WARNING: SCAT, INCONTINENCE
Chuck is telling me it’s time for me to finish my tin. I’m…relieved, to be honest–though there’s still plenty of terror. Still, I’m exhausted. I haven’t moved from the bed here in years–or at least, I remember the years, but I also know it’s only been a couple of months since Chuck found me again, and put me back under his control–showed me what I really needed from him, from everyone, as ashamed as I was to admit it. Showed me that I’m more than just a spittoon–I’m a full blown human toilet, and…and fuck, I couldn’t be fucking happier. I wish Jack was here–Chuck told him he couldn’t be here for the last chunk out of the tin, that it was too dangerous. He won’t tell me what the last step is, but I can guess.
I’m old now. I’ve gotten older every time he’s fed me a bit more from that tin. How old am I going to be when I finish it? Eighty? Ninety? I won’t live long in any case, not in the sort of state I’m in. He’s coming around now, and looking at me–appraising me, almost. I’d expect him to be saying goodbye, but he doesn’t. The moment doesn’t seem to carry much weight with him at all, actually. Does he hate me that much? I can understand that–I hate myself too. I’m excited to be dead, finally. He cleans the leaf I’ve been working on out of my mouth, takes the final wad–making sure to get every last bit of tobacco from the tin–and he packs it into my mouth for me, and fuck, the taste of it–it gets more intense every time. I tell myself I should spit it out, that I need to fight it, that I can’t let it all end like this, but what’s the use, really? I should have known I’d never escape Chuck. I was his as soon as that truck of mine had broken down on the road, after all the special spit he’d been adding to my gas tank finally pushed the engine over the edge. So instead, I relax–one last load of shit falls out of my ass, and I…fuck, I’m sad I’m not going to get to taste it. Chuck is there, but he’s not…coaching me like he usually does, guiding me. He knows I’m already there–I’m at the end. There’s nowhere else for me to go, not anymore. Everything is fading away now, but different than before. Where before, it felt like the world was…tightening, I don’t think anything can get more twisted. Instead, everything seems to be loosening up and unwinding, pulling away from me instead of dragging me deeper. I’m not…me anymore. Everything is just dissolving away, until–
“Goddamn it Sammy, git the fuck up already! Chuck’s outside ready tah take ya tah work.”
I jolt awake in my bed, the vision still fresh in my head for a moment, me pinned to that mattress by the weight of my own body, covered in shit–but it’s fading away, thank fucking god. I look around and see my familiar room around me. I live with my dad in a trailer outside of town. We’re poor as shit, and he’s finally making me drop out of school so I can get a proper job and bring in some cash. Still, I don’t wanna fuckin’ work! All I wanna do is lay around, stuff my face and jack off, but he’s told me that if I don’t do what he says, he’s gonna kick me out, so I guess I don’t have much of a choice.
The heady scent of piss is hanging in the air, and my sheets are wet, so that means I pissed myself last night too. Fuck–seventeen years old, and still wetting the bed like a fucking kid. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t fucking like it so much–think I’ll work out a quick load real quick, and then throw on some clothes or whatever. I’m getting close when my dad opens my bedroom door and finds me jacking off there, but I don’t stop–my dad…he’s fuckin’ sexy as hell, with all those biker tatts, and I know he wants to fuck me, but he’s too fucking chicken. His face goes red and he slams the door shut again and waits for me to finish, and thinking about my burly pa balls deep in my loose hole–fuck, I explode all over myself. I enjoy it for a few moments, rubbing the cum all over my hairy gut, and then finally roll out of bed and start picking some clothes out of the piles littering the floor, and decide to just pull on a wife beater and some muddy overalls–fuck it, right? Dad said Chuck worked in construction, so I’m just going to get dirty anyway. Dad gave me some of his old work boots, so I haul those on with some socks, and I’m ready. Hungry though, like always–maybe Chuck can stop for some fast food on the way or something.
Dad can’t even look at me, but whatever–he’s just gonna jack off as soon as I’m out of the house. I’ve watched him before, through the window, when he’d thought I’d already left. Outside, there’s a rusted out truck…and I fucking swear I’ve seen it before, somewhere. That dream is nagging me again, but I can’t really remember much at this point. The guy’s been honking the horn a few times now, so I head out of the trailer and climb into the truck next to him. I don’t…think I’ve ever met Chuck before this, but he seems familiar, just like his truck–and the guy is sexy as all hell, and the way he’s looking at me…he just might have the balls my fucking dad doesn’t.
“Took ya long enough, boy,” Chuck says to me–the way he says the word “boy” making my cock immediately stiff. Some black, tarry spit is rolling down his bottom lip and into his beard, and somehow, I…I know just how it would taste, if I leaned over there and licked it off him. I’m feeling kind of freaked out, actually, but I do my best not to show it. “Let’s git goin’,” he says, and puts the truck in gear.
“Could…we stop and get some food on the way?” I ask, “I didn’t eat yet.”
Chuck grumbles a bit. “Fine, can’t have ya workin’ on an empty gut I suppose. Ya got cash?”
I shake my head.
He leers at me, and adjusts his crotch. “No worries boy–from what your Pa’s told me, you might not mind payin’ me back some other way, right?”
Half an hour later, we pull up to the worksite, my gut full of a bunch of fast food and a big load of Chuck’s cum…and I swear, I feel like I’ve stepped right into some strange trap I didn’t even know was there. Like before this morning, I had…so many possibilities, so many ways life could go, but now, I’ve been put on rails, slowly rolling towards some foregone conclusion. I don’t know where I’m going…but I keep…seeing that dream, feeling myself back there on that bed, some filthy, disgusting old fat man–but that’s not me. I ain’t never gonna let myself be that. I mean, I may be a cock obsessed, chubby roughneck, but I gotta have some dignity, right? The foreman, Gary (I swear I smell shit on that fuck’s breath) has Chuck train me, and all day long, I keep seeing him…looking at me. Looking through me, even, like he can see something I don’t. But I have my whole life ahead of me still, and he’s some middle aged slob–a hot one, sure, but I can still make something of myself. My name’s Sammy, and I got a whole life tah live ahead of me, and I can’t wait.
Bracken's Corner 