A Brief Revenge (1 of 2)

Vance woke up that morning–late, as usual for him–yawned, got up and when and had his morning piss, thankful that today’s hangover wasn’t too extreme. The party last night had been a good one all the same, even if that fucking old neighbor of theirs had caused a ruckus, barging into the party, trying to be a fucking buzzkill. He could have sworn he’d seen the old man in the hallway, coming out of his room before he’d kicked him out, but the memory was pretty hazy.

Vance was one of the hot jocks at the college nearby, and his off campus house was party central almost every weekend. It helped that his father was a local official, and so the police largely left him alone to do what he wanted, as long as he did his best to keep minors away from alcohol. He went back into his room from the bathroom, idly stroking his eight inch cock. The only downside from the night was that he hadn’t gotten laid, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. He opened his drawer and found a clean pair of underwear on top, grabbed it and put it on…and shuddered, looking down at the grey briefs.

It felt…alive, almost. Squirming around his waist, around his cock. He tried to push them back down and take them off, but the elastic…fought him, gripping his waist tighter as he pushed, growing a bit scared, when the underwear gripped his cock and pumped the first load out of him, making him moan in pleasure. He stumbled back, feeling a bit woozy, but his cock was still hard, and he could feel another orgasm building. It was as big as the first one, his vision going a bit swirly, and he tried to fall on the bed, but collapsed onto the floor instead.

He only remembered the first three or four loads, as the world started to dim, the underwear milking him for all it was worth, sucking him dry. He lost consciousness, and his skin began to turn pale, looking almost…dry and shriveled, the underwear still pulling his cum and life force right out of him, sealing his spirit in the cotton underwear. His muscles atrophied, his bones collapsed into jelly, his skin wrinkled and shrinking, the underwear dragging it all into its desperate, aching hunger. Anb hour later, Vance was gone–there was no trace of him anywhere, aside from a pair of grey briefs on the floor, but Vance was there, embodying his own briefs, trying to scream, but finding he no longer had a mouth. Later that day, the old man from next door slipped into the room, looked about, spied the briefs on the floor, picked them up and slipped back out of his house, happy to have another jock to add to his collection, and his business.

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