A Home of Mirrors (Part 5)

***WARNING: Still substantial violence and abuse.

“Was that thing really me?” Eli asked.

“It’s still you–never forget that. We’ve brought you to heel, given you our power, but this is still you. You belong to us now.”

Eli was still looking down at the pitiful slave beside his reflection, on hands and knees. It glanced up at him, met his eyes, and for a flash, Eli could see himself looking down in contempt, could feel the burns and aches all over it’s body, how…how hard it’s cock was, how hungry it was now, for cum, for pain, for punishment. He broke his eyes away, terrified that he might be trapped there, and delivered a swift kick to the slave’s chin, hard enough to flip it over onto it’s back. The anger and rage didn’t surprise him, but the fear behind it did. Fear wasn’t something he had felt, in the last week. Fear was something he wasn’t supposed to feel, not anymore. He walked over and pressed his boot to the slave’s neck, pressing hard, “Never meet my eyes again, do you fucking understand? I never even want to know that you fucking have eyes, you fucking worthless piece of shit!” His measured words had grown into an unhinged shout, the boot pressing harder, and he could see the slave’s face turning red. It wasn’t fighting him, it wanted him to do it, wanted him to kill it, wanted him to set it free, but a hand grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back, the slave choking, gasping for air.

“You can’t kill it, no matter how much you want to. We won’t allow it. Hurt it as much as you like, but it must live.”

Eli looked at the thing, at himself–at that old self. It had curled up into a ball on the floor and rolled away from him, hiding it’s face.

“Displease us, and you know where you’ll find yourself.”

“Eli looked back at his reflection, at the stern, hard stare. “I apologize, I…I was weak.”

“You are weak. The last time we met, we couldn’t free much of you. Much remains to be done.”

“Please, I…I know,” Eli said, one gloved hand running down his reflection’s shirt. “I can’t…tell you, how difficult this was, being away from you. I’ve felt so…broken. I know I can be so much…better.”

The reflection smiled, though it wasn’t clear what it found worthy of the smirk. “Better, yes. But now, we can…improve you, can’t we?”

Eli groaned, and fell to his knees in front of himself, pressing his head to the floor a moment, shuddering, trying to suppress a sigh of relief, “I’m yours. Remake me in your image, so I might better serve you.”

“Debase yourself, faggot. Then you can look at me.”

The voice sent a shiver through him. It was his voice, and yet…not. The only emotions he could imagine it communicating were contempt and loathing. The voice of someone utterly superior in every way. He inched forward and began licking at the boots before him, and noticed they were different than his own. Since buying the house, Eli had found wearing anything other than leather to be…uncomfortable. He wore the gloves night and day–he wasn’t ever certain he could take them off, but he’d broken down, and purchased a pair of boots. The ones he was licking, however, were not those. These were shined bright, nearly bright enough to see a reflection in the spit wet surface. They ran up the calf–that was as far as Eli dare look without a direct order from above. He cleaned each boot, top and bottom, thanking his reflection for the privilege of serving him, and only after, was he allowed to rest up on his knees, and look up.

He was beautiful. Standing tall in his leather uniform, every detail immaculate, the lush grey beard flowing from around his mouth, with the thick cigar burning bright. Between the leather and the hair, the only skin Eli could see of himself was the space around his eyes, aged and weathered, but far from weak. He looked lower, down the barrel chest and firm gut held in check by the leather dress shirt, to the crotch, bulging with flesh. “Please, sir, may I?” Eli asked, looking back to meet his reflection’s hard eyes.

“No hands. Earn your fucking reward, you hungry faggot.”

Thankfully, the pants had a double zipper, giving him an easier task. First one, and then the other, and then after the flap fell down, he got his first sight of his cock, his first smell of it–musk and sweat and smoke. He licked, careful with his teeth, taking it slow, knowing one false step would mean his prize taken away. He coaxed the cock to it’s full, eight inch length, and then swallowed it to the hilt, shuddering at the ghostly sensation around his own head and shaft, in his pants. His better half allowed him a moment to enjoy himself, and then wrapped both, gloved hands around the back of his head, and began skull fucking Eli’s throat mercilessly.

He couldn’t breathe, but he could also taste the sweet cigar smoke he kept sucking into his lungs. He could feel his hands both wrapped around his head, and around both of his thick thighs. For one glorious moment, he was fully together, and then the next, he came, slammed the thing’s head to his crotch, and felt it crumple and flatten with the force, his thick cock bursting out of the back of the husk’s head, cum spraying all over the carpet. In his gloved hands, he crumpled up the husk until it no longer even had a head, and then pulled his cock free, brushing off the dust from his shaft and pants. “Clean it up,” he snarled at his slave, and the meek thing scurried over and began sucking the cum from the carpet as best it could.

The husk crumbled away after a few more moments, and the dust disappeared into the air. He turned back to the mirror, and saw himself there, beside the slave. “I’ll mind him–you should go tend to your son. He’s having trouble…accepting us.”

Eli gave a growl of agreement, and didn’t bother putting his cock away, as he strode down the hall, following the cries of pain which filled his newer heart with an odd, delirious joy.

Every Pig in His Place (1 of 2)

It’s a rush–there’s nothing else like it–there’s no place like it. You go in there, and fuck, it’s like you’re in some other world, some twisted up version of our own, but twisted in the best fucking way. I don’t know how long it’s been there–everyone just calls it Pigtown, because there’s a bar at the center of it, at the heart of it. The first time I went in, I didn’t know that the place was really…different. I just skirted the edge of it, ended up meeting some kinky looking rubber freak in an alley, and fuck! It was the best fucking sex I’d ever had, right there on the concrete. Guy had no limits, did whatever the fuck I wanted, took everything I gave him, and when dawn came, when I was back here, in the real world, I felt different.

I was still me, but I’d changed. My cock was bigger. My nose was pierced. The clothes I’d been wearing (a tank and jeans, my usual club gear) were rubber and leather, and when I got home, I must have jacked off…fuck, I lost count. I didn’t know his name, I hadn’t even seen his face, but I knew I needed more. I went back to work, I tried to fit in with the world again as best I could–but it wasn’t easy, those first few days in particular. Everything felt so…dull. Just the sight of a woman would disgust me. Every night, I had to find some guy to fuck, the kinkier the better. I felt normal-er, eventually, but I’d already known that I’d have to go back in, and soon.

It became a game for me. I’d slip into Pigtown, and back out again. There were a few guys like me, and we formed a…club of sorts, but none of them were really like me, I don’t think. We all knew, that anyone who went into Pigtown were meant to stay in Pigtown. Most of my compatriots, they wanted in, but they hadn’t yet found their place. Me? I didn’t want a place–I wanted to be the rock skipping across the surface of the pond, gliding across the top of the place every few days, slaps of pleasure against the surface of the water, in between moments in the normal air. I thought, if I kept up my momentum, I would keep flying forever, but maybe I got greedy. I wasn’t satisfied with the alleys, I wanted…I wanted to go deeper, too.

The first time I made it into the bar…it made every back alley session feel like a pale imitation. The place was…alive, with energy. It was the first time that I hesitated, before leaving–but I did, knowing I’d come back again, that I could always come back. But I saw someone watching me leave too…and I started to wonder how many more skips across the pond this stone might have before I got sucked under for good.

Porn Stash

Jeff and his two friends had decided to spend the weekend hunting up at his uncle’s cabin, and that night after dinner, as the three guys were lounging around on the way to getting drunk, they started arguing over what movie to watch on his uncle’s DVD player–since there was no TV reception. Jeff was the one who found the unmarked box with the disc inside–they’d all been curious, so he popped it into the machine, and it had started playing.

Much to their surprise, it was porn. It was faggot porn. Three burly guys were going at it together in a cabin…kind of similar to their own. They were older fellows, all of them with beards tinged with grey and white, smoking cigars and pipes, and having, apparently, a grand old time together. Now, none of the young men was gay, but they were sufficiently drunk to mostly find the situation funny, and after determining Jeff’s uncle must be a faggot (which explained why the older man’s hunting trips with his own friends never seemed very successful) they watched the video anyway, laughing at the sight…all of them massaging their cocks a bit, eyes all focused on the TV.

The first scene was short, as the three guys had a bit of fun with one another, and then a second scene started–a solo jack off session with one of the men from before, but now he was dressed in some sleazy looking biker leathers, smoking a thick cigar, and milking his cock slowly. Each time the camera zoomed in on the man’s face…Jeff was certain he was looking at someone he knew, but who? It was with some surprise that he recognized him after a couple of minutes–it was Tim. Tim–one of the two guys in that room with him. Just add twenty years to him, a bit of a gut, and lots of hair…and it was fucking Tim!

He tore his eyes away from the screen, and looked over at Tim, to see if he was right in the resemblance, but…Tim wasn’t there. Not the Tim he remembered, at least. No–the grungy biker was sitting right there, stroking his own cock and smoking that cigar, groaning and grunting as he edged his cock, watching himself on the screen. Jeff knew he needed to turn off the TV, but he had…to keep watching. His other friend, Aaron, had noticed Tim’s change as well, when another bear entered the room and started sharing smoke with the biker. This one was also from before, now dressed in leathers like Tim, and as soon as it focused on his heavily bearded face, Jeff recognized him as Aaron.

“No…No, fuck! It’s not…not me…” Aaron groaned next to him, but the voice was…so deep.

Jeff looked over, and saw Aaron changing, aging up, beard growing down to his chest, a big pipe appearing in his hand as his clothes shifted into leather, a heavily tattooed gut hanging out from his vest and over his chaps. He got up and crossed the room to Tim, and started making out with him, the room filled with as much smoke as the room in the video, and…the third man made his appearance.

He crawled into the frame, snorting and grunting. Jeff hadn’t noticed how fucking fat the man had been before, but now that he was wearing that harness, pulled tight against all that flab…he crawled over and started licking at Tim and Aaron’s boots, and one of them started pissing on the fucker’s head. Thankfully, though, he had on a hood…for a moment. The camera panned in, and the hood came off, and Jeff…Jeff saw that he was the pig. Forty years older, sure. Head shaved clean, a massive white beard stained yellow from smoke, and all…all that fat…the change was over in a few moments, and Jeff got on his hands and knees and crawled over to his two masters, to service their dirty cocks. The video ended abruptly, but the two new biker bears and their slave pig kept going all night long, all on their own–and when Jeff’s uncle showed up with some of his own dirty minded friends, the weekend only got longer.

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.

“But…sir. I don’t…what’s all this got tah do with fixin’ a TV?”

“Shut yer dang mouth boy! Ya know better ‘n tah challenge master. If he says this’ll fix the TV, then we’re gonna do it!”

“But sir…”

*SMACK*

“Don’t want no more lip from ya. Now git in that gear–I wanna see my boy’s ass in those chaps in ten seconds ‘r less.”

“But–”

*SMACK*

“Don’t make me bend ya over mah knee ‘n give ya twenty a those–Oh…Master! Were ya…listenin’ tah us? Sorry, mah boy’s bein’ a bit thick tahday, but we’ll git started on that TV a yers in just a sec…now…where did ya want us?”

“The bedroom? But ain’t the TV in the living room?”

“No sir, sorry sir. I won’t question master, I’m sorry. Ya ready boy? Come on!”

“Damn, quite the setup ya got here–what’s the camera for?”

“Yeah, guess it ain’t that important, I’m just a dumb faggot pig anyway, yer right Master. Alright boy, git on the bed with me, like master said–ya want us tah…do, like, the same stuff…we did last time? Cause…mah boy didn’t really, ‘n I…I mean, I’m a faggot, sure, but I guess, I never really wanted tah put mah cock in a dude’s…ya know.”

“Oh? Somethin’ different?”

“Ya wanna see…mah boy…fuck mah hole? No fuckin’ way, nuh-uh, ain’t gonna happen.”

“Nah sir, I think gettin’ mah cock deep in yer ass sounds real nice–maybe if yer busy moaning ya’ll shut the fuck up for a bit! Now git on there, and take yer boy’s cock like a man! Let’s git this damn TV fixed already.”

Source: musclemechanic

The Dark Mind (Part 3)

Jordan woke up slowly, like he swimming back to the surface of the ocean from some dark depth, but the water was molasses, trying to push him back down. His body ached, but he could move at least–he opened his eyes and found himself in bed–he must have slept then, so that was a relief. He certainly felt more rested than he’d been in ages, but damn, those had been some crazy dreams while he was out. He couldn’t remember them in much detail–he’d been…huge, and fucking guys, and he hadn’t had dreams like that in years, not since he was a teenager. He remembered how he’d found those websites about bears, until his Baptist father found him jacking off one day, and sent him to that camp…

He suppressed a shiver. He wasn’t religious anymore, but he also hadn’t thought of that in years–what had brought this on? The room was dark, but he could see dawn cracking outside–shouldn’t the window be on the other wall though? He found his lamp and switched it on–only to discover that this wasn’t his room, and someone was in the bed next to him. Some big, hairy, naked man, who rolled over, disturbed by the light, and looked over at thin, hairless Jordan–and did a double take.

“Fuck, what? That’s not…fuckin’ beer goggles…” He grumbled, “Go on, get out if you’re leavin’, or turn out the light,” he rolled back over, and Jordan heard him grumble a bit more, “Can’t believe I let that fuck me…seemed bigger at the bar.”

Jordan got up and looked for the clothes he’d been wearing the day before, but all he saw was a pile of leather and denim. He picked up a leather jacket, and some strange shimmer of pleasure shot through him, making him shudder again, some voice deep in him telling him these were his clothes–even though there was no possible way they could fit him. He put them on anyway, cinching the belt to keep the jeans up, and left the stranger’s apartment and headed for his own place in the dawn light, trying to piece together what, exactly, had happened to him.

The last thing he remembered clearly, he’d left the lab–utterly exhausted and desperate for sleep, but still in the grip of insomnia. He’d been stumbling home when…when his memory just sort of faded into that strange dream he’d had. At some point walking home, he’d bought some…cigars? Then he’d been different all of a sudden. Bigger, hairy, desperate for sex. Everything kind of blurred together then, images of walking through the streets. He’d…taken some clothes from a biker? He looked down at the leathers he was wearing, and realized the clothes from the dream were the one’s he had on now. And that guy, back in the bed…he could remember him too, in some bar or club or something. They’d been kissing, and the guy had been obsessed with him. So was it a dream? Which parts of it had actually happened?

It was getting hard to think–some voice in his head was pestering and nagging him, interrupting him, but it wasn’t really a voice so much as…this urge, telling him to do something. His hand was going for the inside pocket of his jacket before he realized it, and pulled out a cigar–and then a match–and he was smoking, the same shimmer of pleasure from before working it’s way through him like ripples, making his cock hard, and that tugging again. He ducked into an alley, whipped out his cock and started jacking it, sucking down even more smoke, huffing and grunting. He wasn’t in control, he didn’t want to be doing this, and yet here he was, stroking fast, his hand trying to stretch his cock uncomfortably, almost like it thought it should be bigger. He shot his load over the side of the dumpster he’d crouched behind, and the desires faded a bit–but not so much he could bring himself to put out the cigar.

The serum–had it actually worked? This wasn’t what it should have done though–the point wasn’t for him to just black out and turn into some monster–what part of him had he awakened exactly? The cigars, the sex, that massive body, it was everything he’d ever wanted, everything that had always felt so good, that he’d always denied himself, everything he’d repressed for so long–it was like all of it had combined into some ravenous beast that was finally let loose from the cage of his mind to do whatever it wanted. No–no, it was doing everything he’d always wanted to do, everything he’d always been too terrified to try. Still, he was in control again, mostly, and he didn’t have any time to waste. He had to get to his lab, and try and figure out what had gone wrong, so he could reverse it.

At that thought, nausea and vertigo ripped it’s way through him, nearly toppling him over in the alley. Something in him wasn’t happy about that idea, apparently. It took all the will he could manage, but he got himself upright again, and staggered off towards his apartment, so he could get out of these clothes, get something to eat, and then get to work. He kept hoping the thing in him, that other self, would calm down, but all it did was get angrier, sending him to the bathroom to hurl more than once, his vision so blurry he couldn’t read. But touching leather helped. Smoking helped too. Jacking off helped the most, even though it was also somewhat unsatisfying. Better to have his cock in someone, in a hole, fucking and slamming and raping–

He snapped out of it sitting on his toilet that afternoon, looking down at his changing body, and forced the beast back down, and focused back himself–his true self. That had been a close one. He’d kept these desires in check for so long–how could he have known they were this powerful? If he didn’t figure out a solution quick, he might not have another chance. He lit up another cigar, threw on his new leather jacket, and headed for his lab, hoping he’d be able to find an answer before he changed again.

Sometime later from this caption.

I can’t stop. If I stop, Rod will take me. Has Rod already taken me? Aren’t I his already? I can hear him screaming in my basement dungeon now. Pull on the last of my leather gear–this shit I always thought was so disgusting is so…damn comfortable now. Pull on a hood, because I don’t want him to know it’s me, not that it’ll matter much soon, if he sees my face or not. I suppose some of it just my own shame, my own embarrassment, but that’s waning now too. Light a cigar–have to have a cigar, of course. One last look, and head downstairs.

“What the fuck is this fucking shit! This some fucking pervert thing? You don’t know who the fuck you’re messing with–I’m very important! People will notice I’m missing!”

People would notice, but no one would expect to find a man like him in Pigtown. But only for a few days, and then it would be like he’d never even existed, just like all of them. He’d lost count, now. Rod needed one a week…and he’d tried to resist taking this one for a while now, but he needed him in a way he couldn’t exactly explain.

Down the stairs, and there he was. Ropes tied meticulously over his suit, tie over the top, bound to a post behind his back. Legs wide. Eyes wide with anger…and a bit of fear. I didn’t want to see the eyes, I hate the fucking eyes. I go over to the toolkit Rod’s provided me with, a present that came with the dungeon, pull out a hood, walk over and pull it down over his head, watching the leather suck against his skull, clamping under his chin and around his neck, shutting his mouth. He struggles, I watch. stubble growing along his bare mouth…I tease it with my bearded lips, listen to him let out a deep, guttural moan of desire, and kiss him, feed him smoke for a few minutes. He begs for a few minutes, pleading with me to not take his mind, but then…just grunts, bucking against the post.

I’m horny now. I tear open the front of his suit, find a cock ring and fit it around his short thick cock and big balls, and they start to inflate inside–I get down and start sucking. I missed a drop off once–need the cum now, all the fucking time. Mine, or anyone else’s, or I feel sick.

“Yeah pig, suck it…” the man’s mouth says, “Suck daddy bear’s big dick.”

I don’t want to do this anymore, but I don’t know how to stop. The man is thrusting down my throat now, his cock longer than a foot, but I have no problem taking it all, somehow. A…daddy would be nice, I suppose. I don’t owe him to Rod until Monday, so we have all weekend. Yeah, some daddy time would make me feel better, I’m sure of it.

Source: thee-domasan

The Catcall Curse (Part 5)

“Come on now, don’t be scared–don’t you want to play with a nasty pig like me?”

Fuck, did he ever. Jack quivered, the energy building up inside of him. He’d never really been able to have that much control over, whatever power this was. All he’d ever really been able to do was point it in someone’s direction, give it an idea to go on, and then push–but it was moments like these that terrified him the most, because this was when he realized how little control he had. This would kill him one day, this energy–he could feel it–but at that moment, all he felt was life and vigor throbing in every bit of his body. There was too much light up close and too much dark at a distance, like his vision was scrubbing away everything that wasn’t this…this sexy, disgusting pig in front of him. But he had to fight it. This had already gone too far, no one deserved this. He could feel what the spell wanted, but it needed more from him to make it happen. If he could just get away before it got anything else out of him, then it would lose strength eventually. However, getting away was going to be…difficult.

“Well? Why are you just standing there? Go on, say something, talk dirty to me, tell me what a disgusting fucker I am, I want to hear it.”

“Please…I know you want this, but…but pick someone else, anyone else. You don’t want me,” Jack said, but even as he said it, he knew reason would fall deaf in this space. Curses spoke a twisted logic all their own–the pig had no time for this. But more than that, the spell was…angry. Not that spell could feel emotions, but it could sense him pushing against it, and it was more than ready to push back.

“Oh, but look at you daddy. You obviously came to play tonight. I love a man in uniform–are you here to punish me, officer?” The pig ran a finger down the front of Jack’s leather uniform shirt, tight against his body. Hadn’t…he been wearing something more casual, earlier? It was the spell–it was trying to weaken his resolve, and it was working. The pig started groping Jack’s cock through the tight leather breeches he was wearing, and he groaned, precum leaking into the gap between skin and leather. “Such a big tool, and you don’t want to use it? Am I not naughty enough for you, sir?”

“No–No, I’m not going to fall for this. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What’s that, daddy?”

“You’re…it’s not going to work, you…stupid pig.”

“Fuck, I am stupid, aren’t I, sir?”

“So fucking stupid, no fucking brains at all. The only thing a pig like you is good for is as a couple of holes for big fucking cocks,” Jack said, his voice turning to a snarl. No, what was he saying? He shook his head, and forced himself to take a step back, ignoring how…hard his cock had gotten saying that. “No, I can fight this. Have some fucking will, Jack!” He said to himself.

The pig laughed, “You don’t have any fucking will daddy. Big fucking stupid brutes like you only know how to do two things–drool, and fuck. Look at that fucking body of yours, every bit of you stuffed with testosterone. No room in that skull for brains. You won’t have any fucking will when I’m done with you,” the pig said, it’s voice dropping into a lower register which made Jack shiver with terror and lust, but the words he said kept reverberating in him. He tried to fight, but he didn’t know how, his body expanding, coating itself with hair, every thought draining from his mind aside from a deep, endless desire to fuck. With one hairy forearm the brute wiped drool from it’s beard, and snarled.

“Fuckin’ pig, damn slut, bend the hell over, gotta fuckin’ plow you!”

He was so…big all of a sudden. Nothing felt right, or was he just clumsy? It didn’t fucking matter, not anymore. He slammed the pig down onto a table and yanked his cock free, ramming it deep, fucking like a beast, huffing and roaring, spittle flying everywhere, pushing his energy out now. Had to fucking punish this pig. This pig was nothing, this pig was property, this pig was worthless! Now there really was a vortex around them, the men surrounding them could feel the curse pulling at their lives, their will, their souls. The room started to bend and warp, shifting and changing into something entirely new, Jack powerless to stop it, powerless to do anything at all. The pig beneath him was shifting as well, changing into…into something. It was coming from him, some image, but he couldn’t keep it straight, all he knew was to fuck, to punish, to brutalize, to mark, to humiliate.

He exploded, at some point. He came, and the spell sucked the last bit of energy from him that it needed, and finally completed itself, the leather bar slowly coming back into focus, no man in the room unchanged at this point, but all Jack could do was keep fucking, and fucking, and fucking.