His dad left the stall and looked at his new figure and clothes in the grungy mirror, and true to his son’s words…it didn’t bother him at all. He knew it should, and he felt humiliated, but his small cock was rock hard in his jeans at the sight of the big bellied trucker he’d become in less than a minute.
“Something is still missing, I think–ah, of course! An old fuck like you, I bet you’d be smoking something like this,” Todd said, and again, his glove whipped out a small curved pipe, which he slipped into the pocket of his vest, “That’s for later–for now, why don’t we go have some real fun?” Todd said, with one hand on his father’s shoulder, he leaned in and started whispering into his dad’s ear, a grin twisting on his face as he did. All Edwin could do was listen, his jaw dropping in horror at what his son was telling him to do–at what his son was going to make him do–but by the time Todd was finished speaking…he wanted to do it too, and he groped his puny dicklet a couple of times, hiked the ass of his grimy jeans up, turned around and left the bathroom.
He surveyed the bar for a moment–it was much busier than it had been when he and his son had arrived, so many more…options. For a moment he looked at a table of rough construction workers enjoying some beers after work, but his eyes drew him to what he knew he wanted–what his son knew he wanted too. The thicket of bikers who had come in an hour ago, now quite drunk and clustered around the pool table after a long day’s ride. They were no group of hobbyists either–and looking at the grizzled fuckers over there, Edwin knew what he wanted–what he needed, and walked over to them.
Todd just watched as his father waded into the gang, and begged biker after biker to drag him into the bathroom and fuck his dirty trucker hole, loud enough so the whole bar could hear what was going on. The bikers didn’t know what to think about it, for a moment, and just ignored him, but Edwin didn’t like that, so he pushed things further, and started groping them, egging them on. That, it turned out, was a bad idea. Two bikers grabbed him under the arms and hauled him out the front door, the rest of the clientele giving them plenty of room as the rest of the gang followed them out, ready to give the faggot a proper beating in the parking lot. After they left, the bar picked up where things left off, and Todd slipped out, taking a spot on the porch of the bar, where he could see the ring of bikers form around his father, see him fall to his knees and beg for their cocks again, helplessly, terrified out of his mind, and then the first punch connected with his face.
The punch–the gloves shivered, and unable to stop himself, they took control of Todd’s hands, forcing open the front of his pants, one glove stroking his cock roughly, the other tugging at his balls, pulling them away from his body hard enough that he could almost hear the skin stretching. He deserved this, he thought, watching the bikers beat his father, his now faggot father, and still he was begging for a fuck–but he couldn’t stop. Todd knew he could do nothing–if he did nothing, the bikers would probably kill him, but that was better than his father deserved, it wasn’t…enough. The hand on his sack pulled away, took the cigar from his mouth, and whistled, loud and piercing, and every biker froze in place, turning to the stranger on the porch of the bar.
“Gentlemen,” Todd said, stepping down, feeling…taller. More imposing. Even a bit…older. His cock was still out, and he was still stroking it with his free hand, but none of the bikers seemed to mind this. “No, not gentlemen, nothing gentle about you lot, right?”
The bikers all laughed. It sounded forced, compelled from their lips.
“This has been a good show, I must say, but don’t you think it would be better for everyone if you simply gave the faggot what it wants? After all, what’s a gay biker gang without a sex slave pig to haul around with you, right?”
The bikers felt a wave pass through them. It left them feeling uneasy, and unsure of themselves–Todd could tell it wasn’t quite enough. He made eye contact with his father, eyes swollen, bloody mouth, a tooth lost on the ground beside him, and Edwin knew what he needed to do, what he had to say. “Please, I’m just a stupid faggot trucker. I’m worthless, with a tiny fuckin’ dick. I was made…to serve you, please let me be your biker bitch.”
“Come on guys, if one of you rough fucks hasn’t got a hardon, hearing that, then kill the pig.”
As it turned out, none of them were soft. With a few whoops, they headed for their bikes parked along the front of the bar, a couple dragging Edwin over and tossing him into a bitch seat. He glanced over at his son, eyes wide with terror, but Todd just sneered at him. “Don’t worry dad, you’ll be back home in a few days, probably.”
Edwin tried to shout something, but it was lost over the sound of the roaring engines. The gang took off, leaving Todd in the dust and smoke of his cigar, and with one more rough tug, his cock exploded all over the ground in front of him, his body shuddering. He fell to his knees, out of breath, mind heady with the rush of power he’d just wielded, to bend the wills of so many men, all at once–he’d known it would be possible, but the act of doing it was something else entirely. It was a minute before he could stand again, and when he did, he looked different. Taller by a few inches, shoulders wider, chest inflated with some muscle, a bit of grey in his beard. He went back to his father’s car and climbed in–he needed some sleep, and then, in the morning, he’d pay his brother a long overdue visit.
Bracken's Corner 