Commission – Bottom-Up Selling

This was a commission from last year I’ve been sitting on for a bit, but wanted to finally share it. It was commissioned and edited by J. Swartz. He’s a very fine author himself, and published a book called “The Initiate” a few years back that I was quite fond of. If you like bears, bondage, BDSM, and some sexy artwork to go with it, I’d recommend taking a look! You can find it over on amazon here, if you’re interested. Hope you enjoy!

John looked up at the clock and sighed. These last couple of hours were always the worst part of the shift. He loosened his tie a bit and straightened up the desk. Noah, the night auditor, was a stickler for neatness, and if the front desk wasn’t just so when he arrived to relieve John at eleven, there would be passive-aggressive notes left in his mailbox the next day. Still, the job wasn’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things. John had started here a couple months back, on a recommendation from one of his professors, Dr. Farnham.

Having been accepted to UCLA on a football scholarship. John wasn’t the best when it came to school work. As such, he was pursuing a relatively easy business management major. Farnham had recommended the position to him as a good way to bulk up his relatively weak resume, and was offering him extra credit too. That was handy since John hadn’t been doing great in Farnham’s Psychology class either. Working on the weekends sucked, knowing he couldn’t be out at the bars having fun with his college friends. Still, LA was an expensive city, so he wasn’t going to complain about his generous compensation. So three evenings a week, John was planted behind the hotel front desk, checking folks in mostly in the afternoons. By the time evening rolled by, aside from the occasional late businessman, there wasn’t much to do. The door chimed, and an older fellow in a suit walked up to the front desk, rolling a suitcase behind him. “Welcome to Windell Suites,” John said, “Do you have a reservation?”

The man smiled and shook his head. “No reservation, I’m afraid.”

“No worries, I have some vacancies,” John said, and pulled up the available inventory on the computer. “Okay Sir, you’re in luck! I have a single queen, lake view, available for $120 a night–”

“Oh, that won’t do,” the man frowned, “I’m going to require the executive suite.” John was taken aback at this, and the businessman cleared his throat. “And quickly, if you would, young man.”

“Oh, well…” John muttered, wondering if he could come up with a good excuse. The manager hated it when the executive suites got reserved first. They cost more, sure, but they took three times as long to clean, and it was cheaper to leave them empty until the end of the night, selling the less expensive suites first. Bottom-up selling, his professor had called it once, he thought. Trying once more to steer the guest away from the top level of the hotel, John explained, “Sir, I assure you, our smaller rooms are quite comfortable.”

The businessman’s smile hardened and his tone became icy. “The suite is available, isn’t it?” John gulped at this. Apparently, he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one. “The executive suite is available, yes Sir. It runs $540 a night.”

The businessman chuckled. “Actually, I’ll be getting the specialty rate.”

John winced. “Excuse me?”

Nodding towards the back office, the guest explained coolly, “You’ll find my name on the VIP list. Kip Walker, friend of the owner’s family.”

John resisted the urge to grumble, slipped into the office, and checked the owner’s personal VIP list. Sure enough, there he was. Closing his eyes, John rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. Not only was this guy going to be a high maintenance guest, he was buddies with upper management. John had to give Mr. Walker what he wanted, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Masking his annoyance with a cheery smile, John re-emerged from the office. “Sorry about that, Mr. Walker,” he said. “Let’s get that reservation straightened out.” John took the guest’s credit card and created his room key. All the while, he kept getting a rather peculiar vibe from the older fellow. He wasn’t particularly imposing, an average frame concealed in a suit, glasses, short haircut, mustache, but the way he kept looking at John was unsettling. Relief washed over the him as Mr. Walker made his way to the elevator, and especially thankful he’d only reserved the room for one night. He’ll be the night auditor’s problem soon enough, John thought. The rest of the evening was smooth and dull. Noah arrived on time as always, and John filled him in on the shift’s events, including the odd businessman in the executive suite. Noah just nodded, like he was familiar with this particular customer, but didn’t share insight. John was about to clock out, when the front desk phone rang. Noah answered it, then handed it to John. Wondering who in the hotel would ask for him, John took the receiver, listened for a few seconds, and hung up.

Without saying anything to Noah, John clocked out. However, instead of heading for the parking lot, John entered the elevator and rode it to the top floor. Noah just chuckled. He should have known the new guy was one of Walker’s boys, it made sense now. Noah got the receipts in order and began working on balancing the accounts for the day, while John got ready for a party he didn’t know he’d been invited to, where he was going to be the main attraction.

***

“Well Al, I must say you have out done yourself with this one. Truly one of the nicest specimens you’ve brought to our little club to date.”

John shook his head, and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he clearly recalled was picking up the phone at the desk, and then…nothing. Now, he was standing in the middle of a room that he slowly recognized as the executive suite, the one he’d given to that strange businessman earlier in the evening. Sure enough, Mr. Walker was in the room with him, along with his professor, the one who had gotten him the job here to begin with. Al Farnham was a taller fellow, mostly slender but with a bit of a gut. Now in his sixties, he’d had a rather wild youth, before going straight. Farnham’s hippie roots still shone through, and his theories about psychology were rather unorthodox, but what was he doing here, with Mr. Walker? And why was John here at all? John started to ask, but then caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room, and a more pressing question posed itself. What the hell was he wearing?!

John’s hotel uniform was gone, and on his legs clung a pair of black stockings, attached to silk garters, pulled up over his hairy calves, and strapped to a belt around his waist under his gut, which left his crotch and ass exposed. Or at least, it exposed the black lace panties he’d been squeezed into at some point while he was out. The fabric was cutting into John a bit, especially at the parts of him where he had a little extra weight; his ass, under his gut, and around his thighs. John’s thick cock was bulging out, and his muscular ass had the material stretched thin. He had a silk and leather harness buckled around his chest, with a cut out for his pecs. The material seemed to actually push them up and out, making them even more prominent than they usually were. His hands were bound above his head, and then the rope was wound into an intricate weave between his upper arms and around his shoulders, before reaching above him to a beam in the ceiling. It was effective at suspending him upright, and the rope had been pulled tight enough that he couldn’t quite rest easily, forcing him to keep his heels raised up and standing on the balls of his feet.

“I should have gone a size up, didn’t expect him to be quite so thick,” Farnham mused, as he groped John’s ass with one hand, squeezing his cheek through the silky, thin panties.

“What–what the fuck is going on? What the fuck did you two perverts do to me?” John slurred, peering at the two older men in the room.

“Us? Perverts?” Walker exclaimed, “Why, we’re not the ones wearing garters and strung up like a piece of meat, panty boy. If anyone here is a pervert, it would seem to be you.”

His mouth agape at the businessman, John turned to Dr. Farnham. “Professor, what is going on? Why…why can’t I remember anything?”

“Now Johnny, don’t worry your pretty little head about any of it. Just enjoy yourself tonight–I have no doubt that you will put on quite the show. After all, I’ve been training you for it for a month now,” Farnham said, but his usually kind smile seemed quite a bit darker than usual.

John tried to figure out what he meant by that, and he realized, slowly, that he’d been visiting Farnham’s office hours regularly for about a month. But he’d been working on his classwork, hadn’t he? He’d been doing poorly, but why couldn’t he recall what they’d talked about there? Had…had he been hypnotized, or something? He struggled harder, but the professor stroked John’s bearded face, gave him a little shush, and said, “Relax now–we can’t have you getting all worn out before the main event. Relax.”

John moaned, and felt some of the fight go out of him, and he slumped slightly into the ropes holding him. “But…why am I here? What are you doing to me?”

“We’re hosting a party tonight, for one of the city’s most exclusive clubs. You, John, are going to be our full service boy. You remember what that was from your hospitality classes, don’t you? Don’t tell me you fell asleep during that lecture too.”

John gulped, figuring he had a good enough idea, but Farnham just stroked his cheek, imploring him to relax again, his voice growing softer.

“That’s it sissy boy, just relax,” Farnham said, dropped his hand lower, and groped John’s sizable cock through the panties he was wearing. At that moment John realized, with some horror, that he was semi-hard. “Just relax and enjoy yourself,” Farnham whispered. “You want this, don’t you? Aren’t you excited, and you don’t even know why?”

John shook his head, but moaned loudly when the professor kept teasing his cock, causing him to leak into the front of the panties.

“Quit playing with him already,” Walker snapped, and handed Farnham a masquerade mask, just enough material to hide his identity. Walker was already wearing one. “The other guests are starting to arrive. We should get the cameras rolling.”

“Cameras?” John asked in a stupor, and struggled a bit, but found it hard to put that much effort into it. His body just felt so slack and at ease. He had to fight, but it was difficult to convince his body to agree with him.

Professor Farnham smiled at this. “Well of course, Johnny. We always tape our sessions here. Now, you will only refer to me as Mr. White, and Mr. Walker as Mr. Grey, until I say otherwise, you will forget we have any other name. Better yet, you don’t really need to say anything at all. We take the confidentiality of our clients very seriously.” The white-bearded man then pulled a small remote out of his pocket, and turned the various cameras installed around the room on. Together, they would give a complete record of everything that happened in the suite that night, but most of them were pointed at John, to capture him at every angle.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Walker opened it and welcomed in another masked man, also wearing a suit. For the next ten minutes, a steady stream of other men followed. Most of them arrived alone, but some arrived with young men at their side, also masked, many of them wearing rather skimpy, sexy attire–leather, rubber, silk–all of them clinging to their older date’s arms rather happily. Every guest greeted Mr. White and Mr. Grey, and then came to admire the newest addition to their collective stable.

They gathered around John, running their hands over his body, groping his cock, squeezing his ass, and while John pleaded with them all to stop, begged them to let him go, they all would just laugh and continue on, before congratulating Mr. White on his latest catch from the college. John realized, then, that the only person unmasked in the room was him, and the men were all using his first and last name. Everything was on camera! What if the team saw this? What if his parents did?! He struggled against the bonds, but he also knew it was too late. The only thing he could do was get through this, and figure out how to destroy the footage after, maybe.

When all of the men had arrived and been poured a glass of champagne, Mr. White got their attention and gave John a proper introduction. A sophomore football player, a rather impressive tight end (bringing laughs from the men, and a blush to John’s cheeks), and of course, a secret sissy with a rather humiliating collection of fetishes that they would be displaying for all of these men this evening. “One of those fetishes is hypnosis,” the professor said, “please take the panty boy’s protestations this evening with…a grain of salt. He asked to be made unaware of the fact that he had asked for this–or rather, begged for it, repeatedly. I’m sure that by the time we’re through this evening, he’ll remember perfectly well just what kind of slut he is.”

John looked at the professor in confusion. That couldn’t be true, could it? He wouldn’t…want this to happen! “That’s not–I didn’t ask for this!”

The men all laughed, and John’s face burned hotter still.

“Now, Mr. Grey put up the initial investment for John here, and so, as usual, he will have the honor of breaking him in. After tonight, John will, of course, be available to all members through the usual avenues. Now, Mr. Grey, if you would,” the professor said, and bowed off to the side while Walker stepped up next to where John was suspended. The men clapped, and he took a bow.

“Now, Mr. White here has asked me to demonstrate a few of our newest boy’s proclivities, which I am more than happy to do. First on the list, is that the sissy boy loves to be disciplined, don’t you?”

John started to object, but not before Walker brought one of his palms down on John’s pantied ass, making him gasp in surprise. The sheer fabric did nothing to disguise the pain of the slap, but what surprised John most was that it felt…good, somehow. Not that it didn’t hurt, but that with the slap, there had been some strange burst of perverse delight in his mind, making his lip curl, and cock throb in the front of his panties. Walker gave his other cheek a smack, and this time, John groaned audibly, swinging out slightly from the force of the impact, and the men around them laughed.

“You were going to say something, sissy boy?” Walker snarled.

John panted, and then heard himself bleat, “M-More Daddy, please…I’ve been a naughty sissy boy.”

“Yes you have, going around the school, pretending to be a big *smack* strong *smack* butch *smack* football player, all the while thinking about dressing up in panties and having a mean, old Daddy bend you over his lap and give you a proper spanking, you slut.”

Walker fell into a rhythm after that, alternating cheeks, bringing out a collection of whimpers, moans, and shudders from John that horrified him, and yet felt so completely natural.

The suspension only increased his predicament, as he swung out slightly with each blow, only to come back as Walker brought his hand back down on his ass again. He stopped, and John came to rest again, and then heard him pick up something behind him, step around, and hold up a thick, wooden paddle.

“What do you think of this, you little spank slut?! Think this will teach you your lesson?”

Part of John was terrified, but all that escaped from his mouth was a moan, followed by, “Yes, Daddy.”

John didn’t know how hard Walker was really swinging it, but each connection stung, and made John let out a scream. He twisted a bit further now, trying to evade the paddle, only for gravity to drag him back into position for another strike. Too late, he felt his cock throbbing, harder and harder with each blow, and with a loud cry, he came, filling the front of the sheer panties with a massive load of cum. He looked down, watched it spurt through the fabric and onto the floor, the men around them cheering and hooting at him, John’s face burning in absolute shame.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but his professor stepped up, whispered something in his ear, and John relaxed, deeper than he could really have thought possible. Distantly, he felt the ropes around his shoulders loosening and he was let down to the floor, where he collapsed into the professor’s arms. He was put on his knees, and Walker was saying something, while the professor fit something in his mouth, and then, everything was a blur.

***

The next thing John knew, he was unbound, and lying against the foot of the bed on the floor, facing the TV. Looking around, the men had all disappeared other than Professor Farnham and Mr. Walker, who were sitting in a couple of chairs, smoking cigars, and watching the screen. John looked up, and saw that it was a video of him taken by the cameras in the room. He was on his knees, a spider gag stretching his mouth wide, while men surrounded him, jacking off, dumping their loads into his open mouth on splattering them across his face, all while John’s clearly hard cock hung out the front of his panties.

“What do you think, John? It’s a good debut, don’t you think?” Farnham smirked, and sat back in the chair. “Should we post it on xtube tonight?”

John stood up on aching legs, and sat on the bed, head in his hands, trying to figure out what to do about any of this. Beg? Plead? Fight?

Taking a puff from his cigar, Farnham continued wistfully, “Then again, no one has to know about any of it. All you have to do is sign a two year contract as an escort with our exclusive club, and this video will stay in our archives, instead of being distributed to your parents, and blasted onto every computer on the college network.”

John shuddered, and tried not to think about what a turn on that was for him all of a sudden. The idea of everyone on campus knowing he was a sissy panty slut, all of his coaches, his…father. His cock throbbed at the thought, and he pushed it away, horrified. “You–you did this to me, you made me want this.”

“Did I?” Farnham chuckled, “Or did you ask me to do this to you? Come to my office with all of these secrets, wanting to make them a reality? You don’t remember, do you?”

John gulped–he didn’t remember. He didn’t know at all.

“Come on now, John. Be a good sissy boy, and put your name on the line,” Walker goaded impatiently, holding out the pen. “Do it quickly now, and you’ll get your reward.” What choice did he have? John tried not to think about how thrilling it was to put his name on the dotted line, knowing that any of those men from the night before would be able to use him now, whenever they wanted, that he was essentially a slave for all of them to spank and humiliate and degrade whenever they wanted to. As John signed his rights away, a look of evil satisfaction came to the businessman’s face.

“That’s it bitch… Now get down here and thank me properly for disciplining you earlier,” Walker barked, and John looked over to see the man’s rock hard cock jutting out of his slacks. John gulped, then got down on his knees in front of him and started sucking. He hadn’t sucked many cocks before, and it wasn’t more than a minute before he grazed the shaft with a bit of teeth, and Mr. Walker picked up the riding crop from the table and brought it down hard on John’s ass, making his gasp. “No teeth, or I’ll have to gag you–but you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? Go on, gag on it, get it good and wet for daddy, or you’re going to be at this for a while.”

John redoubled his efforts, doing his best to lick and suck as Mr. Walker requested, until at last, he was rewarded with a load of cum. Finished with one, he moved over and sucked off his professor as well, who shot his load all over his face.

Speaking softly, the professor’s gentle tone was undercut by the harsh directive. “Now, you fucking slut… Get dressed, and wear that load all the way back to campus,” Farnham said, and handed him a small flip phone. “This is for work. Always answer it, no matter when it rings. You’ll be given instructions and a location each time. Don’t be late, don’t be disobedient, and the video taken last night will never see the light of day.” He paused, grinned, and cooed, “Unless, of course, you want it to.” Farnham leered down at John, like he’d known the filthy thought that had crossed his mind a moment ago, his burly father seeing what a slut John was, bending him over his knee, and…

John nodded and gulped, removed his party attire, and changed back into his hotel uniform before slipping out the back. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, but John took a moment to jack off in his car, his ass aching against even the soft seat, thinking about how it would feel on the hard classroom chairs. Fuck, what had his professor done to him? He came in the front of his slacks, cheeks burning with shame, and headed home. It was just two years, right? He’d be done by the time he graduated, and the fee he’d receive for each escort would be…substantial, according to the contract.

John got what little rest he could, and in the morning, did his best to pretend that everything was normal. That is, until the sound of an unfamiliar ringtone interrupted his homework. He answered the flip phone, and a computerized voice on the other end instructed, “The executive suite has been reserved for a special guest after your shift this evening. He requested the same outfit as last night, you’ll find it in the drawers of the suite’s dresser. The party last night was a great success, you’re already booked out every night for the next two weeks. Get your rest, sissy boy.”

They hung up before John could reply, and he felt his stomach churn in anticipation, terror, or both. Apparently, the only bottom at the hotel being up-sold now, was his.

My Uncle’s Amulet (Part 5)

I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up next–all I knew what that I hurt. Every part of my body hurt, but especially my throat and my ass. A moment later, the door to the room where I was banged open, and my father stomped in–but it wasn’t the father I remembered, or at least the one I thought I should remember.

The lights were out, and all I could make out of him was his silhouette–but it was massive. Six feet tall and a few inches, broad of shoulder and broader of gut, but with plenty of muscle packs into his chest and arms–I should know after all, since anytime I did something daddy didn’t approve of, I’d get a backhand across the jaw, at least. “Alright cunt,” he said with a snarl, and flipped on the light, “Have a good nap? Get the fuck ready–we got clients in fifteen minutes.”

“B-But…dad, I…” I stammered, but even as I spoke, I realized I should have known better. Daddy stomped over to me and gave me a solid smack, hard enough to make my teeth shake a bit. I’d…I’d been really good lately, he hadn’t knocked a tooth out of my head in almost a year, and I wasn’t going to start making him do that to me again. If I lost many more…he said he’d just pull them all out. The clients would pay more for a toothless whoremouth anyway, as he called it.

“Did you say something, cunt?”

“No daddy.”

“Didn’t fucking think so,” he said, and spit on my face, “Now clean up and put yer makeup on. These country fucks were promised a pretty city faggot, and that’s what yer gonna give ‘em, right?”

I nodded, and my daddy stormed back out the room, slamming the door behind him. The room…it had changed since the last time I’d woken up, mostly with the addition of a small vanity against the wall, which I made my way over to, sat down at, and looked at my face–my new face. I was…small. So fucking small, and chubby, with two soft breasts and a hairless body. I still had some makeup on from my earlier clients, but I went back in and touched myself up, a little blush, a little lipstick, a little shadow. The roughnecks out here…daddy found it easier for them to pay if I was more feminine. I found the pair of panties I’d been wearing earlier, which one john had tore off me eventually, and tucked my puny, two inch dicklet in the front, thankful my daddy still hadn’t followed through on that promise. If I didn’t have a few regulars who liked sucking on the puny thing, he probably would have cut it off years ago.

I was trying to fight it. I was trying as hard as I could, but this one–the change was so much larger than the last, and somehow that made it even more real. My daddy–as soon as he’d realized I was a little faggot, he’d started whoring me out–at home, around the city. He’d made a deal with my uncle to work out of the cabin a couple weeks a year, to give the roughnecks and truckers around here a shot at my faggot holes…and I hated them. I hated these weeks so much, they were so much rougher, so much dirtier…but it meant I got to see my uncle too, if he had the cash for my dad…and that almost made it worthwhile.

I got back up on the bed, sitting there, waiting. I heard daddy talking to some other gruff voiced stranger outside my door, and a second later it opened, and an old man entered, a leer plastered on his face, skin tight and wrinkled from years in the son-and then he was on me, licking me, tasting me, forcing me over onto my belly, ass up, and he was inside my tight hole–my forever tight hole. Men loved it–they came from miles around for a chance at it. Tighter than any pussy, and I wouldn’t mind if…if it didn’t hurt, every time. Every time it felt like my guts were being split apart, but I craved it all the same, because…because I liked it.

Deep down, my daddy was right–he’d always known me better than I’d ever known myself. I was a whore, I wanted cock, all day and night, and I wanted it rough. I fucking deserved it. My little dicklet had tented out my panties while the roughneck pistoned into me, and after a minute he gave a groan and came deep, filling my guts up, and as soon as he was out of the room, another one came right in after him.

Truckers, farmers, old fat fucks and young bucks–I took them all. It lasted hours, and my ass was leaking cum by the end of it, makeup smeared on my face again. I’d cum twice–once when some old biker had come in and made me eat out his ass while he jacked off. I…it was so fucking humiliating, that it turned me on, and he wanted to see me blow my load, he wanted to see my little clit while I chewed on his hole. The other time was some old farmer, maybe seventy, with a ten inch dick that worked like he was twenty. He hammered my guts so hard that I was spewing in my panties before I even realized it, begging him for more while he grunted and groaned, on the edge of a heart attack, probably–but he lived. I lived. I was so…tired by the end of it. Tired and humiliated, and…and wanting more, as much as I hated admitting it, but no one else came in, until my dad opened up the door.

Alright slut–that’s all for the evening, but my bro bought an hour with you.”

My heart skipped, but I didn’t dare show it–if my dad knew how much I liked seeing my uncle–and how much he liked seeing me, he’d probably double the price. I looked over and saw my uncle step into the room, closing the door behind him, and he smiled at me…and when I saw him, I remembered. I remembered, and through the desire, all I really felt was terror.

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.