Gooner's Retreat

Jake drove for hours, leaving behind the familiar urban chaos and surrendering to the embrace of nature. The sprawling forest reached out towards him, the trees casting long shadows that danced in the fading light. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay as he approached the lodge, its imposing structure looming like a specter amid the trees.

Stepping inside, Jake was met with an eerie calm, a stark contrast to the chaos that consumed him. The lodge was a blend of rustic charm and unsettling atmosphere, the walls adorned with trophies of previous conquests—hunting rifles, animal heads, and strange artifacts that seemed to pulse with energy. Other attendees shuffled about, likely mourning the loss of Wi-Fi and the common outside comforts that a place like this demanded.

Dr. Simmons, the enigmatic leader of the retreat, welcomed the newcomers with a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. His presence was magnetic yet unsettling, an unyielding gaze that seemed to peer into the very depths of their souls. He spoke of transformation, congratulating the men on deciding to confront their inner demons and embrace the path to redemption.

Jake felt a mix of skepticism and eagerness wash over him, the promise of freedom beckoning like a siren song as they were led into their initiation meeting. He sat stiffly in the circle of cheap, uncomfortable chairs, surrounded by the other men who had arrived at the retreat. Most of them had the same hollowed-out look in their eyes—a cocktail of shame, fatigue, and resignation.

“We’re going to begin,” Simmons said, pacing slowly across the room. “I want each of you to share your worst moment. The lowest point in your addiction. When you felt like you couldn’t possibly sink any further.”

The room was thick with tension. A few of the men shifted in their seats uncomfortably, but no one dared to speak. Simmons’ smile widened, sensing the unease.

“Don’t be shy,” he urged. “The only way to heal is to confront the darkness head-on. This is a safe space. You are among brothers.”

The silence was suffocating until one of the men, a gaunt guy with thinning hair and dark circles under his eyes, finally spoke up. His voice was shaky, barely a whisper at first.

“My name is Rob,” he started, licking his dry lips nervously. “I, uh… I don’t know when it got so bad. I used to be married, you know? Had a good job, a house. Everything seemed fine. But it got worse when I lost my job. I couldn’t stop watching porn. I’d spend hours online—days, even. I didn’t leave the house for weeks. My wife… she came home one day and found me in the basement.” He paused, his face turning red. “I had been down there for almost two days straight, jerking off, covered in my own cum and piss. I hadn’t showered, hadn’t eaten… nothing. I didn’t even know how long I’d been down there.”

Rob’s eyes were glazed over as he recounted the memory, lost in the dark hole he had once occupied. The other men stared at him, horrified, but Simmons nodded encouragingly.

“Go on,” he said, his voice smooth and gentle. “Tell them what happened next.”

Rob swallowed hard. “She screamed at me. Called me a deviant. She said I wasn’t a man anymore, that all I cared about was getting off. She left me that day. Packed her things, took the kids, and walked out. I didn’t even try to stop her… I just went back to the computer. I jerked off while they left to cuck porn.” His voice broke, and he looked down at the floor, tears brimming in his eyes. “I couldn’t stop. I didn’t care.”

Jake noticed one of the men next to him – Kyle, a younger guy in his early twenties—sitting strangely still. His breathing was shallow, and his hands were twitching slightly in his lap. Kyle’s eyes were locked on Rob, wide and unblinking. As Rob spoke, Kyle’s face flushed, and Jake’s stomach twisted when he noticed the bulge forming in the guy’s sweatpants.

Simmons glanced in Kyle’s direction, his smile widening ever so slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he motioned for another man to speak. A middle-aged guy named Martin, who looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, began his confession.

“One time, I… I was watching something so fucked up, I couldn’t even believe it existed. But I couldn’t stop. My dick was bleeding by the end of it, skin all torn up and raw. I’d rubbed it until it was like hamburger meat. But I didn’t stop. I kept going until I passed out. When I woke up, there was blood all over my sheets. It was on my hands, on my pants… everywhere.”

Jake felt bile rise in his throat as Martin described the gory details. But it wasn’t just the horror of it that disturbed him. It was the way some of the other men reacted. As Martin spoke, Jake saw the glances – the way their eyes flickered to each other, the subtle, uncomfortable shuffling in their chairs. And then, unmistakably, Jake saw another man across the circle – Greg – reach down and subtly adjust the growing erection in his pants.

It was as if the room itself had become charged with a sickening energy. The more graphic the stories became, the more it stirred something deep and primal in some of the men. Their faces flushed, their breathing quickened.

“Keep going,” Simmons said, his eyes gleaming as if he too were becoming enraptured by the stories he was hearing. “Tell us everything.”

The door to the room creaked open, breaking the fevered atmosphere. A woman stepped in, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor. She was tall, with dark hair pulled tightly into a bun, her face sharp and expressionless. She wore a tight-fitting black dress that seemed out of place in the sterile, clinical environment. Her presence demanded attention, and the men immediately fell silent, the air still thick with the remnants of their confessions.

“It’s time,” she announced, her voice low but commanding. The words cut through the room like a blade. “You’ll all be shown to your rooms now.”

There was a palpable shift in the energy. Some of the men—those who had been sitting in uncomfortable arousal—shifted in their seats, unsure of what was coming next. Jake felt his skin prickle. The woman’s presence was unnerving, a stark contrast to Simmons’ slimy demeanor. She was cold and calculated, her eyes scanning the room as if she were assessing each of them, measuring their worth.

Simmons smiled at her approach, stepping back slightly to allow her to take over the proceedings. “This is Mara,” he said with a sly grin. “She’ll be overseeing your stay here at the retreat. Consider her your guide. She can help with anything you might need.”

The men stared at her, some with curiosity, others undoubtedly thinking of all the ways they would use her holes. Mara’s gaze was icy, devoid of any warmth. She looked at them as though they were little more than animals to be corralled.

“Follow me,” she ordered, turning sharply on her heel and walking out of the room without waiting to see if they obeyed.

The men hesitated for a moment, exchanging uncertain glances. Jake’s stomach twisted with unease. He didn’t like this—didn’t like the feeling that something far darker was at play here. But what choice did he have?