Truth or Dare

Alex was used to the sensation by now, the odd tugging in his mind, not exactly moving him limbs for him, but making it impossible for him to move them in any direction other than where “Dad” had told him to go. He parked his car on the street and got out, still a bit self-conscious in his leather harness and chaps, even though he’d been wearing them out of the house more and more often these days, whenever he was told to during their numerous games of “Simon Says.” How fucking twisted was that? A fucking kids game, and here he was, cigar glowing in the fading evening light, dressed up like a fucking leather fag, about to go into some dingy bar where he was going to meet his tormentor face to face for the first time.

Months–it was hard to remember when exactly it had started. It had just been a game at first, something silly to do over chat. He can’t remember exactly when he discovered that Dad’s suggestions were really compulsions–probably the first time he’d been forced to go buy a cigar and light up, mimicking Dad’s actions as closely as possible the entire time. He pushed the memory away, it was too terrifying to think about right now. He had no idea what to expect now–he’d gotten on for their usual afternoon chat, and immediately noticed that something was strange–Dad was in a different room than usual–it looked like a motel room, and he’d chatted just long enough to order Alex to get dressed in his leathers and come to this bar, smoking the whole time of course–but Alex was well addicted at this point–he smoked whether Dad told him to or not.

The bar was lightly packed on a weeknight, it was easy enough to spot Dad over at the bar, a double whisky in front of him, smoking away. Unable to help himself, Alex ordered the same thing and took the stool next to him, matching Dad’s movements perfectly, without even really needing to try. “Simon Says cut it out–” the older man said to Alex, “It’s creepy when you do it in the same room as me.”

He should run. He should hit him. He should do any number of things, he knew that, and yet he just sat there–why? Because he wanted to know–why him? Why torture him for months online and then show up here and now? He wanted him life back, more than anything, but if he ran now, he knew he’d just hunt him down, or blackmail him, or anything else he wanted to do. No, he needed to be smart about this. He needed to know why, more than anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” the man asked, “figured you’d have at least started shouting at me by now.”

“Can you just tell me why? Why do this? What the fuck does any of this do for you?”

In response, the man smiled, “I just love games, I guess–but what fun are games when there’s no real risk involved?”

“Why not just go gamble your fucking life away then like other people?”

“Because the house always wins when you gamble–and I hate losing.”

“What, so you just play games that people can’t win at? Where you’re always going to walk away the fucking winner? That just sounds like cowardice to me. You fuck up my life, make me humiliate myself, all so you can win some fucking game? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alex said, his voice loud in the mostly quiet bar.

“Sounds like someone forgot how Simon Says works,” the man said, chickling, “You weren’t competing against me–you were competing against all the other boys I was chatting with too. That is how Simon Says works, after all. You’re the winner–congratulations. Are you sure you don’t want to know what your prize is? After all, you got off a whole lot luckier than the rest of them–trust me.”

Alex just sat there–how many other guys had he been playing with? And what had happened to them if having his life ruined and getting summoned to a leather bar was lucky? “How many–How many were there?”

“Twenty–to start with.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, you did good, my boy–you won! Now, how about we play something else? Just you and me, father and son.”

“Don’t fucking say that, I’m not your fucking son.”

“If you say so,” the man said, taking a sip of whisky, “But you have to admit, that the resemblance at this point is rather…uncanny.”

Alex took a drink too, before replying. “So what is it now? Candyland? Monopoly? Hide and Seek?”

“Nah, how about a nice game of ‘Truth or Dare’?”

Alex shook his head, “I was close though–why all the fucking childhood games?”

“What else should a father play with his son?” the man said, smirking.

Alex sighed, “Do I have much of a choice?”

“I suppose I can’t make you play–you could and refuse,” the man said, pulling a small idol out of his pocket that was shining oddly bright in the dim bar, “But as far as this guy goes, he thinks the game is already going, and he doesn’t like letting players off the hook. I suppose you could skip all of your turns, but I still get to take all of mine. So, four rounds–eight questions in all. When we finish the game, and you can do whatever you want.”

Alex finished his drink quickly, and said, “Fine, but first, I have a question. What’s your name–your real name, none of this Dad and Daddy shit, I want to know your first name, at least.”

“It’s Harvey, but I think you’ll prefer Daddy by the time we’re done here. So, do you need me to go over the rules?”

“I think I know how to play Truth or Dare.”

Alright then–how about I go first? Truth or Dare, Boy?”

The idol on the bar glowed bright for a moment before settling back down, and Alex tried to ask if the idol was responsible for all of this, but he couldn’t get a word out at all. He realized then that the game had started–the only words he would be able to get out would be ‘Truth’ or ‘Dare’, and he didn’t really want to know what Dad would dare him to do here, so he said, “Truth.”

The idol glowed slowly, and the man smiled. “Truth, eh? Just so you know, this game is a little different–I get to say whatever I want about you, and that becomes true.”

“Wait, what?” Alex said, “That’s not how the game is played!”

“That’s how I play it,” Harvey said, “Guess you should have asked about the rules when you had the chance.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Harvey didn’t pay him any mind, and he finally replied, “Alright, here’s your truth. It’s true that you love having me control you–you love having a strong older man dominate you, bend you to his will, and have his way with you.–it’s the height of sexual excitement for you.”

The idol glowed so bright for a moment that it hurt Alex’s eyes, and he felt…different. Everything that had already happened to him had still happened, but he felt…so different about it. Now, all of the humiliation, all the sexual abuse he’d been forced to do, it had all been…thrilling. He’d wanted to come here, he’d begged him to come find him, to…control him in person, hadn’t he? His head hurt so much, but being this close to Harvey, to Dad, fuck, he was so turned on right now, even though he shouldn’t be, should he? He was trying to catch the old memories, but everything that didn’t conform to the new truth was draining down through his fingers, and by the time the figure returned to normal, it was all gone, just…lust, and excitement, and he wanted to play this game, he wanted Harvey to dominate him, he wanted to be controlled, it was going to be so hot…

“Your turn,” Harvey said, “Go on, ask me.”

Alex didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then he remembered the game. “Are…Are you sure I can’t just skip my turn? I think I’d really rather have you dare me for a little bit,” Alex said, the flirting natural and so wrong at the the same time.

“Humor me, and play along at least,” Harvey said.

“Oh alright–Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Harvey said.

Alex pouted, “I don’t know what to do, I’m not really a top, but you know that already…” he said, smirking.

“Oh, be a little adventurous,” Harvey said, leaning in close, “Tell me something you’ve always wanted me to do to you, I want to hear one of my boy’s sick, twisted fantasies.”

Alex’s first thought was that he didn’t have any sick, twisted fantasies…but he did. He really did. Being bound up and fisted, licking his dad head to toe, begging for his cock, being his pup, so many things he couldn’t keep track of them all. “How in the hell do I choose,” he said.

It occurred to Alex then that he could dare him anything. He could make him leave. He could make him promise to undo all of the shit he’d done to Alex these past few months, but he no longer wanted that. They weren’t even through round one, and Harvey had already beaten him, but he knew what he wanted. “Kiss me, but don’t just kiss me, I want you to rape my mouth with your tongue, I want you to force your smoke into me, fucking dominate me with your fucking mouth,” he said, and even before he’d finished speaking, Harvey had lip locked him, one hand wrapped around the back of his head, breathing a big lungful of smoke down his throat which Alex inhaled relishing it as their tongues fought. He was too strong though, and Alex wanted him to win too badly, he could feel the older man wrestle him down, make his mouth his, he could do whatever he wanted with Alex, and he wouldn’t have cared one bit, no, he would have thanked him and asked him for more. They parted for air, Alex harder than he’d ever been in his life, and he said, “I love you,” without even thinking, and Harvey smiled.

In reply, all he said was “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.” Alex said, not hesitating for a second. “Whatever you fucking want, I’ll do it.”

“Then get down and suck me off, right here, while I have another drink. And I want to hear you enjoy it.”

He pulled out his cock, and Alex didn’t need the idol pushing him to his knees–he was more than happy to comply. Harvey had his cock out, but before Alex swallowed it to the hilt, he asked, “Truth or Dare, Dad?”

Harvey looked surprised, but smiled and said, “Truth.”

“It’s true that you have a foot long cock, as big around as a beer can and three times as sensitive as normal, you can get hard and cum at will, and I can take it all the way to the hilt, no problem.”

“Oh what a naughty boy I’ve got here,” Harvey said, watching his cock grow under the bar. Alex swallowed it down before it finished growing, and he felt it push down his throat, but like he’d said, he had no problem swallowing the entire shaft, Harvey jerking and spasming as he sucked on him, not used to how much pleasure a simple blow job would give him from now on. It took him five minutes to relax enough and adjust so he could sip his drink at all, and he let it last, listening to Alex moan and groan in pleasure under the bar, stopping only the take a breath, draw on his cigar, exhale the smoke over Harvey’s massive cock and then keep going. The display was drawing quite a bit of attention in the small, sparsely packed bar, and quite a few men were watching the display, jacking their cocks, and wondering what they’d have to do to get some of that boy’s throat to themselves.

“Alright, I’m done, you can come up now, Son,” Harvey said.

“Do I have to?” Alex asked, kissing the head.

“Yes, get up here–we still have a game to finish after all. Now, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Alex said, “And something hard this time.”

“I think my cock is plenty hard boy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Harvey said, and thought for a moment, before reaching into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a leather collar and a padlock. “I dare you to take this collar, put it around your neck, padlock it closed, and then throw the key away, accepting the fact that you’re going to be my slave for the rest of your life. I usually save that one for last, but why wait? It leaves one round for us to enjoy ourselves.”

Alex shakily took the collar from Harvey, and looked at it, a bit teary eyed–but not from fear…he was…happy. “You…you mean it? You want to keep me?”

“I do,” Harvey said, “I want to keep you forever, son.”

“Dad…” Alex said, but he didn’t have the words. He just took the collar, buckled it around his neck without a word, padlocked it closed, and handed the key to a passing bartender, “Could you throw this away please? I won’t be needing it.”

The man just looked at the two of them for a moment, wondering if he should try to intervene, but figured he’d rather get a big tip than get yelled at by some dom. He took the key, but didn’t throw it away–keeping it by the register, in case the lovestruck sub changed his mind, like they usually did.

“So, Truth or Dare, sir?” Alex asked.

“Dare.”

“Alright. I dare you to leash me up, and take me around the whole bar on my hands and knees. I want you to introduce me as your son who you’ve enslaved, and offer all of the men here an opportunity to use me however they’d like.”

“You’re such a fucking slut.”

“You’re the one who made me that way–enjoy it, sir.”

Alex got down on his hands and knees, and Harvey pulled out a leash he hadn’t brought with him, hooked it to the collar and started parading him around the bar, introducing Alex as he’d been dared to, and nearly every man took him up on the offer. Usually they just wanted blow jobs, but a few men fucked Alex’s ass, and he loved it. Loved being a slave, loved being owned by his Dad, loved serving men, being controlled, the sensation of the leash tugging at his neck, of the rough leather collar he knew he would never take off. It took over two hours for them to go around to everyone, and Alex loved every minute of it, and looking up at his Dad, he could see that the older man approved as well.

They made their way back to the bar, and as they did, Harvey asked, “So son, I suppose this is the last round–Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Alex said, “As hot as that was, I don’t think I can handle another round of that.”

“Ha, oh really? Well, it’s true that you have a massive libido which can never be satisfied, that you’re a total sexually obsessed pig covered with explicit, degrading tattoos that you show off to the whole world at every chance you get, and that you can’t say no to anyone, so long as they’ll give you the rough, abusive treatment you crave more than anything else in the world, especially from me.”

It hurt, the tattoos as they spread across his body like fire, but it was over in a second, or at least, most of the burning. His ass, his cock–he needed sex, he needed it so bad. “Fuck dad, you know I didn’t mean that right?” he said, nearly panting with lust, “Let’s go again, I didn’t get fucked nearly enough, fucking make them plow me Dad, I need my hole so loose that it won’t close, come on, please, sir? Please?” he begged.

Harvey looked down at his boy, tattoos of cocks and foul language covering most of his body, the lust filling up his nearly empty eyes, and it was everything he’d ever wanted in a boy. “Sure thing son, but you still have one last question. Ask me, and then we’ll get you what you need.”

Alex looked visibly frustrated, but asked the question, “Truth or Dare, sir?”

“Truth.”

Alex grinned crudely, “Truth eh? Alright. It’s true that you’re my real dad, from your own loins, a hyper-masculine beast of a man, a true alpha, who devotes his whole life to working out, fucking his son whom he’s trained as his sex slave since he was a teenager, a man rough and aggressive, who loves inflicting pain and abuse on anyone inferior to him, who refuses to take no for an answer and will do anything to get his way.”

Harvey had just enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before the idol gave a final flash, and then he noticed that the floor was a bit further away than it had been a second earlier…and that he definitely wasn’t the same man he’d been. He was close to seven feet tall, and must have weighed close to 300 pounds of mostly muscle. He was covered with fur, and had a two inch beard on his face which had grown in the span of a single day, like always. He had nearly as many tattoos as his son–yes, his son. He loved his son, he loved fucking the pig, working out with him–he was shorter than his dad, but had almost as much muscle, a thick bull pig looking up at him with all the love and adoration he deserved, and before he really knew what he was doing, he had his cock out and was fucking him right there in the middle of the bar, roaring out abuse, Alex begging him to be rougher and harder, the rest of the bar silently watching the spectacle unfolding before them.

The one person who moved was the bartender, who took the key he’d been given and threw it in the trash. The boy was right–he wouldn’t be needing that ever again, and then he saw the idol, now dull and boring, sitting on the bar. He pocketed it, and left before anyone could see him. He’d been hoping for a good tip–and if he was right about what he could almost remember happening, this little thing was the best tip he could get.

He just said that he wanted to play a little game. Simon Says–I mean, how harmless does that sound? Well, it was fun at first–flexing when he flexed, jacking off as he jacked off…but then, well, I couldn’t stop. The smoking freaked me out, the cigars I had to buy when he went out, and we came home at the exact same time. I did my best to smoke them just like he did, and he taught me all about it. When I was bad–when I couldn’t copy him–that was the only time I was free…well, not really free. The only time I wasn’t copying him. Every punishment is different. Sometimes I just fuck myself with a dildo, or pump up my nipples and play with them until I cum. But I’ve gotten better, I haven’t been punished like that in weeks.

Now, we dress the same. We talk the same. We smoke the same. I…I think I’m even starting to think like him. To want what he wants, the same fetishes, the same turnons. The smoking, well, at first it was just a habit, but now…now it makes my dick as hard as a rock. Now, the dildo’s, fuck, I just want someone to fuck me so bad.

He tells me that I’ve almost won, that the game is almost over. How much longer is he going to keep playing with me? Days? Weeks? Probably no more than a month. I’m…I’m almost ready, after all. Almost ready to be his son, yeah, his hot, sexy, cigar smoking son. Gonna be just like my daddy, I love my daddy so much…

Source: 19999992

“Well, I suppose the problem is that no one in the office listens to me. I might be the boss, but I just don’t have any authority,” Clyde said, the pudgy office manager said to the older salesman.

“Ah, well, the right suit can do wonders for a man’s self-esteem and authority. Come on, I have just the design for you, I think.”

***

Clyde strutted into the office on Monday, feeling better than he had in years. Of course, losing close to 100 pounds had done wonders, and while the cigar smoking, bald head and new beard were still a bit strange to him, he was growing more and more used to his new reflection. For now though, he had some business to take care of.

“Finn. My office, now.” he said, and the biggest slacker in the office, the perpetual thorn in his side, found himself compelled to march after Clyde into his office. His screams, first of pain, and them of pleasure, as his boss raped his ass, set the entire office into high gear, and no one challenged Clyde’s authority ever again.

Heading downstairs to make breakfast before work, you smell smoke coming from the kitchen. Panicking, you rush in to see if something is on fire, and stop dead in your tracks–there, sitting on the counter in nothing more than a jockstrap, is a hairy man smoking a cigar, belching massive amounts of smoke into the room.

You try and ask him what he’s doing there, but the smoke is making you light headed, and you realize that his plumes are…seeking you out. Crossing the room and drilling themselves down into your lungs, and the smoke is so hot, it burns, and it’s only getting worse.

The stranger stands up and walks over to you, “Submit to the smoke dad, just give in, or it’ll kill you.”

Dad? This hairy, roughneck is your son? The heat is only getting worse, and you realize then that it’s because you’re refusing to exhale. If you keep it in, you know it’ll burn you alive, and so you breathe out, and too late realize that with the breath has gone your will, and maybe even your soul.

Eyes empty, your son places a second cigar in your mouth, and it lights up immediately. You suck in the smoke, eager for anything to fill the void you’ve exhaled, your body slowly changing as you grind your face into your son’s crotch, one more slave to the demonic humidor your son discovered at a curio shop the day before.

Donny’s my neighbor–fuck, I’ve had a crush on him for so damn long. Still, straight, married and five kids? What chance did I have with a breeder like that? Still, he was nice enough, and he wasn’t a homophobe or anything. Still, the few times I got drunk enough to risk a come on he shot me down pretty hard–even refusing a god damn blow job.

It was pretty hopeless, but then I happened upon this strange shop at the mall, a place called Spells ‘R Us. Just one of those curio shops–figurines, knockoffs, though I had to admit that it was pretty high end as far as kitch went. I struck up a conversation with the shop owner, and before I knew it, he was ringing me up for a cigar of all things.

Crazy–I wasn’t a smoker. I didn’t know anyone who smoked. And here I was, one cigar, nothing else, I took it home, put it on the table, and the doorbell rang, and there was Donny, here to return some tools he’d borrowed the other day.

I invited him in for a beer, he saw the cigar, and I told him he could smoke it if he wanted to–and the next thing I knew, we were upstairs in my bed, his cock buried deep in my hole–it was everything I’d ever wanted and more–but the story didn’t end there…

Unsuited

Commissioned by Humilisub2

***

“Just consider it an early retirement.”

“Early retirement? What retirement? Everything–all of my savings in wrapped up in this company–in my pension!” the older man shouted in Andrew’s face, who just sat there calmly in his posh desk chair.

“Oh–you were grandfathered into that? I didn’t think anyone here had those anymore. I’m sure you’ll be able to convert some of it into a 401k–”

“Fuck you and your 401ks! I’m sixty two, and you’re just going to fire me? After all these years cleaning your fucking toilets and emptying your trash?”

“It wasn’t my decision, sir. You’ll find some way, I’m sure. Now–I need you to wait outside–security will be by shortly to escort you out.”

The older man stormed to the door, face red, shouting, “You fucking suits–you don’t fucking get it. Ruining people’s lives for the fun of it–as if you’ve ever worked a day in your life. It probably gets you fucking off!” and then slammed the door shut behind him.

Andrew smirked and gave his cock a squeeze. It was a bit hard–fancy that. Maybe he did enjoy this. The company had been thick with layoffs this quarter, in an effort to cut costs and make their lackluster earnings look a bit nicer, and while some people in his position might hate this part–Andrew relished it.

Of course he’d known Bill, the old janitor, had had a pension with the company–that was one of the primary reasons Andrew had been told to fire him. Besides, the guy was sixty-two, and barely got much cleaning done anymore. He could hire two Mexicans for half the payroll to do four times the work the old bastard was putting out. He heard a ruckus outside his door–security arriving–and the din disappeared down the hall. Andrew shuffled Bill’s discharge papers around on his desk, and checked the clock–4:30, almost the end of the day–and figured it could wait until the morning, giving him a chance to sneak out early for an afternoon round of golf. He spent fifteen minutes or so getting his things together and answering one last round of emails, and then realized that he had to take a piss.

He set off down the hall, into the restroom, and headed for the urinal, but as he was getting ready to unbutton and unzip his pants, he caught a strange aroma on the air–smoke. It was almost sweet, but also a little dank–definitely was some sort of tobacco, probably a cigar. He’d certainly been to plenty of smoky poker games with executives, but had never partaken himself. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice his cock release his piss into the front of his pants, down both of his legs where it pooled in his almost new leather shoes. “Sh–Shit!” he cried, trying to stop his flow, but there was nothing he could do, as the puddle of urine around him spread wider, the smoke growing thicker in the room, giving him a headache, and making his stomach knot. He’d never felt like that around cigars before–but he could barely walk straight. He tried to get to the door, to get out, but all he could manage was to slump up against the sinks in pain and nausea.

It was difficult to see himself in the mirror, between his double vision and the growing cloud of haze in the room, but he looked–odd. There was something wrong with his face…no, there was something growing on his face. He reached up with a hand and felt a beard filling in all across his chin, as his hair started pulling back, making him look ten years older than he was, but other things were wrong too. His clothes felt so tight and constrictive all of a sudden, and he started clawing at his tailored suit but it was too late. The fabric began tearing apart at the seams, buttons flying away across the room. When he got the clothes off of him, all that remained were tatters. Looking down at his naked body, he saw that he was growing a large gut covered with hair. He had to stop this–it had to be the smoke, it had to. He started busting into the stalls, finding them empty until the final handicapped stall, where he found a muscular young man, pants off, grinning around a smouldering cigar.

“I was wondering when you’d find your way in here, asshole,” the man said, stroking his dick, and as he took a big inhale off his cigar, Andrew watched as the man’s cock started to grow, increasing in length and girth with every pull, soon passing nine, then ten inches in length. Andrew’s gaze was locked on it, his now bare feet stumbling forward until he fell to his knees and began licking up and down the massive shaft.

“Yeah, you like that big dick, don’t ya?” the man said, grabbing the hair remaining on Andrew’s head and slamming the massive cock down his throat making him gag, “If you like it so much, why don’t you choke on it?” Andrew did his best to oblige him, and after a few minutes was rewarded with a blast of cum shot acros his now heavily bearded face. Andrew gasped for a second, trying to catch his breath, as the man got up, shoved his face down into the toilet with his booted foot, and started pissing all over the back of his head, the stream running down his face and over his eyes and mouth, and the man left, without another word, leaving Andrew soaked and still trying to digest the suddenness of the assault.

The smoke was clearing as the fans worked the room, and Andrew felt some clarity return to him, enough to cough and sputter on the ground, staring down at his changed body and wondering what in the world had happened to him. He heard the door to the bathroom open, as some of his co-workers came in, and he quickly locked the stall door shut, realizing it wouldn’t be good to be found naked in the bathroom. Checking under the partitions, he didn’t see any of his clothes–the smoking man must have taken them as he’d left. Andrew was essentially trapped–he couldn’t go out like this. Perhaps luckily, he’d just fired the janitor, so he’d be safe as the floor emptied for the night. Maybe then he’d be able to sneak out.

The next few hours didn’t pass quickly, and Andrew found his new body had some…unhealthy fascinations. He was so horny now, but he could only get hard when he was smelling or drinking piss. He couldn’t resist lapping up his own mess from the floor, followed by the spunk he shot doing so, and then he cleaned all of the urinals for good measure. The entire time, he tried to stop, telling himself this was wrong, but his body was running on autopilot. His brain kept saying that he needed to do this. He felt guilty, but for what, he didn’t know, and this was almost some sort of…penance.

He didn’t notice the door open as a pile of clothing that was dropped on the floor with a note telling him to get dressed and come down to the shipping bays. What he did notice was the smell–the same smoke from earlier permeated everything, and Andrew felt himself slip back into the fog from before, dressing himself in the dirty jeans, boots and cap (there wasn’t a shirt) and followed the scent of smoke all the way down to the back of the building, where he found the same man smoking what looked like the same cigar, though it looked no shorter.

“Who–Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” Andrew said, his voice sounding strange, so deep and slurred.

The man didn’t say anything immediately–he just dropped his pants and as soon as Andrew laid eyes on his huge dick again, he got down and started sucking it, helpless. After a chuckle, the man finally spoke:

“Me? My name’s Dustin Leaver–you might recognize the last name, since you fired my dad last week. A year before retirement even. Well, when I heard about all the layoffs you’ve been making, I got to thinking that you weren’t suited for your job, so I’m helping you find a new one.

“Now, these cigars are nice, but I think I’ve reached the limit of what I can do to you–I think you’re going to have to do the rest yourself. See, you know you’ve done wrong–I can tell. You know you deserve punishment for the suffering you’ve caused. So I’m gonna give you this cigar, and you’re gonna smoke it, and we’re just gonna see what happens. How does that sound? Because I haven’t done anything to you–this is all you, and I can’t wait to see what happens when you get a good dose of this smoke. Though thanks for the big dick, I wasn’t expecting to get anything out of this. I bet it’ll feel damn good up your ass once you’re all finished.”

Andrew didn’t understand anything that Dustin had said, but he let out a moan of dismay when the cock was pulled from his mouth. The younger man hauled him up to his feet and shoved the cigar between his teeth, forcing Andrew to take a deep drag of smoke deep into himself…and then he understood–he understood all of it. He’d done bad things–horrible things to people. Destroyed lives, ruined retirements, all for the sake of making more money. He needed to be punished–and bad. He felt a quiver in his dirty jeans and pulled out his cock, finding it rapidly shrinking to less than an inch long, as his balls swelled up. There was a sharp pain as metal appeared in his cock and both nipples, but he deserved more–so much more.

He pulled in more smoke, fueling his own latent guilt, feeling his gut balloon out even further into a ball which slowly softened and sagged down over his crotch, a thick layer of gunt absorbing his new nub of a cock. The fur on his body thickened and started losing color, becoming a dingy grey, his beard growing out until it rested on his new moobs, his hair receding back to a wispy fringe of long, greasy hairs. Tattoos blossomed on his body, images of filthy sex acts and degrading names, more piercings springing from his flesh in his ears and face, making him look like a freak. As a final tough, his big balls descended, the sack stretching until it reached his knees, the flesh in between a riot of metal rings and studs. He’d never be able to wear underwear again, and he’d have to keep his balls dangling down one of his pant legs, crushing them with every stride. The cigar in his mouth crumbled to ash, and he licked his lips, feeling around his rotten teeth badly chipped by their collisions with his tongue stud. He fell back down onto his knees in front of Dustin, wincing as his balls smacked against the concrete. “Please sir, use me like the filthy whore I am. Punish me, I deserve it.”

“I’d be happy to, bitch–but I have a few friends who’d love to play too. See, I thought we’d throw you a little party, to break you in–and I think you’ve met all of them before. Come on out, guys!” Dustin shouted, and a crowd of men filed into the room, Andrew vaguely recognizing them as a collection of men he’d fired from the company over the last few months–including the janitor he’d fired just hours ago. He serviced them all night long, drinking down their piss and cum, cleaning out their dirty holes while they tortured his balls and ridiculed his miniscule dick. As the night wore on, Andrew felt his old life drifting further and further away, his mind growing feeble and weak to match his new body. When Dustin offered him a new job in the shipping department the next morning, Andrew was overwhelmed with thanks. He didn’t deserve such kindness, not that he got much of it in his new job.

He was at the bottom of the totem pole now, just a freight worker, but he didn’t do much heavy lifting. He spent most of his days cleaning the bathrooms with his tongue, and chain smoking cigars while he begged the men to use their massive cocks on both his holes. That, it seemed, was his one gift–every dick he saw grew enormous–all the better to rip apart his holes. It was the least he could do. He was far more suited for this position, he knew–and while he wouldn’t say he was happy, he knew it was what he’d earned.

Andy at the Roadhouse Part 2

Andy, oblivious to the near silence of the bar, kept drinking his beer and smoking his new cigar, completely ignorant of his slowly maturing body. However, this brew was really nothing more than a warm up, something to prepare and prime his system for Ed’s true talents. He had countless numbers of recipes, for both beer and liquor, and the men waited to see what he’d emerge with next for Andy to drink and move the transformation into its final stages.

The men sensed movement behind the bar, and they crowded over to see Ed come out of the kitchen with a large pilsner glass filled with a light ale, but with no foam on top. In fact, the brew looked completely flat, and a few men let out a whistle or a hoot, having already guessed which color had won the day. Ed ignored them and approached Andy, “Here man, consider this my apology for Danny Boy earlier–it’s a rare brew of mine I’d like you to sample–my version of a Norse honey mead.”

“Sample,” Andy slurred, eyeing the monstrously large glass, “This is a bit big to be a sample…” still, he took it in hand and sipped a bit off the top, wincing at the rank, bitter flavor. “Dang, that’s a bit…rank. Shouldn’t it be a bit sweeter?”

“Oh, keep at it, I’m sure the taste will grow on you,” Ed said, and Andy took another drink, and then another. Ed was right, the taste wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought, and before he could stop himself, he tipped it back and chugged the last three quarters of the glass, not even minding when some of it dribbled down around his fledgling beard and down onto his chest, leaving an odd trail of blonde hairs where the stream had run down. “Alright boys, I have a tub in the back set up for our friend here,” Ed announced to the room, “However, I think it’s going to need to be topped off–if any of you would like to contribute.”

Now everyone laughed and clapped and hollered, some heading towards the rooms in the back of the bar, but others crowded in closer around Ed and Andy, who glanced about, drunk and confused by the sudden attention. “What–what are you talking about, Ed?”

“Don’t you worry man, you just sit there for bit and let that last brew sink in a bit,” Ed said, “You feeling anything? Thirsty…maybe?”

“Huh? I guess a little…actually, I kind of gotta go piss, where’s the restroom?” he asked, set the cigar down in an ashtray and tried to get off the stool, but Ed shoved him back down.

“Now hold your horses, don’t you think–” Ed started to say, but then leaned in closer, putting his hand on Andy’s cock through his shorts and massaging it gently, “don’t you think it would be so much hotter to piss yourself right here? In front of me and these hot guys? Wouldn’t that just feel so sexy?”

“Wha–Oh fuck, you freak! I gotta get…I gotta…oh god, I can’t–I can’t hold it…” Andy groaned, and suddenly couldn’t hold back his cock, releasing a blast of acrid, foul smelling piss into his shorts, which ran down his legs, onto the barstool and down to the floor, the men around him laughing and jeering at him, but while he knew he should be embarrassed–instead he felt really good, almost proud. His cock was rock hard, and his piss smelled so good, he could almost taste it and…and he was thirsty all of a sudden. Really, really thirsty. He licked his lips, and pushed himself off the stool, turned around and before he could stop himself, started licking up his pissbefore it could be sucked up by the dry sawdust below him, the men cheering him on as he lapped up as much as he could.

“Aww, don’t worry man, we have plenty of that for you,” Ed said, pulling out his cock and waving it in Andy’s face, “All you have to do is beg like a good little piss whore. Go on, beg for it, bitch.”

Andy, on his knees, looked around at the men surrounding him, their eyes hungry, and he knew he should run. He knew he should fight past them, get in his car and drive off as fast as he could, but fuck, the thirst! And that little bit of his own that he’d lapped up, it had tasted so good, he could only imagine what drinking Ed’s would be like. “Please…” he whispered, his voice dry and cracked. He took a moment, licked his lips, swallowed and tried to make some moisture so he could speak, “Please, please, Ed, can I…can I have your piss?”

The men jeered at him and Andy felt his face redden, or at least the bits which could be seen through his dark, full beard. “What did you say whore? You didn’t just call me Ed, did you? That name is reserved for the men and clientele of this establishment, not for its whores!” the men laughed, and Ed drank it in with a smile, “Now how about you try something with a bit more…respect.”

“Please…Oh god, I’m so thirsty, please…sir, please I need it, I’m so…” Andy groaned, but his voice dried out and he was afraid that if Ed didn’t relent he might never speak again.

“Alright, alright–I can see you’re suffering there. Here you piss whore, take a good, long drink,” Ed said, and started pissing, Andy latching his mouth around his cock as quickly as he could to avoid missing a drop, and the sheer ecstasy which rolled across his face sent the men into another bout of laughter and applause. Andy, however, heard none of it. The sheer satisfaction of a long drink of piss after his fear of starvation–it was overwhelming, and with with several full body jerks he shot a load of cum in his wet shorts, though he never released Ed’s cock for a second, nor stopped his relentless swallowing.

When he finished milking the last drops from Ed’s dick, he released it with a gasp. “Thank you, oh thank you sir, you saved me,” Andy said, feeling rejuvenated, but surprised at the deep, masculine voice which emerged from his throat suddenly.

“Ha, if you liked that, I’ve got a load of you, pig!”

“Me too, you can suck me dry anytime!”

Ed held up his hand, silencing the crowd, “Hold your horses, men, our new whore isn’t finished yet–now how about you all help me get him out of these soaking wet clothes?” Before Andy could even think of resisting, the patrons descended on him, ripping away his shirt and soaked shorts.

“Holy fuck, the pig shot a load already! Just from drinkin’ Ed’s piss!”

“What a fuckin’ hog–we might as well hook him up to the urinals full time!”

“That true pig?” Ed said, grabbing Andy’s constantly growing beard and yanking his face around inches away from his own, “Did you just shoot a load from drinking my piss, you fucking bitch?”

“Ye–Yes sir, I’m sorry sir, I was just–just so thirsty, I–”

“You fucking whore!” Ed said, slapping Andy across the face, “You don’t cum unless someone tells you to, got it? You’re here for our pleasure, not your own–if you cum, it’s because we want you to, got it? Gonna have to do something about this one–apparently he’s a bit more eager than I anticipated. Alright whore, I have a little party all set up for you in the back, shall we go check it out?” Still clutching Andy’s now foot long beard, he pulled him up and dragged him into the dark back rooms of the bar, where Andy saw a group of men standing in a loose circle, and the scent of piss was heavy in the air, making his lips dry out once more. In the middle, he saw a washtub filled three quarters of the way with the same amber mead Ed had brought him, though this had now been augmented by over a dozen loads of beer piss from the patrons, with more coming every minute. Ed parted the circle with a shove and then pulled Andy to the edge, and with one whiff it took all of his nerve to keep from plunging his face in and drinking all that he could. “Well? Go on whore, we all know you want it…” Ed whispered in his ear, but when Andy still didn’t move, he grabbed the back of his head, twisted his fingers into Andy’s now shoulder length hair, and shoved him down into the yellow liquid.

In his terror, Andy choked and breathed in, but was soon taking in as much as he could, not caring whether it went to his lungs or his stomach as long as it was inside of him. Too soon, far too soon, Ed pulled him back up, letting Andy shake the liquid from his eyes and lick his lips, and notice that everyone was laughing. “Someone grab a mirror and show our urinal his new look,” Ed said, and one of the men ran off, returning a moment later with a mirror, showing Andy that his hair, beard, and even his eyebrows were now a bright, but dirty, blonde. With the long beard and hair, he almost looking like some piss sodden viking. Still, he couldn’t hold back anymore, and he wrenched himself out of Ed’s grasp and flung his face back into the tub, but a moment later, he felt hands grab his legs and fling him in, face first.

He drank–it was all he could do, all his brain could think about, how he needed it all inside of him. The cheers of the men felt so distant, and he could feel himself filling up, growing as his body was forced to expand and make room for the gallons of liquid in the tub. It shouldn’t be possible, he thought to himself more than once, he shouldn’t be able to hold all of this inside of him, but inch after inch he drained it, until there was a layer too difficult to lap up, and the men hauled him out of the tub and dumped the rest right down his throat, tipping the tub up and pouring it into their new whore’s mouth.

Finished, he gasped for breath and air, exhausted, amazed that he was alive, and when he could open his eyes and look around, his vision faint, he caught sight of the mirror being held up for him, but he couldn’t see–didn’t want to see himself, really. What he could make out was a massive, round figure, but that was just his tight, swollen gut, matted with hair the same blonde as his head and face. But behind the gut–he was huge and massively muscled, with bulging arms and solid pecs. It was so much, and the room was spinning faster and faster at odd angles. He slumped onto his side, the cold concrete soothing against his hot, flushed skin and taut gut. Even the men crowding in around him, trying to keep him awake wasn’t enough to keep his eyes open, and the last thing he saw was Ed pushing through and bending down over him, and Andy was out.

*****

There was something–something slapping him in his face. At first, he thought it was a cock, but it was a hand, and he opened his eyes, seeing the man in magenta he’d spotted in the bar earlier looking down at him. “Hey, Hey! You ok? Come on Eskel, let’s get you up and empty you out. Don’t make me shove these pits in your face and get you up that way,” he said, and grabbed the blonde beast’s muscular arm and helped him up with a deep groan. Musky couldn’t believe how big the new guy, Eskel, had gotten last night–Ed had really outdone himself with this one. The last yellow they’d had couldn’t hold anything like this guy, he must have tweaked his mead recipe from before.

There really wasn’t much the slender Musky could do to help the nearly seven foot tall and over three hundred pound muscle man Eskel had grown into up out of bed. It didn’t help that his swollen gut stuck out nearly three feet in front of him, and was as rock solid, so while Eskel pulled himself out, Musky took out a cigar from the humidor on the bedside table, lit it, and gave it to Eskel when he sat up. The cigar brought some new life to him, and with some coaching, he managed to haul him into the bathroom, sit him down on the toilet, and Musky pressed down on Eskel’s swollen gut, hearing the piss suddenly shoot out of Eskel’s thick, short cock and into the bowl, the scent of urine making the norseman lick his lips in thirst, as he shook his head and became truly aware of his surroundings. “Where…where am I? Who are you?” the man growled, but Musky shushed him and focused on milking his gut down to a reasonable size. “I…remember you, from the bar–I saw you…what happened? Where–where’s Ed? I don’t…”

“Look, Eskel, maybe….” Musky said, stopping his pressure, leaving Eskel with a beachball sticking out under his pecs, “Here, that’s good enough, let’s flush and then get you in front of a mirror, it’ll be easier to show you.” He tried to get Eskel to stand up, but he started struggling against him, and rather than be slammed into the wall by the muscle man’s huge, hairy fists, he backed up and let him stand on his own.

“My name…My name isn’t Eskel, why you keep calling me that? My name….my name is…” he started to say, but he caught sight of himself in the mirror over the sink and his jaw dropped. “No…No, no, no…” he said. He was huge, he couldn’t even see his whole self in the mirror, but the sheer mass–it was incredible. He was hulking, he was a blond, muscular piss freak, he could smell it on himself and he was so thirsty. “No, fucking no!” he shouted and slammed his fist into the mirror, sending down a shower of glass before collapsing back against the opposite wall and descending into sobs, clutching his bloodied knuckles and sucking on his cigar for deer life, the smoke being the only thing keeping his rage in check.

“Eskel…” Musky said, stepping closer, “I know…trust me, I know what its like, but just trust me, alright? I’m here to help you, we all have to help each other, or we don’t have anyone. Or else it’s just Ed, and…” but he stopped not even sure if Eskel was listening to him or not, and deciding to just take a chance, he got down and pulled the huge man into a hug. Eskel flinched at first, but pawed his way around Musky and pulled him closer, not even minding the man’s stench.

“Why…Why can’t I remember my name? I wasn’t Eskel, before…I don’t…”

“Ed took it,” Musky said, “He took all of ours–I don’t know your real name or I’d use it, I swear. He just called you Eskel, and so, that’s all I have. Now, I’m sorry, but we need to get you dressed, because we have a meeting to go to, and trust me when I say you don’t want to be late, or try and resist, alright? It isn’t worth it.”

Eskel thought about it, thought about how angry he was, but…the small man was probably right. “What’s your name?” Eskel asked.

“I don’t know, but you can call me Musky. Now lets get you ready, Ed told me how he wants you to look, so…well, just hold on.” Musky said, lit a cigarette for himself and left and brought in a pair of bright yellow hip waders held up by suspenders which he helped Eskel into, and then pulled out two yellow handkerchiefs, braiding both of them into Eskel’s permanently wet beard. The big man was happy he’d shattered the mirror, because he didn’t want to see himself like this, but Musky looked like he approved, though he could sense the big man’s apprehension. “Look, just trust me on this. It isn’t forever–Ed let’s us all go eventually. And…and I know this isn’t much solace, but if you let go, and if you try not to fight it? You might even like it eventually.” Eskel snorted in doubt, and Musky smirked, “I know, I know–but, well, let’s just say I know from experience. You ready to face the world now? We don’t want to be late.”

Eskel nodded reluctantly and started to follow Musky out of the room, but stopped, “Wait,” he said, licking his lips, “I’m…” he said, but couldn’t get the words out, but Musky understood well enough and pulled out his cock. Eskel grinned, got down on his knees and drank down Musky’s rank piss, and already feeling a bit better, followed his newest friend and fellow whore to the bar, to face the new day.

One Change #1 – Introduction

There is a curious thing happening to some men–it appears as though something has started messing with the space-time continuum. The effect appears to be rather small–one change, sometimes big, sometimes small–which happens in a man’s past, but which can radically alter the future. No one knows who is chosen or why–but the changes do seem to have a love for karma.

John was an early target, an older contractor who was a stickler for order. This was generally a positive trait, but John liked to force everyone else to live as he did. He was the tyrant of his neighborhood association, and was the first to make a formal complaint should someone try and decorate their lawn, or put their Christmas lights up even a day early. As a contractor he was a stickler for building codes, and he inspected every renovation to any house whether the owner asked him to or not. Apparently, someone decided to go back and with a little tweak, make John a messy child.

John was in the midst of cleaning his living room when he noticed the changes cascading over him. Whenever he picked up a piece of clutter, three pieces would suddenly appear behind his back. He had no idea where all of this stuff was coming from, but he recognized it all as his…didn’t he? Before long, he was pushed out of the living room by the piles, and he caught a glimpse of himself in a tarnished mirror hung askew in the hallway. When did he get so fat? And why was his hair and beard so long?

Hell, why wouldn’t it be that long? He hadn’t cut his hair or shaved his face in years, why in the hell would he start now? He gave his belly a scratch and let out a loud belch. He should probably take a shower, but why bother? He clambered over the piles of junk still filling his house from floor to ceiling and made his way outside, not caring that he was suddenly naked. No memories of his old life remained–the slobby kid had grown into a adult hoarder.

Of course, the culprit of these changes also tried to reward individuals who had done well in their lives, but who had never been able to get as far as they should have. Be in a small boost in confidence, or a little twist of luck, a few people found their lives put on a better track than before. Howie was a good example.

Howie was a good man, or at least he tried his best. He’d grown up poor, but rather than turning to crime and drugs like a lot of his childhood friends, he worked to pay his way through truck driving school, and was finally doing well for a change, however, he wasn’t happy. The years of work had been murder on his body, and the driving didn’t leave much time for exercise. He hated his gut, his balding head hidden by his hat, and his cigar habit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. His slow metabolism and high testosterone level caused most of his ills, but apparently whoever was behind these changes felt a bit sorry for him. So, Howie went to bed that night with a slight tweak body’s molecular makeup.

When he woke the next morning and looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself for a second. He ran his hands across his firm stomach and pecs, the sensation of his smooth skin something new, and not unwelcome, along with his new tan. Sure, the sudden lack of testosterone had shrunk his cock and balls quite a bit, but with his increased metabolism and tendency to pack on muscle, he had never really minded, nor did the men who lined up to worship his massive body. He lit a cigar for himself as last night’s catch woke up, and quickly got down to suck Howie’s cock, running his hands up and down the bodybuilder’s front. Exhaling a thick plume of smoke, he knew he should try and quit this nasty habit, but hey, some changes still had to be made the old fashioned way. –

Matchmaker (Part 2)

***WARNING – Contains some graphic violence. Don’t like it? Don’t read it.***

So I had a plan–set up the bastard men in my family with some of the perverse construction workers I worked with. Of course, I realized I had a lot to figure out before I could make any of this happen, after all, I hadn’t been in contact with anyone in my family in years. I spent the next few months honing my skills as a matchmaker, and searching out my relatives, finding them rather quickly. My dad, Jerry, was the easiest, since he was still living in the family house, although my brothers had moved out. I decided to save him for last. My younger brother, Nick, was next. A quick look around facebook showed that he was in his final year of college, and the same old lazy, immature dumbass he’d always been. The hardest one to track down was Bill, my older brother, and the one who’d set the whole ball rolling when he’d found my porn stash. He was working as a security guard for a strip mall a couple of towns over. I decided to start with him–it seemed like the most fitting.

Bill had always been the righteous one, the one who felt the call of moral duty beyond all else, especially when he could warp it to serve his own interests. It was no surprise really that he’d ended up as a security guard, where he could flaunt some useless authority at people he deemed inferior to himself. He’d always wanted to be a cop, but I’m pretty sure that the academy would have kicked his ass out after one psych interview–although knowing how cops can be, they’d probably be happy to have him join their ranks. Still, I had always wanted to see what would happen if Bill had gotten into trouble more often in his life.

Regardless, I knew just who to set him up with, a biker on the crew named Spike. He was dirty, covered neck to toe in tattoos, with a blonde mullet and brunette fu-man-chu which just screamed trailer trash, and was always getting into trouble. I thought he was hot, and had played around with him once, but damn that guy was rough in bed, and domineering as hell. Sure, I don’t mind being a sub on occasion–still, I had never really felt the urge to stray too far into the BDSM zone. Still, for a guy like Bill, who loved lording his power over others, I thought Spike would be the perfect man to whip him into a different shape.

This time though, unlike with Rick and Juan, I didn’t want to have to supervise. That whole experience had been so taxing, I felt sick for a week afterwards, so I planned the spell intricately, to make sure it would take hold exactly how I wanted it to. Bill and Spike would have an impromptu meeting–and it would be love at first sight. The spell would intensify Spike’s fetishes and desires, and twist Bill to reflect them as they spent more and more time together. But how would they meet? Well, Bill loved camping and the outdoors, so how better for them to get acquainted than on the open road? Excited, I cast the ritual, and sat back, eager to see the results when they rode back into town.

~~~

“Fucking piece of shit!” Bill shouted, and kicked the tire of his car, the engine smoking and steaming. He came around and opened up the hood, dodging away to avoid getting burned by the vapors. God damn it,” he said, “so much for this camping trip.” He looked around at the somewhat arid landscape, and wished he hadn’t decided to head for such a remote campground. He pulled out his cell phone and cursed again–not a single god damn bar. It was looking more and more like he was walking back to that gas station he’d passed a few miles back. It was about that time that he heard the distinct grumble of a motorcycle approaching from the highway.

He was heading pretty fast, and Bill only got a glimpse of tattoos and blonde hair as the guy blew by, but to his great surprise, the guy slowed down and pulled off onto the shoulder ahead of him. Maybe the guy was a mechanic or something, Bill thought, or he could at least hitch a ride with him. The man climbed off his bike, and Bill felt his heart leap up into his chest. The guy was definitely not someone Bill would have ever imagined being attracted to, but his racing heart was telling him otherwise. The man’s bleach blonde mullet, the cigar tucked in his mouth, his tattooed arms sticking out of his ragged leather vest, and the substantial bulge in the faded jeans and chaps all sent chills through his body. “Having some car trouble, man? The name’s Spike,” the biker said to him, and he nearly swooned. What in the world was happening to him?

“Uh, yeah…yeah, that’s it,” Bill said, but his voice was all squeaky suddenly, like he was back in middle school talking to a cute girl. “S–Sorry, it’s just embarassing, and I’m a bit freaked out…” he added, trying to cover and not look like a complete dipshit.

“You smoke?” Spike said.

“What?”

“I asked if ya smoke, boy,” the biker said, and the tinge of authority in his voice did things to Bill’s cock he didn’t even understand, “Here, have a cigar on me. It’ll mellow you out. You could probably use it.” He handed him a cigar from a vest pocket, and Bill cringed.

“No…No I don’t smoke, but–”

“Take it boy,” Spike said, and Bill’s hand shot out and took the cigar from him, holding it in his mouth while the biker gave him a light. “There, that’s better, right? Now let me take a look at this cage of yours.”

At the word ‘cage,’ an image flashed through Bill’s head. He was in a cage, dressed in leather and Spike was looking in on him, his cock out–No, no, that was so wrong, he thought and shook his head, walking around behind the car to clear his head. He took a drag off the cigar, and did feel a bit better. It was really hot out here–he was sweating like a pig. He pulled off his shirt, feeling better with the fresh air on his skin, and tried to calm down. Calm down, and not think about how hot it would be to suck that biker’s thick, tattooed and pierced cock.

“Well man, I’m sorry, but your radiator is completely gone–you’re gonna have to get a tow–” Spike said, but stopped short when he saw the shirtless Bill smoking his cigar, and he was starting to think of a few possible reasons for why the guy had been acting kind of odd. The guy was definitely cute, and Spike was finding himself more and more interested every second. Hell, even if the boy was straight, he’d just need a firm master to send him all crooked. “Nice tatts by the way–they suit you.”

Bill looked at him, confused. Tatts? He didn’t have any tatts. “What…what are you talking about?”

“How about you go ahead and address me as, ‘Sir,’ boy, seein’ as how I’m your superior and all. Yeah, nice tatts, and they look damn good with that cigar, I must say. And a jock–I love a boy in a jockstrap.”

“I don’t…” Bill started to say, but when he looked down at his previously bare arms, he saw swirling tattoos starting at his wrists crawling up onto his shoulders and pecs. His astonishment was cut short by a sharp slap across the face from Spike.

“I said, you were gonna address me as Sir, boy. Now what was that?”

Bill cringed a bit from the hit–but…was his cock hard? “S–Sorry, sir,” he stuttered, looking down and away with submission. He felt Spike’s hand on his crotch massaging his cock and he groaned. “Please…please no, I’m straight…sir,” Bill said, but the words rang false even to his ears, and Spike just laughed.

“Oh? A straight boy who moans like a little whore when a big, dirty biker grabs his crotch? I don’t think so,” he said, and stuck his grimy, greasy hand down the back of Bill’s pants, groping his ass and pulling him closer, into Spike’s scent of rank body odor, smoke and cheap whisky. They inhaled each other’s exhaust for a moment, before Spike added quietly, “Yeah, I think you just need a big biker master to show you how much of a faggot biker bitch you are.”

Bikk wanted to say no, wanted to get in the car and lock the doors. He struggled as Spike pushed him around and over the back of the car, then pulled down his jeans–but the struggle was all play he realized. He wanted Spike to pop his cherry, turn him into a little biker bitch. “No daddy, don’t fuck me here, in the open.” he heard himself say, but he wanted it–needed it so bad, and Spike grinned wide.

“Oh you little biker slut, you’re gonna get it! I’m not even gonna lube up for this, so you’d better brace your hole.” The pain was excruciating, but Bill fought through it. He wanted to be a good biker bitch for Spike. For his…his boyfriend, no, his master. Yeah, his biker master. He creamed his jock at the thought, and Spike didn’t even notice until he smelled the cum. “Dang, ya ain’t even trained yet. That’s a bad bitch, cumming before I give you permission. The only cock you should think about getting off is mine!” He pounded his big cock in even deeper, making Bill shout out in pain. Hearing the bitch scream sent Spike over the edge, and he filled his new bitch’s ass full of his cum.

“I…I love you sir…thank you,” Bill moaned, but Spike just slammed his face down into the rear end of the car hard enough to send blood spurting from his nose.

“You little bitch–you think I want your fucking love? Fuck no. You’re a piece of shit. You aren’t even fucking trained! You don’t even deserve to wear fucking clothes of your own, strip out of those, that jock too.”

Feeling more ashamed than ever before in his life at the thought of disappointing Spike, he stripped down the rest of the way, not even noticing that his tattoos had spread over the rest of his body. “Please sir,” he said, getting down on his knees, completely forgetting he was on the side of the road, “Please sir, train me sir. Teach me how to be a good and proper biker bitch, sir…your bitch, sir.”

Spike grinned around his cigar, grabbed the top of Bill’s head and shoved him down onto all fours, “Then you can start by cleaning by boots, bitch. And don’t get any of that faggot blood on them either.”

Without any hesitation, he started licking at the leather, swallowing down the road dust and trying not to cough and spray blood from his broken nose. He had to show Spike how much he wanted to be his bitch–if he couldn’t be with Spike–he would just die.

“Dang, you do learn quick. Fine, you want to be my biker bitch? I guess I could train you.”

“Oh thank you sir, thank you. I won’t disappoint you, I promise.”

“Well, you’re gonna need a few changes, but nothing I can’t handle. You’re looking pretty good already with all those tatts, and you’re kind of pudgy too. I like a man with meat on his bones. And forget about shaving that body of yours, I like a man with a furry pelt.”

“Yes sir, anything for you sir. I know…I know you don’t love me sir, but I’ll do anything to be your bitch sir, I swear.”

Spike grinned, “Really bitch? I’m gonna hold you to that. So how about this. You’re mine now–my property, got it? And property doesn’t get to own anything–property only gets to wear what I say it can. And all you’re wearing for the drive home is that nasty jock of yours, as a reminder of how bad of a bitch you were to cum without my permission.”

“Yes sir,” Bill replied, pulled on the jock, and followed his new master back to his bike, looking back at his still smoking car just once, before climbing on the bitch seat riding off into his new role, and new life.

“