Garrett looked up from where he was washing his car, and across the street he saw that the old faggot, Mr. Phillips, was looking at him from the window again, and he rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that he necessarily disliked the attention–he was definitely proud of his body and liked showing it off, or else why would he be outside on a nice day shirtless? Still, knowing that the fat old man was perving out on him was enough to almost make him feel like covering up. What he didn’t see, however, was Mr. Phillips slide the window open, point a strange looking ray gun at Garrett, and fire a strange bean of glistening light which enveloped Garrett for a moment, and then he went mostly limp, his eyes closed and head down, and he turned around in a trance, and crossed the street before letting himself into Mr. Phillips’ house.
Garrett startled awake, still standing, not entirely sure what had happened, and almost fell over, unsure of himself. He’d been outside washing his car right, but now he was in some bedroom he didn’t recognize, and he saw Mr. Phillips, his pervy old neighbor kneeling on the ground in front of him, dressed in a leather harness, a thick metal chain around his neck, and the sight of it made a deep growl of approval erupt from his chest, and his cock got a bit hard in his jockstrap.
“Wait…what?” he said to himself, and looked down–expecting to see his camo cargo shorts, but instead he was dressed in a pair of leather chaps and a white jockstrap bulging out with his erection, with two shiny leather boots on his feet, but looking at the slave kneeling in front of him, ready to serve was getting him hard–he loved brutally fucking these old fat perverts, but something was missing, something…he needed in his mouth…
“Slave,” he heard himself say, “Light me a cigar.”
“Yes sir!” Mr. Phillips said, and stood up, rushing to a humidor, opening it up and pulling out a slender cigar. He handed it to Garrett, who looked at it, confused, since he’d never smoked before in his life, but when the old man lit a match, Garrett puffed it to life like it was the most natural act in the world, and smirked. Mr. Phillips was disgusting and a pervert, but then again so was he…right? Just a muscular leather god obsessed with humiliating and dominating old faggots. “Clean my boots, slave,” he said, relishing the sense of power he had over this old man, and Mr. Phillips dropped to the ground, licking the leather to a bright shine, moaning as he did.
“You want my cock in that sloppy asshole of yours, slave?”
“You want me to pound your hole so hard you can’t sit right for a week?” Garrett slipped his cock out of the jockstrap and started stroking it. He really needed a PA in the head. In fact, he really needed some other piercings too, and maybe…maybe some tattoos. Still that would have to come later–he had a fat ass to demolish fist, and with a growl, he kicked Mr. Phillips off his boot, got down and rammed his cock into the faggot with one long, dominant thrust.