Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 4)

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

“Fucking Sunday afternoon,” Tom said.

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

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

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

“No, you’re staying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t…do this.”

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

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

“Fuck man! Calm down!”

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

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

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

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?” Eric asked.

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

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

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

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

“But I thought–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 1)

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

“How about you, Eric?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you got booze?” one guy asked.

“Of course!”

“I’ll be there.”

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

“That’s what I was thinking too!”

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

“Yeah, he’s still crashing with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Coach Ray Gets Framed (Part 1)

Ray gave a start, and shook his head; he was falling asleep at his computer again, so it must be time to head home. He looked up at the clock in his office, in the high school locker room, and was surprised that it was already seven. He must have really dozed off there, for a while. Ray Montaigne was the head coach at River Hills High School, and he was one of the student bodies favorite teachers. He wasn’t quite in peak physical shape anymore, unfortunately–he was in his late forties, had a bit of a gut, but he could still run a nine minute mile, and bench press 200, so he wasn’t doing too badly.

Still, it was finally summer, if nothing else. He’d been nearly finished entering grades when he’d fallen asleep, and so he finished the last few, uploaded them to be processed, and then started packing up his things, happy to see this year in particular behind him at last. What a nightmare. No one had really recovered from what had been happening with Julian Porter, one of the computer science teachers, who had been systematically abusing the school’s athletes for years now. Ray was still furious with himself for never even noticing anything, but none of his previous students even remembered anything. If it hadn’t been for Noah approaching him in confidence, that afternoon, begging him to help–no one would have been the wiser at all. And now look at where they were–after Ray brought the abuse to the attention of the principal, he’d ordered Mr. Porter fired, but no one had seen Porter in days. He’d skipped town or run somewhere, and they were still searching for him, now months later. That hadn’t been the most disturbing part however–because not a few days later, Noah disappeared as well. It was assumed he had run away, though Ray and a few others suspected Mr. Porter had something to do with the boy’s disappearance. Still, no one knew anything for certain–Noah’s parents were an absolute mess, and Ray was too, though he couldn’t show it around his students. Other athletes had come forward, admitting that Mr. Porter had been abusing them as well, and Ray still couldn’t understand how no one had noticed anything in all of that time.

Just thinking about it was giving him a sick stomach. He put together his things, shut off his computer, double checked the lights, and left, happy to not have to see the place for a few months. Hopefully next year things would be better, for everyone. Especially Noah–Ray was really worried about him. He’d been so…strange when he’d told Ray what had been happening, almost like his tongue was fighting itself in his mouth, trying to keep the words from pouring out. Noah had told him Mr. Porter had him under some kind of control, but no one had believed him about that, no one other than Ray. It explained how Julian would have managed to get to Noah as well–if he had some kind of control over him that would explain a lot, but he hadn’t been able to find any sort of hard evidence. All he could hope was that they would find Noah and Julian soon, before he could do any more damage to anyone else.

He left the school and drove home. He’d gone through a messy divorce a few years back, but he’d at least managed to keep the house, even if he had to pay fucking alimony out the ass. He didn’t have any kids at least–he’s turned out to be sterile and not even that interested in kids, but she’d always wanted some. That was part of why she’d left, after she’d frozen some of her eggs years ago, and finally found a daddy for them she approved of. Already had pumped out two of them, last he heard. The house had always been too large for them, and he hated how big it was now–half the rooms were just storage at this point–but if he sold it, he’d have to give her a hefty chunk of the sale, so he might as well just sit on it, since it was almost paid off anyway.

However, when he got home that night, he immediately had the sense that something was off. It wasn’t that anything in particular was amiss–though there were small details. A light off he’d thought he’d left on that morning was off. A door ajar which was usually closed. The house seemed quiet not because there was no one there, but because someone was trying to be quiet. He tried to shrug it off, and went into the kitchen to make himself some dinner. He put one of his stockpiled frozen dinners in the microwave, turned it on, went over to find the remote, only to see a figure silhouetted in the doorway to the hallway leading towards the front of the house. He froze–the man, whoever he was, was far enough back that his face was still in shadow. Neither said anything, but Ray could hear the stranger breathing through his nose, long snorting breaths. He stepped forward, into the light of the kitchen, and Ray found himself looking at Noah.

That said, Noah wasn’t looking much like Noah at the moment. He had on a tattered and well worn football uniform, but it seemed at least two sizes too small for him. As a receiver, Noah had always been slender and quick, but his physique had shifted–his muscles had bulked up, he had a gut peeking out between the pants and jersey he had on. He was still snorting, nostrils flaring, eyeblack across his cheeks, though his entire face looked like it was smudged with dirt. Part of that was the short beard he had across his face, his hair shaggy and damp. “He…he said you’d smell good coach…” Noah muttered between snorts, “But fuck man, fuck!”

Rick took another drag off his cigarette in the alley behind the club. Tuesday, and a slow night even for a Tuesday, and another three hours before his shift was over. Hopefully someone in there would get drunk and rowdy, give him something to do. As boring as bouncing could be, when it was fun–well, it was fun. He thought about his little pet project back at home that he’d been working on for a couple of weeks now, and massaged his half hard cock through the denim of his jeans, when he heard some voices coming down the alley towards him.

“Dude, this is a gay bar though!”

“I fucking know that, but this is where he’s been going.”

“So wait, Max–big butch defensive line Max has been a closet fag this whole fuckin’ time?”

“Look, let’s just try and find him, alright?”

Rick watched the two kids from the local college some down the alley towards him. They were well built. Probably athletes, and at this time of year, most likely football. They were probably looking for his project. “Something I can help you boys with?” he said, “The alley’s off limits.”

The two football players were big–but neither of them were a match for Rick as he stood up from the steps, all six foot five and two hundred and seventy five pounds of muscle staring down at them both.

“Oh…fuck. Sorry man, it’s just…we got a bit turned around, and–hey…uh…do you work here? In the bar?”

“I’m a bouncer–why?”

“Well…a teammate of ours. His name’s Max. He was coming here off and on, and well, we haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks. Coach said he dropped out of college, but…well, he won’t even answer his phone, and his parents think he’s still at school. We’re worried something happened to him.”

The bouncer slipped a hand into his pocket where his phone was. “Huh…well, what’s the guy look like?”

“Well, he’s on the defensive line, so he’s kind of chubby. Redhead. Bushy beard.”

“He’s really loud, and he can get pretty rowdy when he gets drunk.”

Rick thought for a moment, and then shook his head, “Nope, can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that…hey, hold on, I’m getting a phone call.”

Rick pulled his phone out of his pocket, and the speaker was emitting a high pitched whine. The two students winced at the sound, but within thirty seconds, their eyes had gone blank, and both of them were swaying where they stood. “Now boys–what’s your names?”

“Alex.”

“Trevor.”

“Alright Alex and Trevor. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to forget all about Max–he did drop out. In fact, you both talked to him last week, and remember him telling you that, don’t you?”

Alex and Trevor nodded.

“Good. Now, I’d like both of you to give me your phone numbers please, so I can call you if I need anything.”

He entered their numbers into his phone, and then turned off the noise his phone was making. Both of the students shook their heads like they were waking up, Rick finished a fake phone call and hung up the phone. “Now, you boys wanted to know something?”

Alex and Trevor looked at each other, neither of them sure what they were doing in this alley with the huge bouncer, shook their heads and retreated, trying to figure out what had just happened. Rick chuckled–the meatheads were always so easy to fuck around with. His break was over, so he stamped out his cigarette and headed back into the club to finish his shift. It was as boring as he’d hoped it wouldn’t be. Finally, the club closed for the night, Rick climbed into his truck, stopped by the local pizza shop (it stayed open late just for him) picked up his five pizza standing order, and headed home.

He let himself in, setting down the pizzas by the door, and walked over to where Max was tied to a chair, eyes blank, earbuds stuffed in each ear, playing a loop of Rick’s homemade hypnosis tracks and subliminals, but he took a moment to admire his handy work, especially after seeing Alex and Trevor earlier. One of his first tasks had been to get rid of all the fucking hair on Max’s body–and now, after some special treatments, his body would be completely smooth for the rest of his life. Tonight was going to be special though–the mix he’d put on for Max to listen to had a new track he was excited to test out–finally, he pulled out the earbuds, and after a couple of minutes, Max shook his head in a daze, and looked up at Rick. The look was dread. Week one had been anger. Week two had been fear. But now, Max was learning to dread. Rick always liked that look–but he really liked what would happen in a few more weeks, when Max would start to enjoy it. When he’d look up at him eagerly, excited to find out how Rick had chosen to twist and warp his mind that day.

“How are you doing, slave? Hungry?” Rick asked.

“Yes–S–sir…”

“Still fighting that one, eh?”

“N–No sir, sorry sir…I’m not fighting anything sir.” Max had learned that resisting the hypnosis would only lead Rick to entrance him further, usually with some extra suggestion as punishment. Max had fought calling him Sir and Master at first–and so, as extra incentive, Rick had hypnotized him to feel someone squeeze down on his balls everytime he forgot. He’d figured it out pretty quickly after that.

“Well, I have dinner for you, pig, but first, I want to see how today’s files worked out. See, I thought of something special to do to you today, and I’m curious to see how it worked. So, shall we?” Rick reached down and grabbed a hold of Max’s limp cock, and Max got an odd look on his face, and then just stared at Rick.

“Well? How does it feel, pig?”

“I can’t…I don’t…what did you do to me sir? I can’t…it’s just…numb.”

“So, if I start stroking it, you mean you can’t feel any of this?” Rick said, as he toyed and stroked Max’s cock, but it stayed perfectly limp the entire time. “That’s good–very good. Just what I wanted.”

Max sniffled, holding back tears, unable to believe it. He couldn’t feel his cock at all–as far as he could tell, it’s like he didn’t even have one.

“Don’t worry pig, it’s not that I don’t want you to feel anything–I just want your attention focused somewhere else, is all,” Rick said, then reached up and ran his finger over Max’s nipple. It immediately hardened, and Max let out a sigh of pleasure. “See? A nipple pig–well, nipples and something else too.” Rick wormed a hand between the chair and Max’s ass, a finger sliding against his hole, and again Max gasped in pleasure. “Very nice, very nice indeed. I’m very happy.”

“Please…please sir, just let me go, I’m sorry…”

“Oh piggy,” Rick said, and set his hand on Max’ shaved head. Max shivered and groaned, feeling immediately submissive, his thoughts suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to serve his master. Rick unzipped his fly with his other hand, letting out his hard cock, and allowed Max to suck it. “Oh piggy, I will let you go, eventually. You’ll be your own man, although very different from the man you were. But that old, closeted Max will be gone, and instead you’ll be a horny, kinky pig bitch, begging for cock, happily tugging on your nipples all the time. But I have some news to share, pig. It’s my day off tomorrow, you know, so guess what? We’re going out on the town–you’re gonna be getting your first tattoos. Isn’t that exciting?”

Max wasn’t really listening. He was too focused on sucking his master’s cock, on serving him. The sensation of a hand on his shaved scalp–something about it made him so docile. He couldn’t help but obey whoever was palming his skull.

“But here’s what I’m really excited for. See, I’m so happy that file worked as well as it did, because I have plans for that cock of yours, pig. I’ve already made an appointment with the plastic surgeon even–we’re gonna cut this cock of yours down to size–by the time we’re done, it’s gonna be a one inch nub, permanently soft and numb. Not even a clit–cause you aren’t going to be feeling anything down there.”

Max could sense Master was getting close. His own cock was soft though–still, that didn’t matter. His cock was worthless after all. Why, he didn’t even need a cock, really. What good was a cock that couldn’t feel anything?

“And when we get to the office, if you ask me real nicely, I might ask the surgeon to go ahead and throw in a castration, turn you into a proper hog. Maybe put some steel balls in there instead to weigh down that sack of yours, keep you weak and docile for the rest of your life. Oh fuck yeah–you’re gonna fuckin’ beg me to take your balls–that’s gonna be so fuckin’ hot!”

Master was cumming, and Max sucked it all down. He was starving–he hadn’t eaten all day. Between his master’s hypnosis and his nightly binging, he was already packing on the pounds. Rick removed his hand, and Max felt some semblance of freedom return to him, but it was too late to spit out Master’s cum–not that he wanted to anyway…right? He…liked how cum tasted.

Rick stripped down to his underwear, and then pulled a chair over beside Max, and fed him all five pizzas, slice by slice, and as he did, he told Max about Alex and Trevor, and how they’d been looking for him in the alley. He wasn’t sure which one he’d start with once he was finished with Max–in fact, he might do them both together. He hadn’t made many tops lately–he kind of liked the idea of turning them into identical muscle twins. But before that, he’d be sure to invite them both over a few times so they can fuck Max at both ends for fun. Max didn’t want to think that was hot, but he did anyway.

Finally, the pizzas were gone, and Rick yawned. “Alright pig, it’s time for me to go to bed, and for you to listen some more. I have another new track for you tonight–I hope you’ll like it. I’m very excited to see how it works in the morning.”

Max begged him to not do it, but both of the earbuds were back in his ears, and in less then a minute, the pig was zoned out, listening to his master’s voice. Rick went over to his computer and adjusted the playlist, and then went to bed. He was going to have a nice day tomorrow, at least–he always liked giving these pigs their first tattoos. And with Max suddenly feeling pain as pleasure–he had a feeling Max would enjoy it quite a bit too.