“You see, our company believes that a next generation workplace requires next generation HR strategies for dealing with harassment and discrimination–”

George threw the pamphlet in the trash–he didn’t give a flying fuck about this shit, but after someone had snitched on him for calling Joey a “pansy faggot,” he’d been told he’d have to attend a disciplinary session with this new HR guru or consultant or whatever they’d hired. Still, George had been through shit like this before–all he had to do was play nice at the meeting, apologize, listen to some bullshit about equality and fairness, mind his tongue for a few months, and everything would be alright.

The door opened, and a younger man stepped out of the room, “George? Welcome! Come on in, I’m glad you could join us today. I’m Dr. Vitters, and I’ll be mediating your counseling session today with Joey.”

George went in and sat down with the other two men, and everything was going how he’d expected. “How did that make you feel Joey?…George, is there anything you’d like to say to Joey today?” The usual shit, until about halfway through, when the doctor gave a long sigh, and picked a file up off his desk. “George, I appreciate you going through the motions, but I’m afraid I just don’t believe a word you’re saying today.”

That caught his attention. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, looking at your record here, I have my doubts that you’re actually earnest in your feelings about what happened. So I’d like to apply one of my specialty techniques in this case. George, please stand up, drop your pants and underwear, and bend over my desk here.”

“Excuse me? No fucking way, you fucking sicko!” George said, but his body was already obeying the doctor’s commands, and he was helpless to stop it–Joey just staring at what was happening, his jaw on the floor.

“Now Joey, please fuck George. Roughly, if you would. And George, even though you hate what’s happening, I want you to enjoy it–and when Joey cums inside you, you will cum as well.”

They fucked, the doctor observing and giving them notes, and when they’d both cum, they were allowed to sit back down. “Excellent. You’ll speak to no one about what happened in your session today, but I think we’ll need a few more of these to really break George of his habits. How about, three times a week, for the next six months? I’ll go ahead and schedule you–have a good day you two, and see you Wednesday!”

Source: openshirtlover

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 6)

Eric did go to the library for a few hours, where he holed up in an isolated corner away from anyone else, and tried to focus on his school work, but nothing could get past his growing terror. Something was seriously wrong with him. He was bigger. He already stank like he hadn’t showered in days, and he’d just been sitting there in the cold room. He had a beard he couldn’t shave. His dirty laundry had just fucked up his roommate in some way he couldn’t even begin to explain. He’d spent all weekend fucking with some stranger. He’d raped one of his teammates. Trying to stack everything up together, everything felt too big. He tried searching online for anything he could find about what might have happened, but everything either led him to filthy porn videos he was too terrified to watch, strange online stories which read more like fantasies ripped out of twisted minds, and freakish conspiracy theories about aliens, government agents, and genetic experimentation.

He leaned back in the chair, feeling it creak, his gut growling. He’d been hungry for ages, but he didn’t want to give in. He could…remember eating with Greg, in that room, how he’d always lost control of himself each time, stuffing himself, Greg stuffing him, rubbing his gut, that time he’d…greased his cock up with butter and fucked him. He shuddered, and realized too late the memory had not only gotten him hard, but he’d just shot a huge wad right into his tight pants, the wet spot obvious and spreading across the denim. It dried in less than a minute, and the jeans he had on looked a lot less clean than they had been moments before–the same with his shirt, which looked like it was stained with who-knew-what and was suddenly crispy to the touch. The hunger was intensifying, becoming physically painful, but he didn’t dare go to the mess hall, not like this, not around all of those other people, but he didn’t know where to go instead.

He should go back to see Greg. He needed to know what was happening to him, he needed to know just how much of what he’d just read on the internet about this was true. He needed…to smell him, see him, taste him again. He pushed the desire away, and holed up in the corner of the library for a few more hours, trying not to think about what was happening to him. Once it had gotten a bit later, past the dinner hour, he ventured out right before the dining hall closed, piling a tray high with what remained, and trying to keep his distance from everyone, found a booth in the corner and stuffed himself, helplessly masturbating under the table, filling his jeans with four or five more loads of sticky cum before he finally finished his meal. He sat there, disgusted with himself, pleased with that disgust, a part of him embracing it, finding it sexy to be so reprehensible and filthy and fat. How was he going to live like this? Fuck, he needed a fucking drink.

There was a liquor store a few blocks away–he bought a fifth of whisky, and on impulse, a few cigars and a lighter. He’d never smoked cigars before, but they…they were calling to him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He walked back to campus, but couldn’t go back to his dorm, and he couldn’t go back to the library, so he went back behind a maintenance building, lit a cigar and started slugging back booze, feeling a calm, dullness settle in over his mind. With the dullness there was nothing to hold back the horniness, and he started idly masturbating for lack of anything else to do, thinking back on his time with Greg, thinking about Tom in the hallway, how he’d smelled, how they’d all smelled together. He could…almost smell him now, in fact.

“D-Daddy? Oh fuck, daddy!”

Eric looked over and saw a young man coming towards him. It…couldn’t be Tom. He didn’t really look anything like Tom, but it had to be him, because Eric could smell him–more strongly than earlier that day, even. It was a powerful sweetness, a musky innocence, young fruit just beginning to rot. Tom had been a wide receiver, all lean muscle, but not any more–now he was half a foot shorter, his body rounded out in all the sexy places: wide hips, soft belly and boytits, and a big round ass that you could just eat for days. What the fuck was he thinking? What the fuck was he doing? He threw the bottle to the side and snuffed out the cigar, trying to clear his head as Tom approached. “Boy, you need to get the fuck away from me, I don’t…think I can control myself…”

“But Daddy Greg said I needed to apologize, for how I spoke to you earlier. I didn’t mean to be so mean daddy, but I…I wasn’t feeling like myself. Daddy Greg, he spent all day with me, really teaching me what a boy I am, and I see now! I get it daddy, I get it. I thought I was the important one, but Daddy Greg was just using me before–but now, everyone gets to use me, because that’s what I fucking want. That’s what I was fucking meant for.”

He came close, pressing his soft frame to Eric, who moaned and muttered, cock rock hard as the boy started stroking it, the scent of his filth and the boy’s sugar mixing, making him think of…of all the disgusting shit he could do to this little fuck, and how he’d love it, because that’s what boys did. They loved everything their daddy’s did to them, and everything was new to them, every time. But not…here. Not right here, in the open. Well, maybe…No! No, just…just a quick fuck, back in his dorm, and then the boy was gonna be out on his ass. “One apology fuck, and that’s it boy.”

They both knew he was lying, but they believed it for the moment, as Eric grabbed the boy’s hand and the booze with the other, before dragged him back towards his dorm, so the boy could properly apologize.

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 5)

Eric went back to his dorm room. Thankfully, when he got there, he found that his roommate was gone–he stripped out of the filthy clothes he was wearing, grabbed a towel, and marched straight to the bathroom down the hall, where he spend close to an hour in the shower, scrubbing himself down over and over, trying to wash away the memories of what he’d done over the last weekend, trying to wash away the regret and frustration as he cleaned himself, part of him just wanting to go back, to see what Greg was talking about, to…be the person Greg saw in him. But he couldn’t do that. He had responsibilities, he had things he wanted to do with his life. He wasn’t about to let himself get derailed by some fucked up stranger couch surfing with that boy.

He stopped, and corrected himself. With Tom. The boy’s name was Tom–no, he wasn’t even a boy! Why the hell did that word keep welling up every time he thought of him, every time he…thought about how good it felt, having his cock buried up his hole in that hallway?

His cock was hard and leaking, he was stroking it under the water without even meaning to. He forced his hand away, and turned the water cold, forcing himself to go soft again, and then stepped back out of the shower, grabbed his towel, and started drying himself off–and for the first time since arriving at that boy’s place (Tom’s place, it was Tom’s place!) he got a good look at himself in the mirror, staring at himself as he dried off, trying to figure out what seemed off to him.

The stubble was one thing for sure. Hell, it was a beard really. He’d always had a good amount of hair, but he’d never seen his stubble grow in that quickly. He found his shaving kit in his shower bag and shaved himself smooth again, rubbing his smooth cheeks and feeling immediately…sad. He had kind of liked it. Sure, it looked unprofessional, but…but beards were more normal these days. Maybe he should grow it out, and at least see what it looks like. It turned out, he didn’t have to wait long at all. Just standing there in front of the mirror, his smooth cheeks turned scratchy, and in less than a minute, the beard was back like he’d never shaved it at all. Unable to believe what he’d just witnessed, he shave again, and once more watched his face fill in with hair all over again. It was then that he noticed the rest of his body was no longer clean either, although perhaps not as dirty as he’d been before his shower–but he could…smell himself all the same, and it was difficult for him to resist taking a long sniff and just jacking off right there.

But the rest of him was different too–hairier for one thing, but he also looked taller and thicker than he remembered–his thighs a bit more blubbery and soft, his gut hanging a bit lower, his balls pendulous and swinging free below his thick…ten or eleven inch cock, which had a massive amount of skin hanging over the head–but he’d always been cut, hadn’t he? He explored it with a finger, finding the cheese thick inside, coating his finger and sucking it off before he could stop himself, before he could deny himself his own filth anymore, and then the door swung open, one of the guys on his floor coming in wearing just a towel, and Eric quickly wrapped himself back up in his own towel. What the fuck was he doing? He felt more than just out-of-sorts after his weekend with Greg, he felt somehow…corrupted.

He kept a good distance between him and the new guy, and left the bath, heading back towards his room, letting himself in and found his roommate–Paul–on the floor of their room on his hands and knees, face shoved into the pouch of Eric’s filthy jockstrap, snorting and huffing the fumes with long, loud snorts while he masturbated.

“Paul! What the fuck are you doing!” he shouted, and his roommate looked up at him, glassy eyed. Eric stormed over and shoved him away from his filthy clothes, bundled them up and left the room with them, heading downstairs to the dumpster outside the building and threw them in, before returning to the room, where Paul was panting and sweating on the floor, obviously shaken and disturbed by what had just happened. He was a slim twig of a young man, somewhat underdeveloped, and socially awkward. He’d been nervous when he’d discovered he was paired up with a football jock, but his awkward silence had paired well with Eric’s bashful reluctance, and the two had coexisted rather well until this moment, but neither of them could find any words they might use to talk about what had just happened.

“I…uh…gotta go study at the library for a bit,” Eric said, dug around for some clothes, but again, everything felt a size or two too small for his frame. He really was taller, and thicker, wasn’t he? It didn’t matter–Paul was staring at him with that same zoned out work, and he snorted again, and he needed to get out of here and away from him before he started listening to the voices roiling in his head, and did something he’d most certainly regret.

He grabbed his computer and his notebooks, ignoring the way Paul’s eyes followed him around the room, and left as quick as he could, heading across the campus to the library. Paul, meanwhile, felt his head start to clear a bit once Eric had left the room, but at the same time…there was something he needed. Something he could…still smell. He left the room, following his nose down and outside to the dumpster, hoisted himself in, and spent a couple minutes inside finishing what he’d started, snorting and jacking off to Eric’s stench, before climbing back out, the bundle under his arm, as he retreated back to their room to…indulge himself a bit more.

Cruising (2 of 2)

“It’s been three fucking days!” Lucas shouted at the man behind the desk, “How in the fuck can someone just disappear on a goddamn boat. And you fuckers aren’t even doing anything about it!”

“I can assure you that no one has left the ship, sir,” the man replied calmly with cheery smile. “Please try and enjoy yourself.”

“He was with one of your own fucking waiters! Can’t you at least question him?”

“Do you remember who?”

“No! None of you fuckers have fucking nametags, and you all look like you were made in some fucking machine!”

The staff member’s eyes hardened a bit. “Sir, would you follow me please? Let’s talk to the captain, and see what we can find out about your husband.”

Happy he was finally getting some results, Lucas followed the man back behind the desk. Hopefully this captain would be able to answer some of his fucking questions.

“Alright number 3498, we have a task for you.”

The hulking sailor bounded up to the desk, package bouncing in his thong, always eager to serve. Two days earlier, Mark had been dragged down to the bowels of the ship, and a day later, Mark didn’t exist anymore. Now he was just number 3498, and he was always eager to serve. “What can I do for the ship?” he asked.

“An unsatisfied customer, who was incompatible with staff programming, has been corrected with program CO9. He needs a staff member to guide him through his adjustment phase into his new, satisfied, form. You’ll be applying program AF7.”

Alpha Fuck variation seven–with an emphasis on humiliation. “What room?”

“E class, room 135.”

Number 3498 paused a moment, trying…trying to remember…

“Is there a problem, 3498?”

A jolt from his hat, and there was no problem at all. The muscular hulk bounded off to the troublesome customer’s room, and let himself in, where Lucas was just beginning to stir. He no longer looked quite like himself–the correction process had aged him up about 20 years, and packed close to 200 pounds on him, his body coated with silvery white hair.

“Fuck, look at you, you disgusting piece of shit,” number 3498 said, running program AF7. He climbed up on the bed, where Lucas was lying face down, his brain trying to process what had happened to it, but no longer capable of keeping up–and after a day of number 3498’s fucking and abuse, Lucas was a brand new man–a old superchub desperate to be fucked by muscle men, especially if they ridiculed him at the same time. He was a cruise line regular now, and he’d be sailing with them three times a year for the rest of his life.

Source: bdjjk

Cruising (1 of 2)

“I gotta say, this cruise has been fucking amazing–thank’s again for the birthday present,” Lucas said, leaning over and giving his husband a kiss. They’d gotten married five years ago, and Mark had surprised his younger husband with a two week cruise through the Caribbean on the newest, hottest gay cruise that everyone was chatting about. Clothing was always optional, there were wild parties every night, and both Lucas and Mark had nailed so much tail–and each other–that halfway through, they were feeling a bit spent. Or Lucas was at least–Mark had always been the hornier one, despite being ten years older.

“Can I get either of you gentlemen something to drink?” one of the cruise staff had come sauntering over, carrying a tray. The staff was by far one of the nicest features to look at–every waiter, every bartender, every housekeeper–they were all handsome gym bunnies wearing nothing more than a thong barely containing their huge packages, and a sailor hat on their head.

“Heh, how about a nice drink of you?” Mark said, groping the man’s package.

“Of course sir, if that’s what you’d desire,” the man said with a wink.

“How about you, Lucas?”

“No, you go have your fun–I’m tuckered after that morning orgy–I’m gonna just tan for a bit, you two enjoy yourselves.

After an hour in their room with the waiter, Mark was finally sated, and the man got up, pulling his thong back on. “Anything else I can get for you, sir?”

“Fuck–I don’t know, you have any job openings?” Mark said with a chuckle, “I mean–what a life! Cruising around all day, fucking anyone you want–sounds like a dream job, though I’m probably a bit old for your staff.”

The waiter smiled, “I think you’d make an excellent addition to the crew,” the waiter said, took off his sailor’s cap and dropped it on Mark’s head, watching the older man’s eyes glaze over, his jaw slack. “Come with me sailor, and we’ll start your hiring process.”

Mark tried to fight, but suddenly he couldn’t control his own body. Stiffly, almost robotically, he got up and followed the waiter deep down into the ship to meet his new fate.

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 4)

“Wait, all weekend?” Eric asked, “What day is it?”

“Fucking Sunday afternoon,” Tom said.

“Wait, I was in there for…for two whole fucking days?”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it,,” Greg said, trying to usher Eric back inside, “Let’s keep playing–I bet we can get a few more loads into that jock of yours.”

“No–No, I have to study, I have school tomorrow, I have to go.”

“No, you’re staying.”

“No, he has to go daddy,” Tom said, “I want him out of my house. Fucking get the fuck out!” Tom stepped up, grabbed Eric by the wrist and tried to pull him away, and Eric felt an odd anger grow in him. What was this boy thinking, he could tell him what to do? Tom gave another tug, and Eric didn’t budge–instead, he pulled him back, Tom landing against his chest, Eric’s big arms wrapping around him as he sniffed and licked the side of his neck. “What the–fucking let go of me!”

Eric didn’t quite know what he was doing, or why. All he knew was that this is exactly what he wanted to be doing, even if he hadn’t known that a second ago. Tom was still fighting and squirming–Eric let him go for a moment, he turned around, and then Eric grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him up against the hallway wall, pressing their bodies together. Tom seemed…smaller than he had been before, less intimidating. “Eric…fuck Eric why…do you smell like that, all of a sudden?” Tom asked a bit breathless.

“Like what?” Eric asked, not really caring about the answer, as he hauled up one of Tom’s arms and started eating out the filthy pit there.

“Like Greg, you smell like daddy. I mean, different, but…” Tom lost track of what he was saying, eyes rolling back in his head as Eric’s new musk assaulted him.

Eric didn’t answer–he didn’t even have an answer that might have been satisfying, but what he did have was a need to fuck his teammate’s dirty hole. Tom, too, was wearing his jockstrap from practice and no shorts–Eric spread his legs and reached under him, feeling his greasy hole which had obviously been used quite a bit this weekend. Tom moaned, trying to protest, looking over to Greg hoping he would intervene, but the old man had his own cock out and was jacking off, watching Eric molest him. One of Eric’s fingers slid into him, and then another, and it wasn’t long before Tom’s resistance had disappeared completely, as Eric hefted him up and pinned him to the wall, slipping the pouch of his own disgusting jock to one side, and then lowered him down and impaled Tom on his cock in the hallway, his legs floundering as he groaned and begged Eric to fuck him. He was only too happy to oblige, rutting with him suspended against the wall, hammering into his ass while he cried, cum spewing from Tom’s cock between them, while Eric’s precum dribbled out of Tom’s ass and onto the carpet in a disgusting puddle. Eric came once after a couple of minutes, but kept going, fucking Tom for close to twenty minutes against the wall, both of them panting and shaking from the exertion of the position, Eric finally stepped away, allowing Tom back down onto the floor, when he crumpled down, lying in the puddle which had formed beneath him, his face drawn to the filth, licking it up, unable to stop himself.

“Damn man! That was quite the fuckin’ show!” Greg said, clapping a hand on Eric’s shoulder, which again, felt…higher than it should be, but he smelled Greg’s pit again, and fuck it would be nice to just laze around some more, eating and drinking, sniffing and fucking and–

Eric shook his head, clearing his thoughts away, and stepped back. He’d just fucking raped Tom, hadn’t he? Granted, Tom had enjoyed it–was still enjoying there on the floor, but why had he just done that? “I don’t…know why I just did that.”

“Well, when we git a whiff of a boy, sometimes instinct just takes over. Best tah just roll with it.”

Boy. He looked at Tom, and the word spoke more than it should. More than just a name, more than a title, more than a sexy nickname–it was more like…Greg was talking about a different species. Tom wasn’t like the both of them. Tom was just a “boy”, like Lassie was just a “dog”. It didn’t sit well with him in his gut, whatever it meant. “If…Tom’s a boy, then what am I?”

“I told you man, we’re stinkers–top a the heap. Well, I’m a stinker–yer still comin’ intah yer own, but hang with me a while longer, and we’ll git ya feelin’ like yer real self soon enough.”

Greg approached Eric again, grabbed his cock and started stroking it, licking Eric’s chest, sucking on one of his nipples, Eric trying to keep from falling back into the doldrums where he’d wasted his entire weekend. He had studying to do! Classes! Practices! Tests! Didn’t any of that matter anymore? He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question, but what he did know, was that all of this was way too fucking strange. He needed to get out for a bit, get some fresh air, get away from Greg and Tom and this filthy house. “No, I…I gotta go.”

“No way man, ya ain’t going anywhere–things ‘r just gettin’ excitin’! Look at ya!”

“I can’t…do this.”

Get back in that room and relax–I know how the doubts go, but if you just–”

“No!” Eric screamed, and shoved Greg away, “No, fuck you! You don’t fucking know how I fucking feel right now!”

“Fuck man! Calm down!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down? I just fucking raped that fucking boy there!”

“Ya can’t rape a boy–they all want it, they just don’t always know it.”

Eric couldn’t listen to anymore of this. He went back into the room, dug out his clothes (or at least what he thought were his clothes, but they were a bit small on him) threw them on, and hurried down the stairs. Greg didn’t try to stop him, he just said from the bannister, “You go work your shit out then. And when you figure out you can’t go back–hell, that you don’t want to go back? I’ll fucking be here, waiting for you.”

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 3)

The room where Greg had taken him was obviously where Greg was living at the moment–it was his scent which dominated the entire space, from the bed, to the small bathroom accessible through a sliding door shared with another room beyond, to the piles of filth and clothes littered in every possible space. However, the longer Eric stayed in there, the more clues he picked up that this hadn’t always been Greg’s space–the desk littered with notes and textbooks open and scattered, the occasional piece of clothing which didn’t have Greg’s trademark stench infused through it, but the clues were to disparate, and he was so focused on other, more important things, to really worry that much about it.

Greg was never far away from him. In fact, Greg was rarely not touching him–the two of them spending hours upon hours cleaning each other, becoming familiar with one another, pleasuring one another. Eric had never found himself very interested in sex. He’d never dared confess this to his fellow teammates, but he was still a virgin. He’d only kissed a girl a few times, but something about their lips, and the taste of their spit had always deflated any sort of sexual desire he might have felt. With Greg, he was rapidly discovering why this was. First, he wanted men. He wanted to kiss men, and lay with men, and smell men and fuck men and drink cum and eat their hairy asses and drink their piss. But deeper than that–his sexual desire had always been tied to his own musk and his filth and his scent.

On occasion, memory would overwhelm him–usually some strange, teenage experiment he’d done with himself which he had long since forgotten about and distanced from this person he’d been trying to become. Exploring his ass while he was taking a shit one afternoon, feeling his hole expand as he shat into the water, sliding a finger in and licking it clean while he’d jacked off. One morning in the sweltering summer, he’d had both a wet dream and wet his bed when he was seventeen–and instead of getting out and taking a shower, he’d jacked off again and again in the middle of the night. He’d thrown the sheets out with the trash the next day, before his parents could find any evidence. Each of these memories, it felt like he was connecting with some deep lost self, and the person he’d thought he was–the clean, studious, quiet Eric–was all a fabrication which could no longer hold together now that it had revealed its seams.

The few times Greg had left him alone for a few minutes, usually to go get them food and beer for a break, he’d satisfy himself with some of Greg’s cast off clothing, sucking the dried cum and piss from the fabric, wondering why he was doing any of this. Why he’d spent so much of his life not doing this. Why he’d fought so hard for so long what was clearly something he was made to do–or at least, that’s what Greg kept telling him. That he was finding out who he was again, who he’d been meant to be. Eric didn’t believe it, but something about what Greg was saying rang true anyway.

Eric didn’t know when it was, when he heard the fighting outside the door, but it had been loud enough to make him lose focus on his jock for a bit. He’d…forgotten to take it off after practice, and Greg had become obsessed with it, making Eric jack off into it over and over again, fill it with acrid piss, even wipe his ass with it. The pouch had gone from a dirty white to now a deep, disgusting brown, damp and reeking–he stood up and pulled it on, finding it…comforting, and poked his head out of the room to see what the ruckus was. There was Tom, blocking the hallway, and Greg by the stairs with a couple plates loaded with food and more beer, shouting at each other.

“–spent all fucking weekend cooped up in there with him! What the fucking hell, daddy? I thought I was your favorite? I thought you were going to teach me?”

“I ain’t got time for your damn nonsense boy, now step aside!”

Tom’s feet shuffled a bit, but he replanted them. “No–I want some fucking time with you daddy! I…I need you in me, I need to taste you for a bit, no one else tastes like you do. Please, you can’t…do this to me, and then just…leave me behind.”

Eric thought he sounded weak. Thought he smelled weak. That surprised him a bit, that he had an opinion on how Tom smelled–he slipped out into the hallway and took a couple steps towards him, smelling his teammate, needing to confirm his own instinct. He couldn’t exactly say why he thought so, but…weak was the word. Desperate. Needy. Sweet.

Tom sniffed the air, smelling something…new. He turned around and found himself facing Eric, and he could smell Greg on him…but more than that even. He could smell…him. The odor was pungent and strong and forceful and lovely and sexy and…and Tom…wanted him. Wanted Eric to want him. His head couldn’t quite process what was going on, the combined musk of the two men was making him light headed–he stumbled over against the wall, trying to make his cock not get hard.

“What’s going on?” Eric asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Greg said, walking past Tom, “Some boys can get really fucking demanding–you’ll see.”

“Fuck you,” Tom said with a groan, “You’ve been with him all fucking weekend! All I want is…is just a taste!”

Eric just stared at him a moment, and then looked at Greg. “What do you mean, all weekend?”

Still fighting, eh boy? Look how happy your two friends are, eating out daddy’s nasty pits. Fuck, they’re changing already, losing those nice clothes of theirs–they’ll be a couple of leather slaves here soon enough. One on the left–he’s gonna be a cute little cub, cock hungry, eager to please any man I take a liking to. That’s what he gets, for being first to give in–the privileged position this weekend. I’ll probably hand him off to some abusive fucker when I get bored, but trust me, he’ll enjoy it plenty–the more abusive the better.

Your other friend here? Yeah, let’s put a mask on him–a nice little pup, following me around, desperate to please. Yeah, look at that rubber tail wagging away–who’s a good boy? That’s right, you are, Sparky. If he’s really good this week, I’ll let him be human on the weekdays, and he’ll only go into full pup on the weekends hunting the alleys for a master–but if he’s a bad boy, maybe I’ll make him full dog, and he can be a stray roaming the streets when the weekend’s over–I guess that all depends on your behavior, right boy?

Now, that just leaves you, the final holdout. I told you, whoever gave in first would get the best deal, and whoever was last–well, lucky for you, I have one more place you can stick your face, pig. Oh? Did I hear a grunt from you when I said that? Yeah, you can smell it now, can’t you, you dirty fuck? Look at those knees buckle–that’s it, crawl right around there, and get that face of yours between my cheeks, you fucking hog.

Yeah pig, look how big you’re getting–400, 500 pounds? Play with that fat, feel how much it’s sagging, but you aren’t a boy, are you? No, you’re an old pig. A old, fat, small cocked, disgusting piggy. Reeking of piss, cum in your beard, you filthy fuck. No–you aren’t going anywhere with me, what makes you think I want a pig in my company? No–you stay right here in this alley–trust me, plenty of men will find you, and you’ll be ready to eat and drink whatever they give you, won’t you? I’ll be back at the end of the weekend, and we’ll talk about your future options, if you even remember your old life anymore. Now come on boy, heel Sparky, let’s go have some fun, and leave this old pig to enjoy his new life for a while.

Source: billthompson69

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 2)

Greg laughed at Tom’s joke as he hit the bottom of the stairs, though Eric didn’t get it. He was about to ask what they were talking about, when he caught his first whiff of Greg’s stench, and gagged. He’d thought Tom smelled bad, but this old guy reeked. He wanted to gag, and he wanted to vomit, but it was like the smell had short circuited something in his head, and all he could do was stand there, mouth limp, still breathing in the man’s funk. Who the fuck was he, and why in the hell would someone like Tom want him living anywhere near him?

He tried to back away as the man approached, but like the rest of him, his legs had been mysteriously paralyzed, as the old man got close, his breath rancid, teeth yellow or missing entirely, running his greasy hands over Eric’s body. He wasn’t nearly as fit as Tom was, but a linebacker didn’t need to be fit, he just needed to be big–and Eric fit that bill plenty well. He was six four, and even though he weighed about 325 was still nimble enough for what he needed to do on the field. Greg, however, was getting very personal, very quickly, grabbing Eric’s gut and giving it a jiggle, like he was judging it’s heft, before leaning in close, Eric trying to flinch away as the man pressed his nose to the side of his neck and gave a sniff, and then hauled up his arm, shoving his face into Eric’s still sweaty and ripe pit and smelling that too. “Fuck,” Greg said, “Oh fuck…” he gave another snort, and then started chewing at the fabric of Eric’s shirt a moment, before stepping back. “Oh fuck boy, you don’t know what you fucking found, this is fucking amazing.”

“Fuck daddy, we can work him over together, after I to sniff those pits of yours a bit,” Tom said, went to get close to Greg, but the older man shoved him away into the wall of the hall. “What the fuck, daddy?”

“Fuck off boy, go play with one of those other pigs in the the living room for a bit–I need some alone time with this fucker for a bit.”

“But I thought–”

“Fuck off boy! Daddy’s gonna be busy for a while. You–” he said, pointing at Eric and jabbing him in the chest, “You come with me–upstairs. You need to learn what you are.”

Eric didn’t know what that meant, but he sure as hell didn’t really want to find out. Tom tromped off to the living room, and Greg started upstairs, checked to see if Eric was following him, but he wasn’t. Eric was resisting as hard as he possibly could, keeping his feet anchored to the floor, trying to move back, or at least not give into the nasty fucker’s command. “Damn–pretty strong will on ya.” Greg said, and walked back down to him, “Don’t worry, we’ll get ya straightened out here soon enough. Now come on.”

“No–” Eric said, through gritted teeth, “I want to leave.”

Greg just laughed, but said nothing, just swung Eric around and gave him a shove, making him stumble back until he hit the foot of the stairs and fell back, landing on his ass on a step. “You think you want to go. Fuck, you repressed fucks–I was like you once too, you know. Didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me, didn’t know that there wasn’t anything wrong with me, that this was what I’m supposed to be.”

Before Eric could get back up, the man was on him, one hand around the back of his head, the other arm up so Greg could shove the young man’s face into his pit. The smell was horrific…but being this close to it…reminded him of those times when he was alone, when he’d…press one of his own dirty jocks to his face and jack off. How every time he farted and smelt it he…felt a tingle in his crotch. How just a whiff of his pits on a day without a shower could turn him on. He’d fought all of that, repressed as much as he could, but smelling Greg brought it all back and to the forfront of his mind, and he found himself licking and sucking at the nasty, sweaty pit, his cock hard in his shorts.

“Yeah, that’s it man, just relax. Just let go for a bit, that’s all.”

“Fuck, why…does this…always feel so good.”

“Cause you’re one of us, fucker. You’re a stinker like me.”

Greg sat back, but Eric wanted–needed more. Greg got up and stepped over Eric, who caught a whiff of the man’s filthy crotch and ass as he passed by, and felt his cock spurt a load of cum into his shorts without even touching himself. The layers and layers of control he’d amassed to keep these desires in check were reeling from the assault. What had the man meant by that, that Eric was one of them? Why did he…want to smell him still?

“Come on man, get over yourself, get the fuck over fucking society. Get up here, and let’s have some real fun.”

Eric wanted to say no, knew that he should say no, but that word didn’t carry the usual force, not with a deep, instinctual yes roiling and burning in his guts. He got up, hesitated a moment, and then climbed the stairs after the man, the two of them kissing in the hallway, grinding up against one another, before Greg dragged him into one of the bedrooms–and Eric didn’t emerge again until Sunday morning.

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 1)

This story takes place in the same setting as a previous story, also called “Stinkers”–you can find parts one, two, three and four of that version at the links. This isn’t a sequel, it’s not exactly a retelling, it’s something I tend to call a redux (though that doesn’t have a specific meaning, it’s just the word that feels the most right to me). This is probably more info than you needed, but deal with it!

“How about you, Eric?”

“Huh?” Eric said, looking up from his locker to where a few of his teammates had been chatting a few yards away. He hadn’t really been listening very hard–he’d been thinking about what he needed to do to get ready for a couple of tests coming up next week, as well as an essay he had to finish. This was the time of the semester he hated–in the thick of the football season, and classes were ramping up for midterms. Eric wasn’t kidding himself–he’d never be going pro, but football was a handy was of helping him get an education, especially considering he didn’t come from a very wealthy family, unlike some of the other guys on the team. “What were you talking about? I wasn’t listening.”

“I wanted to know if you wanted to come over to my place tonight, with some of the guys,” Tom said.

“Thanks, but I have a few tests I have to study for.”

Tom groaned, “Ugh, Eric, you’re such a fucking bore!”

The rest of the guys around laughed, and Eric’s turned red in the face.

“Have you got booze?” one guy asked.

“Of course!”

“I’ll be there.”

“No girls, right? It was fucking awesome, last time you had that guy’s night.”

“That’s what I was thinking too!”

“Is Greg still there? Dude’s fucking awesome.”

“Yeah, he’s still crashing with me.”

Eric pulled on his shirt and thought it over again. He could afford one night for some fun at least, and study the rest of the weekend. Tom was always throwing parties on the weekend, and Eric had only taken him up on his offer a couple of times early in the semester, and he always felt a bit left out to be honest. He might care about his studies, but a guy has to have fun too, right? “You know, I think I can come tonight,” he said.

“Hell yeah, that’s the spirit!” Tom said, came over and clapped him on the back, and Eric was taken aback by how strong his musk was. Usually they all stank after practice, of course, but this was another level altogether. “Fuck Tom, did you shower yet?”

“Whatever man, so what if I stink?” Tom said with a laugh, raised an arm and took a deep whiff of his own musk, the other guys laughing. “Come on you guys, let’s go get the party started already!”

The rest of the guys all threw on their own clothes, and together, the group of them crossed campus, and followed Tom to the house he was renting with a few other guys off campus. In his disgust with Tom, and in the hurry to catch up, Eric realized he himself had forgotten to shower, and felt a bit self-conscious. All his life, he’d hated how much BO he could generate, and it didn’t help that he usually sweat like a pig during practice. Hopefully no one else would care too much if he stank as bad as Tom did, or hell, even a bit worse.

They got to Tom’s place, the rest of the guys all jeering and laughing with each other as they climbed the steps and went inside–Eric was in the midst of the pack, and Tom let them all inside before following behind them all. Eric hadn’t been in Tom’s place since the beginning of the semester, but the place was a mess–dirty clothes were strewn everywhere, the air was stale and stank of smoke, musk and cheap beer. The rest of the guys all seemed to not mind, but he was a bit disgusted by it, and hung back a bit, wondering if this was really how he wanted to spend his Friday night, and Tom caught up with him, standing in the hallway. “What’s up man?” he said, putting an arm around Eric’s shoulders, that musk assaulting him again, “Make yourself at home!”

Eric shrugged off Tom’s arm and resisted the urge to gag at his teammate’s stench. That was more than just musk, there was some outright filth in that pit. “You know? I…really should get to my place and study tonight. I promised a guy in my class we’d work together on some stuff, and I don’t really want–”

Tom slapped his forehead, interrupting him, “Fuck! This is your first time here, isn’t it?”

“I was here a couple times when the semester started, but–”

“No, I mean you haven’t fucking met Greg yet!” Tom grabbed Eric’s wrist and pulled him deeper into the house, passing through the living room where the guys on the team had all settled in for the most part, most of them with a beer in their hands, a couple even smoking cigarettes or cigars, lying amongst the dirty clothes and mess, most of them seeming…kind of close to one another. “Hey Greg!” Tom called out, “Where you at man? I got someone new from the team you gotta meet!”

“Who’s Greg?” Eric asked, “One of your housemates?”

“Nah man, Greg’s just passing through.”

“What?”

“You know, like a couch surfer and shit. Greg! Where you at?” Tom called again, and they heard a thumping on the stairs–and some pretty heavy thumping at that. Tom tugged him around the corner of the living room, and there, coming down the stairs was a huge, fat older man, probably in his forties or fifties, with his head shaved, a massive beard down to his hefty gut, wearing nothing more than a wife beater so filthy his was a light brown and a pair of disgusting briefs similarly shaded, smoking a cigar.

Greg was grumbling a bit, but when he saw Eric standing there he grinned around his cigar, and hurried up his pace. “Fuck boy, another teammate a yers?”

“Hell yeah–you’ll like this one I think, and he sure could use some of your help, that’s for sure.”