No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 5)

“No sir, please.”

“Should I cut them off? What do you think? Don’t answer that, no one cares what slaves think.” Walter planted a boot on them, crushing them back against Donny’s body with enough pressure to keep him from replying. “You see–here’s my dilemma. As a lying, cheating, fuckhole, there’s simply no way that I can possibly trust you around other men, is there?”

Donny was just shaking his head, but whether he was agreeing with the statement, disagreeing, or simply more terrified at what might happen to his nuts, it wasn’t clear.

“Castration would be a simple solution. Remove your cock too–after all, it’s not like you’ll be using it in the future. Nothing left but a nice, gigantic, ugly scar to remind you that you got yourself into this mess, that you did this to yourself. I wonder if it would feel good, rubbing it? Then again, I’m not convinced that this would really solve everything. After all, your cheating ways are only part of the problem. Maybe it would be best if we simply removed the other part of the equation–maybe you just need to be unfuckable. After all, even removing this,” he emphasized with a hard tap of his boot to his balls “at the root doesn’t get to the root of the problem, does it? Besides–I might need the leverage later.”

He took his boot away, and Donny let out a sob of relief.

“Tell me Donny–exactly how many men have you slept with behind my back? And how many times?”

Donny didn’t think he’d be able to produce an exact figure, but his mouth spoke for him. Twenty-seven men. Sixty-three times.”

Walter whistled. “Goodness, that is a lot. That…that really hurts, more than I was expecting it to. Here I was, thinking it was you just unable to keep your body for me a couple of times, but sixty-fucking-three.”

“Please Master, I’m sorry.”

“The second condition–you’re never going to have another ejaculation, as long as you live.”

Something clamped down on his cock and balls–he reached for them, but instead of flesh he only hit metal…his cock and balls were still there, but encased in a metal chastity device secured around them all. Just like the collar, there was a locking mechanism and a padlock, but no keyhole, no combo, no way out. He felt nothing in there–no sensation at all, when he touched them. It was a disturbing sensation, but one he realized he was already getting used to. After all, he’d been locked in this metal cage for…for years? That didn’t seem possible, but again, like his collar and tattoo…he could remember them clearly, the day Master had locked him in permanently, the day he’d…thanked him for the honor, of all things.

“I’ve only left them attached to your body, because it will be fun to use them to hurt you, to turn them against you,” Walter said, knelt down, and placed the lit end of the cigar to the metal surrounding one of his balls. A few seconds later, he could feel the heat–a gentle warmth at first, but soon it was causing actual discomfort–not quite like setting his balls on a hot stovetop, but he had no doubt that Master could do worse if he so desired. “I’m looking forward to hurting you, substantially, like you’ve hurt me. Did you even care about me at all? About this?” Walter shook his head–those were sentimental questions–they didn’t need to be asked. The curse didn’t care about them, and scrubbed them away–Walter needed to be focused, focused on punishing his slave above all else. “Sixty-three. When was the last time?”

“Yesterday, sir. I…I’ve been seeing another man regularly, two or three times a month for the last five months or so.”

“Does he love you?”

“M-Maybe, sir.”

“And you don’t love him?”

“I just like fucking him, sir. It was just a fuck.”

“Did you ever love me?” Walter could feel the curse growing frustrated with him, angry that he was so caught up in his personal injury, but Walter pressed anyway.

“I was afraid to, sir. I was worried I’d…you’d change me.”

“Well, funny you say that slave, because you are going to have to change. Because even if your cock is locked up, you can still get fucked. Other men are still going to want you, and desire you, but I can’t fucking have that. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be desired. You don’t deserve to be loved. You’re a thing, you’re my property. Mine, and no one is ever going to want you, no one’s going to desire you ever again.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“That’s my third condition, slave. One by one, you’re going to give up everything about yourself that all, of those men found attractive in you, and we’re going to make you disgust them instead.”

“I don’t–that doesn’t…” but Donny stopped himself. Nothing that was happening made any sense any more.

“That man you were seeing. What was his name.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“Oh trust me slave, I have no bone to pick with him–this is your responsibility. What was his name?”

“A-Adam.”

“Alright. Adam. What did Adam like about you? Why did he want you? What kept him coming back to you, month after month?”

“He was just a good lay!”

“What, he never once gave you a compliment? He never once liked something about you?”

“My hair, alright, sir? He always liked how I styled my hair!” Donny said, but as soon as he did, he felt something…strange. He always kept his hair perfectly styled, every day. He went to the barber for a trim every two weeks on the dot. But when he reached up, that wasn’t what he felt. His slick backed look was gone–no gel or pomade, just coarse, long, stringy hair hanging down in every direction. Lank and greasy, a grungy grey brown in color, like soot. “No, what the…how did…”

“What else did he like about you, Slave?” Walter, asked, “Tell…me…everything,” leaning slightly on each word, sneering at Donny’s terrified face.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 4)

It took Donny close to an hour to clean both boots to Walter’s satisfaction, from top to sole. Walter found himself transfixed, watching his boyfriend debase himself before him, how his initial disgust at his own humiliation had given way to the simple durdergy of the act, to a certain…pleasure, or perhaps pride and pleasure in his work. Once the muck had been removed, he shined them diligently with his tongue, his eyes slipping away from his task up to where Walter was looming over him, his heart fluttering, He’d always found his older partner so dull, both in the sack and out. He was always looking for an emotional connection which Donny found childish and idealistic. It was the material that mattered–your body, your style, your wealth. Walter had the last, and after a few years he’d increased his hold on the first two, but Donny always longed to slip away from the emotional wet blanket and just fuck someone like a beast for an hour. He’d always feared, irrationally, that if Walter had gotten an emotional grip on him, that Donny would find himself disappearing–physically, mentally, and spiritually. His cheating was a sword he used to sever that emotional tie before it could become too rooted in his guts, but here, kneeling on the floor, he could sense that his deepest fears had, in fact, been true. This wasn’t him. He could feel himself dying away, some other terrible version of him filling in his place.

“Put your head on the floor, arch your back,” Walter said. Donny took the position he thought was implied by the order, placing his head to the floor and curling into a ball. It must have been sufficient–Walter set his boots on his back–Donny could feel they still wet with his own spit–and Walter inspected them in the light, checking their shine. They could use a proper shining, certainly, but he’d done a sufficient job. “If you really want to stay here, with me, I’m only going to allow it under certain conditions. You realize that, right?”

“Yes sir,” Donny said. Walter crossed his feet, one heel digging in between ribs on his back, but he suppressed a flinch of discomfort. “I…Please sir, I’ll do anything. I fucked up, I ruined everything, I know that. I deserve this, I deserve…anything you think…” he swallowed, hard, trying to choke back his own, miserable words, but his mouth continued, that other him continued, without his consent, “anything, sir. I’ll accept anything. I don’t…deserve you, but I’m honored that you would consider keeping me somewhere in your life, even after my failure.”

Walter dug his heel in a bit further, but not as hard as he could have–implying that the begging was appreciated, but did nothing to ease the punishment that Donny was about to receive. “This is your last chance. Crawl out of here, if you want, but if you stay, you will accept all of these conditions.”

“What…are the conditions, sir?”

“That shouldn’t matter, should it?” Walter rocked his heel back and forth, “If you’re truly sorry, if you truly want to stay, then you should be willing to accept any condition that I put forth.”

Donny knew he was right. He fought–he tried to crawl out from under that heel as hard as he could. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be surrendering like this. Walter was the one who needed him, not the other way around! But that new him, the one who was meekly groveling under this fucker’s boot didn’t see it that way. He couldn’t see any way forward that didn’t have him at Walter’s side, no matter what that might mean. “You’re…right. I’m sorry sir, for asking. I’ll stay, and submit to any conditions you demand.”

He wanted to scream, he wanted to stand up and clock Walter in the face, he wanted to sob, but all he did was stay there in that position, while Walter smoked his cigar, pleased with himself, pleased with this curse, pleased with his newfound power. “As you can imagine, your actions have made it perfectly clear that going forward, our relationship can never take the form of equals, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what does that make you?”

“Your…slave?”

“Slave, I feel, is the wrong word. But I’m not sure I have a word that adequately communicates my utter disdain and disgust at your existence, but yes. As far as things are concerned, from this point forward, you are going to be my slave. That’s condition number one.”

There was a sudden constriction around Donny’s neck, something cutting off his airway for a moment, before it loosened–thought not all that far. With one hand he felt the steel collar secured there, tight enough against his skin to cause constant discomfort. There was a padlock securing it in front–a heavy one, but with his hands…he felt no lock. No keyhole, no combination. It was just a solid hunk of metal securing him to his new role. He yelped, as a sharp sting across his ass followed. At first, he thought Master had flogged him with something (no, not Master, he’s not my fucking master!) but something else was forming in his mind. A collecting of memories, of being taken to the tattoo shop, being marked, permanently, as property of his master, but that hadn’t happened, that had never happened! But if it hadn’t then how could he remember it so clearly? How the artist had laughed at him the entire time, his master leaning against the wall, watching his every move for one punishable offense. How he’d had to thank the man for marking him, how he’d had to offer to service the man as a tip, and he’d just looked at him…utterly disgusted at the sight of him begging in front of him…but this wasn’t him, it wasn’t him!

Walter removed his boots from his slave’s back, planted one foot on the back of his head facing him, and shoved him, rolling Donny over onto his back. “That’s the easy one, slave. Now we need to figure out what we should do with these,” he said, standing up from his chair, and nudging Donny’s balls with the toe of his boot.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 3)

“Get out. You fucking disgusting little piece of shit, get the fuck out of my apartment. I never want to see that ugly face of yours ever again.” That wasn’t his voice. It was so hard-edged and vicious. Whatever curse this was, it was like it had tapped into some deep reservoir in his mind, and all of that hatred was pouring out of him, all of that anger. More terrifying than anything else, thought, was how good it felt. Walter felt good, he felt good telling this little prick exactly what he thought of him. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Get the fuck out of my sight!” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.

“Please, Walter, I’m–” Walter’s kick caught him in the ribs, sending him rolling over, coughing.

“You think you have permission to ever speak my fucking name again?”

“Please sir, please–I fucked up. I know that, but I…I don’t know where else to go. Please, don’t make me leave.”

“What, you’re telling me none of those fucks want anything to do with your lying, cheating ass? What a fucking surprise.”

“It was a mistake sir, I won’t make it again. I…I love you, sir,” Donny said. His eyes were confused, like he wasn’t entirely sure where his own words were coming from, or why he was saying any of them.

“This is all fucking fine and good, except for one fucking problem. I don’t fucking believe you. Now get out, you lying sack of shit.”

Donny, eyes defeated, started to stand up, but Walter planted one boot square on his back and pinned him back to the floor. “Did I say you could fucking stand up? Fucking crawl.”

“Please, don’t do this to me, I need you, sir.”

“Bullshit.”

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

/”Anything you want. Anything you tell him to do.”/

Walter’s head was flooded with ideas, suddenly. If Donny wanted to be with him so badly, then fine. But he’d have to prove that he was really sorry. And then, they were going to be revisiting the foundations of their relationship, because Walter was certain nothing like this would ever happen under his watch, ever again. He lifted his boot off Donny’s back, toed him over onto his back, and then planted the sole right over his mouth, pressing down hard enough to make his jaw ache. “This is the only fucking part of me that you’re worthy of servicing. So get to it. Show me just how fucking sorry you are.”

Leather, domination, humiliation–none of that had ever had much of a place in their relationship before. The closest they may have gotten was a bit of dirty talk off and on, but it was usually Donny talking, and Walter feeling a bit silly and self-conscious. But there was an energy thrumming between them, reverberating through the entire apartment. It was the curse–it had to be. The chunk of Walter who could still recognize how insane this all way was desperately trying to put on the breaks, but his body was no longer under his own control. It was riding a different past–the curse had hijacked him, and now he was just a tool to be used in Donny’s degradation. Sure enough, he started licking at the bottom of Walter’s filthy, muddy boot, moaning softly–thought whether it was out of desperation or unexpected excitement it was unclear. And when, exactly, had his shoes become boots? Looking down at them, they were nothing like anything that Walter had ever owned in his life–knee high black leather. Obviously old, and caked with dried mud and filth from toe to top. He tried to tug his foot away, but instead he only pressed down harder, listening to Donny groan in pain. “Lick faster if you don’t want a broken jaw, bitch.”

Walter saw movement out of the corner of his eye–one of Donny’s hands was creeping over to his cock, which was erect and bulging in the underwear he was wearing, a wet spot of precum visible. He picked the boot off Donny’s mouth, and slammed it into his cock instead, crushing it and his balls, grinding them against his body, watching him scream and beg.

“If you really want to stay, bitch, then you’re going to have to learn that your pleasure doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t get to feel good–ypou don’t fucking deserve pleasure, and you fucking know it. No, you get pain, and you thank me for it after, do you understand?” Walter said, grinding harder.

“Yes! Oh god, yes sir, I’m sorry, please!”

He kept up the pressure for another fifteen, twenty seconds, making sure the message was well established, and then released his boot, Donny reflexively cradling his junk and curling up into a fetal position, gasping. Walter just walked over to a wooden chair in the bedroom, and sat down, legs stretched out and boots presented. “You can still leave, for the moment. Or you can get the fuck back over here, and finish the job.”

It was clear, from his eyes, that Donny knew what he should want. He should crawl to the door and leave–but he wasn’t doing that. He didn’t…really want that. Instead, on foot and knee, he was slowly drawn over to where Walter was sitting. The filth off the boot had tasted foul, but he…deserved it, for what he’d done. For what he was. This is what he’d needed, all this time. This is what he’d been searching for, and he hadn’t even known it. He went back to the book, licking and wetting the chunks, using his teeth to scrape them off and swallow them. Walter just watched him, idly reaching over to the humidor on the table next to him, taking out a cigar, clipping the end and lighting up. He’d never smoked before, but the rush of nicotine was wonderful–almost as wonderful as the rush of watching his fucking bitch slaving over his nasty boots. A few minutes later, he’d forgotten about the oddity of his own smoking, puffing slowly, massaging his own cock through his jeans, and listening to the voice, as it told him what kind of punishment would be fitting for a young cheater like Donny.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 6)

“Alright Daddy, *grunt*, how do I look?”

The cub had finished placing the order and was just sitting on the bed, wondering again how in the world he’d ended up here in this situation, when he heard the bathroom door open…but that voice–that wasn’t the same voice of the guy he’d brought with him. The words were distorted somehow, and while the voice was pitched higher, it was more gutteral. He got up from the bed and walked over to the short hall that lead to the hotel room door and the bathroom, and there, blocking the exit, was…he didn’t know what the fuck it was, but he let out a scream and backpedaled into the room. “What…what the fuck!” he managed to say.

Carmichael squealed and laughed and grunted at his sudden fright, holding his pipe in one hand so he didn’t drop it. “The look on your fuckin’ faces! Every fuckin’ time,” he started walking towards the cub, “What’s wrong daddy? I thought you wanted to play with a little pig tonight?”

“Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak.”

“Oh daddy, that’s so fucking sexy, fucking talk to me like that all night long, and we’re gonna have so much fucking fun.”

“I’m fucking serious! I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing man, but we’re fucking done! Get that fucking mask off, and get the fuck out of my room! You’re fucking sick!”

The pig groaned again and gave it’s cock a little stroke, “Fuck Daddy, that’s enough pillow talk–get over here and kiss your nasty pig, and let’s get the fun started,” Carmichael took a deep lungful of smoke and pushed it out into the room, watching it fill up with a grey haze. The cub tried to get to the sliding door and out onto the balcony, but the smoke caught him first, making him cough and wheeze. The smoke was so sweet smelling, cloying even, but he couldn’t seem to get a full breath of air into his lungs, his eyes were watering–he hadn’t even noticed the pig walk over to him, shove him up against the glass. He tried to wriggle away, but not before the pig shoved it’s snout to his nose and mouth and exhaled even more smoke into him–he couldn’t help but inhale it, and once it was inside him…the world spun, and the only thing that kept him upright was the pig pressing into him, groping him, making him moan, making…making him want to…to kiss that snout, and…

He shoved the pig back, and Carmichael allowed him, watching the cub change as he coughed. His shorts blackened, growing longer even as they split along the crotch, becoming a pair of leather chaps, his briefs shrinking into a simple white jockstrap holding a sizable package. His shirt split down the center, and became a leather vest, but it affected far more than his clothes. The cub’s neatly trimmed goatee spread across his face, becoming a beard flecked with the first tinge of grey as the hair on his body filled in thicker, his abs disappearing under a definite paunch, which became a beer gut in less than a minute. Lastly, his shoes morphed into well shined boots, and leather gloves appeared on his hands, one of them holding a thick cigar that flamed into life, the cub bringing it to his lips and sucking in his own smoke. “What…am I doing? I don’t smoke?” he said, exhaled a plume through his nose, and immediately took another drag. His own cigar was harsher than the pig’s pipe tobacco, but that seemed…right. He was rougher than the pig, yeah, a rough daddy fucker. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to do,” the pig said, approaching slowly. The cub’s eyes were still filled with disgust, but now alongside that was a sudden urge to dominate, to fuck rough and brutal. “How’d you like your first taste of your pig, daddy?”

“You fucking disgust me…I don’t…know what you did, but fucking fix this, you fucking piece of shit, or I swear to god I’ll beat your ass to a fucking pulp, hog.”

“Such a sweet talker,” Carmichael said, pressed himself to the cub again and kissed him…and as disgusted as he was facing this ugly pig thing, the cub’s new instincts took over, shoving his tongue into the pig’s snout, sharing and swapping spit, spinning the thing around and shoving him up against the wall, grinding up against it’s belly. The pig’s skin was…soft and supple, but didn’t feel like human skin…it was somehow thicker–it made shivers run up his back, but whether they were disgust or arousal he couldn’t tell anymore, and the more smoke they shared, the less it mattered to him. The pig was disgusting, it made his stomach churn, but somehow that just made him want him even more.

“I…can’t stop…” he moaned into the pig’s mouth, before running his tongue down to his chest, tasting the pig’s hide for the first time, running a gloved hand over the pig’s strange cock, wondering how it would feel in his mouth, but Carmichael pushed him away, walked over, and bent over the bed.

“Now, now daddy–dinner first. How about an appetizer before our food arrives? Show this pig what a dirty daddy you are.”

“You want me to fuck you? You fucking piece of shit?” the cub said, walking over.

“No no, not yet daddy. I said eat,” the pig reached back and spread it’s cheeks, revealing it’s pink hole, curled tail swishing with anticipation, and the cub’s realized what the pig had meant. But no–no, he couldn’t. It would be so…so fucking gross, and…and disgusting, and yet that only made him want it more. Maybe just a taste, just a little one. His knees buckled, and he crawled over to the pig, Carmichael encouraging him the whole way, and after a whimper and groan of fear, unable to process what was happening to him, he dove in and started eating out the pig’s ass like he hadn’t eaten in days–and when the pig let loose the first fart, all remaining doubt disappeared into the ether.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 5)

The elevator ride was silent. Carmichael was staring at the young man, one hand fiddling with the pipe and pouch of tobacco in his breast pocket. The young man was decisively staring anywhere other than at him, but he was sweating a bit under the older man’s stare. The old fuck was obviously a bottom, given how he’d acted down in the restaurant, but a part of him didn’t feel like he was the one in control of the situation, and wanted to abandon ship and run, but the hard cock in his shorts–fuck, he’d never been so disgusted by someone as much as this fuck, and he’d never known that disgust could be such a fucking aphrodisiac. He could give the pig a dirty rough plowing, and then send him on his way. He certainly wouldn’t be telling any of his friends about this, and he’d hook up with someone hotter later, so he could feel normal again.

“I never did get your name, sir.”

“You’re not getting it, pig. I don’t want to know you.”

“Then I suppose I will just have to call you daddy then.”

The cub blushed at the thought of this man at least thirty years his senior calling him daddy. What the fuck was he doing?

The elevator dinged, and they emerged on the cub’s floor. He led Carmichael down the hall to his room, opened it up, and went inside. “Alright pig–get naked, and get on the bed. No talking–I just want to get this over with.”

Carmichael let the door shut behind him, and chuckled, “No–here’s what we’ll do. You go ahead and call room service and order us some food. You can bill it to my room, 823. I don’t quite think I satisfied my sweet tooth yet, so focus on the desserts, daddy.”

“You fucking–” he sneered, “You’re still fucking hungry? No–this is a quick fuck, I’m not playing into your fucked up fantasies anymore. You want my dick? Get on the bed or get out.”

“My fantasies?” Carmichael said, moving quick for his size, pressing himself to the cub, feeling a shiver run through the young man, “I know how much you liked stuffing me down in that restaurant. Besides–it’s surprisingly easy to work up an appetite when you’re playing with a pig like me, so you might want some too. Now, call room service while I freshen up and get ready for you, daddy.”

The cub backed away, and walked over to the phone, unable to believe what he was doing. He wasn’t really doing this. He didn’t actually want to do this, did he? No! No, he…he didn’t, and yet…and yet he was thinking about what it was like downstairs, how much he’d fucking enjoyed watching the old fuck struggle to chew while he shoved food in his face…Fuck, maybe he did want this. It was just…curiosity, he told himself, waiting for room service to connect, looking at the menu, thinking about what would be fun to stuff in someone’s face.

Carmichael hadn’t stuck around to see if the cub called or not–he knew he would. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, pulling his piggy pipe out with a quivering hand, licking his lips. The little piggy was so eager to be out again, so eager to play. He took his time packing the pipe with his special tobacco–he wouldn’t want to ruin the moment with a poor draw. When he was satisfied, he lit the pipe, puffing gently, tasting that sweet smoke–he’d smoked this so many times, and yet this time felt…new, somehow. He took a deeper draw, his body reacting to the smoke, quivering and shifting in front of his eyes.

His body began to lose a bit of weight–never too much, he was still wonderfully plump–but enough to make moving a bit easier. His gut no longer sagged, but rested as a taut gut, a bit of muscle filling out his frame, giving him a huskier look with thick shoulders and an even thicker neck. His clothes, rather than becoming loose, shrank with him as he condensed until they were skin tight, the fabric picking up a bit of a shine under the bathroom lights. The color of the fabric darkened to a solid black, the shine increasing until he was clad all in rubber from sleeve to pant, and then the suit began to retract until all that remained was a skimpy, rubber singlet, the word “PIG” across the back in red letters, with an open crotch giving him easy access to both his piggy cock and ass. Fuck, that fucking cock!

It wasn’t human anymore–instead, emerging from the sheath, was a slimy, spiralling pig’s cock with two massive boar balls swinging beneath. His shoes had disappeared, but they wouldn’t have fit his new feet anyway, as they shifted into trotters, his footing a bit slick on the tile, but he adjusted easily enough, watching his face start to shift through the smoke of his pipe. Ears growing larger migrating up on his head a bit before flopping over. Nose and mouth pushing out into a short snout with two tusks on either side, and lastly, with a squeal, his tail pushed it’s way out above his ass. Just a fucking little pig, that’s all he fucking was–it was so fucking good to be free at last!

As the pig smoked and groped himself, the last changes swept over his body. What little hair he had on his body and head disappeared, leaving just a soft hide behind. His head was completely bald, and his mustache disappeared from the tip of his snout…but as the hair disappeared, his appearance youthened. The wrinkles disappearing around his eyes, his jowls pulling back in, moles and liver spots dimming and disappearing, leaving him a beautiful pink from head to toe. He was ready to play, and what a fucking good time this pig was going to have with that daddy tonight.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 4)

The hotel was large enough that it served as an anchor for a couple of restaurants–the first was a much more highbrow affair, and while Carmichael simply knew he would have to sample it’s fair at some point this weekend, he decided on the other restaurant for his first meal–a more casual restaurant with a bar inside. His piggy was growing a bit restless, and he always had a better chance of finding someone for his piggy if he stuck out a bit. It was slightly early for dinner, but a number of other bears were there, scattered around the restaurant, most of them eating as well, but Carmichael neither joined them, nor found any of them particularly intriguing. He asked the hostess to seat him at a small table with a clear view of the concourse of the hotel, giving him a good view of men walking past–as well as giving them all a clear view of him. He ordered a bevy of appetizers for himself–including a couple plates of wings so he could make a mess of himself, and when they arrived, he ripped into the food–after tucking his napkin into his shirt like a bib. He’d never really been able to contain himself around food; the messiest side of himself always seemed to come out, no matter what he did.

The people around him kept glancing at him, a bit aghast at the massive man stuffing himself at the table there, and knowing how disgusted they found him made his cock harden and leak a bit in his slacks. He would occasionally look around and meet their stare, daring them to come over and say something, encouraging them to come play with him, but none of the men at the tables answered his desire. If anything, they seemed embarrassed, and by the time he moved onto his entrees he was becoming a bit discouraged–but then he walked by.

One of three young muscle cubs who were obviously acquaintances. They were all wearing some variation on shorts and tanks, displaying their wares, giving the men a peek at what they might find underneath if they were worthy. A great snort escaped from him, as he chowed down, loud enough to draw their attention, and while all three gaped at him in utter disgust, one of them in particular stood out to him. Finally, someone interesting. He locked eyes with him a moment, and unlike the others around him, he didn’t flinch away–he stared right back, the utter disgust apparent in his eyes, and he only turned away when one of the other young men got his attention, and they continued on their way–but Carmichael knew he’d made an excellent first impression–he’d be back soon enough.

He finished his three entrees and ordered a trio of desserts. With these, he took his time. He no longer needed to perform as grotesquely as before, now that someone had taken the bait. His cock was hard and quivering with excitement, but it wasn’t until the young man walked back past the restaurant–no longer in the company of his two friends–saw Carmichael still stuffing himself, sneered, and walked over.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you one of those fucking gainers? Is that what you’re fucking doing? Because it’s fucking disgusting, and you should be fucking ashamed of yourself,” he said, standing across from Carmichael.

The insult brought a sharp, erotic heat to his groin, and Carmichael moaned, mouth full of cake as he did.

“You fucking piece of shit, did that fucking turn you on?” he asked.

Carmichael nodded, slowly, watching the fury build in the young man’s eyes. Yes, he was going to be a good one.

“So that’s you’re fucking fetish? You like making a pig of yourself in public?”

“Oh, I can make a pig of myself in private too.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“No–I know you want to. That’s why you walked over here, sir,” Carmichael said, “You get as much of a thrill from insulting me as I get from your cruelty. You want to punish me, don’t you? You want to abuse me, and humiliate me, and you’d love every moment of–”

The young man, rattled, picked up the rest of the cake and shoved it into Carmichael’s mouth, and he moaned, taking as much as he could, feeling the rest spread around his face, while the young man tried to figure out why his cock was so hard all of a sudden. He pulled his hand away, wiping it off with a dirty napkin, while Carmichael chewed the massive bite, and swallowed it. “Goodness sir, this pig wants to play with you real bad.”

“Fuck you. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“No sir,” Carmichael said, a strange sternness slipping into his voice, “We’re going to go up to your room, and you’re going to play with this little piggy, because that’s what you want. You want to abuse me, to use me, to rape me. Well here is your chance. What do you say, sir?”

The young man tried to speak, he tried to deny it, but…but it was true. He’d never once imagined having sex with someone who looked like this, this fat, old ugly fuck, but looking at him, standing right here, suddenly…it was all he could think about. “Get up then.”

“No sir–help me finish dessert first, and then we can go.”

“What?”

“Stuff my face like you’re going to stuff my holes. I know you want to. Show the rest of these people what a pig I am. Think of it as a warm up.”

So he did, standing there. He shoved the rest of the food on the table right into Carmichael’s mouth, listening to his grunt and snort, wondering what it the world he was doing–and when every plate was licked clean, Carmichael paid his sizable bill, left ample gratuity for the embarrassed staff, and the young man led him up to his room to play.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 3)

“Oh my dear heavens, this can’t possibly be real…”

Carmichael was in the hotel room’s bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Staring at a reflection he’d never seen before in his life, but which he somehow knew was…him. But this couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be him…He didn’t want to be this!

The pain had eased up after a few minutes, leaving him gasping and panting on the floor, clutching himself. He’d managed to use the side of the bed to help heave himself back up–but it had been a struggle. For one thing, every joint in his body suddenly ached–not from the pain that he’d just been through, but from age–and from the fact that he was no longer 220 pounds with a potbelly–he was easily closer to 400, or more. He got himself righted and just stared down at himself, at the sheer mass spilling over him, and stifled a scream, managing to waddle into the bathroom instead, where he’d been staring at himself for the last few minutes, unable to believe what, or rather who, he was looking at.

He was looking at himself. He was looking at Carmichael Emmett Fields, a sixty-seven year old retired insurance salesman who was now living off his sizable retirement account. He enjoyed his groceries, and was resting at around 460 pounds or so, after his last visit to his physician, but surprisingly enough he was still healthy as a horse, much to the doctor’s disbelief. His size was only exacerbated by his short height of five foot four inches. Still, the image before him was…blurry for some reason, and he couldn’t quite make out the details of himself–one hand fished around on the counter in front of him, searching for something, and after a moment found his glasses, and he put them on–the world coming back into true focus, and then he did scream.

“No–No, no no…” he said quietly, shaking his head, watching his three chins sway slightly with the movement. The short beard he’d had was gone–replaced with just a walrus like mustache covering his upper lip, and leaving nothing below to the imagination. He looked bloated and puffy, with full jowls and deep crow’s feet around his eyes. His hair had receded badly and was completely white on the fringe that remained. “No, this will not stand–I am not going to be some old, fucking pig!” he said to the mirror, but as he did, he felt a sudden heat in his groin, his old cock hardening deep in his gunt.

He was old. He was disgusting. Fuck, he was repulsive! One hand grabbed a meaty, flabby teat of his, tugging on the full nipple, while the other reached under his fat, digging around for his short, stubby cock which he could barely reach any longer, but fuck, looking at how ugly he was always had turned him on helplessly, he was such a pig. He tried to resist, to stop himself, but instead he humiliated himself in front of the mirror, jacking off, watching his fat heave to and fro, his smooth, hairless body shining with sweat until he came with a pant and a groan into his hand, pulled it out and licked up the cum. Now…what had he been doing again? Carmichael’s gut rumbled. Dinner! Of course–but he couldn’t go down looking like this mess. Instead, he hoped into the shower, hosing himself down carefully, enjoying the feel of his body hanging off him, and how much space he took up in the sizable tub. Once finished, he dried off well, combed down his mustache and what remained of his hair, and went to get dressed.

He was surprised to see the clothes he’d arrived in just lying there on the floor, and he quickly hung them back up before picking out another one of his suits for the evening, excited to get amongst the bears, excited to see who would be disgusted by him the most, and–

Carmichael shook his head, wondering where that thought had come from, oddly disturbed by that train of thought, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Still, dinner came first, regardless, or perhaps he’d find someone interesting in the restaurant downstairs and kill two birds with one stone. He dressed himself in his massive briefs and undershirt, then his dress shirt–the starched collar cutting into his flabby neck in the most delightfully uncomfortable manner, and then his pants pulled up over his belly and held in place with his suspenders–and lastly his suit coat, socks and shoes–always the hardest part for a man of his size, but looking in the mirror, he felt like…himself, but something was still…amiss. Something gnawing at him, trying to remind him…

He looked around the room and spied his pipe box. Of course! How could he have been so thoughtless as to forget that. Still, while he’d chosen a smoking room for himself, he couldn’t very well smoke elsewhere in the hotel–instead, he slipped the smaller of the two pipes–his piggy pipe as he referred to it–into his breast pocket as well as a small pouch of tobacco and his necessary tools, in case he should meet someone of interest while he ate. He always seemed to find interesting men while he ate to be honest, but then again, his appetite was one of his most appaling qualities. His cock shivered again at the thought, thought of the pipe in his pocket, but he contained himself. “Calm yourself, little piggy,” Carmichael said to himself in the mirror, “We’ll find someone for you to play with soon enough.”

“You see, our company believes that a next generation workplace requires next generation HR strategies for dealing with harassment and discrimination–”

George threw the pamphlet in the trash–he didn’t give a flying fuck about this shit, but after someone had snitched on him for calling Joey a “pansy faggot,” he’d been told he’d have to attend a disciplinary session with this new HR guru or consultant or whatever they’d hired. Still, George had been through shit like this before–all he had to do was play nice at the meeting, apologize, listen to some bullshit about equality and fairness, mind his tongue for a few months, and everything would be alright.

The door opened, and a younger man stepped out of the room, “George? Welcome! Come on in, I’m glad you could join us today. I’m Dr. Vitters, and I’ll be mediating your counseling session today with Joey.”

George went in and sat down with the other two men, and everything was going how he’d expected. “How did that make you feel Joey?…George, is there anything you’d like to say to Joey today?” The usual shit, until about halfway through, when the doctor gave a long sigh, and picked a file up off his desk. “George, I appreciate you going through the motions, but I’m afraid I just don’t believe a word you’re saying today.”

That caught his attention. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, looking at your record here, I have my doubts that you’re actually earnest in your feelings about what happened. So I’d like to apply one of my specialty techniques in this case. George, please stand up, drop your pants and underwear, and bend over my desk here.”

“Excuse me? No fucking way, you fucking sicko!” George said, but his body was already obeying the doctor’s commands, and he was helpless to stop it–Joey just staring at what was happening, his jaw on the floor.

“Now Joey, please fuck George. Roughly, if you would. And George, even though you hate what’s happening, I want you to enjoy it–and when Joey cums inside you, you will cum as well.”

They fucked, the doctor observing and giving them notes, and when they’d both cum, they were allowed to sit back down. “Excellent. You’ll speak to no one about what happened in your session today, but I think we’ll need a few more of these to really break George of his habits. How about, three times a week, for the next six months? I’ll go ahead and schedule you–have a good day you two, and see you Wednesday!”

Source: openshirtlover

Cruising (2 of 2)

“It’s been three fucking days!” Lucas shouted at the man behind the desk, “How in the fuck can someone just disappear on a goddamn boat. And you fuckers aren’t even doing anything about it!”

“I can assure you that no one has left the ship, sir,” the man replied calmly with cheery smile. “Please try and enjoy yourself.”

“He was with one of your own fucking waiters! Can’t you at least question him?”

“Do you remember who?”

“No! None of you fuckers have fucking nametags, and you all look like you were made in some fucking machine!”

The staff member’s eyes hardened a bit. “Sir, would you follow me please? Let’s talk to the captain, and see what we can find out about your husband.”

Happy he was finally getting some results, Lucas followed the man back behind the desk. Hopefully this captain would be able to answer some of his fucking questions.

“Alright number 3498, we have a task for you.”

The hulking sailor bounded up to the desk, package bouncing in his thong, always eager to serve. Two days earlier, Mark had been dragged down to the bowels of the ship, and a day later, Mark didn’t exist anymore. Now he was just number 3498, and he was always eager to serve. “What can I do for the ship?” he asked.

“An unsatisfied customer, who was incompatible with staff programming, has been corrected with program CO9. He needs a staff member to guide him through his adjustment phase into his new, satisfied, form. You’ll be applying program AF7.”

Alpha Fuck variation seven–with an emphasis on humiliation. “What room?”

“E class, room 135.”

Number 3498 paused a moment, trying…trying to remember…

“Is there a problem, 3498?”

A jolt from his hat, and there was no problem at all. The muscular hulk bounded off to the troublesome customer’s room, and let himself in, where Lucas was just beginning to stir. He no longer looked quite like himself–the correction process had aged him up about 20 years, and packed close to 200 pounds on him, his body coated with silvery white hair.

“Fuck, look at you, you disgusting piece of shit,” number 3498 said, running program AF7. He climbed up on the bed, where Lucas was lying face down, his brain trying to process what had happened to it, but no longer capable of keeping up–and after a day of number 3498’s fucking and abuse, Lucas was a brand new man–a old superchub desperate to be fucked by muscle men, especially if they ridiculed him at the same time. He was a cruise line regular now, and he’d be sailing with them three times a year for the rest of his life.

Source: bdjjk

House Arrest (Part 2)

He fought his feet, but he followed Sidney inside, hearing the pulse of music playing in the other room, his butt shaking in time to the beat as they got closer, and he found his hulking son still rolling his hips and moving to the beat. “Oh yes,” Zack said with a slight moan, pushing Sidney gently back down onto the couch, “I’m afraid you’re under arrest sir, and your punishment is going to be one sexy show from the hottest cop on the beat.”

What the fuck did he just say?

He grabbed the front of his uniform and tugged, feeling the snaps break apart as he started dancing with his son, unable to wrap his head around what had just happened to him. There was a mirror on the wall, and as he danced, he was able to catch glimpses of himself in it, but it wasn’t him. His…face was still mostly right–the shaved head, the horseshoe mustache starting to turn a bit grey–but his body…he’d never looked this ripped, not even when he was in the best shape of his life. Huge meaty pecs, a ripped abdomen, thick thighs which were nearly bursting the little blue shorts he had on. It struck him, at last, that this wasn’t his uniform. This was a costume. He didn’t know how, but Sidney had turned him into a stripper, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop himself from humiliating himself.

The look of horror must have registered on his face, because Sidney laughed the next time he turned towards him. “Yes, Officer, I’m sure you’re a bit confused. But why don’t you just relax? Look at how much fun your son is having. Aren’t you having fun Evan?”

“Yes sir,” Evan said with a thick laugh, “I’s having lots of fun. I just a dumb meathead stripper whore! I like to dance and fuck and suck and cum and work my body for sexy old men like you.”

“You…what the…hell did you do to him?” Zack managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Nothing that won’t happen to you too, officer. Now, keep at it. The more you dance, the better you’ll feel–I promise.”

Zack pulled his shirt off and kept dancing. Evan kept trying to feel him up and dance with him, but as much as this body wanted to play, he kept finding the will to push him away, but that will was starting to fade, slowly but surely. His panic was dimming, and his excitement and pleasure were increasing. He shucked his shorts, only to find he was wearing an NYPD jockstrap–and from the bulge in the front, he was both hard, and huge. He groped himself for the old man, loving how sexy he felt, his partner rubbing his hands all over his body…turning his head to the side for a kiss…

That face. He…knew that face, didn’t he? It was getting hard to think, and he felt so hot and sexy. And the hunk he was dancing with was hot and sexy too. He didn’t need to think, he just needed to dance and then he wouldn’t have to think anymore. He could just be a dumb meathead stripper too then, and everything else in the world wouldn’t even matter. They kissed, their mouths hot, rubbing their sweaty bodies together, looking over to make sure their client was enjoying their show, because this wasn’t really about them–it was about pleasing him. Most people probably wouldn’t find a client like this very attractive–middle aged, glasses, portly in odd places, a scruffy beard–but guys like this really turned Zach on for some reason. The idea of a sexy, attractive guy like him worshiping and obeying some fat, nerdy loser like this? It got him so fucking hard every time.

The man beckoned him over after the two of them had been making out for a few minutes; Zack sauntered over, climbed up on the couch facing the man so he was straddling him with his muscular thighs, moaning and swaying to the beat of the music. “Are you still in there, officer?” he asked, “Well, of course you are. Don’t worry, you’ll remember all of this once we’re done for the weekend, but for now, why don’t you kiss me, you handsome dumbass?”

He didn’t really know what the guy was talking about, but he did want to kiss him, and being called a dumbass made him really horny for some reason, so he leaned in and started making out with the client, one hand wrapping around the older man’s cock, stroking it slowly and gently, making sure to edge him. The client beckoned to his partner, who got down behind Zack and started sucking the man’s cock–Zack was jealous as hell, but the client’s pleasure was more important than what he wanted.

The man pushed him away for a moment, and let Zack focus on feeling up his flabby body while he toyed with a tablet he’d kept beside him. “I needed you two to keep your faces for a bit, just to make sure you recognized each other, but I’m sick of looking at your face, officer. Let’s make it a bit more appealing, eh?”

Zack felt an odd shift in his head, but when he looked over at himself in the mirror, he didn’t see anything different. His strong jawline coated with a bit of stubble, those thick lips of his, small nose and piercing green eyes, his brown hair short, and attractively mussed up. “Fuck, I looks sexy…” he said to himself.

“You sure do, stud,” Sidney said, and turned his face back so Zack was looking at him, “And what do you think of me?”

“Fuck, sir, I think’s you’re, like, really really hot. I mean, I’m a stud, but you’re like, my dream guy,” Zack said, gushing a bit, “Do you wanna fuck me, sir? I like being fucked a whole lot.”

“Sure slut, I’ll fuck you. I’ll be fucking you both a whole lot this weekend, I think.”

Zack liked the sound of that for sure. His partner stopped sucking, and he slid his client’s cock into his ass with a loud groan. He might not be smart, but he and his partner were the best whores in the city, and he was going to show this hot fucker the best weekend of his life.