[Officelover]

By the way, I'm so sorry that these chapters have been so short recently. I hope to publish a big chunk soon.

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The rest of that summer I got used to cock. All types of cock.

The men of Omelas were not exaggerated, pubically. There were a few huge ones in there. I think the biggest I had was a 9 and a half incher. That really sucked. But for the most part, I got average dicks. Cocks that were five inches long. I also got a lot of tiny ones—three inches, and under. You’d think that they would be the least painful rapists, but the men who owned the tiny ones beat me harsher to compensate.

I said I got used to all types of cock; that doesn’t just mean I got used to sizes. I got used to colors. I got used to shapes (some were circumcised, some weren’t). I got used to pubic hair, however it was maintained. I could tell a man’s age by his cock—the awkwardness of the adolescent cock, the virility of the adult penis, the first sagging of the midlife crisis, and the pathetic limpness of the elderly. I even got used to false cock, provided at no cost to the women who wanted to get in on the fun.

I got used to being beaten. I got used to the filling my cavities, all types of cavities. When tears got too familiar for me, I got used to not being able to cry anymore. In short, I got used to getting used.

But the humiliation I felt never wore off. The response provoked by a stranger insulting me, torturing me, and invading me never changed. I may have stopped crying, but I never stopped wanting to kill myself. I never stopped wanting to kill everyone who hurt me.

I got very familiar with the structure of being raped. I grew to be an expert at minimizing my pain. But that pain never went away. Even now I get night terrors.

It’s not as if the people of Omelas were sex-starved. They were liberated people, who taught their children to be safe and let them do what they wanted. There were people whose entire lives were devoted to sex in Omelas. Most marriages were open, and most couples were happy. It wasn’t as if the men of Omelas needed more sex in their lives. It wasn’t as if the women who used the strap-on on me were repressing their lesbian leanings.

The people of Omelas raped me because they wanted to punish me. They always told me that sex was nothing to be ashamed of, and that you shouldn’t judge a woman or a man on their sex life. They told me that sex can be fun, or beautiful, or the best way to connect with someone. But it seemed that everyone knew that this wasn’t sex.

Just as how when I had raped the former Child, he had been a dildo to me, I became a couple of holes for them. It wasn’t that they needed the holes. They could have whole bodies and souls, and it would mean more to them. I figured out after the first Summer of Cock that they needed to make ME into holes. You might not be able to crush evil, but you can fill holes. Most of them weren’t raping me for fun, because there’s nothing inherently fun about a hole. They legitimately believed that by transforming me into a vehicle for sex they could control me.