The Power of Society (Part 3)

The jocks of Alpha Phi Delta were oblivious to what had just occurred at Sigma Mu Tau right next door to them, but they were as confused as those young men had been, when Harold entered and told them all to gather in the living room for a house meeting. The house here was in considerably messier shape than next door had been. Piled by the door were sneakers and cleats of all kinds. Personal items, dirty bowls and plates, and even some clothes littered the room as the jocks filed in and sat down on the couches and floor around the fireplace, where the older gentleman was standing, checking his watch, and looking around at the men gathering. While the men next door had all been in rather good shape, Alpha Phi Delta was known to attract the star athletes on campus. It had always been a bit of a joke on campus that the two fraternities were right next door to one another, but the two houses had always embraced that, and turned it into a rivalry–brains against brawn, as they called it. But Harold had other plans in mind for the two houses this year. He hoped to bring the two groups closer than they’d ever been before.

“Hello everyone,” Harold said, “I just wanted to take a moment out of your busy first week to introduce myself. I’m professor Harold Larson, from the psychology department, and the dean of students has been kind enough to allow me to use your fraternity as a subject in a little experiment I’m conducting.”

No one said much of anything here, but Harold hadn’t anticipated much pushback, like at the other house–or at least, not yet. Looking around the room, the men all seemed rather bored and uninterested in this–but that would change soon enough. Harold had a small bag with him, and at this, he set it down on the table and began pulling some things from it. “Now, for this experiment, I’m going to need you all to help me out, by wearing a new house uniform, which I will explain now.

“Wait, uniform?” someone asked.

“Yes–I will need each of you to wear one of these jockstraps 24/7 until I tell you otherwise. I assumed you wouldn’t object, given that you all are likely rather accustomed to wearing them anyway.”

“A jockstrap? All the time? What for?”

“I’m afraid that until you put on the uniforms, I am unable to explain their purpose fully. It’s part of the study.”

“What if we don’t want to?”

“I was told by the dean that all of you would be very excited to participate in this. You all find this very intriguing, and are more than happy to comply. Now, if you would all please strip off your clothes, we can begin putting all of you into your new uniforms.”

No one in the room found anything to object to it that, so the entire room stood up and began to strip off their clothes. That was rather easy, since they were all fairly accustomed to seeing each other naked in the locker rooms, but Harold couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of so many well formed young men, naked in a room with him. What fun he was going to have with them all.

“Now, I’ll ask you all to form a line. I will give you a jockstrap, and then we will secure it, to ensure it remains in place for the remainder of the experiment.”

The jocks lined up, and Harold handed the first one a jockstrap. The young man put it on, and then Harold took a metal cable tie from inside the bag. With one hand, he got a firm grip around the young man’s cock and balls through the pouch and the jock, tugging them away from his body, and then secured the metal tie around the base, tighter than a cock ring, but not quite tight enough to interfere with circulation entirely. The result was the jock’s cock and balls locked inside the pouch of the jock, with the metal tie on the outside. Harold lastly trimmed the loose end of the tie with shears, applied a quick drying super glue to the locking mechanism of the tie, and sent the jock back into the room. Seeing what was going on, the men in the cue grew a bit wary and confused, but a few words of comfort from the professor were enough to settle them down. Fifteen minutes later, the jocks were all secure in their new uniforms, sitting around the room, each of them touching and examining the pouch where their cocks and balls were locked in. The ties were snug enough to act as a cock ring, and several of the men were sporting erections, though they found them rather…uncomfortable, when confined inside the relatively small space of the jock pouch.

“There, I must say that the new uniforms look excellent on you, and I’m sure you all agree, right? None of you feel any desire to try and tamper with and remove your uniforms, correct?”

The men murmured agreement and nodded, but the reluctance was palpable.

“Very good. Now, There are also two house rules which all of you will need to abide by, through the course of this study. I’ll go over the rules, and then take any questions you all might have. First, when in this house, the only clothing you are allowed to wear is your new uniform. If you need to leave the house, you will dress only right before leaving the house, and as soon as you arrive back, you will strip naked once again. Second, your new uniforms must not be washed. Because they cannot be removed, that means you all will have to forego showers for the duration of the study. Now–any questions?” the professor saw several hands rise, nervously, and he smiled, pointing to one young man in the front.

“Um…how are we supposed to piss in these things?”

I’m still taking votes for Part 5 of Dale’s Story. Help me decide what to do to his asshole brother!

FatOldHog: There, I fucking did it, are you happy?

DaddyLoveXXX: You’re not done yet Hog, you still have to eat it. That was the deal, remember?

DaddyLoveXXX: Yeah, that’s a good hog, slurp all that old cum of yours down. Go on Hog, tell me how it tasted–did you enjoy eating your own seed?


It was fucking disgusting. 

DaddyLoveXXX: Oh really? I thought an old pig like you would enjoy a treat like that.”


Look, I did everything you said I had to do, alright? Please just change me back.

DaddyLoveXXX: No, if you remember, I told you I’d be willing to change you back after we’d both had our fun, isn’t that right? Well I still haven’t gotten off, you old hog, so if you really want me to change you back, you’re going to have to help me out.


No, this is fucking over!

DaddyLoveXXX: Now now, be careful! You wouldn’t want me changing that username of yours again, would you? Now play with those fat grandpa titties for me, show me how much you like showing yourself off.

DaddyLoveXXX: Come on now, that isn’t very sexy at all! Hold on…


Yeah, now you’re getting into the spirit Hog! Looking sexy, getting my cock hard. Why don’t you go find one of those toys you have, and then come back and we’ll play someone.

OldHogPervert: Toys? What…


No–fuck you, no, I’m not putting anything in my ass!


Oh really? 


I thought disgusting perverts like you put things in your ass all the time, though. In fact, I bet there’s something in that old hole of yours right now.

Plug_My_PiggyHole: Oh fuck, why does that feel so good?

DaddyLoveXXX: Because you’re a slutty daddy piggy, that’s why! Fuck, look at you go, ramming that thing in deep–it looks big enough to be a fist! I bet you’d rather have my cock in your ass though, isn’t that right?


Don’t just give me that little half nod–type it out. I want to see it.


I wish you were fucking my old piggy hole.


God, why did I just call it that?


Because that’s what it is!


Daddy, keep a hold of yourself–don’t you go making another mess now!


Fuck Hog, we’re going to have to keep you better under control, so you don’t keep cumming like that.

Locked_PiggyHole: What the fuck is this fucking thing? How do you get it off?


It doesn’t fucking come off daddy–you’re going to be wearing that new cage for a long, long time–fuck, here it comes!


Damn hog, that was a fun session. Glad you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.


Please, just change me back now…


Oh alright.

LinebackerPiggy: Wait–I’m young again, but I’m still fat! And my cock’s still in this damn cage! Change me all the way back!


No way! I don’t think your coach would be very happy with me for messing with his piggy linebacker slave, do you?


No, you can’t do this to me, please!


DaddyLoveXXX has signed off.>


Fucking get back on here! 

<DaddyLoveXXX has signed off.>

Connected/related to this caption

“No boy, I still don’t think that’s shiny enough, do you?”

He shivered again, felt the leather glove against his scalp as he pulled the brush back, looking down at the boots of his master–

Master? No, this was…who was he again?

Coworker? They came to the convention together, didn’t they? But he’d come back to discover this…older man in these leathers, who had complained that his boy hadn’t shined his boots properly, and now here he was, trying as hard as he could. Why wasn’t anything good enough?

“I’m…sorry sir.”

“Don’t be sorry, just fix it boy.”

The leather glove on his hand was firmer now, pressing down.

“Go on, look closer. See those smudges? Looks like shit, boy, you can do better for daddy.”

The leather was so shiny he could see his reflection, though in the curve of the black, he seemed to be warped. His face seemed so smooth, as smooth as the boot. Where had his beard gone? Where had his hair gone? The glove weighed him down, and he found himself moving closer still to the top of the boot, fear and a strange exhilaration overwhelming him. Licking the leather, tasting the boot black, it seemed so natural. Proper.

He was cold. Naked. Bent over as he was, he saw his suit had disappeared. His body was as smooth as his face, as smooth as the boot. Flabby, underdeveloped. His one accessory was the metal cage around his puny cock and balls, to keep his boymeat in check.

Daddy allowed him up, and he inspected the surface. “Better boy.” Now the other one. The boy’s cock throbbed in his cage and he leapt to the other boot, hungry for the flavor of leather now, tongue black, teeth gritty, but anything for his daddy, anything.

Learning to Like Ass (Part 2)

Rudy started screaming, but the knife–it was definitely a knife, landed against his throat.

“I won’t kill ya–just…fuck up your voice box a bit. Or do you just wanna be quiet for daddy?”

He shut up. The knife rolled over his neck, and then the biker dragged the tip down his chest. He didn’t apply enough force to cut him, but Rudy stopped breathing anyway, freezing his body as best he could, feeling the knife slip lower, past his cock where it finally came up from his skin.

“Not an assman, what a crock a shit. Guys like you should be happy anyone’s willing tah offer you a hole at all. Can’t do to be that picky, you know.”

“I get plenty of tail,” Rudy spat at him.

“Heh, sure man. That’s why you’re prowlin’ ‘round the rest stop, cause ya got plenty a tail. No Rudy, no one wants tah get fucked a sad sack like you.”

Rudy started to retort, but froze when he felt something slip between his legs and between his ass cheeks. It wasn’t the knife, like he’d first expected–it was just the biker’s finger–and before he could object he started pressing at Rudy’s hole with the tip, massaging it slowly, and unable to stop himself, Rudy let out a long sigh, collapsed onto the bed and moaned.

“Don’t worry man, mah finger’s can work magic,” the biker said. “What do ya think, man? Think I can convince ya anal might not be so bad?”

“F-Fuck you…” Rudy groaned, his back arching, limbs tugging at the ropes holding him to the bed.

“Fuck me? No no no, fuck you, Rudy.”

He tried to shut his hole up, but the man’s finger just…just slipped into him effortlessly, and fuck, it felt good in there, like it fucking belonged. His cock was hard, and he could already feel it pulsing, getting ready to blow. Deeper still, fuck, more, another finger, something, he needed it, he was so close, he was gonna explode–


He woke up, with a suddering groan, two of his own fingers burrowed deep in his own ass, and his cock started spraying cum across the bed sheets he’d kicked off in the night. He just laid there, fingers still inside, panting and looking around. Hadn’t…he been tied up? Out the window, the sky was the deep purple of the hours before dawn, but it had been pitch black, hadn’t it? When he’d been in here? He realized his hand was still inside him, and he yanked it out, got up from the bed and immediately washed his hands over and over until he couldn’t smell it anymore, and then looked around for evidence, but found nothing. He had no bruises or marks on his wrists or ankles, not even a speck of ash from the biker’s cigar that he’d been smoking. So had it been a dream? He’d never had a dream like that, it had felt so damn real! He managed to shake it off after a bit, and by then it was time for work, so he got dressed and left the trailer, hoping he could just forget about it as quickly as possible.

The rest of the week was just…strange. He didn’t quite feel like himself. He’d look at himself in the mirror, and something would throw him off–the scraggly beard, the unkempt hair, the paunch–none of which he could recall having before. Sure, he was himself, but…maybe it was just his confidence or something, but he kept striking out. Girls who usually were desperate for a lay with him were suddenly throwing him cold shoulders or coming up with lame excuses for why they didn’t want to meet with him. The guys at the rest area seemed equally uninterested, and for the first time in long time, he went several days without fucking anyone, and it was driving him mad. It didn’t help that whenever he masturbated he…couldn’t get himself over the edge. He’d stroke for hours on end, but all that would happen is he’d end up even hornier than he’d started. He couldn’t sleep either. He was too terrified that he might…dream like that again, or worse that it hadn’t been a dream, and the biker would show up like before.

It was a week and a half, when it happened again. He’d started sleeping a bit better, but the crushing horniness was only getting worse. The heat was increasing too, as summer wore on, and he woke that night in a froth, his cock achingly hard, and resigned himself to try again. He started stroking, but nothing was happening, but he also couldn’t stop! He wanted to cum so badly, he’d…he’d do fucking anything.

“Anything, Rudy?”

His stomach tried to crawl it’s way out his mouth. He looked over, and there, smoking one of those nasty cigars of his, was the fucking biker, right there in his armchair, watching him try to jack off. “What…How did you get in here?”

“The door, Rudy–you fucking dumbass,” the biker said, and stood up, “Yeah, dumbass. Anybody else woulda put two and two together, but ya couldn’t even get tah two in the first place. You remember what made you feel so good last time, Rudy? Why don’t you try that and see what happens.”

No–not that. But his hand, it…it wouldn’t stop. He licked two fingers, rolled over a bit and poked at his hole, gasping immediately as precum started gushing from his cock. He fingered himself, deep, desperate to cum, but as good as it felt, it…wasn’t enough. “I still can’t cum, you fuck,” Rudy said, “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“You can’t cum, Rudy, cause fingers aren’t enough for you–you know that,” the biker unzipped the fly of his pants and let his huge cock fall from his pants. It…looked ever bigger than before, and fuck, Rudy wanted it inside him, he hadn’t even known how much he wanted it, but fuck did he.

“Oh god, fuck me, fuck me please! Please, I just want to cum, please…” Rudy said, rolled up on his hands and knees, ass towards the biker’s cock.

“Heh, if you insist Rudy, if you insist.”

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 4)

“But dad, I had plans this weekend already! I don’t understand why I needed to come meet some fucking buddy of yours anyway, I could care less,” Shawn said, slouching down a bit further in the passenger seat of his dad’s luxury sedan. “Where in the hell does this guy live, anyway? We’re in the middle of nowhere. I thought you said he was a coworker of yours.”

“He is–he works at the same company as me,” Gerard, Shawn’s father, said. It wasn’t technically a lie. He did work with Ned…sort of. More accurately, Ned had made his life a living hell for the last half of a year. The anticipation of having his cock unlocked however was too exciting, and Gerard felt more cum ooze from his massive balls into his damp crotch.

“Dad…are you alright?” Shawn had noticed his father’s knuckles were white, they were clenching the steering wheel so tight. “This isn’t some nasty boyfriend of yours or something is it? You know I don’t want to meet any of your faggot friends.”

“I’m fine. He’s not…we’re not together, no. He’s just a friend. You’ll…you’ll like him, I promise. He just likes living out in the country, is all.”

“He makes this commute everyday?”


Shawn was seventeen, and currently attended an elite private school his father paid for. He only saw his massively obese, disgusting faggot father one weekend a month, but that was almost too much for him. He hated his father’s guts, to be honest–he couldn’t believe he was his father actually, this obese fat worthless fuck. Still, he’d insisted Shawn come with him, or he’d tell his ex-wife about those…photos Shawn had on his computer. Finally, after almost forty-five minutes on the road, they pulled into a gravel drive, and pulled up in front of a mobile home. Shawn took one look at the ramshackle single wide, and turned to his dad in disbelief. “Here? This guy lives here?”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Gerard said, and got out of the car, sounding a bit stressed, but Shawn didn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt.

“No–I’m not…this is fucking dumb. Take me home, I don’t care what you tell mom.”

“Come on son, this is important,” Gerard said, and opened the passenger door. “Just…just do this for me, please?”

Shawn just looked up at him, and said, “No.” That one word had settled enough arguments for him in the past with his parents, but just to be cautious, he added, “No, and if you don’t drive me home this instant I’m going to tell mom about this, and her lawyers are going to have a field day. It won’t matter what you tell her, because you’ll never fucking see me again.”

Gerard let out a noise of frustration, and stormed away from the car, “You’re such a spoiled brat!” he shouted, “Just get out of the fucking car.”

The door to the trailer swung open, and silhouetted in the door was a massively fat figure, and some obese redneck tromped down the stairs, “Ya bring ‘em, bitch?”

“Y-Yes sir, he’s in the car, but he won’t get out.”

“Heh, I got it, since a bitch like you can’t control a fuckin’ boy.”

Ned lumbered over the the car door, and Shawn closed it before the fatass could get there, but the guy didn’t seem to care, he just leaned against the glass, with something shiny swinging from his fingers. What…what was that? Some medallion or something? Shawn found himself obsessed with it, unable to look away, unable to do much of anything, actually. Without really knowing why, he opened the car door again, undid his seatbelt and got out of the car, all without removing his eyes from the shiny thing still swinging in front of his face. Distantly, he was aware of the redneck running his chubby hands all over his body, even down the front of his pants, feeling his cock and balls in his underwear, before turning away from him and walking back towards his dad–without the medallion in his eyes, he felt his mind leap forward, and he tried to shout…but he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, all he could do was stand there like a statue, listening to the redneck talk to his dad.

“Look…I brought him like…like you told me to. Would you please unlock it sir? I…I can’t fucking sleep, it hurts so much.”

“No bitch, It stays locked.”

“But you said–”

“I keep the boy fer the weekend. Come back Sunday night, eight o’clock to pick ‘em up. Then ya git some time out a there. Now drop yer pants, I got a load fer yer ass.”

They didn’t move out of Shawn’s eye sight, and he couldn’t close them, as he watched his dad drop his pants and lean up against the side of the trailer, while the redneck dropped his own pants and with some adjusting of his own fat apron shoved his cock in his father’s ass…and…and it looked like Gerard was enjoying it. It sounded like it too, and he kept begging the redneck to unlock it, to let him shoot. The redneck finished, and when his dad turned around, he saw his father’s cock was…encased in some metal thing, like a cage, but then he had his slacks pulled up again. Without looking at his son, Gerard walked around to the car, got in, and drove away, trying not to think about what he’d just done, and the redneck came around beside Shawn.

“Name’s Ned, boy, but ya don’ git tah call me that. Ya jus’ git tah call me master. Now git in there, ‘n let’s see if yer hole’s as tight as yer bitch father’s was.”

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 3)

Needless to say, Gerard began staying late much more often at the office. In fact, he found it impossible to leave until Ned had come through to clean the office, and to find some new way to bring the banker down a few more pegs at a time. It was the very next night that Ned made the banker strip naked in his presence–the fat redneck gave him a hand job and then as soon as Gerard’s cock softened again, forced his cock into a metal cage, and locked it with a padlock. It was a tight fit–immediately Gerard’s cock tried to get hard again, and the pain was excruciating, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Ned said he needed to be punished for cumming without permission, and so the cage would stay on until he felt Gerard had earned an orgasm for himself.

Gerard never earned an orgasm, not in the next several months. Most nights, Ned would simply come by the office, looking more and more filthy and disheveled and slobby each day, force Gerard to serve him in any number of ways, and then leave him again. At first, Gerard would do his best to not do anything to make Ned change him further–he was agreeable and wouldd serve him as required…and in some ways he kind of enjoyed it. He’d already found himself making time for himself throughout the day to slip away from the office for an hour or two, so he could go to the porn theaters and shops downtown and suck a few loads from strangers when he got hungry. On the weekends, he would spend the entire afternoon and evening there, drinking cum like a fiend, praying his wife wouldn’t figure out why he was suddenly completely uninterested in having sex with her–not that they’d had sex much at all, in this new life of his. Still, Gerard could only take so much humiliation, and from time to time, Ned’s picking and goading would work. Gerard would start resisting–would yell and scream and swear and try to punch and anything to get back at Ned for ruining his life, and Ned would use his outbursts as excuses to press the medallion to his heart again, and ruin his life bit by bit.

The second week, during his first outburst, Gerard made the mistake of ridiculing Ned for his size and fat body–so Ned shifted his life until Ned himself was a binge eater. His waist exploded in size immediately, and Gerard kept hoping it would stop, as he looked down at himself, but it just kept going, stopping only when he was over four hundred pounds. Not quite as large as Ned, but still, that shut him up. He hated it though–he was hungry constantly, and found that he had to have a snack with him at all times, or he couldn’t function, and the only place he could go for lunch and feel full were all you can eat buffets. After two weeks he broke down, begging Ned to let him stop eating for a bit. Ned took a kind of pity on him. Gerard didn’t stop eating by any means, but suddenly he loved the feeling of his fat body, and found himself fantasizing about becoming even larger. Eating became a challenge, to see how much he could stuff in his face each day, and even though he was disgusted with himself, he couldn’t stop. Worse, the fuller his belly the more turned on he got, but his cock, trapped in a cage, couldn’t be satisfied. Instead, he just ate more and more, driven into a sexual feeding frenzy–usually capping off his meals with at least ten loads of cum from strangers at the bathhouse.

The situation with his wife and son was becoming unbearable however–whenever he was home, it seemed like they were fighting. Two months after Ned first seized control of him, he broke down in tears, on his knees in front of the redneck, begging him for mercy, desperate to keep his family together. The redneck just laughed at him, pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, and when it pulled away, he didn’t have to worry about his wife anymore, since he’d been divorced for years. Ned consoled him as he sobbed, reminding him that now he lots more time to spend stuffing his face and sucking cock, without have to worry about hiding it from his bitch of an ex-wife. He still saw his son on occasion–one weekend a month. Shawn hated his father’s faggot guts however, and refused to spend any quality time with him at all, even when he did have a moment of custody.

Still, Ned helped him settle in a comfortable, bachelor lifestyle. Ned gave him a ten cigar a day smoking habit, and made him an alcoholic–helped him realize how silly it was taking a shower every day–or more than once a week. After six months, Gerard was a completely different person–close to over 450 pounds, reeking of sweat, smoke and booze, ill fitting and often unwashed clothing, crusty with food and cum. He’d gone from being the star of the company in a corner office to a low level manager barely hanging onto his job–but he hung on all the same. It was, really, the last bit of himself that he had left.

Then, one night, Ned told him that he’d finally thought of a way for Gerard to earn an orgasm for himself. All he had to do was, when the next weekend came that his son Shawn was staying with him, bring his son out to the trailer where Ned lived in the country, and give him to Ned. If Gerard brought him his only son, then he could get the chance to shoot his first load in months. Gerard refused, at first, until Ned pressed the medallion to a new spot on his body, right over his cock, inflating his genitals to massive proprotions. His cock, which ached already, was suddenly in constant pain in it’s enclosure, and his cum production was so constant that even in his cage he leaked constantly. The pain was too much to bear, and so Gerard agreed–he’d bring Ned his son, for a chance to be free of this pain. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t live like this, and…and it wasn’t like Shawn loved him anyway. In fact, he kind of hated his son, hated the way he looked at him. If he could get a little comfort, then Shawn was a sacrifice Gerard was willing to make.

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.

Always Another Curse (Sketch)

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

Jerry looked next to him, and saw Mac–by far the fattest kid in school–had waddled up next to him and was staring at him. Of course, Mac hadn’t been the fattest kid in school for very long–before, that title had belonged to Jerry, and Mac had been one of his biggest bullies. “You did this to me, fucking fess up, you…you said something to me yesterday and I…” his pudgy jowls turned bright red, and he looked away, unable to keep going.

“Tell me everything you did yesterday–but make sure you speak loud enough that everyone in the hallway can here,” Jerry said calmly. Mac’s eyes went wide, but words were already tumbling from his mouth.

“I was gonna beat you up yesterday, but you…said something, and I decided I had better shit to do, but…but my ass was itching really bad when I got home…”

It was obvious from his face that he was desperately trying to keep the words back–Allie was right there–and her loose lips murdered reputations just as easily as the sucked down cum behind the bleachers. Jerry knew that she was there, of course–this was too perfect.

“…When I got home, I…I got undressed and I stuck a finger in my ass to…to try and itch it, but it felt really good, and I had two fingers in there, when I started growing fatter! I tried to stop, but I kept using my fingers, and now I’m like, 700 pounds. So…so what did you do to me?”

Allie’s eyes had lit up at the mention of anal pleasure–she’d already fled to tell everyone she could find. “Do you have something up your ass right now, Mac?” Jerry asked.

“One…one of my mom’s…dig dildos. Please…Don’t make me keep talking!”

Jerry smirked. “Meet me in the bathroom after school, and try not to cum–you won’t like what happens.”

“I can’t even reach my cock! I haven’t been able to cum all day,” Mac said, but Jerry just turned and walked away, leaving Mac to heave himself to class, until they met up in the bathroom after school, where Jerry immediately told him to strip naked. Mac did as he was told–standing there in his obese glory. “Please, just fix this, please…”

“Lift up your gut,” Jerry said. Mac did so, and he got down on his knees and started fiddling with Mac’s cock. “The only way to get your body back is to cum three times–but you’ll keep twenty five pounds for each day you remain in this form, so I’d suggest you hurry.”

There was a click, and Mac felt something pulling his cock down slightly–and like his cock was…restrained. “What…”

“I just put a chastity cage on you.”

Mac just stared at him. “But…But you said–”

“Well I didn’t want it to be easy for you, you fucking asshole. Besides, the only way you can cum is with a cock in your ass–a real cock, not a dildo. Anyway, I have to get home–I have homework to do.”

Mac screamed and tried to grab him, but he ended up just falling to the ground, Jerry stepping out of the way.

“Screaming isn’t going to make a difference–I suggest you find some guys to fuck you, and soon, if you don’t want to be that fat permanently. Of course, with that stubby cock of yours locked, you’re going to have to rely on anal stimulation, so fisting would really be the best option.”

“Fuck…fuck you.”

“Heh, no Mac. Fuck. You.” Jerry said. “But if you ask me nicely, maybe I’ll give you some help.”

Mac glared at him, and spat at his feet–he didn’t give in and accept Jerry offer until after school three days later, after he’d been relentlessly bullied by all of his previous friends, and spent every evening fucking his ass raw with his mom’s stolen dildo. Jerry made him beg, and suck his cock, before giving him assistance, mumbling a second spell over him. Mac didn’t notice a difference; Jerry told him he would soon enough. Mac was pissed, but he walked home–and nothing at all seemed strange until his dad came home, and they smelled each other…

They ended up in the garage, his dad’s cock buried deep in Mac’s asshole, fucking him deep, but as good as it felt, with the cage on he couldn’t cum–that didn’t stop his dad from fucking him again that evening, twice during the night, and one last time before work. Worse than getting fucked by his dad, was that Mac liked it. He wanted to submit, he wanted to be fucked by him, and it felt…it felt so fucking good, to have his dad’s cock in his hole. Still, it was time for school–he passed several men before another one caught his nose–a chubby roughneck wearing some dirty workgear, and they fucked in a narrow gap between two houses. At least twenty men smelled attractive at school, including several teachers and his old coach, but between the orgy that kept him occupied in the bathroom most of the day, he managed to eek out one load from his locked cock.

It took him all weekend and two more days to come all three times, and then, finally, he felt the fat beginning to fall off his body–but not all of it. He had been a muscular 225 before all of this, but after the curse, he only lost about half–resting at a still obese 450 nine days later. But the men still smelled amazing…and he quickly realized that just because he’d overcome the first curse, didn’t mean he’d beaten the second–who knew what sort of demands Jerry was going to make if Mac wanted all his freedom back?

Coach’s Summer Training – Part 2

Phillip Emerson was my next pupil. I’d met him while helping out with a few local wrestling meets at the college level. Part of what I liked about him was he was more than an exceptional all around athlete, he was incredibly smart to boot, in the midst of pursuing some degree in an advanced math program. Just the kind of guy I can destroy, and love every second doing it, usually with a bit of challenge along the way. Wrestling was his chance to not think for a while, he told me, and I figured that by the time we were through, he wouldn’t be thinking much at all. We spent a day in the ring getting nice and sweaty, and I offered him a massage to help him cool down afterward. I started on his shoulders, and immediately his body went limp, and he let out a groan. I urged him to relax, to just focus on his good it felt as I kneaded all the tension from my body. He still eventually noticed what I was doing, of course, once he saw his legs shrivelling up and disappearing into his torso. I started pulling him on, and he couldn’t do anything but flap his withering arms at me, his head shrinking down into his neck of the shirt as I pushed my head through. I sniffed the sweaty fabric and jacked off, making sure to shoot up the front–the first load of seed of many more to come.

As I expected, Phillip was too smart to be a screamer–he was a bargainer. He obviously knew that I wanted something out of him, but he didn’t know what. His mind was too adept for me to wear him down to the breaking point like I had Shawn–so I decided to work on him a little differently. I proceeded with what I had been planning, and I started a long, intense workout regimen which had Phillip soaked in my sweat from dawn to dusk, and as I lifted weights and ran my miles, I counted. I counted steps, I counted sets and reps, and I counted at him, and soon, unable to help himself, he was counting too. He didn’t exactly have much else to do, right? And he did love math, after all. Then, while he was busy counting, I could sneak around in his head, sand off off a little cleverness here, erode a little vocabulary there, take off a little bit of wit over there. By the time he noticed that he was getting dumber, it was too late–then he started screaming.

Thankfully he got too dumb to figure out why he should scream soon after that. Soon his mind was so far gone that pretty much all he could do was count–and not very high at that. He’d usually lose track somewhere around ninety during our runs–that jump to one hundred always seemed to confuse him, so he’d happily start back at one again over and over and over again. He was much better with sets and reps, of course–smaller numbers were better, he said. I had him eagerly sucking up all of my sweat at this point too. You know those fabrics that are supposed to wick away moisture? They don’t have anything on a jock trapped in a shirt sucking all your sweat up and drinking it down for you. I had also been making him bigger this whole time, baggier, with big arm holes and a low scooping neck. When I was happy with him, I decided it was probably time for the finale.

As I said, if I focus hard enough, I can keep someone as clothing even when they aren’t on my body. One morning, I finally peeled Phillip off my wet body, laid him out on a table, got out a black sharpie, and I started drawing. On the back I wrote “MUSCLE FAGGOT”, in big, thick letters, and then filled in the rest with smaller stuff. Some of it was writing–“Musk pig”,  “Fuck my holes” with an arrow pointing down the back–but everything else was just swirls and blocks of black ink all over the shirt. He didn’t understand what I was doing at all–but once he was more black ink than white (well, “white” I suppose, he was really more of a dingy brown at this point) I released my focus, and the brand new Phillip Emerson emerged from his form.

He was huge–at least six and a half feet tall, and packed with muscle from neck to calf. Hell, he could have been an amazing bodybuilder, if it wasn’t for all of his tattoos. He was covered everywhere, even up onto his neck, face, and shaved head with tribal swirls. Of course, the centerpiece on his back was “MUSCLE FAGGOT” in massive letters so large it had to be spread down over two lines, and the simple minded oaf didn’t really know what was going on, but he could smell me, he could smell my musk, and so he got down and started cleaning my body for me. I fucked his surprisingly tight hole in return, before dropping him off at his home, a local gym. He lived upstairs there, and worked out day and night–when he wasn’t getting gangbanged by the regulars in the locker room. Being as stupid as he was came with some issues of its own. He was lucky that the owner was a sadistic fucker who loved the idea of keeping a big, stupid, muscle faggot pet for himself and all of his friends. Still, because he didn’t quite understand social standards, Phillip’s dick was kept locked 24/7, so he couldn’t just drop his shorts anytime and start jacking off like a pig during business hours. When he kept stripping his clothes off anyway, his master forced him to wear singlets, because he was too stupid to figure out how to take them off without help–and so he never did, usually wearing them until they started ripping and tearing at the seams, his locked cock obvious underneath the spandex. Needless to say, I keep a membership there now, but rarely to work out–I mostly just like to drop in on my muscle faggot on a regular basis. He’s always so excited when he smells me coming–even though he doesn’t even know why.

Rick and the Beast – Part 3

It’s been a while since I started this one. Here’s parts one and two as a refresher.

The next couple of weeks were a new kind of hell for Rick, as he fell under the tighter and tighter control of Jim Newman, known around campus simply as “The Beast”. He no longer had the option of ignoring the texts he received, at least, not if he wanted to cum again. The Beast took full advantage of this, and regularly forced Rick to excuse himself from his classes in order to go pleasure his master wherever he happened to be at the moment. More often than not, the need for Rick’s holes would arise somewhere public, usually the bathroom, locker room, or even out on an athletic field behind the bleachers. He lived in constant terror that someone would see what was happening, and yet discovery would also have brought some relief–at least then his secret would be out; he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to keep it burning inside him at this rate.

His moments away from his master were just as terrible for different reasons. He lived in constant fear that someone would discover his chastity, which required him to shower very late at night, and experiment with a variety of different ways to try and keep his roommate, Josh, from seeing him naked. As such, his hygiene began to slip. Wearing the same clothes for days on end–even sleeping in them, became easier than daring to change underwear. The same with showering–it became much easier to simply not bother at all. But, he discovered that he was beginning to pick up new habits, the more he interacted with The Beast. The most obvious was his appetite–it seemed like ever since his feeding out behind the kitchens that night, it was now impossible for him to be full. Each week, The Beast would text him late at night, demanding that he return to the dumpsters, where he would again be stuffed. Those were the only moments he’d felt the least bit full, and he was growing increasingly terrified that The Beast was turning him into someone he had no interest in being. It was that fear that finally pushed him over the edge–he simply had no choice anymore. He would have to report what was happening to him.

But who should he tell? His first thought was a teacher, but given his poor attendance and shoddy work, he hadn’t developed a close relationship with any of them. In fact, they all seemed to rather despise him, including his advisor. A friend? He had no friends. Besides, who could even understand what he was going through? They also wouldn’t have any power, and if The Beast found out that he’d told a student, he feared for their safety almost as much as his own. That left one final possibility in his mind–he would have to go to campus security and talk to someone there, and then go to the police. It took him a few days to work up the courage to go into the building, and finally say to the young man working at the desk that he needed to report a rape. Much to his surprise, he was very understanding, and escorted him into a small interview room, asked him a few basic questions about himself, and then left, telling him that someone would be with him shortly to talk to him.

For the next several minutes, Rick allowed himself to feel relieved. It was all going to be ok after all. He’d just tell them what had happened, and he’d be free at last. And then the door opened, and in there in the doorway was a man so large he had to stoop slightly and turn to the side to enter the room. He was older, with short greying hair, dressed in a security uniform stretched tight across his muscular physique, and for some reason Rick couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s crotch as he walked around to the other side of the table. He sat down across from Rick, introduced himself as Officer Pike, and began asking him questions about the rape–Rick did his best to answer him, but it was getting harder and harder for him to focus. The questions became more intimate and personal, and Rick was feeling uncomfortable answering them, in part because he didn’t quite like the answers that were coming out of his mouth.

“And how did it feel, when Mr. Newman thrust his big, fat cock inside you? Did it hurt?”

“Yes sir…Yes, it hurt more than anything.”

“But it was worth it, in the end, wasn’t it? Because that big cock ended up fucking the cum right out of you.”

“”I mean, I came sir, but I didn’t–”

“I suppose, my main concern is–how can it have been rape if you came? I mean, that means you must have enjoyed it on some level.”

“I mean, it did feel kind of good, but…but I didn’t want him…to…”

“You didn’t what, what him to make you feel good?”

“No! I mean, that’s not…”

The officer leaned back, and put his hands back behind his head. Rick found himself staring at the sweat stains in the pits of his uniform, and licked his lips.

“Have you had any contact with Mr. Newman since that initial incident?”

“I mean, yeah…I gave him my phone number–”

“You gave your alleged rapist your phone number?”

“Not…I mean, not because I wanted to, sir, but because he made me…”

“Why didn’t you just give him a fake number?”

Why hadn’t he done that? That made so much sense, but it hadn’t occured to him at the time. “I…I don’t know.”

“So, you have seen him since. Have you had sex on any of those occasions?”

Rick was silent. He suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore. “I think…I think I should go, I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Officer Pike said, “Stand up and strip.”

Rick wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but his body was already moving, getting up from the table and removing all of his clothes, until he was completely naked, aside from his metal chastity device around his cock, which was desperately trying to harden within the confines.

“Tell me what you want to do right now.”

“I want to lick your pits sir. I want to lick your sweaty body clean, and I want to suck your cock, and I want you to fuck me sir, I want you to fuck me rough.” Rick kept trying to tell his mouth to stop talking, but it just fell from him, all the fantasies that had been flying through his mind since Officer Pike had entered the room.

“Get down here and lick my boots clean, pig, and if you do a good job, maybe I’ll put my big cock in your hole.”

Rick got down without a question, crawled across the tile floor and began licking the Officer’s boots clean. This close to him the smell of him was overwhelming, but it wasn’t until he was bent over the table, the officer’s cock buried in his ass, that he finally realized what he was smelling. He was smelling The Beast. It was the same smell–if he closed his eyes, he could smell his master behind him fucking him deep, except Officer Pike’s cock was slightly shorter, but quite a bit thicker. After he came, he ordered Rick to sit down in a chair, handcuffed him to the back, and left the room, telling him that he’d receive the rest of his punishment in a few hours, when their Master finished with practice and came to deal with Rick himself.