Daddy Whores (Part 3)

“Boy, boy please, I can’t…this isn’t who I’m supposed to be! This isn’t right, you can’t just do this to people,” Carson pleaded, as they walked down the row of cells. “Boy, I’m…I’m your daddy, and you should listen to what I’m telling you.” He was trying to be assertive, but no matter what, his old mouth could only sound mealy.

“No, you’re my daddy now,” the boy said, shooting him a glance with his eyes, “and that means, from now on, you’ll be doing what I say, and thinking what I want you to think, just like all of my daddies.”

The man Carson had arrested–his fellow daddy Emil, apparently–was in one of the last cells, and Carson could hear activity in there. He discovered that the door to the cell was wide open, and two of his fellow officers were inside, fucking Emil from both ends, the old pig moaning in between them. He saw his boy there, and his eyes went wide–he pushed the two officers away, and they stumbled back in a daze, and he got on his knees in front of his boy, then bowed to him, muttering and whimpering. “Please boy, please–he just resisted me, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t come home! I’m sorry for calling you, for making you leave, I’m sorry, please, I…I made some more money for you!” he pulled a wad of cash from a pocket, “There’s so many young, strapping men in here, and they’ve all been paying me, all evening! Please…I don’t…I was doing so good…”

“It’s alright, Emil,” the boy said, allowing Emil to kiss his shoe, “I know it wasn’t your fault. We’ll be going home now–Jefferson’s waiting in the car for me, and you’ll have to drive home by yourself.”

Emil nodded, “Thank you, my boy, thank you…”

I’m sure none of you officers will have a problem letting my daddy go? You aren’t going to be pressing any charges, right?”

The two officers shook their heads no, still trying to figure out what had happened.

“Run along Emil.”

“But…but boy, they weren’t finished, and they didn’t pay me yet.”

“It’s alright–go home. You’ve had a long day.”

Emil got up and left the building, passing by Carson on the way, and when their eyes met, Emil’s seemed…haughty. “Oh…Oh I see what our boy did, such a clever boy!” he said, laughing, “I’ll see you at home!”

Carson felt his eyes drawn back to his boy, their eyes meeting once more. “You’ll be finishing these men for Emil, won’t you Carson? You do love having men abuse those old holes of yours, after all, just like all of my daddies.”

The twisting was there, but not as violent. It was…hardly much of a shift, really, but when Carson looked away and at his two fellow officers, their cocks hanging out of their pants, he started to salivate.

“And you two–do be rough with him. He’s been a very naughty daddy, and he needs a bit of rough treatment, don’t you Carson? You like it rough, don’t you?”

He should run, he needed to fight this, but before he could do anything, the two officers grabbed him, and shoved him up against the bars of the cell, handcuffing his wrists high, and tearing down his pants. One got behind him and rammed his cock into Carson’s ass, hard–making him groan–but it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as he wanted it to. No, he was…this body was already well broken in, after all, and he did like it rough and brutal. His voice was demanding the two officers rape him harder, really give it to him, beat him like the bad, naughty daddy he is. While the first fucked him, the other started biting and twisting at his nipples, calling him all sorts of filthy names, and after the first finished, they switched roles, all under the boy’s supervision and encouragement. As the second officer was getting close to finishing, however, the boy walked around, inside the cell so he was facing Carson through the bars, and their eyes met again. He could feel the world beginning to dissolve all over again, and he started to cry.

“Please…I’m sorry boy, please…”

“Don’t worry–as long as you keep me happy, you’ll be well taken care of, daddy.”

The words didn’t seem to come from the boy’s mouth, but from everywhere around him. He lost track of everything–he couldn’t even really feel much of the cock still lodged in his hole. This time, he could feel reality growing even further away from what he’d been before, more and more of himself lost to the strange void of the boy’s eyes, and when everything stopped, he just collapsed, hanging by the handcuffs, sobbing for the loss of something he couldn’t even really remember all that well–after all, Carson’s memory was shot from all the liquor he drank, right?

“Thanks officers, that’s just what my daddy needed,” the boy said. That’ll be twenty dollars from you both, of course–can’t have daddies getting fucked for free, right?”

The two officers exchanged confused glances, and then pulled out their wallets. One handed him a twenty, while the other just stared at the empty wallet. “I…I don’t have a twenty, I’m sorry.”

“Then here’s what we’ll do, officer. Go to an ATM tonight, and pull out at least forty dollars. A daddy will come by tomorrow to give you a blowjob in the restroom–and will be coming by every day from now on. You’ll be paying him forty dollars–for this fuck and tomorrow’s–and always have at least twenty dollars in cash on you from now on, understand? Now, I need to get going. Please release my daddy, if you would.”

The officers did so, and Carson slumped to the floor–confused, horny, desperate for a beer and a smoke–and his boy got down beside him. “You’ll come straight home, understand?”

“Yes boy.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon. We’ll discuss your punishment there, understand?”

“Yeah boy. I understand.”

“You won’t forget? I know you’re a stupid fucking faggot.”

“I won’ boy, I promise. I’ll hold on real good, cause ya told me to.”

“You’d fucking better.”

Daddy Whores (Part 2)

“Hello Officer Carson, I believe you arrested one of my daddies today.”

Carson looked up, and say the young man across his desk, staring at him. His eyes were chilling, somehow, and he quickly looked away, and back at the report he’d been writing. “You mean the faggot I caught blowing a guy behind a cafe? Who are you, his son?”

“Oh no–I’m his boy.”

Carson remembered the older man mentioning a boy before, when he demanded payment. “Well, whoever you are, we’re holding him at least overnight. You can bail him out tomorrow.”

“Oh no, I won’t be bailing him out, you’re going to take me to wherever he’s being held, release him, and let us go on our way.”

There was a force to the young man’s words, similar to the old man’s had had earlier. But before, when the man had spoken, he’d found his body compelled to act–this merely felt like a…strong suggestion. But whether it had something to do with him breaking free of the man’s control earlier, or simply because the boy hadn’t been as forceful as he could be, it wasn’t clear. One thing was certain–there was power there, and a latent threat, but while Carson might not understand how the boy’s power worked, he also didn’t think there was anything the boy could really do to him. “No–No, I won’t be doing that. Now why don’t you leave, and you can collect your perverted father tomorrow.”

“I never said he was my father–I said he was my daddy,” the boy said, perturbed, “and you would do well to do as I say. I can be rather…petulant, I’ve been told. There are worse things I could make you do, then get a nice blow job from one of my daddies.”

“I don’t know what sort of shit you have going on, or how any of that happened earlier,” Carson said, leaning close, “But that won’t ever be happening again. Now leave.” He met the boy’s eyes again, and this time, didn’t look away, no matter how icy they seemed. But a second later, when he couldn’t break the contact…he was no longer sure if he’d been the one to choose to meet his eyes or not, and a knot of fear started growing in his gut.

“You should have been afraid of me a minute ago, when I was willing to be a little patient. Besides, if you’re going to make me leave my home, and make one of my daddies drive me all the way into the city, just because you can’t enjoy yourself, well, then I can at least get something out of it, right?”

This wasn’t right–he wasn’t right. The eyes were no longer simply intense, they were boring into Carson’s mind. His vision was losing focus, and beginning to spin around the axis of the boy’s eyes, and soon, they were the only stable thing in a sea of color, even his body ceased to exist, and what remained of Carson, the boy…was putting a cramped little box, a partition of a mind, and the rest of him…the boy was making something else–someone else. The spinning began to slow down, and the world began to return, but it wasn’t the world Carson remembered–not quite. At last, he was able to yank his eyes away with a shuddering sob, and look down at himself–and if Carson had been able to, he would have screamed.

This wasn’t his body. These weren’t his clothes. He was still in a police uniform, but instead of being cleaned and starched, it was wrinkled and heavily stained, smelling like it hadn’t been washed in a week or more. He had a gut which stretched the shirt out enough that gaps were appearing between the buttons, displaying slivers of a filthy undershirt below, and his arms and chest had lost almost all of their definition, leaving him looking weak. He felt his age, more than his saw it–the aches, the dim, blurry vision, the difficulty hearing–but he did see the beard–the thick grey beard hanging down to his gut. He tried to figure out what had happened to him, tried to remember who he’d been, but that was when he discovered that not only was this not his body, it also wasn’t his mind.

Officer Carson was sixty years old, and would have retired had he not lost his retirement due to…poor life choices at a casino not far out of town. He was on desk duty all day long, and spent most of the day eating, and…and fantasizing about his fellow officers, thinking about pleasing them, about how good it would feel to have his ass or mouth stuffed full of their big cocks. Yeah, he was a slutty, fat, officer daddy, and…and he looked at the boy–no, he looked at his boy, and all he felt was love, and desire, and also complete and utter terror. He’d disobeyed his boy, a direct order from his boy–what in the world had he been thinking?

“Don’t get too comfortable, daddy. After all, we still need to go get Daddy Emil out of holding, right?”

“Yes boy, I’m…I’m sorry boy, right away…” Carson said, his voice raspy and quiet. He hauled himself up out of his chair, feeling how much he ached, and led the way away from his desk, towards the holding cells. He was nervous, each time he encountered a fellow officer, but while they all regarded him with utter disdain (which he rightfully deserved, of course) they did all recognize him. His old self–that officer no longer even existed. The only knowledge and evidence of his was locked away in a small corner of his mind, which was growing more and more distant by the minute. They were alone in the elevator a moment later, heading down, when he turned to his boy, “Am…Are you going to change me back? Please–I didn’t know…”

The boy just laughed. He was still laughing when the elevator stopped, and Carson’s heart sank even lower than he’d imagined it could, as they headed for the cells.

Daddy Whores (Part 1)

Officer Carson was at his desk, finishing his report of the arrest he’d made earlier that afternoon, back behind the cafe where he usually gets lunch in the early afternoon. The report he was writing, detailed how he’d seen an older man strike up a conversation with a stranger at a table in the cafe, and the two of them had exited together and went around behind the building. Thinking it could be a drug deal, he went around the building after them, only to happen upon something…very different. There was definitely money exchanged, but not for drugs–behind the dumpster of the building, the older man was on his knees, sucking the younger man’s cock. Officer Carson told them to stop, the younger john booked it, and he arrested the older man and brought him in.

That’s what he was writing, at least, but that’s not quite what happened earlier that afternoon.

Some of it was true, of course. He had been at the cafe. He had witnessed money changing hands, and someone’s cock had gotten sucked. But the young man in his report–that had been him, and the very straight Officer Carson was still trying to fathom how, exactly, the old faggot had managed it. That is…how he’d gotten this young, strapping officer, back behind that cafe, willingly allowing that…disgusting old man to suck his cock.

Carson was a star of the police department. He’d only been on the force for a couple of years, but there was already chatter of him getting promoted to detective. He had proposed to his girlfriend a few months back, and they were planning their wedding this summer. He’d seen the man staring at him, through the cafe window for a minute or two. He looked to me in his seventies, at least, with almost no hair on his head, hunched over, his body almost lumpy with fat. He’d pegged him for a fag immediately–no normal man would just stand and stare at another dude like that, but he’d planned on just ignoring him, like usual. What he hadn’t expected, was the man to enter the cafe, bold as brass, waddle right over to Carson’s table and lean on the side, his face inches from Carson’s, who had his mouthful of sandwich. “Hello stud–I bet you’d like having that big cock sucked by daddy, wouldn’t you?”

Carson was too surprised to speak, and as he struggled to swallow, the old man’s hand found its way into his lap, to the bulge which was well outlined in the uniform pants Carson wore rather tight, and he couldn’t help but moan through half-chewed bite. In less than a minute later, he’d followed the old faggot out and around behind the building, dropped his pants, and the old fuck had started slobbering all over his cock. The entire time, Carson tried to deny it was happening, told himself that he needed to stop this, that he didn’t want this. But…but he did. He enjoyed the faggot’s mouth–it was a better blowjob than he’d ever had in his life, and he came after a couple of minutes, the fag swallowing it all down hungrily.

“Thank you for feeding this daddy,” he said, and stumbled up, “But there is matter of payment. Twenty dollars for this pig daddy’s services, please–this daddy has to keep his boy fed, sir.”

Carson wanted to refuse, but as in the rest of the encounter, he found his body acting on its own. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handed the old man a twenty dollar bill, which he quickly stuffed in a pocket.

“Thank you sir! I’ve seen you eating lunch here often, and I’ll be sucking your delicious cock regularly, yes I will!” The fat man hauled himself back up to his feet, and Carson’s disgust welled back up at the sight of him. He was so fucking vile, and he’d just let that…toothless mouth suck his cock. He was shaking with fear and rage as the fat man walked back around to the front of the building, a bit of a skip in his waddle, and Carson couldn’t move–but he fought past whatever block this was, forced himself to grab the old man and shove him up against the wall, arresting him for prostitution. The whole time, the man was whining, saying he couldn’t be arrested that if he didn’t get home to his boy that evening he’d be in such trouble. Carson didn’t listen to a word he had to say, however, and it was clear that the old man was…shocked, and frustrated, that Carson was no longer obeying him. In the end, the old man would probably be held overnight, and then released–Carson, after all, didn’t want the matter investigated too deeply, unless his own…actual involvement be discovered. But a night in jail might be enough to discourage the faggot from approaching him again.

He was nearly done with the report, and most of the other officers had gone home for the evening, and he was planning on following them out the door soon. But before he could, a young man, he couldn’t have been much more than twenty, looked into the room, a bit timidly. He was chubby, with disheveled hair, and quite pale skin, like he hadn’t seen the sun in quite a while, and his clothes fit quite poorly. One of the other officers asked him if he was lost, and the young man, in a small voice, politely asked the man to show him where he could find Officer Carson. The officer was more than happy to help such a helpless boy, and pointed him to Carson’s desk, and continued on his way. The boy’s eyes hardened at the sight of the man who had caused him and one of his daddies such trouble–but he knew how to deal with men like that, oh yes he did, and this Officer Carson would learn his place soon enough.

VIP Package (Part 7)

It was a sensation he’d never experienced, and that he could barely figure out how to describe. Earlier, he’d witnessed his body, but he hadn’t felt surprised by it, and that old body that he’d had was very difficult to even remember. When he heard the name “Gerald”, it was like even more of himself slipped under, only to be replaced by an entirely alien, and yet utterly familiar persona. “That’s…that’s not my name, sir, please don’t call me that,” he said, his voice different–weak and quiet, just a mumble. He looked up at his master, and his knees quivered a bit at the sight of him. His master–he was so fucking sexy. All that muscle, and that fucking cock…he wanted to feel that inside him so badly, but he knew his master would never want to fuck him–no, the only person he wanted to fuck was Sammy, on the bed–and the flash of hatred he felt stunned him.

He hated him. His youth, his neediness, his bratty tone.

No, he didn’t hate him, that was Samuel in there, that was his husband, but Gerald hated him. Gerald hated him so much, because he was jealous. Because he was just an old, fat slob, with a nub for a cock, and he did everything he could for his master, and he never got fucked, no, the best he got was a load of cum sucked from that awful cub’s hole!

“That’s not your name?” Mr. Bishop asked, “But that’s what I’ve called you for years. If Gerald isn’t your name, then what is?”

More of him slipped away, his memories dimming. He could…remember someone named Samuel, that he was married, that he lived in a city, and he had worked in finance, but it didn’t feel like his life anymore. It felt like a story from a book, or a description of one of the men his master had made him serve over the years. Years–those he could remember. Serving Master Bishop, doing everything he required, no matter what, serving whoever he demanded, happily so, because…because his master was a god. Because he was Gerald’s god, and he wasn’t worthy of him, no man was worthy of him, but just being privileged with his presence lit an erotic flame in his chest that couldn’t be dampened. But Master had never fucked him. Never. No matter how much he’d begged, he’d never given him that gift, not once. But he didn’t begrudge him that. It was hardly surprising that Master Bishop wouldn’t want to fuck him. He was, after all, an ugly, fat, old faggot. No one wanted to fuck him. But the envy, the jealousy. It was even hotter now, and he couldn’t even look at Sammy there, couldn’t even think of him. That such a rude boy could receive his Master’s gift, while a loyal, obedient slave was forced to do without. It wasn’t fair–but life wasn’t fair, was it? “I–I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what I was saying, I just…everything is so confusing all of a sudden.”

“That’s alright Gerald, you’re just a stupid faggot, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, I’m a stupid faggot pig. I’m no good at thinking, I just do as my god tells me to do, please forgive me, sir,” he said, lowered himself onto his knees, and prostrated himself on the ground, feeling his massive, obese body spread out on the carpet around him.

“He looks like a fucking blob, he’s so disgusting…” Sammy said, quietly, but loud enough that he knew the old man could hear him clearly. His face burnt a bit red…but the boy was right. He was disgusting…and…and he liked it. He always had. He knew he could improve himself. That with effort, he might even, one day, earn the privilege of taking his master’s cock, but he knew he never would. He was incapable of improving himself. He was weak, so weak. The sight or smell of food sent him into a ravenous hunger, and he would gorge himself without care. He’d gone without washing or caring for himself so long, his own filth no longer even bothered him. The fact that this disturbed and disgusted the men around him only thrilled him further because…because…

“Now, now, Sammy. Gerald has his place here too, just like you do.”

Jeremy slipped away entirely, and Gerald could finish that thought. His own vile nature thrilled him, because it only made his god of a master appear even greater by comparison. His corpulence, his sloth–it only made Master Bishop more powerful and graceful. Almost as though Gerald were storing his Master’s own vile tendencies inside him, protecting him from their influence. He would chainsmoke cigars, so Master would have no need to smoke. He would guzzle beer and wine, so Master might be temperate. And he…he would abstain from sex, so that his Master might pleasure himself with anyone, at anytime. His pleasure would be gained through his master, through service to his master, and maybe, one day, his devotion would be rewarded. He looked up, the massive cock swinging hypnotically between Master’s legs, and he longed to be called to service it, his entire body quaking with desperation…but Bishop just turned away, and walked back to the boy. “Alright Sammy, where were we?”

Bishop slammed his fifteen inch cock back in, and Sammy nearly screamed, while on the other side of the room, Gerald died a bit inside. He stumbled up, and walked to the humidor–he needed a cigar, a rough one–Sammy always hated how much they stank up the room–and then…and then something to eat, hopefully. Gerald could use a good gorge–he always felt better stuffed to the gullet.

VIP Package (Part 6)

Jeremy woke up the following morning–or at least, what he assumed to be the following morning–in an unfamiliar room. After dinner the night before, Mr. Bishop had taken him to the Salon, a sprawling complex in the tail of the cruise ship–though he could remember almost nothing of his time spent there. The staff had told him that the experience was proprietary–in order to maintain secrecy, not even VIP guests were allowed to remember the inner workings. The two of them stepped inside, and then he was here, lying in what seemed to be a very small bed, in a room quite a bit smaller than the one he’d been staying in with Samuel–and he was alone. He tried to get up and sit on the edge of the bed, but the first couple of attempts were thwarted by some massive weight that seemed to be dragging him back down. At last, he managed, and he felt…his own flesh shift around him in the most uncomfortable, disturbing fashion–and looking down…he was no longer in his body, or more accurately, he was no longer in the body he remembered being in.

But where he’d expected to feel some measure of shock, there was…just a recognition. He knew this body wasn’t correct, and yet, he also couldn’t clearly every remember looking any different. With two hands, he hefted up the massive apron of hairy fat which hung down between his thighs, pushing them apart, and let it fall, the flab smacking against his thighs. Her knew, in his mind, that he’d never felt anything like this, and yet his body…already knew what it would feel like. With the help of a night stand, and quite a bit of grunting and groaning, he managed to get up on his feet. He felt disgusting, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was appalled at his sudden size and body. He felt greasy, and when he lifted a flabby arm, he actually stank–more than just simple body odor, and more like someone who hadn’t bothered to wash in quite a while. Again, the disgust was muted–it simple seemed…right to him, that he be like this. In any case, he needed to piss. There were two doors in the room, and the first he tried did lead to a small toilet–no shower–with a mirrored wall on one side. He had to sit down to piss, when he discovered he couldn’t even find his cock buried inside his own fatpad, and as he released, feeling…piss pour out from his gunt, and run down his balls, he stared to the side at himself in resignation.

He was old. At least sixty, if not seventy. Most of the hair on his head was gone, aside from a wispy horseshoe around his temples, though he had a massive beard hanging down to his chest and a thick mustache which nearly hid his mouth. Grey hair coated him wherever he looked–in fact, he looked rather similar to Mr. Bishop–although his current standard of hygiene was quite a bit lower, and he certainly hadn’t graced Jeremy with his endowment. Once he’d finished pissing, he continued searching for his cock, and was able to feel the presence of a nub, though he had no ability to grab it. His balls were sizable, but seemed to have been absorbed into his fat. He got back up with some effort, relying on the metal bar installed on the other wall, and went back into the bedroom. There were no clothes anywhere that he could see, so he opened the other door and stepped into a massive suite–and on a king size bed below a bay window, he saw Samuel, or Sammy, getting plowed by a muscular bear, with the kind of body he’d always wanted to have, but between work and his own limits, he’d never managed to realize it.

At the sound of the door opening, the muscle bear looked over at him, and Jeremy recognized him by his face–it was Mr. Bishop. “Ah, there’s the sleepyhead. I was worried you’d sleep the day away, you fat, lazy fuck.” He pulled out of Sammy, who moaned in displeasure. His cock seemed to be even larger than before, if that was possible–perhaps it was the same size, but more had been buried away in his previous body. “I trust you slept well? How are you adjusting?”

“This–what, you turn me into a fat old fuck like you were?” Jeremy asked, “And you get the kind of body I can only dream of. What the hell is any of this for? I don’t fucking get it–why not just do this to two of the ship’s muscle fucks?”

Mr. Bishop laughed. “I’ll tell you what I told your husband, the first afternoon we spent together, before he rode my cock for the first time. My fantasies are complicated.”

“Daddy? Daddy! My boyhole’s still so fucking hungry, please fuck me some more, daddy…” Sammy moaned, one hand reaching back to the rosy crater his hole had become, probing it, aching inside for more.

“Boy, you’ll get plenty more in a bit. But come here and tell me what you think of your husband. Do you think he’s sexy?”

Sammy looked over, and his face twisted up in a grimace. “He looks…kind of dirty. And where’s his cock?”

“He has a microcock buried up in that gunt of his, that’s all,”

“What good is a cock like that?”

“It’s not good for anything boy. But suppose he had a cock that was worth something. Would you want him to fuck you?”

“A fat old man like that? No, he’s gross–I want you to fuck me some more daddy–come on!” he said, and wagged his ass to and fro.

Jeremy just scowled, “That’s not Samuel–that’s some fucked up toy you turned him into. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying.”

Mr. Bishop smiled, but it conveyed no warmth. “True–he doesn’t. But I play a long game, and it’s quite satisfying. So Jeremy, why don’t you fuck off to the depths of your brain for a while. I’d rather play with Gerald.”

Too Clever For Your Own Good (Part 1)

If you’re smart enough, and focused enough, then Pigtown is pretty much the holy grail. Walk into those doors, keep your wits about you, and you can walk out as anyone you want to be, with anyone you want to fuck on your arm. At least, that’s the technique which had worked for Eddie, so far. Hell, two weeks ago, he hadn’t even been Eddie–he’d been Edward, a young, shy guy, new to the city and looking for love, or anything, really. Mostly, he just didn’t want to feel so alone. But what had happened in there–fuck, he still had a hard time believing he had any sort of relation to the young man he remembered, just because he was so…fucking different.

The next morning, he’d found himself in a whole new body. Mid fifties, muscled with a solid gut, a thick layer of hair all over him, nice full beard. He…definitely wasn’t the kind of guy that “Edward” would have ever wanted to be in his life, but who the hell cared what that old version of himself wanted? This new him, he was plenty happy with his new lot in life. He had so much confidence–he started work the next week, and discovered he’d leapt four or five rungs up the corporate ladder. By day, he was a high ranking company executive, wearing tailored suits and smoking expensive cigars over expensive fare during power lunches with his fellow. At night, he’d trade in the suits for leather gear, and prowl the streets for men to take his cock…but as much as he wanted to return to Pigtown, he also knew he wasn’t ready. He’d been lucky, before, to end up with such a good life, but he could remember other people in the bar who…hadn’t been so lucky. If he didn’t want to end up like them, he was going to need a plan, and the first part of that plan was going to require a wingman.

Once you enter Pigtown, you lose touch with yourself–the only thing you can rely on is your memory and your will, but the place can fuck with that too. No, you needed someone with you, someone you can work with, who can confirm for you what you’re doing, and who you are. A partner–someone watching your back. But he never found anyone suitable in the various men he fucked over the next few weeks. It was risky…but he was just going to have to make himself a partner, and the only place he could do that, was Pigtown.

He had several friends at work, none of whom were gay, but who trusted Eddie enough to meet him at an unknown bar in the evening for drinks. The one he ended up choosing was Peter–smart, witty, and always grounded, never one to panic or lose focus–he was perfect for the role, provided Eddie could convert him to his side. They didn’t venture very deep into the bar–that was too risky, but Eddie quickly discovered that the very qualities he appreciated in Peter made him…resistant to the sort of persona Eddie wanted him to become, and so, he was forced to push a bit harder than he would have liked.

The next day, he wasn’t quite satisfied with the end result. His new husbear Pete might be one hot fucking daddy bear, like him, but he definitely hadn’t kept all of Peter’s intelligence and will. Hell, he didn’t even work at the company where Eddie was anymore–he was an electrician. He made good money, sure, but not because he could think. Still, to his…slight disgust, Eddie found himself loving him all the same. Not only because he was hot, but because he was willing to do anything Eddie told him to do, and living with him for a few days…Eddie started to fantasize about having a whole family of men at his disposal, all of them under his thumb.

He started talking with Pete about it, convincing him how hot it would be if they had a couple of cubs–sons even–to fuck around with. Of course, this was an easy sell for Pete, because he wanted whatever Eddie told him to want. And so, after a few days of discussion and planning, the two of them suited up in their leather gear, and made their way back to Pigtown.

“Alright Pete–remember, we have to stay focused at all times. I can’t lose you in there–we can’t lose each other. No matter what, remember this–we’re two daddies, and we’re making two cubs. Got it?”

Pete nodded.

“Good. And don’t get lost, and don’t get separated. Stick with me at all times, got it? Just follow my lead.”

“Anything you say Eddie, you know I’ll do anything for you,” Pete said, and they shared a smoky kiss, and slipped into the bar, to fill out their family.

The King’s Ring (2 of 2) –

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He held the ring out to me, where I was kneeling. I could…sense that he wanted me to kiss it, and as soon as my lips made contact…it was like something was being sucked right out of me. My youth? My will? My identity? It…had to have only lasted a few moments, but it felt like ages, with my mouth to that cold metal, until it finally released me. “Now–another meal, slave. And then my bath.”

“Yes sir,” I said, automatically. I was still…inside my head, but I no longer had any control over myself. I stood up, feeling my knees ache slightly, and I went back to the kitchen. I was desperately trying to stop myself, to regain control, but I couldn’t. I had to obey. I was just…just a slave. An old slave faggot. I eventually saw my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall, and I would have screamed, if I could have. I…really was old, now. I must have been close to fifty. I had a silver goatee, a paunch, a thick leather collar around my neck, and shackles on my arms and legs…and my cock was locked in a chastity device. Still, I cooked feverishly, and delivered a five course meal I hadn’t even known how to cook, and he…ate all of it, all by himself, while I serviced him, and cleaned him, being sure to get between his piss soaked thighs.

When he’d finished, he again spoke. “I could do away with you entirely, you know. But he likes you, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, and he’s much easier to control with you here. I will give you control again, but defy me one more time, and you’ll be gone. Understand, slave?”

I nodded, and I felt the other persona fade back, but my body hasn’t returned. I should be thankful, I suppose. Others who I’ve…brought here to serve our king haven’t been so lucky. I know he’s still in there, somewhere. If I could just get the ring off that finger…but the fat has grown around it. I’m afraid…it won’t be coming off until he’s dead, and who knows when that will be. The king has not let me service him since my…outburst, but he forces me to watch as the cubs pleasure him–young, mindless things who crawl over him, riding his cock and sucking his nipples, and…and fuck, if I don’t love watching it, and he knows it. He’s fucked my mind to bits–none of us do, and neither will you. I have no life other that servicing him, and finding more subjects for his kingdom. Now kiss your liege’s ring, like a good pig. We need another toilet, unfortunately, but you can be thankful–toilets don’t get minds, so you’ll be gone soon enough. Just a kiss, and everything will be over–I promise.

Source: maturemenintrouble

Twenty Lashes

“You ain’t too good at learnin’, are ya, boy?” Boss said.

It was just advertised as a summer job, out on a farm in the sticks, but what Nick hadn’t known was that the position was, actually, rather permanent. Whoever Boss was, the guy who owned the farm, he had some weird magic voodoo shit going for him, and Nick…he found he had to do everything the fucker said. What that meant, was close to ten hours of backbreaking labor all day, and then, at night…well, he’d service Boss then, before being put to bed in the shed outside, where he’d be living, eating slop like the pigs, pissing and shitting in a fucking bucket…

So of course, he’d been trying to escape. He’d noticed, that sometimes Boss would lose focus on him, and he’d be able to slip out of his control. He’d tried to take the truck the first time, but hadn’t even been able to get to the keys before Boss had reasserted control over him. This was his…third attempt, trying to just get away into the woods, out of Boss’s range, but he’d fucking found him all the same, and now here he was again, tied up to the fucking whipping tree, Boss and his bullwhip behind him, trying to brace himself.

“Well, maybe ten lashes just ain’t enough fer ya. Ah mean, ten ‘n ten makes twenty already, right? Well, maybe another twenty wil properly…settle ya down, boy.”

Nick’s gut dropped. It wasn’t the number of lashes which concerned him, exactly. It was what happened with each lash. Every time, he…aged another year. He’d been 22 when he got here, and now he was 42–hairy, a bit of a gut, long beard…he hardly recognized himself in the mirror anymore. Twenty lashes–he’d be fucking 62! He tried to fight, tried to pull free of Boss’s control, but couldn’t…and then, the whipping started.

The worst part, still, was that as much as it hurt–and it did hurt–his cock throbbed with excitement each time, all the same. He…enjoyed being hurt by the Boss, it made him feel good. Hurting himself for the Boss, giving himself up for the Boss, sacrificing for the Boss–

No! No, those weren’t his thoughts, he had to fight, but fuck, he was getting so…tired all of a sudden. Ten lashes in, and he was in his fifties, his gut much larger now, his hair turning white, skin tanned dark from…from years, under the hot sun, in Boss’s service. No–he had to fight the memories, they weren’t real, but his head was dulling more than it had before. He felt so…fucking stupid all of a sudden. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. After twenty, the sixty year old Nick was panting, his old cock having blown three loads in the front of his grungy jeans, moaning in pain, and pleasure. Boss walked over and fucked his old ass, feeling the blood smear between them, and Nick pushed back, feeling Boss’s world…swallow him. He couldn’t escape, not looking like this. No, best just to…to serve.

“Wish you boys would catch on sooner–yer only gonna have a few more years a work left before ya keel over, ‘n I’ll have tah find another one,” Boss said, “Still, gotta love yer old loose holes while they last, right boy?”

“Yes sir…anythin’ fer ya, Boss.”

“That’s what I like tah hear boy, that’s what I like tah hear.”

Source: hhoncho2

“Let’s See How He Likes It” (2 of 2)

He ended up not at the bear bar, but at one of the twink bars he usually went to when he was looking for someone hot to fuck. Only now, instead of his sexy muscled body, he was an old, slobby grandpa, reeking of cigar smoke and booze, holding down the bar and ogling all of the sexy twinks in the room…but he wasn’t…here to just stare. No…no, he needed…to do something more.

He was already ashamed of himself, of his appearance, but when one hot, muscled guy caught his eye (someone he’d fucked around with before, in his old body), he hopped off the barstool, waddled over and started hitting on him, asking that muscle god to plow his old hole into next week. He got turned down of course, and duly humiliated for even trying at all, but much to his surprise, Vince’s now much smaller cock started leaking cum, and he felt…good. Yeah, humiliating himself like that felt amazing. Unable to stop himself, he spied some other muscle fuck and begged him as well. He knew he never had a chance, but that wasn’t what he was after–not really. No, he wanted these hot men to shame him, to humiliate him and berate him. Nothing…nothing got him harder than that now, he was starting to realize.

After a few hours, he’d bugged enough guys that the bouncers tossed him out. Fine–he had…other places to go too. Now his feet were heading somewhere else, in the late night…heading back towards one of the bear bars he always used to fuck with, but now, everyone there seemed to be expecting him. They parked him in the corner on his knees, and he was the night’s cumdump and urinal. Happily so, in fact. Every load of cum and piss just got him hornier, but his cock refused to get hard–it would just…leak, soaking the crotch of his jeans in precum, but his desire only intensified.

Finally, the bar closed, and he waddled home, gut heaving with cum and piss. Home was different now–a filthy studio apartment–but while he recalled his old life clearly…he knew he’d never be going back. He got naked and logged onto the computer, ready to start messaging some of the muscle men he paid regularly–paid them to…humiliate him over video chat. Sometimes, they even shamed him enough that he was able to cum, but that usually only happened a few times a month. This was his life now–spend all day paying young men to humiliate him, cruise the hot bars for more punishment each night, drink cum and piss at the sleazy bars and bathhouses around town until the early hours of the morning, and then get up and repeat. Soon enough, his old life seemed like a dream–but he wouldn’t trade his new one for anything.

“Let’s See How He Likes it” (1 of 2)

You could tell that Vince enjoyed it, that he went to bars like this on purpose. He was a twink, or maybe he just seemed like a twink in the midst of all the bears–he was more of a gymrat, really, on his own. But he seemed younger, and smaller, in those rooms, flaunting his body for all those “old faggots” as he called them, dancing alone, making them all want him–and when someone had the audacity to even approach him, he’d ridicule and humiliated them, berate loud enough for the whole room to hear–what kind of loser would think someone like him could ever be interested in a hairy old fag like that, after all? It was only a matter of time, really, before someone got sick of him, and did something about it.

It was a Friday night, and Vince was planning another raid, as he called them. He’d swing in, get those bears all hot and bothered, and then skip out to a better bar, where he’d actually find some tail worth fucking. Still, seeing how much all of those fuckers wanted him–it was a rush, really. He was everything that they wanted, and they were never going to get him–not in a million years. He was getting dressed for the evening–nice tight fitting band shirt, sexy jeans, smoking a cigarette, when he checked himself in the mirror…and gawked.

He had a beard. Not just a beard, either–it was…jet fucking white. He took off his hat, and saw a bunch of hair fall out as he did–his hairline was receding, rapidly, and the hair that wasn’t falling out was growing longer. He had to shave it, he had to do…something. He hurried to the bathroom, but by the time he got there, the beard was several inches long, and he saw that his body was changing as well, a gut pushing up his shirt, his pecs growing larger and flabby. He started clawing at the shirt, where his neck was tight against the neck, and the thing changed into a stained, grubby looking wife beater, his jeans growing to accommodate his wide ass as well, and suspenders appearing, looping over his massive gut and holding his pants up, now that no belt would really reach around his girth.

He just stared at his new, old body–easily 400 pounds, and at his new height of five foot six, he only looked wider. He couldn’t go out like this, he had to get to a hospital or something…but…but he had to go…somewhere, right? There was a nagging feeling in his head, something he needed to do tonight. He went out and lit one of his cheap, foul tasting cigars, got on his old, ragged boots, and headed downstairs, trying to stop himself, dying from shame at the looks he was getting from people he passed on the street…but little did he know, his night was just getting started.

Source: lukasgardiner