The next day Chuck was waiting for me, idling outside–and I didn’t want to go out there, but like before…I had to. I didn’t know how he was doing it, but he had some sort of fucking control over me, and I didn’t have the will to resist him. He’d arrived so early we had plenty of time to work, but he drove a couple blocks down, parked, and fed me more spit, making me shoot another load, and then ordered me to jack off on the way to work–that whenever I was in his truck, I was going to be jacking off, and shooting my cum on my clothes, where I’d rub it in and leave it. His spit…it got me so fucking horny, I shot another load on the way there, and when we got out, it was clear my shirt was…messy, but I just tried not to think about it, as we got to work.
But everyone on the crew had seen us arrive together. A few of the guys…they were looking at me almost…excitedly, while others couldn’t even meet my eyes. Chuck gave me my nickname at lunch–everyone was going to be calling me Spitoon from now on–Spitty for short–and no one objected, not even the foreman, who seemed…more scared of Chuck than anything else. Sure enough, more guys than I’d thought chewed tobacco on the crew, and starting that day…I got all of their spit. On me, in my mouth–it didn’t matter, but that’s what I was for–or at least, that’s what Chuck told me, and a small part of me…almost believed him. No one’s spit tasted like his though–his was…electric. Every time it hit me, every time I tasted it, it was like some strange wire sparked in my body. Still, I was getting out, right? That’s what I was still telling myself, at least. He could humiliate me for a few months, and then I’d be back at school, and I’d never have to see him again.
But on the third day…I noticed something strange about my body. I’m not a hairy guy by any means, but all of a sudden I had a beard filling in across my face. I’d tried to grow a beard a few times before, but had never managed anything like this, and it had been just two days since I’d last shaved. The rest of me was changing too–most noticeably my new gut. I wasn’t happy about losing my abs, but I also couldn’t explain the sudden weight gain. I hadn’t changed my diet, and my metabolism had always been so quick I could eat nearly anything and stay slender. Chuck teased me about it, of course–made me…rub it, while I jacked off on the way to and from work. He’d make me take off my shirt and spit on my belly, rubbing it in there until it was streaked with black and tingling–and a few days after he’d started doing that, I noticed that, like my new beard, hair was growing in all over my new belly–and my belly was still growing as well.
Still, it was a couple of weeks before I was certain–it was Chuck’s spit. I’d…known that, somehow, but that only seemed to confirm it for me somehow–it made it more real. Chuck was doing this to me, and when I got in with him the next day, I…I begged him to stop. That I was sorry, that I didn’t want this. I told him I had a future, that I didn’t want to be stuck in this shitty town for the rest of my life. That I was sorry his life had come to this, but that didn’t mean he had any right to ruin mine too. He just pressed his hefty frame into me as my pleads dissolved into whimpers, groped my cock with his huge hand, grinning at me, letting his slobber dribble into his beard…watching me watch it fall…and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in and sucking it from the hair of his beard, shuddering a bit. “That’s a good boy–you’re a real good boy, Spitty. I think it’s time daddy introduced you to the real shit tonight–yer comin’ home with me for some real fun.”
All day long on the work site…all I could think about was what that meant. I tried to make myself run off, I even begged the foreman for help, when I had a moment of clarity, but he just shook his head, grabbed me by the chin, and fed me a load of spit. “I’m real sorry, Spitty,” he said, “But Chuck…he’s real keen on ya. He was keen on me once too–I know…what it’s like. But don’ worry, things’ll git easier, after tahnight.”
I pressed him for details, tried to get him to tell me what was going to happen, but he didn’t say anything else–just told me to get back to work and try not to worry about it, because there wasn’t anything I’d be able to do to stop it anyway. Chuck didn’t stop grinning all day, and grinning at me especially. It wasn’t even mean–he was really fucking happy, or excited, or who knew what. Our foreman let us both go an hour early, when Chuck asked–I hadn’t really noticed how often Chuck got whatever he asked for from anyone on the crew–and the two of us got in the truck. After a sloppy kiss, he ordered me to haul my cock out and start jacking off, and he raced off towards his place, a run down but nice little house on the edge of town. I asked him if I could at least call my parents, but he didn’t even hear me–just dragged me inside by the hand, my head trying to fight him, but my body was his willing subject, as always.
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