The Facility (Part 6)

WARNING: Strange TF

Holden’s body seemed to be…quivering and shaking all over, and expanding. It was all fat, that Quinn could see, and it was happening so quickly that his skin could barely keep up–even tearing the flesh at parts, though it healed over within moments, leaving him covered with scars and stretchmarks. He tried to speak, but something was wrong with his mouth–his whole face really. There was blood running from his nose and mouth down his chin as it pushed out, his jaw and skull reforming into some strange new shape. Quinn couldn’t look anymore–he got up and shook the doors again, but there was no opening them. He had to fight. He had to, there was no option. Beside the door, he saw a fire extinguisher in a glass case. He smashed it and hauled it free, charging at the monster with it raised over he hurled it at the things head, dealing it a glancing blow–the thing roaring in surprise and pain, before hauling itself out of Holden’s ass and charging at Quinn.

He dodged it’s first charge, but wasn’t expecting it’s tail to move as quickly as it did, tripping him and then wrapping itself around him tightly, so tight he could only manage ragged breaths. It was strong enough that it could lift him off the ground entirely, long enough to haul him around to face the thing’s snarling mouth, before it lowered him onto it’s cock as it stood there. He kicked and struggled, but there was no fighting it–the beast impaled him on his cock, making him scream in pain, his ass loosening immediately just like Holden’s had, and then he too, felt something begin pumping its way into his bowels, some of it seeping back out and dribbling to the floor from his now wrecked hole.

It was the pleasure which surprised him the most, catching him completely off guard. He hadn’t been able to see earlier, from how Holden had been face down against the floor, but Quinn’s cock hardened immediately, he gasped, and sprayed a massive shot of cum from his cock, and then another, eyes rolling back into his head, and even the horrific pain he felt as his body swelled with fat, skin ripping and healing as he grew, couldn’t beat the pleasure, couldn’t stop him from…wanting this. The cum was still pouring out of him in a torrent, his scrotum swelling larger and larger as he spewed, his cock growing as well, even as his new fat threatened to overwhelm it. He could…smell it. He was dimly aware that he could taste blood, that something was wrong inside of him, that his face ached–especially his teeth, but he could smell so much now. Smell his cum. Smell the monster’s cum forming a pool below him, how delicious it all smelled to him, suddenly.

Apparently satisfied with the result, the beast pulled him free and dropped him to the floor, where he landed on something large and soft, before rolling off to the side. It was Holden, he realized. It had been Holden. Whatever it was, it had crawled over from where the beast had been fucking him to the puddle beneath them, and had spent the last several minutes lapping up and eating whatever cum had dribbled from them both. Both of his arms seemed…smaller, almost atrophied. It was desperately groping it’s fat and trying to reach his groin–and his own strangely deformed cock and balls, but couldn’t do so. It took a moment for Quinn to realize that he too, was desperately trying to reach himself. He could only turn his head so far, enough to see his oddly misshapen limbs flailing about helplessly, but he managed to crawl forward somehow, his own face battling with Holden’s for whatever cum it could find on the floor.

Doctor Sondew was pleased with the results of the initial seeding. Further exposure to the beast’s seed, beyond another threshold, would trigger the complete transformation of subjects two and three–their arms and legs disappearing entirely, leaving them as little more than fat worms with a single minded thirst for cum, and whatever else the dear doctor felt they deserved. Of course, their human minds were relatively untouched, though no longer in control of their bodies, which would be governed by instinct from this point forward. Still, best to leave them…recognizable for what would come next. He would leave these two in the main facility, where they would be found, where the rest of the men in the camp could find them, know what they were, so they could see what they two would become tonight when he turned his beast on them. The woods were dark and terrifying, especially after the doctor’s small EMP had plunged their camp into silence, and killed all of their communications. After that, there would only be them, the darkness, the trees, and the beast from their nightmares fucking each of them in turn, until all that would remain come morning were the monstrous worms they all deserved to be.

Doctor Sondew would be recording it all, of course, and come morning, it would be broadcast to the entire world for them to see. To see what this company was capable of, to see what they had done. He and his beast would be gone by then, of course–and if that wasn’t enough, then he’d set the beast loose in a major city, and see how the world might respond to that.

The puddle of cum was been depleted, and both might worms had inched their way to his beast, their strange mouths and tongues licking at the monster’s massive balls. They could smell what was in them, and as much as they might fear it, they also knew that they needed it to survive. The beast was obedient, however, and refused to provide it, though it looked up to it’s master and gave a whine, telling him that it would very much like to continue with subjects Eta Two and Three. But no, there was work to be done. Two robots entered, wrapping up the Quinn and Holden and dragging them out to the room, to the elevator. His revenge would come tonight, at last.

The Facility (Part 5)

“Quinn. Quinn! Would you fucking wake up?”

Quinn moaned, opened his eyes, and found Holden looming over him. “What happened?”

“I don’t fucking know man. Get up, we need to figure out how to get out of here.”

Quinn sat up, his legs feeling like jelly, his stomach growling like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

“Me too–I…I think we were out for a couple of days.”

“What?”

“I don’t know! Do you remember anything of what happened?”

Quinn and Holden had been outside the facility, checking ground lines and connections, when they’d gotten a message from Kerry inside that he’d figured out the issue. Sure enough, when they’d gotten back to the building the lights were on, but when they looked for Kerry down in the basement, all they’d found was his laptop–no sign of Kerry anywhere. They’d started looking for their partner in the building, figuring he’d probably went to check out some other part of the generators, or address some other problem, but they hadn’t gotten far. What happened after that was blurry and vague, but he could remember something…gripping him, like an octopus or something, and an injection, but nothing beyond that. Holden didn’t remember much else of interest either, and neither of them could recall seeing a room like this anywhere on the blueprints of the building. It was large for one thing–probably around two thousand square feet of space, and about two stories tall. The floor was tiled, and it was bare of furnishings aside from the two beds where they had each woken up, completely naked, a few minutes before.

There were two sets of doors at either end of the room, and after testing them both, they found both locked tight. They searched the room for anything else that might be of use, but came up empty handed–when a voice came on through the loudspeakers in the room. The voice was strange–it spoke english, but the words were almost guttural, and difficult to understand, like the person speaking had a significant accent neither of them could recognize.

“Welcome, Subjects Eta Two and Three. I’m sorry for the long rest and poor accommodations, but quite frankly, you don’t deserve better for cooperating with this company. However, I’m sure the two of you are curious as to where your third partner disappeared to a few days ago, well, I’m sorry to say that Kerry is gone–but I’d be happy to introduce you to what took his place.”

The two men heard a click as one of the sets of door unlocked and opened, revealing a small room beyond, and neither of them had words to adequately describe the monster which stomped through the door. It would have been easier, perhaps, to describe it in pieces–the head of a wolf, snarling at them as they backed up across the room. The chest and arms of a burly gorilla, the tail whipping behind it something between a gator and a snake, the legs similarly coated with scales, beefy with muscle, running down to two massive, webbed and taloned feet. Still, that all somehow seemed more understandable than the massive cock hanging from it’s crotch with its flared head, generally equine in shape and size, with two huge balls tight below. “What do you think? He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”

“Oh…oh fuck, what the fuck is that?” Holden said, standing there, but Quinn sprinted for the opposite doors, hurling himself at them, desperate to get out of that thing’s presence.

“This, is no longer Kerry, but I haven’t come up with a proper name for him yet. For now, this is Subject Eta One. The two of you will be designated Eta Two and Three, depending on which of you is mounted first. Eta One–please fuck both human subjects before you. Subdue with force if necessary, but do not kill them. Seed them both, and wait for further instruction.”

With a snarl, the beast charged toward Holden, who was still rooted in place, terrified, piss running down his legs as the thing slammed into him, throwing him to the ground with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. From a distance, he hadn’t quite understood how large the monster was, but it reached a height close to nine feet tall, and it picked Holden up like a doll in it’s huge hands, turning him over and pinning him down, before shoving it’s massive member against his ass. “No, no please! It’s so fucking big!” he screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry–you’ll be able to take it all eventually,” the voice said.

The beast’s cock was already leaking, and as it ran down his crack, he felt his sphincter suddenly relax and release–if he had eaten anything in days, he would have shit himself–but the head of the thing’s cock forced it’s way into him, drilling deeper and deeper. The relaxation of his muscles did nothing to dull the pain, and he screamed, desperately trying to crawl away from the thing mounting him, but it was too strong. A moment after being penetrated, the thing…howled, and Holden felt the massive shaft begin…pumping something into him. Cum he assumed, but there was so much of it. He vomited and saw blood–the thing was raping him so hard he must have suffered some internal bleeding, and he looked to Quinn across the room, slumped by the door, a look of horror on his face. But Quinn wasn’t only horrified by what the monster was doing to his friend–it was what was happening to his friend’s body which had him chilled to the bone.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 9)

Waste was surprised that he was still alive. In a sense, he knew that he wasn’t, not alive in the same sense as before, certainly not alive as the same person. He uncurled himself slowly from the ball he crumpled into on the floor, before pushing himself up on shaking legs so he could see himself in the mirror.

What had happened to him? It was like every muscle in his body had been dehydrated and shrunk to a single wire connecting each of his joints. Just from looking at himself, he couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds–the curse had left him as skin and bones. His height only served to exaggerate his new physique, but the loss of muscles wasn’t the most disturbing parts–it was the concave belly with his ribs clearly defined against the skin of his chest. Somehow, the skin seemed both impossibly tight, and also loose and sagging, depending on the angle one looked at. His eyes climbed higher, to his neck, every tendon and vein visible through his much paler skin, and his gaunt face. He looked…old. So much older than he had been, with his now snow white beard growing out in wisps to his chest, his head bald aside from a few errant strands of fine hair that remained. To steady himself, he took a drag off his cigar, able to see his chest inflating with smoke, and then exhaled through his yellowed, crooked teeth, lined with gaps. Cheeks shallow and gaunt, eyes sunken deep. His eyes–he could see clearly, but they were cloudy–eerily so, and he could barely make eye contact with himself for five or ten seconds, before having to look away, but there was nowhere to look that didn’t horrify him. The only part of him that seemed to have any life left was his cock–he gripped it with a bony hand, feeling it’s warmth, feeling alive in some small way, through his shaft.

Waste. The curse had named him Waste, and now he understood. Wasting away, but also discarded by the world. Refuse. That old him, Walter, he was fading faster now, he was dying in the sandstorm, but the curse had saved him from that fate, because he could still be useful. If he didn’t want to suffer the same end, then Waste knew what he had to do, knew who he had to become.

“Sorry about that, Fuglet,” he said, looking over at his slave. His voice was dry, cracking, desperate for water. The shiver that ran down Fuglet’s back was similar to a knife running down a pane of glass. “I got…distracted. You’ve met all my conditions, slave. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re mine now–all mine, forever.”

Fuglet didn’t like this Master. Fuglet liked the old one, the one who he could tell still cared about him, but in those skeletal, cloudy eyes, he only saw hatred.

“Get on the bed–Master wants to use that hole of yours.”

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t disobey. He got on the bed and let his jeans slip from his ass and around his knees, his master coming over, running sharp, claw like nails along his filthy skin, pressing hard enough to leave a red mark, but not a true scratch. His cock was hungry–it was the only part of him that needed anything anymore. As long as he kept his cock happy, as long as that didn’t shrivel away as well, then he wouldn’t have to worry. The curse would be happy, and Waste wouldn’t have to die too.

He raped his Fuglet for hours. When he grew tired of one hole, he would switch to another. If his slave displeased him for some reason, he would take a moment to punish him–sometimes quickly, with a sharp burn from the end of his cigar, or other times longer, with a prolonged paddling. The whole time, he could see his cock and balls swelling larger, feeding on Fuglet’s pain and humiliation until it was over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, ramming deep into his ass as he screamed with each invasion. When he finally finished, and came–filling Fuglet’s ass with a massive load of cum, Waste finally looked around and realized the apartment had completely shifted around them as well, their new life becoming…clearer.

Fuglet worked in construction during the day–it was one of the few jobs someone as stupid and ugly as he was could still manage to do a decent job and not get fired in the first week. Everyone on his crew hated him, of course. Everyone in the world despised him as soon as they met him. They just…something about him, it was clear that he wasn’t right. He had no friends, he had no family. No one knew about his master waiting back at home. No one who noticed his collar had any desire to know the details or story behind it. Still, he did his menial tasks competently, he stayed out of everyone’s way, and that was acceptable. Then, when the day was done, he went home, where Waste was waiting.

Waste never left the apartment. It wasn’t clear that Waste even could leave the apartment. It wasn’t clear what, exactly, waste was, but Fuglet was fairly certain he wasn’t entirely human, even if he had been at some point. He never ate, he only slept a few hours a night. He would abuse Fuglet until he passed out, and when he awoke, Waste would still be fucking him. As gaunt and sickly as he appeared, he was stronger than any man Fuglet had met on any crew. Waste was his curse to bear, he supposed, for some sins in some past life, and he bore him willingly. At least it was someone. At least he wasn’t entirely alone. At least there was something in the world that needed him, even if it only needed him to suffer.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 6)

“I don’t…this shouldn’t be possible, none of this should be happening.”

“You’re not answering my question, slave.”

“Please, you don’t have to do this. I’m your slave! No one’s going to–”

Walter grabbed Donny by the lock on his collar, and hauled him up to his feet, before grabbing him by his filthy locks, and dragging him over the bed, yanking him so he was face down and bent over. A paddle was in his hand. He had no idea how it had gotten there, but like the boots, like the cigars, it had simply appeared when he’d needed it. He realized, again, that he was changing too, and he hesitated with the paddle, unsure of what he was doing, but after a moment, he swung back, and slammed it into Donny’s ass, enjoying the howl that followed. “I’m not going to be tolerating any back talk. I’m not going to tolerate any disobedience. I own you, and I…will shape you into whatever I need you to become,” Walter said, his own voice unsettling him. It hadn’t sounded like him–it had sounded like that voice in his head earlier…and somehow it had felt like the words had been directed at him, as much as at Donny. “Now count, you fuck. Slaves always count.”

Ten heavy slams with the paddle, enough to raise welts, enough to leave his skin red and angry. Donny was crying–it was clear he’d never experienced anything like this before, and again, Walter wanted to feel sorry for him, wanted to pull back, but the curse shoved him away, climbed up onto the bed, and yanked his slave’s head up by the hair. “There must have been more that he liked about you, fucker. No one would fuck you for your fucking hair. If he liked your hair, I bet he liked your beard, didn’t he? The color, how well trimmed you keep it. Well fuck that shit.”

Donny could feel the hair on his face shifting, his beard parting down the center and pulling back from his mouth until it was just a pair of muttonchops remaining with nothing around his mouth, trimmed at an awkward, uneven line. Then, the hair began to grow, curling and puffing out, the color dulling to the same dingy brown as his hair.

“That’s better–no one in their right mind is going to find something like that sexy. Now, tell me–why the fuck did he want you? Why the fuck did he want to see scum like you three times a month?”

“He liked fucking being with me!” Donny seethed, “He said he always felt stylish when he was with me, fucking hip. He felt like a cool kid. He said I was charming and smart. He said I was funny. Fuck you–sometimes we didn’t even fuck, we just talked for hours. He loved me–he told me that. You sentimental fucks.”

“You’re being disrespectful, slave,” Walter said, and slammed the paddle down on his ass again, making him cry out.

“Please sir, I’m sorry sir, please.”

“Count–from one again.”

Twenty more this time, plus two extra when the slave missed the count. When he was finished, Walter set the paddle back on his chair, and took a long inhale of smoke, thinking, and imagining, and scheming. “Stylish and hip.” he said, walked back over to the bed, and rolled Donny over onto his back, seeing him flinch when his ass touched the sheets. “Charming, smart, and funny.” Walter ran a gloved hand over Donny’s skin, lightly, knowing he’d be the last one to touch it. “Not for too much longer, I don’t think.”

Donny tried to speak, but he felt it, his body…shifting, his mind–it was like a splitting headache, ripping his head apart.

“I don’t think someone who cares so little about their own hygiene could ever be considered stylish. More like slovenly and lazy.”

He could smell himself, suddenly–he reeked. It wasn’t just that he was unwashed, it was everything he’d done to take care of himself, all of his routines–deodorant, cologne, lotion–he couldn’t remember any of it. Why would he ever bother with shit like that? But he’d smelled his own BO before–and this was far worse than anything he’d ever put off in the past. Each time he caught a whiff, he just felt…ashamed that he would let himself stink like that, but knowing with as much certainty that he’d never lift a finger to do anything about it.

“I mean you do have a style. I’d call it dirty labor chic. Wifebeaters, ripped jeans and boots coated with mud and grit. Even when you’re naked, we can all see your tanlines, slave–we know what you are. Lips packed with that nasty tobacco of yours, juice leaking down your chin all the time. Not exactly a look that’ll be featured on magazines anytime soon.”

Donny lifted up his head, feeling his lip bulge out with a wad of tobacco–he tried to spit it out, but only ended up dribbling dark spit down his now bare chin. He did have a tanline–his arms a burnt orange, which his chest and belly were a pale white. It was clear what he wore, day in and day out now, under the sun. But other details too–his broken and cracked nails with dirt packed beneath, making them look black or brown.

“As for charming. As for smart. As for funny. We know the truth, don’t we? That crude language of yours you’ve picked up from being on worksites your whole life. That stutter. Even if that drop-out mind of yours had anything smart to say, you can’t get it out half the time. Plus you’re so dull, you still haven’t realized you’re the butt of every joke on the worksite.”

All Donny could do was shake his head side to side, but he could feel it, his mind collapsing in on itself, sharp edges dulling, the world seeming so…simple all of a sudden. S-Shit M-M-Master. I ain’t got shit in my f-f-f-fuckin’ head. You f-f-f–f…Shit, I’m fuckin’ not a s-stupid f-f-faggot.”

Walter just laughed his head off, and under his mutton chops, Donny’s cheeks flared as red as his heavily tanned shoulders. He was a stupid faggot, but he could also tell that Walter wasn’t satisfied that his third condition had been entirely met just yet.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 5)

“No sir, please.”

“Should I cut them off? What do you think? Don’t answer that, no one cares what slaves think.” Walter planted a boot on them, crushing them back against Donny’s body with enough pressure to keep him from replying. “You see–here’s my dilemma. As a lying, cheating, fuckhole, there’s simply no way that I can possibly trust you around other men, is there?”

Donny was just shaking his head, but whether he was agreeing with the statement, disagreeing, or simply more terrified at what might happen to his nuts, it wasn’t clear.

“Castration would be a simple solution. Remove your cock too–after all, it’s not like you’ll be using it in the future. Nothing left but a nice, gigantic, ugly scar to remind you that you got yourself into this mess, that you did this to yourself. I wonder if it would feel good, rubbing it? Then again, I’m not convinced that this would really solve everything. After all, your cheating ways are only part of the problem. Maybe it would be best if we simply removed the other part of the equation–maybe you just need to be unfuckable. After all, even removing this,” he emphasized with a hard tap of his boot to his balls “at the root doesn’t get to the root of the problem, does it? Besides–I might need the leverage later.”

He took his boot away, and Donny let out a sob of relief.

“Tell me Donny–exactly how many men have you slept with behind my back? And how many times?”

Donny didn’t think he’d be able to produce an exact figure, but his mouth spoke for him. Twenty-seven men. Sixty-three times.”

Walter whistled. “Goodness, that is a lot. That…that really hurts, more than I was expecting it to. Here I was, thinking it was you just unable to keep your body for me a couple of times, but sixty-fucking-three.”

“Please Master, I’m sorry.”

“The second condition–you’re never going to have another ejaculation, as long as you live.”

Something clamped down on his cock and balls–he reached for them, but instead of flesh he only hit metal…his cock and balls were still there, but encased in a metal chastity device secured around them all. Just like the collar, there was a locking mechanism and a padlock, but no keyhole, no combo, no way out. He felt nothing in there–no sensation at all, when he touched them. It was a disturbing sensation, but one he realized he was already getting used to. After all, he’d been locked in this metal cage for…for years? That didn’t seem possible, but again, like his collar and tattoo…he could remember them clearly, the day Master had locked him in permanently, the day he’d…thanked him for the honor, of all things.

“I’ve only left them attached to your body, because it will be fun to use them to hurt you, to turn them against you,” Walter said, knelt down, and placed the lit end of the cigar to the metal surrounding one of his balls. A few seconds later, he could feel the heat–a gentle warmth at first, but soon it was causing actual discomfort–not quite like setting his balls on a hot stovetop, but he had no doubt that Master could do worse if he so desired. “I’m looking forward to hurting you, substantially, like you’ve hurt me. Did you even care about me at all? About this?” Walter shook his head–those were sentimental questions–they didn’t need to be asked. The curse didn’t care about them, and scrubbed them away–Walter needed to be focused, focused on punishing his slave above all else. “Sixty-three. When was the last time?”

“Yesterday, sir. I…I’ve been seeing another man regularly, two or three times a month for the last five months or so.”

“Does he love you?”

“M-Maybe, sir.”

“And you don’t love him?”

“I just like fucking him, sir. It was just a fuck.”

“Did you ever love me?” Walter could feel the curse growing frustrated with him, angry that he was so caught up in his personal injury, but Walter pressed anyway.

“I was afraid to, sir. I was worried I’d…you’d change me.”

“Well, funny you say that slave, because you are going to have to change. Because even if your cock is locked up, you can still get fucked. Other men are still going to want you, and desire you, but I can’t fucking have that. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be desired. You don’t deserve to be loved. You’re a thing, you’re my property. Mine, and no one is ever going to want you, no one’s going to desire you ever again.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“That’s my third condition, slave. One by one, you’re going to give up everything about yourself that all, of those men found attractive in you, and we’re going to make you disgust them instead.”

“I don’t–that doesn’t…” but Donny stopped himself. Nothing that was happening made any sense any more.

“That man you were seeing. What was his name.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“Oh trust me slave, I have no bone to pick with him–this is your responsibility. What was his name?”

“A-Adam.”

“Alright. Adam. What did Adam like about you? Why did he want you? What kept him coming back to you, month after month?”

“He was just a good lay!”

“What, he never once gave you a compliment? He never once liked something about you?”

“My hair, alright, sir? He always liked how I styled my hair!” Donny said, but as soon as he did, he felt something…strange. He always kept his hair perfectly styled, every day. He went to the barber for a trim every two weeks on the dot. But when he reached up, that wasn’t what he felt. His slick backed look was gone–no gel or pomade, just coarse, long, stringy hair hanging down in every direction. Lank and greasy, a grungy grey brown in color, like soot. “No, what the…how did…”

“What else did he like about you, Slave?” Walter, asked, “Tell…me…everything,” leaning slightly on each word, sneering at Donny’s terrified face.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 4)

It took Donny close to an hour to clean both boots to Walter’s satisfaction, from top to sole. Walter found himself transfixed, watching his boyfriend debase himself before him, how his initial disgust at his own humiliation had given way to the simple durdergy of the act, to a certain…pleasure, or perhaps pride and pleasure in his work. Once the muck had been removed, he shined them diligently with his tongue, his eyes slipping away from his task up to where Walter was looming over him, his heart fluttering, He’d always found his older partner so dull, both in the sack and out. He was always looking for an emotional connection which Donny found childish and idealistic. It was the material that mattered–your body, your style, your wealth. Walter had the last, and after a few years he’d increased his hold on the first two, but Donny always longed to slip away from the emotional wet blanket and just fuck someone like a beast for an hour. He’d always feared, irrationally, that if Walter had gotten an emotional grip on him, that Donny would find himself disappearing–physically, mentally, and spiritually. His cheating was a sword he used to sever that emotional tie before it could become too rooted in his guts, but here, kneeling on the floor, he could sense that his deepest fears had, in fact, been true. This wasn’t him. He could feel himself dying away, some other terrible version of him filling in his place.

“Put your head on the floor, arch your back,” Walter said. Donny took the position he thought was implied by the order, placing his head to the floor and curling into a ball. It must have been sufficient–Walter set his boots on his back–Donny could feel they still wet with his own spit–and Walter inspected them in the light, checking their shine. They could use a proper shining, certainly, but he’d done a sufficient job. “If you really want to stay here, with me, I’m only going to allow it under certain conditions. You realize that, right?”

“Yes sir,” Donny said. Walter crossed his feet, one heel digging in between ribs on his back, but he suppressed a flinch of discomfort. “I…Please sir, I’ll do anything. I fucked up, I ruined everything, I know that. I deserve this, I deserve…anything you think…” he swallowed, hard, trying to choke back his own, miserable words, but his mouth continued, that other him continued, without his consent, “anything, sir. I’ll accept anything. I don’t…deserve you, but I’m honored that you would consider keeping me somewhere in your life, even after my failure.”

Walter dug his heel in a bit further, but not as hard as he could have–implying that the begging was appreciated, but did nothing to ease the punishment that Donny was about to receive. “This is your last chance. Crawl out of here, if you want, but if you stay, you will accept all of these conditions.”

“What…are the conditions, sir?”

“That shouldn’t matter, should it?” Walter rocked his heel back and forth, “If you’re truly sorry, if you truly want to stay, then you should be willing to accept any condition that I put forth.”

Donny knew he was right. He fought–he tried to crawl out from under that heel as hard as he could. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be surrendering like this. Walter was the one who needed him, not the other way around! But that new him, the one who was meekly groveling under this fucker’s boot didn’t see it that way. He couldn’t see any way forward that didn’t have him at Walter’s side, no matter what that might mean. “You’re…right. I’m sorry sir, for asking. I’ll stay, and submit to any conditions you demand.”

He wanted to scream, he wanted to stand up and clock Walter in the face, he wanted to sob, but all he did was stay there in that position, while Walter smoked his cigar, pleased with himself, pleased with this curse, pleased with his newfound power. “As you can imagine, your actions have made it perfectly clear that going forward, our relationship can never take the form of equals, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what does that make you?”

“Your…slave?”

“Slave, I feel, is the wrong word. But I’m not sure I have a word that adequately communicates my utter disdain and disgust at your existence, but yes. As far as things are concerned, from this point forward, you are going to be my slave. That’s condition number one.”

There was a sudden constriction around Donny’s neck, something cutting off his airway for a moment, before it loosened–thought not all that far. With one hand he felt the steel collar secured there, tight enough against his skin to cause constant discomfort. There was a padlock securing it in front–a heavy one, but with his hands…he felt no lock. No keyhole, no combination. It was just a solid hunk of metal securing him to his new role. He yelped, as a sharp sting across his ass followed. At first, he thought Master had flogged him with something (no, not Master, he’s not my fucking master!) but something else was forming in his mind. A collecting of memories, of being taken to the tattoo shop, being marked, permanently, as property of his master, but that hadn’t happened, that had never happened! But if it hadn’t then how could he remember it so clearly? How the artist had laughed at him the entire time, his master leaning against the wall, watching his every move for one punishable offense. How he’d had to thank the man for marking him, how he’d had to offer to service the man as a tip, and he’d just looked at him…utterly disgusted at the sight of him begging in front of him…but this wasn’t him, it wasn’t him!

Walter removed his boots from his slave’s back, planted one foot on the back of his head facing him, and shoved him, rolling Donny over onto his back. “That’s the easy one, slave. Now we need to figure out what we should do with these,” he said, standing up from his chair, and nudging Donny’s balls with the toe of his boot.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 3)

“Get out. You fucking disgusting little piece of shit, get the fuck out of my apartment. I never want to see that ugly face of yours ever again.” That wasn’t his voice. It was so hard-edged and vicious. Whatever curse this was, it was like it had tapped into some deep reservoir in his mind, and all of that hatred was pouring out of him, all of that anger. More terrifying than anything else, thought, was how good it felt. Walter felt good, he felt good telling this little prick exactly what he thought of him. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Get the fuck out of my sight!” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.

“Please, Walter, I’m–” Walter’s kick caught him in the ribs, sending him rolling over, coughing.

“You think you have permission to ever speak my fucking name again?”

“Please sir, please–I fucked up. I know that, but I…I don’t know where else to go. Please, don’t make me leave.”

“What, you’re telling me none of those fucks want anything to do with your lying, cheating ass? What a fucking surprise.”

“It was a mistake sir, I won’t make it again. I…I love you, sir,” Donny said. His eyes were confused, like he wasn’t entirely sure where his own words were coming from, or why he was saying any of them.

“This is all fucking fine and good, except for one fucking problem. I don’t fucking believe you. Now get out, you lying sack of shit.”

Donny, eyes defeated, started to stand up, but Walter planted one boot square on his back and pinned him back to the floor. “Did I say you could fucking stand up? Fucking crawl.”

“Please, don’t do this to me, I need you, sir.”

“Bullshit.”

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

/”Anything you want. Anything you tell him to do.”/

Walter’s head was flooded with ideas, suddenly. If Donny wanted to be with him so badly, then fine. But he’d have to prove that he was really sorry. And then, they were going to be revisiting the foundations of their relationship, because Walter was certain nothing like this would ever happen under his watch, ever again. He lifted his boot off Donny’s back, toed him over onto his back, and then planted the sole right over his mouth, pressing down hard enough to make his jaw ache. “This is the only fucking part of me that you’re worthy of servicing. So get to it. Show me just how fucking sorry you are.”

Leather, domination, humiliation–none of that had ever had much of a place in their relationship before. The closest they may have gotten was a bit of dirty talk off and on, but it was usually Donny talking, and Walter feeling a bit silly and self-conscious. But there was an energy thrumming between them, reverberating through the entire apartment. It was the curse–it had to be. The chunk of Walter who could still recognize how insane this all way was desperately trying to put on the breaks, but his body was no longer under his own control. It was riding a different past–the curse had hijacked him, and now he was just a tool to be used in Donny’s degradation. Sure enough, he started licking at the bottom of Walter’s filthy, muddy boot, moaning softly–thought whether it was out of desperation or unexpected excitement it was unclear. And when, exactly, had his shoes become boots? Looking down at them, they were nothing like anything that Walter had ever owned in his life–knee high black leather. Obviously old, and caked with dried mud and filth from toe to top. He tried to tug his foot away, but instead he only pressed down harder, listening to Donny groan in pain. “Lick faster if you don’t want a broken jaw, bitch.”

Walter saw movement out of the corner of his eye–one of Donny’s hands was creeping over to his cock, which was erect and bulging in the underwear he was wearing, a wet spot of precum visible. He picked the boot off Donny’s mouth, and slammed it into his cock instead, crushing it and his balls, grinding them against his body, watching him scream and beg.

“If you really want to stay, bitch, then you’re going to have to learn that your pleasure doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t get to feel good–ypou don’t fucking deserve pleasure, and you fucking know it. No, you get pain, and you thank me for it after, do you understand?” Walter said, grinding harder.

“Yes! Oh god, yes sir, I’m sorry, please!”

He kept up the pressure for another fifteen, twenty seconds, making sure the message was well established, and then released his boot, Donny reflexively cradling his junk and curling up into a fetal position, gasping. Walter just walked over to a wooden chair in the bedroom, and sat down, legs stretched out and boots presented. “You can still leave, for the moment. Or you can get the fuck back over here, and finish the job.”

It was clear, from his eyes, that Donny knew what he should want. He should crawl to the door and leave–but he wasn’t doing that. He didn’t…really want that. Instead, on foot and knee, he was slowly drawn over to where Walter was sitting. The filth off the boot had tasted foul, but he…deserved it, for what he’d done. For what he was. This is what he’d needed, all this time. This is what he’d been searching for, and he hadn’t even known it. He went back to the book, licking and wetting the chunks, using his teeth to scrape them off and swallow them. Walter just watched him, idly reaching over to the humidor on the table next to him, taking out a cigar, clipping the end and lighting up. He’d never smoked before, but the rush of nicotine was wonderful–almost as wonderful as the rush of watching his fucking bitch slaving over his nasty boots. A few minutes later, he’d forgotten about the oddity of his own smoking, puffing slowly, massaging his own cock through his jeans, and listening to the voice, as it told him what kind of punishment would be fitting for a young cheater like Donny.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 2)

The apartment was quiet. Walter was sitting on the couch, taking a short break from pacing around the apartment. He’d met the guy–Jack–the guy who could allegedly lay down curses for a hefty fee–earlier in a cafe. He’d been, hesitant about Walter’s idea, but had agreed to do it, in the end. They’d come back here, and Jack had told him to go in and stay inside. Once Donny got home and entered the apartment, the curse would activate. Walter had tried to ask him details about what sort of spell he was planning, but Jack didn’t give him much. He said that his curses had a habit of taking on a life of their own, once they were let loose, so predicting what would happen was difficult. One thing Jack pressed, however, was that Walter do his best to not resist or fight the curse. The curse saw him as a tool. As long as he was helping further the curse, he would remain less affected, but if he resisted–the curse would likely reshape him into a tool it would find more useful. Whether he was telling the truth of feeding him bullshit, Walter couldn’t tell. He checked the clock again, and saw that Donny should be home in the next fifteen minutes or so, or at least, that’s when he usually arrived. Should he go through with this? It was more likely that nothing would happen at all, and he’d just been conned out of a couple thousand dollars. But if he didn’t even know what the spell was, then how would he even know if it was working? He thought back to Jack’s various warning about what he was doing, and his feet were starting to chill a bit–but Jack had said not to leave, or there was a chance the curse could trigger on him instead.

He really only had one option–wait until Donny got back. Chances are, nothing would happen anyway, and if something did happen? Well…this is what he wanted. He wanted Donny to suffer, sure, but more than anything, Walter wanted to be the one inflicting it himself. He wanted Donny to know that the reason his life was about to go down the tubes was because he’d decided to screw with the wrong daddy. He got up from the sofa and paced a bit more, pausing to look himself over in the mirror, wondering for the hundredth time why. He’d styled himself just how Donny had wanted him–full beard, a slicked back hairstyle he hated and which took too much maintenance, but which Donny assured him was perfectly on trend. Designer clothes which showed off his muscled body–which had gotten even larger, since Donny have become his workout partner. Should he have dyed his hair? Was he not giving him enough sex? It seemed like they fucked every other day. Why hadn’t it been enough? He needed some other reason beyond…beyond the fact that maybe Donny was just a money grubbing little shithead. At least if there was something wrong with him, he could have fixed it, but if this was just Donny being a horrible person–then it was Walter’s judgement that was off, and that hurt more.

He was still looking at himself when the door opened, and Donny came through the threshold, shaking his hand as he did, “Dang, that was weird..” he said to himself, “Hey daddy–sorry I’m a bit late. You ready to hit the gym?”

“Are you alright?” Walter asked, pointing at his hand.

“Just some static off the doorknob,” Donny said, “Oh, you aren’t ready for the gym yet?”

Walter almost always got home from work before Donny did, and he usually spent the extra time getting ready for their evening gym date, but the routine had completely slipped his mind. “Sorry, I got home kind of late too.”

“Well come on then, let’s get dressed and go.”

“He doesn’t care. He knows that you know, and he doesn’t even give a fuck.”

Walter shook his head. That had sounded…like a voice, or maybe it was more like a thought. It had come from his head, in any case, but it hadn’t felt like him. It was true, though. Donny had to have figured out by now, that Walter had intercepted some of his texts with his other guys, and he was just going to fucking pretend like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter.

”Like you don’t even matter.”

He followed Donny into the bedroom, feeling even angrier than before.

”Confront him. Make him see you. Make yourself matter.”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Donny?”

Donny was stripping off his work clothes, and shrugged. “I don’t think so. Is something on your mind?”

“You’re seriously going to do this? How fucking stupid do you think I am?”

Donny rolled his eyes, and Walter could almost see the response there, ready to roll off his tongue. That Walter should be thanking him. That Walter should have known this would happen, that no one like him could ever really satisfy a young stud like him. That he should appreciate the fact that he gets to taste Donny’s hot cock a few times a week at all. That if he can’t get on board with an open relationship, then Donny has plenty of other options open. He could see all of that in his younger lover’s eyes, in the sneer, in the stance…but then it faltered, and none of that came out. There was doubt in those eyes, maybe even a bit of fear. He tried to catch that fleeting confidence, but something had sucked it right out of him. “I…I mean…it was an accident.”

“An accident? You just accidentally fuck someone else? That happens a lot?”

Donny was stammering, unsure of how to recover. He’d been ready for this. He’d had a whole script, but something had pushed that right off the rails, and now he was scrambling for something say, for some excuse. He walked across the room towards his seething boyfriend. “Please, Walter, I’m sorry, I really–”

”He’s lying. Show him what happens when he lies to you.”

The force of the slap caught them both off guard. Never, in his life had Walter struck someone else, and never before had Donny been slapped. It sent him off balance and tumbling to the floor of the bedroom, stunned, cheek tingling, red with shame and embarrassment. Walter felt the power surging through him, out of his hands, and he realized, then, what Jack had been talking about–but it was far too late to turn back now.

“Please, I’m sorry…just–fuck!–please, just let me stop!”

Mr. Goldman had been pounding on his nuts with his metal ruler for about twenty minutes now. I was just watching, enjoying myself. I’d tried to warn him about flunking me in his class, but some people just think they’re beyond the reach of punishment. I mean, I could have always just *made* him give me an A in the class–but then how would he have learned anything at all? The only way we can improve is by making mistakes, after all.

Still, I suppose he’s had enough pain for the moment. The next time he smacks his sack with the ruler, I see the pleasure light up his eyes, and he moans, with a tinge of confusion, before smacking himself again. They’d swelled slightly, in the course of regular punishment, but now they were expanding much faster, his sack bulging until it was the size of a softball, and then larger–large enough that it would be obvious in the front of any pants he wore, even as his cock shrank in size to little more than a nub.

“Oh fuck, how…how are you doing any of this?”

“Heh, if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I said, “Or figure out something worse than death, perhaps. Are you sure you want to know?”

His academic curiosity was sated, but I still had plenty of plans for my least favorite professor, and he had all summer to discover a brand new side of himself, with my help.

The Dark Mind (Part 5)

The world began swimming, that same nausea from before welling up. Jordan tried to keep control of himself, but the suddenness of it had him on the floor before he could do anything, but the world didn’t face away like before. Instead, it felt like he was dreaming, or sleepwalking through his apartment, into what had been his study, where there now was a sling, some strange cross, chains hanging from the ceiling. And then he was awake again, his hands caught in those very chains, Oliver standing behind him with a long whip. “What…how?” he tried to say, but was caught off guard by the first lash, and he screamed in pain.

“You have to count them. If you scream like that again, I’ll have to gag you. Each time you miss a quota or fail to adhere to the schedule, you’ll receive thirty lashings, or more, depending on Master’s mood. That was one–” Oliver waited a moment. “Like I said, slave, you have to count them.”

“Please, you don’t have to do this, if you just help me–”

The second lashing was a bit lighter, or else his back had numbed slightly from the first one. He still screamed.

“That was one, again. Please count–I don’t want to do this all day, but I will. Master’s orders.”

What could he say? He didn’t know, so he just counted out, “One.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said, and struck him again. And again, and again.

When the lashing was over, Oliver released him from the chains holding him up, and had him lay down on the bed, so he could tend to his cuts and welts with alcohol.

“I don’t…” Jordan started, and then seethed a moment, as another cotton ball soaked in alcohol landed on his back, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why are you helping him?”

Oliver was quiet a moment, and then sighed, “I suppose you’re the only person who’ll never have a chance to experience…what it’s like, to have him inside you.”

“I know exactly what it’s like to have that thing inside me. That thing is me!”

Oliver didn’t take kindly to his tone, and poured the alcohol directly on his wounded back, making Jordan holler. “Show your master some fucking respect!”

“He’s fucking ruined my fucking life! And fuck you too for helping him.”

They didn’t speak beyond that, and after their exchange, Oliver was pitiless with the alcohol. After a bit of bandaging, Oliver let Jordan up from the bed, and showed him the schedule and quotas for the day, while Jordan lit a cigar for himself, realizing only after his first drag what he’d just done without so much as a thought. He went to put it out, but Oliver stopped his hand. “Better you get started now–Master wants you to smoke five cigars by the time you fall asleep tonight at nine.”

“Five of these things? You’re shitting me.”

“Next week, it’ll be seven a day. Anyway, we’ll have to switch over to a slightly abbreviated schedule, so we’d better get you fed, and then start on your workout.”

“No, fuck this. You can’t make me do this shit.”

Oliver just stared at him, waiting to see what would happen, Jordan meant to cross his arms over his chest, but a wave of sleepiness washed over him, he took the cigar from his mouth and stubbed the lit end against the back of his hand–the pain was enough to jolt him awake, but his hand held it there for a long second, before allowing reflex to take over. “Fucking shit!”

“Master knows we don’t have time for another lashing. Give me your hand, burns fester fast.”

Jordan just stared dumbly, as Oliver cleaned the wound quickly, and then bandaged his hand. “This…This isn’t going to end, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Come on, you’ll feel better after you eat something.”

Oliver fed him a quick breakfast, packed with protein and minimal carbs, then they returned to the living room, where some of the furniture had been replaced with a set of free weights and a bench. Oliver didn’t have much experience with exercise, but with the help of a program on Jordan’s phone, which he’d been given by master, they worked Jordan hard for several hours, and then it was time for him to eat again. Throughout all of this, Jordan had been smoking cigars at a near constant rate, his lungs were exhausted, his head swimming, body aching in ways he hadn’t thought possible before. He cleaned his plate of his required meal, and leaned back, cigar in his mouth, almost a butt. This was number four, and he imagined if he smoked another he might vomit.

“Alright, you’re good for today,” Oliver said, “Go out and smoke that last cigar of yours, watch some TV, and we’ll wait for your tranqs to kick in.”

“Tranqs? What?”

“Your sleeping pills. Gotta make sure you’re asleep by nine, right?”

“You fucking drugged me?” Jordan shouted, and stood up, but he couldn’t tell whether he was woozy from the revealed drugs, or from the smoke which seemed to be choking out his entire body.

“Calm down–trust me, it’ll all be fine, as long as we both do exactly what Master says,” Oliver said, and Jordan saw him massage his crotch a moment. “Nine can’t get here soon enough, sir…” Oliver said under his breath, Jordan retreating into the living room, where he turned on the TV, lit his last cigar of the night, and lounged back on the couch. Oliver appeared a moment later, cock indeed hard, staring at Jordan sitting there, and he walked over, got down in front of him, and tried to get his mouth around Jordan’s cock, who shoved him away. “You fucking pervert, don’t even fucking think about it.”

Oliver glowered at him, but didn’t try again. It wasn’t too much longer before Jordan started to feel relaxed, and a bit…floaty, drifting in and out, slipping closer and closer to sleep, but he fought anyway. One moment, he was alone, after the next long blink, Oliver was there, sucking his cock, one hand on the older man’s head. The hand looked…too big. Another time his eyes slipped shut, and Jordan wasn’t aware of anything else until morning.