On the Inside – Part 2

I gotta say, Bellmon University wasn’t precisely where I wanted to go, but when I got there, I realized why Mr. Burroughs wanted me to go there–it was because he had a house and a practice right next to campus! I was thrilled that I’d be able to keep seeing him while I was attending school there, and he even told me that I’d be able to live with him in his house, and I was thrilled, naturally.

Still, I gotta say, college didn’t quite go how I expected. I was excited for the opportunity to meet some new people, and learn new things, but Mr. Burroughs, well he convinced me to head in a different direction. First, he gave me a bit of a makeover, and required me to wear a suit to all of my classes. They were always tailored a bit big on me too, for reasons I soon discovered–Mr Burroughs wanted me bigger. He started feeding me these huge meals every day, and before long, the freshman fifteen became the freshman forty, and then the sophomore fifty after that. Still, he loved my fat ass, and he told me how much he loved it every night as he fucked me, and then started training me to take his fists as well.

At school, I’m pretty sure everyone hated me. I was always aloof with them, acting like a bit of a jerk, because Mr. Burroughs wanted me to act that way–he told me I would go farther in life. I’d entered college ready to major in English or Psychology, but he immediately made me switch my registration of business and economics, and the only people I could get to know were people Mr. Burroughs personally approved–usually professors who would want me to come by weekly for their “special” office hours.

It was in my Junior year that Mr. Burroughs started taking me to the tattoo parlor. First it was just a bearclaw on my left moob, but before long the artists were working on sleeves down to my wrists, covering my chest, gut and back with crude words and images of nasty, hot sex. By the time I was halfway through my last year, every inch of me that my suits covered during the day was tattooed, and when I was at home, I hung up my suit and wore a collar, leather harness and butt plug while I serviced Master Burroughs, and applied for MBA programs. I was ready for the next step in my life, and my future had never looked brighter.

To be Concluded…

***This caption uses a picture and some ideas submitted by Changemechainme***

“What do you think–is he ready?”

The two men stand towering over you, but you can’t even muster the energy to look up at them anymore. The chain around your neck has been draining the life out of your for days now–maybe even weeks. You’ve lost track of time in this room. The men have been checking up on you more frequently now, checking your shrinking cock, now less than an inch long, guessing at your age, talking to you on occasion, but you can’t even speak any more. You aren’t sure if that’s because your voice is literally gone, or because you simply don’t have the energy to fight back. In your heart, though, you sense that no words will cross your lips ever again. They have your current age pinned down somewhere between seventy and eighty. You were twenty-nine when they locked you up–how did they do this to you?

“I think this is the best we’re gonna get. His sack is finally big enough for what the guy wanted at least–that took longer than I’d expected. I think the guy will be satisfied. Still a lot of work to do, we’d better get going.”

They unlock the chain from around your neck–the burden is gone, finally. You’d hoped that you would feel better, that energy would come back to you, but it doesn’t. You feel the same, and when the first man puts a collar on your neck with a lead attached, all you can do is crawl after him, into the fluorescent white corridor beyond the door of your cell, and down the hall to a white, sterile room.

The modifications all take place there. They begin with the difficult changes first–prying your teeth from your head one by one while a surgeon severs your Achilles’ tendons, ensuring you will never walk upright again. Then, after spreading your legs apart, they examine your massive ball sack–the surgeon cuts into it, removing your balls, and fills it back up with four, two inch diameter metal spheres before sewing it back up. Then they permanently remove all of the hair from your body, your face and your head, and begin the process of tattooing and piercing your body to the specifications of the man who purchased you. The entire time, in your mind, you’re trying to scream at them to stop, begging them to let you go, but your voice–you have no voice anymore. You remain perfectly silent and unresisting as they modify you beyond any sort of recognition.

You heal, and then are given to your new master, and you discover why he wanted your mind to remain as it was–it was because he wanted to watch it wither as he trained you himself. He wanted to see you struggle and fight as the hypnosis whittled away at the will that remained, and you did fight. You fought hard, but it was no real contest. You accepted your fate, eventually, and now you enjoy being his slave. His old, voiceless, castrated cumdump, and there’s nothing in the world you’d rather be.

***

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You and your brother have always been close. You’re only separated by a year, and your parents didn’t have any other kids after you, and even though your childhood was dotted with periods of intense rivalry, after attending different colleges you both ended up living in your old hometown, and found a bit of comfort in each other’s company. It was then that the dares started–alternating, one of you would suggest something that the two of you would then have to do together, but when your brother brought over the two cigars to your apartment, even you thought that was a bit strange. He’d always been a vehement anti-smoker, and when you asked him where he’d gotten them, he never gave you a clear answer. Still, they were just cigars, right? One wouldn’t hurt you certainly.

You lit them together and coughed up your first draws, laughing at each other as much as yourselves, but after those first few inhales, the smoke didn’t seem as bad as before, and it was really relaxing, actually. The two of you had smoked your cigars down a quarter of the way when the itching on your belly grew severe enough that you decided to slip into the bathroom to investigate, and what you saw shocked you so much you nearly dropped the cigar. A tattoo had appeared on your belly–a tattoo of three intertwining cocks snaking their way up to your chest, and dropping your pants, you saw that there were equally obscene tattoos running down both your legs.

You went out, naked, and saw that your brother was on the couch, still smoking, but his clothing was different. Now, instead of his button down shirt, he was wearing a rubber tank and nothing else, and a goatee had appeared around his mouth, along with an equal number of tattoos…and he looked hot–really hot. You felt yourself drawn to him, the cigar leading the way, and you laid back on him, your head against his swelling gut, and he reached around and started yanking on your nipples, and you gave a sharp gasp as two rings appeared in them, and a third, massive PA through the head of your cock.

“Where…where did you say you got these cigars again?” you ask, before letting out a soft groan.

“Don’t worry about it, bitch,” he says back, grabbing underneath your chin, “Just smoke it all the way down, bro–enjoy it.”

You still had so much more to smoke though, and you had a feeling the changes were just beginning. With a shudder you leaned back into your brother, you cock hardening, and took a deep, long draw deep into your lungs.

***

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Smoked

–Day 1–

I woke up, and I couldn’t see anything. It was terrifying, that first time, when you open your eyes and you still can’t see a thing? And even worse, when you try to talk, and say something, and you find something in lodged in your mouth? I could scream–and I did scream, that was for sure, and did my best to escape, but my hands had been locked behind the chair I was sitting on, and my legs were tied to the chair, and the chair must have been bolted down, because my flailing didn’t move it an inch. Where in the hell was I? I didn’t know. I mean, I remembered the smoke shop, the one that everyone on the forum had been talking about, and I remember going in and asking for his special smokes, and the burly man behind the counter had given me one to try, and then…nothing.

I kicked and fought for a few more minutes, but I couldn’t get loose–all I did was tire myself out, and make it even harder to breathe through the tube in my mouth. I could breathe through my nose still, but the air was stale inside the mask, while through my mouth the air was clean. I sat there, panting for a bit, trying to figure out what to do, when I heard him speak.

“Ah, so you’re awake then. Good, that means we can go ahead and get started. Well, you fucking prick, you asked for one of my special blends, so here you go–we have a long week of changes ahead of us, so we might as well get started, eh?”

I couldn’t breathe as well, suddenly, and then I heard the sound of a lighter being lit, and then smoke started flooding my mouth through the tube. He must have stuffed a cigar in the other end or something, and I tried to just breathe through my nose…but this smoke, fuck, you don’t understand, whatever blend it was, it was…irresistible. Before long, I couldn’t get enough, I was inhaling deep off the tube in my mouth, sucking down as much smoke as I could, and he was chuckling, encouraging me to take as much as I needed.

I don’t know how much I smoked, but I know it was at least three cigars in a row. The guy’s special blends, the ones I had wanted, they could…change people, or at least that’s what the rumors claimed. But what in the hell was the guy talking about? I hadn’t acted like a prick! I mean, maybe I had been a bit rude…and maybe a bit of a snob, but fuck, I think I’ve been a weakling long enough to earn the right to be a fucking man, right? I mean, sure, I was impatient, but I didn’t give a shit about how to use the fucking product–you just smoke it–how hard could it be?

Well, not as hard as my cock. Fuck, by the time I’d finished the first cigar, my cock was aching in the chastity device he must have put on me while I was asleep–I mean–I was horny as fuck, and by the time I was through smoking it, I just wanted to cum, but there wasn’t exactly anyway for me to make my desire known, aside from moaning like a fucking whore. Still, eventually the smoke cleared away, and I could breathe again–for a moment at least.

He fiddled with the tube leading into my mouth–I could feel it being yanked around–and then something new flooded my mouth. It was the consistency of a shake, and it came so fast that I nearly choked–I didn’t exactly have many options beyond swallowing it all down. My gut felt like it was going to burst by the time the flow stopped–I don’t think I’d ever eaten anything as massive as that meal, but then it was back to the smoke. He kept it up, and he hasn’t said a word to me. I’m on my fourth feeding now, and I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep though, I have to keep eating. I’m…I’m so hungry, and so horny. The flow’s easing up, thank god–I think I have to try to sleep. There…there’s the smoke again, fuck, that feels good on my gut. Maybe…maybe I’ll sleep for just a little bit. I have to keep my wits about me, and the smoke…so good…horny though…so horny…

–Day 3–

Goodness, he’s looking good already, and we aren’t even halfway there–of course, I’ve been pumping him full of more smoke than any of these guys usually get–I usually only supply them with a dozen “special” cigars for a week of changes, but this guy, well, he’s already gone through a dozen, and I’m going to put another dozen more in him by the time we’re finished. The feedings and immobility are having the desired effect too–he’s plumping up nicely. Of course, he might have been slim walking in here, but he’s not going to be slim walking out. He’s probably at 250 pounds right now, but hell, we’ll see how big we can get him over the rest of the week. Still, I think it’s time for something new.

I’ve been waffling, I admit it. A dumbass redneck? A cock-starved retiree? A piss guzzling trucker? I mean, I have a lot of options, but I think I’ve settled on something. I want a fist pig–a preference for leather, but with more personality than a leather bear. Still, leather is a fine place to start, I think. I have him on a round of cigars at the moment, but lets go ahead and get him all dressed up. First, a harness, but we’re going to have this one spiked, I think. Yeah, I’m definitely feeling a certain punk vibe off of him–this is going to be hot.

Now, chaps? No, I don’t think chaps…hmm…how about. Yeah, I’m going to have to undo his feet for a second, but he’s so smoked out I doubt he’ll even notice. Hell, even I untied him, I don’t think he’d want to leave at this point. Besides, I still have his key–not that he’s going to give a shit about his own tiny ass cock by the time we’re done here.Still, I think some jeans…but distressed. Yeah, lets rip up the knees here a pit, and rip out the ass and crotch of course–he’s a fucking slut after all–no shame there, and then we’ll just…slip these babies on…yeah, that’s looking good.

Now, how about a beat up biker vest, and a bandanna–deep red of course. His hair’s growing out nicely, after all–and I kind of like it–though maybe a mohawk…mmm, yeah, that’ll be fuckin’ crazy. Now then, just add some of these old combat boots and tie his feet up again, and we’re all done–perfect.

Let’s see, how about that last accessory though? I’ve been stretching his ass out nicely since yesterday–aw yeah, look at how easy that plug slips in and out now–that’s so damn hot. We’re going to give this punked out bear the loosest hole in the city. I wonder…hell, why not? I’ll just give it a try. Pull it out and start out with a few fingers…aww fuck yeah, he’s fucking eating my hand with his hole, that’s so hot–but can he…yeah, he’s moaning, it hurts, but he wants it, he’s opening up perfectly–just a little more…fuck yeah, take my fist you fucking cunt, that’s so fucking hot. Feels good, doesn’t it? Having my fist pummel that prostate of yours? You like it, I can tell, but we’re not done yet, not by a long shot. Still, that’s enough of that for now. I’d give you a proper fucking, but I can’t get to your hole, so we’re just going to have to give you a bigger dildo for now. How about nine inches and as big as my fist? Still, even that isn’t going to be enough for a hog like you, just you fucking wait.

–Day 5–

Holy fuckin’ shit, this music is really starting to get on my fucking nerves now. Fucking metal? And fuckin’ Screamo at that? It’s just a bunch of dumbfucks playing guitars as badly as fucking possible, and some dude screaming his fuckin’ lungs out. What’s the fuckin’ point? It’s been playing non-stop since yesterday, and I mean, sure, I think it was even worse then. I dunno, maybe I’m just gettin’ used to it or somethin’.

Ow! Fucking hell, it fuckin’ happened again! My right fuckin’ ear this time, somethin’ fuckin keeps poking me every few minutes. I swear, like fuckin’ needles or somethin’. God damn, if it don’t make my fuckin’ cock ache every damn time though. Who knew a chastity device could feel so damn good though, eh? I’m so horny, but damn, if it don’t make my piggy hole feel so damn good. Aw yeah…yeah, he’s pumpin’ the dildo, oh yeah, fuckin’ righteous man, feels so damn nice, gettin’ reamed like that. Wonder how big it is–feels like a fuckin’ two litter bottle. Yeah, I’m gonna have to give that a try when he let’s me out–I bet I can take it. Hell, I’ve already taken both of his fuckin fists, I wonder…wonder if I could take three? Oh yeah, bet that would feel so damn good…

Fuck I’m hungry. I could eat a fuckin’ horse. Gotta keep this big gut a mine fed after all, gotta get bigger too–just…just a fat ass metalhead…yeah–ow! Fuck, again? and my tits this time? What the fuck is up with that? And this fuckin’ burnin’ that’s gettin’ on my nerves too. First it was just my arms, but now my whole gut feels like it’s on fire or somethin’. All itchy and shit. Man, my head…just feels so fuzzy all the time, gettin’ harder to think ‘bout anythin’ other than my…hole…yeah…fuck, feels so good, getting fucked like that…

…Shit, think…I think I zoned out for a bit there. Yeah, fuck, I remember this album, he played it yesterday. Man, it made me so angry yesterday…and…and I’m still angry, but also…kind of…kind of pumped up. Yeah, what a fuckin’ amazin’ solo, listen to that fucker shred! Man, if I didn’t have this fuckin’ smoke tube halfway down my throat, I’d be totally into this, I wonder if they tour. I bet…bet their mosh pits are fuckin’ out of this world, man. I’d love…love to find some big fucker in there, drunk off his ass, and just get down and dirty with him in the mud, get him to fuck my sloppy hole right there in front of everyone, like a fuckin’ punked out pig!

No–No, that’s not me, I don’t mean it. Did I really just think that? What in the hell is happening to me? I can’t even remember what I used to look like. I mean, all I see is this fat, tattooed and pierced thug, but that’s not me, it’s not. I–I mean…it would be…kinda hot if that were me. Yeah, with “SEXXXPIG” tattooed across my gut, and massive fucking gauges in my ears. Big doorknocker hangin’ from my septum, just…just a dumbass, punked out, bear whore.

Oh is…he fuckin’ is, workin’ both his fists in there with the dildo now. So damn full…of fuck yeah, the food’s starting! Yeah, I’m fuckin’ starved, fucking stuff me full at both ends, I’m such a hungry pig, just a hungry ass punked out piggy bear…yeah…feed me, stuff me, smoke me…that’s what I need, that’s what I was made for…

–Day 7–

Hot damn, what a fucking whore. As soon as I let him out, he’s on his knees, cigar clamped in one jaw, and he’s begging me to fuck him. Of course, his hole is so damn loose that I can’t feel a thing–I end up jacking my cock off with my fist inside his ass, and he fucking loves it. You should see him, he’s a fucking freak. Piercings everywhere–and I mean everywhere. When I took off the chastity belt, his cock and balls, they looked like a god damn pincushion. And even with the device off, I saw he’d chastized himself already–the massive PA through his three inch cock was padlocked to a ring in the massive ball stretcher he wore, pinning his cock against his massive sack. I asked him if he wanted to cum, and he told me he’d lost the key years ago–he could still cum on occasion, sure, but he loved how it felt when he got hard, like the ring was going to rip out of his cock head.

Well, he’s definitely a man, I’ll say that. The cigars put on a massive amount of hair–but it’s…well…manicured in some interesting ways. The hair is thick except for on his gut, where it accentuates the tattoo–SEXXXPIG–on a completely bare patch of skin, and his arms, where a riot of tattoos, some of them from metal bands, most of them sexual, form full sleeves to his shoulders. His beard is down to his gut and thickly tangled–he stinks like he hasn’t showered in a week, which I suppose he hasn’t. And his long hair has been spiked up into a deep red mohawk. I sent him on his way, and promised him cigars for life, so long as he stopped by for a rough bondage and fisting session once a month–like he’d turn down an offer like that. Still, he apparently had some metal festival to get to or something–he was going to see if he could turn to mosh pit into a metal orgy–and with that ass of his, I bet he’ll do just fine.

“Ah yeah, you fuckin skin slut–how do those fuckin’ boots taste bitch?”

“So fucking good sir, thank you for letting me lick them clean sir,” the boot slave said, and then ran his not dry tongue along the wet leather and across the laces, and when his master rubbed his shaven head with his gloved hand pressing him down into the leather for a few moments, he groaned loudly, feeling his cock ooze precum into his tight leather pants.

Wait–shaved head? Leather pants? Hadn’t…hadn’t he…

His master’s piss surprised him, slamming into the side of his face, and he quickly looked up, mouth open, keeping as much of it from landing on his master’s shoes as possible and swallowed it down in big, heaving gulps, and then, finally, his master allowed him the privilege of sucking his thick cock. He didn’t last long, and they were in a public stall, so they needed to hurry anyway, and his master fed him after a minute of rough pounding thrusts, and then, pulled out, and zipped up, Rudy wiping his lips with the back of his hand…expecting to feel…something other than bare face for some reason, and he was still thinking hard when his master called, “Oi! Bitch, get a fucking move on!”

Rudy shook his head, and hurried out of the stall, but stopped when he saw somwthing strange on the ground. His cowboy boots and jeans…just lying there on the floor. But they couldn’t be his, he was wearing his pants and twenty hole rangers–he didn’t even own cowboy boots…but they were his. They were his, he could almost remember them he could almost…

His master slammed into him and shoved him up against the wall. “Leave them–you’re just a disgusting punk now, just a dumb-ass submissive skin slut who obeys my every fucking command, just a perverted stinking, nasty minded skinpig slave who follows me around because he has nothing better to do with his life, and is too stupid to imagine that things could be different.”

Rudy struggled against his Master’s arm, which was cutting off his air, but in the mirror he could see himself change, the tattoos racing across his arms, the piercings accumulating in his ears, nose, lips and eyebrows. He smirked–he was one hot skinpig, that was for sure, and he gave his master a dumb snort, and licked his lips, his head filling with all sorts of nasty things he hoped his master would do to him later–that he would beg his master to do to him later, and then his master stepped back, and Rudy followed him out, snorting and grunting, paying the boots and jeans no more mind.

Oscar’s New Thug Slut

“I really appreciate you being so understanding about this Oscar,” Mr. Williams said, “I just never knew that our son was such a thug slut, or we would have done something about it sooner.”

“I know!” Mrs. Williams added, “I mean, I always thought he was such a nice boy, but if I had known…” she gave a little shudder before continuing, “Well, let’s just say that it was lucky you were here, so you could spot the warning signs! I mean, if we would have sent him off to college, it would have been a disaster.”

“A real disaster–could you imagine wasting all those college savings on a thug slut like Quint?”

The two of them laughed, but Oscar just smirked, “Yeah, it would have been bad, I’ll tell you that much. But don’t you two worry, I’ll take good care of Quint, and make sure he grows up into the proper thug slut we all know he is.”

The front door to the duplex opened, and Quint trundled in, carrying a small box. “Here’s all of the stuff you said to bring, Master–I loaded the rest of my things into the back of my dad’s truck, like you told me to.”

“That’s a good job thug slut,” Oscar said, and gave him a smack on the back, making Quint wince. He still hadn’t taken the large bandage off the back of his neck and shoulders yet, from the tattooists yesterday. He was so happy Oscar had shown him what a thug slut he was–his life is going to be so much better now, that he doesn’t have to worry about college, or reading, or thinking for that matter. From here on out, all he would be doing with his life is working out, sucking cock, and whatever else his thug master wants him to do. “Mr. Williams–you’ll be a good man and take the thug slut’s things to the dump, won’t you? I’m going to be busy this weekend.”

“Oh, of course! Of course–I’d be happy to do that for you Oscar, you know we’ll do anything for you.”

“Yes, anything,” Mrs. Williams said, “all you have to do is ask.”

“Yep, just ask, and we’ll do it.”

“Sounds good,” Oscar said, “Fuck–slave, watching you cart all that shit around got me horny. Get down there and suck me off.”

“Yes sir!” Quint said, and got down on his knees, taking Oscar’s thick meat down his throat in a single thrust.

“Aw yeah slut, that’s good, real good…” Oscar said, puffing heavily on his cigar, and Mr. and Mrs. Williams were looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“You know, why don’t we just leave you two to it?” Mrs. Williams said, “Come on dear.”

“No, you fucking cunt, stay.” Oscar spat, “And you too fucker. We were having a nice conversation, weren’t we? And he’s just a thug slut, there’s no need to worry about him.”

“Oh…oh I guess so…” Mrs. Williams said, and the three of them chatted awkwardly about the neighbors and the neighborhood while Oscar smoked and rammed his cock down their son’s throat in front of them, finally tensing up and cumming all over Quint’s face.

“Alright, that’s good thug slut–head upstairs to the bathroom and wait for me,” Oscar said, and Quint got up, cum still plastered across his face, and went upstairs. Oscar turned back to his parents and said, “Alright, you two should probably be on your way now.”

“Alright,” Mr. Williams said, “And again, Oscar, thank you for helping us out with our thug slut son, you’ve been a great help.”

“Yes, we don’t know what we would have done without you.”

The two excused themselves and left Oscar’s side of the duplex they were renting to him, and he shook his head, smiling, and then bounded up the stairs after his slave, who was standing in the bathroom, waiting patiently. “Alright bitch, I’ve been wanting to do this for fucking weeks. That mop of yours has got to go–we need you looking like a proper thug scumbag, right?”

“Yes sir, whatever you say sir,” Quint said.

Oscar sat him down on the toilet and grabbed his shaver, and started working his way over Quint’s scalp, cutting away all of his shoulder length hair in long strokes. “This, thung slave, this feels good, doesn’t it? Me cutting away all the weight from your shoulders–I’m freeing you, I’m letting you be who you really, are, just a fucking thug slut–right?”

“Yes sir, I’m a fucking thug slut.”

“No bitch,” Oscar said, pausing in his shaving long enough to take the cigar from his mouth and stick it in Quint’s, “You’re not just a thug slut–you’re my thug slut–never fucking forget that.”

“Yes sir,” I won’t sir–I’m your fucking thug slut–no one else’s,” Quint said, taking a deep inhale off the cigar, and exhaling with a moan, his cock hard in his pants.

“That’s right slut–and we’re gonna have you all thugged out here soon enough. All that time you used to spend reading? Studying? Forget that–the only thing you care about now is working out–you’re gonna be one muscled thug by the end of the year, I promise you that–especially after I get those steroids from my buddy Zach–everyone is gonna want a piece of your bubble butt by the time I’m done with you. And that’s not the least of it–a new tattoo every week, and we’re gonna get you pierced too, starting with a fucking big ass PA through that cock head of yours. How does that sound, slut?”

“It sounds so fucking hot sir…”

“Damn right it does,” Oscar said, rubbing his hand over Quint’s buzzed scalp, and then grabbed a razor and some shaving cream, smeared it all over his his slut’s head and started taking the hair down to the scalp. “You know slave, you’re gonna learn something real soon, you’re gonna learn how fucking vulnerable it feels to have not a lick of hair on your head. You’re gonna learn what it feels to have some butch motherfucker grab your smooth head in his hands, and ram his big cock down your throat. You’re gonna learn what it feels like to be a real bitch, and you’re gonna keep this dome smooth for me, right? You’re gonna love the feel of a hand on your scalp pushing you down onto your knees so much, that you’re never gonna grow your hair out again.”

Quint couldn’t reply. He’d tranced out completely off the smoke from Oscar’s cigar, that his eyes had sagged half closed, but he was listening to every word–Oscar could tell, because he could see his thug slut’s hard on through the jeans he had on. Those were gonna have to go, he figured–even though he hadn’t settled on a uniform for his slut yet. Jockstraps? Gym shorts? Shirtless was a give in, of course, but he just wasn’t sure about the lower half yet–still, he had months to settle on a good look for his new thug.

He stripped Quint down, took the cigar back, and then had him hose his head off in the shower–no soap though–thug sluts smell like sex and musk and sweat–Quint was going to have to get used to stinking like his master did. He climbed out, and Oscar decided it was time to take the bandage off, and take a look at his slut’s first tattoo of many. He pulled it off and smiled–it was perfect–”Property of Oscar” in big letters that Quint would never hide–not that he’d want to. He was proud to be a thug slut–Oscar had made sure of that, as he ran his fingers along the still sore back, feeling Quint stiffen–and Oscar’s cock was stiffening again too.

Oscar bent the still wet Quint over the counter, one hand on his newly shaven head, and he worked his cock into Quint’s hole. the bathroom filling up with smoke–Quint roaring in pain at first, but he loosened up soon enough, and started moaning in pleasure. His master was right, the sensation, the vulnerability of that hand on his smooth head–it felt like his master could crush his skull in his hand, or palm it like a basketball–he could do anything he wanted with him, and Quint would accept it, would beg for it–he needed his master so bad–he’d do anything for him.

Oscar, grunting and snorting, started pounding his cock in as hard as he could, and then unloaded deep in the slut’s hole, both of them wet now, and he pulled Quint close–you’re mine bitch–mine for as long as I want.”

“Keep me forever sir, please–I’m yours,” Quint said, but Oscar pulled out his cock, keeping his distance. After all, he can’t get too attached to a thug slut–he’ll get sold off eventually anyway, after his hole can’t get tight anymore. Some whore house will end up with him, usually down in Mexico–if he got close to a thug slut, he might actually start feeling bad about it.

“Come on bitch, let’s get you started on a workout,” he said, and the rest of the afternoon was spent getting Quint up to speed on the workout equipment that dominated the living room in Oscar’s place. After a massive protein heavy dinner, it was back to working out, and Quint could almost feel his head draining, his thoughts moving slower, but maybe it was just his master talking to him the whole time, telling him how stupid he was, how he can’t even read, how he flunked out of middle school, how he can’t even remember where he lives–how he depends on his master for everything, how his master is everything to him–he couldn’t live without him.

It was around eleven at night when there was a knock at the door, and Oscar went over and answered it–it was Mr. Williams. “Hey…uh…the wife kind of gave me the cold shoulder tonight, and…well….I was wondering if–”

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred? Isn’t–isn’t that a bit pricy?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Mr. Williams looked a bit annoyed, then pulled out a wad of cash, counted out Oscar’s money, and then walked over to where his son–no, where Oscar’s thug slut was working out. He wasn’t his son anymore–he didn’t have a son, Oscar had made that perfectly clear, that when Quint moved in with him, he’d have no relation to the Williams anymore.

“Hey Quint–you got a customer. Sit up and give him what he’s looking for.”

“Yes sir!” Quint said, sitting up from where he was pressing, and saw the man looming over him…he looked familiar, didn’t he? He tried to place the face for a moment, but his head just wasn’t working fast enough, and finally he forgot it, and started sucking his cock, listening to the older man moan. He didn’t last long–less than a minute, and then he came, Quint swallowed, and he left, giving Oscar a nod as he went, but Quint was already back down, returning to his bench press. He had to get big for his master. He was just a dumb thug slut after all–his hot body was the only thing he had going for him. Well, that and his hot mouth and ass. He was going to be a good thug slut for his master–the best thug slut Oscar had ever had.

Up in his room, Quentin was reading a book, his window open, and every once in a while, he could catch a whiff of Oscar’s cigar smoke as it wafted in on the breeze. Funny, when he’d come home from college to discover who had started renting the other half of the duplex his parents owned, he’d scared Quentin half to death, with all of his tattoos and his smoking, but now he’d gotten used to it, and…whenever he caught a whiff of the smoke, his cock always got hard–it was the strangest thing.

“Quentin, I’m going to yoga,” his mom called up the stairs, “I’ll be back in a few hours–I’m going to pick up stuff for dinner on the way home. Anything you need from the store?”

“No Mom, I’m good,” Quentin called back, and a few minutes later, he heard the garage door open, his mom pull out and drive off. As soon as the sound of her car disappeared, Quentin’s eyes glazed over, he set down his book and marched out into the backyard, where Oscar was smoking in a lawn chair, shirtless.

“Master,” Quentin said, “my parents are gone sir, I’m yours.”

“Good boy,” Oscar said around the cigar, “Smoke for me while you fuck yourself on my cock, and we talk some more about what you’re going to do with this life of yours.”

Oscar had plans for his new bitch after all–there was no way he was going to be leaving for college in the fall. No, by then, he’d be a tattooed thug, just like Oscar. Well, not just like Oscar. He’d be his total bitch, a whore he’d make bank renting out to the rest of his hoodlum friends, but that would come later. “So, let’s talk about the tattoos you’re going to start getting bitch,” Oscar said, “The very first one is going to say ‘Property of Oscar,’ and I want it on the back of your neck, got it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, I’ve made you an appointment already–you’re going to get it on Friday. What do you say, bitch? "Oh, and I talked to your parents last night–we had a good long discussion about your future–they both agree that college was a dumb choice for a dumb thug bitch like you, so they’re having you move in with me this weekend.”

“Thank you sir–I can’t wait sir.”

Source: gregenti

Truth or Dare

Alex was used to the sensation by now, the odd tugging in his mind, not exactly moving him limbs for him, but making it impossible for him to move them in any direction other than where “Dad” had told him to go. He parked his car on the street and got out, still a bit self-conscious in his leather harness and chaps, even though he’d been wearing them out of the house more and more often these days, whenever he was told to during their numerous games of “Simon Says.” How fucking twisted was that? A fucking kids game, and here he was, cigar glowing in the fading evening light, dressed up like a fucking leather fag, about to go into some dingy bar where he was going to meet his tormentor face to face for the first time.

Months–it was hard to remember when exactly it had started. It had just been a game at first, something silly to do over chat. He can’t remember exactly when he discovered that Dad’s suggestions were really compulsions–probably the first time he’d been forced to go buy a cigar and light up, mimicking Dad’s actions as closely as possible the entire time. He pushed the memory away, it was too terrifying to think about right now. He had no idea what to expect now–he’d gotten on for their usual afternoon chat, and immediately noticed that something was strange–Dad was in a different room than usual–it looked like a motel room, and he’d chatted just long enough to order Alex to get dressed in his leathers and come to this bar, smoking the whole time of course–but Alex was well addicted at this point–he smoked whether Dad told him to or not.

The bar was lightly packed on a weeknight, it was easy enough to spot Dad over at the bar, a double whisky in front of him, smoking away. Unable to help himself, Alex ordered the same thing and took the stool next to him, matching Dad’s movements perfectly, without even really needing to try. “Simon Says cut it out–” the older man said to Alex, “It’s creepy when you do it in the same room as me.”

He should run. He should hit him. He should do any number of things, he knew that, and yet he just sat there–why? Because he wanted to know–why him? Why torture him for months online and then show up here and now? He wanted him life back, more than anything, but if he ran now, he knew he’d just hunt him down, or blackmail him, or anything else he wanted to do. No, he needed to be smart about this. He needed to know why, more than anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” the man asked, “figured you’d have at least started shouting at me by now.”

“Can you just tell me why? Why do this? What the fuck does any of this do for you?”

In response, the man smiled, “I just love games, I guess–but what fun are games when there’s no real risk involved?”

“Why not just go gamble your fucking life away then like other people?”

“Because the house always wins when you gamble–and I hate losing.”

“What, so you just play games that people can’t win at? Where you’re always going to walk away the fucking winner? That just sounds like cowardice to me. You fuck up my life, make me humiliate myself, all so you can win some fucking game? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alex said, his voice loud in the mostly quiet bar.

“Sounds like someone forgot how Simon Says works,” the man said, chickling, “You weren’t competing against me–you were competing against all the other boys I was chatting with too. That is how Simon Says works, after all. You’re the winner–congratulations. Are you sure you don’t want to know what your prize is? After all, you got off a whole lot luckier than the rest of them–trust me.”

Alex just sat there–how many other guys had he been playing with? And what had happened to them if having his life ruined and getting summoned to a leather bar was lucky? “How many–How many were there?”

“Twenty–to start with.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, you did good, my boy–you won! Now, how about we play something else? Just you and me, father and son.”

“Don’t fucking say that, I’m not your fucking son.”

“If you say so,” the man said, taking a sip of whisky, “But you have to admit, that the resemblance at this point is rather…uncanny.”

Alex took a drink too, before replying. “So what is it now? Candyland? Monopoly? Hide and Seek?”

“Nah, how about a nice game of ‘Truth or Dare’?”

Alex shook his head, “I was close though–why all the fucking childhood games?”

“What else should a father play with his son?” the man said, smirking.

Alex sighed, “Do I have much of a choice?”

“I suppose I can’t make you play–you could and refuse,” the man said, pulling a small idol out of his pocket that was shining oddly bright in the dim bar, “But as far as this guy goes, he thinks the game is already going, and he doesn’t like letting players off the hook. I suppose you could skip all of your turns, but I still get to take all of mine. So, four rounds–eight questions in all. When we finish the game, and you can do whatever you want.”

Alex finished his drink quickly, and said, “Fine, but first, I have a question. What’s your name–your real name, none of this Dad and Daddy shit, I want to know your first name, at least.”

“It’s Harvey, but I think you’ll prefer Daddy by the time we’re done here. So, do you need me to go over the rules?”

“I think I know how to play Truth or Dare.”

Alright then–how about I go first? Truth or Dare, Boy?”

The idol on the bar glowed bright for a moment before settling back down, and Alex tried to ask if the idol was responsible for all of this, but he couldn’t get a word out at all. He realized then that the game had started–the only words he would be able to get out would be ‘Truth’ or ‘Dare’, and he didn’t really want to know what Dad would dare him to do here, so he said, “Truth.”

The idol glowed slowly, and the man smiled. “Truth, eh? Just so you know, this game is a little different–I get to say whatever I want about you, and that becomes true.”

“Wait, what?” Alex said, “That’s not how the game is played!”

“That’s how I play it,” Harvey said, “Guess you should have asked about the rules when you had the chance.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Harvey didn’t pay him any mind, and he finally replied, “Alright, here’s your truth. It’s true that you love having me control you–you love having a strong older man dominate you, bend you to his will, and have his way with you.–it’s the height of sexual excitement for you.”

The idol glowed so bright for a moment that it hurt Alex’s eyes, and he felt…different. Everything that had already happened to him had still happened, but he felt…so different about it. Now, all of the humiliation, all the sexual abuse he’d been forced to do, it had all been…thrilling. He’d wanted to come here, he’d begged him to come find him, to…control him in person, hadn’t he? His head hurt so much, but being this close to Harvey, to Dad, fuck, he was so turned on right now, even though he shouldn’t be, should he? He was trying to catch the old memories, but everything that didn’t conform to the new truth was draining down through his fingers, and by the time the figure returned to normal, it was all gone, just…lust, and excitement, and he wanted to play this game, he wanted Harvey to dominate him, he wanted to be controlled, it was going to be so hot…

“Your turn,” Harvey said, “Go on, ask me.”

Alex didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then he remembered the game. “Are…Are you sure I can’t just skip my turn? I think I’d really rather have you dare me for a little bit,” Alex said, the flirting natural and so wrong at the the same time.

“Humor me, and play along at least,” Harvey said.

“Oh alright–Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Harvey said.

Alex pouted, “I don’t know what to do, I’m not really a top, but you know that already…” he said, smirking.

“Oh, be a little adventurous,” Harvey said, leaning in close, “Tell me something you’ve always wanted me to do to you, I want to hear one of my boy’s sick, twisted fantasies.”

Alex’s first thought was that he didn’t have any sick, twisted fantasies…but he did. He really did. Being bound up and fisted, licking his dad head to toe, begging for his cock, being his pup, so many things he couldn’t keep track of them all. “How in the hell do I choose,” he said.

It occurred to Alex then that he could dare him anything. He could make him leave. He could make him promise to undo all of the shit he’d done to Alex these past few months, but he no longer wanted that. They weren’t even through round one, and Harvey had already beaten him, but he knew what he wanted. “Kiss me, but don’t just kiss me, I want you to rape my mouth with your tongue, I want you to force your smoke into me, fucking dominate me with your fucking mouth,” he said, and even before he’d finished speaking, Harvey had lip locked him, one hand wrapped around the back of his head, breathing a big lungful of smoke down his throat which Alex inhaled relishing it as their tongues fought. He was too strong though, and Alex wanted him to win too badly, he could feel the older man wrestle him down, make his mouth his, he could do whatever he wanted with Alex, and he wouldn’t have cared one bit, no, he would have thanked him and asked him for more. They parted for air, Alex harder than he’d ever been in his life, and he said, “I love you,” without even thinking, and Harvey smiled.

In reply, all he said was “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.” Alex said, not hesitating for a second. “Whatever you fucking want, I’ll do it.”

“Then get down and suck me off, right here, while I have another drink. And I want to hear you enjoy it.”

He pulled out his cock, and Alex didn’t need the idol pushing him to his knees–he was more than happy to comply. Harvey had his cock out, but before Alex swallowed it to the hilt, he asked, “Truth or Dare, Dad?”

Harvey looked surprised, but smiled and said, “Truth.”

“It’s true that you have a foot long cock, as big around as a beer can and three times as sensitive as normal, you can get hard and cum at will, and I can take it all the way to the hilt, no problem.”

“Oh what a naughty boy I’ve got here,” Harvey said, watching his cock grow under the bar. Alex swallowed it down before it finished growing, and he felt it push down his throat, but like he’d said, he had no problem swallowing the entire shaft, Harvey jerking and spasming as he sucked on him, not used to how much pleasure a simple blow job would give him from now on. It took him five minutes to relax enough and adjust so he could sip his drink at all, and he let it last, listening to Alex moan and groan in pleasure under the bar, stopping only the take a breath, draw on his cigar, exhale the smoke over Harvey’s massive cock and then keep going. The display was drawing quite a bit of attention in the small, sparsely packed bar, and quite a few men were watching the display, jacking their cocks, and wondering what they’d have to do to get some of that boy’s throat to themselves.

“Alright, I’m done, you can come up now, Son,” Harvey said.

“Do I have to?” Alex asked, kissing the head.

“Yes, get up here–we still have a game to finish after all. Now, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Alex said, “And something hard this time.”

“I think my cock is plenty hard boy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Harvey said, and thought for a moment, before reaching into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a leather collar and a padlock. “I dare you to take this collar, put it around your neck, padlock it closed, and then throw the key away, accepting the fact that you’re going to be my slave for the rest of your life. I usually save that one for last, but why wait? It leaves one round for us to enjoy ourselves.”

Alex shakily took the collar from Harvey, and looked at it, a bit teary eyed–but not from fear…he was…happy. “You…you mean it? You want to keep me?”

“I do,” Harvey said, “I want to keep you forever, son.”

“Dad…” Alex said, but he didn’t have the words. He just took the collar, buckled it around his neck without a word, padlocked it closed, and handed the key to a passing bartender, “Could you throw this away please? I won’t be needing it.”

The man just looked at the two of them for a moment, wondering if he should try to intervene, but figured he’d rather get a big tip than get yelled at by some dom. He took the key, but didn’t throw it away–keeping it by the register, in case the lovestruck sub changed his mind, like they usually did.

“So, Truth or Dare, sir?” Alex asked.

“Dare.”

“Alright. I dare you to leash me up, and take me around the whole bar on my hands and knees. I want you to introduce me as your son who you’ve enslaved, and offer all of the men here an opportunity to use me however they’d like.”

“You’re such a fucking slut.”

“You’re the one who made me that way–enjoy it, sir.”

Alex got down on his hands and knees, and Harvey pulled out a leash he hadn’t brought with him, hooked it to the collar and started parading him around the bar, introducing Alex as he’d been dared to, and nearly every man took him up on the offer. Usually they just wanted blow jobs, but a few men fucked Alex’s ass, and he loved it. Loved being a slave, loved being owned by his Dad, loved serving men, being controlled, the sensation of the leash tugging at his neck, of the rough leather collar he knew he would never take off. It took over two hours for them to go around to everyone, and Alex loved every minute of it, and looking up at his Dad, he could see that the older man approved as well.

They made their way back to the bar, and as they did, Harvey asked, “So son, I suppose this is the last round–Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Alex said, “As hot as that was, I don’t think I can handle another round of that.”

“Ha, oh really? Well, it’s true that you have a massive libido which can never be satisfied, that you’re a total sexually obsessed pig covered with explicit, degrading tattoos that you show off to the whole world at every chance you get, and that you can’t say no to anyone, so long as they’ll give you the rough, abusive treatment you crave more than anything else in the world, especially from me.”

It hurt, the tattoos as they spread across his body like fire, but it was over in a second, or at least, most of the burning. His ass, his cock–he needed sex, he needed it so bad. “Fuck dad, you know I didn’t mean that right?” he said, nearly panting with lust, “Let’s go again, I didn’t get fucked nearly enough, fucking make them plow me Dad, I need my hole so loose that it won’t close, come on, please, sir? Please?” he begged.

Harvey looked down at his boy, tattoos of cocks and foul language covering most of his body, the lust filling up his nearly empty eyes, and it was everything he’d ever wanted in a boy. “Sure thing son, but you still have one last question. Ask me, and then we’ll get you what you need.”

Alex looked visibly frustrated, but asked the question, “Truth or Dare, sir?”

“Truth.”

Alex grinned crudely, “Truth eh? Alright. It’s true that you’re my real dad, from your own loins, a hyper-masculine beast of a man, a true alpha, who devotes his whole life to working out, fucking his son whom he’s trained as his sex slave since he was a teenager, a man rough and aggressive, who loves inflicting pain and abuse on anyone inferior to him, who refuses to take no for an answer and will do anything to get his way.”

Harvey had just enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before the idol gave a final flash, and then he noticed that the floor was a bit further away than it had been a second earlier…and that he definitely wasn’t the same man he’d been. He was close to seven feet tall, and must have weighed close to 300 pounds of mostly muscle. He was covered with fur, and had a two inch beard on his face which had grown in the span of a single day, like always. He had nearly as many tattoos as his son–yes, his son. He loved his son, he loved fucking the pig, working out with him–he was shorter than his dad, but had almost as much muscle, a thick bull pig looking up at him with all the love and adoration he deserved, and before he really knew what he was doing, he had his cock out and was fucking him right there in the middle of the bar, roaring out abuse, Alex begging him to be rougher and harder, the rest of the bar silently watching the spectacle unfolding before them.

The one person who moved was the bartender, who took the key he’d been given and threw it in the trash. The boy was right–he wouldn’t be needing that ever again, and then he saw the idol, now dull and boring, sitting on the bar. He pocketed it, and left before anyone could see him. He’d been hoping for a good tip–and if he was right about what he could almost remember happening, this little thing was the best tip he could get.

“Ha, damn dude how about that party! That was amazing,” Nick said, “Man, these temporary tattoos are the bomb, they really sold the biker costume, eh? Man, I’m beat, gonna go wash this crap off and then go to bed.”

Nick tromped up and you hear him turn on the water, but your heart is racing. You’ve had a hard on all night, watching Nick strut around in those biker leathers, and he damn well deserved the best costume prize he’d gotten at the end of the night, but you hadn’t been entirely honest about the tattoos.

See, they weren’t temporary, like you’d said. And on your computer, you loaded up the program which controlled the ink and started making some changes, switching the pattern from “Rough Biker (Full Body)” to “Gay Pig Bottom (Full Body)” and then checked the box next to “Modify Personality to Match Selection.” After a second, you hit submit. Yeah, Nick was going to have those tattoos for the rest of his life, and be your nasty pig slut to top it off.