The Seven-Day Marathon: Day Two (Wednesday 12:00 a.m. – Thursday 12:00 a.m.)

The clock hit 144:00:00 and the room erupted.

“Listen up, you worthless fucking cum balloon,” the lead bull snarled, yanking Eva upright by her pigtails so hard her scalp burned. “Day Two, bitch. Yesterday you were just a warm-up hole. Today you’re gonna learn what a real nigger-rigged sperm toilet feels like.”

He spat in her face (a thick glob that slid down her cheek and dripped off her chin onto her swollen tits).

“Open that shithole mouth, snowflake.”

A second bull grabbed her jaw, **** the veterinary funnel between her teeth, and the parade began.

They scooped the cold, congealed lake of yesterday’s loads off the mattress and poured it straight down her throat in one continuous stream.

“Swallow it, you disgusting white cum rag. That’s fifteen loads of superior Black seed you’re guzzling. Every drop better stay down or we beat it back into you.”

She retched.

They didn’t stop.

When the first wave came back up, a bull caught it in his palm and smeared it across her face like war paint.

“Vomit it again and we make you lick the floor clean with your tongue, pig.”

By the time the funnel was empty her belly was a hard, obscene dome (skin stretched so tight the brands looked distorted). They **** the first inflation plug in (pumping it with deliberate cruelty while counting out loud).

“Ten… eleven… twelve… Look at that gut stretch, boys. This bitch is gonna pop like a fucking water balloon.”

Every pump was accompanied by a fresh torrent of filth:

“Feel that, sissy? That’s what a real man’s load does to a fake-girl pussy.”

“You’re not even a person anymore, just a walking cum depository for Black cock.”

“Say thank you, you pathetic knocked-up race-traitor whore.”

Through the gag all that came out was a wet, broken gurgle. They laughed and pumped harder.

When both holes were stoppered to the size of softballs, they hoisted her overhead like a trophy.

“Look at this bloated pig, boys. Belly full of nigger nut, holes ruined, tits leaking from hormone milk. This is what happens when white boys beg to be Black-owned.”

For eight straight hours she was never allowed to touch the ground.

They passed her from hand to hand, impaling her mid-air on fresh cocks, spinning her so every bull got to slap her swollen gut and feel it slosh.

“That’s right, snowbunny—every kick you feel is a Black baby swimming in superior DNA.”

“Your little pink clit hasn’t been hard in months. That’s because it knows it’s obsolete.”

“Cry louder, bitch. The whole internet’s paying to watch you get turned into a cum-inflated breeding sow.”

At hour 138 they deflated just enough to prolapse her.

Both holes bloomed outward (ugly, red, dripping rosebuds). The bulls howled.

“Jesus fuck, look at that wrecked shithole. That’s not an ass anymore, that’s a goddamn cum faucet.”

“Pull it out further, let’s see how much meat this race-traitor’s got.”

They grabbed the prolapsed tissue like handles, yanking and twisting while taking turns fisting it back in alongside their cocks.

“Tell the camera what you are, you disgusting white trash cum dump.”

A bull ripped the gag free for three seconds.

Eva’s voice was a destroyed croak: “I’m… a worthless… Black-owned… cum balloon… please keep ruining me…”

They shoved the gag back in and triple-stuffed her ass until she screamed herself ****.

Hour 142 – the piss baptism.

They strapped her face-up on the breeding bench, head hanging off the edge.

Thirty streams of hot piss in rapid succession (straight down her throat, over her face, into her hair, across the fresh dollar-sign brand). When she choked and coughed it back up, they scooped it and poured it again.

“Drink it, toilet. Every drop of Black piss is a gift to a pathetic mayo monkey like you.”

“You’ll never be clean again, bitch. You’re marinated in superior piss for life.”

Hour 150 – Mistress’s branding ceremony.

She walked in wearing white latex like a surgeon, the dollar-sign iron glowing cherry-red.

Six bulls pinned Eva spread-eagle on her back, legs folded to her shoulders, ruined holes pointed at the ceiling.

Mistress crouched between her thighs, iron hovering.

“Repeat after me, you filthy raceplay cum rag.”

She pressed the iron in slowly (inch by searing inch).

Eva’s scream was inhuman.

Mistress leaned close, lips almost kissing the burn.

“Say it.”

Through the agony: “I’m a… Black-owned… cum-inflated… breeding pig… thank you for marking your property…”

The iron twisted deeper.

“Louder, whore.”

“I’M A WORTHLESS BLACK-COCK-ONLY CUM BALLOON! THANK YOU FOR TURNING ME INTO A KNOCKED-UP RACE-TRAITOR SLUT!”

The room erupted in cheers as the iron was pulled away, leaving the perfect smoking $ above her ruined clit.

The final four hours were pure hate-fuck frenzy.

They kept her in the sling, spinning her like a rotisserie, every bull taking her again and again while screaming in her face:

“Your mother would kill herself if she saw what a nigger-addicted cum burp you’ve become.”

“That tiny white clit is crying because it knows it’ll never be inside anything ever again.”

“You’re not a sissy anymore, you’re just a public urinal with tits.”

By midnight her belly was the size of a beach ball, skin translucent, veins spidering across the surface.

Cum leaked from her ears, her nose, the corners of her eyes.

The clock hit 120:00:00.

Day Two complete.

Eva hung limp in the sling, eyes rolled fully white, a slow river of mixed fluids pouring from every hole.

One bull flicked her swollen belly; it sloshed like a waterbed.

Mistress checked the revenue counter and laughed.

Day Two alone: $2,310,000

She grabbed Eva by the hair, **** her ruined face toward the nearest camera, and spat:

“Five more days, you disgusting, Black-bred cum sewer.

By the end of this week the only thing left of you will be the money you made getting destroyed by superior cock.”

The sling started spinning again before Eva even registered the words.

End of Day Two.