Max Meets Junior (Part 10)

It wasn’t simply attraction–attraction was familiar to him. No, this was more than that–it was beyond desire, it was–if forced to put a name to it–covetousness. The young man was merely an object to him, a thing he didn’t possess, and he wanted it. He wanted it wrapped around his cock, he wanted it at his beck and call, he wanted it to do whatever he desired. He wanted to control it, to own it. The young man’s name tag had said Philip, and with the help of Junior specialized database, he was able to identify him as Philip Rutledge–son of Edgar Rutledge, one of the members of the company’s board of directors, and so he had been a necessary candidate for a paid internship while he was pursuing a degree in business at a nearby private college. Not particularly smart, straight but with enough curiosity in him that he had potential, and that face! He couldn’t stop staring at his headshot, that sly smile, the dirty blonde hair long enough to hold onto, but not long enough to look messy, the freckles that would look so stellar covered with a facial of cum…he could just imagine it–but to help with the image, he made the picture full screen and shot his wad across the monitor, just to…see it for himself.

Junior sensed the change in him almost immediately–it didn’t help that during one of their evening fucks out in the cool evening beside the pool, his stepfather shouted out the name “Philip” loud enough that the neighbors could hear if their windows were open. Max tried to apologize, but Junior seemed more pleased than anything else, and began asking for details of his daddy’s first “work crush”. Max gave him all the details he’d memorized, told him some of his fantasies, and at work, his days became dominated by a desperate urge to stalk his prey whenever he could–and he quickly discovered that Philip did almost no work at all.

The young man would arrive to work late by an hour or two, and often not even bother going to his desk. Instead, he would go to the company gym and work out for an hour or two, shower and head to the cafeteria for a lazy lunch, and then surf the internet for the rest of the day or chat with an employee or two, before leaving early. Max, of course, could imagine all sorts of better ways the young man’s time could be spent, of course, but he simply didn’t know how. He confessed this to Junior, and his stepson laughed.

“Have you considered talking to him, daddy? Trust me, I find it hard to imagine a young man could resist your desires–trust me.”

So, buoyed by Junior’s confidence in him, he made contact one afternoon, stopping by his desk “by accident” in order to find another employee nearby, and he could see it–the jolt of surprise in Philip’s body, the tent in the front of his pants where he was sitting–and Max licked his lips. They chatted for a while, and Max stepped closer, putting his hand on Philip’s shoulder, relishing his confusion at being so turned on by this older man he’d just met. Max knew he could have him. He could have him right now, but he pulled himself back, deciding to prolong their mutual desire for a few more days.

Hunter became the hunted. Philip began pursuing him, rather than the other way around. Max, of course, was happy to make this easy for him, “showing up” in the gym for a chance to relax in the sauna, appearing in the cafeteria and joining Philip for lunch beside him, his hand resting on the young man’s knee before slipping down to his inner thigh. Philip was disgusted that he could be feeling any attraction to this potbellied man, and yet his body leaned in anyway, eager for his touch and his approval. After two days of cat and mouse–Philip couldn’t resist any longer–and when he saw Max enter the sauna, he hesitated for a minute, and then followed him inside–finding the head of HR already naked on the bench, legs spread wide, his long thick cock half hard between his legs. “I was wondering when you’d decide to join me in here, boy,” Max said, smirking, “Why don’t you lock the door, give us some privacy, and get down on your knees here?”

Being faced with the man’s cock, Philip felt his confidence waver. “Sorry, I…I didn’t mean, I thought it was empty…” he stammered, and started to leave, but Max stood up, grabbed his wrist, and gently tugged him into the room. Philip wanted to fight, he wanted to resist, but he just stood there as Max felt him up, running his hands over his muscular body as he began to sweat in the hot steam.

“I don’t think this is the wrong room for you at all, do you?”

Philip tried to come up with another excuse, but Max shoved his hand in his gym shorts, making him moan instead, pushing his soft gut into him. He could smell him, and Philip…he wanted him. Max gave gentle pressure on his shoulder, but he buckled his knees willingly, licked his lips, and timidly took the head of Max’s cock in his mouth.

Max put one hand on his head and ruffled his hair gently, “That’s better, show daddy how much you’ve want his cock.”

Philip took it slowly; Max grew impatient. He reached over and locked the door, before wrapping his heads around the back of Philip’s head, and shoving his entire cock down his gagging throat. He tried to push back, but he didn’t have control anymore–and probably wouldn’t have much control from that moment on, Max thought as he skullfucked the young man, came, wrapped his towel back around his waist and left Philip there on his knees, unable to believe what had just happened to him…and how much he wanted it to happen again. Still, he cleaned himself off and tried to focus on his workout, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the cock he’d just tasted. When it came time for lunch, he found himself both hoping and not hoping that Max would join him, but he wasn’t there–and so, after eating, he locked himself in a stall in the bathroom, jacking off to his memory of the sauna.

Max lured him in for the next several days, forcing Philip to come to him, to beg him for cock, to offer himself up in the gym, in his office. Max started taking him out to bars after work–gay bars–where Philip would find himself hanging on Max’s every word, even as he humiliated himself in front of the other patrons–sitting in Max’s soft lap and grinding his ass into his cock, letting Max put his hands wherever he wanted whenever he wanted…he had no control over himself, and…and he kind of liked it. Max liked it too–and before too long he had Philip firmly wrapped around his finger–dictating his work wardrobe–making sure his suits were particularly tight and slutty around his ass and that he always had on appropriate underwear–jockstraps, preferably. Philip began working out even more, honing his physique so Max would shower him with more praise, but as Philip became more and more loyal, Max found himself growing bored–so he perused Junior’s database, selected another target, and began the process all over again.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 3)

Ben nodded, and Marv slipped into the house, leaving Ben alone in the grass. He eyed the gate, knowing he should leave, that something about this man, and this house, and this yard, was very strange, and somehow very wrong…but he’d been told to stay. He’d been told to stay, and so he had to stay. Still, he didn’t have to stay exactly here, right? He looked at the patio, and the only feature was a dirty table and a couple of chairs, and he walked over to take a seat…but as he did, he noticed that, for some reason, his feet were hurting in his shoes. He sat down and tried to ignore it, but the ache was there even without putting any pressure on him–and his hands hurt too, oddly enough. Was it from carrying the doghouse? It had been awkward more than heavy, but maybe he was more out of shape than he thought.

Marv returned after a couple of minutes with two cans of beer in hand. He set one down in front of Ben, and then sat down at the table across from him in the other chair with a grunt. Ben grabbed the can, but the pain in his hand was intensifying, and he found it a bit…difficult to grip it, and when he brought it to his mouth to take a drink, the cold liquid made his teeth ache as well–and that ache didn’t fade after he’d swallowed. “You know…I’m not…feeling very good,” Ben said, “I think I might be coming down with something. I should probably go.”

“No Ben–you’re going to sit, stay and drink your beer,” Marv said, that grin on his face a bit wider. “That would make you feel good, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t worry about the rest, Ben. Just relax.”

“A-Alright…” he said, still feeling confused, and took another sip of beer from the can, feeling a bit of it run down his chin and onto his shirt, which was awkward, but if Marv noticed, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it–he was too busy filling the silence, with nothing in particular–talking about the dog house for a bit, about how much it meant to finally have it back. Pontificating about sports for a while, about how much better the teams were back where he’d grown up, and Ben–despite being a local fan–found it hard to get a word in edgewise. His mouth…didn’t quite seem to work right, and his tongue would get in the way. He checked the can to see what the alcohol level was, but it wasn’t particularly strong, but even then, his vision seemed a bit…off. Words were a bit blurry, and everything seemed less…vibrant, like the color was slowly draining from everything around him, particularly the red hues of Marv’s shirt.

Still, he had to sit, and stay, and finish the beer, right? But that was proving harder than he’d expected for some reason, because after sitting with Marv and listening to him for fifteen minutes or so…he found it surprisingly difficult to pick up the can of beer in front of him. His hands were cramping badly now, the pain growing, and he couldn’t get his fingers to wrap around the can, and his thumb was refusing to work. With a growl, growing frustrated, he gave the can a bat, tipping it over and spilling beer all over the table.

“Having some trouble man?” Marv asked.

“I…I ‘eally don’ heel good…” Ben said, “I can’ pic ap the ‘an.”

“Yeah, I can see you having a bit of trouble there, boy,” Marv said, and hefted himself up out of his chair. “Let me get you something else–I’ll just be a second.”

Ben tried to object, hoping Marv would actually understand his distress, but the words wouldn’t quite come to his mouth. All he managed in the end, after Marv had shut the door, was a high pitched whine. What in the world was wrong with him? He looked down at his hands, and they didn’t…look right. His fingers seemed a bit too short–especially his thumbs, and they had somehow slid down his hand, closer to his wrist. Had…had he somehow broken his hands, without even realizing it? He needed to get out of here–he had to get help, since it was clear that Marv wasn’t going to do anything for him. He steeled himself, and stood up, feeling…a wave of dread and horror wash through him for standing up and disobeying Marv’s order to sit, but he did it. He was wobbly, and felt almost drunk, and for some reason he couldn’t…drop his heels to the ground, leaving him stuck standing on the balls of his feet. When he tried, the tendons at the back of his legs screamed in pain–he’d just have to balance as best he could. He pushed back the chair and nearly fell over, tried to take a step, and his foot slipped right out of his shoe. He looked down at his foot–and through the sock, it looked…even more deformed than his hands did. He looked at the shoe, abandoned under the table, but there was no way he’d be able to bend down and pick it up with his hands contorted like they were–he’d have to abandon them. He stepped out of his other shoe, and started across the yard, shaking and unsteady for a few steps, until he lost balance and fell into the grass on hands and knees.

Fine–he’d just crawl, he told himself. It seemed a bit easier actually, than walking had been, and he moved through the tall grass to the gate, looked up, and saw the latch. He tried to get his knees underneath him, so he could stand back up, but like his heels, the tendons and muscles of his body were screaming at him, refusing to move in any normal direction. Unable to get onto his knees, he had to try and reach up with his hands, crawling up the side of the gate, but even when he got high enough to touch the latch, his paralyzed hands were worthless.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 2)

It was not a new doghouse by any means, in fact, it looked like it had housed quite a few pooches since it had been built, and it smelled like it too. The scent was strong enough, in fact, that when Marv threw off the tarp, it caught Ben off guard, making him sneeze.

“Finally got the last thing from my old place! Fucking moving company lost it, can you believe it? Offered to buy me a new one, but I made the fuckers hunt the thing down and it get to me. Some things can’t be replaced, you know?”

Ben did not know. As soon as something around his home began to show signs of wear, or no longer served its function, you just bought a new one. Isn’t that what normal people did? “It seems pretty old…”

“It’s been in my family for years, ever since my great uncle built it. Been wanting a new dog, but I’ve had to wait until I got the proper housing for it. Can’t have a proper dog without a proper doghouse.”

“Oh…do you have a breeder lined up yet?”

“Oh no, I only adopt.”

“Oh, well that’s good I suppose…so, do you need help lifting it?”

“That’s the idea! I could probably get it myself, but with the gate and all, it’s easier with a helper. You don’t mind, do you?”

It seemed like an easy enough task. Ben helped Marv get it to the edge of the truck bed, and then together, they hefted it up and carried it between the two of them over to the gate. Ben held it for a moment while Marv fished the latch open, and with his face pressed to the wood, he was again struck by the scent of the little dwelling. If the thing had been lost for so many months, then how in the world did the scent seem so…fresh? Ben had never been one to own a pet–especially a dog. It seemed like far too much effort on a thing that wouldn’t bring much reward–and if they smelled like this, then that gave him yet another reason to pass. But as they got it into the backyard, he reconsidered. It didn’t smell that bad, really. In fact, there was something about it that he almost…enjoyed? It was hard to explain what, exactly, he liked about it, but it was…comforting. They set it down in a corner of the yard, and Ben could finally take a look around the place–the closest he, or any of his other neighbors, had gotten to Marv’s house since he’d moved in. The backyard wasn’t much to look at, however–it had been as poorly maintained as the front was–though even more overgrown.

“You know, you can borrow my lawnmower anytime, Marv,” Ben said, kicking some of the ankle high grass.

The older fellow laughed, “Yeah, but why bother? It just keeps growing.”

“Yeah, that’s why you cut it.”

“No, you cut it to show everyone else that you cut it,” Marv said, with a wink. “Ya’ll do a lot of things so other people see you do them. Never been much interest to me–more interested in not being seen doing much.”

“It shows.”

“Yeah? Thanks! I’m pretty good at it.”

Ben wasn’t quite sure what to say to that–it wasn’t quite how he’d imagined the conversation might go, he supposed he should excuse himself and head back to his house, but something was making him linger. As overgrown and empty as the backyard was, just like the dog house next to him, there was something…comforting about it. Maybe…Maybe he was doing it wrong. It was a lot of work, after all (or rather, it would be without the help he hired to take care of it each week) and he didn’t know why, but this did seem easier. Like he could just settle down into the grass, next to the dog house, laze about all day…but that was silly, right? Very silly. He needed to get going, after all, there were things he had to do.

“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll probably head back.”

“Leaving already?” Marv said, “Stick around. There’s beer in the fridge, and I owe you a thank you drink at least, don’t I?”

It was a good offer, and the longer he stood there, the more he did, kind of, want to stay…and it was that sensation of comfort which he found himself distrusting more and more. Why did he want to be here, suddenly? He shouldn’t, right? The place looked like a dump, and even though all of the curtains were drawn, he had little doubt that inside would look much like the outside. “Katie is…expecting me actually, I should go–but maybe some other time.”

Before he could head to the gate, however, Marv was next to him, threw an arm around him, and a new scent hit him–it was Marv. The smell–it had the same…punch as the dog house and the yard did, but perhaps even stronger, and his legs went a bit weak. “Come on now, boy. You want to stay and have a drink with me.”

“Yeah…yeah, I do…” he muttered, and as he did, he felt…good. Good to agree with Marv, good to obey him. He felt good, and he also felt his cock stir in the front of the khakis he had on.

“Good boy,” Marv said, gave Ben a scritch behind the ears, and then headed for the house. Stay out here for a bit–I’ll just be a few minutes. You know how to stay, right boy?”

Orwell’s Demon (Part 3)

“I told you before, I left early that day,” Orwell said, “Ray was still at his desk when I last saw him.”

The detective nodded. “Yes, you did say that. But I went back and asked for a few more interviews, Orwell. I have two students who say they saw both of you, together, heading for the gyms–apparently holding hands.”

Orwell felt his face turn red, but he didn’t say anything.

Oh dear, always a few loose ends. Well, you always have one more, Orwell. Just think about. Think about him, we could have such fun with him, don’t you think?

He shook his head, and Hurlbane coked his head slightly. Orwell seemed…a bit off today. Granted, the teacher had always seemed a bit strange–stranger every time he’d encountered him, but today, in particular…there was something almost wrong about him, but he didn’t know what. A thought occurred to him, then, and he realized what he’d noticed, but hadn’t been able to put a finger on–he was weak. He was weak, and tired, and he wanted so desperately to give up–all he needed was a push, and a little voice in Hurlbane’s head was assuring him that he was just the sort of person who could give Orwell the push he so desperately needed.

“Still wanting to smoke, Orwell? Think a cigar might help you remember? I know I always think better with one,” Hurlbane said, reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a sizable cigar. Had…had that been in there? He wasn’t a smoker, was he? But he needed to do this–he could feel it. This was going to help Orwell break, it was going to drive him nuts. Of course…he really shouldn’t be smoking in the station, or in one of these rooms–they weren’t very well ventilated. He looked over to the mirror, but couldn’t see any hint of…displeasure, and then at the door. They’d stop him if he went too far, right?

“Don’t…I know he’s telling you that you should, but don’t. Don’t smoke it, don’t listen to it, just run.”

Orwell was looking at him now, trying to project confidence, but what could a puny, chubby, sad little faggot like that hope to accomplish? He wasn’t in charge here–no. Hurlbane knew who was calling the shots here. He locked eyes with Orwell, took out his butane lighter, bit off the cap, and lit up, seeing the desire–the need–flood across Orwell’s face as he drew the smoke in. It hurt his lungs a bit, and it seemed…hot. Too hot, but he could handle it.

“There’s no one here but us, Orwell. Who are you talking about?”

“It’s…please, just leave.”

“I don’t think so Orwell, I think we still have more to discuss. Now, we were discussing Ray, weren’t we? Mr. Diamond? Like I said, two students I’ve interviewed in the last month put the two of you together after school, the day he disappeared. What were the two of you doing–especially holding hands?”

“I… I don’t remember that at all.”

“Convenient.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, I don’t know anything more than what I told you the first time.”

Hurlbane sat down across from him at the table, took a long drag off the cigar, and blew the smoke into Orwell’s face. He flinched, shuddered, and his head dropped towards his chest for a moment, his breathing deep..

“Smells good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes…”

“Yes…what?”

Orwell’s head snapped back up, he looked to the exit–should he run for it? No–if he ran…they’d lock him up in here, with him. He was already locked up in here with him. What could he do? Should…should he tell him? There was no way he’d believe him, and if he did tell him, his demon would just…just take him over anyway. No–the only way he could maybe save the detective was with silence.

“Come on Orwell, I know you want to tell me something. I’ve been doing this a very long time, and it’s all over your face. It’s heavy, isn’t it? The guilt?”

It was heavy, but it wasn’t his fault.

Now Orwell, we know the truth, don’t we? We know what a worm you are, what a pathetic little pig you turn into when you’re alone with a real man, when you’re alone with me. Why don’t you take your shirt and pants off for him? Show the nice officer what you really are, under those dirty rags of yours?

Orwell tugged down on the cuff of his shirt, sweating a bit.

If you show him, I might let him go. We can find someone nice in prison, don’t you think? Because that’s where you’re going, Orwell. That’s the only path I see, other than…you know…

“We can come back to Mr. Diamond, I suppose,” Hurlbane said, sitting back in the chair, cigar clamped in his jaw, chuffing smoke. “Let’s talk about Stewart. After all, we already know you were the last one to see him–you admitted that to us. He came to your class for detention, and then left–but his car was found in the parking lot–it hadn’t moved. So somehow, from leaving the classroom with you–and no one can confirm he even left the classroom, mind you–to his car, he simply vanished. How about that? Do you have any more you’d like to tell me about that?”

Orwell sat, silent.

Go on Orwell, take off that shirt. Show the officer what Stewart did to you. Show him what you deserve.

“S-Shut up…”

We know what you deserve, don’t we Orwell? You deserve to be punished.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 7)

We went to the other room in the cabin, all three of us, and Gabe was in much the same position he’d been in when I’d left–lounging on one of the twin beds, smelling his pits, and jacking off. As soon as we entered and he saw that me and my uncle were gripping the talisman together…the look on his face chilled me, and I remembered what he’d told me about my uncle…but what choice did I have? It was cooperate with him, or live the rest of my life as daddy’s whoreboy–and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any of this, but maybe if I just cooperated, I could try and put a few things right.

Besides, my uncle loves me, doesn’t he? I certainly loved him. He won’t…hurt me, not if I do what he wants.

“Alright boy,” he said, “Your tour of duty as my idiot son is done. I have a new job for you now.”

He looked at me, pleading silently, but I don’t know what to do–then, he’s gone, eyes blank and dull. He…I can tell now that I’m touching the talisman, that he’s been under my uncle’s thrall for a long time–long enough that he can’t resist it much at all. My uncle walks us over, and he barely needs to speak, Gabe is so receptive to his power, and as he lays there, I can almost…see him changing, and my father too, whenever I look back at him by the door to the room.

My uncle is tell Gabe that he was wrong–that Gabe isn’t his son at all. No–Gabe is the son of my father instead, and always has been. But they have a very, very special relationship. Gabe is a hedonistic slob, sure, but he’s also got an eye for faggots, and he’s known his dad’s a true fag ever since he started climbing into bed with him as a teenager, begging his son to let his dad suck him off, and Gabe never was one to turn him down. No–if anything, he encouraged him, teased him, led his father deeper and deeper into his depravity, until at last he accepted himself for what he was. Pure faggot. Nothing but a receptacle for the fluids of other men, destined to give them pleasure with his holes and nothing else. It’s been years now, with Gabe renting out his father’s holes to all the men in the trailer park, and training him himself, of course. See, his dad sometimes got ideas. Ideas that he wasn’t really a faggot, that he was a person. That’s why he had to wear the shock collar. That’s why his cock was locked up in a steel cage, ready to get poked with the cattle prod. That’s why he’d had all his teeth pulled out with pliers, and all the tattoos covering his body–especially the word faggot across his forehead. So he wouldn’t forget, ever again, that he was nothing more than a worthless, piece of faggot trailer trash, and his son’s whore to boot.

I’m listening to my uncle describe all this, seeing it all form in my mind’s eye. I’m horrified, sure, but the rush of it–it’s intoxicating, and all I want to do is ride my uncle’s cock again, to feel him inside me, feel him love me again. The talisman is glowing, and I sense that things are coming to fruition–as my uncle finishes, there’s a wave of light, and it strikes us all–but I see it sinking mostly into Gabe and my father, and they collapse–Gabe back onto the bed, and my father to the floor. It’s done–and all the changes I could see, they’re happening. My father wasting slightly, colorful ink appearing on his body. Gabe losing some of his fat as he beefs up into a proper bruiser, always prepared to put his father in his place.

Our father, I mean.

I realize then that there was one thing my uncle didn’t change. He didn’t change me at all. I can…feel the light in me too, and it’s making me kind of woozy as we leave the room and return to the living room. I tell my uncle that I’m not feeling good, and he just nods, pulling the talisman from my hand.

“That’s because you still belong with them, with your daddy and brother in there, Evan,” he said, “You’re still their whore, but if you thought your daddy was bad? Just wait until Gabe gets a hold of you.”

“That…That wasn’t the deal!”

“No–the deal still stands, boy,” my uncle said, and handed the talisman to me. “All you have to do, to get out of that? Make me your dad–your real dad. If you do it before the last spell affects you, you’ll be free of them both. We’ll have our own life together–a good life. Make me your rich, smart, suburban dad, and I’ll give you the life you’ve always wanted.”

It had been a trap. I could feel the dizziness washing over me more now, but I fight it–harder, and focus on my uncle, and the talisman. “A-Alright. I will. But you…you need to sleep…”

I’m not as practiced as my uncle, but soon he’s snoozing on the couch. The talisman, it’s helping me stay awake, and keeping that last spell at bay, but if I don’t act quickly it will sweep me up into it too. Still…Gabe had been right so far, about everything. How could I really trust my uncle? Hadn’t…hadn’t he done this? To all of us? I have to know. I can’t do anything unless I know for sure.

“Uncle Max…in this trance, you have to tell me the truth, do you understand? The entire truth, you cannot lie.”

He nods, slowly, and I brace myself.

“Uncle Max, do you love me? Really? Like I love you?”

He shakes his head no, slowly, and it…it crushes me.

“What were you going to do to me? Were you going to make me happy?”

He shakes his head no again, and this time mutters a few words, how he was going to turn me into his little leather slave whore, once I’d given him the life he wanted.

“Sleep–you’re going to stay asleep until I wake you up, no matter what,” I said, choking back tears–but at least I know now. I know I have to fix this, and put it all right…somehow.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 4)

Keeping everything Gabe had told me in mind, I followed my uncle out into the living room, where my dad was laid out on the couch, drooling in a trance. Is that…is that what I’d looked like last night, too? My uncle had me sit down on the couch beside him, and he took the armchair across from us, and sighed.

“Alright boy–let me tell you, right now, how all of this is going to work. You’re dad there,” he said, pointing to him beside me, “He fucked up my life, when I was a little younger than you. Fucked it up, just because he found out I was gay and liked suckin’ cock. I was the one who was gonna go tah college ‘n make somethin’ outta mahself–but my parents kicked me out, and that college savings? It went to him, the deadbeat. Well now I’m gonna take it back–and you boy? Remember how I said you could cooperate or not? Well here’s your chance. Your Pa here–he’s gonna end up as the fuckin’ piece of trailer trash he was always supposed to be, no matter what you do. But if you help me out? Well–I can make your life fuckin’ perfect. Anything you want, so long as you also love fuckin’ around with me–the man who’s gonna be yer new daddy. But for that to work? I’m gonna need some help.”

He reached down the front of his shirt, and he pulled out the amulet–Gabe had been right. But what had he wanted me to do?

“Ya wanna be a college athlete? I can do that. Wanna be a genius? Easy as cake. Rich? Fuck–neither a us will be workin’ a day in our lives. You name it, ‘n I can make it happen–but first, yer gonna have tah do somethin’ fer me. See? This amulet can change a lot, but I can’t change mahself–that’s where you come in. All ya gotta do, is take this thing, and talk to me. Tell me I’m gonna be your father, living with you in the suburbs. You can keep it simple, the amulet will do the rest. Do that? And tomorrow–I’ll give you any kind of life you want.”

“Why…why not just make me do it? If the amulet is that powerful.”

“Boy, we both know yer dads a bastard. Wouldn’t ya rather have someone ya can trust–someone…ya love?”

He beckoned me over and pulled me into his lap, where I could feel his hard cock pressing against my thigh, and my heart fluttered, being this close to him again.

“How ya felt last night? I can make ya feel that every night. Ya’ll never be lonely again, ya’ll have a proper daddy, one who loves you and respects you.”

My heart ached for it, it really did. I…I barely knew my uncle, but fuck, I loved him so much, so much more than my father…but did I really feel that way, or was it just him making me feel that? Gabe had told me not to trust him–and if I gave him what he wanted…how did I know he’d follow through with his end of the deal? And…and did I really want a dad…a dad who’d spend all day fucking my ass, making me scream for…for more? He reached down and started rubbing my cock as well, teasing me…and it took every bit of will I had to pull away from him, shaking my head. “No–no, this is wrong. I…I won’t. He’s a…he’s not perfect, but he’s always been there for me, I can’t do this to him, he doesn’t deserve it.”

My uncle heaved a sigh, and shook his head–more in disappointment than in anger. “Well, I can appreciate the loyalty boy–but I assure you, he doesn’t deserve it. Go have a seat on the couch.”

I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t–and I sat back down with my father, struggling against him as hard as I could, but I could feel him in my head already, the room beginning to grow fuzzy. “Please–please, not again…just let us go…” I muttered, but I couldn’t quite get my mouth to form the words I needed them to do.

“I was hopin’ I wouldn’t have to do this, boy, I really was. I thought ya’d see what I could offer ya–but this works too. Ya wanna know what sort a bastard yer daddy is? Well I’ll show ya. I’ll turn ya against him, just as well–and ya’ll be beggin’ me fer another chance soon enough.”

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 3)

“Now boy, we’re going to have get a few things straight,” my uncle said, as my cousin picked up speed in my dad’s ass, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I’m gonna tell you right now–this can go one of two ways. I know ya ain’t a bastard like your father–or at least I assume ya ain’t. If you’re good, and do what I say, I can make sure we both get what we want, got it? We can be real happy together, but for that to work, I’m gonna need your cooperation. Now, ya got a solid will on ya, I’ll give you that–it’d be a lot easier if you were a dumbass like my son over there–course, I can make ya a dumbass just like him. That what you want boy? You wanna be some useless pig fucker like him?”

I looked over at my nephew, fat and sweaty, his lank hair hanging around his fat, bearded face. “I…I don’t understand, I don’t know why you’re doing this to us.”

“You’ll get answers when you need answers. For the mean time, I need to know if you’re gonna cooperate, or if I need tah make ya cooperative. In fact? Here’s what we’ll do. He spun me back around, and when he started speaking again, it was like the night before, out on the patio–but somehow…less intense. At the very least, I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out like I had the night before, but my body couldn’t move–all I could do was listen. Listen while my uncle told me how I didn’t just want his old body–but that I lusted after my cousin’s filthy, disgusting, fat body just as much as my asshole father did. After a few minutes of that, I could move again–and I made a beeline right for my cousin, shoving my face in one of his stinking pits, screaming inside, but I couldn’t control myself at all, I couldn’t stop.

“Alright Gabe, you show that cousin of yours a nice time now–make sure he understands exactly what’s gonna happen to him if he don’t start cooperatin’, got it?”

“S-Sure thing, Pa,” my cousin said, and pulled out of my dad’s ass, “You heard him boy–you’re mine for a bit. Git down here ‘n slobber on my pole, taste that grungy hole a yer dad’s.”

I didn’t want to, but I had to. I dropped to my knees and started slobbering all over my cousin’s massive cock, tasting my dad’s ass and flecks of his shit. I wanted to gag, but I wanted to taste it. I needed it, almost as much as I needed to taste my uncle’s cum again.

“Alright bro,” my uncle said to my dad, “Come on–we need to have a nice chat while the boys keep each other occupied.”

I saw him shaking his head, and heard him whimper a bit, but he was as helpless as I was. My uncle dragged him out of the room and shut the door behind them, leaving us alone, Gabe’s cock still planted deep in my throat…but he went a bit slower, listening as the sounds of my uncle and dad drifted off into another part of the cabin. “Alright–ya need tah listen. I didn’t think I’d git a chance, but ya–yer the only one who can stop this.”

I tried to ask what he meant, but I couldn’t get a word out around his cock, and he gave me a smack across the face.

“I said listen! We ain’t got a lotta time, ‘n ya got orders tah follow. The harder ya suck, the better ya’ll be able tah listen. It’s…it’s how it works. The more willin’ ya are, the less it’ll break yer mind–unless he wants tah break it–but that’s the thing. He need ya.”

So he told me a story–a story which…was very hard to believe, but the more he told, the more sense it made. He told me, first of all, that I wasn’t really his cousin–that Gabe wasn’t related to any of us, in fact. I thought that was insane, until he started pressing me on it, asking me if I could remember anything about my aunt–his mother…and I realized that I couldn’t. In fact, I knew almost nothing about Gabe, beside the fact that he was my cousin, and my uncle’s son. No–Gabe had, in fact, been one of my uncle’s neighbors, and after my uncle had found the talisman, the one he’d chosen to work his new powers on, as a test.

It was an amulet. So long as it was touching my uncle’s skin, he could control almost anyone–but it went further than that. He could…change things. Change people. Warp reality around him. He’d used it to turn Gabe into his son, twisting him into the fat, grungy pervert I could remember–but who I could only remember thanks to the amulet’s work. The catch, however, was that the amulet doesn’t work on him.

“He can’t change himself–that’s the curse. In fact, usin’ it just ruins his life more ‘n more. Lost his job, almost lost the trailer–that’s why we’ve been livin’ here, but the place…fuck, it’s fallen apart around us, every day. That’s why he needs you. He…fuck, he hates yer dad, man. He fuckin’ hates him. Never really told me why, but somethin’ yer dad did to him…I think he told everyone he was gay, and that’s why he got shipped off into the army, while yer dad got to go to college. He wants his life–and he also wants you. He’s always wanted a son, but I…I was never real enough for him. He wants you, real family blood. But tah take his place, he needs someone else to change him! Then, once he’s got what he needs, the life he wants, he’s gonna ditch the amulet here.”

I pulled away from his cock, ready to dismiss it as insane…but what other explanation could there be, really? I hadn’t seen the amulet myself–but my uncle had worn his shirt to bed. Was it for safekeeping?

“But don’t…don’t fuckin’ trust him! He’ll fuck ya over too, he’ll tell ya anythin’ ya wanna hear, but don’t fuckin’ do it. But if…if ya…fuck…fuck pig, git that mouth a yers back round mah stinkin’ cock!”

He slammed his dick back in me before I could ask more, but he didn’t say anything else–whatever moment of coherence he’d had, it was swallowed back up by my uncle’s orders, and the two of us fell into a new round of debauchery, me worshiping his body and eventually riding his cock on the filthy bed, taking two loads of his cum in my ass and loving every moment of it. I was busy on his feet when my uncle opened the door again, and told me to come with him–that it was time for us to have our chat.

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 7)

It was a few days later that I caught a whiff, again, of the man from the gym.

Just a whiff as I was heading into my building that afternoon, but it was gone before I could trace it and run him down–still, I recalled how he had captured my interest, much the same way Jack’s feet had before…and I told Adam I would be taking the rest of the week off from work. He didn’t object–he just kept eating, not that Jack was going to give him much of a break. I’d told Adam that when he’d gained fifty pounds, he’d have the privilege of cleaning one of my feet again, and that was more than enough to inspire him to greatness–that, and Jack was proving to be quite an excellent taskmaster.

Thankfully I remembered the name of the gym from when I’d stalked him before–Planet Workout. I had no way of knowing if that was the gym where he actually attended, or if he just had one of their old gymbags, but it was the only lead I had, apart from scouring the city for him up and down. So that day, I walked over to the gym, housed in a rather rundown looking warehouse, and stepped inside…and holy fuck, the smell of the place.

The city smells. As my nose had become more sensitive, I had found that I everything had become more intense–especially the smell of men–but there was so much out on the streets I just…tuned it all out, because it was simply too much to process. But stepping into that gym…it was the first place I’d entered where the scent of man was just…so concentrated. It was everywhere, and it hit me like a brick, my cock spewing a load right there in the entryway–it was all I could do to keep myself contained and not start jacking off right then and there. Even better, I could smell him on the air–not strong enough to tell me he was there right now, but plenty to confirm for me that this was most certainly where he got his workouts.

The woman at the desk looked like her stomach was going to turn as I approached, and she left before I could ask about membership. I had to hunt down a guy on the floor, and he was more than happy to sign me up for the gym, even if it meant cutting the session short with the member he was working with. With my membership card in hand, I went back to my apartment, threw on some reasonably appropriate clothes to work out in, and went back to the gym. I had never worked out in my life, but I haunted that gym for hours, filling the place with my musk as I sweated and stank all over the place, and by that evening, all of the women had left, leaving a smaller collection of men wondering why there were all so horny all of a sudden. As tempting as some of them were, I was waiting for him, my muscle man. The rest…I’d sample them later.

I arrived early the next morning as well, determined to wait. From the smell of him he was here often–there were only a few smells of men there more prevalent than his, and sure enough, around two in the afternoon, he walked through the door, and I whirled toward him…and scowled. He wasn’t wearing it. He wasn’t fucking wearing it! He was there, his smell was there, but the beautiful musk of that fucking tanktop he’d been wearing was nowhere to be found. I went over to see what he had on instead, and my heart dropped–in fact…he was wearing it. I realized then, that since I’d seen him, he must have fucking washed it.

I can’t tell you how fucking angry I was, when I realized that. I had already taken ownership of that shirt in my mind, it had been mine ever since I’d first caught wind of it. The idea that he’d taken that perfect musk and washed it out…it was the closest I’d ever felt to true grief. I could barely function–I just sat around the gym, staring at him, wondering what I could do to him, but nothing seemed to match the travesty he’d committed, no punishment would suffice. Still, as he worked out, as he sweated into the shirt, I…I could smell it a bit better. Faint, but it was there all the same. Different too…but given enough time, and the right sort of encouragement, I had no doubt that he’d be able to produce something equally pleasing, even if it wasn’t quite the same. In fact, I bet that I could make something even better.

He finished up his workout, or at least he thought he did. He was heading for the door, when I intercepted him, struck up a bit of a conversation with him, and directed him into the locker room instead, and directly into the sauna with me. Let me tell you–I stink, but put me in a hundred degree room with a ton of humidity, and there’s nothing fucking like it. I did bother to learn his name, finally–Bruce–and after an hour of him worshiping my body, of keeping his rock hard cock right at the edge of orgasm, he was willing to do just about anything to get a taste of my grungy crotch, but I kept him back. When I was certain he was well in control, we went back out onto the floor of the gym, and he went back to working out–and he didn’t stop. I was nice enough to run out and get him some dinner, which he devoured, arms shaking, barely able to lift anything–so I had to feed him the entire pizza I’d bought–but then I ordered him back onto the machines. All the while, I could smell him, the shirt, intensifying–soon, it would be ready. Soon, it would be mine.

Winston’s Stable – Titpig (Part 2)

The man watched them shuffle off for a moment, and when they’d gotten a few yards away, he said, “Boy, I think you’d feel a lot better if you came back here and stuck around close to me.”

“Creep,” Joey muttered, but much to his surprise, Mark slipped out from under his arm, turned around, and walked back over to the stranger in leather. “Mark, what the fuck?”

Mark was just as confused as Joey was, but to his surprise, when he got closer to him, he did feel better, more clear headed. Still, he didn’t get too far, before Joey grabbed him by the hand and dragged him away, through the throng on the dance floor, and to the door. Mark relented, knowing it’s where he wanted to go, but as they went, he did feel…worse. Nauseous and dizzy, especially. They got out the door of the club, and he promptly threw up his drink from earlier on the sidewalk. “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Maybe he put something in your drink. Come on, let’s get home. A rest will sort you out. You can crash at my place tonight.” They made it a little way down the sidewalk, but Mark felt…something building up in him, some kind of need, or desire, and unable to even explain why, he pulled away from Joey and staggered back towards the club. “Mark!” Where the fuck are you going!”

“Sorry! I…I forgot something, just wait a second,” Mark said, and ducked back into the club. He scanned the room, worried, but the man was right where they’d left him, sitting at the table now, nursing the drink Mark had abandoned. He made his way around to him, trying to keep his gut from dry heaving, but once he got within a few yards, his stomach settled, and…and he felt that same high wash over him, but this time it felt…better. Pleasant. Like a reward.

“That’s a good boy,” the man said, “You’ll feel much better, I promise, as long as you’re near me. In fact, if you try to leave me again, it’s only going to feel worse, I promise you that. Now, come on over and let me have a look at you.”

Mark walked over and stood to one side of the chair where the man was sitting, shaking slightly. “What…You did this to me, what’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, my boy, it’s not what’s wrong with you, it’s what’s very, very right about you,” the man said. He reached out to grope Mark’s crotch, but he stepped back before he could touch him. “Now, now. You want me to touch you. Having me touch you anywhere I want is going to make you feel good. Now come close and don’t step back again.”

Mark tried to keep his body from obeying, but it refused to listen to him. He came closer, and this time when the man reached out he couldn’t avoid him–but soon enough, he didn’t want to. The man’s touch, even through his clothing, was electric. “F-Fuck…” he muttered, “Please…please stop.”

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

“N-No?” Mark said, and the man slid one gloved hand up his shirt and along his stomach, feeling Mark shiver.

“You’ll be addressing me as sir, from now on, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good boy. Take off your shirt.”

Mark did as he was told, and the man looked him over, surveying him. Mark was in his early thirties, and in fairly good shape, with a well developed chest and a small gut, all of it covered with a fair amount of hair. “Hmm…decent, but not quite what I want yet. Still, it’ll have to do, won’t it?”

“Mark? Mark! What the fuck?” Mark wanted to shrink smaller where he stood, as Joey hustled over to them. “You said you’d fucking forgot something!”

“Boy, that’s not nice of you to lie to your friend,” the man said, “Tell him the truth now.”

“Joey…being…being by Sir makes me feel good, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to feel sick anymore.”

“Yes, that’s right–I make you feel very good, don’t I boy?” the man said, and slid a hand around behind Mark, squeezing his ass, and making him groan.

Joey just gaped at them both. “Please, I’m sorry I can’t…I don’t know why…” Mark pleaded, “Please…help me.”

Joey, however, wasn’t listening. He turned around and abandoned him, and Mark tried to call after him, but one of Sir’s hands stroking his hard cock through his jeans made him moan instead. “Don’t worry about him boy. In fact, don’t worry about anything for a while. What you’re going to do is kneel here, beside me, while I finish your drink. I don’t usually like the fruity shit, but this one isn’t too bad. Then, we’re going to leave, together.”

Mark felt his knees buckle, and he slumped to the floor beside the man, his head level with his thighs, eyes directed under the table, cheeks burning. His display with the man and Joey had attracted quite a few eyes around the bar, but he didn’t want everyone to stare at him, he just wanted to disappear. Still, the concern ebbed a bit, after a moment, and Mark found it hard to be worried about anything happening to him. Instead, he just enjoyed the sensation of Sir petting his head while he finished the drink, and after a few minutes, he stood up, reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, and pulled out a strap of leather–a collar, Mark realized, attached to a chain leash.

“Put this on boy.”

He did as he was instructed, and then allowed Sir to slowly walk him out of the club, almost like he was enjoying the attention the display was generating–but Mark still just wanted to hide his face. No matter what happened next, he’d never be able to show his face here again. Outside, the man walked him a few blocks until they came to a sedan parked on the street–the man ordered Mark into the back seat, and they drove off into the night.

Winston’s Stable – Titpig (Part 1)

“Look at that fucker–looks like he showed up at the wrong bar tonight, don’t you think?”

Joey eyed someone behind Mark’s shoulder, and he had to sneak a quick look behind him from the table where they were sitting. He assumed that the guy Joey was talking about was the one who stood out like a sore thumb in the club, mostly because of what he was wearing–a complete leather uniform, from the boots to the hat, all impeccably shined. It was a bit of an anomaly among the more conventionally dressed men, and while a look like that isn’t that strange to see in some bars, this one prefered a…more normal atmosphere, usually. That said, Mark thought the guy looked good in it, even if he was a bit older than the twinkish guys he usually preferred, like Joey. He turned back to his date, “I don’t know, it’s not that weird.”

“What, are you into that shit?” Joey asked–this is our third date, you’d better come out with it if it is.”

Mark laughed, “Oh no way. But to each their own, you know?”

Joey’s mouth turned up a bit, and he looked a bit disappointed that Mark wasn’t ready to pile on the guy as readily as he was. “I assume that’s not your thing either, then?”

“Hell no!” Joey said, almost a bit angry Mark had asked, “I…hate that uniform shit. I spend enough time terrified of the cops to wanna fuck any of them.”

Mark couldn’t blame him for that, but he wasn’t quite sure where to take the conversation from there. Joey was cute, and the sex had been good, but they…lacked a bit of chemistry when they weren’t fucking or on the dance floor. “Look, let’s get another drink, and then dance for a bit, alright?” Mark said, “I’ll buy.”

Joey nodded, but his mood had soured somewhat. Mark didn’t really know why he was making such a big deal out of it anyway. The path to the bar ended up skirting close to the stranger in the uniform, and while Mark would have given him no real mind before this, Joey’s comment had him looking at him a bit closer out of curiosity more than anything else. The guy didn’t seem very interested in the bar around him, and was just sipping a beer slowly at a corner of the bar jutting out into the room, where most people had to pass him on the way to getting drinks, including Mark. As he slipped past, however, he caught a whiff of some…smell. Something he’d never quite smelled before, but his vision spun for a moment and he nearly tripped into another table by the dance floor. He recovered, feeling a bit embarrassed, and kept going, talked with the bartender and got a couple more drinks for Joey and him.

As he waited for the bartender to mix them, he looked back over in the direction of the uniformed man, and was surprised to find that the man was staring hard at him too, with a cocky grin across his face. Mark quickly looked away, not at all wanting to give the guy the wrong idea. He found the look curious, but like he’d told Joey, he really wasn’t into the leather scene–he liked his sex nice and vanilla. Still, the man had taken an interest in him for some reason, and Mark decided to take the longer route around the bar back to the table where Joey was waiting, so he could avoid the man.

“You alright?” Joey asked, “I saw you trip.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little light headed for a second.”

“Well maybe I should take both drinks then, if you’re such a lightweight.”

Mark rolled his eyes and took a sip of his, looked back over his shoulder, and saw that the man wasn’t standing by the bar anymore. Had he left? He scanned the room again, and saw that he hadn’t. Hhe was slowly maneuvering through around the room over towards their table. He blushed and looked down, Joey noticed, looked over to see the man coming towards them and scowled. “You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

“No! He was looking at me while I was getting drinks though.”

“Creep,” Joey said, and then shouted at the man, “Hey! We’re not fucking interested. Why don’t you go find a freaky fetish night or something?”

The man didn’t say anything, he just kept coming closer, and when he was a couple yards away Mark felt the same lightheaded feeling wash over him from before, along with that odd smell. He slumped in his chair, though he tried to remain upright and push through whatever this strange feeling was. “Your friend doesn’t look like he’s doing too well. I just wanted to make sure he was doing alright, after I saw him trip,” the man said.

Joey scowled at him, “He’s fine, why don’t you go hit on someone who’s interested?”

“He doesn’t look so good to me.”

“I’m good, I’m…good…” Mark said, pushing himself back upright as best he could. While he was lying to himself at first, he was actually feeling a bit better, though he still felt…a little off. Not woozy, exactly, but like he was a bit high. “I just…feel a bit weird is all, I think.”

“Do you want to go home?” Joey asked.

“No, I think he wants to stick around, don’t you?” The man said, coming around to stand at the edge of the table between Joey and Matt.

Matt was worried, and he didn’t feel good. He wanted to go home, or at least go outside for a bit of fresh air, but instead of saying so, he said, “I…yeah, I want to stick around, I think.”

Mark could see Joey was annoyed that he’d sided with the stranger over him, but that hadn’t been what he’d wanted at all. He tried to say so, but everything was still drifting a bit sideways. “I really think we should go,” Joey said, and he stood up, “Thanks for your concern, whoever you are, but I think I know what my boyfriend needs more than you do.”

He came around the table, the man watching as he helped Mark up from the table. It was a bit difficult keeping his feet under him, so Joey had put an arm under him to help keep him steady. “Did you fucking take something?” he muttered to him as they walked away.

“No! No, I didn’t take anything, I just…I’ve never felt like this before. I think I just need some fresh air.”