Deal of a Lifetime (Part 2)

“So wait–you take that part of me,” Carl pointed at the cage, “And I get…something else instead? But what do I get?”

The man laughed, “Ah, well, I’m afraid that’s dealer’s choice. I don’t take money, I’m afraid–I provide this service because I enjoy it. Because I like helping men like yourself live more interesting and exciting lives, but you shouldn’t focus on what you will be if you take the deal–think about what you’ll be if you don’t.” He gave the cage a kick, and the thing in there yelped. “Do you really want to let this thing control your life anymore? Look at where it’s gotten you–fucking nowhere, and you were going nowhere fast. Let’s be fucking honest, Carl–you were never going to go down to that pool. You might get drunk and have an awkward, terrible hookup with some rando, but then it’s back to the wife, back to straight acting, back to being a coward.”

“It wasn’t…that bad.”

“Oh please, you don’t have to defend the thing. We both know you were miserable. You know that anything would be better than that–admit it.”

“Please, ya can’t!” it said, gripping the bars, “We got a whole life tahgether! Ya can’t just throw it all away, don’t that terrify ya?”

Surprisingly, it didn’t terrify him at all, actually. The very idea of just being free thrilled him. He could finally be free of everything that he’d always believed to be holding him back…but that didn’t make him any less leery of trusting the man. “If I don’t like it, can I get my old life back?”

“Sorry, but I don’t offer refunds or exchanges. If you take the deal–that’s what you get. I can promise you, that if you accept it, you’ll love it before too long–you won’t even be able to imagine things being different. This old life of yours will just seem like a distant, terrible dream.”

“But what do you get out of this?” Carl asked, “I mean, why do it?”

The man scowled a bit, “If you don’t want to take me up on the offer, I’ll just let him back out, and be on my way.” A key appeared in his hand and he went to unlock the cage, the other him inside, that terrible bundle of everything he hated, started clawing at the door, desperate to be free again, and the terror that welled up in him at the thought of living with that thing still, especially knowing he had a chance to be rid of it–he hurried over and stopped him from unlocking the padlock. “No! No…I’ll take the deal.”

“Ya fuck! How could ya do this tah me, ya fucker!” the thing in the cage screamed, but the man smiled.

“That’s a good man,” the stranger said, and shook Carl’s hand, “Looks like we have ourselves a deal. Now let me introduce you to your new companion.”

Carl heard something between a grunt and a squeal as some massive thing barrelled into him from behind, pinning him down, and then he was flailing in the covers, awake again, sitting up on the bed, panting, wondering what in the world he’d just dreamt. Had that been real, or just some fucked up fantasy his mind had created? He certainly didn’t feel any different–or look any different…but maybe there was one way he could test it.

“My name is Carl Fields, and holy hell, I sound like a normal fucking person!” he exclaimed. His accent was gone, just like in the dream–could it have actually been real then? But what about the end of it? If the trade really had happened, then what had he gotten in exchange? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have done anything to him or changed him thus far–but what he really felt like doing was hitting that pool, and hitting on a few guys. The shame and terror which had kept him glued to his room thus far had evaporated, and he wanted to get out there. He got off the bed, but doubled over, his stomach cramping with a sudden cramp of hunger–and all he could think of was food. Hunger, starvation–he needed to eat before anything else! Still, he couldn’t very well go downstairs naked. The clothes he’d had on earlier–jeans and a grubby Carhartt t-shirt with a leather Harley jacket–were lying there on the floor. He bent down to pick them up, but as soon as he grabbed them, he saw the fabric…shudder and shift in his hands, changing into something else entirely. The jeans softened, becoming a flimsier pinstripe fabric even as they grew–tripling in size, suspenders appearing where his belt had been moments before. His shirt cleaned up, sleeves growing to full length as the front split, becoming a button down with a stiff collar, and his jacket turned into a suit coat matching the pattern of his pants. “What in all goodness is this? I don’t remember wearing anything like this before…and this certainly isn’t my size–they’re all much too large for me…” he said, but his voice had shifted, becoming stiff–almost snobby and a bit nasal. Something was definitely happening to him–but what?

The pain in his stomach struck him again, even more violently, crumpling him to the floor, but it was the pain in his mind which was even worse. There was someone–or something–inside of him. Something new. It had spent the last couple of minutes realizing that it was free, that it was back in a real body, and now it felt like it was storming through him, rearranging the furniture of his body and mind to it’s personal fancy, and all Carl could do was find every scrap of himself he could and hold on tight, hoping and praying he might still recognize himself when this was finished–hoping that he’d still want to be himself when this was finished, hoping that he hadn’t just made the worst deal of his entire life.

Russian Agent (2 of 2)

What Andy didn’t know, was that the program he’d entered had, in fact, been designed by the Americans, who had mastered the technology first, and then embedded American spies to sabotage the Russian intelligence network. And so, as the days wore on, Andy tried to muster up his energy to clean up his slovenly apartment, but never seemed to find the energy for much beyond watching American TV (which, he discovered, was actually quite good) and surfing the internet (something he’d never been able to do back in Russia.) The memories of his old self started to sink deeper, and he didn’t even realize he was losing them–he also didn’t realize that this new body of his was always, constantly, hungry.

Eating was second nature to his new persona. He did it mindlessly–at his desk at work, watching TV, snacking as he walked and rode the bus around town. Soon, he was forced to buy new clothes…and admit something else to himself. Something horrible had happened to him, in this procedure–he’d become gay.

For quite a long time, he’d tried to jack off to pictures of women, but nothing had worked well for him. Then, mostly by accident, he’d stumbled across a video of a massive man fucking a woman–and he’d blown his load in seconds. He sought out more videos of massive men, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to imagine himself being that…huge. He tried to resist–he could sense something was wrong. He tried to call in for assistance, but no help came for him. It was over a four day weekend, full of binging, that he asked a feeder he’d been chatting with online to come feed him–and after that, there was no going back.

It’s been five years now, and Andrei is dead. Andy, however, is celebrating his five hundred pound mark with his two feeder-partners. They’re going to stuff him full of an entire, three tierd birthday cake, and then all his friends–bears, cubs and chubs from all over town, and even a few from further away–are going to come over and seed Andy’s hole all night long. Meanwhile Russia has lost contact with twenty of their top agents–they’re sending over another five in a month, to try and track down what happened to their comrades. Still, it’s not likely they’ll be able to resist the allure of American Life either.

Russian Undercover (1 of 2)

He was ready. In peak physical condition. This would be the most challenging mission of his entire life, but for Russia, he would do anything. Unknown to those stupid Americans, the Cold War had never really ended, and under Putin, more and more resources had been funneled to secret programs and missions designed to undermine America’s position both at home and abroad. Now, Andrei would be undergoing a brand new program of deep cover. With the help of a strange new drug, which could alter the physical nature of an individual, and mental programs designed to help him assimilate seamlessly with American culture, he would be the first of many Russian spies planted right in America’s communities, ready to strike at first notice.

Today was the day. He had few friends and family to say goodbye to, which was part of the reason he’d been chosen for this mission. Still, he looked forward to fucking a string of American bimbos once he got settled into his new life–after all, women had never really been able to resist a physique like his. The doctors told him to strip, attached a series of contraptions to him, along with a thick helmet, but before anything could happen, he passed out in darkness.

He awoke on a double bed, in some room he’d never seen before. The doctors had told him that the next time he woke, he would be in America, his new memories fitting seamlessly on top of his Russian past. Indeed, hi name, now, was Andy, he lived in Cleveland, Ohio, where he worked at a call center a few streets away from his apartment. He was amazed–he could still recall his old self, but the new memories and thoughts appeared even faster. He tested a few sentences, and found himself speaking in flawless American English, with a slight midwestern accent, of course. But then he looked down at his body…and was overcome with shock.

Sure, Americans were well known for their obesity, but Andy had never imagined he might actually be made fat in this process. He looked at his new body in the mirror, disgusted at the hair covering his big gut, and the stubble coating his face. The apartment was a bit of a mess as well–he’d have to fix this. He wouldn’t make much at his new job, but he’d be able to afford a gym membership at least. Still, he checked the time, and realized he needed to leave in fifteen minutes to make it to his job on time for his first day. Cleaning up could wait–he threw on some clothes scarfed down some food, and headed out into the first day of his American life.

Source: justbulls

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 8)

At first, it was just like all of the other times Ned had changed him. He could feel the medallion twisting back into his past, tugging at strings, unravelling what had always been such a promising, well ordered life that he’d made. But then, he felt the medallion tugging at something different, at strings and cords within him that had a higher tension, a deeper resonance. It hurt, feeling them unfurling, breaking apart and latching themselves out in new directions–and when the snapped, everything else came with them. Before, it was like Ned had been slowly cutting away at the individual strands of a thick, twined rope. However, at that moment, the rope had finally lost, and had come apart. He wasn’t even sure what, exactly had changed, way back in the past, but it was ruining everything. Nothing was the same, and he found himself whipping forward through a new timeline–one where he didn’t have money or resources, and he had no drive to seek them out. When he flunked out of school and never even bothered going to college. The few parts that he could cling to were those things Ned had already given him–his multitude of addictions, his filthy body, his masochistic desires. He rocketed forward, time flowing too fast for him to follow, space warping it’s way around him now. He was nowhere suddenly, and then he was somewhere new, the light dying back, leaving him crumpled on a filthy floor, heaving for breath in a fetal position, trying to understand what he’d just witnessed.

“Well, come on bitch–you can’t just lay there all fuckin’ day,” Ned said, “Come on boy, help me git yer worthless father up.”

Shawn and Ned got down, each took one of Gerard’s doughy arms and together managed to haul his fat ass up again, shivering and shaking and looking around him. He’d been in his house, hadn’t he? But he’d never owned a house before. He’d always lived in…trailers. Trailers like this one, where he was standing. He groped his way to a table, lit a cigar and smoked it, fighting how normal this felt, trying to keep away the memories blocking him in, making that old him, that successful him nothing but a tired fantasy. “Where…What did…” He never finished the questions, and Ned didn’t answer them because Gerard–or Gerry, rather–knew the answers.

He was in his trailer. Ned had made it so he’d never been a banker at all, but more than that. Ned had ruined his entire life, and now…now, here he was. Living in a disgusting, rundown single wide trailer. He worked as a septic tank and sewer repairman. Worse yet…he loved it. In fact, he realized that Ned had given him a slight reprieve from his previous inability to feel anything with his cock–now the only thing that could get him hard was the pungent odor of a septic system, a backed up toilet, or an especially rank fart pushed out while his tongue was buried in deep. He sat down on the edge of his bed, sheets rank with cum shots from him and his son, and let out a massive, wet fart, felt his tiny cock squirm to life, and started snorting up his own stink, feeling his constant, raging horniness begin pushing every other thought from his mind.

“Don’t worry Gerry, I made sure you live right next door to me. It’s a bit lonely right now, just the two of us, but I’ve been keeping an eye on a few of your old coworkers, you know. The three of us will have plenty of company around here soon enough.”

“Ya fuckin’ bastard,” Gerry muttered, barely even noticing his new accent, “Ya ain’t fuckin’ won, ya know. I still gots me in here.”

“Oh trust me Gerry, I know,” Ned said, and walked up to him, and pressed his medallion back against Gerry’s breast, “I can take care of that too.”

It didn’t hurt, and that was worse–it was just warm, and comforting, and…and easy. He felt the scar which he’d had on his chest ever since Ned had first touched the Medallion there beginning to stitch back together, fading away–and along with the mark, his old mind and memories were fading too. “No…nuh-uh, please…” he slurred, a bit sleepy, “Don’…I didn’t mean it…”

Ned stroked one hand through Gerry’s greasy, filthy locks of hair, leaned in and whispered to him, “I know, but I was gonna do it anyway.”

When Ned pulled the medallion away, Gerry’s skin was perfect, without a mark to be seen. His nasty, shit loving neighbor looked around dimly, like he was trying to remember something but couldn’t, then let loose a long loud fart and gave a big belly laugh. “Fuck, that was a good’un!” he said, “Rank fucker gittin me horned up. Ya’ll gonna plow my nasty pig holes or what? Come on son, ya ain’t fucked pa yet tahday, ‘n I need that big ass fuckstick plowin’ me deep,” Gerry said, rolled over and presented his hole to Shawn, who smiled, stroked his cock a few times and slammed it in, Gerry squealing in pleasure.

Ned watched the father and son fuck for a moment, and then got up on the bed, in front of Gerry, and dropped his pants, his ass towards his neighbor’s face. “What do ya say pig? Ya hungry?”

“Fuck yeah, Ned, ‘specially if ya ain’t wiped up–then again, Ah ain’t never seen a roll a toilet paper within ten miles a here.”

“Why spend money on that crap when I got the best fuckin’ asseater right next door?” Ned said, shoved his crack into Gerry’s face and let loose a ripe fart. The pig spasmed, feeling cum spew from his nipple like cock, oozing down from his gunt and dribbling into his bed sheets, but Gerry just focused on eating out the nasty hole in front of him, grinding his filthy beard into it, tongue burrowing deep. This was the life, he thought. The perfect life for a pig like him–everything he’d ever wanted, and he’d never want for more ever again.

The Power of Belief – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

I believe I am a smoker…I believe I smoke pipes and cigars…I believe I collect pipes…I believe I prefer pipes…I believe I smoke whenever I can…I believe I drink bourbon when I smoke…I believe real men are smokers…I believe I am gay…I believe I am attracted to my graduate student, Carter…I believe Carter is attracted to me…I believe I am dominant…I believe I have a nine inch cock…I believe I have large, low hanging, sensitive balls…I believe I like to talk dirty…I believe I am a real man…I believe being gay is good…I believe…

Professor Larson had quite a few more talks discussing his project with Carter, and he found himself enjoying the young man’s company more and more. At first they would talk about his student’s work, but as time passed, their conversations became more casual though more often than not, the professor’s office phone would ring and cut into the conversation. During the chats, he would often be smoking one of his many pipes and drinking bourbon–Carter would often drink with him but rarely smoked. Carter got a bit too drunk one evening, and finally confessed that he was very attracted to his professor, and Harry was all too happy to mention that the feeling was mutual. Carter ended up on his knees, under his teacher’s apron, digging out his massive cock, which Harry was all too happy to slam down his throat, calling his student a dirty slut until he came. From that moment on, there was considerably less talking, and considerably more fucking going on at their meetings.

I believe I am old…I believe I am 64…I believe I have white hair…I believe I have muttonchops with a connecting mustache…I believe I wear spectacles…I believe I am balding…I believe I am proud to be bald…I believe baldness is sexy…I believe old men are sexy…I believe my old body is attractive…I believe I have wrinkles…I believe I am very hairy…I believe I have very large feet and hands…I believe I am a polar bear…I believe I am a daddy bear…I believe Carter is my lover…I believe I love Carter like a son…I believe Carter should obey me…I believe I like to be in control…I believe I am powerful…I believe sex should be rough…I believe I should be addressed as Sir…I believe I am entitled to respect…I believe I am a genius…I believe age gives one a better perspective on the world…I believe I prefer being called Harold…I believe…

It was, at times, difficult to keep up with someone less than half his age, but he had never had trouble in the bedroom, despite his weight and age, and Carter loved it. He loved being dominated by Harold, feeling his massive weight pressing down on him in the office or the bedroom, his fat cock buried in his hole, while he smoked his pipe, muttering abuse in his ear. Carter was always obliging, and when Harold demanded that he begin addressing him with more respect. He never faltered in calling him Sir, and would run to his old lover’s office at a moments notice so he could grovel in front of him, and beg him to let him worship his fat body, allow him to suck his cock, or feel it in his ass. Feeling this kind of control over someone was both new, but so incredibly comfortable for Harold that it came completely naturally, and before too long, he began to crave it. It seeped into his teaching style; where before he had relied on discussions to drive the class, he switched more and more to lectures. After all, he had a whole life of experience in the field–these young men and women ought to respect him enough to listen to it.

I believe I am wealthy…I believe I am selfish and greedy…I believe I am arrogant…I believe I am conservative…I believe I look down on people younger than me…I don’t think young people understand the world…I believe I feel lost in the modern era…I believe I refuse to use email…I believe I don’t own a computer…I believe I prefer to wear expensive suits…I believe that dressing anachronistically turns me on…I believe that wearing expensive fabrics turns me on…I believe the feel of leather arouses me…I believe I am kinky…I believe being fully clothed while someone submissive is completely naked turns me on…I believe inflicting pain arouses me…I believe I live in a mansion…I believe I have a large sex dungeon in the basement…I believe I am abusive…I believe safe words are unnecessary…I believe Carter should serve me as a sex slave…I believe I love Carter…I believe Carter loves me…I believe Carter should live with me for the rest of my life…I believe…

Their affair only lasted a semester, before Harold suggested (or really rather forced) Carter to move in with him. It wasn’t like Harold didn’t have enough room in his massive home, and he very much loved having access to Carter’s holes whenever he liked, and on his first night, he introduced him to his dungeon. Carter loved it, of course, but why wouldn’t he? It had been his idea, after all. Harold was relatively content to let his young lover have his fun for a bit longer, answering the phone when he called, believing what he told him to believe, seeing how far his fantasy went. But he also knew that Carter had been in control for far too long, and so, during a bondage session, Harold put a pair of headphones on Carter (he despised the fact that he had to rely on technology for this, but his student’s work had been rather clear on its necessity), and played the same tone which had been sending him into a trance for months, watching his young student’s eyes flicker shut, his limbs fall slack. After all, Harold had been more than a little accommodating–and he thought it was time for Carter to try out a new role that Harold had had in mind for him for quite a while now.

Simon had had it with the fucking renovations that were taking place in his office building. Sure, it was noisy and distracting, there was crap everywhere, but he fucking hated having to be around a bunch of sweaty workmen, most of them smelling like week old BO and stale cigarette smoke, and he wasn’t shy about letting his disdain show. In fact, by the end of the first week, he’d berated every workman on the project, and they had all had enough of it, and so the next week, a new guy was working as well.

He was supposedly a specialist brought on for some special electrical work, but Simon had this uneasy feeling all day that he was being watched, and every time he felt it he was around the new guy, and it was starting to creep him out. Worse, all day long he had been feeling hornier and hornier, with no explanation whatsoever. It was almost time to leave for the day when he finally gave in and slipped into the bathroom, locking himself into one of the stalls and pulling out his cock to jack off.

However, it was less than a minute later that the door opened, some heavy boots trodded in and another guy sat down in the other stall. “Took you long enough, Simon,” the man said, “Still, we can have some fun now, eh?”

Simon couldn’t stop stroking his cock, when some wave of energy slammed into him–

Si sat down on the gravel, his back against the hot pipes, warm from the sun. Working outside in the summer heat all day, working up a powerful sweat. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of his pit stink, his cock hard in his filthy jeans. He groped it through the denim, stiff with cum from the hundreds of loads he’d shot into them over the last few months–perfect time for a wank. Still, his pits are good, but what he really wants–

Simon ripped his hand away from his cock, gasping for breath. “What the fuck! What the hell was that?”

“Ha, I knew you would be a tough one. This will be fun. Go on, keep stroking–I know how horny you are.”

Simon tried to get up from the toilet and get out of the bathroom, but his arm brushed against his rock hard cock and he gasped, his hand moving against his will, gripping the shaft, stroking–

Si, licking his lips, unknotted his heavy work boots and yanked them off, taking a moment with the second one to shove his face in the neck, smelling the hot leather, the stench of his feet. He gave the side a lick, tasting the grit of the job site, gnawing on the sole, still massaging his cock in his jeans. He was leaking, a stain growing to one side of his crotch. Still, he wanted a proper wank, and he undid the fly and pulled out his thick, seven inch shaft, giving it a few pumps, feeling his thick, overhanging foreskin slide back and forth over his sensitive head. He pulled it all the way down and collected some of his cheese on his grimy fingers, licking it off–

“No–oh god, no!” Simon said, yanking his hand off and gripping the side of the toilet.

“Ha, what a champ! So strong willed, but you’re close, aren’t you, Si? Go on, keep jacking.”

“Please…please don’t, I don’t…” Simon whimpered, his hand creeping back around his cock–

Tasted so fucking good, but his favorite part–he slid off his sock, soaked through with his sweat, he could smell it from a couple of feet away. He smothered his face with the damp fabric, running in across his face, feeling it scratch against his stubble, his smooth head. So fucking close now, he bit down on the sock, sucking his sweat out of it, feeling the orgasm building, and he blew his load all over his greasy tanktop with a loud moan. He sat back, relaxing in the sun, content, before putting his boots back on and getting back to work with his mates.–

The worker got off the toilet and went to the stall next to his, and with a little work, managed to get the lock undone. Sure enough, the stall was empty, and smiling, he left the building, certain that Si would enjoy his new life.

(Partial sequel to this caption)

Of course, these mirror spirits weren’t always interested in justice or anything high minded like that–they simply enjoyed the opportunity to twist and manipulate the lives of the beings who dictated their every movement on the other side of the glass. They were envious of our free will, and as soon as they discovered that they could wreak a little havoc in return, they simply couldn’t stop.

Derek was proud of the fact that after six months of job hunting, he’d finally managed to land a decent job at a tech firm downtown. He was dressed to impress, and very excited for his first day on the job, and feeling happy with himself, decided that he might as well document the occasion with a quick selfie in the mirror. However, the image that popped up on the camera a second later couldn’t be right…he was wearing a harley davidson tank top which could barely contain his gut, a old faded tattoos running up his arms, and his hair and beard looked like they’d been grown out unattended for years.

However, when Derek looked up from the camera in into the mirror in front of him, he watched that same man’s jaw drop–it was him! But that’s not possible. He looked down, feeling his grimy body, and realized he couldn’t go to work like this–he couldn’t even leave the house looking like this…but something else was wrong. In the mirror, he saw the room around him start twisting and contorting until he was looking at the reflection of a rundown, filthy trailer, not the inside of his apartment. “No!” he shouted, clawing at the mirror, “Change it back! Change it back!” but all he could hear was the echoed titter of something on the other side of the polished glass, laughing at him. The spirits knew that he would try to fight it, but that before too long, Derek would be just like his reflection, an alcoholic, unemployed piece of trailer trash–just what he’d never wanted to be.

On the Inside – Part 3

So here I am, sitting in the airport. I just finished my accelerated MBA, and I’m about to start my new job as a hedge fund manager at a New York company. I can’t wait, to be honest–finally, I’ll be around people of my own class! Over the last two years, Master has been tweaking my voice, giving me an upper class accent that makes me sound like a total snob, just like I always wanted to have. To anyone looking at me, I look normal, just another rich business man on the outside, mundane and unthreatening, but I feel my cock wriggle in my cage, knowing the truth underneath.

Because under the suit, when this shell is stripped away, I know what I really am. I’m just a nasty, redneck pig. Just a slob, just a disgusting whore for cock. I can’t get enough of it, I was born to serve men as their sex slave, it’s what I was designed for. It started slowly, Master wanted me to feel it happen slowly, but now, whenever I’m in my leather gear, kneeling and begging for him to abuse me, I sound like my old redneck self, but even harsher and stupider than before, and it makes me so horny, hearing myself talk like that, knowing that in the morning, I’ll put on a suit, this whole persona, and walk around as a complete fraud.

This suit is so itchy today, and I long for my harness, which is safely checked in my bag. Instead, a rock gently on my buttplug and grunt softly, making sure no one can hear me, and the pain of my cock trying to get hard in my chastity cage makes me even hornier, and I can’t wait to meet my new owner. The CEO of my new employer is said to be vicious, but I can take it. I love pain, I crave humiliation. This is what I’ve been trained for. High power businessman by day, disgusting, perverse redneck pig by night–everything that I’d ever wanted to be, and I’m so excited, I cum in my pants through my cage, and leave it there, hoping someone will notice the growing stain. Hoping someone will see me for the pig I truly am, on the inside.

On the Inside – Part 2

I gotta say, Bellmon University wasn’t precisely where I wanted to go, but when I got there, I realized why Mr. Burroughs wanted me to go there–it was because he had a house and a practice right next to campus! I was thrilled that I’d be able to keep seeing him while I was attending school there, and he even told me that I’d be able to live with him in his house, and I was thrilled, naturally.

Still, I gotta say, college didn’t quite go how I expected. I was excited for the opportunity to meet some new people, and learn new things, but Mr. Burroughs, well he convinced me to head in a different direction. First, he gave me a bit of a makeover, and required me to wear a suit to all of my classes. They were always tailored a bit big on me too, for reasons I soon discovered–Mr Burroughs wanted me bigger. He started feeding me these huge meals every day, and before long, the freshman fifteen became the freshman forty, and then the sophomore fifty after that. Still, he loved my fat ass, and he told me how much he loved it every night as he fucked me, and then started training me to take his fists as well.

At school, I’m pretty sure everyone hated me. I was always aloof with them, acting like a bit of a jerk, because Mr. Burroughs wanted me to act that way–he told me I would go farther in life. I’d entered college ready to major in English or Psychology, but he immediately made me switch my registration of business and economics, and the only people I could get to know were people Mr. Burroughs personally approved–usually professors who would want me to come by weekly for their “special” office hours.

It was in my Junior year that Mr. Burroughs started taking me to the tattoo parlor. First it was just a bearclaw on my left moob, but before long the artists were working on sleeves down to my wrists, covering my chest, gut and back with crude words and images of nasty, hot sex. By the time I was halfway through my last year, every inch of me that my suits covered during the day was tattooed, and when I was at home, I hung up my suit and wore a collar, leather harness and butt plug while I serviced Master Burroughs, and applied for MBA programs. I was ready for the next step in my life, and my future had never looked brighter.

To be Concluded…

On the Inside – Part 1

It was hopeless. That’s what I’d been told my whole life, really. My daddy was a coal miner, his daddy had been a coal miner, his daddy had been a coal miner, ad infinitum. Heh, ad infinitum, I bet you didn’t expect me to know that one–no one does. That’s the problem, that’s always been my problem. On paper, I’m a great student. Straight A’s, I even managed to get a few courses from the local community college in my small town, but getting into a nice college? Studying? Improving myself? It seemed hopeless, because when I open my mouth, I’m just another stupid hillbilly redneck, or at least I sound like one.

I’d tried to mask it all my life, I’d tried so hard, but I just couldn’t break it. Finally, nearly defeated, I went to my counselor at my high school as I was getting ready to apply for schools, and told him about my problem. What was I supposed to do, when I had an interview with an admissions director, and I sounded like an extra from “Deliverance”?

He tried to tell me that it would be alright, that a smart person would be able to separate out the accent from the person I really was–that the superficial stuff wouldn’t matter in the end, but I didn’t believe him. Still, he did have a suggestion for me, which I wheedled out of him–the name of a speech therapist who was a friend of his. He told me that he’d had success with softening accents before, and I was willing to try anything.

I didn’t tell my parents where I was going. Amazingly, the doctor had agreed to see me for a consultation without a payment, which was good, because we didn’t even have insurance. In the office, he told me that he’d found that quite a few patients had had lots of success with hypnosis to help correct their accents, and I was willing to try anything once. He put me under…and I don’t remember what happened, but when he woke me up, I still remember what I said, it was beautiful:

“Please sir, please can I suck your cock Sir? I’m just a cum hungry pig sir, please, I’m so thirsty.”

It came out perfectly, not a hint of accent, and when he unzipped his fly and let me suck his cock, I was in heaven. I’ve been his patient ever since, and I know I won’t have an issue getting into college now, though Mr. Burroughs wants me to apply to Bellmon University–I’m not sure why though. Still, I need to go see my counselor today–I need to give him another ‘thank you’ blow job today, he loves those almost as much as I do.

To be Continued…