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.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 3)

His time as an initiate lasted eight weeks, and while Tanner hated every moment of it, whenever he looked back later–as best he could look back on anything, really–he realized he’d taken his time with Jackson for granted. At the time it had seemed like his ‘counselor’, as Jackson had forced Tanner to address him, was mostly interested in punishing and humiliating Tanner at every possible opportunity. Indeed, for the first week in particular, Tanner lost count of how many different people Jackson offered him to as a cumdump. Guards, friends of Jackson’s, other initiates–seemingly anyone could use any of his holes, whenever Jackson felt like it. On occasion, Jackson would turn him into a ragdoll like his first day, but generally, he would simply give the order. Tanner tried to resist the first few times, but the band had multiple ways of ensuring his compliance: electric shocks, drugs which made him immediately nauseous, and other drugs that flooded him with pleasure as soon as he obeyed. At some point, he decided that it was just…easier to go with it. He didn’t have to like it, and as soon as he could contact anyone on the outside, he’d make sure this place was shut down immediately and permanently.

It was a week before he realized something else–he was changing, somehow. It was gradual enough that from day to day he didn’t quite notice anything in particular. Sometimes it was physical–soreness in his muscles, or some extra hair on his chest–but also odd mental shifts like mood swings, a general irritability (which wasn’t surprising given his situation) and a raging horniness that never seemed to ebb away no matter how many times he came. Jackson enjoyed that part, it seemed, and often, when they weren’t doing much, he would make Tanner masturbate for fun, either alone or in front of other people. Still, enough little things added up over time that led him to realize something bigger had to be at work.

He confronted Jackson about it, and his counselor told him that he had, in consultation with Tanner’s doctors, selected his initial hormone regimen for him, and that he’d best get used to it; all of the men at Halverson took various hormone supplements, even him. One of the main goals of the initiate program, in fact, was to give newcomers a chance to adjust to this, grow a bit, so they’d have a better time managing as a provisional candidate. Tanner wanted to know what sorts of hormones he was being given and he raised a stink about consent–which got a laugh out of Jackson–but his counselor wouldn’t tell him much more beyond that. Now that he was aware of the changes, however, he became a bit paranoid, looking for signs of what Jackson had been talking about. In particular was his use of the word grow that worried him. Tanner was tall and strong, but as a swimmer he’d become hyper focused on maintaining a sleek, trim form, and as the days passed, it became more and more obvious that he was beginning to lose that shape he’d come to treasure above most everything else.

It was in the third week, when he was in the thick of his initial hormone treatments, that the anger broke through the wall he’d tried to build around it. They were in the room, and Jackson was smoking a cigar, like he always was, really. He was reading some manual or other, while Tanner cleaned up the room for him. He hated smokers. He always had–it had always been an indicator of moral weakness that someone would allow themselves to be addicted to something so harmful. The room had almost no ventilation, aside from the door, which Jackson wanted closed, trapping all of the smoke in with them…and whether it was the hormones that made him explode, or just his general misery, he screamed and shouted at Jackson, furious at his smoking, at his treatment here, and the anger overwhelmed him. He lunged, and collapsed to the ground like a brick, as Jackson sent a tranq through his system in a heartbeat, and fucked him for good measure.

The next day, he was more irritable than usual. By the afternoon, he realized he was craving…something, but he had no clue what. They were back in the room when Jackson offered him a cigar, and he refused–only the craving doubled in strength. His head ached, his muscles too–he was miserable. Jackson again offered a cigar, that smirk on his face…Tanner realized what he’d done, and he still refused–so Jackson started feeding him smoke, mouth to mouth, until Tanner finally broke down and accepted the fact that his counselor had just made him hopelessly addicted to nicotine in less than a day. Later, fucking him while Tanner smoked his second cigar Jackson told him, “Be careful who you piss off here–there are worse things I could do to you then make you into a damn sexy cigar smoker.”

After six weeks, Tanner barely recognized himself in the mirror. He’d gained close to 75 pounds in a little over a month, bringing his weight up to 260 pounds. He hadn’t gained much height, leaving him with a physique closer to that of a husky football player than a swimmer, with not only a large amount of muscle, but also fat, giving him a definite gut. Adding insult to injury, Jackson had made sure to fill in his previously hairless body–now, if ever wanted to swim again, he would have to shave his entire body every single day, from neck to shin. Running his hands over his body, it didn’t feel like his. There were small changes too–he reeked for one thing. Whether it was Jackson’s request, or simply a general side effect of this new body, his B.O. was out of control now, and Jackson refused to give him deodorant, or let him shower more than every few days. In fact, the guy seemed to enjoy it, eating out Tanner’s pits and crack before fucking him. Other changes were more welcome–like his cock and balls. He was nowhere near the size of Jackson, but his modest four inch cock had beefed up to a generous six, and his balls were more than twice the size, and he’d become a rather copious leaker.

Life had gotten easier, as well, as he’d adjusted to life in the facility. On days when he’d done exceptionally well, Jackson had begun letting Tanner fuck him, or someone else–including a few initiates, which he found he rather enjoyed. Jackson actually seemed to rather enjoy getting fucked, though he let Tanner know he was hardly the best fuck he’d gotten in the facility. Still, if even an amateur performance could get Jackson to growl like that–Tanner wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what he’d do during good sex. He hadn’t thought of women in days, he realized. At some point, he’d simply…gone gay. He found himself checking out men around the mess hall and in the hallway, thinking about their cocks, fantasizing about them, his dreams full of men and generally wet. And then, just as he was beginning to realize how good he had it, Jackson told him he’d been approved for transfer to the provisional block, where he’d likely be spending the next year of his life, at least.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 2)

They climbed to an upper level of the facility, and down a few hallways that looked like the interior of a college dorm more than anything else. They came to a door marked “Jackson / Initiate (Tanner Wilkins)” and went inside. It was a small dorm, basically, but with one full size bed on one wall and a cot on the other. They also had a small bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. “This is…nice.”

“Don’t get too comfy, you aren’t going to be here for long,” Jackson said, and shut the door behind them. “Now, the band. It can do a lot of things, but most important is that the band is how your hormones will be distributed. That said, because you’re my initiate, I have pretty much complete control over your band. For example, if I do this–” Jackson turned the screen of his band on, pressed a button, and Tanner felt a prick on the inside of his wrist. “We can have some real fun right away.”

Tanner wanted to ask what that meant, but the words came out as a muddle, his vision blurring, and he collapsed to the floor in a heap. He was still perfectly aware of what was going on around him, but couldn’t move a muscle–everything was limp.

“Your file says that you raped her while she was drunk–but this seems much more efficient, and I know you’ll remember everything. How do you feel, comfortable? This is usually designed to subdue troublesome candidates, but can be used for other activities as well. It usually wears off in an hour or so, which is plenty of time.”

Jackson stripped off his clothes as he spoke–all of them–revealing a body coated with hair from neck to the tops of his feet, with a massive, nine inch cock half hard hanging above two massive bull balls. Then, he got down and started hauling off Tanner’s clothes, and all he could do to protest was get out a meek mumble.

“I believe you said, when the police interviewed you, that she never said no–right? Well you can’t say no either, so I guess that means, I can do whatever I want,” Jackson said, running his calloused hands over Tanner’s smooth body, finding his ass, spreading his cheeks and pressing his hand against the hole, which loosened immediately as he pushed. “I think you also said something about how she sounded like she enjoyed it–how about that? Would you like to enjoy this? Maybe later, I think, but the band can do that too.”

Jackson climbed on top of him, Tanner desperately trying to get his body to respond to his rising terror, but nothing happened aside from a few twitches, Jackson pressing his massive cock to Tanner’s hole and sliding inside. It hurt. It hurt, but he couldn’t do anything. He realized he was crying silently as his counselor raped him roughly, both hands clutching his hips, hauling his limp body backwards onto his cock. He didn’t know how long this lasted, but no one came to pull Jackson off like those men had pulled him off and called the police. Is this really what it had felt like? No–no, he hadn’t done this–this was horrible, but he wasn’t horrible like this!

“Now…How about…we make you like it, eh?” Jackson said, ramming his cock home each time, and then adjusted his watch. Another prick, and a new sensation flooded him–pleasure. Simple, basic, pleasure. His cock grew hard and started to leak as Jackson continued fucking him, and now–now it felt amazing, but now he only felt worse! He felt betrayed by his body, as he found himself eager for each thrust, trying to push back but still unable to move a single muscle. “You’ll be happy to know that this lovely substance doesn’t just made things feel good–it makes things always feel good. After I give you a few more shots of that stuff, getting fucked will always feel this good for you. How does that sound?”

That couldn’t be possible, could it? No, he had to be joking. Jackson kept fucking, and soon enough, Tanner wasn’t able to hold back, and he came across the carpet beneath him with an involuntary shudder.

“That’s what I was waiting for–welcome to the club, Tanner–this is what Halverson is all about!” Jackson picked up his pace, cumming a few moments later, deep in the young man’s hole, and then pulled out and got up, finishing his cigar and snuffing it out in an ashtray on the table. “Now–why don’t you just go ahead and hang out in here–I’ll be back in a few minutes with some food for us both–after all, we can’t have you growing on an empty stomach, right?”

Jackson got dressed, opened the door, and left–but from the sound, Tanner could tell the door was still open, where literally everyone could see him as they walked down the hall. Why would he do that? He was both terrified that someone would see him like this, frozen in place with cum dribbling from his ass, or hopeful a guard would find him and help him get to safety. In the end, it was two guards who came along, chatting, and stopped at the doorway.

“Well damn, Jackson didn’t waste any time.”

“He never does–but ain’t that the kid? That rapist everyone was freaking out about online a few months ago?”

“Shit, it is, isn’t it? You want a turn?”

“Nah, but you go ahead if you want.”

Tanner screamed inside his head as heard the guard unzip his fly, and for the second time in his life, and for the second time that hour, a relative stranger fucked his ass, and Tanner wondered what, exactly, he had volunteered for…and realized he’d been tricked by that damn prosecutor. This wasn’t a deal at all! This–well, he still didn’t have much of an idea of what this was, but it was clearly a nightmare. But now, the only way out for him was through.

Where Boys Become Men (Part 1)

She’d been drunk. She should have been more careful. Tanner had been drinking too, and everyone knew guys can’t be trusted when they’re drunk. If she hadn’t wanted to have sex, why had she been there in the first place? Everyone knew that if you’re a girl and you show up at a frat party, someone is going to fuck you, especially if you get drunk and tease every guy in the room. He shouldn’t be held responsible for something he could barely remember doing himself…but it hadn’t been looking good for him, once news of the…incident had been leaked to the media. It seemed like everyone in the world had a pitchfork pointed at him, and when the prosecutor had offered him a plea bargain–the opportunity to participate in a reform program rather than serve a prison sentence…he’d taken it. Not because he’d done anything wrong, but because he knew he, as a man, would never get a fair trial, not with the political correctness brigades hounding the court for “justice”. The facility was private, and still very much a secret from the wider world–he hadn’t even been able to tell his parents where he was going, because he didn’t know himself. And now here he was, in some sterile room, stripped of his clothes, having just received a cursory medical examination–waiting.

The building had been massive, when he’d approached it with his lawyer, to turn himself in. Fortress like walls, several layers of tight security, every man at each checkpoint was just…huge. Tanner wasn’t a big guy, but as a championship swimmer he was in great shape–just small compared to the hulks surrounding him at every turn. The paperwork he’d signed had identified the place as simply the Halverson Men’s Reform and Punishment Center, which told him next to nothing, other than that it sounded like a prison. Still, “reform” or whatever generally took one year–much better than the fifteen year mandatory minimum he was looking at had he gone to trial. Even if it was a prison, he could hold out for that long at least.

The door opened. The doctor who had examined him came in, followed by a hulking man, easily as large as the men guarding the facility. He was dressed in a crisp, simply decorated uniform smoking a cigar, but the smell of him when he walked in didn’t seem to match the proper dress: smoke, sweat and a hint of rust. “Alright Tanner. I’d like to introduce you to Counselor Jackson, a level five reform subject here at Halverson. He, like you, is a subject here, but like all of our counselors, he is well on his way towards successful reform, isn’t that right, Jackson?”

“Hell yeah Doc!” the man said, grinning around his cigar, “One hundred percent man here, just like you could be, if you put your mind to it,” He crossed his thick arms, and stared down at Tanner.

Tanner was appalled, but said nothing. “Is he allowed to smoke in here?”

“Smoking is allowed throughout the facility, yes,” the doctor said, and made a note on a clipboard, “Now, Jackson here will be your mentor while you remain an initiate. He will take full responsibility of helping you adjust to the unique reform environment we foster here. Once we have determined you are prepared, you will transition into the broader subject population as a provisional subject. Generally, this initial mentoring period lasts around four to six weeks, depending on your physical and mental response. Each candidate spends a required year within the provisional population, or sometimes longer, if the assignment committee feels more observation is required to make a decision on a candidate’s appropriate reform level–”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Tanner said, interrupting him.

“Oh,” the doctor said, making a scribble on the clipboard, “Our counseling and reform structure was well detailed in the admissions packet you received. Did you read it?”

He’d been afraid to look at it, so he hadn’t. “Look, how long am I going to be here, exactly? How long has he been here?” he asked, looking at Jackson.

The doctor looked to the hulking man, who took a deep inhale off his cigar as he thought. “I suppose…four years now? But the release committee is meeting in two months to discuss my case, so I don’t think I’ll be in here too much longer–unlike you,” he indicated Tanner with a grin. “And some guys have been in here for, what, a decade? Especially at the lower levels?”

“Yeah, but I’d still say six or seven is a good estimate,” the doctor added.

“Six or seven years? No fucking way! This was supposed to be better than prison.”

Jackson guffawed at that line, and even the doctor smirked.

“Screw this, I’ll take my chance in court.”

“I’m afraid that once committed, no candidate has the ability to refuse reform. You are, one might say, stuck,” the doctor scribbled a bit more, and then set the clipboard down. “That’s enough for my initial observations, Jackson–you have Tanner’s file, of course. I’ll leave the explaining to you. All that leaves, then, is your band.”

Before Tanner could ask what he meant, the doctor slipped a metallic band, almost like a smartwatch with a blank screen around one wrist, and it cinched up tight to his skin–too tight to slip off, he discovered when he tried to tug it off. “What the hell is this thing?”

“Ask your counselor; I have another initiate to process.”

Tanner looked to the hulking mass of muscle, but he didn’t say anything, just waved him to follow him out. Two guards escorted them to a security checkpoint, they passed through into what Tanner saw was A Block. As they walked, Tanner was struck by the fact that there didn’t seem to be any cells around, nor many guards at all. If anything, the candidates had the run of the place…and everything was calm. The place did seem to get results, it seemed.

“This is A Block–if you’re good, you’ll end up here,” Jackson said, “As for your band, we all have one, see?” he held up his own wrist where a similar metal band hung. “As for what it does–well, it’ll be easier to show you than anything else. Come on, I’ll show you my room, where you’ll be staying for the next few weeks.”

Buried Treasure (Part 3)

We got to the farm after driving for most of the day. It wasn’t the first time we’d been there by any means, but none of us had been there in quite a few years at this point. As we drove past along the road, I saw that the fields, which were usually neat and tidy, looked a bit weedy and overgrown, like no one had been paying them much mind for the last few weeks, or even longer. We turned down the road leading to the old farmhouse where Bill and Cody lived, and it looked like someone had spent a lot of time digging–there were holes and trenches everywhere in the fields, and they grew more numerous the closer we got to the house, where it looked like bombs had been dropped all over the yard. We all got out of the car together, and we could see someone digging dirt out of a hole–except it didn’t look like a person, from what I could see. Before we could get a better look, though, the front door of the house burst open and Cory ran out and headed straight for Mike, who looked to be torn between the terror I knew gripped him and his compulsion to love our cousin all the same. They embraced for a few minutes, kissing and grinding against one another, and then pulled apart. The ring was still on his finger–but now, there was a second one as well.

“Hey dad! Why don’t you get out of there and come say hello to your brother and nephews,” he shouted towards the person digging, and they stopped, shoved the shovel in the ground, and…and what came climbing out of the hole there only bore a passing resemblance to the Uncle Bill I remembered. No–this wasn’t a person, it was a fucking minotaur–eight feet tall standing upright, his entire body packed with muscle and covered with a rough hide and fur, looking at us with eyes that…I didn’t know what Cory had done to him. I didn’t understand how any of this was possible.

“I found another one Mike, just like I told you! I can fucking…see them, when I sleep. They’re in the ground here, and when I get them all, no one’s going to be able to stop me, Mike,” Cory said, and then kissed my brother for a moment, before pulling away. “Go inside–have a drink, and then get on the bed. You want me to fuck you, right? You always want my cock inside you. So go get ready, and I’ll be in right after I…show your dad and asshole brother their new assignments.”

“Cory–Cory, please…this isn’t…you,” Mike managed to say, but Cory just slapped him across the face.

“Shut up! Never speak to me like that again, you fucking know better. Now go get ready.”

Mike went inside quickly, nursing his cheek, and then Cory came over to me and my dad, Uncle Bill standing off a few paces away, unable to look us in the eye.

“My dad is a good digger–better now, after I found this one,” Cory said, pointing to the new ring I’d noticed, “But he needs help. You’re both going to be helping him out. Still–if you’re going to be little more than beasts of burden, you both might as well look the part, right?” The ring glowed, and the light shining from it enveloped us both. It…hurt. It hurt in ways I can’t even begin to describe, right down to my very core, like…like some key part of me was being ripped apart and put back together again in strange new ways. I blacked out at some point, and I awoke on the ground with a snort, Cory looming over me, grinning. “Yeah, who’s the fucking pig now, Darren?”

Looking down at myself, it was pretty clear that I was going to be the pig–boar really. He told me later that he’d rather have made me a nice soft hog, but he’d have to save that until after we’d finished working, until after…he was complete–whatever that means. My hands are human enough to handle a shovel, and…and the mud and dirt actually feel really nice on my hide, I admit it. My head’s slowed down again–even more than before–and this time it’s not because Cory is controlling me, it’s because my brain is just…dull. My dad though–fuck. He’s a fucking draft stallion now–or at least halfway to being one. Even taller than I am, though stupider, I think. He…hasn’t said a word to me or Bill since Cory changed him–I don’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to talk, or because he can’t. But for days now, all we’ve been doing, from dawn to dusk, is digging. Digging for Cory.

He’ll come out in the morning and point us to a new spot to focus on, and all three of us will attack it together. Sometimes Cory will supervise, bullwhip in hand, Mike a little ways off in the shade waiting to be used by Cory when he wants a fuck. We go hard all day, stopping only at noon for a brief lunch, and when it’s dark we stop. The three of us…we sleep in the barn. Of course, my dad and uncle…they can only sleep after a fuck, and Cory designated me as the hole…it still hurts, a lot, especially my dad’s horse cock, but even worse, I’m actually starting to…to enjoy it–their massive cocks in my ass. It’s making my piggy cock hard just thinking about it. But Mike snuck this stuff out to me, last night–a pen and paper. He can’t write–he’s too close to Cory–he’ll get caught. But me, I can still think…kind of. For the moment. Cory won’t look out here, I hope, and maybe we’ll figure out how to stop him–and whatever power is in those fucking rings of his…but he says he’s getting close to another one. He thinks we’ll find it tomorrow. God, I fucking hope not–I don’t want to know what this one will do next, but I have a feeling I’ll be finding out whether I want to or not.

It doesn’t sound like this should be the end of the story, but it is for now. I really like the direction of it, but I’m not sure where it goes! There might be a longer version someday.

Buried Treasure (Part 2)

I don’t remember much of what happened that first night. Mostly, I remember both Mike and Cory abusing me for hours. Mike…he was begging Cory to let him stop, that he was exhausted, but Cory wouldn’t let him, he would force Mike’s cock to get hard again, and force him to fuck me, or make me suck him off, or…or hit me, or whatever Cory wanted to see. Cory had his way with Mike as well, telling my brother how he’d always loved him, but that me–his stupid asshole brother–would have never let anything like their love happen, but now that I was taken care of…well, now they were going to be together, no matter what.

My only hope was that when my parents got home the next morning, there was some chance that all of this could be put right–but Cory got to them first. He’d locked me in the closet in my room, and Mike…Mike was firmly under his sway at that point. Cory…explained things to them, and from that day onward…I don’t like thinking about it, to be honest. Cory told my dad that I’d been a very, very bad boy. That I needed to be punished. Now, my dad is no slouch by any means, and he’d beat my ass quite a few times, but after that first spanking…I realized just how much he’d been pulling his punches before. Still, nothing compared to when…when he fucked me after that…my own fucking dad, shoving me down on the carpet, telling me that I deserved this, Cory watching us both while Mike sucked him off–I was an asshole, but Cory–Cory was a fucking monster.

My mom was in the kitchen, cooking–for me. These massive meals, and Cory would sit me down at the table, my dad next to me, and I would eat. I would eat like my life depended on it, because Cory had unlocked within me some…unspeakable hunger, and my dad would just watch, ridiculing me, making fun of me, warning me that if I kept this up I was going to be the fat ass around here, not Cory. The worst part, I think, was that no matter how bad things got, I…I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry, because I was enjoying all of it. I hated how good it felt, stuffing myself, having my dad and brother brutally fuck my hole, worshipping Cory’s body. All of it. My cock was rock hard the entire time, but I couldn’t cum–I could just leak and leak and leak, and the hornier I got, the more…I believed all of it, everything my dad and Cory and Mike were telling me. After a week…he finally gave me permission, that I could hump my father’s leg like a fucking dog, and cum that way–and I did, I fucking did cum and I licked it up afterwards, and then I thanked my dad and Cory for allowing me to humiliate myself for their pleasure.

I watched the calendar. I counted down the days. I was stupid to think anything would get better after Cory left, but things…had to, right? My parents had told the school we’d both come down with an awful flu–Cory had even gone with them to “convince” our doctor to forge a note saying so. But we couldn’t just stay here, right? Eventually Cory would have to let us go–eventually Cory would have to leave, and then…I promised myself I’d do better. I’d been wrong, I could see that now. I’d be a good person, I’d be nice to my brother. I’d be nice to everyone, if Cory would just…leave. If he’d just leave, and let everything go back to the way it was. Cory did leave, of course–but nothing went back to normal afterwards.

I…still couldn’t stop eating, no matter how hard I tried. Both Mike and my father teased me relentlessly, as my muscles began to disappear under a layer of flab. Mike kept working out, of course–he needed to keep up his physique for his boyfriend. He still raped me every night–my dad did too. I tried to tell them that they didn’t have to do this, that they could stop–but none of us could. Whatever magic Cory had inflicted on us, it wasn’t going away with him. By the time school ended, I was over 200 pounds, Mike was…well, Mike looked amazing, actually, and both our parents announced that we’d be spending the summer at our uncle’s farm out in the country. After all, we’d done a very good job helping Cory develop culture, and Uncle Bill needed some help out on the farm with a special project.

I was terrified. I begged them to resist, that they didn’t have to do this. Mike…I’ve never seen Mike like that. On the surface, he was overjoyed–desperate even, to see Cory again. But beneath that surface, he, I think, was even more terrified than I was. He didn’t sleep for days, and I’d wake up and find him rocking on his bed, just staring at the wall…and…and only a blow job could calm him down. I’d gotten very good at them, you see…and I…I liked making Mike happy. School ended, and we loaded our bags into the car and drove off with our dad, who’d decided to spend some time with his brother as well, leaving the house in our mom’s care, and we all drove off to discover what sort of fate Cory had in mind for us for the entire summer.

Buried Treasure (Part 1)

I was older, by eleven minutes. It’s hard to tell if that was why I was always the one in charge or not, but I certainly had a habit of lording it over Mike every chance I got. I got first helpings at dinner, I got to sit in the front of the car, I got the top bunk of the bed. I…It never really occurred to me that he might resent me for it. Maybe it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he should hate me for it. He was just always so easy going, you know? But I knew what I wanted to be–I wanted to play sports, and Mike came along for the ride, because as if I was going to be in control, that meant I needed to have someone to control, right? And for the longest time, that was Mike, for me.

Of course, the real reason everything went so…wrong, was Cory–our cousin. But I need to start with Mike and I, because that’s the reason everything went wrong with Cory in the first place. See, maybe I just always hated the idea that I couldn’t be alone, that Mike was always there too, shadowing me–and as much as I wanted him there, I also hated him for it, I think. So yeah, I wasn’t the nicest brother. Hell, I wasn’t the nicest guy at school, or anywhere else. I’d fuck shit up and try to pin it on Mike–I usually got caught in the end, but it was enough to remind him of what I thought of him. If he had a girlfriend and I didn’t, I tell her awful secrets about him–true or not–and get them to break up. I deserved it, I suppose is what I’m trying to say. Don’t feel too bad for me, in any case.

Cory would come to visit us in “the big city” for a few weeks each year. Our uncle wanted him to have at least a bit of exposure to culture, so when he came over, that meant our parents would cart all three of us around to museums and zoos and shit like that. Cory looked like a big dumb lug, but he was actually really smart beneath all of that fat and stupid grin and that accent of his. He was smarter than me, and that pissed me off–so I’d tease him non-stop, mostly for being fat, but also for his stupid accent. He hated me so much, but he liked Mike–and that meant I had to get Mike to play along with me, and ridicule him too. Mike always hated to do it, but he was stuck with me for the rest of the year, while Cory could get away after a couple of weeks. It was worth the trade, and even Cory could understand that.

But then came last Spring. All three of us were seventeen, juniors in high school, and I was just ready to be done and off to college already on an athletic scholarship. Cory arrives–and immediately, I can tell something is different about him. Usually when he shows up, especially the last couple of years, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else–and I love that fucking look, because it means I have the power again. But this time, he shows up with this old ass looking ring on his finger, and when he looks at me–fuck, all I see is pure fucking anger, enough that it actually scares the wits out of me. Mike can see it too, and he looks at me, wondering what to do…or maybe who to side with. “Hey Darren, long time no see,” he says to me–the words are nice enough, but the scowl he’s throwing at me…I can’t even speak.

That first day, I dread the possibility of being alone with him. He’s planning something, but I’m pretty sure I’m safe with my parents in the house–but then, he talks to my mom and dad, suggests they go out on a date and spend the night in a hotel room…and they just up and agree with him! An hour later, it’s the three of us, alone in the house, and Cory is just smiling at me and Mike like we’re fucking mice in a trap. That ring–the way it catches the light–there’s something…wrong about it, but I can’t look away from it, and neither can Mike…and when Cory suggests that the two of us take off our shirts and start making out…it just seems like the most obvious and necessary thing in the world.

I can tell we’re both fucking scared out of our wits, but that’s not stopping us at all, and when Cory emphasizes that we need to be enjoying this, that we should look like we’ve been making out with each other in secret for years–I can actually…remember all of the times before, when we’ve done this, and we’re both moaning, and I hear Cory unzip his pants and start…jacking off while he watches us…

Soon enough, I’m on all fours while Mike is pushing his cock in my ass, Cory egging him on, telling Mike how much he hates me, how much he wants to hurt me, and how I deserve it. Telling Mike how…how much he loves Cory, how much he’s always loved Cory, and then he’s inside me–raw and unlubed. I scream in pain, but Mike doesn’t care anymore–he’s too busy making out with our cousin while he rapes my hole–and it’s clear that these two weeks are not going to be ones I’m ever going to forget in a very, very long time.

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 4)

No one other and Chuck and I knew anything had even changed. Well, some of the guys on the crew knew something had happened, like our foreman, but they didn’t know what had changed. I could…see when they looked at me, that they were a bit confused and…sad even, but no one wanted to talk about it, I don’t think. No one dared bring Chuck’s attention to them, while it was still occupied with me–and Chuck…he fucking loved this new me. Goading me, laughing at me every time he caught me with my hand down the front of my jeans, making fun of how stupid I was, and getting everyone else on the crew to laugh along with him. I was the butt of every joke, and somehow, the fact that everyone knew I was just a fucking pervert who couldn’t keep his hands off his dick for more than five minutes…it only made me hornier.

That was the worst part. It would have been easier if I’d hated it, if I’d…been able to fight back in some way, to say that things should be different. But I didn’t want things to be different. I…can’t even imagine how things might be different, beyond a few vague memories of sports, or college, none of which had ever happened in this new life of mine. I remember looking at myself in the mirror a couple days after Chuck fed me that leaf from my tin–it wasn’t the first time I’d seen myself, but it was the first time I’d actually dared take a moment and really look, and I could see all the little shit that had changed too. My tangled and greasy beard and hair falling in front of my face, my bloodshot eyes, my teeth which had already started to yellow a bit from my new chewing habit. I looked…older. I mean, I was older, actually older–about ten years or so than I had been before, but I looked even older than that. My flabby gut and tits, my arms which were still fairly strong thanks to work and…constantly jacking myself off. My little legs and flat, absent ass. And I’m standing there looking at myself, and I’m stroking off again, because I’m so fucking turned on by what I’ve become. I’m not ashamed. I’m not humiliated–I’m not…that humiliated, I mean. What matters, is that I fucking love it, I fucking love myself, and I shoot this huge load into my hand and slurp it up, swallowing it down with some of my spit, and I just feel…so fucking good.

Pretty soon, I’m laughing along with the guys, pulling on my cock in front of them, amazed at how easy it all is. Some of the guys even suck me off on occasion, but nothing really does it for me like my own fucking hand. Still, I’m all there, really. I know, mentally, that this isn’t how things should have gone, and I’m thinking about that tin in Chuck’s house, and I’m wondering what might happen if I could get my hands on it, without him knowing. Could I change myself back? Hell, even if I couldn’t do that, could I at least make myself someone a bit better than this? Maybe I could help out everyone else on the crew too, if I could find their tins as well, but for that to work, for any of this to work, than meant I was going to have to get closer to Chuck than I’d ever wanted too.

Even that was harder than I’d thought it would be. Chuck was usually all over me all day long, feeding me spit, groping my cock, but the first couple of times I tried to grope him back, he…freaked out a little bit, and he kept backing off. So…I told him a lie. I told him that I liked this life he’d given me–and I did like it, but not…in the way I was telling the story. I told him I’d hated being that jock, and just letting loose, it felt so fucking good. I wanted…him to feel good too. He wanted to believe me, I think, but it wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d thought I should hate him–and I did hate him–but I could pretend a bit, I could jack his cock off on our rides to and from work, even suck him off on occasion, drinking down his cum too, and soon…soon he was really getting into it, more than I’d expected him to. The first time he…fucked me–god, it hurt so much. He bent me over a bench in the workshop and started slobbering all over my asshole and my crack, and I could…feel his spit working its way into me, making me shudder, and when his cock pushed into me, with just his tar as lube, it was like my ass was on fire, and tingling all over, and I shot–of course. Pretty much anything can make me cum these days, but this…pretty soon, he was spitting in and around my hole as much as he was feeding me, and that fire in there, it was starting to need attention like my cock did. He was getting me ready, I could tell, and if I was going to have a chance, this was the one I’d have to take.

It was a few more weeks before he finally told me I was coming with him to his house for another taste of the tobacco from my personal tin, while he fucked me in the foreman’s trailer during lunch. Told me that if I wanted to be such a nasty slut, then that’s what I was going to be–as hungry for cum as I was for spit, begging everyone to fuck my ass like the stupid whore I am. I…fuck, it turned me on when he said it, and that scared the shit out of me more than anything else. Still, it had worked, right? Now I just had to try and keep a level head, get the tin away from him, and see if I could fix this somehow. I’d become so compliant lately that he wasn’t even bothering controlling me a directly as he used to–if I was quick, maybe I could just get away with this. And if not? Well…being a cumdump didn’t…sound like that bad of a thing. It’s not like I wasn’t already sucking down everyone’s loads on the site, right? It all comes down to tonight–see you on the other side, I guess.

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 3)

Chuck’s house was a mess, but I hadn’t really expected it to be anything else, to be honest. If anything, it was a bit…cleaner than I would have thought. He pulled me into the den and sat me down on the couch, shoving over some blankets to make room for me, and told me to pull my dick out and make myself comfortable. I did as I was told, tugging on it a bit just to calm my nerves as had become normal for me lately, and he banged around in another room for a moment before returning with a tin of chewing tobacco in his hand.

Now I hadn’t up to this point, actually chewed any tobacco myself–it had been purely second hand spit. If anything, Chuck had been adamant that I not chew, going so far as to bark orders across the worksite, when one guy had offered me some leaf, telling him that I wasn’t allowed, not yet. However, this tin wasn’t sealed, and he laid a piece of masking tape across the label on the top, and wrote “Spitty” across it with a sharpie, showing me it after. “This is your tin, Spitty. Everybody gets one tin of my special shit, you see. Still, no one ever gets more than one tin–and I don’t usually finish people off often anyway. You probably ain’t gonna get much more than this–but you to learn a lesson, and I’m gonna teach it to ya the hard way.”

He took off the lid, and I could…smell the shit from where I was sitting on the couch. It was as strong as some of the higher quality weed I’d smoked in college, but…smelled different altogether. It smelled like Chuck’s breath, actually–is this what he’d been chewing and feeding me all this time? It wasn’t of course–not even Chuck could handle that much of his special stuff, but I wasn’t too far off the mark, even then. He started picking out some of the leaf, probably a sixth of the tin, told me to open up and then shoved it down between my teeth and gums, and told me to hold it there like a good boy.

My gums started tingling and went numb after a second, and then not too long after that, I felt a fuzziness envelop my head, and I slumped back into the couch, drooling a bit helplessly, staring off into space. Chuck entered my frame of vision, fucking around with the TV, and a moment later porn started playing on the screen–then he came back over and sat down on the couch next to me, and started talking into my ear–quietly, but nice and slow making sure I heard every word he was telling me.

He was telling me about my life–well, not the life I’d had, but about…a different life. About Spitty’s life. Spitty never went out for sports. Spitty never even went to school much at all–he’s just a high school dropout. Spitty never had time for much beyond watching porn and jacking off. See, Spitty’s cock has a problem–it almost never goes soft. And Spitty’s usually so fucking horny that he can’t think about much else beyond jacking his cock off. It was worst when he was a teenager, but it’s…eased off a bit in the last couple of years, now that he’s in his thirties. He can hold down a job, mostly. Nothing too difficult, and most of the guys at the site have gotten used to seeing Spitty groping his cock all day long, occasionally blowing yet another load into the front of his cum sodden jeans, but it’s what Spitty has to do to function, right?

Of course, at home, all Spitty does is watch porn and jack his cock. He loves coating himself in his own cum, loves to reek of it, loves to reek of anyone’s cum, really. He’ll beg other guys to jack off onto him, use him like a fucking cumrag–and he loves being a fucking spitoon too, of course. All of Spitty’s clothes are unwashed, covered in dark stains and stiff with cum, but he wouldn’t want them to be any other way. Yeah, Spitty’s a real fucking pervert, but Spitty wouldn’t want any other life than this one, would he?

I was agreeing with everything Chuck told me of course, like the good boy I was. I…lost count of how many times I shot my load all over myself, swallowing down the spit from Chuck’s special leaf, swallowing down his spit too, of course, and when he thinks I’m ready, he puts his hand over my mouth, and tells me to swallow it all down–the spit, the leaf, everything…and I do. I choke it down, and immediately I feel sick to my stomach, like I’m going to throw up, but no matter how hard I heave, nothing comes up. The world’s just spinning around me faster and faster, and I try to hold onto Chuck, or the couch, or anything I can, but pretty soon it doesn’t feel like there’s anything at all, and when I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle it anymore, I wake up–expect I’m not in Chuck’s house, I’m back in my bedroom…except it’s not my old bedroom, it’s Spitty’s bedroom now.

Everything reeks of cum, and it’s so fucking nasty I start humping my mattress a few times until I spray a load into the stiff sheets I sleep on with a loud groan–then I roll over and start milking out load number two right away. My cock’s the same size it was before, but my fucking balls must have doubled in size, and while my arms are still muscular, my gut and chest are flabbier than before, and my legs look so much smaller. Then again, I never played sports, not in this lifetime. Nope–all I did was jack off day and night like a fucking pervert. I still live with my parents, even after dropping out, and they both fucking hate my guts…but I don’t really care. All I care about is jacking off again, and again…and something else…right? My mouth feels a bit fuzzy, and without really thinking, I reach over and grab a tin of chaw, pop it open, and stuff a wad in my lip, feeling better almost immediately. It tastes…normal, at least, but nothing else is right, even though that old life just feels like a dream now. I’m Spitty now–I can’t even remember my old name anymore, and when Chuck shows up to give me a ride to work, I get in and suck down his spit, and milk out another load of cum from my cock, like nothing is wrong at all.