Tag: bodmod

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 12)

The light cleared after a few moments, and a very different Matthew was sitting on Stanta’s knee. He’d traded debate and Christian Fellowship for football, fights in the school yard, and cigarettes and cigars whenever he could manage to get them. He’d gotten a bit too drunk when he was sixteen, and gotten that first tattoo and piercing–he…hadn’t really been able to stop getting them sense. Frustrated with school, he’d focused on autoshop and dropped out as soon as he’d found a mechanic that would hire him. He’d bought that Harley he’d always dreamed about, and he’d never looked back. And now? Now here he was–a six foot two, muscle bull with a thick gut hanging out of the ragged leather vest he was wearing, his skin a riot of tattoos, though still not as many as Stanta had, though Matt’s were of far inferior quality. His hands were calloused from work and scarred from drunken brawls in biker bars all over the state–he’d ever served a couple years in prison for assault, but he could always find some shop willing to hire him. He…he might not have always made the best choices, but they were the choices he’d wanted, and he’d never once regretted them, or looked back. he ran one hand through the long beard he’d been growing out for close to a decade and smiled over at Stanta, “Fuck, this…this feels good.”

“Ya look pretty good too,” Stanta said, leaned over and locked mouths with his son, tasting the stale smoke on his lips, their tongue studs clinking against one another, Stanta reaching over and freeing Matthew’s studded, tattooed cock from his grimy jeans. “Got a good head on your shoulders too–so you’re gonna have to take care of your stupid older brother. I don’t think either of you will mind, right? Matty, you love using Mark as a punching bag and fuck toy, right? And Mark, the chance of you fucking up is so much less if you let your brother make all the decisions, right? If you let him be your master? You want a master, you fucking pig? I think that’s the only way you’ll stay out of trouble.”

Mark hated it, but Stanta was right–without Matthew beating some sense into him on occasion, he’d only get in trouble. A leather collar wrapped its way around his neck, and a tattoo appeared on his wide ass, marking him as his brother’s property, just like…like he’d always wanted to be. He switched over and focused on his Master’s cock, sucking him expertly, just the way Matt liked it. If Mark did something wrong, he’d get a slap at best, or the shit beat out of him at worst. Stanta focused, and the two of them glowed bright once more, but this time they disappeared–whisked off to the run down trailer park where they lived now, content in their filth and sloth, and Stanta eyed his final, youngest son–John.

“Well come on boy, dawn’s coming quick, and I hate waiting.”

John thought about fighting it, but didn’t–he walked over and sat down on Stanta’s knee, and said what he’d knew would come out of his mouth, but which he was already dreading–something he’d…he’d been meaning to say for a long time. “I…All I really wanted, was for my father to love me.”

It was true–Stan had never loved John as much as his brothers. Where they had each grown up tall and strong and manly, John had lagged behind–short, a bit underdeveloped, a sissy, as Stan had seen it. Still, he knew, that as a father, he’d failed him, and he didn’t blame John for wanting more. Still…maybe, maybe Stanta could still fix things. He pulled John close to him, the young man feeling a pulse of lust flood into him. he tried to push him away, but Stanta’s tongue was shoved down his throat before he could fight it…and…and he didn’t want to fight it. He…He wanted it, someone to love him, to adore him.

Stanta laid him down on his belly and started eating out his son’s hole, listening to him moan, before he lined his massive cock up and started slipping it inside him. He screamed, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt, at how…full he was, even with just half of Stanta’s massive cock lodged inside of him. “You want my affection boy?” Stanta whispered in his ear, “You want me to love you? Then you’re going to have to become someone I can love. Someone who can satisfy me. Think you can do that? Is that what you really want?”

John didn’t know whether he was compelled to say yes or not, but it didn’t matter–he did want it, he did want this, as terrified as he was, and it came tumbling from his mouth over and over, in time with Stanta’s thrusts. Santa fucked his hole as best he could, and shot inside him–but as soon as he pulled out, he snapped his fingers and a strange rubber blob shot from his bag, and smacked John right in the chest, growing over him until he was completely mummified.

“Well boy? Daddy will be more than happy to give you what we both want. But no magic–well, maybe a little magic at times, but I have a long year ahead of me, and I’ll need a project to keep me occupied,” he said, shoved the squriming man into his bag, and shot back up onto the roof. The sun was cresting the horizon, but he’d finished his night–finally. It had felt like an age, long enough to die and become someone else entirely, but he could finally go home. Go home, and have a little chat with Timmy about how disappointed he was at his deception, and to settle upon a proper punishment.

To be continued…

Christmas III: A Brand New Stanta Claus (Part 9)

It all would have been so much easier, if anything that Joshua did to him had actually felt like a punishment. It was the first crack of the bullwhip across his back which caused Stan to jolt awake, screaming in pain from the lash, and yet, by the fifth strike, his cock was already throbbing hard and leaking. He tried to understand that reaction for a moment, but the pain was so intense, that Stan didn’t have much time to process much of anything, but he knew one thing–he deserved this. He deserved all of this, for flaunting God, for attempting to pass judgement on his fellow man, for being weak willed and giving in to the desires he’d kept locked away for so long. he deserved this, and he loved it.

After his introductory whipping, and seeing how hard his newest catch had become, Joshua decided that Stan’s pleasure should simply be another source of discomfort–he hooked his balls up to electrostimulation, and attached a milker over his cock–by the third load, he was begging for mercy, but Joshua shoved his hand inside his hole and began milking his prostate, draining him over the next several hours, until the old man was sweating, shivering and shooting completely dry loads every ten minutes, over and over again. Joshua was exhausted himself, and decided his victim had had enough for this round–he’d leave him in his cage, and in a few hours wake him up for another round. He detached the milker and locked up Santa’s cock in a chastity cage, and released the chains holding him in the air, sending him crashing to the concrete floor. Stan struggled to his hands and knees, his eyes still bright and desperate, and all he said was, “No, more.”

Not ‘No more,’ Stan wasn’t asking him to stop. He wanted him to continue. He wasn’t sure if this was because of how much he’d enjoyed it, or simply because he was terrified that if Joshua gave him a moment to recover, he would be able to free himself, but he needed more. Joshua ignored him, but Stan felt the magic welling up in him once more, pulsing from him, watching Joshua bulge further, revitalized, and felt his own body changing as well, but he didn’t understand how, until Joshua attached a leash to the collar which had appeared around his neck, and led him over to a mirror–and Stan saw his body had become covered in a riot of tattoos and piercings from foot to face–but he’d wanted them all. He’d wanted the pain, he loved it, and…and he loved inflicting it too, he loved the look on someone’s face when he was hurting them, he loved being cruel, he loved–no, no! What was he saying? This isn’t what he wanted, but looking up at Joshua, what he wanted more than anything was…was to join him. To play…with him. He focused, caught up in his erotic momentum, and the room shifted once more, and Stan and Joshua found themselves with a third member–Troy the cubslut, his first victim, the man Stan now believed he’d let off far too easily. He was chained to the St. Andrew’s cross, wondering how he’d gone from sucking off his elderly, perverse neighbor to this dank dungeon, but Stan grabbed a cat o’ nine tails from the table and began lashing him, laughing, leaking cum from his cock cage, enjoying the painful sensation of his huge cock trying to harden against the steel, and Joshua joined in with glee.

The two of them pummelled the cub for hours, and Troy enjoyed it from about the second hour on, after Stan made him Joshua’s newest subwhore and pain pig. After all those hours of denial, when Stan finally released his throbbing, heavily pierced cock from it’s cage and rammed it into the pig’s open hole, he only managed to thrust twice before he exploded, Joshua leaning over and sharing a kiss, Stan’s mouth tasting of metal and pipe smoke, and Stan knew himself now, at last, his deepest, truest self. It should scare him, he knew that, but all Stanta could do was smile with a strange glee.

It was true. He was weak. He was a sinner. He was corrupted and foul and unworthy of God’s love, just like everyone. A freak and abomination, of body, mind and spirit. But so was everyone else, whether they knew it or not. None of them was perfect, or ever would be. There was no escaping flesh or pain–in fact, both of them were the fundamental pleasures of human existence. He climbed from the basement, leaving Joshua and Troy to continue a more intimate session, made his way to the bathroom and stared at himself. At his shaved head, dotted with metal spike implanted in the bone of his skull, at the riot of bars and rings coating his wrinkled face, accented by the tattoos running up his neck and onto his cheeks. At his massively fat body, sagging over his well worn leathers, feeling the foot and a half long cock he now wielded, pierced and modded, as he locked it back in it’s cage, so his pleasure could build up again until it’s next painful release. This was him. This had always been him, he’d just been afraid of his own nature. He remembered now, back in his childhood bedroom, how he’d ripped open his friend’s pants and swallowed his cock, so…clumsy, and yet it had been the most satisfying thing he’d ever known–until his father had walked in on them both. Ever since, he’d done everything in his power to tamp down his desires, to erode the edges of himself to fit into the square society set for him, but no more. He’d been given more power than he had ever dreamed possible, and he was never going to relinquish it now–not ever. He’d punish the whole world, drag out their true selves, and he’d be there at the very center of the orgy, where he’d always wanted to be.