For the next couple of weeks, I decided to just let Leon stew, and see what happened with his attitude. Of course, there was nothing he could do about his new mud obsession–every time it rained, he was stuck rolling around in the puddle the entire time, while the rest of the crew all looked on, chuckling, and the only way he could release himself was a fuck from yours truly.
Things usually go in one of two directions from this point–either they break, or the fight. Well, let me clarify. They either break early, or they break late. Early breakers–they can put up with the humiliation for about a week, before they finally beg me to let up on them. I’m generally an accommodating boss–besides, having one of my crew rolling around in mud all afternoon isn’t exactly productive, so we sit down, have a chat, and come to an…agreement. Or rather, I dictate a more permanent, but limited punishment, and they accept because they have no real choice in the matter, now do they?
But late breakers–they have pride. Or maybe not pride, exactly, but a certain masculine confidence. If given a choice between a forced humiliation, and a conscious surrender to me, they’ll take the former any day. Something in them doesn’t let them submit willingly–at least not right away. See, no one can last forever. They all think they can, but there’s always something that breaks their spirit eventually. I knew from the start that Leon would be a late breaker–but I waited a few weeks just to confirm. Every day, he fought the compulsion to get in the mud. Everyday he refused to ask for my cock, refused to be fucked in front of anyone else, even when it meant staying the night at the site in the mud, which he did a couple of times.
You might think I’d find this frustrating. In fact, I love late breakers–they’re so much more fun in the long run. They have no power, and yet they continue to delude themselves, allowing me to do whatever I’d like to them in the meantime. But what should I do to Leon? One evening as I fucked him, I listened to him reassure himself that none of this mattered–not really. That come fall, he’d be off at college and he’d be successful, and that nothing here would matter in the least. It would all just be history–that there was nothing I could do to him that would change that. I laughed, and knew exactly what to do next.
The next day, I invited him back into my trailer, telling him I wanted to have a chat about his attitude, and see if he was ready to improve himself or not. As expected, he had no interest in even admitting that anything he did was questionable or rude. Still, the smoke from my special ciagr was getting to him already, and I helped him into a chair–after stripping off his clothes. Unlike before, when he’d been in a daze, this time he was fully aware of what was going on, but he couldn’t move his body an inch–completely paralyzed and at my mercy. I picked up a cigar butt from my ashtray, stroked his cock hard–it was a sizable ten inch cock, and I knew he was proud of it–pushed the ash end to the cock head, and secured it in place with a cigar band. He, of course, had no idea what to make of this. I got down, put my lips to the tip of the butt, focused, and inhaled.
There’s something so…wonderful, about that taste. I heard him gasp, the sensation of something he couldn’t quite identify being drawn out of him, through his cock, and into the cigar. I crossed my eyes–the cigar butt was no longer a short butt–it had grown by about an inch, taking Leon’s cock down an inch in exchange.
“What…what are you doing…” Leon mumbled. He was trying to move his head to see what was going on, but he was still completely relaxed and frozen, unable even to lift up his head from where it lolled on the back of the chair.
“You know, something you were saying yesterday, in the mud, it really…resonated with me,” I said, “I realized that you still think that all of this, this is so far below you. That it’s not even happening to you, not really. You think that if you just hold out long enough, you’ll be able to escape to some magical college world, and leave this behind. But you don’t deserve that, and I’m not about to let you go just yet, not until I think you’ve learned your lesson properly.” I stood up and leaned over him, pushing my own gut against his chest, “See, I know your kind, Leon. You think I haven’t taken down men better than you? You’re nothing, you know. But I don’t think you see that yet. So I’m going to help you out. Just…keep a few of those things of yours, your life, that you love, that you lord over everyone, and I’m going to hold onto them for a bit–see if that changes your attitude a bit for the better.”
He tried to ask questions, he tried to object–I just got down and took a deeper draw off the end of the cigar, feeling more of Leon’s life pulled into the cigar, stored away within the leaf. I took his physical power–his muscles melting away, leaving him thin and a bit gaunt. I peeled away his energy and vitality, watching as his thin frame began to bulge and bloat. I sat back–the cigar was now about five inches long–about the same length as his now shorter cock–though only about four inches extended from his new fat pad. Leon was mumbling and crying in the chair. He couldn’t see the full extent of what had happened to him, but he could feel what had changed. Panic had set in–his hope of escape had suddenly disappeared, and he didn’t know what to do.
“You’re a monster,” he managed to say.
“Of course I am–but so are you. I’m just…well, is a someone who is monstrous to monsters really a monster?”
Bracken's Corner 