**Chapter 11: Shattered Facade**

Oliver walked into the room, his eyes cast downward, and was immediately met with a chorus of laughter. He glanced up to see what was so funny, and that's when he noticed it - his face was painted with makeup, a garish layer of foundation, eyeliner, and lipstick that made him look like a caricature of a woman. The guys were holding their sides, tears streaming down their faces. "Hey, Oliver, what's going on here?" one of them asked, still chuckling. "Why are you pretending to be a boy?" They emphasized the word "boy" with a sneer, making Oliver's face burn with shame. Oliver's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as he looked down, his eyes avoiding theirs. He didn't say a word, just stood there, frozen in embarrassment. The laughter died down, and the room fell silent. The guys got up from their seats, their expressions changing from amusement to something more sinister. They began to undress, their movements deliberate and slow. Oliver's heart sank as he realized what was about to happen. He tried to take a step back, but his legs felt like lead, refusing to move. The guys closed in around him, their dicks exposed, and Oliver felt a wave of panic wash over him. But as he looked up at them, he saw something in their eyes that made him feel numb. It was a mixture of contempt and expectation, as if they believed he would do what they asked without question. And in that moment, Oliver felt his body respond, his mind surrendering to the inevitable. Without a word, the guys grabbed him, holding him in place as they pushed their dicks into his mouth. Oliver felt a surge of revulsion, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of detachment. He began to blow each and every one of them, his body accepting the humiliation with a twisted sort of ease. As he worked, the guys watched him with a mixture of fascination and disgust, their faces a picture of conflicting emotions. Oliver didn't look up, didn't try to make eye contact. He just kept going, his body moving on autopilot as he surrendered to their desires. The scene was one of utter degradation, Oliver's body used as a tool for their pleasure. And yet, as he looked down at himself, he felt a strange sense of numbness, as if he was watching someone else do this, someone who was not quite himself. The camera rolled, capturing every moment of his humiliation, and Oliver felt himself slipping further down the rabbit hole, losing himself in a world of degradation and submission.