He was on his knees in the alley. Derek had his coveralls zipped down, revealing a grungy wifebeater and a pair of briefs no cleaner than the coveralls they both were wearing. Didn’t get to the laundromat very often, he’d said–it looked more like he just didn’t care about wearing clean clothes at all. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties–about the same age as Billy. There was a thick bush of hair poking out from the hole in the briefs with his cock, and he could see a thick matt of hair sticking out at the top of his chest too. Hiss head and face were shaved, but both had a few weeks, or maybe even just days, of stubble on them. His eyes were still looking at nothing in particular.
“Suck…it,” he said. Billy inched forward on his knees, took the cock in his mouth, and did as he was told. Derek stood there passively for a moment, before saying, “Not enough…fuck…” wrapped both hands around the back of Billy’s head and started thrusting deep down his throat.
Billy wrapped his hands around the Derek’s ass clutching him by the cheeks, hanging on and trying to breathe. Derek had him by the hair, and pulled him in deep, working his cock as far down as it would go. He couldn’t breathe, he was starting to gag, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Fuck…fuck yeah, man, fuck…”
He let Billy pull away, feeling him choke around his cock. It was by no means that big, but it was salty with sweat, with a grimy foreskin peeling away from the head, and Billy had never sucked a cock before. At least, he couldn’t remember ever sucking a cock before. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he stop? He looked up, Derek still had that strange, vacant look in his eyes. He wasn’t looking down at Billy, in fact, it seemed like he wasn’t looking anywhere at all. Did he even know what he was doing?
He started thrusting again, and Billy allowed him to fuck his face, trying to snag a breath here and there when he could. He’d been going for a few minutes now, and from the way he was huffing, it sounded like he was getting close, until suddenly, he stopped, and Billy pulled away, coughing. “No good…no–you’re a bad cocksucker.”
Billy coughed a moment more. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move from where he was on his knees.
“Hand…and knees. Gonna fuck your hole instead.”
He couldn’t be serious. Billy tried to form the words to say no–instead his body shrugged off the coveralls, dropped them around his knees, and lowered himself further. Derek walked around behind him, got down, and without bothering to lube his hole, started pushing his cock inside. Billy groaned and shouted in pain; could nobody hear him? He looked towards the street in both directions, but there was no one to be seen. In fact, aside from the two of them, it seemed like the whole world was simply empty. Empty like…like he was. A moment in time, ripped free from everything surrounding it. No one else. No people. No animals. He imagined, that if he could break away and walk, he would find the shell of a city, everything staged for a play happening some other day, perhaps. A shell like him. No history except for what one could imagine, no place in it aside from what other people might allow for him, no one. No one.
Derek fucked him rhythmically. His ass had loosened somewhat. It still hurt, but he could bear it would yelling. Why didn’t he just cum? What was taking him so damn long?
“Talk…talk to…me. Talk dirty…” Derek grunted.
“Fuck me, of fuck yeah,” Billy said, “You dirty, ugly son of a bitch, fill me up with that nasty cum. Fill me up like an ugly whore. Fill me up, show me you’re a real man!”
He was going faster, getting closer.
“Yeah, that’s it. You like it dirty. You like smelling the trash around you, you like fucking like trash in an alley, fuckin’ turns you on, doesn’t it?”
“F-Fuck…”
“You’re gonna fuckin’ cum in me. You’re gonna seed my hole with as much filthy cum as you can pump into me, aren’t you?”
“F-uck…”
“Aren’t you? Come on man, fuckin’ give it to me!”
“Gonna…fuckin’…”
He felt it. It was hot, almost burning inside him. No. No, it was burning in him. It was like he was on fire, like something inside him was waking up and grinding back to life, like he was back, like he was alive–
“Hey. Hey!” Fingers snapped in his face. “You in there Billy?”
He shook his head. What…what had just happened to him?
“Come on man, let’s get a move on. We’re behind schedule,” Derek said, “Help me with these dumpsters.”
“S-Sorry,” he said. He looked around, and saw Derek getting the truck ready to lift the dumpsters in the alley…the alley he could have sworn he’d woken up naked in this morning. Or…or had that been a dream? What had he just seen?
“Come on, quit spacing out, we have a job to do, remember?”
Billy shook his head, and helped out. Somehow, he knew what he was doing, his hands moving to the right places before his mind knew why they were moving there. Nothing felt quite right, though. They got the dumpsters emptied, and they climbed back in the truck, Billy heading around to the passenger seat, but before he climbed in, he looked down at himself. He had on the coveralls he remembered Derek giving him, but now, instead of his co-worker’s name on the tag, it said Billy. He was wearing more than just the coveralls too–he had on a pair of heavy duty work boots and thick socks. He could feel a wifebeater under his coveralls, along with a pair of briefs. The image of Derek standing in front of him stood out to him then, and he felt his cock start hardening in his coveralls.
Always trying to fit into daddy’s shoes, daddy’s clothes, daddy’s life. Who even are you, Billy?
Billy tried to push himself awake from the dream, but it pushed back. Who was that, in the dark? Who was talking to him?
Who are you?
“I don’t know.”
Who do you want to be?
“I don’t know!”
He sat up suddenly, gasping for air. His head ached like he was in the middle of the worst hangover of his life. He sat up on the asphalt–the really god-damn cold asphalt. Where was he even? He looked around–it seemed like an alley somewhere downtown. He was hidden from view in sidewalk between two dumpsters…and he was naked. Completely naked. He looked around for clothing, and clothing, but there was nothing to be found around him; he peeked out around the dumpsters, but the alley was similarly devoid of anything that might be his. He stood up, being careful where he put his bare feet, and looked around. There was an unmarked door behind him–had he come out of there? He knocked, and then pounded, and when no one answered, he was almost thankful. What would they do, if they found some random guy in the back alley, naked, pounding on their door, asking for his clothes back? They’d call the police for sure. What in the hell was he going to do anyway? He couldn’t exactly just stay here all day–he was bound to be discovered at some point. But if he left, then what? He’d get arrested for sure. He was stuck.
It was just a bit past dawn. If he hurried, maybe he could get to somewhere that might have something he could wear. He should at least look around the alley a bit more, in case his stuff was somewhere nearby. What had he been wearing, anyway?
He couldn’t remember.
He couldn’t remember anything about the night before.
No…No, it was worse than that. He couldn’t remember anything about himself, either. Just a name. Billy…no, people just called him Billy, his name was William Jr., named after his father…right? At least, that made sense. But why would he remember that, and nothing else? He couldn’t remember his father either in any real detail. He couldn’t keep thinking about this, he couldn’t. He had to focus on finding something to wear, and then he could worry about…whatever was wrong with him.
He took one last glance down the alley in both directions, and then scampered around, looking in various nook and crannies nearby, but there wasn’t anything at all wearable, whether it was his or not. He was rummaging about when he heard the grumble around the corner, looked up like a rat, and saw the bright headlights of a trash truck bearing down on him.
“Fuck.”
There was nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. He could see the man in the cab of the truck blinking at him, obviously confused, and Billy blushed red. The truck stopped, the door opened, and the man leaned out the window. “Rough night, eh man?”
What should he say? What should he do? “Y-Yeah, I suppose so.”
It would be so much easier to know if he was lying or not, if he could just remember what he’d been doing in the first place.
The garbage man opened the door and climbed down. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve found someone naked in the alleys around here. Lots of guys get too drunk and their friends abandon them around here as a prank.”
That did make sense…sort of. Assuming he’d been out with friends, of course. “Look…I’m just trying to find my clothes, but I haven’t found anything.”
“No worries man, I can help you look.”
Together, the two of them prowled the alley for about ten minutes, but neither of them found anything. The guy asked him what he’d been wearing the night before, and Billy bluffed. He had no idea what he’d been wearing, so he just said it had been jeans and a t-shirt. It didn’t really matter, because there wasn’t anything in the alley to wear at all.
“Well dang man,” the garbage man said, taking off his hat and scratching his messy, shoulder length hair. “Maybe they’re planning on coming back to find you?”
“I don’t know…maybe…”
“Well, I have something at least, though it’s kind of gross. I always keep an extra set of coveralls with me in the truck, and I just wear whichever one is cleaner. Problem is, I haven’t washed either of ‘em lately, so they’re both pretty nasty. Still, its better than nothing, right?”
Billy looked him up and down. The coveralls the guy had on already looked filthy, with a name tag peeling off that read, “Derek”–he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what the other pair looked like. Still, what choice did he have, really? “I mean, I guess that’ll have to do, right?”
Derek climbed back up into the cab, rummaged around for a moment, and returned with a crumpled ball of fabric, which he shook out into a pair of coveralls. It was a bit of a toss up to say which one was grimier–both were obviously supposed to green, but were more of a mottled brown. This one, had a name tag on it too. “Damn, when’s the last time you washed them?”
He shrugged, “I don’t get to the laundromat often. If you don’t want ‘em, you can be naked for all I care. You’ve already made me late, so do you want them or not? It’s better than being buck naked like you are now, right?”
That was a good point. He took the coveralls from them, tried to ignore how crispy they were in his hand, pulled them on and zipped up, careful of his cock, but as soon as the zipper hit his neck, it was like some strange shock ran through him, and he looked at Derek, who looked at him back. His eyes were vacant, like he wasn’t quite aware of what was going on around him, one hand pawing at his crotch.
“Get…on your knees.”
Troy’s Shopping Trip
(Based on an idea and photo submitted by kenai88.)
He tried to play it cool and ignore him, and thankfully it didn’t seem like he recognized him. Instead, the older man just offered him his cart, and Troy took it to be gracious, thankful the guy hadn’t screamed at him. He’d been certain that his son’s injury had been no accident, and while Troy hadn’t been the one to do it, he’d been the one to suggest him as a target. Still, what’s done is done, right? The snacks were closest, and Troy parked the cart in the middle of the aisle and started grabbing bags in twos and threes off the shelves and dumping them into the cart, making sure to grab the favorites of each person on the team. When he was satisfied, he headed back to the cart–only to discover that it was empty.
Had someone taken it? He looked up and down the aisle, but there was no one there–just him and an empty cart. Fuck, he was thirsty all of a sudden. His mouth felt like he’d taken an entire shaker of salt and dumped it down his throat. Unable to help himself, he let out a big belch and patted his gut, feeling it jiggle a bit.
Wait, gut?
He looked down at himself, and tried to figure out what had happened. One part of his head was telling him that he should look like this, and another part was screaming in terror. He was fat! He hadn’t been fat when he’d come in here, had he? He groped his gut, feeling it’s heft, and underneath he felt his cock start to harden, and he blushed. Playing with his fat always seemed to get him hard, but it wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. He reached under and readjusted the front of his shorts, and tried to figure out what he had been doing. He was thirsty–better head for the pop and the beer–he could get the snacks later.
Something about his body felt strange today, like he wasn’t used to taking up this much space. He went to the pop and started loading two liter bottles of several varieties into the cart, but again, when he turned around to survey what he’d put in, the cart was completely empty.
Another belch–this one massively loud. God, he was such a pig, and he secretly loved it…didn’t he? He looked down at himself, and the same terror struck him–he wasn’t just fat now–he was fucking obese. His shirt could barely cover the gut overflowing past the waistband of his shorts, and his second and third chins wouldn’t let him get that good of a look. Fuck, he was hot though. Hot fucking fatass pig, fuck yeah. He checked up and down the aisles, but he was alone. He gave his huge apron a shake, feeling it reverberate around him, and he shuddered. His cock was hard, but he had another problem–he had to piss like a fucking racehorse. He hadn’t even had anything to drink lately either, but apparently his bladder disagreed. Still, he might as well go now before he had a full cart to deal with, and he lumbered off to the back of the store and the bathroom there, leaving his empty cart outside it.
He stepped inside, and found someone there washing his hands–the coach of the rugby team across town. How did he even know that? He didn’t play rugby. All he did was lounge around all day, stuffing his face and jacking off like a nasty pig–fuck! He was so fucking horny now. The coach finished washing his hands and turned around to look at Troy, sneering. “Lose some weight, you nasty fucker,” he said, and left the bathroom. The words somehow managed to shame Troy and turn him on at the same time. He was a nasty obese pig, and he loved the looks he got, he loved how much people were disgusted by him. He stepped up to the urinal, aiming blind, and pissed what felt like several gallons, before wrapping one chubby hand around the shaft and jacking off into the urinal, grunting as he did. “Fucking nasty pig, fuck yeah,” he said to himself, “Massive, nasty fat fucker, fuck *grunt*,” and he came, accidentally coating the underside of his apron, but it felt good there, being such a fucking slob felt great. He left it and hiked up his shorts, only to realize someone was in the stall and had heard every word that he’d just said. He left quickly, embarrassed to death, licking the cum off his hand absentmindedly.
Outside, the position of his cart had shifted, but he didn’t think much of it. He went and grabbed some beer since it was near the bathroom, vaguely fearful for some reason that it would disappear when his back was turned, but nothing happened. The same with the snacks and the pop, and he finally checked out his massive cart and headed out into the parking lot, but as he was loading the food into the back of his SUV, he saw the man from the bathroom leaning against a truck, away from the storefront, his cock hard and jutting from his jeans.
Troy drooled. He could totally use a cock right now, drinking down a load of cum would feel so damn good. “Sooooeeeyyy!” The man shouted, shaking his cock and staring Troy down. He couldn’t just…just suck him off in the parking lot, could he? It turned out that he totally could. He waddled over and dropped to his knees, feeling his bulk settle around him, and swallowed the man’s cock down into his gullet. “Yeah, how’s that taste you fucking pig?”
It tasted amazing. Troy didn’t know why he’d never sucked a dick before, but he kept glancing around, sucking fast, eager to get the man to swallow before someone could see him. He wasn’t fast enough–an older man walked back and saw what they were doing and froze. Troy wanted to die, knowing someone had seen him like this.
“Pig’s got a hot mouth,” the coach said, “Want to fuck it after me?”
The man glanced around nervously, and then walked over to the truck, set down his groceries, and waited. The coach finished quickly, hauling his cock out and spraying his cum across Troy’s fat face.
“Your turn man.”
Troy wanted to object, but what could he say? The man pulled his cock out of his jeans and Troy swallowed it down as well, and then the coach got down next to him, slid a hand down the back of his pants and began fingering his hole. It felt so good, and Troy began grunting uncontrollably, cumming in the front of his shorts before the stranger came down his throat. His ordeal over, he heaved himself up, only remembering halfway home that his face was covered with spunk. He wiped it up with his hands, licked it up, and then jacked off again at a stoplight.
That night, the rugby team didn’t seem to know what the huge fat man was doing there, but they all knew him somehow. Troy sat at the bar, shirtless in the hot, humid house of dancing men, watching their guts balloon as they devoured his snacks, soda, and beer. Thirty pizzas arrived which no one ordered, but they were demolished by morning, eaten up by the huge group of gainer pigs who had replaced the rugby team in the campus house.
Huck and Justin’s Hot Summer
Justin was in his room, working out. It was one of the few things he could still do that would give him some peace. It was hot summer afternoon, his brother, Huck, in his room next door, doing who knew what. He didn’t want to think about Huck right, now, not since that…whatever happened. He still didn’t know how to even talk to himself about it in his head.
And so he was working out. He was working out because he couldn’t be out at bars, hooking up with slutty bitches and fucking them in the back of his truck off the highway. He was working out because it was exhausting, it wore him out enough that he wouldn’t get horny. He was working out because then, once he figured out what in the hell his brother had done to him, he’d be hotter than ever, and after a solid beating he’d tie Huck up and make that faggot watch him fuck woman after woman in his bed, but for now, he was working out, and that’s all he could do.
The phone on his desk, next to the bench, buzzed once, he set down his weights. It was from Huck–best to ignore it.
A minute later, it was obvious that Huck wasn’t going to be ignored. He heard his brother knock on his locked, bedroom door. “Becca’s at her window. Getting into her bathing suit. I think she’s wondering why you haven’t been calling.”
“Fuck off Huck, I’m not going to look.”
“Oh, you don’t have to look, bro. What’s it been? Six days? I know you like working out, but those balls of yours are only gonna get bluer. Those breasts of hers though, damn, almost as big as mine, bouncing like that. I think she’s pretty horny for you.”
Justin felt his cock pulse, but he tamped it down as best he could.
“I heard the two of you fuck once, you know. She sounded like she wanted you bad. All the girls want you bad though, they all want that big cock of yours. Too bad they can’t have it now–the only one who gets your hard cock is me, daddy. Are you my daddy yet? Why don’t you come out and play, daddy?”
No use, it was getting hard. He could feel his muscles going soft, the gut growing in. The work out clothes he had on were too tight suddenly, and he yanked them off, one wrinkled hand stroking his cock. It had always been seven inches, but now it grew to ten. All he could think of was Huck, that sexy, fat cub, of his. He licked his lips, feeling the white mustache sprout on his lip, his hair gone from his head. He hefted himself up and opened the door–there he was, fuckin’ beautiful.
Huck was down, and his whole cock was down his cub’s throat in one thrust. Justin skull fucked his brother, making him gag. He wanted him to suffer as much as possible, but Huck just loved the rough treatment even more. After less than a minute he was cumming, his old balls pumping out what felt like gallons of cum, cock softening, fat retreating back into muscle. He yanked his cock from Huck’s suckling mouth and slammed the door in his face without a word.
***
The summer only got hotter. The nights, humid and sleepless, Justin would find himself unable to control himself, waking in the middle of the night from half remembered dreams, his huge cock rock hard, feeling his soft belly rise and fall, thinking about Huck in the next room. Sometimes a few rounds of sweaty masturbation, imagining his fat brother sucking on his old balls or licking out his damp crack would be enough to cum and calm down, but increasingly he would have to go to greater lengths to sate himself.
He stole a pair of his brother’s briefs, and the stink of his brother’s sweat would help him cum. Unfortunately, it would make him so horny it would take two or three orgasms before he returned to normal. He soon discovered that Huck knew what he had stolen. One bad night, he checked for the briefs and discovered they’d been replaced by a rag, still cum damp, and he sucked out as much of it as he could, panting and yanking on his old nipples as he did. His brother started sending him messages at night to rile him up–before long they were trading pictures. It was a sleepless summer. Huck began tempting him over. Telling him how much he wanted to suck his daddy’s old dick dry all night long. Justin resisted. Huck grew impatient, and drilled a hole through the wall.
Huck’s bed was across from the wall, and Justin would crouch there, peeping for much of the night, watching Huck toss and turn, rub his sweaty body, jack off. He would talk dirty, how he knew his pervy daddy was watching him, wishing he was brave enough to come over and give his cub a good fuck. He would sit on the other side, begging Justin to stick his big, wrinkled cock through, let him suck it. He always did, eventually. He loved that slutty fucking cub of his. He liked leading him on. Now he was the one trying to get Huck horny. Now he was the one sticking his cock through the hole first, telling Huck how much he wanted his daddy’s dirty cock. And then, he was slipping into his brother’s room at night, while he hoped he was asleep, jacking off over him, cumming across his face before retreating back to his own room.
The days were hotter; he was haggard and exhausted. He felt less and less like himself. He no longer worked out, and dozed instead. He found that women no longer could excite him, even as his muscular, young stud self. He would watch Becca out his window, but no hard on would come. All he wanted was his brother now, and Huck knew it.
***
August, the heat unbearable.
“I know you want to, daddy.”
Huck was outside on the back patio, naked.
“Come on out and play with me. I have a cold beer for you…” he sang, turned around and swung his ass how Justin had come to like it. This body, his body was so fucking sweaty, under his moobs and in his gunt, and he was starting to stink, especially after he’d spent all night in bed, rolling around with his cub, fuck. He was starting to stay like this longer and longer now. This was starting to feel normal. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was supposed to push back, keep himself together, but now here he was, seriously considering going outside, naked, where anyone could see him and Huck, and fuck if his cock wasn’t rock hard at the idea of someone seeing. Yeah, he wanted people to see, he wanted people to know what a perverted old daddy he is. He wanted people to see how much he loves his fat cub.
Huck was still shaking his ass, slow, back and forth, and Justin stepped onto the patio, pulled his boy close, running his cock up and down the cub’s crack. Huck moaned as his daddy sucked on his neck hard, leaving a dark hickey, his wrinkled hands kneading Huck’s breasts. He pulled away and turned around, sat Justin down in a chair, gave him the can of beer, and he could only watch, trembling a bit, as his boy lubed his big cock up with spit and slowly slid his the shaft into his ass. Their first public fuck. Any of their neighbors could see them if they just looked down.
Later, in his room, Justin crumbled down next to his bed, cock soft, his real body back, and sobbed. He couldn’t think about what he’d just done, about what he was doing. He couldn’t think about that, because as soon as he did his cock would get hard, and he’d fall back into his perversions, into that fat old fuck of a body, and he couldn’t let that happen anymore. If it kept happening, before too long he didn’t think he’d want to be himself for much longer. Huck’s ass was just so tight, so fucking warm. The way it slid in so easily; that boy’s ass was made for his cock. Justing dug around under his fat gut for his cock and gave it a few strokes, and then found Huck in his room, naked, and fucked him all over again.
This is the last time though, he told himself, the last fucking time, I swear.
The lights came on overhead in the plane cabin as the fasten seatbelt sign turned off, and you jostled awake, the older gentleman next to you said, “Alright slave, let’s get off this plane and go home.”
You look at him, a bit confused, but he stands up and jerks the chain connected to the heavy metal collar around your neck, and you stand up, abandoning your briefcase underneath the seat in front of you as he leads you down the aisle of the plane, and no one is looking at the two of you like anything strange is happening at all, but this isn’t right, you’re not someone’s slave–you were on your way home from a business trip, right?
You exit the plane, and the man leads you to the bathroom, pulling you behind him, where he forces you onto your knees next to the bank of urinals, unzips his pants and unloads a massive load of piss all over your face, and unable to do anything else, you try and swallow as much as you can, like you’ve been trained to do, and then you kiss the head of his cock in mute thanks. He yanks you up by the collar and you follow him out of the restroom, but before you get to the door you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, and a sickening twist shoots through you, when you don’t even recognize your reflection. Your hair–all of your hair is gone. You’d had a full head of hair, and a beard when you’d boarded the plane, but now it was gone– all of it freshly shaved off, and a huge ring had appeared in your septum. Your business suit was gone, replaced by a simple, grubby tank, yellowed with your master’s cum and piss, and a pair of jean shorts–the only two pieces of clothing the master allows you to wear in public.
Master yanks your chain, and you hurry to follow him, knowing your lapse in attention will warrant punishment when you get home, but you don’t live with this man, do you? This fat old fuck? This…this beautiful man, who you’re honored to serve? Who you’ve loyally served for years now? You love him, and you know he only tolerates you, but you don’t care, simply being in his presence is enough for you, and you’d get hard if your cock wasn’t locked away within your grubby shorts.
You collect the master’s baggage for him at the claim, and then the two of you take a taxi from the airport to master’s house. The cabbie doesn’t seem to think it the least bit odd that you spend the entire ride with your master’s cock down your throat. In fact, master offers the cabbie your throat as a tip, and the Arab man takes him up on his offer, face fucking you quickly and feeding you his cum as well, before driving off.
Something happened on that plane–you know it did. But there’s nothing you can do now. Now, all you can dream of serving him, this is your life and your purpose. Maybe you’ll never know, but it isn’t a slave’s place to think. It isn’t a slave’s place to wonder. A slave’s place is to serve.
***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.
Bracken's Corner 