There…was nothing wrong with being a bit soft, Jack supposed.
After all, football season was over, and while he’d been fattening up somewhat over the last few months, ever since he’d moved into this new place, where his kind landlord, Mr. Robbins, insisted on having Jack eat every meal with him. The meals were huge, and while he’d tried to object at first, at this point, he couldn’t. He’d just sit down and eat everything his landlord put in front of him, and the smiling happiness on the old man’s face would make Jack happy too, and he’d feel better about being…softer.
But other things were softening too, it seemed like. Like his mind was getting softer, flabbier, and slower–just as his body was now too. He’d been finding it really difficult to work on his school work, and often would just sit on the couch, keeping Mr. Robbins company while his landlord smoked one of his pipes, musing idly, talking about nothing in particular, or at least nothing that Jack could seem to remember.
But there was nothing wrong with being soft, he told himself. If anything, he liked being soft–both soft in the body, and soft in the mind. Mr. Robbins would take care of him, of course–Mr. Robbins was such a good man, so handsome, so…so sexy, even. Maybe…maybe one day, Jack would be as sexy as him, with his big belly, and big beard, and that sweet pipe smoke of his–but while Mr Robbins might look soft at first, his mind was…sharp. Much sharper than Jack’s could ever be.
Still, there was nothing wrong with that, with being all soft inside and out. It was good showing off his softness–just wearing his underwear in the house, enjoying how much Mr. Robbin’s liked looking at his growing boy, feeling how horny he’d get when Mr. Robbin’s would shake and pat his belly, thinking about how he couldn’t jack off anymore without thinking about the old man in the house with him, how…how badly he wanted his landlord to fuck him, how he wanted to worship him.
Maybe…tonight. Yeah, tonight, when he had his smoke. He would ask him. Ask Mr. Robbin’s if he could touch his soft gut, see if he could suck his cock–soft was good after all, but a hard cock…he had a feeling that nothing would be better than a hard cock, surrounded by soft. His soft mouth, his soft ass, so…soft. He begged him for it, and Mr. Robbin’s obliged–and he was right. He felt like a marshmallow, Mr. Robbin’s big cock the tine sliding into him without any resistance, his insides so sticky and sensual, just like the cum that exploded from Jack’s cock in the middle of his virgin fuck, the smoke swirling around him while Mr. Robbin’s just smiled, kneading the boy’s soft ass, knowing that soon he wouldn’t even go back to school, wouldn’t even leave the house. Jack would be too soft to stand, too soft to get out of bed, too soft to think, too soft to talk, too soft to do anything other than eat, and roll over so Master and his friend’s could fuck him, skewer him–and one would purchase him, eventually. Men loves Mr. Robbin’s soft boy’s after all–no one could make them like he could.