Chuck’s house was a mess, but I hadn’t really expected it to be anything else, to be honest. If anything, it was a bit…cleaner than I would have thought. He pulled me into the den and sat me down on the couch, shoving over some blankets to make room for me, and told me to pull my dick out and make myself comfortable. I did as I was told, tugging on it a bit just to calm my nerves as had become normal for me lately, and he banged around in another room for a moment before returning with a tin of chewing tobacco in his hand.
Now I hadn’t up to this point, actually chewed any tobacco myself–it had been purely second hand spit. If anything, Chuck had been adamant that I not chew, going so far as to bark orders across the worksite, when one guy had offered me some leaf, telling him that I wasn’t allowed, not yet. However, this tin wasn’t sealed, and he laid a piece of masking tape across the label on the top, and wrote “Spitty” across it with a sharpie, showing me it after. “This is your tin, Spitty. Everybody gets one tin of my special shit, you see. Still, no one ever gets more than one tin–and I don’t usually finish people off often anyway. You probably ain’t gonna get much more than this–but you to learn a lesson, and I’m gonna teach it to ya the hard way.”
He took off the lid, and I could…smell the shit from where I was sitting on the couch. It was as strong as some of the higher quality weed I’d smoked in college, but…smelled different altogether. It smelled like Chuck’s breath, actually–is this what he’d been chewing and feeding me all this time? It wasn’t of course–not even Chuck could handle that much of his special stuff, but I wasn’t too far off the mark, even then. He started picking out some of the leaf, probably a sixth of the tin, told me to open up and then shoved it down between my teeth and gums, and told me to hold it there like a good boy.
My gums started tingling and went numb after a second, and then not too long after that, I felt a fuzziness envelop my head, and I slumped back into the couch, drooling a bit helplessly, staring off into space. Chuck entered my frame of vision, fucking around with the TV, and a moment later porn started playing on the screen–then he came back over and sat down on the couch next to me, and started talking into my ear–quietly, but nice and slow making sure I heard every word he was telling me.
He was telling me about my life–well, not the life I’d had, but about…a different life. About Spitty’s life. Spitty never went out for sports. Spitty never even went to school much at all–he’s just a high school dropout. Spitty never had time for much beyond watching porn and jacking off. See, Spitty’s cock has a problem–it almost never goes soft. And Spitty’s usually so fucking horny that he can’t think about much else beyond jacking his cock off. It was worst when he was a teenager, but it’s…eased off a bit in the last couple of years, now that he’s in his thirties. He can hold down a job, mostly. Nothing too difficult, and most of the guys at the site have gotten used to seeing Spitty groping his cock all day long, occasionally blowing yet another load into the front of his cum sodden jeans, but it’s what Spitty has to do to function, right?
Of course, at home, all Spitty does is watch porn and jack his cock. He loves coating himself in his own cum, loves to reek of it, loves to reek of anyone’s cum, really. He’ll beg other guys to jack off onto him, use him like a fucking cumrag–and he loves being a fucking spitoon too, of course. All of Spitty’s clothes are unwashed, covered in dark stains and stiff with cum, but he wouldn’t want them to be any other way. Yeah, Spitty’s a real fucking pervert, but Spitty wouldn’t want any other life than this one, would he?
I was agreeing with everything Chuck told me of course, like the good boy I was. I…lost count of how many times I shot my load all over myself, swallowing down the spit from Chuck’s special leaf, swallowing down his spit too, of course, and when he thinks I’m ready, he puts his hand over my mouth, and tells me to swallow it all down–the spit, the leaf, everything…and I do. I choke it down, and immediately I feel sick to my stomach, like I’m going to throw up, but no matter how hard I heave, nothing comes up. The world’s just spinning around me faster and faster, and I try to hold onto Chuck, or the couch, or anything I can, but pretty soon it doesn’t feel like there’s anything at all, and when I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle it anymore, I wake up–expect I’m not in Chuck’s house, I’m back in my bedroom…except it’s not my old bedroom, it’s Spitty’s bedroom now.
Everything reeks of cum, and it’s so fucking nasty I start humping my mattress a few times until I spray a load into the stiff sheets I sleep on with a loud groan–then I roll over and start milking out load number two right away. My cock’s the same size it was before, but my fucking balls must have doubled in size, and while my arms are still muscular, my gut and chest are flabbier than before, and my legs look so much smaller. Then again, I never played sports, not in this lifetime. Nope–all I did was jack off day and night like a fucking pervert. I still live with my parents, even after dropping out, and they both fucking hate my guts…but I don’t really care. All I care about is jacking off again, and again…and something else…right? My mouth feels a bit fuzzy, and without really thinking, I reach over and grab a tin of chaw, pop it open, and stuff a wad in my lip, feeling better almost immediately. It tastes…normal, at least, but nothing else is right, even though that old life just feels like a dream now. I’m Spitty now–I can’t even remember my old name anymore, and when Chuck shows up to give me a ride to work, I get in and suck down his spit, and milk out another load of cum from my cock, like nothing is wrong at all.
Bracken's Corner 