That night, Daemon slept. He slept surprisingly well considering how active he was in gauging every guy to ransack his hole within three nights. But now, it seemed Daemon was just beginning to realise that a new path following this had awaited. He saw himself walking through the same caverns the cult hid under; the same walls and the same stench intoxicated his mind all the same just as it did when awake. Through the caves, dimmer and dimmer it got. Through the caves, harder and harder he got. He felt his heart race, his prostate throbbing as though it were growing a demon seed just ready to consume him. Suddenly, a man rose from behind and laughed at him. Daemon startled, as though his heart would jump to darkness as he stumbled at the sight of a man unfamiliar to him.
"You're ready, boy!"
"What are you talking about?"
"You're a slut, that's what I mean boy. I know what it is you get up to and I know what it is you love most." He approached, every step he took matched the pulse Daemon drew to a breath still, heart wrenched; his death almost at a close. Before Daemon knew, this man already had three fingers rammed up the slut's hole, feeling the prostate throbbing ever so much to the rough fingers that caught him.
"You like to think yourself as virtuous. In the world above, you like to be seen as a gentleman, as they say. You're not. You may wear a suit for an entire day, but beneath the skin your instincts are base. You are an animal, Daemon. Whether you like it or not, you're an animal. Which animal? A pig. Pigs have tender flesh, sweet to taste and roll in mud. When angry they can become deadly. When they squeal, they get me hard." His fingers pressed harder against Daemon's prostate further and further; there was no telling what he'd do next. Already this man was drooling with teeth that, as though sharpened, would gauge at his flesh for a day.
"I like to think I'm sensible."
"Sensible, eh? Fuck you. That I will; but you're not sensible. You snort, slam and smoke. You think I need to go on?" At once he dug his fingers deeper into his hole before pulling them out with speed. Daemon collapsed in agony. Groaning loud, his teeth locked together as his hand rubbed either his lower back, or below the belly.
"Head hair. Those clothes. That accent. These mannerisms. A man don't need those!" Daemon was still recuperating.
"I'll shave that hair. Let go of yourself and serve your natural-born instincts. You saw, and heard, and felt what you had become last night. Would you deny it now by leaving this place?"
"No! I'm afraid, Sir. I am afraid, and I will never be forgiven."
"Instincts tell us that simply leaving a place is only going to make you wanna come back for more. There's a side of you, a dark. In all men, there's a dark side. You have to embrace that side." He crouched alongside Daemon, who sorely was able to move as he lay on his side. "You have nothing to be afraid of. God isn't able to save you here, and neither will the rest of society. If they truly cared, you wouldn't have been led astray to come here. True, you were brought here; but you had a choice in leaving. You abandoned that choice, and here we are."
"But, I'm leaving now! You're cruel, and you are detestable. I regret making those decisions I made to come here, whether by will or not. Was it my choice that I should be slammed and bred? Did I ask your kind to come and take me from the light into darkness and unman me for another man?"
"Your conscience may not have consented, but your instincts have. See, humans are complex like that; our conscience is what teaches morality and ethics: what's right from wrong. Your instincts, however, play the game."
"And what game is that?" In response, the man raised Daemon's legs and positioned himself in between; his cock hard as rock was now set in stone, like the tongue of a viper, hissed its way into the darkest chasms that Daemon tried so well to hide until now. He was already fucking him as he spoke.
"The game of survival, boy. We're here to survive. If we cannot fulfil our instincts, then we die. Like a wolf who has to hunt the pig for slaughter. I too am breeding with the pig who yearns for breeding. If you don't believe me, why are you hard?"
"Fuck. I don't care if you're here to hurt me. I'm fucking yours, Sir! Fuck me harder, please!" The man slapped him. "Pathetic, you don't ask to get fucked. It's something you get, and you submit and accept the cock like the wind. Can man tell rain to not him or not? No. Can this boy I'm fucking ask me to stop? No."
"What is it you want to do with me? What are you trying to change in me?"
"I'm giving you the chance that many men were denied from birth; the chance to realise their instincts and live. How fair-skinned you are, how handsome you look. You have nothing to fear, as I'll certainly take good care of you... and your hole!"
He introduced himself as Riker, a name descended from his being a biker. Hence the tattoos and piercings. His large earrings gave premise to his being a man. His tattoos covered explorations of his life in the previous. His living temple was his body. Attractive in a subtle way; not quite muscular, but not skinny neither. Above all tattoos, the scorpion caught Daemon's attention most.
"I like your scorpion tattoo, Sir."
"Ta, boy." Sweat dripped down to Daemon's face. Both their bodies were wet with it. So much that Daemon's legs stuck to Riker's arms. "There's a story behind it. You'll find out why in no time."
"Get up, boy!" It was time. Daemon now awoke. Gutted that his dream came to an end, and perhaps he may never see a figure like Riker again, except in memory.