Tag: cigar

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 3)

Shane settled into the new routine of his life with little fuss. He would wake up early–always clad in his work gear–head downstairs and start cooking. His father would come downstairs to eat breakfast around the time when Roger would arrive at the house, and while the three of them ate, Shane’s mother would drift through the room, in her own world, and head to work. After eating, his father would leave as well, and then Shane would join Roger and get started on the work for the day.

He was learning quite a bit, however, and the tasks he was given were becoming quite a bit more than just fetching and carrying. Still, the project didn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense–what exactly were they doing in here, anyway? His father had only ever mentioned getting the house renovated, but had never been more specific than that–but what on earth was this new room even for? He might try and ask Roger these sorts of questions, but quickly learned that he shouldn’t–he’d earn a stern rebuke at best, or if he pressed the matter, Roger would make him bend over the sawhorse while he paddled his ass red.

Usually, however, those sorts of questions wouldn’t occur to him at all. He would just focus on whatever task Roger had given him in that moment, and complete it to the best of his ability. Still, several times a day he’d notice a detail, and realize that something about this entire situation was…wrong. Like when he took a bathroom break one day, and lingered at the mirror, staring at the filthy coveralls he was wearing–that he’d been wearing for nearly two weeks straight. He hadn’t even taken the boots off in all that time either, not without Roger’s explicit permission–say, if he got something in the bottom of one–and then it had to go right back on. The front and the crotch were covered with stains from his own loads of cum, and recently, from Roger’s. He’d taken to jacking off as well, and while he’d often make Shane suck him off, he nearly always shot his load onto Shane’s coveralls, and afterwards make Shane tell him how much he enjoyed being Sir’s cumrag. But usually, a thought like that would derail his concern, and he’d forget about his worries, or he’d start jacking off, or he’d ignore them–knowing that broaching the subject with Roger would be a poor choice.

Still, things were changing. There were a few differences he’d noticed when he’d gotten home from school that had gotten worse–his father’s whole appearance, for example. He’d always been very concerned with his looks, but he’d suddenly made all sorts of changes–and not all of them were flattering. For one thing, he was gaining weight, enough to create a bit of a paunch in the front of his shirts when he went to work, stretching the buttons slightly. He’d started growing out his beard, as well. It had been kind of funny, when Shane had arrived, because the grey in the face had confirmed that his father had obviously been dying his hair to a younger black–but he never dyed the beard, as it grew, and the grey roots of his hair were beginning to show as well. It made him look rather…distinguished–at least, it did until it got a bit overgrown and shaggy.

Then, there were the cigars his father had started smoking–the same brand as Roger, in fact. His father had always hated smokers, and yet he seemed perfectly at ease with his new habit. When Shane had tried to ask him when he’d started, in fact, his father had looked at him like he was a bit crazy–and Roger had insisted that his father had been smoking them for years. Still, that couldn’t possibly be right, unless he’d been hiding it from his mother this whole time. In fact, her behavior was perhaps the most bizarre of all. Normally, she was always micromanaging  both her husband and son when they were home, but when Shane had arrived, she’d seemed so…distant and uninterested in them both. Now, there were some nights when she didn’t even come home at all. The only person she talked to was Roger, who’d ask her how she’d been lately, and they’d have a private conversation outside–usually while Shane and his father ate. Everything was different, somehow, and yet, it felt to Shane like all of it was completely normal.

But today…something was different about today. For one thing, Roger was nervous, but in an excited sort of fashion. It was a Saturday, and so both of his parents were home for the day, but Roger had mostly given Shane a list of construction tasks to complete in the room that afternoon, while he’d gone and taken both his father and mother into another room to discuss some of his thoughts on the project’s progress. Shane had expected it to take a few hours, but they’d been hours now, and his list was almost finished. Being unsupervised this long…shouldn’t he be doing something? Trying to get…help? But why would he need help? Instead, he kept working–Sir would be…upset if the list wasn’t done by the end of the workday–he knew that.

He finished the tasks, and sat down on a bucket, groping the wet crotch of his coveralls, ready to milk out another load as a reward, when Roger came back into the room with his parents. “Alright–how’s the list boy?”

“All finished sir,” Shane said, “I…I was just gonna jack off.”

“That can wait boy. Looks like the boy and I are all finished for the day then, so we’ll be leaving,” Roger said to Shane’s parents. “Clean up the tools, boy, and then let’s go.”

“Do you need me to make dinner like usual sir?” Shane asked, a bit confused by what Roger had just said.

His mother laughed, “Oh, he’s very sweet to offer, but no.”

Roger winked at him, and Shane got a bit anxious. That wink…it never meant anything good. Still, he cleaned up the room as Roger liked it, and in ten minutes they were finished. “Well come on boy, it’s time to go home. We’ll take tomorrow off, though, and be back on Monday,” Roger said.

“But…I mean…” Shane said, looking at his parents, “I am home. I sleep here.”

His mom and dad got…rather strange looks on their faces, and looked over at Roger. His mother, in particular, looked quite disgusted. “That’s not appropriate–I thought your boy would behave better than that.”

“No boy, that isn’t appropriate talk, is it. Apologize to the nice lady, and then get your butt in the truck.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, mom,” Shane said, but Roger whacked him upside the head.

“You address ladies as Ma’am, boy. You know that.”

“S-Sorry Ma’am,” Shane muttered.

“Now get going.” Roger shoved Shane towards the front door, and he knew he should object, but the world seemed to be spinning, and he was crying, and he looked back at his parents, but they…didn’t even seem to recognize him. And then they were outside, and into Roger’s truck, where he grinned at Shane’s face. “They won’t miss you boy, don’t worry–and you’ll be back Monday morning anyway for work! But I’ve been missin’ you at home, boy–where you fuckin’ belong–and where you’ll be staying for a good long time.”

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 2)

His parents arrived home that evening, and found their son still hard at work with Roger, room thick with smoke, quite a few cans of beer littering the floor, and as embarrassed as Shane was to be seen like this, neither of his parents seemed to pay it any mind. His mom suggested that Roger stay for dinner, since he was doing such a good job, and Roger was more than happy to take her up on the offer–it was late, and no one felt like cooking, so they ordered some food in for delivery. When it arrived, Shane was surprised by how much there was for just four people–nine extra large pizzas. But while his mom ate her usual two or three slices, Shane found himself in the dining room with Roger and his dad, all three of them chatting (well, it was mostly Roger talking, actually) and before he knew it, All of the pizzas were gone, and both him, and his father’s, guts were stretched tight and packed full. Roger gave them an affectionate rub, told Shane he’d been a very, very good boy that day, and then left for the evening. Exhausted after a long day of work, Shane climbed upstairs–still in the coveralls and boots Roger had given him–thought about a shower but decided he couldn’t be bothered, and headed to his bedroom to sleep.

In bed, he felt…uncomfortable. It was because he was still wearing the coveralls and boots, right? Shouldn’t he take them off? He’d never slept in a bed with any sort of shoes on before, and it…didn’t feel right at all. But that couldn’t be the problem–he was probably just horny. He jacked off instead, blowing two loads into the front of the coveralls, thinking about…Roger. About his cigars, about his voice, about how every time he heard the word “boy” he felt so calm, and relaxed, and happy, and sexy, and horny. It wasn’t long before he finally fell asleep, but when his alarm started blaring at six in the morning, he wasn’t particularly happy. Still, there was a reason he needed to get up, wasn’t there? He was helping Roger out some more today, and he needed to eat before he arrived.

Downstairs, Shane hauled a bunch of stuff out of the refrigerator and started cooking. It was simple fare–bacon, eggs, pancakes–but enough for six or seven people. His dad came down for work, sat down and stuffed himself, and then Shane joined him. His dad thanked him for the meal and then left for the day, his mom coming down a bit later, unfazed by the cumstained coveralls, seeming a bit…distant and uninterested in general, actually. She ate a light breakfast and then left for her own job, and Roger arrived as she was leaving.

“You had breakfast, right boy? Something good and hearty?” Roger said, patting Shane’s belly, which was doing flips–not…only because he was so full, but also because he was horny as hell, and hadn’t jacked off that morning. “Gotta keep the boy growing, right? Light me a cigar, boy.”

“Y-Yes sir…” Shane said. Shane took the cigar and lighter his master handed him, and went through the routine he’d been taught, but Roger could see he was anxious.

“Something wrong boy?”

“Just…just horny sir. I didn’t jack off this morning.”

“You need to jack off boy? You can do that if you want.”

Shane went red in the face, and assured Roger he didn’t need to if there was work to do, but Roger insisted. And so, while Roger smoked a cigar and groped his own cock, Shane reached into the front of his coveralls and started stroking his cock.

“That’s a good boy. Makes you feel good, jacking off in front of me, right boy?”

Shane nodded, but in his head he was horrified. He couldn’t believe he was doing this in front of someone like Roger, but if anything he was even more turned on. Roger exhaled a plume of smoke, and Shane let out a groan as it engulfed him, and his cock exploded. Roger reached out and groped the front of Shane’s coveralls, feeling the sticky cum soaking through. “You’re being a very good boy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Go get us a couple of beers, and let’s get to work.”

Shane did as he was told, and they worked through the morning, stopping at lunch time. Roger wanted to go out and get some fast food, and Shane didn’t protest–though the strange looks the older woman who lived next door gave him when he walked out behind Roger made him wonder just what he was doing. This wasn’t normal–none of it was, and yet, here he was, climbing into Roger’s truck, heading for a local burger joint. Again, Roger got too much food, and encouraged Shane to stuff himself–he got so full that it made him horny…or was it the fact that Roger was hotboxing him with his cigar smoke the entire time they sat in the truck? In any case, Roger was talking to him a lot, but he could barely focus–he was happy to get back to work in the afternoon at home.

Roger stayed over for dinner that night too. In fact, Shane couldn’t recall the last time he and his parents had eaten dinner without Roger there. The only difference was that Shane was the one cooking today, while Roger and his dad talked, and his mom got some work done in the office. It wasn’t the best meal, but Roger and his dad praised him for it anyway, and that made him feel good–and plenty hungry–Shane tucked away more than either of them, snorting and grunting, cock hard in his coveralls.

“This boy’s a total pig, Gary,” Roger said to Shane’s father.

“Really sir?” Gary replied.

“Yeah–feel that boy’s cock–see how hard he gets from stuffing himself?”

His dad reached over and felt up Shane, and he was too shocked to even do anything other than freeze as it happened, mouth full of food.

“Damn, sure is! Hard as a rock.”

“Yeah, real pigboy,” Roger said, reaching over and groping Shane’s cock, tugging at it through the rough fabric, sticky from all the loads of cum he’d encouraged Shane to shoot into it all day long. He was close, snorting and grunting through a mouthful of food, and he came.

“Fuck, that’s…kind of disgusting, sir,” Gary said.

“You seem to like it plenty yourself,” Roger said, and felt Gary’s own rock hard cock, “You’ll be jackin’ off later, thinking about your own full gut, right?”

Gary nodded, “Yes sir.”

“That’s good–real good,” he said, and stood up with a belch, “You did real good today boy,” he said to Shane, “and I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 1)

Shane would have never imagined that the sound of a drill, or a hammer, or whatever the guy was doing down there could ever be considered relaxing, but so far he’d slept in perfectly fine every morning without fail. When he’d come home from college and discovered his parents had hired a contractor to refurbish and expand some of the the downstairs rooms of the house he’d been a bit frustrated at the thought of his chance at summer being ruined by a bunch of noise, but in his bed, all he felt was calm, and relaxed…and kind of horny, actually. Still, that was hardly a surprise–he was twenty and always horny anyway. He jacked off, shooting a load of cum onto his chest and rubbing it in there, before throwing on a shirt and some lounge pants, and then went down to eat some breakfast.

Aside from the contractor, he was alone in the house–as he was every weekday. Both of his parents worked office jobs in city, and were usually gone by the time he woke up each morning, and didn’t get home until around seven in the evening. As much as Shane would have liked to have the house to himself all day–invite around some of the neighborhood girls for a little play, or a little day drinking–the contractor his parents had hired was surprisingly chill, not that Shane was spending much time with him, of course–but the few interactions they’d had, the guy–Roger, was his name–had seemed…kind of nice.

Downstairs, he passed by the room where all the construction racket was coming from–the place seemed like a setting of controlled chaos. He didn’t quite know how the guy managed to get everything done all on his own. Roger saw Shane pass by the doorway, and gave him a wink–kind of weird, but whatever–and Shane went on to the kitchen, and made himself some cereal. After he’d eaten, as he was on his way back up to his room, when Roger called over to him, as he wiped his brow, climbing back down his ladder.

“Hey boy, think you could get me a beer? About time for me to take a break, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, uh…sure…” Shane said, a bit…worried that the contractor might be drinking on the job, but it was probably fine.

“Get yourself one too, boy.”

“Yes sir,” Shane said, and went back to the kitchen, adjusting the front of his pants–a bit confused that he was so hard after just jacking off less than an hour ago–got two cans of beer from inside and took them both into the room. Roger had turned over two buckets and was sitting on one–Shane took the other, and handed one beer to the contractor.

“That’s a good boy.”

Shane shuddered, but didn’t notice. He popped the top of the can and took a sip, but the contractor set his aside a moment, as he pulled a cigar and lighter from his coveralls.

“I…don’t think my parents would want you smoking in here, sir. They don’t like smokers.”

Roger grinned, but lit up anyway. “Have you ever smoked a cigar boy?”

“No sir.”

Roger chuckled. Shane just stared at the end of the cigar, fascinated, dick obviously hard in his pants. It took him a few minutes to realize that cinder had grown a bit while he was sitting there, half his beer was gone, and Roger had been talking his ear off. He was…embarrassed to realize he had no idea what he’d just said. “Sorry I…kind of zoned out for a second, sir. What did you say?”

“I just wanted to know what you do all day around here, boy. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing anything important?”

Shane didn’t really know how to answer that–he was on summer vacation after all–the whole point was to avoid important work, right?

“Didn’t think so. Still, all you do is lounge around here all day–how about you help me out? It’s a big project, after all, and I could use a hand–especially from a strong looking boy like you.”

Shane blushed a bit at the compliment, and supposed it couldn’t hurt. He had always been a bit interested in learning about home improvement, hadn’t he? Of course, his dad always hired people when he needed work done, so he’d never had a chance to learn. When he told Roger this, the man assured him he’d be willing to walk him through everything.

“I guess I could help you out, sir, for a little while.”

“That’s a good boy,” Roger said, and to Shane’s surprise, he felt a small spurt of cum shoot in the front of his loose pants. “We can’t have you working in that shit though. I got something extra I think, though…” he started rummaging through a pile, “Strip out of that shit boy.”

Shane was naked in the middle of the room, before he realized his hard cock was jutting out, head still leaking cum, and he barely even knew this man. Roger looked over at him, cigar clamped in his teeth, and grinned ear to ear at the sight. He tossed Shane a pair of coveralls. “Haven’t washed these one’s yet, but you don’t mind, right boy?”

“No sir,” Shane said, eager to put anything on at all. The coveralls were…heady with musk, and still a bit damp with sweat, but he pulled them on anyway, and zipped them up. They were…roomy, but the contractor was quite a bit heavier than Shane, probably around 300 pounds, even if they were the same height more or less.

Roger tossed his socks next, and the brought over a pair of work boots. “Steel toes–gotta have ‘em boy. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, right?”

“No sir,” Shane said, and pulled them on too. The absurdity of it stuck out to him a bit, but the boots fit well enough, and before he could really question any of it, Roger started barking orders at him, and Shane did his best to keep up, even if all he was really doing was running and fetching, and lighting Roger’s cigars, of course. A boy has to know how to light Sir’s cigars, right?

Slave Swap (Part 4)

When Master woke him up, they most certainly were no longer in his sizable mansion, where Cameron had been living in his first year of service. Now they were in a small studio apartment–deep in the city, from the sound of traffic outside–the sort of living quarters any citizen could expect as a guarantee in this era. Nothing fancy, and none of clean from the looks of things, but it was similar to where Cameron had spent much of his youth. “Where are we, sir?”

“This is where you’ll be living, Slave. I’d rather not have you dribbling any more piss on my carpets. You’ll still be working for my company, but I can’t have someone like you as my personal assistant. You’ll be a janitor now–something which will…suit your body’s tastes, I assume. You’ll also be receiving a much smaller allowance from this point further, although there will be…opportunities for you to earn more, if you’d like. After all, if there is one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re highly motivated by financial reward. Still, we have one final adjustment to make, but I wanted to make sure you were awake. Slave, run personality file: Jug.”

The sensation was always…nerve wracking, when Master ran a personality file. Still, he’d been through enough of them to know what to expect, from his first day–after all, it was how Master had turned him gay. The contract gave Master wide licence to modify not only his body, but also his mind, his memories, his personality, his intellect–provided a backup of his original is kept on hand. But this one lasted longer, and the mental nausea was more severe. Whatever Master was doing to him, it was more substantial than anything else he’d done to him previously. At last, it was over, and Jug reached out for a wall to steady himself, and let off a great big belch. “Fuck sir, mah head feels like ya screwed it off in shook it up real fuckin’ good.”

That…didn’t sound like him, but his thoughts were suddenly running much slower than he was accustomed to.

“Don’t worry Jug, you’ll feel better soon enough. It’s just something to…smooth your transition. After all, if you’re going to be a janitor, you’d better think and sound like one, right? And someone your age…well, you need a bit of history, don’t you? In any case, I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes sir,” he said, and Master left him in the apartment, to explore the small space, and to try and sort out what, exactly, his master had fucked up in his head. Why had Master called him Jug, anyway? His name was…was something else, but then again, he’d been called Jug ever since he’d drank that whole gallon of piss in one fucking sitting, years ago, and the name had stuck. It was…it was a badge of pride, wasn’t it? The memory horrified parts of him–the vividness of it. It wasn’t real, he knew that, and yet, to Jug, it felt as real as anything else. He sat down, diaper squishing audibly under him, his body still shaking, the pain coming back now that he had nothing else to focus on.

His body has needs, that he knew, but they weren’t needs that he wanted to satisfy. Why had Master just…left him here? With no guidance, and no direction? He hadn’t even…fed him before he’d left. In a sense, he knew he should feel…free on his own, and yet the hungers growing inside him made him feel more boxed in and controlled than any time in his first year of service. He turned on the TV, but then got up from the chair to explore the room. There was a small supply of cigars in a battered humidor on the shelf, but he fought the urge to smoke. There were a few beers in the fridge, and his thirst…but he also knew he wanted cum…and piss more than alcohol or water. There was no food anywhere, but Jug also didn’t know how to cook. He’d…have to get something delivered, or go out if he wanted to eat.

He heard his phone buzz and shake on the side table, and he went to retrieve it, and found a message from Master. “I’m sure the monkeys on your back have started scratching. I selected this location particularly for you. There’s several gay bathhouses and bars within several blocks, many of them with rather seedy reputations. I’m sure you can find some men willing to feed an old faggot like you, especially in the dark. I’ll be watching. Or you could always kick the habit. I…weakened the original desires, as hard as that might be for you to imagine–the body’s owner wanted his slave’s body to be insatiable. It won’t be pleasant to resist them, I can assure you, but I admit I might find your strength of will to be quite arousing–though I think I’d still rather see you submit, slave. Still, perhaps you’ll surprise me–I do love surprises.”

Was this really just a game to him? Jug felt used, but he knew what he would do–he was going to fight this shit. He didn’t want this life, he wasn’t going to give into this filth. He’d fought so long, his entire life–hadn’t he? He could recall a youth where he’d struggled, but it was like someone else’s story now. Jug, on the other hand, had led a life of debauchery and excess, and just thinking and remembering all those loads of cum he’d sucked down, all those jugs of piss he’d emptied to prove his earned nickname, it was making his old cock rock hard.

But that wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. He sat down on the chair with a glass of water, and ordered some food from the tablet on the wall. He could fight this, he was stronger than any of this. He’d…prove to his master that he was different, that he’d earned his last body, that he could please him by being close to him, that he didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 10)

There were a few surprises along the way, of course. A year and a half after they’d begun their release plan, they were ushered away for an unexpected cognitive session down at the lab. Neither of them was really sure why, and when they got there, they discovered that a third subject was already strapped in, and that they both were going to join him for a session. Harry managed to pick up that the other subject was a level three who had suffered a demotion as punishment, but what that meant for them neither of them knew, until the session began, and they found themselves introduced to their father, Edgar. He was surprisingly resistant, and neither of his boys could really understand why. He would get angry suddenly, or start begging, and the memory stream would have to reset, but after a long time, he started to give in and accept these two handsome young men as his own flesh and blood. After the extended session, the three of them were escorted to a new cell–a much larger one with a king sized bed–and after a long family fuck none of them could resist, they all fell asleep in one another’s arms.

Daddy put up quite a fight for a while. He wasn’t always much help in their work simulations on the farm, and he was prone to bouts of depression–staring at himself in the mirror as he slowly aged into his 60’s, hair turning white, his body losing strength, his beard and what remained of his hair growing long and bushy. He kept trying to tell his sons that they needed to fight back. That together, they could resist and escape. In the end, daddy had undergo further cognitive sessions before he finally gave in and allowed himself to be believe, before be allowed himself to be happy with his two handsome boys.

Of course, all three of them would have bad days, on occasion. Tanner would remember something strange, get a thought in his head that he didn’t deserve this, that he was being persecuted and treated unfairly. Usually his brother could give him a rough fuck, and the pleasure would push those bad thoughts away–and over time, they dimmed and all but disappeared. Harry, on the other hand, could turn…suddenly cruel, and violent. Tanner might break something, or mess something up, and his brother would fly into a rage, beating him and fucking him until his daddy hauled him off and forced him to calm down. And of course, whenever their daddy got depressed, his two boys could cheer him up by plowing him at both ends for a couple of hours. They all could sense that they needed one another–that they’d been meant to find each other, that without this family of theirs, they’d never truly be happy.

All three of them began meeting with the head warden, to assess their fitness for release. It wasn’t too long after that, when the three of them were told that after six months of final cognitive and lifestyle work, they’d be released and could return to their family farm. All three of them were so excited that they could go home soon. None of them really knew where they were, or why they were even here, but they all knew that getting out was something to fight for. Now, in addition to cognitive sessions, filling in the last few gaps in their collective memories, they would have styling sessions as well. The two brothers had ended up looking almost like identical twins, aside from their difference in age, and the mutual styling didn’t help–giving them both shaved heads and thick beards down to their solid, hairy guts. The one thing different was their tattoos. Tanner was extremely excited when he got most of his body covered with images of pigs, since they were his favorite animal, while Harry had his arms and legs covered with an intricate motif of gears and machinery–fitting, since he was so good as a mechanic. Their daddy didn’t get much in the way of tattoos, but that was alright–he didn’t do much work on the farm anymore after all–he was there mostly to keep the family in line. He might have resisted at first, but now, family was the only thing that really mattered to Edgar–he’d die before letting something happen to his sons, or before letting one of them get any ideas in their heads about running off or leaving the farm.

At long last, nearly seven years after entering the facility, Tanner was released with his family, and driven a few miles away to their family farm. It was exactly like he remembered it, even though he also knew he’d never been there before. He ran to the pig stys immediately, excited to see all of his boars, hogs and sows. He was going to be in charge of the pigs–he could do that. That’s why he had tattoos of pigs on him, so that he wouldn’t forget what his job was, and he always had his brother to help him out if he got stuck, or if he had a machine that needed fixing. Harry always had grease on his fingers and face from tinkering with his machines, but Tanner always liked it–it made him taste sexier, when they two of them would take one of their frequent breaks from work to roll around in the dust or the mud and fuck each other’s brains out.

Every few months, their family would grow, too, as another member of their very large family was released from the facility to join their kin. It was always fun, getting to know the newcomers–what they liked, how they tasted, who they liked to fuck. They were usually cousins of Tanner’s and Harry’s, though occasionally another daddy would join the group to help keep the younger men in line. There were even a few cubs on occasion to help out with some of the easier farm work. Their roles on the farm were always clear, however, written and tattooed right on their skin, so none of them could ever forget their roles in life. They never had to want for anything, either–the facility kept them well supplied with food and other goods, and within the year, the farm was bustling and turning quite a substantial profit. Tanner, in the end, was happy. He hadn’t become the man he’d expected to be, but as he lay with his little brother at night, head nested in his musky pit, listening to the rest of his family snoring softly, he couldn’t imagine any kind of man he’d rather want to be.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 9)

He did, eventually, get led into an office with a warden he recognized, who in simple words explained to him that, as a one, his cognitive skills had been severely curtailed. “We do this to make your chances of recidivism lower.”

“Recida-what?”

“We don’t want you to get in any more trouble, Tanner. You don’t want to be in trouble, do you?”

Tanner shook his head, no, but something made him suspicious, made him feel like he’d been tricked somehow, but he couldn’t piece enough thoughts together to really form anything coherent.

“Now, why don’t we go meet your two. We’re very excited that you’re going to be helping us with a new release program, Tanner. We think this is going to be perfect for you–you’ll love it. I promise.”

“I just want to go home,” Tanner said, as he was escorted back to block C.

“You will soon. But first you have to be able to remember where your home is.”

“I know where…home is…” Tanner said, but the memory was foggy, “I think I does.”

“It’ll clear up in time,” the warden said, and opened the door to a cell. It was identical to the room he’d been in with Marcus, but someone else was in there, waiting for him. “Good morning Harry. This is Tanner–he’s going to be your one.”

“No, I don’t want a two!” Tanner said, trying to back up, “Twos are mean guys. Twos make me feel bad.”

The guards pushed him inside, and the other man approached him–and pulled Tanner into a hug. “Hey–it’s alright,” Harry said, “I’m gonna be here for you. I promise.”

“Harry will take good care of you, I know he will. He’s going to make an excellent two, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded, “Yes sir!”

“That’s good. Now, your bands will be linked from now on–Harry, I’ll let you and Tanner here get to know each other a bit, so you can have the day off from work, and an extra daily allowance.”

“Really? Thanks!” Harry said, his face sincere only because he didn’t seem capable of subterfuge. “Come on Tanner–we have the whole day for us!”

The warden left, and Tanner pulled himself away from Harry’s thick arms. He was big. But not nearly as large as Tanner was, but the idea of being under someone’s thumb again was filling him with anxiety. “Please don’t hurt me. I don’t wanna get hurt anymore.”

“Hey, it’s alright! I don’t like hurting people. I used to do that, but I don’t want to anymore,” Harry said, and stepped closer, “You smell real good, you know–you wanna have sex? We can fuck if you want. I like fucking.”

“You…you want me to choose?” Tanner asked, feeling a bit daunted by the possibility of having to decide something. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. “I…like sex. But I…kind of need a cigar.”

“You like cigars? I like pipes. Let’s smoke, and then fuck.”

Tanner thought that sounded like a good idea. He smiled, as Harry ordered him a pack of cigars–nicer ones than Marcus ever let him have–and after they’d both lit up and shared lungfuls of smoke for a few minutes, Harry guided Tanner’s mouth to his cock, and he got his first taste of his new two’s cum–the first taste of many more to come.

By the end of their first week together, Tanner had discovered that Harry was a very different kind of guy than Marcus had ever been. He didn’t order Tanner around as much, didn’t demand his complete submission. He was more than willing to listen, and would even take suggestions–though Tanner soon discovered that his new brain found the idea of deciding anything more difficult and terrifying than anything else. It was easier to just follow along and do what Harry told him to do–not because he had to, but…because Harry seemed to know what he was doing.

Other than that, his life was similar. The two of them would do their work in virtual reality once or twice a day, and then have the rest of their time to themselves. He noticed after a few days that the work sessions they were doing didn’t seem to be as varied as they had been with Marcus. In particular, they always took pace in the same location–a rather rundown looking farm in the middle of nowhere. The tasks were a bit more complex as well. They were taking care of virtual livestock and shoveling out manure, repairing broken down parts of the various buildings on the farms, or even fixing the trucks and tractors on occasion. Harry was the one who had to do the complex stuff like that, with Tanner fetching tools and helping him lift the heavy stuff on occasion. Taking one look at the complex mechanics of an engine made his head spin–he didn’t know how Harry could do it.

Outside of work, they fucked a lot, ate a lot, and smoked all the time. Tanner liked Harry’s pipe–the tobacco always smelled so sweet, the way it mixed with his cigar. He wanted to switch, but Harry wouldn’t let him–he said he always got so turned on, seeing tanner with a thick cigar in his mouth. The sex was more equal too. Harry did like to top–and Tanner liked to bottom–but on several occasions, usually after some pleading and begging, Harry would let Tanner fuck him as well. Beyond that, they watched a lot of porn, and a movie or two on occasion, but it was hard for Tanner to focus on a narrative. Porn was easier. There were some guys, and then they fucked–he didn’t have to try and understand a story to get what was happening. He just had to get turned on, and suck Harry’s cock.

Each week, the two of them would be escorted back to the lab for more cognitive work. Tanner was terrified the first time–he didn’t want them to make him even stupider, but when they assured him that these sessions were just to help Tanner and Harry get to know one another better, he went along willingly. As long as Harry was there too…he felt a bit safer, at least. These sessions, unlike the first one filled with painful shocks, were more like…dreams, but very vivid ones. He was always there with Harry in them, but they felt more like memories, than anything. After a couple of sessions, while chatting with the warden afterward, they finally realized why they got along so well–they were brothers! How both of them had managed to forget this fact eluded them, but knowing they were with family made them both very excited–and made their sex much hotter too.

In fact, both of them found themselves becoming obsessed with the other’s musk. All it would take was one whiff of the other’s smelly pits or ass crack to drive them make them horny–and neither of them could really stand to be apart for very long. Soon, the brothers were inseparable–never straying more than a couple of feet away from one another, knowing that as long as they were with their brother, they would never have to be alone again.

One significant change from before, however, was that neither of them was in control over their hormones any longer. Their bodies were certainly changing, but in more…subtle ways than before. Perhaps the most obvious shift was that they both were growing older–their hairlines receding, wrinkles appearing around their eyes, a few flecks of grey tinging their beards. Harry stopped around his early fifties, while Tanner looked quite a bit older, with quite a bit more grey in his beard and hair. He might be the older brother, he figured out, but Harry was the one who was always going to be in charge–just like things ought to be.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 7)

Tanner tried to speak, but with a prick he felt exhaustion overwhelm him. One of the guards caught him in his arms and helped him fall to the floor, but Tanner remembered nothing, until consciousness returned to him, and he found himself lying on the ground, close to an hour later.

“Excellent,” the doctor said, “you’ve got the hang of it.”

Tanner tried to stand up, tried to speak, but his sleepiness was still wearing off.

“You lied to me,” Marcus said, “Why did you lie to me?”

Tanner tried to force out an excuse, but found his tongue was tied up somehow.

“You’ll find that it’s impossible to lie to any superior from now on, Mr. Wilkins,” the doctor said, “Try being honest–it’ll come naturally to you soon enough.”

“Tell me why you lied,” Marcus repeated, and words spilled out of Tanner’s mouth, almost unbidden.

“I didn’t want to look like an idiot, for ending up lower than a meathead like you.”

“Meathead?” Marcus said, glowering at him.

“Please–let’s move on. We’re already a bit behind,” the doctor said, and motioned to the main room, where there were two large chairs against the wall. “Both of you, please have a seat, and I’ll load up a simulated work session.”

The chairs were quite comfortable, Tanner found, until the bands appeared, securing his arms and legs to the frame, and a helmet descended–covering his head and blocking out all light and sound. He felt a prick from his band, a wave of euphoria, and then…he was somewhere else. A wide field of dirt stretching in every direction, two shovels, and Marcus standing beside him.

“This is a basic simulation,” the doctor’s voice came as some disembodied spirit in the empty air, “While the facility does utilize hard labor for most subjects, you both will be taking part in our virtual beta program. Each day, you both will enter a simulation and be given a series of tasks or quotas to complete. Your credit allowance for the day will be determined by how well you succeeded in the simulation. Marcus, as the Two, you will receive the entire allowance and be able to decide how to spend the funds. You can retain complete control of the funds, or divide it as you please. Also note, that you retain complete authority over your one within the simulation as normal. Now, to end the simulation, as a team you will need to dig five holes in the ground, three feet in each dimension. Guidelines will appear on the ground to guide your progress.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Tanner said.

“Come on, let’s get to work, I guess,” Marcus said, handing Tanner a shovel.

Together, they each started digging a hole. Despite the simulation being virtual, it felt completely real–Tanner could even feel his sweat, and smell Marcus’s musk on the still air. Marcus finished first and sat for a moment–Tanner went to join him, but Marcus shook his head. “No, you keep digging–you’ll get a break when we’re done.”

Tanner couldn’t disobey the command, and so he kept digging, and digging, and digging. Marcus would help, but more and more he would relax a bit, shouting suggestions and orders to Tanner, obviously enjoying his position of authority for a change. Eventually, they did finish–the simulation ended and the helmets removed themselves from their heads, the straps allowing them to stand. Tanner found that his muscles actually ached like he really had been in that field all day, and he stood on shaking legs in front of the doctor.

“Well done. You are both required to complete one simulation a day, but you may volunteer for more if you so desire. Please keep in mind that your actions in the virtual reality will impact your physical forms–we monitor your behavior and provide hormones based upon that. Hence, why you both feel the effects of physical exertion, despite having not moved at all. Marcus, you will find your first allowance in your account–spend it wisely. I will check in over the next few days to make sure everything is going smoothly.” The doctor and the guards left, leaving them alone again.

“Get on the bed, you fucking asshole–we’ll see who’s the fucking meathead before too long,” Marcus said, and the sneer told Tanner than his situation may have gone from bad to worse in ways he would have never imagined. Indeed, Tanner had been utterly oblivious to the extent that many members of the gang had resented him, but Marcus in particular had always felt he deserved a bigger piece of the pie, that Tanner disrespected him on a regular basis, that this was exactly what he deserved.

The days settled into a routine rather quickly. The tasks they were given through the VR system were all oriented towards physical labor–digging holes, hauling heavy rocks, cutting lumber, clearing brush–all without much meaning or any context at all. Early on, Marcus helped somewhat, but he always forced Tanner to work longer and harder than he ever did. Back in their apartment, he toyed with the idea of forcing Tanner to quit smoking to save credits, but decided to give him a meager supply of the cheapest variety–never quite enough to scratch the itch Tanner had grown accustomed to satisfying. Marcus would determine their hormone packages, their meals, their entertainment.

It was clear after a month, to Tanner, that they were both changing again. He was taller and packing on even more muscle than before, while Marcus had begun to soften slightly, putting on a slight gut. Soon, Marcus was doing almost no work at all in their simulations, forcing his “workhorse” and “meathead” to do everything, threatening him with punishment if he missed the quota meant for them both. Tanner tried to object, early on, but each time he resisted Marcus would devise some humiliating new punishment or desire for him to try and satisfy, and he learned to bear the burden as best he could, but kept the hatred nurturing in his heart all the same. One day, the table would turn, he told himself. All he had to do was wait, put up with it for now, but once the wardens saw how Marcus was treating him, they’d show him–then Tanner would be the one back on top.

Still, he hated himself more. This massive body which should be able to pound Marcus into the dust, and he couldn’t lift a finger to oppose him. All he could do was beg for his cock, beg for cigars, doing anything to try and please his master in order to get a bit more allowance for himself. He felt inhuman, and seeing Marcus expand in size, growing flabbier each day as he ate massive meals for himself, leaving Tanner subsisting on protein mash, it was somehow worse than the solitary had been, being trapped with this fucker day in and day out. He counted the days down to their two hearings–knowing that even if things didn’t get better, they would hopefully be different.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 6)

All Tanner could do with his mouth was shout and scream incoherently as the two guards who had escorted him in, carried him out, hauling him like a sack of trash down several corridors until they arrived at the solitary ward, and heaved him onto the floor of a cell, shutting the door and abandoning him there. It was several minutes before feeling returned to his body and he could stand again, looking around at where he had been deposited. It was a small dorm similar to where he’d lived with Jackson the year before, but somewhat smaller and with fewer furnishings. He tried the door, but it was locked and sealed tight. Lastly, he tried his band, looking to see if it could tell him anything, but it too had gone dark, just like before. There was a TV with a decent movie and porn selection, there was a tablet with a digital library, but beyond that, he was alone.

The first few days were almost pleasant. He hadn’t had privacy is ages, not truly. He had a small humidor which refilled with a supply of cheap cigars each day. He could do whatever he wanted, within a very small scope of want. By the end of the first month, he felt like he would go insane. The guards wouldn’t speak with him when they delivered his meals. He had a one hour socialization session with his new warden each week, but all that did was remind him of what awaited him after these next six months.

Three months in, he’d figured out which guards were willing to be merciful, and would agree to fuck his ass when they brought his meals. It wasn’t much–but at least it was contact. At least he had a few minutes every few days where he felt good, where someone would want him, at least for a moment. By this point, the hormones he’d purchased for himself had been scrubbed from his system, and he looked essentially as he had on his first day in the provisional block–hulking, hairy as a caveman, and terrified to death. The changes that came next were less obvious. Up to that point, he’d mostly stuck to watching movies and reading–he preferred reading, because getting lost in a book helped the hours move faster than watching something broken into definite two hour blocks. But as the last few months wore on, it was harder to focus on the text, he would run across words he should have known, but which had disappeared from his memory. It was frustrating, and so he largely abandoned the tablet, watching movies–but more and more, he found himself watching the porn channels, masturbating all the while. The room reeked of smoke, sweat and cum now, but he barely noticed any of it–or bothered to shower much at all, the scents around him only fueling his sexual drive further. Physically, the changes were subtle as well. His cock was shrinking somewhat, back to a more modest four inch size, but on his frame it looked puny, if thick as a beer can. His muscles had filled in further, as had his gut–and his hands and feet had grown as well. Even his face seemed different–more angular under his beard, with a heavier brow and his hairline receding slightly. He hated his reflection–both because he was so objectively ugly now, but also because he found his image so…fucking arousing.

After six months, which had felt like a miniature hell, Tanner was willing to do anything, to go anywhere, as long as he didn’t have to be alone anymore. He had an introductory session with his warden, but he found it difficult to follow everything the man was talking about. As a provisional level one, the older man said, he would be placed in a six month cohabitation and dual training with a provisional level two, in order to better judge their capacity for reform. After those six months, he would have a second hearing with the warden panel, and they would determine whether to continue the provisional relationship, or designate him as a permanent two or one for and moved into a formal reform and release program. Tanner spent much of the conversation simply begging the man to let him see his parents, or his lawyer, telling them that what they were doing was illegal, was inhumane, but the warden showed no sympathy. “I’m afraid, Mr. Wilkins, that you won’t be seeing your parents again. You knew that was a risk when you signed your release forms.”

“I didn’t!” Tanner cried, “I didn’t know any of this, I didn’t know!”

“I’m afraid ignorance is no excuse. Guards, please escort Mr. Wilkins to his cell–an assistant warden will meet with you both later today to provide a more detailed orientation.”

The guards hauled Tanner off again, and led him to another area of the facility–C Block. If Block A was order, and the provisional block was anarchy, block C was silent. There was no one anywhere in the hallways, no common areas–just row after row of doors, looking more like a concrete hotel than a prison. He was escorted to his new room and pushed inside, the door shutting behind him, and he found himself, again, in a small apartment like he’d been in solitary, if slightly larger than before. His heart rate quickened, now that he was back in a place like this, terrified that he’d be alone again, but a young man emerged from the bathroom, and he nearly cried–he wouldn’t be alone at least. If nothing else, he had company. Then, looking at his roommate’s face a moment longer, he realized that he knew him.

“M-Marcus?”

“Holy shit–Tanner? Is that you? You ended up here too? What the fuck! Everyone in the gang was certain you’d be headed for the top.”

Marcus had entered the provisional block around the same time as Tanner had, but they hadn’t met until a couple of months in, when seeing how viciously he’d fought one of Tanner’s goon squads one morning, he offered Marcus a position in his growing enterprise. If Tanner had been the light–offering protection, greasing wheels, organizing patrols–Marcus had been the dark. As one of the leaders of the offensive squads, he’d spend the day shaking down everyone who had refused Tanner’s gracious and reasonable prices for safety. They chatted a bit, catching up. Marcus had been pulled out of the provisional block a few days after Tanner, but he told him that the system had started to crumble as soon as Tanner had left–the gang had broken into factions warring outright over territory and control–Marcus had been glad to escape the fallout, only to end up being assigned as a provisional two.

“How’d they grade you?” he asked Tanner, “You must be a two at least.”

“Yeah–same as you,” Tanner lied, and moved to another subject.

It wasn’t too much later that their door opened and a younger man in a lab coat entered the small space, with two sizable guards. “Marcus Ambrose, and Tanner Wilkins, correct? I’m Dr. Logen. I’ll be overseeing your provisional period here in C block. Now, I’ll be turning on your bands, and giving you an introduction to what your time will be like here for the next six months or so.”

The screens on both of their bands lit up again. Tanner examined his, but it had almost no functionality at all, beyond the ability to order supplies for credits–of which he had none.

“Now Marcus, as the provisional two in this relationship, you will find that you have ample means of controlling and disciplining your provisional one.”

“One? Who’s the one?” Marcus asked.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, and looked over at Tanner, “He is, of course. I’m going to put him to rest for a bit, while I go over some of the details with you.”

Where Boys Become Men (Part 5)

By the time his first year was done, everyone knew his name–and most of them feared him. The gang had become a company at this point, and a rather wealthy one. If anyone wanted to travel the halls safely, they knew not to count on the guards–they counted on Tanner and his guards–or else they were certain to be raped by Tanner’s goons. He had more credits than he knew what to do with. He finally found a hair suppression package, and while it also made him bald, he was finally clean of that disgusting coat of fur that he’d learned to live with but still hated. He could pay anyone to service him, whenever he wanted-he hadn’t been fucked in months, and it was nice being a top again. When the guards came soon after to escort him to his assignment hearing, he actually asked them if he could stay–the guards just laughed, told him no, and hauled him off. He worried, fleetingly, about whether his company would survive, but why should he care? He wasn’t going back there–no one came back from an assignment hearing, that he’d heard of. He wasn’t even sure what an assignment hearing was–he knew it involved a panel of wardens determining a candidate’s future path through the facility, but no one really knew what those paths were. Of course, he knew about Jackson’s path as a level five candidate, and he assumed there were levels all the way down to one, but he didn’t have to worry. He’d done well as a provisional candidate, in his mind–he’d reformed the place, for goodness sake! Everyone was much safer, provided they were paying him to be so. They should be thanking him for doing the damn job their guards were refusing to do.

The guards led him to a small conference room, where five people were seated at a table. One of them was Jackson, though he was dressed in civilian clothing without his band–he must have been released at some point in the last year. He looked good, actually–Tanner wondered if he might want another round with Tanner’s cock, it was substantially longer than it had been when he’d been an initiate, and in his opinion, he as much more skilled with it. He sat down in front of the panel, and they began speaking about his performance and character in the provisional block–and the confidence he’d felt began to wither with doubt. They didn’t seem happy with him. If anything, they were quite distressed by what he’d done. There were lots of statements like, “We’ve rarely had someone display such a cold, calculating, and callous approach to the welfare of their fellow candidates,” and “the mere fact that he never even pursued legitimate means of obtaining credit demonstrates his utter contempt for society’s laws and customs.” He looked to Jackson, but the man avoided his gaze–the one time he caught his eyes, the emotion was difficult to understand–equal parts pity, fear and deep contempt.

“I don’t understand,” Tanner said at some point, interrupting them, “I thought–I mean, if there’s no rules, then what does it matter what we do down there? I was making people safer! I got raped my first fucking day in that damn block–now, newbies have a week grace period! I fucking did your guards damn job for them, and now you’re mad at me?”

“So, you really believe that what you did was not only worthy of praise, but also moral?” an older man asked.

“Yes! That’s how the world works, right? I mean, I was successful. I had more credits than anyone else. I thought we were supposed to want credits, right? Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Generally, greed counts against you,” said another panel member.

That stunned Tanner into a moment of silence. “I wasn’t being greedy, I just thought it was a game.”

“A game he says,” the panel member said, “This is why he should be classified as a one.”

“I just think that with the right rehab, he would make a fine two,” a member replied.

“Do you really think that’s worth the risk?”

“If we just motivate him in the right direction–”

“He has no instinct for the right direction,” it was the first time Jackson had spoken. He spoke to the panel, but was glaring at Tanner, “I lived with him for two months, and while I knew he was never going to amount to a four, or even a three, I never would have imagined this. He belongs with the zeros.”

The panel was silent, considering the thought.

“What’s…I don’t understand what these numbers mean.”

“We’re discussing what level of candidacy to assign you, Tanner. Didn’t you read the packet we provided you a week ago, in preparation for this hearing?”

He recalled the packet, handed to him by a guard, but he’d ignored it.

“I think we’ve deliberated enough. We appreciate your input, Jackson. The vote will be put to the five committee members present. Please indicate your score for the candidate, and we will average the result.”

“One.”

“Three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Zero,” said Jackson, the final vote. The malice in his voice was very apparent, and somehow this wounded Tanner more than anything else. He remembered that advice Jackson had given him, before all this had happened.

“You told me–you told me I had to be strong!” he shouted at Jackson, but he didn’t reply–he just stared Tanner down until he averted his eyes away from him.

“The candidate’s average is one-point-four; The candidate will be designated a level one candidate, with a possible promotion to level two upon later review.”

“No–No! I fucking deserve better than this!” He shouted, standing up from his chair. “You can’t just fucking do this shit to me! I didn’t know what I was doing, it’s not my fault that you don’t give us any fucking direction in there! What the fuck did you expect to happen?”

“We expect you all to reveal your innermost selves and desires,” one of the warden’s said, “and you made yours quite clear to all of us here.”

He stalked forward, but with a prick from his band his legs turned to jelly underneath him, and he collapsed to the floor of the conference room.

“Guards, take the subject to solitary. Reset his hormone levels and begin him on a basic level one regimen. Once complete, the subject will begin a provisional level one reeducation program under the direction of Warden Bitterman.”

Where Boys Become Men (Part 4)

Jackson had given him some details of what to expect, and to sum it up in two words, it was relative anarchy. Guards were always on patrol, but they only intervened in extreme cases, generally only when someone’s life was at stake. Other than that, provisional candidates were free to do whatever they liked, and to associate with whomever they wanted in the block. That said, there were certain incentives in place. While each provisional candidate was provided with a guaranteed level of hormones and food–anything else, including tobacco or alcohol products, would have to be purchased. Credits could be obtained by completing jobs and chores, or traded from other candidates if they could be persuaded to do so. What that meant, in the end, was that the young men in there would often do anything to get the credits they needed to thrive. Jackson told him, with that same odd smirk, that the most important thing he could have there, was power and strength. “They want to see if you have what it takes to be a man,” he said, “because that’s what they want to see. It takes real strength of character though, if you want to be classified a level five candidate like me–and I don’t think you have it.”

Tanner took offense at that–and from the smirk on Jackson’s face, he wondered if that was exactly why he’d said it to him. Still, nothing Jackson described would have really prepared him for that first day in the provisional block–P Block, as the guards called it. Now, he really was in a prison. The guards led him through the block on his first day, and the young men in there all gave him the same look as he passed–some odd combination of suspicion and desire that made him incredibly uncomfortable. Thankfully, candidates were given their own personal cells–small, but private with doors that could lock, though any guard could open them if they needed to. He was also given his introductory allowance of credits, and the screen on his band turned on for the first time, allowing him to look through the virtual store.

In addition to any number of personal items, he could purchase a variety of tobacco products (he immediately ordered a few cigars–which to his annoyance cost him half the allowance right there) as well as magazines (all of them erotic and all of them covered with faggots) extra food rations he could collect at mess, and even beer. But it was the hormones and supplements that interested him. He couldn’t purchase drugs individually–instead, the store offered packages which promised certain benefits. He discovered that pretty much all of them guaranteed some level of body hair growth, and he turned the band off, disgusted with himself and his body, and laid down on the bed for a few minutes, before deciding he should go get something to eat–only to be jumped by a gang of boys who’d been waiting for the newbie to emerge from his room. They beat him to the floor in a moment, and told him they wouldn’t drag him back to their place for a gangbang if he dropped his entire allowance in their accounts. He didn’t have his full allowance, of course, but the young men settled for the rest of his credits and blowjobs in the hallway instead. Thankfully, he thought as he struggled up, he’d thought to buy cigars ahead of time–and then kicked himself for being thankful for something as dumb as that.

Things got worse before they got better for Tanner. Jobs were first come first serve each day, and he’d never been that motivated to do anything other than swim, and certainly not to do anything as boring and dull as work in the kitchen or do laundry. Still, once that initial supply of cigars ran out and he tried to quit cold turkey, he realized just how dependent Jackson had made him to tobacco–and he found himself in the horrifying position of trading sexual favors with his fellow candidates for enough credits to support his habit, but his sense of self-importance wouldn’t allow him to sink to that level for too long. After about a month, he fell into the orbit of the small gang who’d assaulted him the first day he’d arrived, and remained there.

He told himself he wouldn’t hang with them for long, that he’d get the credits some other way once he was able to survive on his own. He just…needed to smoke, and a few of the guys in the gang would fuck him in exchange for enough credits to keep his addiction fueled. However, it wasn’t too long before he discovered the gang wasn’t exactly being run by the brightest young men in the world–if anything, he seemed to be a bit of an anomaly in the facility. Most of the men here were diverted from prison sentences to fuel this experimental brand of reform, and so most didn’t even have a high school diploma. He was smarter than them, and he could use them. He figured out who the alpha was and hooked himself to him, flattering him, fucking him, anything he could do, and when he had him, well, suddenly he wasn’t aching for credits like he had been, and things got easier. He could smoke when he wanted to. He could afford more expensive hormone schedules, allowing him to bulk up substantially and hold his own in the hallways of the block. Before too long, he was joining the gang on raids, and under his direction, the group was pulling in more credits than they’d ever had before.

The longer he stayed there, the better picture he got of the small, strange, twisted society that was fostered in the block. The majority of candidates did their best to abide the rules–they did tasks and jobs, they got paid, they tried to survive. Then, there were the gangs like Tanner had found himself tangled within. They would work on occasion, but the bulk of their credits they got from their fellow candidates however they could–and Tanner expanded their racket considerably. Half the gang would provide protection of workers while the other half would then attack the protected group, simply to demonstrate the importance of the first group so they could raise their rates. Tanner rarely felt bad about this–after all, this was the world, right? If the facility wanted to prevent this, all they’d have to do is allow the guards to step in and stop them. In his mind, there was little distinction between what Jackson had done to him for the last month, and what he was doing down here–in fact, he imagined that Jackson must have done something similar to end up where he was–after all, what could be more important than entrepreneurial spirit? The men in the gang who’d been there longer were one by one pulled away by guards to go to their assignment hearings, and Tanner recruited men he’d identified with promise to help him cement his power in the block.