KidPinoy Aftermath #10

 The unblinking camera remained fixed on the scene. Bien Regalado, the defeated KidPinoy, still knelt, though his posture was now more slumped. The viscous coating of semen on his thighs and abdomen was thicker, reaching his knees, pooling in ever-expanding patches on the cold floor. His breath was ragged, shallow gasps punctuated by involuntary trembles that wracked his body. The red marks on his cheeks from Rapis’s slaps stood out against his sun-kissed skin.

Lord Rapis, his face a mask of gleeful cruelty, straightened up, his gaze sweeping over Bien's pathetic form. "Look at him," he repeated, his voice carrying the weight of absolute dominion. "The proud Filipino, brought low. Reduced to a mere... fount." He chuckled, a dry, rattling sound.

Cultist, still kneeling beside Bien, ran his gloved hand now along the inside of Bien's thigh, tracing the path of the drying semen. "Such a waste of potential, wouldn't you agree, Mastermind?" he said, not looking up. "All that strength, that resilience... designed for combat, for heroism. And yet, here we see its true, base purpose. A generator of power, yes, but a power that flows from the most... primal source."

Mastermind, standing impassively, adjusted a cufflink on his immaculately tailored sleeve. "Efficiency is key, Cultist," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "His 'power' was merely a resource, untapped and misused. We are simply redistributing it, repurposing the energy for more... productive ends." He glanced towards the camera for a fraction of a second. "And demonstrating the fragility of your so-called heroes."

Rapis stepped closer to Bien, his shadow falling over the kneeling figure. He reached down, his fingers digging into the dark hair at the back of Bien’s neck. "But the show isn't over, is it?" he snarled, pulling Bien's head back up, forcing him to look towards the camera lens again. Bien’s handsome face, once alight with heroic defiance, was now a mask of raw, desperate misery. Tears continued to track pathways down his cheeks. His lower lip quivered.

"Tell them, boy," Rapis commanded, his voice low and menacing. "Tell them what a pretty little toy you are now. Tell them how easily you break."

Bien whimpered again, a choked sound caught in his throat. His eyes were wide, glassy with exhaustion and humiliation.

Without warning, a massive shadow detached itself from the wall behind Bien. Beast, a hulking figure of raw muscle and dark skin, moved with surprising speed and economy of motion. He reached down, his enormous hands sliding under Bien's sweat-slicked thighs, just below the swell of his buttocks. With a grunt that was barely audible, Beast lifted Bien's small, muscular body into his powerful arms, holding him suspended, kneeling in the air.

Bien cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound of shock and terror, his body stiffening instantly. His legs dangled uselessly, his chiseled abdomen exposed, his cum-stained cock and balls hanging vulnerable.

As Beast held him captive, exposed and helpless, the camera lens seemed to zoom slightly, bringing the horrifying scene into sharper focus. Beast shifted his grip, tilting Bien’s body forward slightly, exposing his tense, clenched buttocks.

Then, with a brutal, swift motion, Beast lowered Bien onto himself. There was a tearing sound, wet and sickening, followed by a ragged, animalistic scream from Bien. His body spasmed violently in Beast’s grasp, his back arching, his head snapping back. The sight was one of raw, unadulterated violation.

Beast began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm at first, then picking up speed, each thrust driving deep, eliciting fresh cries of pain and degradation from the man who was once KidPinoy. Bien’s hands scrabbled desperately at Beast’s massive shoulders, finding no purchase, no escape. His small stature, which had always been a surprise in contrast to his power, now made him appear fragile, utterly dominated by the sheer size of his tormentor.

As Beast continued his brutal assault from behind, Cultist and Mastermind moved forward, their gazes fixated on Bien’s exposed groin. Cultist knelt again, his eyes wide with a perverse fascination. Mastermind, demonstrating a chilling lack of empathy, approached from the other side.

Cultist reached out, his gloved hand closing around one of Bien’s testicles, which hung heavy and vulnerable, slick with sweat and spattered semen. He began to knead it, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, his fingers working the sensitive organ. Bien’s hips, already bucking erratically with Beast’s movements, spasmed more violently.

"Such pressure," Cultist murmured, eyes glued to the response. "The source is agitated. Ready to expel."

Mastermind, mirroring Cultist's action, took the other testicle in his hand, his grip firm and clinical. He began to squeeze and roll it between his fingers, his gaze flicking between the testicle and Bien's face, as if observing a scientific experiment.

"The neural response is fascinating," Mastermind stated, his voice calm and measured, a stark contrast to the chaos and agony unfolding before him. "Direct stimulation elicits an immediate, powerful reaction. The organism is programmed to release under duress."

Under the dual assault on his most sensitive organs, combined with the brutal violation from Beast, Bien’s body went into a violent, uncontrollable fit. His muscles clenched, his back arched like a bow, and a long, guttural moan of agony and despair tore from his lungs. His cock, which had remained semi-rigid throughout his ordeal, suddenly engorged fully, throbbing in his groin.

Then, a huge, forceful spurt of semen erupted from his glans, spraying outwards and upwards. It landed with a heavy splattering sound on his own chiseled abdomen, running down his taut obliques, mixing with the sweat and the mess already coating him. Another surge followed, and then another, a continuous, thick stream pouring from him, driven by the exquisite torture.

Cultist leaned forward, his face inches from Bien’s abdomen, where the fresh semen pooled and dripped. He lowered his head, his lips parting slightly. As Bien’s body continued to pulse and expel, Cultist began to lap at the thick white liquid directly from Bien's skin, his tongue darting out, collecting the semen from his stomach and lower chest.

Mastermind, while still squeezing Bien’s testicle, also leaned in, albeit with less overtly carnal movements than Cultist. He dipped a gloved finger into the semen collecting on Bien’s thigh and brought it to his lips, tasting it with a detached, analytical expression. "Highly concentrated," he noted dryly. "Potent, even in this state."

Beast grunted, intensifying his brutal thrusts, driving Bien further onto his impaling cock. Bien's screams were now ragged gasps, punctuated by the wet sounds of the ongoing assault and the involuntary expulsions of semen. His body shook uncontrollably, his limbs flailing weakly in Beast’s grasp.

Rapis, watching the scene unfold, a look of utter satisfaction on his face, stepped back towards the camera. He held up a handful of crumpled peso bills. They looked cheap, insignificant, a paltry amount.

"And do you know why he's being punished like this?" Rapis boomed, addressing the unseen audience through the camera. "Because your 'hero', your 'KidPinoy', wasn't just fighting for you. He was hiding a dirty secret. He was selling himself! This 'invincible' body, this muscle, this 'power'... he pimped it out to the highest bidder!"

He stepped back towards Bien, who was still convulsing and ejaculating under the combined torture. Rapis grabbed a handful of the crumpled bills he held and brutally shoved them into Bien’s mouth, forcing them past his bruised and trembling lips.

"Swallow it, boy!" Rapis snarled, forcing the paper into Bien’s mouth until his cheeks bulged unnaturally. "Swallow your payment! Let the world see you for the filthy whore you are!"

Bien gagged on the paper, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat and semen coating him. He coughed, a painful, choked sound, trying to expel the unwanted intrusion, while his body continued its humiliating, involuntary function.

"Look!" Rapis shouted, gesticulating wildly at the kneeling, violated hero. "Look at your 'KidPinoy'! Reduced to a weeping, money-gagged fountain, serviced by us! His strength our plaything, his power our resource! He is no longer a defender, he is a drain!"

Beast gave another deep, final thrust, pulling back slightly, but leaving Bien suspended, still impaled. Bien’s body sagged, his muscles screaming in exhaustion, the relentless spasms of ejaculation slowing, but not stopping entirely. A thin stream continued to pulse from his engorged cock, dripping onto the floor, adding to the growing puddle of heroism’s essence.

Cultist and Mastermind, having seemingly extracted their fill for the moment, straightened up, wiping their hands on their gloves. Cultist’s lips were glistening.

"He's almost depleted for this cycle," Cultist observed clinically, his voice still unnervingly calm. "We can stimulate him again soon, of course. The well is deep, for now."

Mastermind nodded, his gaze distant, already planning. "Indeed. And the implications for our power source are immense. A renewable, potent energy... harvested directly from the source of their hope." He looked at Bien, a flicker of something akin to disdain in his eyes. "Such a petty, pathetic vessel for such a significant power."

Rapis stood over Bien, his chest heaving slightly, the adrenaline of his performance still coursing through him. Bien was a broken figure, gagged with the false evidence of his alleged crime, his body slick with the humiliating proof of his hijacked power. His head slumped forward, his eyes squeezed shut, his face a picture of utter defeat.

"This is the end of your hero," Rapis announced to the camera, his voice triumphant. "The end of KidPinoy. The beginning of our reign. And this," he gestured at Bien’s violated form, the semen-soaked body, the crumpled money in his mouth, "This is how we will power our new world. From the tears and the cum of your idols."

He grinned, a cruel, final gesture towards the camera lens. The visual remained fixed on Bien's broken, humiliated form, silent testament to the villains' victory and the hero's utter degradation. The rhythmic dripping of semen onto the floor was the only sound, a slow, sickening beat that echoed the death knell of a symbol.