Things didn’t quite go according to plan that night, neither for Chuck, nor for Spitty. To start with, for Chuck at least, everything seemed to be going perfect. In fact, he couldn’t quite believe his luck, with this boy. He’d hated that cocky fucker as soon as he’d started working with them on the crew, so certain that he didn’t fucking belong with nasty fucks like them–most of whom Chuck had been ‘developing’ for years now–he was the perfect target, and wearing down that jock nice and slow had been…fucking amazing. In fact, he hadn’t had that much fun ruining someone in a while–but now he knew why. Spitty, it turned out, had wanted it. He’d wanted this life the whole fucking time, but he’d only found the balls to admit it after his first taste of the real shit Chuck grew himself, using an heirloom seed grown in his family for generations. But now, Spitty was hooked–hooked on tobacco, hooked on spit, hooked on cock…and hooked on Chuck, most of all–and that had, perhaps, clouded his judgement. Chuck, after all, had given up on ever finding someone who might want to be with him, or hell, even finding someone he might want to be with, but Spitty was the closest thing he’d felt to love in a very, very long time–and that’s what gave Spitty the opportunity he’d been looking for.
They showed up at Chuck’s house and went inside–this time heading right for Chuck’s bedroom upstairs. He got Spitty out of his cum crusted clothes, and gave the whore one last fuck in his current form–but made him keep his hands off his cock while he did–he needed Spitty to start building up some energy for the chaw he was going to get in a little bit. He told Spitty to take a break, that he’d be back with his special tin in a couple of minutes–he went downstairs to his locked cabinet, opened it up and pulled out the tin with Spitty’s name on it, and then headed back upstairs, his cock already leaking even though he’d just shot a huge load in the pig’s ass, and when he stepped into the room, the butt of the shotgun he kept in his closet slammed into the side of his head, sending him teetering and crashing to the floor. Spitty hit him again, and then a third time–hoping that would be enough to knock him out, grabbed the tin from the floor where it had fallen, and hurried into the bathroom, where he locked the door.
It had worked–his plan had actually worked. Spitty could barely believe it, and it was all he could do to keep himself from masturbating in relief. But this–he had to try and focus. Last time, when he’d chewed this stuff, Chuck had been with him, guiding his thoughts, directing him into his new life–but he wasn’t going to have anyone helping him this time–Spitty was going to have to try and do this on his own. Through the door, he heard a loud groan from the bedroom down the hall–in a panic, he opened up the tin, grabbed about the same amount of leaf as Chuck had given him last time–spit out the shit he was currently chewing and put the special wad in his cheek, that same amazing sensation of floating pleasure seeping into him. He…didn’t remember how he ended up on the floor, but one hand started jacking his cock, and the other found its way around to his hole and started fingering it, just…awash in pleasure.
But he also knew he had to focus–still, his stupid brain couldn’t think like before, and with the pleasure coursing through him, he was having an even harder time getting his thoughts in a row. He…tried to focus on the person he’d been before this–younger, muscular, sports–but someone was pounding on the door and screaming at him, and it was so hard to think! He didn’t want to think about anything, not really. All he really wanted was to be alone, away from Chuck, away from everyone where he could jack off and fuck himself in peace–yeah, fuck, he could…he could just fucking imagine what that would fucking be like. A place of his own, out in the sticks, not even having to work, just lounging around like a total, fat fucking pig, jacking off and fucking himself all day long, stuffing his face, maybe venturing into town for some load of cum or a real fuck on occasion, but usually just happy with his own fucking company. He…swallowed the leaf, just as Chuck managed to bust through the door and stand over him, shouting at Spitty, but they both knew it was too late to change anything. The world went all swirly like it had before, dissolving into…quiet darkness, and then Spitty woke up.
He knew, right away, that things had gone both very wrong, and also…very right. He wasn’t in his parents house anymore–he was in his own fucking trailer, out in the middle of the woods–right where he fucking wanted it to be. His cock needed attention, of course, like always–he grabbed hold of the dildo that was still lodged in his hole from when he’d fucked himself to sleep the night before and started thrusting in into him, jacking his cock, feeling his gut jiggle as he did, moaning and groaning loudly as he came over and over again onto the sticking, filthy sheets of his bed. Part of him, a deep part, was absolutely horrified, but the rest of him, most of him, couldn’t imagine anything better. He’d found a slice of accidental paradise, and he had no plans on ever leaving. At least, as long as Chuck didn’t find him–and he didn’t want that, right?
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