His time as an initiate lasted eight weeks, and while Tanner hated every moment of it, whenever he looked back later–as best he could look back on anything, really–he realized he’d taken his time with Jackson for granted. At the time it had seemed like his ‘counselor’, as Jackson had forced Tanner to address him, was mostly interested in punishing and humiliating Tanner at every possible opportunity. Indeed, for the first week in particular, Tanner lost count of how many different people Jackson offered him to as a cumdump. Guards, friends of Jackson’s, other initiates–seemingly anyone could use any of his holes, whenever Jackson felt like it. On occasion, Jackson would turn him into a ragdoll like his first day, but generally, he would simply give the order. Tanner tried to resist the first few times, but the band had multiple ways of ensuring his compliance: electric shocks, drugs which made him immediately nauseous, and other drugs that flooded him with pleasure as soon as he obeyed. At some point, he decided that it was just…easier to go with it. He didn’t have to like it, and as soon as he could contact anyone on the outside, he’d make sure this place was shut down immediately and permanently.
It was a week before he realized something else–he was changing, somehow. It was gradual enough that from day to day he didn’t quite notice anything in particular. Sometimes it was physical–soreness in his muscles, or some extra hair on his chest–but also odd mental shifts like mood swings, a general irritability (which wasn’t surprising given his situation) and a raging horniness that never seemed to ebb away no matter how many times he came. Jackson enjoyed that part, it seemed, and often, when they weren’t doing much, he would make Tanner masturbate for fun, either alone or in front of other people. Still, enough little things added up over time that led him to realize something bigger had to be at work.
He confronted Jackson about it, and his counselor told him that he had, in consultation with Tanner’s doctors, selected his initial hormone regimen for him, and that he’d best get used to it; all of the men at Halverson took various hormone supplements, even him. One of the main goals of the initiate program, in fact, was to give newcomers a chance to adjust to this, grow a bit, so they’d have a better time managing as a provisional candidate. Tanner wanted to know what sorts of hormones he was being given and he raised a stink about consent–which got a laugh out of Jackson–but his counselor wouldn’t tell him much more beyond that. Now that he was aware of the changes, however, he became a bit paranoid, looking for signs of what Jackson had been talking about. In particular was his use of the word grow that worried him. Tanner was tall and strong, but as a swimmer he’d become hyper focused on maintaining a sleek, trim form, and as the days passed, it became more and more obvious that he was beginning to lose that shape he’d come to treasure above most everything else.
It was in the third week, when he was in the thick of his initial hormone treatments, that the anger broke through the wall he’d tried to build around it. They were in the room, and Jackson was smoking a cigar, like he always was, really. He was reading some manual or other, while Tanner cleaned up the room for him. He hated smokers. He always had–it had always been an indicator of moral weakness that someone would allow themselves to be addicted to something so harmful. The room had almost no ventilation, aside from the door, which Jackson wanted closed, trapping all of the smoke in with them…and whether it was the hormones that made him explode, or just his general misery, he screamed and shouted at Jackson, furious at his smoking, at his treatment here, and the anger overwhelmed him. He lunged, and collapsed to the ground like a brick, as Jackson sent a tranq through his system in a heartbeat, and fucked him for good measure.
The next day, he was more irritable than usual. By the afternoon, he realized he was craving…something, but he had no clue what. They were back in the room when Jackson offered him a cigar, and he refused–only the craving doubled in strength. His head ached, his muscles too–he was miserable. Jackson again offered a cigar, that smirk on his face…Tanner realized what he’d done, and he still refused–so Jackson started feeding him smoke, mouth to mouth, until Tanner finally broke down and accepted the fact that his counselor had just made him hopelessly addicted to nicotine in less than a day. Later, fucking him while Tanner smoked his second cigar Jackson told him, “Be careful who you piss off here–there are worse things I could do to you then make you into a damn sexy cigar smoker.”
After six weeks, Tanner barely recognized himself in the mirror. He’d gained close to 75 pounds in a little over a month, bringing his weight up to 260 pounds. He hadn’t gained much height, leaving him with a physique closer to that of a husky football player than a swimmer, with not only a large amount of muscle, but also fat, giving him a definite gut. Adding insult to injury, Jackson had made sure to fill in his previously hairless body–now, if ever wanted to swim again, he would have to shave his entire body every single day, from neck to shin. Running his hands over his body, it didn’t feel like his. There were small changes too–he reeked for one thing. Whether it was Jackson’s request, or simply a general side effect of this new body, his B.O. was out of control now, and Jackson refused to give him deodorant, or let him shower more than every few days. In fact, the guy seemed to enjoy it, eating out Tanner’s pits and crack before fucking him. Other changes were more welcome–like his cock and balls. He was nowhere near the size of Jackson, but his modest four inch cock had beefed up to a generous six, and his balls were more than twice the size, and he’d become a rather copious leaker.
Life had gotten easier, as well, as he’d adjusted to life in the facility. On days when he’d done exceptionally well, Jackson had begun letting Tanner fuck him, or someone else–including a few initiates, which he found he rather enjoyed. Jackson actually seemed to rather enjoy getting fucked, though he let Tanner know he was hardly the best fuck he’d gotten in the facility. Still, if even an amateur performance could get Jackson to growl like that–Tanner wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what he’d do during good sex. He hadn’t thought of women in days, he realized. At some point, he’d simply…gone gay. He found himself checking out men around the mess hall and in the hallway, thinking about their cocks, fantasizing about them, his dreams full of men and generally wet. And then, just as he was beginning to realize how good he had it, Jackson told him he’d been approved for transfer to the provisional block, where he’d likely be spending the next year of his life, at least.
Bracken's Corner 