to himself. Spamton could feel the man's cum seeping out of him, accompanied by the squirming of some maggots on his crotch. He finally threw up, barely having the strengh to turn his head to the side as to not vomit on himself. He had enough filth all over him already. He was quite literally infested, violated and abused beyond repair. He's lower than a pig. He's not even an animal, he's garbage. He's waste. He is right where he belonged.
Spamton cried until he fell asleep in the dumpster, right where he belonged.