Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 6)

As it turned out, I needed him pretty much every morning before I left for work, and every night after I got home. Usually we would fuck in the alley–I liked smelling the trash around us, melding with our own musk as he served me, but on occasion, when I was particularly horny, I would have him come up to my apartment with me, where he’d have the privilege of sharing my bed, provided I could fuck him all night long. He never seemed to mind, of course.

I…I knew my life was unravelling, and yet, at the same time, everything seemed to be going so…so well. I was just so happy, all the time. Enjoying myself. Even as everything around me slipped–my hygiene in particular–no one at work seemed to notice, or if they did notice, no one wanted to say anything…I couldn’t really tell which it was. I mean, I looked…fucking awful. I hadn’t done laundry in weeks, I was wearing the same two or three suits for days in a row and I fucking loved it. I loved how they smelled on me. I’d stopped shaving and cutting my hair, I was still wearing my massive boots everywhere around the office. I did almost no work on any given day, and spent most of it just masturbating, usually openly in my cubicle. My co-workers would come by, though they were obviously trying to avoid me, and I was even caught a couple of times. The look in their eyes at the sight of me stroking off into these filthy briefs–I could see their disgust, but with quite a few of them, I could see a…hunger too.

I could smell it even, I could smell…so much, suddenly. I could smell things that ought to be impossible. I could smell weakness. I could smell what my co-workers would moan like, with their mouth around one of my filthy socks. I…I could sense, somehow, that I was meant to dominate them, they were meant to serve me. I found myself feeling particularly resentful towards Adam, my manager. He smelled so weak, so lowly, and yet he was supposed to have control and power over me? I knew guys were going to him, telling him what they were seeing, complaining about me, but he was refusing to do anything about it. He was afraid of me–he was afraid, because he wanted me, but he didn’t know how to feel about that. So, I decided I’d better go over to his office and tell him how he should feel about it.

He was resistant, but once I’d gotten my boots off, and thrown my socked feet up on his desk, a couple of feet from his face, he wasn’t able to stop himself from lurching over it and shoving his nose up against them, snorting and huffing my stink, and a few minutes later I had him on his knees between my legs, grinding my nasty underwear into his face, and making sure he properly understood who, exactly, was really in charge around here. From that day on, I made sure Adam came to visit me regularly throughout the day to pay proper tribute…but it wasn’t enough for me, honestly, to only own his ass for eight hours. I kept thinking of my derelict–of Jack, I should say, since I did, finally learn his name. I thought of how…eager he was to be with me, how he’d walked across the city to find me, how he never complained about the cold as he waited for me. But I could see in Adam’s eyes that he was only pushing through me, not toward me. He would get home, to his wife, to his children. He would pretend none of this was happening. He would pretend he didn’t want me as much as he did.

So I brought him home with me that weekend. He tried to object, he tried to tell me that he couldn’t, that if he didn’t go home, his wife would have questions. So, I made him call her. I made him call her and tell her exactly what he had been doing for me at the office. I listened to her disbelief turn into rage. He told her she could have the house, that they could handle the divorce eventually, and then, I took him home and I introduced him to Jack. You should have seen Adam’s face, when I told him to wait for a moment at the door, so I could fetch the old derelict from the alley, all of us riding up together in the elevator, and the stink of us both…Adam could barely contain himself. He thought he’d be servicing me all weekend, but no–no, I had him service Jack. Obey him. Worship him. Warping his mind until the old, grungy fucker was the only man he wanted in the world–aside from me, of course. But I felt he no longer deserved me. That he would have to prove his commitment before he’d be allowed to lick my feet clean again. On Sunday afternoon, while the two of them were occupied, Adam’s face buried in Jack’s asscrack, snorting and grunting like the pig he was going to be, I went down and had a chat with the building manager. Sure enough, he had a few vacant units in the building, and he was more than happy to let Adam sign a new, year long lease for the empty unit on my floor, and the two of them moved in together that evening–and I made sure Jack had very clear instructions for the sort of care and attention he should expect from his pig–and clear instructions for how his pig should be cared for as well.

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