Dale’s Story (Part 5)

Looks like most of you liked power over mind, so we’ll be enjoying some mind control, it looks like!

“So wait, like mind control ‘r somethin’?” Dale asked, “Fuck, so I could make ‘em do anythin’ I want?”

“Oh trust me,” the stranger said, “You can do a lot more with it than that, but essentially, yes. Is that you’re choice then?”

The others did sound tempting to him, but he nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like a real load a fun, I think,” he leered, and shoved some more food in his face.”

“Alright–I’ll give you the gift of my power for 24 hours. At this time tomorrow, whatever changes you’ve made to Bishop-or anyone else–will be irreversible,” the stranger walked up to him, pressed a finger to Dale’s temple, and he felt a strange shock run through him–and he realized he could…hear things. Thoughts. He could hear his sons working on cars, staring at each other across the room, thinking about fucking in the restroom on their break. The men in the waiting room were bored, impatient and irritated, and he laughed, the stranger smiling. “Holy fuckin’ shit, I can…hear what they all thinkin’?”

“You sure can, Dale. The office had a window so that he could see in the waiting room, and there were a few people in there, waiting on cars, but two caught his eye in particular. A grungy looking biker–older, with a big beard–and a middle aged redneck. With a nudge, they caught each other’s eye, thinking…new thoughts. And then, the redneck was up, crossing the short distance, getting down and opening the biker’s fly and sucking his old cock. The rest of the people stared for a moment, but he suppressed their surprise and they resumed whatever they were doing,m paying no attention to the men having sex right in front of them. “Holy fuck, it really does work…” Dale muttered, his own cock rock hard in his pants.

“You can do more than control people, you know,” the stranger said, “You can change their minds, their memories, their deep emotions.”

Dale focused on the biker, delving deeper into his mind in particular, crossing wires. Eliminating any trace of heterosexuality he might have had, and replacing it with a deep, impossible to sate desire for men. He made him rougher, meaner, more dominant, and watched him shove the redneck back onto the floor with a snarl, yank down his jeans and fuck the man’s ass dry, the man screaming in pain, but no one paid them any mind. Turning to the redneck–he started warping his memories. He no longer remembers having a wife and two kids–no, he’s a drifter. A biker bitch. A boy owned by his daddy to be abused however he sees fit. His pain became tolerable–desired even, since he craved it now. Needed it. Going too long without abuse, he would start to shake and sweat, begging random men on the street to beat him and rape him.

“Goodness, you’re a natural!” the stranger said, “Better watch my back.”

Dale thought about turning the two men back…but he actually preferred them this way, and when they rode off on the biker’s Harley in an hours time, the boy’s ass still leaking cum into his jeans, on their way to get him properly outfitted for the road, he knew there’d be no going back for either of them now.

Bishop arrived right on time for his appointment, and Dale was at the desk to greet him. He probed around his old brother’s mind, enjoying for a moment how disgusting he found the obese, slobby mechanic he’d become overnight–and then started toying with him, turning that disgust into lust, a hopeless desire Bishop would do anything to sate. By the time he took the keys from him, Bishop was staring at his body with a hunger the young man had never experienced before, his cock hard and leaking, most of his mind unable to believe he was actually finding himself attracted to someone he knew, in his mind, he should find absolutely appalling.

“Alright Bishop, all set!” Dale said, handing the keys to one of his sons, “Now, is there anything else I can help ya out with?”

“I…I…” Bishop muttered, unable or unwilling to get the words out, so Dale gave him a light push. “I…want you…”

“Ya want me?” Dale said, a bit louder than he needed to be, enjoying the humiliation that rushed through Bishop’s system. “Which part a me, boy?”

“Ev…ry part…” Bishop moaned, and felt his cock explode in his pants, leaving him heaving for breath and clutching the counter, “Oh fuck, what the fuck’s wrong with me.”

“Well come on back tah mah office, boy, ‘n I’ll see what I can do tah help ya out.”

Bishop tried to fight, he tried to run, but like someone else was controlling him, he walked back after the massive man, into his office, helped him strip out of his filthy coveralls and spent the next several hours licking the man clean from face to foot. He hated what he was doing. He was still straight, but he wanted this. He…enjoyed the humiliation. Every time one of Dale’s son’s came in to check on a job and found Bishop there, his face buried in some fatty roll, he’d explode all over again in shame, his crotch wet with cum. The boys would just smile knowingly, give him a suggestion or some encouragement, and then shut the door and get back to work.

They didn’t actually get to Bishop’s car before they closed up for the night, and Dale finally allowed Bishop the right to suck his cock–and as he swallowed his cum, he provided him the knowledge that the cock he was sucking actually belonged to a brother he’d managed to forget all about–and as horrifed as Bishop was, he couldn’t stop himself from swallowing everything.

“Well bro, that sure was fun–but we got all night ‘n mosta tomorrow tah play around. Where do ya think we should go fer some fun?” Dale asked, thought a moment, and then said…

Alright, so here are your choices!

“Let’s check out the truck stop–bet we can find some dirty bikers or truckers tah use those fresh holes a yers.”
“Let’s call those friends a yers and meet ‘em at George’s bar. We never did finish our drinks last night.”
“Ya know, I think the tattoo ‘n piercing shop’s open this late–how ‘bout we git ya some decorations?”
“I bet we could have a whole lotta fun visitin’ one of the pig farms ‘round here–how does that sound to you?”
“Let’s go check out that big porno shop two towns over–I hear they even sell some gear ‘n toys I know ya’ll love.”

These can all probably be mixed and matched a bit, so if two are fairly popular, I’ll probably combine them into one idea! As always, you get two votes that you can pool in one option, or split between two choices. So what would you like Bishop’s fate to be?

I’m still taking votes for the fourth chunk of Dale’s Story here!

“Yeah big boy, how are you feeling? Hungry? Hell, of course you’re hungry–open that mouth wider, I wanna see that thing stuffed full. Go on, chew fucker, chew! I know muscle fucks like you don’t know how to eat, so I’m going to give you a crash course. You can stop trying to make yourself stop, you know–there’s nothing you can do now about that. You’re stuck here until I’m good and finished with you, and we have all fucking weekend. Now chew, fucker, chew! Yeah, that’s it–now here comes some more…”

…

“I never did ask if you remember me. Do I ring any bells? No, I didn’t think so–guys like you, you just ruin someone’s day, laugh about it for a moment, and then forget it, right? I remember you though–it was a couple months back, I was new in town, there at the leather bar, looking for some friends or maybe a fuck, just being nice, minding my own business, when you start squealing and pointing. Those friends of yours joined in–hell, half the bar joined in. Now, don’t go getting it twisted or anything, I have enough self-esteem that your little stunt didn’t faze me, but I just knew I was going to have to get some personal time with you, and now here you are. Now give me a squeal, like you did back in the bar. Come on piggy–I’m gonna twist these big nipples of yours, on these new fat tits you have, and I want to hear you squeal. No, I want the neighbors to hear you squeal, got it?”

…

“That bellyhole feel good? Fuck, listening to you moan about it, it fucking must! Hold on, let me oil that big belly up a bit more, open it up a bit more. What do you think piggy? You want me to fuck this belly hole with my big cock? I bet I can fuck it so hard that I get that little cock of yours to explode deep in that gunt of yours, how does that sound? No no, I got this–you focus on stuffing that chubby face of yours. Fuck, you’re disgusting, but not disgusting enough, yet. Just wait until I make this thing a fucking crater! Guys will be fisting this belly soon enough–how does that sound? Heh, doesn’t sound like you like that idea, but I think you’ll come around here soon enough. And when I’m done here, I’ll give that virgin, jiggly ass a good plowing too. Can’t wait to see you at the bar–because you’ll be hanging out there plenty, trust me, begging all those old muscle friends to fuck any one of your holes–even paying them to do it, if they refuse. And I’ll be watching, you know. Me and everyone else. And I promise, we’ll all be squealing piggy–and you’ll be squealing along with us.”

My Training Journal (Part 3)

Entry 55

Felix says I can write in you no more. He over here now helpin me move out cause i gotta go live with him now he says because i can’t go back to school cause i just a big dumb muscle slave. I guess hes write though i can’t think very hard anymore bout anythin other than working out and cocks and shit like that but I really like thinking about that stuff so maybe its ok!

I just wanted to tell you that im doin good on training and shit. I can ride Master’s fuck machine for a good hour now which is like super cool, makes me wanna jizz a bit but you know i cant. Not sure the last time i shoot but master says thats normal that i wont even wanna think about it soon because my worthless dick wont even be there much longer.

Fuck so much i wanna write but my head cant figure out how to word it. I’m gonna live with master for my own good from now on i suppose which is good. Hes helping me move out now. I dont need much really just the clothes he gave me to wear (the rubber and lycra and all the stuff thats so fuckin sexy on my huge bod, but I told you about that!) Oh! Master says i cant go back to college but that he found a night school for me instead! With classes and games and dancing and professors and everything, just like a real school but for stupid fagwhores like me! Im super excited to see what its like though. Anyway dont miss me too much!!! Master says ill be ok and happy and stuff and hes never been wrong before so why would he be wrong now, right?

Entry 56

Guess I underestimated that musclefag a bit! It’s a damn good thing he never showed this to anyone, or I probably would have been up shit creek by now. Still, whatever-his-name (I just call him Bitch usually, or Fag sometimes) has been doing really well since he moved in with me a few months back–I’m sure he’d be real proud of himself if he had much capacity for self-reflection anymore, but all of that is pretty much gone. Just a drooling idiot at this point. Even if I hadn’t taken this thing away from him it wouldn’t have mattered–he can’t even write anymore, so why would he have a journal?

Heh, I say he, but I don’t know what Bitch would really count as anymore. It doesn’t have a cock anymore, after all, or a sack. Supposedly the balls just get sucked up and still produce a minimal amount of hormones designed to keep up its muscle mass, but looking at the crotch? You wouldn’t know what it is. You should see the looks it gets, walking down the street in those tight lycra pants, tight enough to crawl up the crack of his wide, wide ass (wider now that we’ve been working in some collagen injections) but on the front, just nothing. No bulge, not even an outline. People don’t know what the fuck it is, and Bitch is too oblivious to even realize it’s a freak of nature at this point. Its pecs are massive, way out of proportion, with huge nipples. Got them pierced, and as soon as I can it’ll be swinging doorknockers from them, which will make its routine at the clubs just that much stranger and sexier. Lips too, got them inflated nice and puffy, great for blowjobs now that its gag reflex is finally gone–that took forever with this one!

Just re-read that last entry he made! Fucking night school, what a dipshit. Didn’t have to keep up that gag for too long, once it settled into the routine. Dancing for patrons, getting shoved in a gloryhole booth for hours on end, and of course, private rentals with his favorite “professors” four or five nights of the week. It just needs a whole lot of tutoring, I suppose. Anyone who wants it for a night can have it, and the rich old fags at these places love the idea of some docile adonis worshiping them for hours on end, no cock of its own to compete with their needs. I got so many regular customers I have a waiting list two weeks long! I suppose what that really means, is that I need to grow the stable a bit, right? Well don’t worry–I got a new athlete all lined up already. A bit older this time, bit of a muscle daddy in his late 30’s looking to get bigger. Well, we can do that. Still, I think I need to diversify my product line a bit–keep the hair on this one, and a big huge cock. Might as well corner the bottom market too, right? I think so. I think I’ll even have him keep a journal too, since reading through this thing while Bitch sucks me off make me nut like nothing else. His first sessions tomorrow, and I can’t fucking wait.

Interactive: Dale’s Story

I feel like doing something a bit different for a while, that just captions on Wednesday, and I’d like to start up another interactive story like I’ve done in the past. I’ve you’ve been a reader for a while you probably remember these: I write a chunk, ask you all for input on what you’d like to see in the next chunk, and I follow your direction until the story reaches some sort of conclusion. I’m going to shoot for two entries a week, probably on Wednesdays and Sundays. I’ll try to have a couple captions during the week, but that largely depends on time/inspiration/how much other shit I have going on at any given moment.

Regardless! Here’s the first chunk! I wrote this a while back, but could never quite decide how to continue it, so I’ll leave it up to you all!

“Bro, why don’t you go get us another round of drinks, eh?” Bishop said, turning to Dale beside him at the table, slapping him on the back as he did.

Dale could feel Bishop’s friends looking at him, see those smirks–his cheeks flushed red, “Uh…sure. What…should I get?”

“A pitcher. George knows what we like.”

“O-Ok.”

Dale hauled himself up out of the chair with a grunt, and he could hear a snicker or two, his cheeks deepening another few shades. He thought about asking Bishop to go get it instead, but he was already up–getting up was the hardest part, always had been. He shuffled off towards the bar, lumbering, feeling so self-conscious of himself. This is why he never came out, this was exactly why. At least at home, watching TV and snacking he didn’t have to have anyone else staring at him, scowling at him for even daring to exist. It wasn’t fair–Bishop had grown up in the same family, eating the same food. It wasn’t Dale’s fault he hated sports, that people had always teased him, that he’d…just wanted to eat, for as long as he could remember. But here he was, trying to will himself through a minefield of tables and chairs which had obviously been arranged by someone much thinner than he was. He kept bumping into people, stammering a sorry, but everyone just glared. He turned back and saw Bishop and his two friend’s laughing–probably at him. People were always laughing at him, especially Bishop. Why the hell had he agreed to come? Why in the hell was he such a sucker for Bishop’s fake brotherly love olive branches all the time?

Finally he got to the bar. George, the bartender and a nearby neighbor who’d known both Bishop and Dale since they were kids, walked over and asked him what he needed. “Bishop asked for a pitcher–he said you’d…know what to pour.”

George shrugged. Dale wasn’t sure at first if that meant he didn’t know, but before Dale could figure out what to say, George had walked over to a tap with a pitcher, filled it up, and then set it down in front of dale. “Ten bucks.”

Dale fished through the pockets of his overalls until he found a wad of bills, handed some to George, and then surveyed the best way back through the mess of tables in the bar to his the table where his brother was…except he wasn’t there. The table was empty, and he looked around, a bit frantic, in time to see Bishop disappear out the door of the bar with his friends, laughing. For a second he thought to chase them, to remind them that they’d forgotten him, and then he realized that ditching him had been the plan. He felt like an idiot. No, he was an idiot. A fat, stupid, idiot loser, and here he was with a fucking pitcher of beer. He didn’t even like beer! He turned around and set the pitcher back down in front of George. “I…they left. Can I get…my money back? I don’t want to drink this.”

“No refunds,” George said, “Sorry kid.”

“I don’t even drink beer though!”

George shrugged, and walked off. What Dale really wanted to do was to scream, but all that would do is draw even more attention to his fucking humiliation. He couldn’t cry either, his eyes wanted to fucking cry, but he balled them up and fought them off, pressing his fists into the bar as hard as he could, hating his body, hating how big he was when all he wanted right that moment was to be as small as possible.

“Well, no reason to let it go to waste, right buddy?”

Dale looked over, and saw an older man, long beard down to his gut smiling over at him from a bar stool. “If you can’t drink it all, I’m happy to keep you company a bit and help you out.” He patted the stool next to him, “Come on, have a sit.” Dale just stared at the tiny surface of the stool, imagining his wide ass perched on that thing for more than a few minutes, and how much his lower back already hurt at the thought. Almost like he was reading his mind, the guy shook his head and got up. “Nevermind that actually. Let’s…hmmm…you know, let’s go on the patio. I could use a smoke. Come on.”

Dale just watched the older man go–he didn’t look back. He’d…always hated that. Bishop had always walked like that, when he’d told Dale to follow him. He’d never looked back to see if Dale was actually coming, he’d always just…just assumed Dale would come, and he always had. He always had. But he, fuck, he’d spent his entire life looking back, his entire life looking for the next way everything he’d planned on was going to crumble to pieces, because no one gave two shits about him, about what he wanted. Maybe he’d always wanted to take up so much space, so people would have to notice him, but he was still…invisible. Looking around at who was looking at him, who was pretending not to see him at all. He looked over at the pitcher of beer beside him, picked it up, and walked after him. Why not, right? At least he didn’t have to be in here anymore, either way.

Now the fun part! Here’s some options that you all might like to see:

The stranger helps Dale discover a more dominant side of himself.
He takes control of Dale for his own pleasure and humiliates him more.
Dale trades in some of his fat for muscle.
Dale becomes lazier, a slob, an alcoholic, and a chronic smoker.
He decides Dale should become a bit more “mature”.

Fell free to pick a couple options–I’ll probably mix the two or three most popular together. You can reply below with your answer, or send me a message/ask with your preference. I’ll need answers soonish, so I have time to write the next chunk, so it’ll be open for the next day or two. You’re welcome to submit your own alternate ideas as well! If I like it, I might use it.

So then, which of those options do you want to see in the next chunk?

Fuck, you hate these shitty apartments, you have got to move somewhere a bit nicer, or your neighbors are going to drive you insane. You pull up, home from work, and get out of your car, seeing your newest neighbor, some roughneck kind of fuck, sitting sideways on the one staircase up to the second floor, where both of your apartments are, foot up on the railing, blocking all access.

You go over, dreading any sort of interaction with the guy, smoking his cigar, exhaling thick plumes all over the place. “Hey, could you move?” you ask, “I gotta get to the second floor.”

“I’ll move when I’m done smokin’, boy,” he says.

You just stare at him for a moment. “Seriously? You’re gonna make me climb over you?”

“No, you’re gonna wait, boy. Nobody gets on top a me.”

“Yeah? And what the fuck am I supposed to do while you’re smoking?”

“You can lick my boot, boy, and stroke that little boy cock of yours until you nut.”

You roll your eyes, but get down and start licking the sole of the boot which is planting on the railing, hauling your cock out of your pants and stroking it hard. The rubber’s cleaner than usual at least–last week, there was a big chunk of dog shit you had to scrape off with your teeth and choke down. A couple of people walk by, and stare at you like you’re crazy, but it’s not your fault! This fuck’s just in the damn way, is all–it’s his fault.

You’re getting close to cumming–and he can tell. “Put that cock away, and cum in those pants of yours.” You do as he says, tucking your cock back in and rubbing it until you shoot. “Good boy–now piss yourself while you’re at it.”

That one’s a bit harder–he’s started making you do that more often now, but after a few seconds, you turn on your cock, and feel the piss drench the front of your work pants, running down to your knees, where it spreads out on the pavement below you. He taps off a long cinder of ash and keep smoking, but he’s about finished–he switches boots and you clean the other one, and when you’re done, he stamps out the butt and gets up, finally letting you passed, climbing up the stairs ahead of you. You walk a bit faster hoping to get to your door before–

“In here boy, daddy needs some help for a while.”

You look over, and he’s at his own door, groping himself. You grit your teeth, but follow in after him. A new apartment, this week, you promise yourself. Like you’ve been promising yourself for two months now, since Daddy moved in, but something tells you this week won’t be the week either. Oh well, maybe the next one, you hope, but probably not that one either.

Source: teasingbrat

Features & Bugs (Part 4)

Now that I had been away from the damn computer for a moment, the sense that something was…different was only growing stronger. I could hear Austin in the kitchen, cooking I assumed, and so I went into the bathroom to get a look at myself, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with my reflection, even though, I somehow knew that it wasn’t quite right. I mean…later…but then, at that moment? I looked at myself–at the beard, at the extra hundred and fifty pounds, at the tattoos and piercings, at the hair falling off my head in clumps…and I honestly couldn’t see anything wrong with it, and befuddled, I found Austin and ate, and ate, and ate. Dinner was massive, but my appetite was larger than I thought possible, and I stuffed myself. In the end, it was ten at night when we were finally ready to leave the house. I had no idea where we were going that late, but I went with Austin and climbed into his car…which was now much smaller than I thought it should be, and we drove into the city, parked, and walked a couple blocks to a rundown club, in a alley, and I followed Austin inside.

It looked like the setting of the videos I’d been watching–dingy, all tile and dim lighting and bodies pressed too close. It stank of musk and piss, and my little cock got hard instantly. My doubts started to fade, and I remember I was drooling uncontrollably as Austin led me deeper and deeper into the club, men crowding their way around me, touching me, smacking me, shouting at me. I don’t really know what happened when. I drank piss. I sucked cock and got fucked by who knows how many different men, all of them raw. At some point, strangers dragged me over to what looked like a converted sawhorse. They bent me over, strapping my hands and legs to the frame, the top cutting into my huge gut, and they opened up my hole how I’d…I’d always wanted. Fingers and cocks, and then fists. I don’t know how deep they went, or how many, but I was begging for it. I was in those videos, I was one of them, my fantasies were real.

I do remember one thing. Something I now know I wasn’t supposed to see. Austin hung around a bit at the beginning, but he soon abandoned me to the mob, once he saw I wouldn’t be trying to get away or resist. I was sucking cock, and trying to keep an eye on him, in case…he needed me, I suppose. And I saw him talking to someone, an older man in a leather uniform smoking a thick cigar. I wasn’t jealous or anything–I was just a pig after all, he could talk to or fuck around with whoever he wanted. No, for a while, I wasn’t even sure what had caught my attention. I thought I knew him, somehow. Recognized him from somewhere, but why would I know anyone here? It wasn’t until Austin and the man got closer, Austin pushing open the leather jacket the man had on, revealing his firm gut and the lines there, the lines I’d see forming through that crack in a door. It couldn’t have been him though, right? There was no way! He’d been…young, and thin, and this man was old, and sexy, and powerful and…and I knew it was true, but I was too horny to think, too weak to do anything. All I wanted was for him to come use me too–both because I wanted him, and because I wanted to see if I was right.

If two points make a line, how many until a shape forms in front of you? I couldn’t really see it, because I was too close–inside the boundary of the entire event, but everything linking up around me, the room spinning…it was too terrifying, and so I pushed it away. I focused on being a good pig, but doubts don’t go away that easily.

It was four in the morning, the bar was closing. Austin unbound me from the horse and helped me stand. The air on my hole felt so strange, as he helped me from the bar. I think I shit myself, but it might have just been a wad of cum running down my leg, I didn’t want to look–either possibility was horrifying. The cum more so. If it was cum…if it was cum, part of me wanted to eat it. We got back to the car, we drove back to his place, both of us exhausted, and we fell right to sleep. Sunday, my entire body ached, but it was a good ache. It was a hunger as much as a pain. I wanted to do it again. I wanted to do it every night. The excitement scared me–I couldn’t anticipate my own thoughts. I expected to feel disgust, but all my body told me was how good it felt, how much I wanted even more. And the doubts, the shape forming. We fucked all Sunday long, but come Monday I was going to get answers.

That morning, he tried to sneak out, but I got up with him, telling him I needed to go into work too. He told me he’d already called out for me, telling them I wasn’t feeling well. I got angry, said I was going, and he got angry. Frustrated, might be a better word, looking at me like I was just another computer not working like it was supposed to. It all came pouring out soon enough. I demanded to know who that man had been, and he denied at first, and then refused to tell me anything else. I wanted to know what I’d looked like, last week. I demanded to know what he’d done to me, what he’d done to both of us. He smiled, and promised me that he’d tell me everything when he got back from work that evening, but for now, I was to stay here, and not leave under any circumstance. Then, he left and shut the door behind him, locking it.

Features & Bugs (Part 2)

I nodded, even hornier than I’d been before I’d started the film, packed up my stuff, and left with Austin to head for his place, driving separately. The entire time, I couldn’t get that movie out of my head, it felt like the entire thing was looping over and over. Still, when I got there and we got busy with each other, I was still too nervous to suggest trying anything that I’d just seen, and Austin didn’t even bring it up, keeping things relatively vanilla.

In my previous relationships with women, I’d always enjoyed a more dominant role, and when I’d first hooked up with Austin, I’d tried that with him, but it wasn’t long before things had reversed. By this point, I was exclusively bottoming for him, and while I’d grown to appreciate it, that was the first night where I actually enjoyed the experience. Suddenly, having his cock in my ass…it wasn’t an intrusion, it was welcomed. Needed, even, and I kept thinking about that fist, thinking about how wide that pig’s hole had stretched to accommodate it, wondering what it might feel like to have someone inside me like that. The one thing I did do, while he fucked me, was start grunting and snorting a bit–not really on purpose at first, but doing it made me feel so damn sexy-dirty that I kept going, and Austin ramped up the nasty talk, calling me a little piggy, and that was when I blew all over his sheets.

We fucked a few more times that evening, which was more than we had before. I was insatiable, now that I knew how good it felt to be filled up, and Austin was more than happy to help me out. He couldn’t get it up the fourth time, but he seemed unfazed, and we dug around in his collection of toys, found a dildo substantially larger than he was, and now that I was well loosened he worked it into my hole…and I swear, I shot another load without even touching myself, just like that damn pig in that video, and as disgusted as I knew I should be…what I actually felt was pride, if you can believe it. I know I couldn’t, at the time. He worked me over for close to an hour, and I…I think I shot three more times before I’d finally had enough. I was sweaty and gross but I didn’t care…but I couldn’t get to sleep. My hole ached. At first I thought it was sore, but it was just…empty. I slipped out of bed and found a plug, and once that was in me I felt much better immediately, and drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

The next morning, Austin laughed when he found me plugged up, but he was ready again, and so we fucked one more time before work. Austin wasn’t small by any means, but after that dildo the day before…getting fucked was nice, but it just didn’t quite do it for me. I still came, but I was thinking more and more about that fisting session in that video. We carpooled to work together–it was Friday, and had already made plans to spend the weekend together like usual–and I went to work with the plug still in. Honestly, I’d just forgotten to take it out, and didn’t realize it was still in until the vibration of the car got my cock hard as a rock. I told Austin what I’d done, and he smirked, suggesting I just keep it in–after all, who would know, other than him of course. The thought had occurred to me of course, but having him validate the desire made me more comfortable with the idea. It wasn’t like I couldn’t take it out when it got uncomfortable, right?

Comfort wasn’t the issue, it turned out–it was stimulation. I couldn’t focus. I had to keep slipping off to the bathroom every hour to jack off, still snorting like a pig. I couldn’t get through tickets–I’d just stare at my computer screen, rocking on my plug, thinking about that video, wanting to watch, terrified someone might see, groping my leaking cock through my khakis. Before lunch, Austin sent me a link–another video. I skipped lunch, and watched it instead in the empty office while everyone else was out.

It was shorter, but featured the same pig as before. It was soaked in piss again, crawling around the floor, licking boots, licking cocks, licking pits, licking cracks. The lighting was better, and camera more focused on the pig this time, his body covered with less rubber. I could see that his entire body was covered with tattoos, face covered with piercings. It’s small cock was studded with metal, with a huge PA bigger than one of his balls through the head. His skin was totally smooth, it shone like it was covered with grease or oil, head shaved, but with a thick, grungy beard. I couldn’t finish the video before someone came back, and I rushed off to the bathroom to finish up my own load.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why this was affecting me so much. I’d always been a pretty level-headed guy. I’d never been that interested in sex. But now, I reeked of it, and all I wanted was Austin to take me home and plow me to the ends of the Earth, but I needed to finish the day at least. I managed to hold my focus for a hour, solving a few tickets, and one happened to take back to the building of the guy who’d had that screen flicker the day before. I’d completely forgotten my promise to check in on him and see how his computer was acting, so I was glad I’d remembered. I finished the ticket I’d picked up first, and then swung back by the guy’s office. The door was closed, so I knocked, but didn’t get an answer…but I could hear noises coming from the other side of the door, so someone had to be in there. I knocked again, and this time the sounds grew quieter. But were still there, and after a few moments, they got louder again. I was curious, so I tried to knob. It wasn’t locked, and I slipped the door open quietly–just a crack, but enough to see inside.

Features & Bugs (Part 1)

“You don’t even believe me, do you?”

I did my best to suppress the sigh I wanted to reply with. “It’s not that I don’t believe you–I just don’t see anything wrong, is all…Can you be more specific? The ticket just says that it’s not working right.”

“I don’t know! I hate computers, it’s just…I don’t know, I felt a shock, and then everything just seemed strange afterward. I think it’s the circuit board or something. Motherboard, whatever! Just get me a new one, if you can’t figure it out.” he said. He was some middle management flunkie, probably didn’t know much of anything. Who kept putting shits like this in charge anyway? He looked like he couldn’t even be done with college yet. Here I was, 34, worked with computers all my life, and stuck doing tech support for idiots I hated just to pay off my student loans.

I looked back at the guy’s computer screen, but didn’t see anything suspicious, and if he wasn’t going to be more specific, then there wasn’t really much I could do for him. I could waste all afternoon getting him set up with a new desktop, and get in trouble for neglecting all of the other tickets which needed more attention than this, or I could blow him off, and get in trouble when he called my manager. “Look, I do believe you,” I lied, “But it was probably just some static. How about this–I’ll check back on you tomorrow afternoon, and if it’s still acting up, I’ll get you a new desktop–how does that sound? In the meantime, keep a record of what’s strange with it, and be as specific as you can. That will help me fix it.”

He wasn’t happy about waiting, but with a few more assurances, he relented, and I slipped away. I could at least block some time off tomorrow to take care of it, when I had less of a backlog. I checked my workflow and met up with a few other workers who had problems I could actually do something about, even if one was as simple as a reboot, and the other showing someone, again, how to put paper in the damn printer. Eventually I made it back to base–it was already early afternoon, and I’d had it with people for the day. Plus I was horny, and I can never focus when I’m horny. Thankfully, the IT office is pretty quiet and secluded–and so I sat down at my computer, put on some headphones, and started up the porno Austin had wanted me to watch. He was another IT guy in the department, a bit younger than me, but also gay. I’d always thought he was a bit of a weirdo, but we’d grown closer over the last couple of months–I mean, really close. We hadn’t made the fact that we’d started dating public or anything, but it was getting serious, or it felt serious at least.

I scanned the empty room one more time, before hauling out my cock and starting the video. The first couple of minutes set the scene–I’d never seen a space like that before, a large, dimly lit tiled room, almost like a bathroom but emptied of everything inside it. Two men came it–one tall and muscular, the other fatter and dressed in rubber with the word pig across it, and the muscular one shoved him down so he sat on the dirty tile, and chained his arms up–and then the men started coming in. It was the kinkiest thing I’d ever seen, watching men use that pig–as a cumdump, as a urinal, humiliating it, kicking and crushing his puny cock and balls with their boots…intellectually, it disgusted me, and yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I lied to myself for a bit, that I liked observing it, but the truth was that I identified with the pig. I…I was so damn curious, what it would feel like, taste like, to be treated like that. I couldn’t believe Austin had thought I’d like this…but I was just as surprised that he’d been right that I would. Then again, he always seemed to know more about what I wanted than I did. Hell, I’d thought about guys before, but I’d been a virgin before meeting him, after all.

I was so engrossed that I forgot to keep checking the room, and so the hand on my shoulder nearly sent me flying from my chair. Thankfully, it was just Austin. He was smirking down at me, and at my hardon, “You should really be more careful, you know,” he said, unzipping his fly and letting his cock out, “Wouldn’t want anyone else here to catch you with your pants down.”

I sucked him off, but kept one eye on the porno still playing on my computer. The pig was now filthy, covered with piss, cum, spit. The man who’d locked him to the wall–his master, I suppose–walked back over, now that the other men had thinned out, unchained him, and ordered him onto his hands and knees. I assumed he was just going to fuck him, but instead he lubed up his entire hand and began worming the entire thing into the pig’s hole–it wasn’t even all the way in, before the pig came, heaving and grunting as his tiny cock splattered the filthy floor with cum. I shot too, but kept watching, the master shoving nearly his entire arm up the pig’s hole.

Austin came after that, and then pulled the headphones off my head. “Quitting time–I assume you wanna come over tonight?”

It had always been Dave’s dream to retire early. Hit his fifties, get out of his boring middle management job, and do everything he’d always wanted to do. Travel the world! Play as much golf as he wanted! Get back into shape! Fix up his house! He could do anything he wanted, but when it finally happened…he discovered that more than anything else, he was bored.

His wife resented him for being home all the time. he had enough money to live comfortably, but not enough to really fulfill his wildest dreams…which it turned out, weren’t really all that wild. They fought, he felt restless. Two years after retiring, he decided that he needed a job again. Nothing big, nothing like what he had. Just something to pass the time and give his weeks some structure.

He picked up a job as a bartender downtown. He’d done it before, in his youth, to help him pay his way through college, and the skills were still there, even if the drinks were a bit more complicated now. He enjoyed the bullshitting, he enjoyed the long nights when he didn’t have to worry about seeing his wife, he even liked flirting with the women a bit. He wasn’t a cheater of course, but he was a handsome older man, and it boosted his ego.

Then, another chain of bars bought them out suddenly, looking to expand into a new neighborhood. The promised that all of the employees would keep their jobs, but the entire atmosphere changed. The redecorated, making everything darker and dingy. The clientele became almost entirely men, most of them dressed in some of the strangest clothing. He discovered then, that he was working at a gay bar…and that he was changing too. Men were flirting with him…and he found himself flirting back. He tried to bring himself to quit, but every time he confronted Rod, the new manager, the big brute kept talking him down, and even gave him longer, later shifts–telling him the more he worked, the more he’d fit in and enjoy himself.

The late shifts were worse. The later it got, the rowdier the men became, groping and catcalling him. He told himself he hated it, but he sucked his first cock on his second night, and kept sucking, raking in more in tips than he imagined being possible. He’d try to leave the house in casual clothes, but each time he came home, he discovered his casual, conservative attire have become some strange leather or rubber garment. He had a thick beard and a shaved head. He picked up smoking, trying to ease his growing panic. The tattoos and piercings…he couldn’t even remember where they’d come from. And now, she’d left.

She’d left, and here he was. Smoking, ready to go out, another night working at Pigtown. This house…why did he even come back here anymore? He didn’t belong here. Every night, someone wanted to take him home and plow his nasty hole…why did he keep saying no? Why did he keep leaving? He couldn’t remember, and that was the last time anyone saw Dave again.

Life Coach (Part 5)

The neighbors were out in their backyard again, fucking. Shane only knew a little bit about them, but they seemed nice enough. The wife was beautiful (not that Shane had any interest in women, of course, but he could still appreciate the form, he supposed) but it was the husband who attracted his focus, with his hot dad bod and nine inch cock. They fucked like rabbits, and all summer long they were out fucking by the pool, giving Shane a chance to peep between the fence boards a few minutes at the time, when he was working on master’s garden. Of course he’d never do anything–they were so happy together, and good people. Not like Shane. Stupid, worthless Shane, he couldn’t even be a good slave half the time. He had no idea why his master even kept him around half the time. Still, watching that huge cock, his own puny member was trying as hard as it could to expand in the tight cage master kept him in. He hadn’t had an orgasm in years at this point, and expected that he’d never have one ever again.

“Hey! Dumb cunt! Where the fuck are you?”

Master was calling. He went the long way out of the bushes, making sure his naked body was covered in enough dirt and dust to look like he’d been working. When he worked on the neighbor’s yards, Master allowed him to wear a ragged pair of cutoffs, but in his own yard and house Shane was always naked aside from his cage and collar. “Yes sir, sorry sir. Was weeding by the fence,” Shane muttered, sweat running down his bald head and into his mutton chops, smoking one of the cheap cigars Master allowed him. Even standing, he had to crane his neck to look at his master, who towered over him by nearly two feet. “How can I serve you sir?”

“Barry just finished his session, but he needs some practice. Meet him in the dungeon, would you?”

Barry was one of several clients who were seeing his master to help with anger issues, usually men going through divorces or who had been arrested for assault. Somehow, they always became extreme sadists–taking their rage out on consenting slaves–helping them be much nicer to real people. Shane wasn’t worthy of being a person, however. He hurried down the steps into the basement, and found that this had been a breakthrough session for Barry. He’d been a larger man in his late forties when he’d first started seeing Master Evan, but now he was huge, a full bent pipe clutched in his bearded jaw, wearing a pristine leather uniform. The excitement of his brutal punishment had Shane’s cock leaking through his cage even more than seeing his neighbor’s cock, and he threw himself at Barry’s feet, begging to be punished.

It began with kicking and stomping, and then Barry hauled Shane up from the floor, suspended him in the air, and began whipping him, making sure to add his own welts to Shane’s back on top of his master’s other anger management clients. He couldn’t remember the last time his back had been without at least one wound, and he was secretly thankful his master never allowed him to wear a shirt. He…secretly liked the fact that everyone in the neighborhood could see what kind of treatment he deserved, and he also thought that wearing anything against these welts would be horrifically painful. After he had been whipped to Barry’s satisfaction, he gave Shane a deep fisting before finally slamming his own cock in deep, exploding only a few seconds after his entrance. After all, for Barry, it was the pain that got him off more than anything else. After he came, a look of bliss came over his face–he undressed and hung up the uniform, and left, happy to no longer the angry man he had been anywhere outside this dungeon, where Shane was more than happy to take anything Barry–or anyone else–thought he deserved.

Master came down after Barry left, and spent a few minutes tending to Shane’s wounds, making sure his back, in particular, didn’t get infected. There was little love in these moments, however–it was clear that his master wasn’t tending to him out of any sort of love or care, but merely as one would maintain a tool, to ensure it had a long life of usage. Shane had lost his cigar at some point in the session–he found the half-smoked end and relit it–Master would only provide him a new cigar after he ate the last butt in front of him.

Shane cooked dinner for his master, and then had his own small portion. After that, it was time for his evening rounds through the neighborhood. His master had been busy over the last few months, ever since the two of them had moved in here. So many good people around them had been living boring, tedious lives–and there were quite a few terrible people who hadn’t deserved the lives they had. That thought…tugged at something in Shane, and he felt even worse than he usually did, but pushed the concern away–he had work to do and men to serve. Phillip needed to be fed–he’d recently become too large to get out of bed, so master had been kind enough to provide him with an automated feeding system. Still, it had to be filled twice a day, but the mush fed continuously to him ensured the fat ass would keep growing until Master Evan decided he could stop. After that, it would be time for a session with Nick and Roy–they had been a nice gay couple a block over, but Master had found them to be far too boring. Now, the two of them were a pair of muscle bound, smoked out daddy bears, and Master was enjoying seeing how freakish the two of them could become. Still, since they were both tops, they needed a bottom regularly to keep them happy, and Shane was usually the one who had to take care of them both. Recently, however, they’d both developed a rather disgusting fondness for piss, and the last few times, Shane had to waddle back home, his already rotund gut distended with several loads of piss and cum. Still, a slave’s work was never done, right? He pulled on his cutoffs, said goodbye to his master, and set off for the evening, glad that even if he was a fucking loser, he could serve his master, and the neighborhood, to the best of his abilities. That was something, at least.