TPC – Chapter 2.14

Chapter 2.14 – The Reality Check

Barry woke up the next morning, refreshed and satisfied in a way he couldn’t recall being since college. Maybe since before college, if ever. It was disconcerting, because he couldn’t remember getting into bed. The last thing he could recall with any real clarity, was watching Ian milk his own desires right out of Richard. He knew he had driven home, he could recall some of that. He’d gotten in the house, drank the cum and that was it.

He felt great though, and the more he thought about it, the more he could begin to recall something else, something different. He’d been at the bar for a party, but it was a party for him. He’d gotten the promotion, of course. There was no one else remotely qualified like he was, or as well liked and respected by his team and leadership in the company. Evan had called him into his office for his interview, and nearly handed him the job right then and there. There was no Richard, anymore. He didn’t even exist. Barry heaved a sigh, laid back on the bed, and basked in what he recalled. It was what he’d wanted. All of it.

Eventually he got up, went into the bathroom, and there in the mirror, he could see a few shifts as well. It wasn’t as extreme as the Prestige he’d taken in the bathroom (not that that had happened in his new memories) but it was still apparent. A stronger jaw. He was a little more toned, his posture a little straighter. He just looked more important than he had the day before. He looked like someone who could hold the attention of a room. He took a shower, and only after did he notice that something was missing–he wasn’t sure where Dennis was.

He checked his phone but didn’t see a text from him, though there was one from Ian.

“Hey, just checking in, I bet you woke up feeling great. You might notice some lingering nausea and blurry vision–this is perfectly normal. Your reality is still sorting itself out, tying up loose ends. Try not to do anything too crazy–choices you make for the next while can have repercussions if you don’t take it a bit easy. For something like this though, you should be fine in a couple of hours.”

He texted him back, asking him what he meant by repercussions exactly, but didn’t get a reply right away. Ian was probably still asleep, after all, it seemed like he’d still had more work to do on Richard after Barry had left. In any case, he was sure that it couldn’t be anything that terrible. That still left him wondering about Dennis. He tried to remember if Dennis had been there when he’d gotten home, but he couldn’t remember either finding him, or not finding him there. Most likely he’d just gone for a morning jog. He didn’t do it regularly, but sometimes he’d get to feeling like he needed to try and get into shape again, go jogging for a week or two, and then call it quits when it came clear it wasn’t going to happen like magic. 

Beyond that, he was hungry. He went down to the kitchen, started making himself some breakfast, only for the world to lurch around him, making him feel like he was going to vomit. It took a minute or two for it to settle, and when his vision cleared, the world wasn’t quite the same, but he couldn’t quite place what had changed. That must be what Ian had been talking about. He checked his phone again, and there was still no reply. Now he was worried, but if Ian said it would pass, then he’d just have to be patient. In any case, the sudden lurch had spoiled his appetite, and he set the breakfast he’d started back in the fridge for now. Maybe when Dennis got back they’d eat together, while he congratulated him on his promotion. He was looking forward to watching his husband eat crow–not that he supposed he would notice. He wondered how this reality stuff would even affect him. Barry could remember the way things had been, but would Dennis?

It was not long after that he heard the garage door opening–which was odd. When Dennis went running, he always went out the front door. He also heard the car. Maybe he’d just gone to the store or something, but that was rather unlike him. He went out to the garage in time to watch a sheepish Dennis climb out of the car, wearing a rather odd assortment of clothes–leather gear, with an oversized shirt on top and some baggy pants below. They looked at each other, Dennis’s eyes as large as plates, and he stammered out a few syllables, but Barry didn’t hear any of it. His vision slipped sideways again, and his guts twisted, and he could feel something growing taut, but he didn’t know what to name it.

When the world snapped back, he was clinging to the bannister of the small flight of steps down into the garage, and Dennis was leaning over the side mirror of the car–but he looked different. Smaller, a little chubbier. Younger too. No, he’d always looked like that, but it felt like his eyes were trying to stare at two versions of Dennis occupying the same space. “Fuck, what did…what was that Barry?” Dennis asked, forcing himself upright again, and saw himself in the mirror. “I…no, I was changing back, why do I look like that again?”

Barry turned around and went back in the house, stumbling a bit as he went. He needed to call Ian, find out what this was doing to them both. He checked his messages, but there was nothing. He called him, the phone rang a few times and then went to voicemail, and Barry almost threw his phone across the kitchen. 

“What’s going on, Barry? What happened?”

Dennis had followed him inside, and when Barry turned to look at him, the world just kept turning and spinning, Dennis blurring and spinning with it. Dennis didn’t fit right, he was the wrong shape, the wrong color, the wrong sound. He needed to be different. He needed to fit. That thing grew taut again, tighter and tighter, and then it snapped apart, everything slammed together again but it was right now. Of course Dennis was getting home late–his slutty cub of a husband liked to go out on the weekends. Barry went with him usually, but didn’t last night because of his own party–he’d told Dennis to go on without him. “Looks like someone had a good night at the Hideaway,” Barry said, grinning at him. “Go home with the staff again?”

“No, Barry, how do you know that? I…I feel so weird, what’s happening?”

Barry walked over, and pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping one hand around the back of him and cupping his ass. He was smaller then him, but then, he always had been. The sensation felt strange to him all the same, and the sense of power it gave him, was an unexpected rush, and he pushed his tongue into Barry’s mouth, reminding him who he really belonged to–only for Dennis to push him away.

“What’s gotten into you? Why…why do you look…strange? Barry, answer me.”

Barry, however, was feeling a bit frustrated. How dare the cub rebuff him like that, so easily? Barry was the important one. Barry was the one who brought home the money. Barry was the one in control. He could almost feel his vision shaking this time, Dennis stubbornly refusing to shift into his proper place. Yeah, proper place, he’d put him in back where he belonged. He stepped forward, and when he went to grab Dennis this time, the world shuddered again, but at last, he felt something turn around and lock–and when it snapped back, he had Denny shoved up against the wall next to the door to the garage, one hand running down to his hole and probing it. 

“You fucking slut, how many men had you last night? Did you even count?”

“Barry, I–”

“What’s one more, eh?” Barry said, and pushed his cock into his loose hole and Dennis gasped in sudden delight. 

He knew this was wrong. Barry had never been this aggressive before, this domineering, but where the old Dennis would have put him in his place, his hole was too hungry, his heart thrumming at a different, eager frequency. They fucked right there in the hallway, Barry cumming after a few minutes, and pulling free. 

“Get yourself cleaned up–and then make us breakfast, would you?” Barry said, “Something a little celebratory, after my promotion.”

Dennis just mumbled something like a yes, and scampered upstairs and into the shower, trying to sort out what had just happened to him, what he’d felt, what he was, who he was. The shower didn’t really help, and when he climbed out, he looked at himself in the mirror, and he just felt wrong. He’d been different. Older, more dominant. He’d been important, he’d been a surgeon. But that was gone now. He just worked…as a receptionist. A receptionist at the hospital, he didn’t want to work more than that, after all, when would he get to go out and get fucked if he had an important job like that? He shook his head, the thought felt so natural, but he had to remember it was wrong. He went downstairs, planning on demanding Barry explain what happened to them, but his voice wouldn’t come out, like he forgot the words even as he tried to say them. Instead, he fixed them both a nice breakfast while Barry read the morning paper.

After they’d eaten, Barry checked his phone, and saw Ian had replied to him. Reality, apparently, could struggle to accommodate other odd changes or deviations in behavior, leading to radically altered timelines. Barry shot back an angry little note, telling him he would have appreciated the warning first. Ian apologized, and asked him if he could think of anything happening. Barry couldn’t though. As far as he was concerned, his life had never been better. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.

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Sketch #2 – What I want, What They Want

Everyday, for so long now, it had become a ritual for all of them. They would walk down the street, he would stand on his driveway. They would smoke their cigarettes, he would stand in his work shirt, sweating in the late afternoon heat, just home from his air conditioned office. One or both would wave, shout a howdy. He would wave back, sometimes. Other times he would just smile, sweat, adjust his crotch and then hurry inside. Today, he waved. He liked the days where he waved, he felt like less of a coward for the rest of the day.

Terry loved them. Not them as people, he knew nothing about them. He loved them as this thing, this thing he wanted–no, that wasn’t quite right–he didn’t want to possess, he wanted oppression. He wanted them to strut over, burn holes in his dress shirt, rip it off, rape him on the sidewalk where everyone could see what a bitch he was, how his money meant nothing, how he was just a faggot, a lowly faggot, a pig a whore a cunt–

He took a breath. His short, four inch cock leaked a bit into his briefs. He realized that, instead of continuing onward, like they usually did, the two men had stopped across the way, and were looking at him, then whispering to each other, and then looking at him some more.

“S–Something I can…uh, help you with?” Terry said, a bit too quiet for the slight breeze on the block.

“What?” one of them shouted–the shorter, stockier one. The one he imagined with a huge cock, and a thing for fisting.

“Oh…uh…” Terry said, not quite able to rearticulate.

“You wanna get a drink with us?” the other, taller one asked. He was the leader, the real master. The one who would leash him up, keep him in the backyard in a doghouse. Drive the humanity out of him for good, make him a real bitch in the end.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you want to get a drink, with us?” the man asked again, and then stepped out into the street. “You know, you wave at us everyday, and we don’t know anything about you. What’s…what’s your name?”

“T–Terry. Terry Blankenheim.”

“Nice…nice to meet you Terry. Say, uh, Buck and I, we were heading to the bar for a drink. Would…would you like to come along? I mean, you don’t have to, it’s…kind of silly now that I’m saying it.”

Was he nervous? He sounded nervous. Why would he be nervous? He wasn’t fat, he wasn’t worthless. “Oh, uh…I mean, I don’t usually–”

“Oh, yeah…I mean, if you don’t, then…” the man said, and stepped back, almost glad for the excuse.

It was slipping away, it was almost gone, his chance, “No, I mean, I’d be happy to. Let–let me change though, I mean–”

“No, it was odd of me to ask, I mean–” the taller worker said, “I don’t want you to, uh, feel pressured.”

“No, I’d enjoy it, really. Just let me change.”

“Oh…uh…would you…not?” the taller man asked, “You look…good how you are.”

Terry blushed, but stepped off the curb, and shook the man’s hand. “I didn’t get your name though.”

“Oh, sorry…” the man’s hand was as sweaty as his was. “It’s Dylan.”

“Nice to finally meet you Dylan. So, where are we going?”


It was midnight. Dylan was five drinks drunk, Buck was eight and reeling a bit, Terry at three split up by waters. He’d just heard the opposite of what he’d wanted to hear.


Hungover–very hungover. His bed? Someone elses? The news he’d gotten came roaring back from the night before.

“You’re gay…right?”


“It’s ok, we are too.”

“Oh…sure, I mean, I guess it was kind of obvious, huh?”

“Will you be our master?”

Their master. No, he wasn’t worthy of being their master, that was ridiculous. What a disaster.

He tried to roll up, his hands were tied to the bed posts. He opened his eyes, not quite able to make out the leather clad and collared Buck and Dylan on either side of him. He was dressed in the nicest suit they could find from the closet, Buck had shined some dress shoes for him. They had his cock in a pump they’d brought from their apartment–Terry’s four inches was now six, and purple hard.

“No, what are you…”

“Is it ready?”

“I think so.”

Dylan released the seal on the pump and pulled it off, Buck hopped up on the bed and immediately started fucking himself on Terry’s cock. “Oh fuck sir, oh fuck!”

“Get–Get off! Don’t!”

Dylan circled around to the foot of the bed, and started spit shining his dress shoes, moaning. He yanked, rope burning his wrists, and let out a quiet sob.

Image Vignette: The Gainer’s Dilemma (Part 1)

(As requested by scot185f)

Tony stood in front of the mirror, and held up his camera phone, getting what he hoped would be his before shot of what would be an astounding transformation. See, Tony was what would be called a gainer. He wanted to be bigger, and especially fatter–well, and hairier, and just…he was just tired of being him. Smooth and mostly hairless, paunchy but not really fat. He’d tried recipes designed to pack on weight, solutions designed to thicken beards, but nothing had worked well, but then he’d run into Max.

Max had been like him, only worse. Scrawny and short, he’d always wanted to be bigger too. They’d met in a forum a few years ago, and once they’d learned that they lived in the same city, they had struck up a bit of a friendship, but both of them had miserably failed at encouraging the other to gain much more than fifty pounds. However, they found some solace in their own failures, and gathered a small group of others like them whose genetics and metabolisms thwarted them at every turn. Tony had even begun to suspect that something like a relationship was growing between them, when all of a sudden, Max was gone. He disappeared for more than a month, and just about the time Tony had gotten tired of leaving him voicemails, Max had shown up on his doorstep–only it was a very different Max who stepped through the door.

He was…big. Not just with a big gut, but tall too, a good foot taller to be exact. And damn if that gut didn’t look fine on his as well, and the hair! It was everywhere! Max had never been able to grow more than an ugly patchy beard, but the bear who strutted into Tony’s apartment had no such problem. Of course, Tony didn’t believe it could be Max, not at first. It was only after the bear had described some of their time together, and some of their secrets, that Tony began to believe, but that of course left a different question–how? How did this happen?

Tony could tell Max was reluctant to divulge his secret, but it finally came out after a few beers. He’d undergone a medical test for low testosterone, and the medication had worked better than he’d ever imagined. Hell, it had worked so well, he wasn’t going to be able to return to his old life–no one would recognize him. He was being relocated by the drug company, and he wasn’t even supposed to be discussing this with anyone from his past life. Still, he wanted to show someone, and Tony was the first person he’d thought of.

Tony was at first incredulous, and then, he felt a wave of jealousy wash over him. It wasn’t fair. Max had gotten more than he’d ever dreamed of, and he’d gotten nothing. Sensing the shift in his friend’s mood, Max pulled out a strange jar and handed it to Tony. “Now listen carefully. Apply this cream wherever you want to accelerate the growth. It takes a couple of minutes to start, but when it does–you have to be quick, and take a shower a few minutes before you reach your target look, alright? The water neutralizes the salve and washes it away, stopping the growth. You didn’t really think I was going to leave you all sad, did you?” Max said, and gleefully, Tony hugged him, loving the feel of his friend’s new gut against his own small belly.

“Should…should I do it now?” Tony asked.

“Of fucking course you should do it now! But I don’t want to watch. I want to be surprised,” Max said. “So get in there and let’s see it.”

And so here was. Taking a picture of himself, just to remember himself by, and hoping that this wasn’t just some scam. Maybe it wasn’t Max. Maybe it was just some guy who was tricking him into the bathroom so he could steal his stuff while he wasn’t watching–but that was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as a salve that could make you grow like Max had grown. But what did he have to lose? He stripped down and started applying the cold cream, focusing on his belly and chest, but then slathering some on his face where he wanted a beard, getting some of it in his hair by accident. He stood there for a few moments, feeling silly more than anything else, when he felt the cream start heating up on his skin, the warmth sinking into him, and a moment later, he saw his gut begin swelling visibly.

He shouted with glee as he watched himself grow, grabbed more globs of the cream and started slathering it on his arms, thighs and ass, before fondling his burgeoning belly, feeling it fill with fat and start sinking down, into an apron hanging down over his groin. Hairs sprouted all over his smooth belly, at first just a thin treasure trail, but then filling in all over. His chest filled in as well, moobs growing full and fat, his nipples growing into thick sausages. His thighs and ass expanded as well, though were a bit slower since he applied it later, and he watched his chin darken with a beard and several chins filled in under his neck, his hair even growing longer from the accidental application. However, as he was playing with his new body, he realized that the growth was only speeding up–and he hurried to the shower, almost tripping over his feet at his new height–he was getting taller even–taller! He thought about just letting it continue, but decided against it, and turned on the faucet, dousing himself with cold water, and he grabbed the soap and started scrubbing down his now expansive form.

With some regret, he realized he’d forgotten to apply anywhere where it might really count. His cock and balls had remained the same size–a measly four inches, and with his new bulk they felt even smaller, but he could always apply it again, right? Just as Max had said, the growth stopped abruptly as the cream washed off his body, and he cleaned it from his face last, letting his beard grow a bit thicker. Satisfied, he stepped out of the shower, and realized he had nothing that would even remotely fit his new frame, and somewhat bashfully, he lumbered back into the living room where Max was waiting.

“It…It worked. I can’t believe it actually worked!” Tony said, but was silenced as Max plowed into him, kissing him roughly and fondling his love handles.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn sexy like that. This is how I always imagined you should be,” Max said, “I love you Tony. I love you so much!”

The sudden pronouncement caught Tony off guard, and a bit nervous, he broke away from Max and took a couple of steps back. “You…you love me? Is that why you did all of this?”

“Yes Tony, I wanted you to…to come with me. We can be big together man! It’ll be a whole new life!”

Tony gaped for a moment, and tears came to his eyes. He rushed forward and slammed into Max, his sheer weight enough to knock them both over and send them crashing to the carpet with a thunderous clud. “I love you too Max, thank you, thank you,” Tony said as he started stripping the bear out of his tank top and jeans, and found that Max had one more surprise he had buried for him. While Tony might have forgotten to apply the salve in all the right places–Max had not. His cock was a good ten inches long, and quite thick, his balls hanging low, with each the size of a tennis ball. Tony had been so distracted by Max’s new gut that he hadn’t even noticed his new package.

“You like that big cock, Tony? I made it especially for you, and that big, fat ass you always told me you wanted,” Max said, them roughly rolled them both over so he was on top of Tony, who was starting to notice that something was off. Max had never been this aggressive before. Whenever they had played, Tony had been the one on top–and he suddenly didn’t like where this was going. Then he was on his belly, and Max was running the huge cock up and down his crack, and then it was in his hole, and no amount of begging or pleading could make the big bear on him go any slower or gentler.

Certainly the salve had had an effect on Max’s stamina. He fucked Tony for a good half hour, who managed to enjoy most of it, once he’d gotten over the initial pain. In fact, the feeling of Max’s rough thrusts reverberating through his body was so sensual, it easily made up for the rest of it, but the personality change had startled him. Was this even the same Max he had known? The one he had started to develop feelings for? Max reached under and started fiddling with Tony’s cock, making him lose track of his concerns and lose himself in the sex. Max was close, and when he felt the bear’s huge cock begin spasming, he released as well, feeling his jizz shoot over his gut and drip down onto the floor. They remained coupled for a moment, and then Max eased himself off with a grunt and rolled over, where they laid together for a while in the afterglow, until Tony worked up the nerve to ask the question nagging him.

“So…Max. What are the side effects of this stuff? I mean, you said it was still being tested, right?”

“Uh…well, about ten percent of us experienced some personality change–usually increased aggression and libido. I…I fell in that category, but you probably noticed that,” he said, blushing a bit and realizing he might have been a little rough, “A small few had allergic reactions on their skin, some weren’t responsive to the treatment at all, and others, well…they just kept growing. Water didn’t stop it–it only slowed it down, and the risk of that one increases with every application, which is why we can only apply it once.”

“Once? But I wanted…well, I wanted to improve my own equipment a bit, if you know what I mean…” Tony said, “It isn’t fair that you have this huge tool and I don’t.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t think of it. Besides, I was always the bottom for you. I think having the rolls flipped might be kind of nice,” Max said, rolling on top of Tony and pinning him to the ground, “You certainly didn’t seem to object much, after all.”

“Come on, one little bit can’t hurt. Let me get a couple inches out of it at least.”

“No,” Max said, the domineering tone slipping in without him even noticing, “It’s too dangerous, and that’s that,” he said.

Tony glared at him, but said nothing. He was starting to think he wasn’t liking this personality shift at all. However, their argument was halted by a knock at the door. “Oh…Oh fuck…” Tony said. He had completely forgotten.

“What? Who is it?” Max asked.

“It’s…well, the rest of the guys, they were going to come over for a padding session…I wasn’t expecting you–I forgot!”

“God fucking damn it!” Max shouted. He had counted on being able to spirit Tony away before anyone could know the wiser, but now the rest of the gaining group had arrived, and they certainly wouldn’t let Max and Tony get away without wanting to know their secret. Max scowled, and he realized that what he had imagined as a simple visit to help his lover was becoming quite the gainer’s dilemma.

End Part 1
To be concluded next Tuesday.

Image Vignette: A Bad Case of Slutitis

Rick looked up at the clock in the small exam room the nurse had dropped him off in, and then went back to flipping through one of the magazines left there to keep him occupied, although he couldn’t stop the butterflies, thinking about his problem. He blushed a bit, and checked the room, but of course no one was in there. Still, he was so damn embarrassed…he just didn’t understand how things like this happened. Hell, the first day, he was certain he’d been imagining things, but he’d measured the next couple days, and sure enough, he’d been right. His cock…was shrinking.

Well, shrunk, really. A week ago, he’d had a long eight inch tool which could make a girl scream, but now…well, barely two inches were left, and his thumb was bigger around than the shaft. He’d looked all over the internet, read a few books, but he’d never seen anything like this, and as a young man who took pride in his looks and sexual veracity, he just hadn’t quite felt the same since it had started happening, and he had no clue what was up. He readjusted his crotch, still not used to the empty pouch, and checked the clock again, wishing the doctor would hurry up. However, he had to wait another five minutes before the doctor knocked on the door and stepped into the exam room.

The portly, middle aged doctor looked Rick up and down, and then looked at the chart for a moment, before speaking, “Hi Rick, I’m Doctor Anderson. What brings you in here today? The chart says you didn’t want to discuss it with the nurse.”

“Yeah…well, it’s kind of private. See, for the past week or so…” Rick started to say, but stopped and looked away.

“You know, unprotected sex happens, and STI’s are plenty common, and nothing to be ashamed of,” Doctor Anderson said, but Rick shook his head.

“No, trust me, it isn’t that–I only fuck with a condom…it’s that, well…my dick…my penis is shrinking.”

The doctor started at him, for a second, and Rick’s face turned beet red. “Well, I haven’t heard that one before,” the doctor said, “Could you be more specific? I understand that this is probably difficult to discuss, but I can’t help if I don’t know the details.”

“Well, I don’t know. It just started shrinking. I mean, it used to be eight inches, and now it’s down to two. I don’t know if it’s a disease, or what. I can’t find anything about this on line.”

“Hmm…” the doctor said, “Well, let’s have a look, I suppose. Could you strip for me?”

Rick nodded, and took off his clothes, leaving his underwear last, before dropping them down, and showing the doctor his shrunken penis.

Rick just stood there for a moment, while the doctor stared at his junk, and he found himself feeling even more humiliated than before. This was the first person he’d shown his problem to, and…and did the doctor just lick his lips? Was this guy a faggot or something, he wondered, as Doctor Anderson shook his head and blinked a few times, as though he were just waking up from a daydream.

“Hmm…yes, I see…” the doctor said, pulled an exam glove out and put it on his hand, “I think I’m…I’m gonna have to have a feel…to see what’s wrong.” Rick started feeling like something strange was going on, but he let the doctor wrap his gloved hand around his tiny cock, and he let out a surprised moan. His cock hadn’t been that sensitive when he’d touched it–but the doctor’s touch was like a stab of electricity–nothing had ever felt like that before. “Yeah, that’s it,” the doctor said, unzipping the fly of his pants with his other hand, while he gently massaged Rick’s tiny cock, “I’m afraid…I’m afraid you have a case of slutitis…don’t you, bitch? You’re a tiny-cocked little slut, aren’t you?”

“Oh…oh god, what are you doing?” Rick said, “Stop…stop please…” he moaned, but the doctor ignored him, and pulled Rick towards him into a tight grasp, his hand never leaving Rick’s stump.

“Stop? Why? Aren’t you enjoying this, slut? Fuck, you smell so good…” the doctor said, rubbing his rough beard against Rick’s neck. His other hand drifted down Rick’s back and gave his ass a sharp slap, making Rick jump, and push himself closer to the doctor.

He breathed in the doctor’s musky scent, and groaned. His cock was so hard…his little slut cock had never been hard like this before. He needed this man…needed something from him, but what? “Yeah…yeah my little slut cock is so hard for you, doctor. I must have a horrible case of slutitis. Is there any cure?” Rick winced a bit at the disgusting flirty tone in his voice, but he needed this man, needed the doctor to use him like the slut he was now.

“I don’t know, you case is pretty advanced. I’m gonna have to do a proctological exam to see if the cure would take. Bend over bitch, and show me your hole.” Rick slipped out of the doctor’s grasp and bent over the exam table, while the doctor found a bottle of lube for his gloved hand, and shoved two fingers right up Rick’s ass. He cried out in pain, but pushed back anyway. He had to be a slut, a total slut. He needed the doctor’ cock, had to make the good doctor happy. “Yeah, that’s a good bitch. You’re such a slut, feel how that hole opens? Why, I bet I could fit my whole fist up there. Would you like that slut? You want my fist up your slutty pussy?” he said, and slipped in a third finger.

“Oh god doc, yeah, this slut needs your whole fist up his pussy. My slutitis is so bad, help me doc, give me your fist sir, please…”

Grunting and huffing with lust, the doctor lathered up his hand with more lube and started working his fist deep into Rick’s ass, the young man in excruciating pain, but he deserved it. He was just a slut after all, just something for men to use, abuse, and toss away. He reached down and started rubbing his clit, but he couldn’t cum yet. He needed to please the doc, and then he could please himself, but not before. Then he would be a very bad slut indeed. With a final push, the doctor’s fist slipped in, and Rick felt pleasure surge through him. He felt so full–so satisfied. He was such a good slut.

“Fuck bitch,” the doctor said, “That hole of yours is loose as hell. You took my whole fist like it was nothing. How does it feel slut? It feel good to have a man’s fist in your pussyhole?”

“Oh yes sir,” Rick moaned, “But not as good as your cock would feel sir. Please fuck me sir, feed my pussyhole your cum. Fuk me so hard my clit spews a load all over the floor!”

“Oh fuck…oh fuck oh fuck! You’re gonna get it bitch,” the doctor said, and pulled out his fist after a couple of pumps, “You’re gonna get it, get ready for daddy’s big ass cock!” The doctor rubbed some lube on his cock, and found he was suddenly working with more that he’d had earlier that day. His five inch cock had gained at least three inches, if not more, and was nearly thicker than his fist. It was a good thing he’d warmed the slut up with his hand, because he was definitely going to get the fuck of his life. The doctor lined up his cock, and with one smooth push, buried himself pubes deep up Rick’s open hole, ignoring the screams of pain as he started fucking the hole as rough as he could. It was just a slut after all, why should he care how it felt? What mattered was his pleasure. The slut was just a tool, a fleshy hole to take his cum. He wrapped his hands around Rick’s hips to get a better grip and pounded in deeper and deeper, before unloading a massive wad of cum deep in Rick’s bowels, collapsing onto him in exhaustion, Rick sobbing a bit beneath him. He got up a moment later and pulled his cock out, wiping it clean before shoving it back down in his pants. “That was good slut. Clean up that cum of yours and show yourself out. I think you should schedule another treatment session for next week. In fact, just make it this time every week. We wouldn’t want that slutitis getting any worse, right?”

With a laugh, the doctor left Rick alone again, and he slumped down onto his knees, licking up the cum his clit had shot all over the side of the exam table, like the doctor had told him to, and then he got dressed, clarity–and shame–returning to him when he was clothed again, and he sat in the room for several minutes, crying and trying to sort out his feelings. It had felt so good…so good to be a slut, but now, afterwards, he felt horrible. He thought of all the women he’d roofied and raped over the years, all the sluts he’d used. Had they felt like this? He gathered up his things and left the room, passing the doctor in the hall, but the bearish man didn’t even look at him. Did he even remember? Had it even happened at all?

He tried to get out without being seen, but a receptionist stopped him to ask if he needed a reminder call for his appointment next week, and he said no. He would remember–he would remember just fine. As he left, he told himself that he wouldn’t go…but he knew he would. He was a slut now, and he was already thinking about his rugby practice this weekend…imaging all his buddies seeing his tiny cock–seeing him for the slut he was. Yeah, he had a bad case of slutitis alright, and he figured he was going to be getting treated for it every chance he could get.