Ivan was walking up to the club where he was supposed to meet Terri–or was it Trish? He should probably check that Tinder profile again and make sure he had it right. He could forget their names after he fucked them, after all, but not before. He pulled out his phone and noticed an email notification–from some strange email address–noreply@curses.wiz.

Sorry, you’ve been cursed!

Someone would like you to know that they have brought a curse down upon you. They have chosen to remain anonymous. The curse they have chosen is “The Worst of luck (Friday the 13th Special)”.

Ivan just stared at it, not knowing what to think, and he shook his head. Probably just some strange spam or something. He walked up to the club, showed the bouncer his ID, and got an odd look from him, almost like the bouncer was flirting with him. He ignored him and went inside–only to discover the room was packed with men.

A fucking gay club? What the hell? Why in the world had Tammy wanted to meet here? He pulled out his phone again and checked her messages–and discovered that he had managed to flip two numbers in the address somehow–the bar she was waiting at was at least six or seven blocks up. He cursed at himself, tried to put his phone in his pocket, but managed to miss it entirely, dropping it right on the floor, watching the screen crack and go black. He shouted “Fuck!” bent down quickly to try and do something–anything, and heard something else–a loud rip, as the seat of his jeans split open up the entire back seam.

He froze. Everyone around him was staring at him…some with a look of pity, but more than a few were looking right at his ass…because he didn’t have any underwear on. He usually didn’t wear any–with his tight jeans he could show off his package better without it, but that, obviously, had been a miscalculation tonight. Unable to believe that quick succession of terrible luck, he picked up the bits of his phone from the floor, hurried over to the nearest place he could sit, and plopped down, trying to figure out what to do.

He had ended up making his way over to a cozy ring of couches surrounding a small table, and one man sitting there had witnessed the entire event. He got up, made his way around the table and sat down right next to Ivan, shocking him–especially once he looked at who exactly had joined him. Ivan was fairly bulky, and spent quite a bit of time at the gym getting larger, but at five foot six inches, he could only be so intimidating. The older man, clad in a black leather uniform, was nearly a foot taller, and rather menacing. If he hadn’t just ripped open his pants, he would have booked it, but he decided that he’d rather not expose his ass to a room full of faggots again unless he had to.

“Well that was quite the show there,” the man growled. The implication was humorous–his delivery was rather more sinister. “How about a drink to make things a bit better? Bitch!” he shouted at the man he’d been sitting with. He was smaller, dressed in far less clothing, with a chain collar around his neck, “Get me and my friend here two double whiskeys.”

The man scrambled up–Ivan inched away from the man towards the edge of the couch, but he couldn’t get up, or at least, not without everyone seeing him–but the man in the uniform wrapped an arm low around his back, and pulled him back over.

“Now where do you think you’re going, buddy?” he said, “I sure did like that view you gave me, and I think I might like playing with you a bit more.”

Fuck this, Ivan thought, he didn’t care who saw him, he was getting out of here. He stood up, but the man grabbed his pants, ripping the seat open wider, the gash in the fabric opening under his crotch all the way to the front fly, revealing his cock and balls as well. The man took advantage of his surprise, and yanked him back down.

“Goodness, those pants of yours sure aren’t made of very good material–I don’t think we can let you leave now, with that cock of yours hanging out.” The bitch returned with two whiskeys, and he helped his master hold open Ivan’s mouth as they poured his in, the pill still dissolving in the bottom. “Don’t fuckin’ worry man, we’re gonna have lots of fun with you and that hole of yours, and you’re gonna love every second of it–I fuckin’ guarantee it.”

---

He wasn’t on the couch anymore. He was swinging on a sling in some void, or maybe just in the air. His clothes were gone, he could see his blurry naked body, legs thrown up and attached to chains, and there were men all around him, so many men, all of their faces blurring together, but Master was there, he could focus on Master, leering down over him.

“…for the fun to start?”

Men cheering, the noise made him want to vomit, but he couldn’t quite hold his head up, couldn’t quite keep his limbs from going completely slack. He rolled up, using as much effort as he could muster, and saw someone step up to his ass, a hand running along his crack. He shivered. Why did he just shiver? His ass felt wet and loose, like there was lube in it, and then a pressure, something pushing inside of him, and he let out a loud groan, feeling his cock start pulsing and spraying cum up his chest, more cheering.

“…Fucker just can’t fucking contain himself, I told you you were going to enjoy this. Now about about we plug up your other hole too?” Master was grinning, he came around to his face, and there was his cock, and then it was in his mouth, it was in his mouth, and Ivan was gagging on it. He couldn’t get air, he couldn’t breathe–

“Relax man, fuckin’ relax.”

–He was choking, he was going to die–

“Calm the fuck down!”

–he didn’t want to die he didn’t–

A scream.

The taste of blood in his mouth.

“He bit me! That fucker bit me!”

He couldn’t stay awake, he was fading again. His vision was spinning, but Master was angry, he was holding his cock, hand bloody, and oh was he angry. He was just having the worst of luck tonight, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any better from here, and then he was out.