I have to admit, I was suspicious of them when they rode up to give me an estimate on the renovations, but with their backfiring pickup and grungy clothes, who wouldn’t be a little suspicious. Still, they convinced me to hear them out, and when they sounded like they knew what they were doing, and quoted me a price lower than everyone else I’d talked to…something convinced me to go with them, even if my better judgement told me not to trust them.

Granted, it took a lot of trust, those first few months, and I was more than hesitant–hell, most of the time, I was outright hostile. When they insisted that I let them sleep in the house, when they told me that part of the contract was to cook them meals–naked–I was pretty angry, but I trusted them, and it paid off.

Their house is beautiful, and they even built me a place of my own in the backyard. Yeah, that’s me, down in the corner. Sure, I know you only see a dog–because that’s what they want you to see. My master’s–just trust them, and it’ll all be alright. It worked out for me, after all–what’s the worst thing they could do to you?

Yeah, your uncle’s been playin’ guitar a long time–hell, longer than you’ve been alive! I’m surprised you never asked, but why would you be interested in an old rocker like me? So what, this some college band you’re thinking of joining? Well sure, I can give you a few lessons, at least get you started off on the right track. Now let me just warm up here for a bit–I haven’t played in a while.

“Hey nephew, you ever hear about somethin’ called the brown note? Oh, South Park did something about that? Huh, who woulda thought. I heard a tale about some bass player–he was fussin’ with his sound so much, he dropped the pitch so low he gave everyone at the practice session the fuckin’ runs!

"Oh you wanna know why the guitar ain’t makin’ any sound? Ha, trust me, it is. You look horny nephew–maybe you should take out your cock and stroke it. See, I never did find the brown note, but I did find the lust note–makes everyone who hears it horny as fuck. Get over here ‘n suck your uncle’s cock boy. We have all afternoon to practice, and you have lots to learn.

Bait and Switch (Part 3)

“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to dress like that,” Bruce said as they walked down the street to the bar under the streetlights, “I mean, don’t you feel a little bit of shame at making people look at that?”

Charles rolled his eyes. Ever since they’d left the hotel, Bruce hadn’t let up once about his chosen attire–or lack thereof. All he had on were some very short black shorts pulled over his gut and held up by leather suspenders, with black boots on his feet, and another cigar burning in his bearded jaws. “Not everyone is ashamed of their body you know. Trust me, in a few more years, chances are you’ll look like this too, so you’d better start thinking about how you’re gonna feel about that.”

“Ha, not if I can help it.” Bruce said, sporting one of the tailored suits from the room. He didn’t have any other clothes, and it wasn’t like he planned on picking anyone up at a bear bar anyway. They found the bar a few blocks away, and discovered that it was a bit sleazier than either of them were expecting. It made no beef about it being a leather bar, and even Charles didn’t feel like hitting on any of the crude bikers and leather men he saw hanging at the bar and the corners of the room. Still, he didn’t see the bear from earlier anywhere in the bar, and he’d even arrived a well after dark just to make sure he’d get there first. A bouncer came up to them however, and said to Charles, “Hey, you Carl?”

“Oh…uh, yeah…” he replied, recalling the name the bear had used earlier at the pool, “I think…yeah, where is he?”

“He rented one of the backrooms. Number three. It’s through the door there next to the bar,” the man said, then started off again.

“Hey, wait, did you happen to get his name?”

The bouncer looked back at them rolled his eyes and just kept going. Charles didn’t know if it was because he thought his question had been a joke, or just a stupid question. Maybe both. He shrugged at Bruce, and together they went through the door, down a dark, nearly unlit hall, and found the door with a crooked three hanging on it. It was unlocked, and after a moment of hesitation, Charles opened the door and stepped inside.

Sure enough, the bear was waiting for him, dressed in fairly typical leather gear, but it was immediately apparent that he hadn’t expected Bruce to join them. There was a flash of surprise across both of their faces, but it was Bruce who spoke, “I…I remember! I remember you in the bar, and we talked about…about–oh god, you–what have you done to us?”

With a flick of the wrist, the bear slammed the door shut behind both of them, trapping them inside. “So the two of you have been talking? Sharing notes?”

“I don’t…what’s going on?” Charles asked Bruce.

“I remember now. I was at the bar two nights ago, when this guy came up and bought me a drink. I thought he wanted sex, but he just wanted to talk, and he did want to talk about you. I don’t know why, but I remember…I remember telling him that I was envious of your life, your old life–and it has to be you doing this to us. What did you do?”

“My life? You wanted to be a bear?” Charles asked, still not understanding.

“Well he’s thicker than I expected,” the bear said, “How about you quiet down and let me talk to Bruce for a moment,” the bear said, and Charles felt a force throw him back against the wall, knocking his cigar from his mouth a set of manacles locking down all on their own, a gag floating off the wall and inserting itself into his now empty mouth. “Better. Now, you. You shouldn’t be here. I gave you what you wanted–a youthful body, freedom from smoking, a good mind. Now why don’t you just run along and enjoy yourself and leave me to my work?”

“Dude, this is sick. Change us back! I didn’t want this, and this guy didn’t even do anything to either of us! This is fucked up.”

“Like you know anything about what’s going on here,” the bear said.

“Look, just change us back, alright? Why are you even doing this to us?”

The bear was just silent, Bruce staring at him. It suddenly occurred to Charles that, more likely than not, his roommate was in way over his head. This guy obviously had some sort of powers, magic or what not, but he couldn’t say anything to try and warm him. “What would it take to get you to leave? What else do you want?” the bear finally said, grinning a bit. “I mean, you don’t really miss your old body do you? And you told me how much you hated being old and a smoker. I know you don’t want that back. So what do you want?” Bruce didn’t know how to respond, but the bear was already walking towards him, and given Bruce was backed up against the locked door, he didn’t have anywhere to go. “It’s the life you want, isn’t it? You don’t want to be a businessman, you just want to be a dumb chaser, working a blue collar job and fucking every bear you see, don’t you? Hell, even if that’s not what you want, I’m sure that will be plenty to get rid of you.”

There was a glow in his hand, and in it Charles recognized the same strange light which infused the grey spaces of his dreams, and then he slammed the palm of his hand against Bruce’s forehead, yielding a flash of light bright enough to make Charles wince. When he could see again, he saw a very different Bruce standing by the door. Gone was the suit he’d had on, replaced by a pair of filthy, ripped denim shorts, his hair shorn to the scalp, and the trace of a thin goatee around his mouth. He grinned widely, looking from the bear in front of him towards Charles chained on the wall and grinned. “Well, I don’t know what’s going on in here, but any chance I could join in? Looks like a lot a fun to me. How about it daddy bear?” he said, grabbing the bear’s crotch lewdly.

Charles wanted to cry. He hadn’t even known Bruce that well, but to see his mind wiped out like that…it was terrible. It didn’t even look like he remembered either of them, or what was going on here. Who in the fuck was this bear? Why in the hell was he doing this?

“Maybe later–but for now, go sleep,” the bear said, and sent the newly remade Bruce crumpled to the ground, deep asleep. “Now, that’s better. How about we get down to our business?” With a flip of a finger, the gag popped out of Charles’ mouth, the cigar floating back into his mouth.

“You…you killed him. How could you do that? He didn’t do anything to you!”

“Don’t blame me–you’re the one who brought him here. Besides, he’ll be plenty happy like that, trust me. Bears love chasers like him. I’m sure he’ll love going from bear run to bear run, fucking all the way. It’s not like that isn’t what he was doing with his life anyway.”

“Why me? Why us? What is this all about?” Charles focused as hard as he could, trying to piece together everything he had seen, and he felt a burst of clarity. He hadn’t been this bear two days ago. He’d been a smart, healthy young businessman, and now…Now this bear had taken all of that from him and turned him into a filthy, cigar smoking bear. He looked down at what he was wearing and felt a wave of disgust roll through him. He looked just like all those bears he’d hated, and worst of all, he hadn’t even noticed what was going on! Bruce had been smarter than him, and look at him now. He looked at the bear, trying to break his hands out of the chains desperately, knowing he had to get away from here as fast as he could, or who knew what was going to happen to him.

“Don’t worry Carl. I’m only doing this because I love you. Just one more change, and then I promise everything will make perfect sense, and then we’ll be back together, just like I promised. Now, how about you go to sleep? There’s one more dream you need to have, and then we’ll be finished.”

The bear’s fingers were waving in front of his eyes now, and Charles did his best to look away, but they were…sparkling. It was hard to see, but the small glimmers were there, he was certain of it. If only he could focus closer, harder, if only…

The next thing he knew, he was back in the grey of the nether. In his mind, Charles knew he was dreaming, and he tried to fight it, to get away from the force holding him in place, now drawing him forward. However, it wasn’t Bruce he was facing this time, it was someone, or something else. A white spot in his vision, almost like a blind spot–like there was something there but he couldn’t see it, slipping through his vision. And the bear was there, making motions, drawing him closer to the spot, but it looked like he was struggling with…something. Where the going had been smooth in the past two dreams, this time he moved forward in jerks and sudden halts, but he didn’t think he was the one fighting the bear off. Still though, he could feel the bear drawing him and the spot closer together until he was mere inches away, and then he felt it enter him, like they had suddenly intersected in space.

Regret–anger. A flurry of emotions surged through him, overwhelming him. It was a person, the spot was a person, but not just anyone. Carlton Cassidy, born on May 6th, 1961, the lover of Samuel Davis until he was killed in a car crash two months ago. It was a ghost, he was being possessed by a ghost, he could feel himself drifting away, obliterated bit by bit as Sam, the bear, forced them together, and the ghost–Carl–he was angry. Furious. He didn’t want to live again, he didn’t want to take a life as his had been taken, not through violence or through rage. The surge of spirit inside him ripped him away from Sam’s spell, and he heard a voice speak through his lips, “Sam, don’t this isn’t right. This isn’t what I want.”

“Quit fighting me Carl!” the bear shouted back, focusing harder, trying to keep the spell together, “This is the only way! I’m not going to lose you, I can’t lose you.”

Pity, Love. Too many emotions, burning and ripping through his mind and body, every pass obliterating something else of his mind. Charles couldn’t hold on much longer, he tried to fight it, to keep himself together but he had no defenses. He could sense that Carl was shielding him from as much as he could, and now…now he was floating closer to Sam, his arms out, ready to embrace him. It wasn’t the only way they could be together, there was another. The light from his body, from Carl’s spirit burned him and when he circled his arms around Sam, the flames were so strong he couldn’t even grasp them, caught in the inferno of love and lust and vengeance of these two lovers ripped apart from each other, the ether ripped apart around him, and he fell out of their embrace, down into darkness.

He fell, unable to think or feel, his body mangled and torn apart, charred in places. He hit the ground, some kind of ground suddenly. He was certain he was dead, but he wasn’t. The dream…the dream was still there, but he couldn’t remember anything, his mind a muddle of Charles and Carl, of love and fear and anger and disgust and then he saw he wasn’t alone. Bruce–floating, asleep–coming closer, his eyes opening. They saw each other–into each other, and something…he couldn’t remember. It was hot once more, but no longer ripping him apart, instead pulling him back together, dragging him out of the depths, ripping him down and into Bruce’s arms and onto the floor of the dingy bar’s backroom–awake, and alive.

He didn’t have much recollection of what happened next. They were alone when they’d woken up, aside from a curious pile of ash on the ground between them. The first thing either of them remembered clearly was Bruce pulling Charl down from the wall, the manacles opening all on their own suddenly, the big bear crashing down on top of the slim chaser. They’d helped each other up, looked in each other’s eyes…and as they often told their friends, the rest was history.

Neither one of them could ever say why, they just felt right together, and when they both discovered that they had a key to the same hotel room, well they just considered it luck and destiny. Charl never did manage to recall what had happened in that room, or much else about himself. There were fragments but nothing substantial. Seeing a psychiatrist, and then a neurologist, both were puzzled–it looked like his brain’s synapses had been burned clean. There was no evidence of damage, and yet–it looked like something had jumbled all of them up into patterns which made no sense. Charl decided it was best to not worry about it. He had love, at least.

His dreams though, did trouble him. Dreams of fire and love which he could never remember but left him caught between sorrow and lust when he awoke which were so fierce that he’d nearly always roughly fuck Bruce immediately after, sobbing his eyes out the entire time. Bruce would hold him in bed afterwards, pulling him close, not knowing what to say, but somehow understanding perfectly what was going on in his partner’s mind. He loved his bear–loved him with a force, a heat he couldn’t explain, and Charl felt the same–he could feel it. Even if there were no answers for either of them–they had each other, there in the dark every night, and that was enough. Just barely, but enough all the same.

It was just supposed to be a gag gift. I mean, the label had said “Power Tie!”–with the exclamation point–how was I supposed to know it was serious? I’d given it to my Uncle Benny, my dad’s only brother, who worked in some office building downtown. When he told me the Power Tie had gotten him a promotion, I’d thought he was just joking, but then I started to notice something strange.

Uncle Benny started coming around a lot more, for one, and he always wanted to see me, and he was always wearing that tie. Before I really knew what was happening, my parents were moving my things into one of the rooms at Uncle Benny’s, telling me I was going to live with him now. I couldn’t resist. Every order was impossible to disobey, and within days I discovered that not only was my uncle gay–he’d been lusting after me for years. Well, he has me now, and all because I got him that dumb Power Tie!

Source: motivated2masturbate

Giving Charge (Part 2)

Commissioned by rtrose

As they drove, Travis was starting to feel really sick. Maybe that wasn’t surprising, considering how much he’d drank and eaten over the past few hours, but this didn’t feel like a hangover or indigestion. He looked over at Larry in the driver’s seat–the man hadn’t spoken once to him during the last half hour they’d been driving out of the city, and out in the dark he couldn’t see much, but they were out past the suburbs and into rural country when Larry pulled off the road into a trailer park, stopped the truck and told Travis, “Get out, and get inside, boy.”

Travis expected his body to leap to and obey like it had before, but the command only made him sluggishly respond. In fact, he sensed that, if he wanted to, he might even be able to get away–had he not felt so sick. Something in his guts was churning–he thought back to the load Larry had seeded in him, and wondered about disease, but nothing could incubate this fast, could it? Distracted by his own thoughts, he followed Larry into the trailer, where the roughneck stripped the coveralls off the young man’s body and pushed him up against the wall, where Travis made a sorry attempt to cover himself up.

“Well, well–looks like the little twerp is making some progress already,” Larry said.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You got yourself a little beard there,” Larry stroked the light coat of hair on his face, “and your gut’s bloating up a bit–gonna be good and big before too long. Still, I don’t think you’re over the threshold yet–how about we kick this into high gear?” He grabbed Travis by the arm and flipped him around, pushing him up against the wall, pushing his cock up against his still loose hole and working it back in. “Yeah, one more load oughta do it, and then we’ll see if you’re still a twerp or not.”

“No–No I’m not gonna let you do this,” Travis said, struggling against the loosening hold of Larry’s control.

“Oh, is that gaze wearing off already? Fine with me, I like twerps who fight back a bit. Still, this is gonna be a quick one–I don’t really feel like waiting.”

True to his word, Larry did last very long, tensing up and trusting in deep, unloading once more into Travis’ guts, and the sick feeling suddenly grew much, much worse. Larry pulled out, and Travis found that his legs had grown too weak to support him all on their own. Collapsing to the ground, the impact hurt in ways he did not expect–down in his bones, as though every pressure on his skin were a needle sinking to his marrow. “What–what’s happening to me…” he groaned, doubled over on the filthy carpet. His bones–were they growing? They didn’t seem to be getting any longer, but it felt as though they were getting thicker, and even hotter? The ache inside his bones was joined by an intense heat–looking down, he saw that his limbs were slowly growing wider, the heat pumping up his muscles, making them twitch and flex uncontrollably. It was exhausting–looking down at his arms, he saw the muscles inside them start bulging and exploding, his skin barely able to stretch fast enough to keep up without ripping apart. He rolled over, sitting with his back against the wall, where he could see that his chest was developing slab-like pecs, and his thighs and calves bulging with muscle–but also something else, something bubbling up underneath his skin. The sensation was unnerving–hot fat boiling up within him, spreading over the top of his new muscles before cooling and firming up, much of it consolidating around his midsection, forming a large, firm gut.

His eyes blurred as the ache and heat enveloped his face–with two unfamiliar hands, he felt his jaw and cheeks and brow distend and bulge as bone grew thick and fat filled in, and then it dissipated, leaving behind an exhaustion he’d never felt anything like, it was all he could do to keep himself from passing out, rolling over again onto all fours, and telling himself he had to stand up–he had to get out of here before anything else could happen to him–and while he could still control his own actions.

However, simply standing up proved to be a more difficult task than he’d imagined. He hefted himself up, but as he was no longer the waif he’d been, his thicker body forced his body to find a new center of gravity, making him feel like he was in perpetual danger of falling backward as he balanced against his gut. The muscle growth had left his muscles exhausted, his legs quivering as he took two feeble steps forward towards the door, before falling down again. Nothing felt right–his mind screaming that this couldn’t have happened, and yet every message from his body told him that these big hands, this gut, these massive trunk like legs–they were his. He pushed himself back up, stumbling back, fearing he might fall–until he felt Larry’s thick arms wrap their way around him from behind.

“I gotcha big boy,” he said, but Travis broke away and spun around, nearly toppling over before he clung to the wall for support.

“What did you do to me? Change me back!” Travis shouted, his voice deep and resonant in his chest.

“You really want to go back? Back into that twerp body? Don’t lie–I can see you’re enjoying this…” Larry came forward, one hand wrapping around Travis’ thicker cock, the other snaking around the back of his head, pulling him into a rough, sloppy kiss. Spit leaking out around their lips and down onto his chin, making Travis’ skin itch and burn where it touched. He pulled away, running one hand over his mouth, feeling the stubbly goatee Larry’s spit had grown, watching his captor grin and lick his lips. His face grew weathered as well, his skin sagging a bit into wrinkles and dry crows feet. He now looked a good fifteen years older, with a bit of grey in his hair, which he could sense pulling itself back into his head little by little.

“No–don’t…don’t change me more, please…” Travis said, trying not to moan from the sensation of Larry stroking his cock. That seemed to have grown quite a bit as well–and was far more sensitive than he remembered.

“Too late for that,” Larry said, “but I know something you’ll probably enjoy.” He grabbed one of Travis’ arms and lifted it up, shoving his face into the pit and licking away, the crack sprouting hair and a powerful musk which made Travis groan. It was just as strong as Larry’s, but different–his own scent. When Larry went to work on the other side and then worked down, licking a pelt onto Travis’ chest and stomach, he was left smelling himself, caught up in the strange eroticism of this masculine, alien body. The smell did more than arouse him, it swept the exhaustion away–it made him feel a bit more comfortable in this new skin.

Travis instigated the next kiss, catching both Larry and himself off guard with its force. He’d never felt so strong before–the sense of power running through his body was like a drug. He’d been small and weak all his life–now, for the first time, he was the one with the strength, and he wanted to use it. He put one of his big hands on top of Larry’s head and shoved him down to his knees in front of his cock, and Larry growled back, “Watch it boy.”

“Suck it–just fucking suck it!” Travis said, “I’m so fucking horny.”

“You don’t give the orders here, boy–I do, and–” Larry started to say, but Travis didn’t care. He grabbed the back of Larry’s head and crudely shoved his cock into his mouth, making him sputter a bit, but to his surprise Larry didn’t resist. It felt amazing, having a hot mouth around his cock but Travis felt like something was wrong after a couple of thrusts. Each time, his cock went in a little less, and felt a little softer. He realized too late that Larry must be doing something to him, and when he tried to pull his cock out, Larry refused to let go, coming off on his own a few moments later, leaving Travis with a cock barely an inch and a half long, a massive pubic bush, and balls which looked far too big hanging below.

“No…No!” Travis said, feeling his new nub, and Larry laughed.

“You asked for it boy–now, as long as I’m down here, turn around,” Larry said, grabbing him by the hips and forcing him around so Travis’ ass was inches from his face, “I have a few changes to make down here.” Travis shivered as Larry’s tongue ran up and down his crack before burrowing into his ass, and a new fire kindled to life in him. When Larry removed himself, Travis felt a great emptiness back there, and started pushing back, wishing for something to fill him up.

“Please…please–fuck me. God, oh God I can’t believe I just said that…”

“Happy to oblige,” Larry said, sliding his cock in once again, Travis nearly shouting in pleasure with the penetration, Larry licking up and down Travis’ back, leaving him a pelt as thick there as he had on the front, but pulled out without cumming–nor giving Travis release.

“Why did you stop? Come on, fuck me!” Travis said.

“Another order?” Larry grabbed his arm and started dragging him down the hall, “You’re getting too big for your britches boy–I think you need to remember who’s really in charge here. I may have given you a big boy body, but you’re still my twerp–now get in the truck.”

“Let me go!” Travis said, trying to yank his arm out of Larry’s grip, but when he looked up, he found himself facing Larry’s glittering eyes.

“That’s not a request–it’s an order,” Larry said, “Now go.”

Travis couldn’t resist–he didn’t even put on the clothes Larry had stripped off of him, opting instead to just climb into the cab naked., Larry close behind. Travis fought the compulsion as best he could, but Larry kept speaking to him in the truck, and while Travis couldn’t remember anything he told him, he knew it was nothing good. After a few minutes, they pulled into the parking lot of a rundown biker bar, and to his surprise, Larry simply kicked him out the door onto the gravel and drove off, leaving him there naked.

While it was late, it wasn’t so late that the bar wasn’t still crammed full of men–all of them far rougher and meaner than Travis had seen at any city club. He saw a couple bikers smoking out front run over to him to help him up, but the two big men started laughing at Travis when they caught a look at his tiny cock. Travis, however, had other needs at the front of his mind. Unable to stop himself, he grabbed the beer bottle out of one of the biker’s hands and started shoving the neck up his ass, telling the big men how badly he needed a good, long fuck.

They didn’t disappoint him–none of the men in the bar did, who all took a turn with his ass over the next few hours disappointed him. It was a very different party than the one he’d been to earlier, though he was still the center of attention, in a different way. Each man who fucked him drove Travis to hornier heights, but release was always kept from him, the men laughing at him, for the puny cock which couldn’t even get off one load as every man there took a turn with him. It was horrible–not the fucking, he loved the fucking–the humiliation of it. He wanted to cum so much, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t know why.

When the bar closed for the night, Travis was left abandoned. He booked it down the road as fast as he could worried that Larry might come back to find him, clad only in a pair of boxers a trucker had given him, his cock still hard, and a beer bottle still firmly planted in his ass. He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to go somewhere…didn’t he? Still, where could he go? He had no ID, no life to return to–he was lost. It was almost a relief when Larry pulled up beside him in his truck.

“Get in boy,” was all he said, but Travis did nothing, but the order sent a throb of lust through him.

“No…No, I’m not going to be your slave, I’m not.”

“It’s too late for that, boy,” Larry said, “You gave me your charge–I own you whether you want it or not…and I know you do. Did you get a load off in there? I bet you didn’t. You need to submit boy, you need to be owned. Come here and get in.”

There was that throb again, his cock leaking a bit. He came over and got in, a shiver of lust from his obedience sinking in. “Why…why me?”

“Because you need this. Now jack me off,” Larry said, and again, Travis wanted to obey, and he reached over, stroking Larry’s cock. “See, it feels good to obey, doesn’t it? Now look in my eyes–let’s seal the deal boy, give me the rest–give me all of it. Give it up, and you can cum, I promise.”

Travis resisted for a moment…but could it really be that bad? He could still get out, but what was out there for him, really? Nothing, at least here he had something. So he looked. He fell into Larry’s eyes one final time, completely. He gave it all up, his free will, his personal ambition. He would be a vessel for Larry, but that no longer scared him–it thrilled him. His cock shot the load it had been building all night, soaking the front of his boxers. “Thank–Thank you, sir,” he said, the deference automatic and natural.

“Suck me boy,” Larry said, and Travis obeyed without a second thought. Travis’ future was no longer his–it was Larry’s. His master got him a construction job, with a group of men who had no objection to using the burly slave’s holes all day long. Travis had no choice but to love it now–but he didn’t regret his choice. He had hated being in charge–giving it up to his Master Larry was the greatest decision of his life.

Giving Charge (Part 1)

Commissioned by rtrose

It was the night of the Midsummer Gala, the biggest fundraising benefit for the museum where Travis worked. This year, he had been put in charge of the event, and while he’d expected to enjoy the responsibility, the reality of taking charge was a lot less pleasant. The sheer amount of organization required–the invitations, the exhibits, the caterers, the party rental, the squabbling employees–Travis could barely manage a few smiles as the photographers drifted around the room, snapping photos of the attendees.

Still, he had a role to play, and if the museum didn’t bring in a decent amount of revenue tonight, it was his head on the line. He secretly hated events like this, the schmoozing and small talk. It was exhausting, and as the event organizer, he was obligated to interact with all of the big donors who had come tonight, and do his best to get them to open their wallets as wide as possible. He’d just finished an overly long discussion with Emmanuel Garrison, a wealthy rancher outside of town who had been heavily implying that he would be happy to donate more money if the “Garrison Family Legacy” were more heavily represented in the local history exhibit, and Travis didn’t know how much more of this he would be able to take. He just needed a breath of fresh air for a moment, a chance to catch his breath. Glancing around, he spotted an emergency exit door which opened into the back alley, and when he saw his boss looking away, he ducked out with a sigh of relief.

Outside, it really wasn’t much nicer than inside. Even though the sun had long since set, the air was still sweltering and thick with humidity–Travis felt himself start to sweat almost immediately. Still, as uncomfortable as it was, it still was a relief to be out from the crowded cocktail party inside. More than anything, it was a relief to be alone–or at least, he thought he was alone, until he heard a voice call out down the alley, “Evening, man. You out here for a smoke?”

Travis, a bit surprised, looked down the alley and saw a grimy, bearded man in a set of coveralls, leaning up against the brick wall of the museum, a cigarette burning in his hand. Travis felt a wave of disgust looking at the man, but he still couldn’t face going back in there, so he decided to just stay silent.

“Hey, you listening, boy? Or you just deaf?” The man, said, coming down the alley towards Travis.

“No–No, I don’t smoke,” Travis said, mostly sensing that the man wouldn’t let up until he responded, “I just needed a break from the party in there.”

“Oh, so that’s what all the ruckus is about. My name’s Larry.”

The man extended his oil stained hand and Travis accepted it gingerly, giving it a light shake. “I’m…uh, Travis. Nice to, uh, meet you.”

“So you work in there? That’s kind of a ridiculous suit–you a waiter or something?”

“No, I’m an employee of the museum. I’m in charge of outreach and funding…I put on the party going on in there.”

“That’s your party? Well why aren’t you in there enjoying yourself?”

Travis paused, not really wanting to say, but hell, what did it matter? It wasn’t like he would ever see this guy again in his life, once he went back inside. “Well, it’s just…exhausting, I guess. Putting the entire event together, hobnobbing with all the donors, making sure everyone’s having a good time–it’s exhausting. I guess, I just hate being in charge, you know? I can’t enjoy myself when I have all of this responsibility on my shoulders.”

“Oh, is that what’s going on with you? Well, I don’t know why they’d but a little twerp like you in charge–it’s pretty clear to me that you’re the kind of guy who should be taking orders, not giving them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Travis said, but he suddenly sensed that this conversation was heading in a direction he hadn’t anticipated, as Larry came in closer, his smoke and body odor invading his personal space. He tried to duck away but one of Larry’s arms shot out, blocking his way. When Travis swung back around, he came into direct contact with Larry’s cloudy grey eyes…and he felt something being pulled from him, and into Larry. He tried to break the eye contact, but there was nothing he could do. The gaze probably only lasted for a few seconds, but in his mind, it felt like hours. Finally, Larry blinked, and Travis felt control return to him, or, some control. Something felt different–wrong, but he didn’t know what.

Larry, on the other hand, seemed happy as could be, and let out a chuckle, then pushed his cigarette up against Travis’ lips, and said, “Inhale, boy.”

Travis was already breathing in before his head could think about refusing, and the acrid smoke in his lungs made him start coughing uncontrollably. Why had he just done that? He hated smokers and smoking–he’d lost track of how many times he’d promised to himself that he’d never be a smoker–and now he’d taken a massive breath of a cancer stick because some roughneck had told him to? “What–What did you just do to me?” Travis gasped, trying to speak through his smoky throat.

“Why, I’m taking charge, boy–and you’re giving it. Now if I’m not mistaken, we have a party to get back to, isn’t that right?”

“We? But…I mean, you–you–” Travis was trying to refuse, trying to deny him entrance, but the words wouldn’t form. Of course Larry didn’t belong there, but as soon as he’d said it, Travis found it impossible to disagree, or disobey. “I mean–if you go in there looking like that, they’ll–they’ll throw you–us, they’ll throw us out.”

“Hmm…” Larry said, “You may be a twerp, but you have a point. I suppose I can’t go in there in these dirty coveralls, can I?” he smirked, “Now, if I were wearing a fancy suit like yours–then I could get in there no problem. So strip.”

“What?”

“Strip, boy! I hate giving orders twice. Get out of those clothes and give them to me.”

There were so many things wrong with this and so many reasons he shouldn’t be cooperating, Travis had plenty of time to try and get them out of his mouth as he undressed himself in the alley, before handing Larry his clothes, who stripped off his coveralls, “Now boy, dress me up–I haven’t worn a suit in a long time–I forgot how to put one on.”

Trying to swallow his disgust, Travis, naked, began sliding his own clothes onto Larry’s chubby, hairy body. None of the clothes fit very well–Larry was a good three inches taller and probably fifty pounds heavier–but the suit had been a bit big on Travis, which allowed him to find some way to cram Larry into it. “Damn boy, you’re more of a little twerp than I’d thought–we’re gonna have to do something about that later tonight.”

“Look, please stop this,” Travis begged, “I don’t know what’s going on or why you’re doing this, but I’m sorry. Please, just give me back my clothes, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

Larry laughed, “Forget about this? Hell no, I love breaking in boys like you–now, you sit tight while I duck in there and scope out the situation. Don’t even think about going anywhere.”

“But I’m naked! What if someone sees me?”

“You got some clothes there–put them on–and smoke another cigarette too–I like a boy with tobacco on his breath,” Larry said, pointing to his discarded coveralls and boots, and again, Travis couldn’t resist pulling on the filthy, oily clothes and lighting up another cigarette while Larry ducked back into the gala. He was gone for fifteen, long, minutes–leaving Travis there, shaking and terrified (though he had to admit, the cigarette did help calm his nerves). He was just starting to think that Larry had abandoned him when he stormed back through the door to the museum with food splattered up and down the front of his suit.

“Dang boy, they have quite the spread in there! I haven’t eaten like that in a long time. Here, I brought you something from the bar so we can have a party of our own back here.”

Larry handed Travis the bottle of whisky he’d taken from the catering company, but he pushed it away, “Please–please hasn’t this gone far enough? Just give me back my clothes–please. I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what? That you hate being in charge? Of course you meant it–twerps like you hate being in positions of authority–the only thing you’re good for is doing what you’re told–you’re here to be dominated and controlled and ordered around. It’s what you live for, boy–and you’re gonna love me because following my orders feels so damn good…Now drink up.” He shoved the bottle mouth against Travis’ lips and he drank, the alcohol burning his throat and resting uneasily on his empty stomach, and something else. He did…sort of like it. He did like having this big man telling him what to do. It was so much easier, really, and when he felt Larry’s rough hand slip down the front of the coveralls and start stroking his cock, he felt even more of his resistance drop away. “See that’s a good boy. Drink some more while you and I have a nice chat about how things are going to work from now on.”

Travis listened, and drank. He listened to Larry tell him about how he was going to be obeying his every command from now on. How he was going to serve him, clean his dirty body, drink his cum, beg for his master’s cock up his ass every night and every morning. All of his money, his property would belong to Larry, and Travis was happy about that. He was happy about all of it. Larry would occasionally take a moment to duck back into the party, bringing out plates of food for Travis to eat, and more liquor for him to drink. It was starting to feel natural–and this scared Travis more than anything else. It was starting to feel right.

When Larry told him to get back into his suit, he was confused. He’d grown to like wearing his master’s clothes–the stench which had bothered him so much before was now comforting. His shirt didn’t fit well around his full belly and he was very unsteady on his feet, but he weaved his way back into the gala, still not sure what he was doing. He was…doing what his Master wanted him to do. He walked up to his boss, who was in a deep discussion with Emmanuel Garrison, still discussing the Local History exhibit, and he got down between the two of them, making both men stop in mid sentence.

“Please Sir,” he shouted over the din of the party, looking up at his boss, “Fuck me with your big cock, sir. I’m just a little twerp with an ass aching for a big cock–please fuck me sir, please.” Even he had to admit that he sounded ridiculous, and he heard the rest of the party come to a complete silence around him, his face burning, and without any sort of control, his bladder released, piss streaming into his suit pants. Mr. Garrison smelled it first, and the look of horror on his face as he retreated away from Travis was surpassed only by the look of pure fury on the face of Travis’ boss.

“Travis–what in the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Please sir, fuck me sir–I deserve it sir, I’m just a pretty boy twerp who needs his ass fucked so bad–please,” he said, then got down on his hands and knees and pushed down his pants, presenting his ass to his boss and listening to the gasps and shrieks from all the donors in the room.

“Get out!–Get out, and don’t ever come in this building again!” his boss screamed, and that was enough to send Travis fleeing, hauling up his sopping wet pants and he ran out the back door to where Larry was waiting, smoking another cigarette.

“So, did he do it, boy?”

“No sir, he wouldn’t fuck my ass,” Travis said.

“Seem he doesn’t know how to treat a little twerp like you at all. Still, he’s not your real boss, is he? Now me on the other hand,” he said, shoving Travis up against the wall and yanking down his pants, “I know exactly how to deal with a bitch like you.”

The satisfaction of his master’s cock being shoved up his ass did more to seal the deal for Travis than anything else Larry had told him or done to him that evening, and Travis was unable to stop himself from cumming all over the brick wall in front of him, and happily got down on his knees to lick it up after his Master had shot his own load deep up his ass. When he finished, Larry threw another set of coveralls at him. “Put those on twerp–they’re my spares. I don’t think you’ll need that nasty suit anymore.”

Travis did as he was told, throwing his old clothes in a dumpster and pulling on the dingy coveralls. “What…what happens now, Sir?” he asked.

“Now?” Larry laughed, “Now we need to do something about you being such a twerp–let’s head home and see what we can do about that.” He walked off towards a truck parked on the side of the street, Travis following, feeling his stomach begin to churn uncomfortably–though whether it was from fear, eager anticipation, or the load of cum swimming in his guts–he didn’t know, but he climbed into the truck anyway, and into an uncertain future.

Yeah, I’m a computer geek, I work in IT, so what? I enjoy what I do. Sure, I’m not the most attractive guy, I’m pudgy, maybe don’t have the best hygiene, but I get enough action, trust me. I just call it one of my on the job perks.

See, I have access to every computer in the office complex, and I’ve spent years developing my subliminal desktop application. See, there are these tiny flickers on every screen–no one really notices them unless they know what to look for, and I might plant a few suggestions for my fellow employees to follow. Take Rick for example. He’s been working out, and I love his new work clothes–those fatigues really look great. And damn, do I love cigar smokers, they get me hard as a rock in no time…Hey, don’t get me wrong, I love pipes like yours too–and it really looks good with that beard you’re growing for me, trust me.

So yeah, maybe I am a geek–but I have the whole office wrapped around my finger–including you. Now suck my dick, I haven’t got all day.

Source: suxitnnyc

Yeah, that’s it, lick my boot faggot. I told told you those cuffs were magic–the cop whose uniform I swiped didn’t believe me either, but he’s too busy suckin’ cock at the rest area to do anything now. Yeah, that’s right, that guy whose face you fucked? He was a cop–now he’s mine, and you’re mine too. The question, though, is what kind of faggot you’re gonna be?

Well, you sure do love that boot, so how about we make you a foot faggot? Yeah, you’re gonna love it, cleaning and shining men’s boots with your tongue, licking the sweat and grime from between their toes, sucking their filthy socks, and the only time you’ll cum is with a foot up your ass–how does that sound?

…Why am I doing this? Because I hate faggots, but if you’re here, then you might as well be useful. All my buddies are gonna know you’re here, ready to shine their shoes and clean their feet whenever they want. Now get that boot off and suck my sock–I haven’t got all night to get you trained.

Yeah, I know I’m not like most burglars. For one, I only break into houses when they’re occupied. Well, I should be more specific–I only break into houses that are occupied my men, preferably by big, beefy daddies like this guy here–ain’t he something?

Yeah, he thought he could defend himself–they always do. He pointed the gun at me and looked in my eyes…and well, he wasn’t ready for my psychic blast, I don’t think, and his mind was blank and under my complete control seconds later. Before too long, he was on the bed, groaning, gun by his side, cock hard, playing with his nipples–helpless, basically–while I cased the joint and took what I wanted. Now don’t worry, I didn’t leave him unsatisfied. In fact, he thanked me profusely for the best orgasm of his life and for for robbing him of his worthless goods before sucking my cock off.

So I suppose I’ve never really robbed anyone, since they’re always happy to give me anything they want, isn’t that right? You do want to give me everything I want, right?

Source: intriguingmales-blog

Matchmaker (Part 2)

***WARNING – Contains some graphic violence. Don’t like it? Don’t read it.***

So I had a plan–set up the bastard men in my family with some of the perverse construction workers I worked with. Of course, I realized I had a lot to figure out before I could make any of this happen, after all, I hadn’t been in contact with anyone in my family in years. I spent the next few months honing my skills as a matchmaker, and searching out my relatives, finding them rather quickly. My dad, Jerry, was the easiest, since he was still living in the family house, although my brothers had moved out. I decided to save him for last. My younger brother, Nick, was next. A quick look around facebook showed that he was in his final year of college, and the same old lazy, immature dumbass he’d always been. The hardest one to track down was Bill, my older brother, and the one who’d set the whole ball rolling when he’d found my porn stash. He was working as a security guard for a strip mall a couple of towns over. I decided to start with him–it seemed like the most fitting.

Bill had always been the righteous one, the one who felt the call of moral duty beyond all else, especially when he could warp it to serve his own interests. It was no surprise really that he’d ended up as a security guard, where he could flaunt some useless authority at people he deemed inferior to himself. He’d always wanted to be a cop, but I’m pretty sure that the academy would have kicked his ass out after one psych interview–although knowing how cops can be, they’d probably be happy to have him join their ranks. Still, I had always wanted to see what would happen if Bill had gotten into trouble more often in his life.

Regardless, I knew just who to set him up with, a biker on the crew named Spike. He was dirty, covered neck to toe in tattoos, with a blonde mullet and brunette fu-man-chu which just screamed trailer trash, and was always getting into trouble. I thought he was hot, and had played around with him once, but damn that guy was rough in bed, and domineering as hell. Sure, I don’t mind being a sub on occasion–still, I had never really felt the urge to stray too far into the BDSM zone. Still, for a guy like Bill, who loved lording his power over others, I thought Spike would be the perfect man to whip him into a different shape.

This time though, unlike with Rick and Juan, I didn’t want to have to supervise. That whole experience had been so taxing, I felt sick for a week afterwards, so I planned the spell intricately, to make sure it would take hold exactly how I wanted it to. Bill and Spike would have an impromptu meeting–and it would be love at first sight. The spell would intensify Spike’s fetishes and desires, and twist Bill to reflect them as they spent more and more time together. But how would they meet? Well, Bill loved camping and the outdoors, so how better for them to get acquainted than on the open road? Excited, I cast the ritual, and sat back, eager to see the results when they rode back into town.

~~~

“Fucking piece of shit!” Bill shouted, and kicked the tire of his car, the engine smoking and steaming. He came around and opened up the hood, dodging away to avoid getting burned by the vapors. God damn it,” he said, “so much for this camping trip.” He looked around at the somewhat arid landscape, and wished he hadn’t decided to head for such a remote campground. He pulled out his cell phone and cursed again–not a single god damn bar. It was looking more and more like he was walking back to that gas station he’d passed a few miles back. It was about that time that he heard the distinct grumble of a motorcycle approaching from the highway.

He was heading pretty fast, and Bill only got a glimpse of tattoos and blonde hair as the guy blew by, but to his great surprise, the guy slowed down and pulled off onto the shoulder ahead of him. Maybe the guy was a mechanic or something, Bill thought, or he could at least hitch a ride with him. The man climbed off his bike, and Bill felt his heart leap up into his chest. The guy was definitely not someone Bill would have ever imagined being attracted to, but his racing heart was telling him otherwise. The man’s bleach blonde mullet, the cigar tucked in his mouth, his tattooed arms sticking out of his ragged leather vest, and the substantial bulge in the faded jeans and chaps all sent chills through his body. “Having some car trouble, man? The name’s Spike,” the biker said to him, and he nearly swooned. What in the world was happening to him?

“Uh, yeah…yeah, that’s it,” Bill said, but his voice was all squeaky suddenly, like he was back in middle school talking to a cute girl. “S–Sorry, it’s just embarassing, and I’m a bit freaked out…” he added, trying to cover and not look like a complete dipshit.

“You smoke?” Spike said.

“What?”

“I asked if ya smoke, boy,” the biker said, and the tinge of authority in his voice did things to Bill’s cock he didn’t even understand, “Here, have a cigar on me. It’ll mellow you out. You could probably use it.” He handed him a cigar from a vest pocket, and Bill cringed.

“No…No I don’t smoke, but–”

“Take it boy,” Spike said, and Bill’s hand shot out and took the cigar from him, holding it in his mouth while the biker gave him a light. “There, that’s better, right? Now let me take a look at this cage of yours.”

At the word ‘cage,’ an image flashed through Bill’s head. He was in a cage, dressed in leather and Spike was looking in on him, his cock out–No, no, that was so wrong, he thought and shook his head, walking around behind the car to clear his head. He took a drag off the cigar, and did feel a bit better. It was really hot out here–he was sweating like a pig. He pulled off his shirt, feeling better with the fresh air on his skin, and tried to calm down. Calm down, and not think about how hot it would be to suck that biker’s thick, tattooed and pierced cock.

“Well man, I’m sorry, but your radiator is completely gone–you’re gonna have to get a tow–” Spike said, but stopped short when he saw the shirtless Bill smoking his cigar, and he was starting to think of a few possible reasons for why the guy had been acting kind of odd. The guy was definitely cute, and Spike was finding himself more and more interested every second. Hell, even if the boy was straight, he’d just need a firm master to send him all crooked. “Nice tatts by the way–they suit you.”

Bill looked at him, confused. Tatts? He didn’t have any tatts. “What…what are you talking about?”

“How about you go ahead and address me as, ‘Sir,’ boy, seein’ as how I’m your superior and all. Yeah, nice tatts, and they look damn good with that cigar, I must say. And a jock–I love a boy in a jockstrap.”

“I don’t…” Bill started to say, but when he looked down at his previously bare arms, he saw swirling tattoos starting at his wrists crawling up onto his shoulders and pecs. His astonishment was cut short by a sharp slap across the face from Spike.

“I said, you were gonna address me as Sir, boy. Now what was that?”

Bill cringed a bit from the hit–but…was his cock hard? “S–Sorry, sir,” he stuttered, looking down and away with submission. He felt Spike’s hand on his crotch massaging his cock and he groaned. “Please…please no, I’m straight…sir,” Bill said, but the words rang false even to his ears, and Spike just laughed.

“Oh? A straight boy who moans like a little whore when a big, dirty biker grabs his crotch? I don’t think so,” he said, and stuck his grimy, greasy hand down the back of Bill’s pants, groping his ass and pulling him closer, into Spike’s scent of rank body odor, smoke and cheap whisky. They inhaled each other’s exhaust for a moment, before Spike added quietly, “Yeah, I think you just need a big biker master to show you how much of a faggot biker bitch you are.”

Bikk wanted to say no, wanted to get in the car and lock the doors. He struggled as Spike pushed him around and over the back of the car, then pulled down his jeans–but the struggle was all play he realized. He wanted Spike to pop his cherry, turn him into a little biker bitch. “No daddy, don’t fuck me here, in the open.” he heard himself say, but he wanted it–needed it so bad, and Spike grinned wide.

“Oh you little biker slut, you’re gonna get it! I’m not even gonna lube up for this, so you’d better brace your hole.” The pain was excruciating, but Bill fought through it. He wanted to be a good biker bitch for Spike. For his…his boyfriend, no, his master. Yeah, his biker master. He creamed his jock at the thought, and Spike didn’t even notice until he smelled the cum. “Dang, ya ain’t even trained yet. That’s a bad bitch, cumming before I give you permission. The only cock you should think about getting off is mine!” He pounded his big cock in even deeper, making Bill shout out in pain. Hearing the bitch scream sent Spike over the edge, and he filled his new bitch’s ass full of his cum.

“I…I love you sir…thank you,” Bill moaned, but Spike just slammed his face down into the rear end of the car hard enough to send blood spurting from his nose.

“You little bitch–you think I want your fucking love? Fuck no. You’re a piece of shit. You aren’t even fucking trained! You don’t even deserve to wear fucking clothes of your own, strip out of those, that jock too.”

Feeling more ashamed than ever before in his life at the thought of disappointing Spike, he stripped down the rest of the way, not even noticing that his tattoos had spread over the rest of his body. “Please sir,” he said, getting down on his knees, completely forgetting he was on the side of the road, “Please sir, train me sir. Teach me how to be a good and proper biker bitch, sir…your bitch, sir.”

Spike grinned around his cigar, grabbed the top of Bill’s head and shoved him down onto all fours, “Then you can start by cleaning by boots, bitch. And don’t get any of that faggot blood on them either.”

Without any hesitation, he started licking at the leather, swallowing down the road dust and trying not to cough and spray blood from his broken nose. He had to show Spike how much he wanted to be his bitch–if he couldn’t be with Spike–he would just die.

“Dang, you do learn quick. Fine, you want to be my biker bitch? I guess I could train you.”

“Oh thank you sir, thank you. I won’t disappoint you, I promise.”

“Well, you’re gonna need a few changes, but nothing I can’t handle. You’re looking pretty good already with all those tatts, and you’re kind of pudgy too. I like a man with meat on his bones. And forget about shaving that body of yours, I like a man with a furry pelt.”

“Yes sir, anything for you sir. I know…I know you don’t love me sir, but I’ll do anything to be your bitch sir, I swear.”

Spike grinned, “Really bitch? I’m gonna hold you to that. So how about this. You’re mine now–my property, got it? And property doesn’t get to own anything–property only gets to wear what I say it can. And all you’re wearing for the drive home is that nasty jock of yours, as a reminder of how bad of a bitch you were to cum without my permission.”

“Yes sir,” Bill replied, pulled on the jock, and followed his new master back to his bike, looking back at his still smoking car just once, before climbing on the bitch seat riding off into his new role, and new life.

“