Pigtown Daddies (Part 3)

“I’m…I’m not gonna say it. You can’t make me say it.”

Evan was coated in sweat, the marks on his back turning dark as the welts grew across. He’d lost track of the hours at this point, it had simple melded together into a blur of pain and pleasure–Barrett lashing him, Mick taunting him and fucking him with his dildo, promising him a real cock if he’d just admit it–admit that what Evan wanted, what he reall wanted, the reason he’d come back, was to be their boy, for real. But Evan wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction, if he could help it.

Barrett was panting a bit, and snapping the whip he was currently bringing down on the boy’s back. He cracked his neck and grunted, while Mick leaned in a bit closer to Evan, bringing his face close. “Boy–you don’t get it, do you? I don’t need you to ask for it, anymore. I just need you to admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Boy, now you’re just being obstinate.”

“I’m not your fucking boy, you fucker! Now let me the fuck out of here, you can’t fucking keep me in here, you’re asses are going to be in jail for the rest of your fucking life.”

“You gotta stop pretending boy, because now this is just silly. It was funny, at first, but now your daddies are starting to get…tired of your fatherfuckin’ shit.”

“You can’t do anything else to me, you dumbfuck, this is all you got. And you made me fucking like it! What the fuck did you expect?”

Mick just glared back.

“Jus’ fuckin’ show the boy, Mick,” Barrett said, frustrated, “I know ya like the reveal of it ‘n all, but he ain’t gonna git it ‘til he sees it.”

“Shut up Barrett.”

“Mick, yer just as fuckin’ bullheaded as the damn boy!”

“Not fucking in front of him!” Mick said, whirling on Barrett.

The argued for a bit, giving Evan a chance to catch his breath and try and regroup. It was…true, in a sense. He enjoyed this. He’d cum…fuck, he didn’t know how many times, but he didn’t want this to stop, he wanted his daddies to keep abusing him all fucking night long–

No–No, not daddies, why had he thought that?

“Fine, fucking fine, whatever–you’re fucking right, alright?” Mick said, and walked back to where Evan was bound to the cross, and he undid the chains holding him to the wooden cross. “Barrett says we could all use a little break, boy, so why don’t we all go have a drink? Then we can have some more fun.”

The bar–if they took him back to the bar, maybe he could escape out the door, if he was quick. He feigned exhaustion…but he didn’t have to fake much. His legs were rubbery, his back was screaming, and he still couldn’t really stand up straight because of the chain running from septum to glans. Still, the dim light of the bar was still a revelation to him, after so long in the red. Barrett went to the bar to get a round, while Mick directed Evan over to a table and sat him down, where Evan found he had a clear view of himself in a mirror stretching along the wall…and when he saw the image of himself there at the table with Mick, his jaw dropped, and he hauled his way out of the chair and over to the glass.

“The..what the fuck did you do to me?”

“I told you boy–I don’t need you to say it anymore,” Mick said, “We’re just waiting for you to admit it, finally.”

It wasn’t him, in the mirror. Not the person he’d been, at least. He was six inches shorter, or so, and quite a bit fatter. Arms and belly soft, the chain running tight against the curve of his gut to the smaller cock underneath the overhang. “I’m not…I’m not their boy, though…” he muttered to himself.

“Boy, git o’er here, ‘n sit down. Ya gotta take a break.”

“O…Ok daddy,” Evan muttered, and turned to where his daddies were sitting at the table, Barrett with three beers for them all, Mick looking like someone had spoiled his whole fun, and Barrett smiling warmly at him. He walked over, trying to sort out all of the thoughts and narratives in his head, but before he could get to his seat, Barrett grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around his boy, Evan gritting his teeth in pleasure at the sting of his daddy’s sweat against his flayed back.

“Feel good, boy?”

“Y-Yeah daddy…”

“That’s a good boy. Ya doin’ a’ight? Daddy wasn’t too rough, was he?”

“Daddy…ya…ya know ya can’t be too rough with me…right?”

Mick scowled a bit at them both, “My way is more fun, you know.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Barrett said, “but I think the boy’s been through enough, for a bit.”

“No way daddy! You can whip me some more, can’t you?”

“Heh–of course boy,” Barrett said, pulling his chubby pain pig closer. “I bet daddy Mick o’er there will lighten up once he gits his thick arm buried up that boy cunt, right boy?”

Evan looked at the door to the bar–he’d…he needed to leave, didn’t he? He’d planned on running, but why? He could remember…something, a vague something, but it had dissolved in the mirror behind him. He looked back at the mirror, and he thought, for a moment, he caught a glimpse of a man in the mirror, pounding at the other side, screaming, but a smack on the thigh from Barrett brought him back to what mattered, back to his daddies. “Yeah! Yeah, daddy Mick, you wanna fist me? I wanna feel that big fist in my hole way more than my dildo!”

Mick’s glower softened a bit, and he nodded. “Sure boy, I’ll fist you for sure. Fist you so fucking hard you spurt a load of boycum right out without even touching that cock of yours.”

Evan grinned, and bounced a bit on Barrett’s knee, rocking on the dildo as they drink, and when they finished, they went back into the red, and by morning, even the mirror had forgotten Evan had existed.

Pigtown Prison (Part 3)

Keith, in his mind, was desperately trying to make his body stop, but he couldn’t. He’d never topped another person in his life, but all his body wanted to do now was fuck–and fuck rough. The pig under him had gotten used to the assault and was starting to enjoy himself, so he redoubled his force, plowing him harder until the pig squealed in pain…and hearing that, he felt so fucking good, it nearly made him shoot. “What…the fuck did you fucking do to me!” he shouted at Rod, his voice deep and gruff, completely alien to the one he’d known his whole life.

“Don’t be mad at me, fucker–it was Oliver, who did this to you.” Rod got down and stared Keith right in the eyes, “You wanna be mad at anyone, then be mad at him.”

Something…changed in him. The rage he was feeling flared higher, and Keith felt all of it focused on Oliver. He tried to fight it and push back–he loved Oliver! Sure, their sexual chemistry was a bit of a struggle, given that they both preferred to bottom, but he’d thought they’d been working through it, right?

Rod just chuckled, “Oh no, Keith, no, no, no. Oliver never really wanted you. That’s why you’re here. He wants a top, a brutal top, a mean fucker who only wants to plow him into next week. He doesn’t care about who you are–he just wants the fuck. All this? All this pain? He doesn’t care as long as he gets what he wants. Well guess what Keith? You don’t have to care either. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

There was a flicker in Rod’s eyes, and a moment later, Keith screamed again. His mind–it felt like it was on fire–or at least parts of it were. All of his memories of Oliver, all of the times they’d shared together, all of them were aflame–but it wasn’t just memories–it was his compassion and his love. He could feel it shrinking and withering to ash, and the pain was horrific but soon he didn’t even care. He enjoyed it, he reveled in it–he gripped the pig by one hip, hard enough to bruise, and drove in deeper still, his other hand planted on the back of the pig’s head shoving his face into the filthy, pissdamp floor of the bathroom. “How’s that feel, you fucking piece of shit?” he screamed, and his cock exploded, filling the pig’s ass to the brim, but he kept fucking until he went soft, and only then did he pull out–body shaking with some caustic mix of pain, exhaustion and exhilaration.

Who…was he now? He remembered so little, but he did know one thing, and remember one person. Oliver–he remembered him, and he hated him. Hated him, because it was his fault that he’d just been put through all of that pain and suffering…and Keith knew he was going to have to pay for what he did.

“That’s a good boy,” Rod said, giving Keith a pat on the shoulder, “Now, why don’t we get you deputized?”

Rod’s hand settled on his shoulder, and underneath his palm, something like a shadow spread out and down Keith’s body, down his chest and back. He braced himself for more pain, but this didn’t hurt–it was warm and supple–he first thought it was some kind of rubber, but he touched it with a finger, and discovered that he somehow being coated in leather. It covered his entire body, aside from his neck and head, in less than a minute, a smooth, body hugging layer–and once it had coated him, he felt the entire body suit shift and morph around him. It split at the waist, becoming a shirt and pants, and then split again at his knees, the leather around his feet shaping into a pair of perfectly shined leather motorcycle boots. The pants were tight against his muscles, with a red stripe down the side, his huge cock bulging in the crotch and running down one leg. The leather…adjusted to it, and it felt so comfortable, like his cock always laid there, in a stretched out pocket of his pants. The shirt took a bit longer to form, but the details were more intricate–lapels and pockets, the sleeves shortening, exposing his massive biceps and forearms, hands encased by the tightest fitting gloves he’d ever felt, like they were painted on his hands.

Rod gave a flourish with his hand, and a cap appeared in his hand–and a silver steel badge. He placed the police cap on Keith’s head, and pinned the badge to his chest, and then gave him a smoky kiss. “Beautiful–now, you have a suspect to interrogate, right officer?”

“Y-Yes sir,” Keith said.

“Good fucker–work him over nice and proper. Figure out what sort of shit he pulled here yesterday. But whatever he did, don’t bring it back here! Just…deal with it as best you can. Probably some knick knack or something–it surprised me, but wasn’t that strong.”

Keith nodded, and a few minutes later he was out on the sidewalk, cool in his leathers despite the hot night. He found his motorcycle and rode off into the dark, heading for Oliver’s place, and more than eager give the man who’d done this to him a bit of payback.

Pigtown Prison (Part 2)

The pain was spreading to the rest of his body now, radiating from his guts but manifesting in entirely different ways. There was…a burning ache deep inside him–everywhere inside of him–and it was only becoming worse. He heard, and felt, the first unsettling crack in his knee, and his leg gave out under him, sending him crashing to the floor…and he felt the bones in his left leg grow and extend…but the muscle and tendons attached didn’t. He screamed then, clutching at his thigh, watching his ankle extend from the leg of his jeans, and with another couple of cracks, his right leg did the same. He didn’t remember much of the next few minutes, as the rest of his skeleton followed suit–it was just a constant sensation of burning in his bones, and the feeling of his meat and skin stretching to try and accommodate his growing body. Over him, he could see the filthy ceiling, Rod leaning against the wall smoking a cigar, and certain he must be dying. But as his bones finished, his muscles followed–each beginning with a horrific, gut churning cramp, and then releasing an explosion of searing heat as they grew, matching the new length of bone, but also doubling or tripling in size and strength.

At some point, he realized he had either grown accustomed to the pain, or it had actually eased slightly; he rolled over onto his knees, jeans and shirt growing tighter across his frame, and forced his feet back under him. He felt off balance and stumbled–nearly falling over again before he found a wall to steady himself with. The entire room seemed to have shifted around him, the scale smaller–but it wasn’t the room that had shrunk–he had grown taller.

He heaved himself towards the sinks again, and in the mirror, he saw his body changing right in front of his eyes. His limbs…they seemed so long, many of his muscles still stretched taut, but everywhere he’d felt his muscles explode in size, he looked like some…brute. His chest constricted suddenly, and he gripped the sink in front of him, trying to not scream in agony. A moment later, two huge pecs burst forth on his chest, huge slabs popping open the front of his button down shirt and stretching the t-shirt underneath to the breaking point. He could barely move, and with his hands he clawed at the fabric, eventually tearing it off his body, giving him a view of his body below, the muscle speeding up and growing faster now. His pants didn’t last long–when his glutes grew, the seam down the ass tore, letting him rip them away as well, and his underwear came off in shreds soon after. He barely recognized himself in the mirror–his pretty young face resting on top of the body of some steroid ridden bodybuilder–at least until he felt the bones of his face beginning to crunch and shift against one another. He clutched at it, screaming, his chin growing angular, nose breaking and rehealing a few times, brow growing fuller and extending over his eyes which sank back into his skull.

He sobbed, looking at his new face–and then came the hairs. He could feel them, millions of hairs erupting through his skin, every single one of them like an impossibly thin needle. He scratched at his body, watching a thick, black pelt erupt across his chest and down his thick roid gut, over his shoulders and across his entire back, down his ass, arms and legs. He was distracted by an invisible hand gripping his cock and balls and tugging at them, hard, making him retch again. His sack dropped as the hand tugged, balls doubling in size, cock growing to nearly ten inches before the hand finally released him, and the pain subsided, only to be followed by a knee shaking puncture in the head of his cock. He watched a thick ring push its way out of his flesh under the head of his cock, circle up and shove its way into his piss slit where it joined with itself, becoming a thick gauge PA. Exhausted, he tried to stay upright, but his shaking legs collapsed under him and he fell to the floor, adding a small dribble of blood from his cock as the piercing healed up behind it. He barely felt the three other rings follow suit–two bursting out of his nipples and one forcing its way out of his septum. His eyes were tearing up, and he choked back a sob. The pain slid away, and what remained was exhaustion–he just wanted to collapse, wanted to sleep, wanted all of this to be some mad dream.

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Keith heard two or three sets of boots clomp into the room. “Fuck Rod, someone dying in here?”

“Nah, just a fucking pussy is all.”

“Hot piece of ass in my opinion–he been broken in yet?”

“Heh, you sure you want this one? Might be a lot to handle.”

“He sounds like he’ll moan real fucking nice ‘round my cock, is what I think!”

There were hoots and hollers, and hands started grabbing at Keith and forcing him onto his hands and knees. All he could smell around him was smoke and booze on breath, musk and piss and cum and leather. He felt someone pull his ass cheeks apart and a bearded face shove its way in, tongue slathering his hole, another face grabbing his face and kissing him. He felt…something else boiling inside him, some other lingering heat from the change. This…it wasn’t right, this wasn’t right! He wasn’t going to let these men take him, no, he…he…

He shoved the man in front of him away with a snarl, turned around and saw a squat piggy looking fuck behind him in leather gear and assless chaps, stroking his cock with one hand. He lunged at him, the others watching him pin the man down and start fucking his ass in surprise, and then they edged their way back out of the bathroom–all of them except Rod, who walked over, observing Keith roughly fucking the pig. “Good instincts, nice technique–you’ll do nicely.”

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 5)

“No sir, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please Master, I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“Does he love you?”

“M-Maybe, sir.”

“And you don’t love him?”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t understand, sir.”

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

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

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

“Leave him out of this.”

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


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

“He was just a good lay!”

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

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

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

How long has he been under? Not sure at this point, but probably close to three weeks. Picked him up as a baseball game was letting out–he was with a couple of friends, so I had to wait until they split up, so I could get close to him, chat him up a bit, walk with him, guiding him in circles around town for a few hours, sinking him deeper and deeper into himself and under my control until he wasn’t even really there anymore. Just a new toy for me to have some fun with.

Been playing around with him quite a bit, actually, bringing bits of that old him to the surface and sanding them down a bit, tweaking memories here and there, switching a few things around for him. Sure. I’ve fucked him–you gotta try it a couple of times before you commit, you know? And he’s sweet, both his ass and his mouth, but I’m not really looking for sweet–you remember Faggy? Toy I just got rid of? He was sweet. No, something rough this time around. Something I can really sink my fists into.

No, no marks on him yet, that’s true. That’s because punching a fucking doll isn’t much fun, and sure as hell doesn’t turn me on. That’s not to say he hasn’t been having some painful experiences lately, just to open up his mind to the pleasure he’s going to be receiving from me here soon. No, when I wake him up? The first time I hit him? He’s going to be assaulted by so many damn feelings, he won’t know what to do, but if I did my job right, he’ll ask for another one. Because he’ll want more, even if he doesn’t really understand why. Even though, deep down, he just wants it all to stop. 

Think of tonight as a trial run–I even got something to celebrate. Since I found him at a baseball game, I know he’s a fan. But I doubt he knows how versatile of a tool it really is. Once his face is good and bloodied with it, then I’ll ram it up his hole, and we can start getting to the real fun, how does that sound? Alright Bruise, on the count of three, you’ll wake up, just like we discussed. Got it? Good. Alright, one…two…three…  

Life Coach (Part 5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Worst Luck – Part 2

***Warning*** Extreme violence, castration, torture, extreme body modification and amputation. Probably shouldn’t be read by anyone–I’m in a weird mood this month. 

Ivan awoke. He couldn’t quite be sure, but he thought he was probably somewhere else now. That said, he had only fuzzy memories of the night before, of being raped. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were secured, spread eagle on some hard, metal table. He could lift his head, however, to look around, and he noticed something terrifying. His cock. His balls. They were so blue that they almost looked black.He could see tight rubber bands around them, he could feel them cutting into his skin, but they must have been on so long he’d begun to go numb. He started shouting for help, desperate, muttering to himself in terror, and he heard a door open behind him–something heavy, a steel door scraping against concrete–more than one person entered, and the door shut again.

“You’re finally awake. Good, I was hoping you’d get to see this.”

It was the man’s voice, from the club. Master, or at least, that’s the only name Ivan had for him. He pleaded, but the man just talked over him.

“You know, I was only going to use you for a night, and then send you on your way. Just a bit of harmless fun had at your expense. But then you had to go and bite my fucking cock, you fucking bitch! You’re fucking lucky you didn’t do any real damage, but fuck you, I’m gonna fuck you up anyway. I didn’t really want another slave in my life, but I’d say that you fucking earned it.” He came around into Ivan’s field of vision, and there was a second man with him, a short, pudgy man in a polo shirt, glasses and a mustache. “This here is Trevor. He’s trained as a veterinarian, but that’s all the expertise we really need here, don’t you think? Now, how about one last shot of cum before we nut you for good?”

Master wrapped one gloved hand around Ivan’s cock, but much to his terror, he couldn’t feel him. He could see the hand moving up and down the stiff shaft, but it might as well have been a piece of literal wood–he had no sensation at all. He was sobbing now, and Master kept at it, taunting him.

“No? You don’t want to cum one last time? Are you sure? Or is it that you can’t? Trevor tells me that at some point there is simply too much nerve death for the penis to be stimulated enough for orgasm. If so, you must be one unlucky whore. Still, if you won’t cum, we might as well get on with it.”

There was no anesthesia. His nerves were dying, but not so dead that he couldn’t feel the scalpel cutting into his sack, his balls tugged out and cut away from his body, the excess sack skin trimmed away, and what remained was sewn up tight. Then the vet began on his cock, cutting through it at the base, saving a bit of skin as a graft. It would be like he’d never had a cock or balls at all, just a mutilated genital scar where his manhood had been. Master watched all this in a rather detached manner. As Trevor was finishing up, he finally spoke.

“Now, here is my offer, slave. You can either eat your own dead cock and balls, raw, in their entirety, or Trevor and I will extract every single one of your teeth, one by one.”

Ivan begged and pleaded. He denied it, he attempted to bargain. Master held the bloody head of his cooling cock to his lips, suggesting he give himself a blowjob, that if he thinks cocks are meant to be bitten, then he should bite his own to bits. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to, he tried, but he vomited to the side, gasping.

“Pity, I wanted to see you eat it so badly,” Master said. Trevor handed him a set of pliers. “If it’s any consolation at all, we were going to pull out your teeth no matter what.”

Trevor held Ivan’s screaming mouth wide, Master got a good grip on a tooth and yanked it free by the root, and then another, and another. When he grew tired, the two men switched positions. All Ivan could taste was blood. Finally, two hours later, their work was finished. Ivan was lightheaded from the blood he’d lost, and Trevor was hard at work stitching up the worst wounds in his mouth. Master leaned over him, speaking.

“Part of me wants to go further, you know. Take out your tongue. Snap off your fingers. Cut off your nipples. But I think I’m done for now. I feel…much better. But if you displease me, or any man I order you to serve, like Trevor here, who will be fucking that toothless maw of yours tonight I think, then know that the cost of disappointing me is losing yet another bit of your body–and they will be bits of body you will miss dearly.”

Ivan nodded eagerly. Master pulled on a rubber glove and adjusted his slave’s legs so that they were hauled up into the air.

“Now, since I can’t very well fuck you with five stitches in my cock, I suppose the only option I have left is to fist your hole, slave. Hole–heh, I like that. How about we make that your new name? Tomorrow I’ll have a tattooist friend of mine come over and etch it across your forehead.”

He didn’t use lube. The worst part, for Ivan, was that the act of having his hole abused was still intensely pleasurable, but now he had no outlet. He could feel his body trying to spasm some phantom cock, but with no hope of release, he only became hornier and hornier, ever more desperate for more of Master’s arm to be buried in his ass. Trevor eventually finished his stitches, and then he did, as Master had suggested, fuck his toothless mouth. He was gentle, to keep from ripping open the wounds he’d just closed, but he seemed to care little about what he’d just done. Truely, his luck had been terrible, but certainly it couldn’t be worse that this, right?

He was wrong. A year later, Master finally decided to sell him to a permanent home. Hole had had his eyes plucked out. His fingers, and then his hands, and then his arms up to his elbows had been removed. His legs had been lopped off at the knee. He hadn’t done anything wrong–Master had simple become obsessed with how much he could alter. He had no idea what his new Master looked like. He sounded old. His cock was thick, but short. He enjoyed Hole’s mouth more than his loose, well worn ass, but many of his friends preferred to fuck him, passing him around the room at the orgies he could hear but never see, just a toy for sexual perversion. And that was the worst luck, and woe to any man who is cursed by the wizard on Friday the Thirteenth.

Commission: Too Big

Cowgirl style, yeah, I’m gonna make her ride it, tell her she only has to take as much as she wants, but she’s gonna want it all, all twelve inches, they always do. And then I get to watch her face, watch the pain as I split her pussy wide open, and then the pleasure once my entire fat cock is in her, she’s gonna–

“Sam, is there something out the window more interesting than chemical solutions?”

Sam snapped out of his fantasy, but didn’t take his hand away from the hard cock in the front of his jeans, and rolled his eyes at his science teacher, Mr. Mulford. Who fucking cares? He was getting laid tonight–that’s all he wanted to think about. “Sorry dude,” he said, “Guess I just don’t give a fuck.”

The rest of the class laughed and he smirked. His pudgy, short teacher’s face got a bit red, but he kept composure. “Well, maybe we can find something to interest you up here. How would you like to test these solutions I’ve made for the class?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, I can understand that you might be a bit nervous, but I can assure you everything I’ve been mixing is perfectly harmless.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Sam said. Mr. Mulford shrugged, the class looked at Sam, wondering what he might do. Socially cornered, he got up from his desk his foot long cock still rock hard in his jeans, but he didn’t care. His huge cock was myth at the school, and he liked it that way–it kept the girls coming in droves. He made sure to stretch at the front of the room, showing it off for the whole class, before joining his teacher by his table, where he had a number of colorful solutions sitting in various beakers. Mr. Mulford had him touch a few (slick and slimy, one colored his finger blue), smell another (fake banana, but Sam said it smelled like ass), and then taste one last one. It coated his tongue, and tasted overwhelmingly of mint, and then Mr. Mulford excused him back to his seat.

Sam tried to get the taste out of his mouth, but it was cloying, and he was starting to feel a bit strange. Still, science was his last class of the day–he was probably just tired. He tried to get back into his fantasy, but instead just felt dazed and confused. He heard the bell and saw the rest of the class get up and leave–he tried to follow them, but his body was just so heavy all of a sudden. He was flailing weakly when Mr. Mulford came over and sat down next to him.

“You know Sam, I’d like to thank you for staying after class to meet with me. There’s something that we need to discuss, something I’ve…noticed about you.”

Sam had no idea what his teacher was talking about. He hadn’t planned on staying after class, had he? And yet, now that Mr. Mulford had said it, he could almost remember, he could remember, yeah, he’d…he’d agreed to stay after class. He was still trying to figure out what was happening to him, when his middle aged teacher reached into his lap, unbuttoned his jeans, and unzipped his fly. “What…you doing?” he asked, but the words seemed too quiet to really be heard.

Mr/ Mulford simply reached into the front of Sam’s pants and grabbed the top of his student’s underwear, and pulled it down underneath his massive cock and huge sack of balls. It had gone soft, but with a bit of attention from the teacher’s fingers, it quickly grew to full size, jutting up between Sam’s abs and the desk, Sam giving off a soft groan.

“Goodness, it really is disgusting,” Mr. Mulford said.

“Disgusting?” Sam slurred, “What’s disgusting…?”

“Why, this huge, nasty sewer pipe of a cock. I mean, I’d heard rumors around school, but I see why you’ve been trying to hide it for so long, if people knew you were a freak, why, you’d be an outcast. People would hate you–laugh at you in the halls.”

“But…but big is good…”

His teacher laughed, “Big is good, but this is too big. No wonder you’re a virgin, you couldn’t even fit this in someone.”

He wasn’t a virgin, was he? But he could almost remember…or not remember…what was wrong with his head? Mr. Mulford pressed his advantage, berating Sam’s huge cock and heavy sack, laughing at him, shaming him, humiliating him over and over until Sam was in literal tears. He was a freak. He’d always been a freak, terrified of his own massive cock. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have just been normal? Even a tiny button cock would have been better than this massive dick. Or a cock like Mr. Mulford’s. Mr Mulford showed him his own cock, seven inches, big and thick but not too big like his. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. He couldn’t let anyone know he was a freak! The lengths he’d gone to to make sure no one knew–changing late during sports, or skipping the showers entirely. Wearing baggy pants all the time. Refusing to date any girl, even when they were interested. He couldn’t have sex with anyone, but now Mr. Mulford knew his secret.

“You…you won’t tell anyone will you? You can’t–I’d be…everyone would hate me…” he begged on his hands and knees.

Mr. Mulford massaged his cock, smiling down at his student. “Why, of course I won’t tell anyone–so long as you do everything I say. I mean, keeping a secret this big–you’re going to have to do me some favors. In fact, I think you’re going to come over to my house after school every day after school for a special study session, isn’t that right?”

“But–But I have practice–”

“You fucking idiot–Don’t you realize what a risk sports been for you? What if someone sees your freakish cock in the locker room? I think you’re going to have to quit. It’s for the best.”

Quit? But he was the star receiver. Still, the thought of his friends seeing him naked–what would they say? They’d laugh, they’d tell the whole school! Mr. Mulford was right, he had to quit, he had to.

“Now, how about you do me a favor today Sam–how about you suck my perfect cock off?”

“But I’m not gay…”

“Do you want me to tell everyone or not, freak?”

Sam gulped, but he had no choice. He took his teacher’s cock into his mouth and let him fuck his throat for a few minutes, until he shot a load and forced Sam to swallow his seed, and finally sent him on his way with an address in hand. His first study session was tomorrow, and Sam had a feeling that sucking dick wasn’t the only thing his faggot teacher would require to keep his secret safe.


No one knew what had happened to Sam. One day, he was his normal, outgoing, cocky self, his huge cock displayed prominently in tight jeans, and the next–it was like a whole new person had taken his place. His clothes were loose, he was suspicious of his friends. He no longer returned girl’s calls, and broke up with his girlfriend. He quit the football team in the middle of the season. His parents were concerned–he would be gone most every afternoon and never wanted to tell them where he’d been, saying only that he’d been studying at a friends house. Of course, after a few weeks of strange behavior, he had no friends–none that he could trust, anyway. He could only trust Master Mulford. Master was the only person who understood him, who could love and appreciate him even though he was a freak of nature. And even though he didn’t always like what Master did to him, even though he knew it was wrong, his freakish cock…it wouldn’t stop getting hard, thinking about his afternoon sessions, thinking about the things Master might do to him each afternoon, as he sat in science, daydreaming.

Sure, Master was old and ugly, short and pudgy, but he had the perfect cock. Sam couldn’t help himself now that he knew what his teacher had in his pants–truly it was a cock worthy of worship, unlike his own nasty, massive member. He wasn’t gay, but even now, thinking about it, his mouth was watering. He’d been a good freak though, he’d gone over the weekend and done exactly what his Master had asked him to do. His nipples were still tender, the head of his cock ached, but he had to obey. He had to, or everyone would know his secret. In fact, he suspected that they already did. Everyone whispered as he walked past them. They were all trying to figure out what was wrong with him. How could he tell them? How could he admit that he had a monstrous cock? It was better that people hated him and ignored him. At least he had master. Master wouldn’t tell anyone as long as Sam did everything he said. His secret was safe with him.

Another terrible day at school was over, and Sam walked the now familiar path to his teacher’s house, knowing that Master would arrive first in his car. It took half an hour to walk there, and he wondered what he might have planned. It was difficult to guess–it seemed like every day was some entirely new form of suffering, but the pain always gave way to pleasure, just like Master promised, and Sam would always beg for more, plead with him. He was such a freak. How could he have not noticed before? How could he have ever thought he was normal?

He knocked on the door, and master let him inside, telling him to go down into the basement, strip, and have his drink. Sam nodded. Master’s basement was a fully equipped sex dungeon, and at the foot of the stairs Sam removed his clothes, careful not to hurt his nipples and cock which he had gotten pierced Saturday on Master’s orders. The rings were huge–if he wore a tight shirt, anyone would be able to see them. The same with the PA he’d put in the head of his cock–it served to make his dick even more obscene. He hated it, but Master told him he’d learn to accept the freakishness of it eventually. Master had told him he planned on making Sam’s cock into the freak of nature it is, pierced all over, tattooed. The PA was just the first step–the rest would come later. Naked, he walked to the table and drank down the minty solution he’d first tried in the lab. The haze descended on him faster now–by the time Master joined him downstairs, clad in skimpy leather gear that showed off his chubby, bearish body, it was already difficult to think clearly.

Master’s eyes lit up at the sight of the piercings. “Perfect, just what I wanted,” he said, and tugged gingerly on both nipple rings. “I bet you groaned and got hard when you got them. And that nasty pipe–the piercing artist laughed at you, didn’t he? He was so disgusted at the sight of your cock.”

In fact, the piercings had simply been painful, and the man had been shocked at the size of his dick, but not disgusted. However, at master’s prompting, he happily forgot what had happened and remembered a new version, how he’d moaned at the sensation of the needle in his flesh, how the man had almost refused to pierce his dick; Sam had begged him–after all, if he hadn’t gotten the piercing, Master would have posted those pictures of him naked to the web for everyone to see.

“Now, I have something new for you today. Get on your knees. I want to introduce you to the humbler.”

Sam did as ordered, and Master brought out a curved metal device that looked sort of like shackles. Indeed, the two ends locked around both ankles, but the center had a hole through the shaft–where Master Mulford pulled his balls through and closed the ring tight, so that if he were to stand up, he would rip his sack apart. Just kneeling was uncomfortable, and he tried to adjust his stance to tug on his balls the least. Master cuffed Sam’s hands behind his back, and then without warning, shoved Sam forward. Unable to catch himself, his landed on the hard floor face first, trying to keep his knees bent as much as possible, his balls exposed beneath the humbler, and his master began slapping them with his hands.

“Yeah, look at this nasty sack of filthy cum–it’s fucking obscene. You know what I think we’re gonna do Sam? I think we’re gonna start stretching this sack of yours down, weigh it down all the time, until these fat balls swing between your knees, you fucking disgusting freak.” He got a paddle and started smaking Sam’s sack harder, until the student started crying out, his eyes tearing up from the gut churning pain. “Oh quit whining, you fucking love this, you pain freak. For whatever fucked up reason, this feels good, doesn’t it? You’re fucking enjoying this–I can see that filthy cock of yours getting hard. You’re fucking disgusting.”

It did feel good. It always hurt at first, but Master was right, he did like it. He liked it a lot. He started flexing his legs, pulling his sack tauter, wondering what it would be like to have his sack swinging between his knees. Freak. He would be such a freak. He is a freak, a total pain freak. His balls were swollen from the abuse, and Master Mulford finally hung up the paddle, massaging his perfectly sized cock with one gloved hand. “Gonna fuck that hole now boy, you like getting fucked, don’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“That sewer pipe of yours is gonna leak that filthy cum like a faucet as soon as my dick rips open your hole.”

“Yes sir.”

“You want me to use lube?”

“No sir.”

“Why not boy.”

“Because I like pain sir. I’m a pain freak sir. I want you to make it hurt, the more it hurts…the more I love it.”

The old man started shoving his cock into Sam’s hole, listening to him gasp with pain and pleasure. Mulford loved Mondays, he loved how Sam’s ass started to recover and tighten up again, he went in as deep and as quick as he could, making it hurt. “You know, this hole loves being fucked.”

“Yes sir, it does.”

“I bet this hole would love getting fisted. What do you think, slave? Would you like to feel my fat fist burrowing into your hole?”

“Would…would it hurt?”

“Oh yeah slave, it would hurt a lot. It would hurt way more than me fucking you.”

Sam was silent for a moment, and then croaked a quiet, “Yes…Yes, if it would hurt, fucking hurt me sir.”

Master fucked him, but didn’t shoot yet. He pulled out and went back to paddling, smacking not only Sam’s sack, but his ass as well, making him count out the blows. Only after fifty smacks, did he let Sam beg him to finish fucking him. Mulford was only too happy to oblige, and only after seeding his pain slave’s hole did he help him back up onto his knees, and undo his cuffs and his humbler.

“That’s enough for today slave. I’ll see you tomorrow for another session.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said, and wished his heart wasn’t secretly looking forward to whatever pain his Master would choose to inflict on him the next day, and the next, and the next.

“See Kit? It don’t hurt so bad anymore, does it?”

“Nah, Jimmy. That…that feels real good. Can…Can I jack my cock Jimmy? I’m real horny, ‘n I don’t know what your hand keeps hitting but…but fuck…”

“That? That’s yer loveknot–every pig like you has one. Now keep that arm still. Damn you look good with your hair cut like that Kit. Like a right punk–a nasty, trashy skin.”

“Oh god Jimmy, don’t stop–that feels so good…”

“Not as good as that needle feels I bet. It still hurts right, but it’s a good kinda hurt, like what we’ve been talkin’ about. The good kind of hurt that makes your cock hard and your ass hungry, ain’t that right?”

“Gettin’…Gettin’ close Jimmy…can, can I cum, sir? Please?”

“Edge it Kit. Edge it, ride that cusp. It hurts, don’t it? But you crave that even more, or you will soon. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get all new gear for you, get you pierced, all dressed up in rubber with your cock locked up. A right and proper skinpig, just like you wanted. I can’t wait.”