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Kidpinoy: The Sick Show #4

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The darkness receded, only to be replaced by a blinding glare. KidPinoy’s eyelids fluttered, heavy, protesting, as his senses slowly, agonizingly, returned. The last thing he remembered was the Broker’s sneering face, the nunchucks – his nunchucks – violating him, then a chaotic blur of bodies, mouths, and the agonizing release of his chi until oblivion claimed him. Now, a low hum vibrated beneath him, and the air was thick with the scent of cheap disinfectant, old sweat, and a metallic tang that could only be blood – his own. “Ah, our Sleeping Beauty awakens!” a voice boomed, amplified, echoing in what felt like an immense cavern. It was the Broker, his voice dripping with theatrical malice. “Wakey, wakey, KidPinoy! Or should I say… Bay-Pinoy?” KidPinoy tried to move, but a fresh wave of agony shot through his already ravaged body. He was no longer in chains, but sprawled on a cold, metallic stage, his limbs screaming in protest. The permanent erection, a cruel side effect of the aphr...
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Kidpinoy gets Slaughtered #4

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  The rain over Manila did not wash away the heat; it only made the air thick, smelling of ozone, exhaust, and impending ruin. For ten years, the city had slept under a blanket of unyielding peace. The criminals had whispered his name in the dark like a curse; the demons had crawled back into the fissures of the earth; the alien armadas had bypassed the archipelago entirely, warned away by the legend of the sun-kissed protector. KidPinoy. At only five-foot-five, with a body of hard, taut sinew and an armor-like ten-pack of abdominal muscles that had deflected tank shells, he was the undisputed, unbeatable champion of the Philippines. None knew his origin, only his deeds. None knew his name, only his absolute, stoic silence in the face of evil. Until today. In the center of the ruined Quirino Grandstand, under the glare of hovering television drones and the terrified eyes of thousands of hostages corralled in the plaza, the hero stood. His humble black compression pants and shirt we...
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Kidpinoy: The Milking Room 3

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Act I: The Masterpiece of the Underworld The private laboratory-chamber beneath the high-society arena smelled of ozone, expensive leather, and the heavy, musky scent of concentrated male pheromones. At the center of the dimly lit room stood the contraption—a towering, customized chrome-and-reinforced-glass cabinet that resembled a high-tech vending machine, yet possessed the cold, clinical aura of a life-support system. Above the thick double-paned glass, a neon sign buzzed with a sick, flickering pink light, spelling out the words: FILIPINO BULL MILK. Inside the glass chamber, suspended by padded leather cuffs that held his wrists and ankles wide to the corners of the frame, was the once-invincible protector of the Philippines. KidPinoy. His sun-kissed, golden-brown skin was slick with a heavy, synthetic sweat generated by the machine's internal climate control. His beautiful, lean, five-foot-five frame—once celebrated as the ultimate pinnacle of compact, sinewy physical perfecti...
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