Three years turned passed at times slowly, and at times quickly. When he was awake and working out, following the compulsory workouts to the exact directives ingrained in his mind, the days seemed to fly by in a daze of counting and exhaustion. But when he spent days staring at his computer screen, desperately fighting it’s newest demands over and over, trying to resist in whatever way he could, every minute seemed to drag out into a lifetime. He fought so hard, in fact, that by the end of the first year he had fallen behind schedule. To Jerry, this felt like a victory–he could beat this thing, he could fight the program if he could just keep his wits about himself. Unfortunately for him, the program had come to the same conclusion.
He didn’t notice it much at first. He assumed he was just tired and exhausted from the diet and routine the program had forced on him. That he was just having a hard time focusing. But then he began noticing that he was having a hard time spelling and writing anything beyond simple one or two syllable words. By the time he realized what must be happening, it was too late, the hypnosis wearing his mind down further and further until all Jerry could manage to write was his name–not that three letters were too hard to remember, since he started going by Jer at the gym, instead of Jerry. Without a mind to resist, by the end of the second year Jer had gained all of his lost ground, and was even ahead of schedule, which made him happy. The program was proud of him after all, and he was looking like a real brute. Because the program now expected him to be finished with his program six months early, Jer was given the choice of some additional programs he could add to his ideal body and future life.
Of course, without much of a mind–and without any capacity for imagination, he was having a hard time trying to come up with anything that he might want. The best he could do was a request that he get even bigger–more muscle “super extra huge” as he told the program. Thankfully the program was willing to make suggestions, and while he wasn’t quite sure what a “man whore” was, if it meant he’d have sex, then he wasn’t going to complain. He liked sex, and he liked playing with his cock. Looking at his hard body made him hard too, and why not put that to good use?
The drugs began arriving not soon after that, and his muscle’s exploded in size, so large that he was having trouble moving, but fuck that, he looked so damn hot! especially with the foot long cock and huge balls he’d developed as well, thanks to whatever the program was sending him. The program began bombarding him sex–porn videos, sex toys, all sorts of things to practice his new profession with, but he thought it was odd that all the people the program was showing him, the kinds of people he was becoming attracted to, weren’t people like him. No, they were older–much older. And fat, and hairy. He thought that was odd, but his head couldn’t put up much of a fight. before too long, he couldn’t imagine being attracted to anyone else. If anything, his hulking body kind of disgusted him, but what could he do about it? It was his money maker. The dates started not too long after that.
Thankfully the program supplied him with an ample number of clients. Generally, he would wake up and eat, before immediately launching into his massive daily workout. Then, around five he would shower, put on whatever outfit his john had requested for the evening, and meet him for that night’s date. Sometimes they wanted to have dinner, and he’d be dressed in a suit and tie. He couldn’t make conversation, but he knew how to suck cock between courses in the bathroom. Other times they’d skip the niceties entirely, and just send him a hotel room where they’d meet. The worst, however, were the ones who’d have him come right to their house, usually in some strange leather or rubber get up supplied by the program. Those were the twisted ones–making him drink piss, fisting his tight hole, whipping and paddling him until he begged them to stop. But he did…like it. He liked being a whore. He liked having sex with these perverts, and they certainly paid him handsomely–not that he kept much of it.
Even after the three years had elapsed, he’d opted to remain in IBP’s maintenance program. It cost a lot, but the program always made sure he had a steady supply of clients and drugs to keep his massive size steady. Still, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel like something had gone horribly wrong. He could…kind of remember who he’d been, before all of this. The memories were fuzzy…but hadn’t he been kind of like the men he had sex with every night? Wealthy? Sexy? Confident? He kind of…envied them, a bit. They seemed to have everything under control–including him. All Jer could do was lift heavy things, take a foot long cock down his throat without gagging, and turn heads when he walked down the street. When the program gave him a feedback form and he said he was only somewhat satisfied, the program put those concerns to rest permanently with another round of hypnosis. Finally, Jer was just a perfectly happy, musclebound man whore for the rest of his days.
Bracken's Corner 