Patreon Compilation – Fic#311 – Gus/Shane/Kent/Lewis – Shane as the party favor; he didn't know there was a party – Life Keeps Being Hard 6

Gus/Shane/Kent/Lewis – Lewis... lent Shane out again and Gus gave him a drink that made him a bit more susceptible to his usage. Lewis was not aware of his role for the night but he likes it. (in a way)

Previous part (non canon) (Patreon Link) (further relevant links in that part)

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Shane startles when suddenly something is thrust into his line of sight, which had been stubbornly glued to the floor as per usual. He’d been very much trying to ignore all the ruckus around him.

He hated the Friday nights in the saloon when the whole town came to wind down. He much preferred when it was just the usual skeleton crew, but well-

Glancing up, he sees Gus standing in front of him, pushing a full and foaming glass of beer toward him.

Shane bristles like a cat, wary as usual but Gus looks amenable and kind, smiling at him as he says: “You look even more morose than usual tonight. Here- have a drink on the house, my friend. Everything is going to be alright, yes?”

Shane sucks on his teeth. The positivity is grating, but he can’t say that he doesn’t like a free beer, so he takes it with a grunt that could very loosely be considered a thanks.

.o.

Shane opens his eyes slowly but as soon as he sees the rocking, shifting ceiling above him, he clenches them closed again. His head feels fuzzy and thick and is aching to a point of vomit inducing nausea.

It takes him a while longer to realize that his body is actually shifting and not just his swollen brain playing tricks on him. It takes even longer than that to notice he is not alone, either.

The dull rumbling in his ears finally coalesces into voices who he painstakingly has to put names to.

“Ah… he’s become so wonderfully soft after just a couple of rounds. You did not oversell him, Lewis.” That voice was Gus. There are fingers on Shane’s hips, he notices, pulling him down to be… to be speared on cock. That one is familiar. As soon as he notices it, he knows what is happening there.

Oddly enough it helps to calm down the roiling of his stomach and the paralyzing pain of his head.

He slowly dares to blink his eyes open again, a wheezing groan slithering from his throat.

“He’s awake.” That voice is not as easily recognizable. He whimpers and a hand, large and with calluses brushes across his hair. “Shhh… calm now. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Shane arcs his head back and stares up-side-down at the other man. Kent is standing there, his face as hard and expressionless as always, safe for the blush on his cheeks crawling down his neck.

His cock is hanging out of his open fly. It is fat, prominent veins visibly along its sides. He steps closer, his fingers trailing against Shane’s cheek… and it is only natural that he would open his mouth nice and wide for the intrusion, is it not?

Later – much, much later – Shane would find the power to be mortified about his own whorishness, but as it stands, he can’t find his body’s almost instinctual need to be filled with dick.

His hands awkwardly scrabble around. He still has no idea what he is or what happened, but he knows there are big, warm cocks filling him up and that is much more comforting than it has any reason or need to be.

“You’re a being a good boy.” A third voice. This one was easy to identify again: Lewis.

Shane’s eyes are closed. Kent’s heavy, warm sac is resting against them and the bride of his nose as he gently nudges the last inch of cock into Shane’s awaiting throat. As his breathing gets cut off and Gus grinds into him deeply without pulling out, he finally puts two and two together.

The free beer. It all started with that. The last he remembers is drinking two sips and then starting to feel woozy within mere moments. And then him waking up. He must still be in the saloon. Gus must have put something in the alcohol to make Shane like this.

The realization has him feel nauseous again, but it doesn’t keep his body from reacting with arousal. All his wires are crossed faulty; his treatment by the hands of Morris and Lewis has made sure that he’s started to become an absolute deviant. Someone who would get drugged and react with mindless, Pavlovian arousal.

Had anybody else seen anything? Had the three paraded him around the saloon, letting the others see what a pathetic little low-life Shane was? That he’s managed to find a way to sink even lower than he had been before?

He doesn’t think so, but the thought has him just as excited as the fact that they have just taken what they wanted from him.

Tears itch at the corners of his eyes; humiliated and overwhelmed by his own animalistic reactions.

Gus’ cock is nice and fat, but not overly long. His stomach is rubbing against Shane’s cock and keeping it nice and interested in the proceedings despite the drug still mostly running its course through his system. It seems his libido can’t be contained. How embarrassing.

Gus sighs and then pulls out. It takes Shane’s throbbing brain a while to realize that the other must have come. He’s surprised he hasn’t really felt it but that melts away when he notices the wetness bubbling freely from his hole and starting to drip out of him.

How many loads have they fucked into him while he was out for the count? Were they more excited about his limp body being knocked around as they dicked him down than when he is awake and could actually reciprocate?

The thought is fucking him up in all new horribly delicious ways. Shane’s eyes swim with tears from overstimulation and the fact that he hasn’t been able to breathe for however long. Kent’s cock is lodged in his throat, bruising it from the inside out with his swollen glans gently and insistently nudging into him over and over again.

Just as the edges of his vision start to flicker ominously and the odd thought occurs to him that he might be able to die, Kent suddenly pulls back. Shane coughs, his body spasming weakly.

Someone is grabbing a hold of his thighs, digging their fingers in to make sure he does not flail himself off the table. A fat string of saliva and pre-cum is still connecting his tongue to Kent’s swollen cock and when it snaps it lands wet and messy against his cheek and across one eye that he manages to close just in time.

“Easy now. Don’t want to mess up the picture, do we?” Gus chortles all good-natured and gentle; like this is some kind of nice outing with a picnic and not three men having drugged a fourth and fucked his unconscious body on a random table.

Shane struggles to lift his head and look down his body. He thoughtlessly roams across his skin, seeing bruises that they sucked into his ribs and belly and a few distinct bite patterns where someone couldn’t help but mark him up even more. Something tells him that those were made by Kent. The guy is so quiet and tight strung that it just feels… correct that he would do such a thing when the need overwhelmed him.

Further down he sees his legs splayed wide, his cock lying in a puddle of his own pre-cum and some pitiful orgasms they’ve grunt fucked out of him while he was unaware of anything going on.

There on his thighs are tally marks. He watches as Gus uses a fat marker to carefully carve a new mark onto his skin. His vision is swimming so much that he can’t quite tell if it’s the sixth or the ninth but it’s… yeah. They’re going up there.

How could only three men…

Gus caps the pen with a soft little hum. He looks and sounds like he’s just doing some fucking inventory and isn’t gently slapping his already half-hard cock against the other side of Shane’s thigh.

“I think… the next mark will go here. It’s too bare for my liking.”

“Sure, whatever you want.” Lewis sounds so bored.

Shane turns his head to find the old man sitting at the bar, the newspaper in front of him. A warm shudder runs down Shane’s spine but before he can really dissect what that is about, Kent guides his head back and slides his cock right back in where it had been before. He hadn’t had his orgasm yet, after all.

Gus, the absolute beast, has already recuperated and slides right back into the absolutely awful mess that they’ve made out of Shane’s hole. There is little to no stretch to be felt and Shane closes his eyes, sighing through his nose.

His limbs feel heavy and his brain is surprisingly calm. It’s fucked up probably. Most likely. But he feels nice and secure being filled on both ends with cock and knowing that at least Gus is a nice enough guy to make sure the other two wouldn’t fuck Shane up beyond what he could take.

He closes his eyes and lets himself get used like the cheap whore he has become, allowing the drugs from before to sweep him up again.