Caption: Daddy Issues #3 – Evan the Roughneck

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

Evan wasn’t supposed to have even gone to college, if his dad had had his way. He grew up in the sticks in a small town. HIs dad, Gary, ran the only real construction crew in town, and made good money fixing up everything beyond what a handyman could handle, and he’d expected his son to be a proper man’s man, drop out of high school, learn the trade, and follow in his footsteps. Of course, Evan had ended up, in his father’s opinion, a total sissy. He’d given up on him really, and just to get out from under his father’s house, he’d taken on a bunch of loans to get to college in the big city, just as a chance to breathe. But now, he climbed into his car and got ready for the drive home, bracing himself for the culture shock he knew he’d feel after a few months in civilization, back under his dad’s roof.

It was a good four hour drive home, and Evan spent the whole time mulling over his father. He was so focused on it, really, that he didn’t notice as things started changing around him. The pack of gum in the console became a can of skoal, and without thinking about it, he popped it open, packed his upper and lower lips, and just let the spit drool out onto the shirt he was wearing, which had come a grungy looking t-shirt, his pants now ripped camo shorts. The radio switched over to the country station, and rather than change it, he found himself enjoying it. About an hour out from town, he pulled over to use the rest area, got out, but in the bathroom, despite having to piss like a racehorse, he just…couldn’t. He had to save it, didn’t he? He went back out to the lot, climbed into the sizable pickup that had replaced his little junker sedan, and sped off down the highway, eager to get home, finally.

He pulled into his dad’s driveway, hopped out, went inside, and sure enough, there was his lazy fucking father, passed out on the couch, wearing the coveralls for work that he pretty much never took off, even on the weekends. 

Evan jumped up on the couch, boots on either side of his dad’s flabby body, and spit right in his face, making him jump. “Hey pig, open yer fuckin’ mouth, yer boy’s gotta fuckin’ piss.”

He didn’t even wait for Gary to open up, just hauled out his cock, and unloaded all over him and the couch, his dad confused and sputtering for a moment, but once he smelled it, he sat up, opened wide, and drank down as much of his boy’s sweet piss as he could. Once he’d finished, the two of them looked at each other, trying to reconcile what they had expected with what they were looking at, but the smell of them both, and the piss all over them, only made them hornier.

“Fuck son, been waitin’ fer ya tah get home,” his stupid dad drawled, and shoved his face into his rank underwear, “All the guys on the crew been plowin’ mah hole, jus’ like ya told ‘em to, but it just ain’t the same as mah boy’s big ass fuckstick…”

“Don’t ya worry Daddy, yer boy ain’t gonna be goin’ away again anytime soon,” Evan said, “Now roll over pig, let me see if that slutty hole a yers is still a little tight.”

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 8)


Chuck is telling me it’s time for me to finish my tin. I’m…relieved, to be honest–though there’s still plenty of terror. Still, I’m exhausted. I haven’t moved from the bed here in years–or at least, I remember the years, but I also know it’s only been a couple of months since Chuck found me again, and put me back under his control–showed me what I really needed from him, from everyone, as ashamed as I was to admit it. Showed me that I’m more than just a spittoon–I’m a full blown human toilet, and…and fuck, I couldn’t be fucking happier. I wish Jack was here–Chuck told him he couldn’t be here for the last chunk out of the tin, that it was too dangerous. He won’t tell me what the last step is, but I can guess.

I’m old now. I’ve gotten older every time he’s fed me a bit more from that tin. How old am I going to be when I finish it? Eighty? Ninety? I won’t live long in any case, not in the sort of state I’m in. He’s coming around now, and looking at me–appraising me, almost. I’d expect him to be saying goodbye, but he doesn’t. The moment doesn’t seem to carry much weight with him at all, actually. Does he hate me that much? I can understand that–I hate myself too. I’m excited to be dead, finally. He cleans the leaf I’ve been working on out of my mouth, takes the final wad–making sure to get every last bit of tobacco from the tin–and he packs it into my mouth for me, and fuck, the taste of it–it gets more intense every time. I tell myself I should spit it out, that I need to fight it, that I can’t let it all end like this, but what’s the use, really? I should have known I’d never escape Chuck. I was his as soon as that truck of mine had broken down on the road, after all the special spit he’d been adding to my gas tank finally pushed the engine over the edge. So instead, I relax–one last load of shit falls out of my ass, and I…fuck, I’m sad I’m not going to get to taste it. Chuck is there, but he’s not…coaching me like he usually does, guiding me. He knows I’m already there–I’m at the end. There’s nowhere else for me to go, not anymore. Everything is fading away now, but different than before. Where before, it felt like the world was…tightening, I don’t think anything can get more twisted. Instead, everything seems to be loosening up and unwinding, pulling away from me instead of dragging me deeper. I’m not…me anymore. Everything is just dissolving away, until–

“Goddamn it Sammy, git the fuck up already! Chuck’s outside ready tah take ya tah work.”

I jolt awake in my bed, the vision still fresh in my head for a moment, me pinned to that mattress by the weight of my own body, covered in shit–but it’s fading away, thank fucking god. I look around and see my familiar room around me. I live with my dad in a trailer outside of town. We’re poor as shit, and he’s finally making me drop out of school so I can get a proper job and bring in some cash. Still, I don’t wanna fuckin’ work! All I wanna do is lay around, stuff my face and jack off, but he’s told me that if I don’t do what he says, he’s gonna kick me out, so I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

The heady scent of piss is hanging in the air, and my sheets are wet, so that means I pissed myself last night too. Fuck–seventeen years old, and still wetting the bed like a fucking kid. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t fucking like it so much–think I’ll work out a quick load real quick, and then throw on some clothes or whatever. I’m getting close when my dad opens my bedroom door and finds me jacking off there, but I don’t stop–my dad…he’s fuckin’ sexy as hell, with all those biker tatts, and I know he wants to fuck me, but he’s too fucking chicken. His face goes red and he slams the door shut again and waits for me to finish, and thinking about my burly pa balls deep in my loose hole–fuck, I explode all over myself. I enjoy it for a few moments, rubbing the cum all over my hairy gut, and then finally roll out of bed and start picking some clothes out of the piles littering the floor, and decide to just pull on a wife beater and some muddy overalls–fuck it, right? Dad said Chuck worked in construction, so I’m just going to get dirty anyway. Dad gave me some of his old work boots, so I haul those on with some socks, and I’m ready. Hungry though, like always–maybe Chuck can stop for some fast food on the way or something.

Dad can’t even look at me, but whatever–he’s just gonna jack off as soon as I’m out of the house. I’ve watched him before, through the window, when he’d thought I’d already left. Outside, there’s a rusted out truck…and I fucking swear I’ve seen it before, somewhere. That dream is nagging me again, but I can’t really remember much at this point. The guy’s been honking the horn a few times now, so I head out of the trailer and climb into the truck next to him. I don’t…think I’ve ever met Chuck before this, but he seems familiar, just like his truck–and the guy is sexy as all hell, and the way he’s looking at me…he just might have the balls my fucking dad doesn’t.

“Took ya long enough, boy,” Chuck says to me–the way he says the word “boy” making my cock immediately stiff. Some black, tarry spit is rolling down his bottom lip and into his beard, and somehow, I…I know just how it would taste, if I leaned over there and licked it off him. I’m feeling kind of freaked out, actually, but I do my best not to show it. “Let’s git goin’,” he says, and puts the truck in gear.

“Could…we stop and get some food on the way?” I ask, “I didn’t eat yet.”

Chuck grumbles a bit. “Fine, can’t have ya workin’ on an empty gut I suppose. Ya got cash?”

I shake my head.

He leers at me, and adjusts his crotch. “No worries boy–from what your Pa’s told me, you might not mind payin’ me back some other way, right?”

Half an hour later, we pull up to the worksite, my gut full of a bunch of fast food and a big load of Chuck’s cum…and I swear, I feel like I’ve stepped right into some strange trap I didn’t even know was there. Like before this morning, I had…so many possibilities, so many ways life could go, but now, I’ve been put on rails, slowly rolling towards some foregone conclusion. I don’t know where I’m going…but I keep…seeing that dream, feeling myself back there on that bed, some filthy, disgusting old fat man–but that’s not me. I ain’t never gonna let myself be that. I mean, I may be a cock obsessed, chubby roughneck, but I gotta have some dignity, right? The foreman, Gary (I swear I smell shit on that fuck’s breath) has Chuck train me, and all day long, I keep seeing him…looking at me. Looking through me, even, like he can see something I don’t. But I have my whole life ahead of me still, and he’s some middle aged slob–a hot one, sure, but I can still make something of myself. My name’s Sammy, and I got a whole life tah live ahead of me, and I can’t wait.

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 7)


I got back to the nasty trailer where Spitty had been hiding out about twelve hours later, and as soon as I stepped inside, I got the strong stench of piss and shit on the air, like I’d been expecting. Spitty hadn’t been able to hold anything in for that long, but he didn’t seem to distressed by what had happened–I doubt, in his current state, that it was the first time he’s messed himself like that, or even if it was, it wasn’t the first thing on his mind. As soon as I got in there, he started begging and pleading–not to let him go, but to help him cum.

I don’t know how often Spitty was cumming a day at this point, but back when he’d been under my thumb, he was blowing fifteen or so loads a day–and chances are he was shooting even more at this point. I could see, on his gut, at least a few loads he’d managed to work out just out of desperation, but it was clear he was aching, but I ignored him–after all, if I was going to make Spitty suffer, then I was going to have to deny him everything he longed for–and that meant he was going to be cumming much, much less in the future. So we got started, and I started feeding him his own shit, washing it down with my piss, and rewarding him with my spit for being such a good little shitfaced pig. For the next few days, I fed him almost non-stop. Food, mostly, but plenty of shit as well. I got him to embrace his lack of control, enjoy the sensation of pissing all over himself, of shitting right wherever he was, but above all, making him understand how worthless his cock was, how small it was, how hard it was for him to cum, how pointless and hopeless. No, he was just horny now–horny all the time, but never satisfied. The only satisfaction he could find now, was pleasing the cocks of others, and maybe–maybe–he’d manage to explode once or twice a month, but that was good enough, right?

He protested, of course. He tried to tell me that he regretted what he’d done, that he’d been fantasizing and longing for me for all these years, that he’d been trying to find me too, that he wanted to be my little whore, just like I’d planned to begin with. I didn’t believe him, of course. How could I possibly believe him, after what he’d done? No–this was better. This is what Spitty really deserved. I gave him another dose of leaf from his special tin, after a week of treatment. He hadn’t been up from the bed in all this time, he begged me to not do this to him, that he was sorry–but I took a sizable wad–a third of what remained in the tin–shoved it in his mouth, and watched him succumb to the pleasure of the leaf. I told him that he was going to be a good pig, a fat pig, that he wasn’t going to be moving much, that he hated moving. That he loved shitting and pissing himself wherever he was, that his cock was so small he couldn’t even reach it up in all his fat, and he was desperate for cock–any cock. He swallowed the leaf, and when reality centered itself again, he was still on the bed–but it wasn’t rope pinning him down now, it was his own massive body.

He woke with a snort, and immediately started begging me for a load of shit–and I knew he was mine again–but I wasn’t finished with him, not yet. No, I started inviting my new circle of friends around. Filthy truckers and bikers–and if they were too grossed out by Spitty to fuck him, a bit of spit or leaf was enough to bring them around to seeing things my way. Spitty never left the bed anymore–he was just on his belly, ass up, ready for a cock, or a fist, or anything to slide inside him, his mouth constantly calling for more shit or piss or tobacco, but pretty soon I had one guy coming around a bit more than all the others. Jack was the biker who’d tipped me off to Spitty and helped me find him, and I felt he deserved a reward. Of course, Jack wasn’t too…keen on the kind of reward I was planning on giving him, but after a dose of leaf from his own special tin…well, he was just the dirty, nasty biker bear Spitty needed. Fuck, watching the two of them go at it–Jack was a beast in bed, with a massive cock, loved getting himself covered in shit and then making his pig lick it off–and when I gave Spitty another dose of leaf from his tin–leaving just one last dose in it…well Jack was more than a regular companion–Jack was his biker master, and Spitty was his raunchy pigslave.

So here we are. Jack living in the trailer now, full time. Spitty is close to 700 pounds, I think–I don’t exactly have a scale to weigh him with. He’s gotta be pushing seventy years old at this point: teeth rotting out, biker tattoos all over his filthy body, too stupid to read–all he cares about is where his next load of shit is coming from, and who’s going to fist his loose, hungry hole. Or, at least most of Spitty cares about that. See, I know there’s that old jock, still in there. That bit of them, it always hangs around in their head. There’s nothing he can do, of course, but he’s in there. Sometimes I bring him forward, and we chat a bit–or rather, he sobs and begs me to change him back, and I fuck his throat and feed him shit until his little cock squirts out a load of cum into his fatty folds. I’m thinking it’s about time for the last dose, however. Spitty is terrified–he thinks he’s going to be some fucking geezer, or just fucking dead, but not quite–no, there’s a reason I don’t usually give anyone a complete tin, you see, but for Spitty? Well, I think it’s a well deserved end–or beginning.

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 5)

Things didn’t quite go according to plan that night, neither for Chuck, nor for Spitty. To start with, for Chuck at least, everything seemed to be going perfect. In fact, he couldn’t quite believe his luck, with this boy. He’d hated that cocky fucker as soon as he’d started working with them on the crew, so certain that he didn’t fucking belong with nasty fucks like them–most of whom Chuck had been ‘developing’ for years now–he was the perfect target, and wearing down that jock nice and slow had been…fucking amazing. In fact, he hadn’t had that much fun ruining someone in a while–but now he knew why. Spitty, it turned out, had wanted it. He’d wanted this life the whole fucking time, but he’d only found the balls to admit it after his first taste of the real shit Chuck grew himself, using an heirloom seed grown in his family for generations. But now, Spitty was hooked–hooked on tobacco, hooked on spit, hooked on cock…and hooked on Chuck, most of all–and that had, perhaps, clouded his judgement. Chuck, after all, had given up on ever finding someone who might want to be with him, or hell, even finding someone he might want to be with, but Spitty was the closest thing he’d felt to love in a very, very long time–and that’s what gave Spitty the opportunity he’d been looking for.

They showed up at Chuck’s house and went inside–this time heading right for Chuck’s bedroom upstairs. He got Spitty out of his cum crusted clothes, and gave the whore one last fuck in his current form–but made him keep his hands off his cock while he did–he needed Spitty to start building up some energy for the chaw he was going to get in a little bit. He told Spitty to take a break, that he’d be back with his special tin in a couple of minutes–he went downstairs to his locked cabinet, opened it up and pulled out the tin with Spitty’s name on it, and then headed back upstairs, his cock already leaking even though he’d just shot a huge load in the pig’s ass, and when he stepped into the room, the butt of the shotgun he kept in his closet slammed into the side of his head, sending him teetering and crashing to the floor. Spitty hit him again, and then a third time–hoping that would be enough to knock him out, grabbed the tin from the floor where it had fallen, and hurried into the bathroom, where he locked the door.

It had worked–his plan had actually worked. Spitty could barely believe it, and it was all he could do to keep himself from masturbating in relief. But this–he had to try and focus. Last time, when he’d chewed this stuff, Chuck had been with him, guiding his thoughts, directing him into his new life–but he wasn’t going to have anyone helping him this time–Spitty was going to have to try and do this on his own. Through the door, he heard a loud groan from the bedroom down the hall–in a panic, he opened up the tin, grabbed about the same amount of leaf as Chuck had given him last time–spit out the shit he was currently chewing and put the special wad in his cheek, that same amazing sensation of floating pleasure seeping into him. He…didn’t remember how he ended up on the floor, but one hand started jacking his cock, and the other found its way around to his hole and started fingering it, just…awash in pleasure.

But he also knew he had to focus–still, his stupid brain couldn’t think like before, and with the pleasure coursing through him, he was having an even harder time getting his thoughts in a row. He…tried to focus on the person he’d been before this–younger, muscular, sports–but someone was pounding on the door and screaming at him, and it was so hard to think! He didn’t want to think about anything, not really. All he really wanted was to be alone, away from Chuck, away from everyone where he could jack off and fuck himself in peace–yeah, fuck, he could…he could just fucking imagine what that would fucking be like. A place of his own, out in the sticks, not even having to work, just lounging around like a total, fat fucking pig, jacking off and fucking himself all day long, stuffing his face, maybe venturing into town for some load of cum or a real fuck on occasion, but usually just happy with his own fucking company. He…swallowed the leaf, just as Chuck managed to bust through the door and stand over him, shouting at Spitty, but they both knew it was too late to change anything. The world went all swirly like it had before, dissolving into…quiet darkness, and then Spitty woke up.

He knew, right away, that things had gone both very wrong, and also…very right. He wasn’t in his parents house anymore–he was in his own fucking trailer, out in the middle of the woods–right where he fucking wanted it to be. His cock needed attention, of course, like always–he grabbed hold of the dildo that was still lodged in his hole from when he’d fucked himself to sleep the night before and started thrusting in into him, jacking his cock, feeling his gut jiggle as he did, moaning and groaning loudly as he came over and over again onto the sticking, filthy sheets of his bed. Part of him, a deep part, was absolutely horrified, but the rest of him, most of him, couldn’t imagine anything better. He’d found a slice of accidental paradise, and he had no plans on ever leaving. At least, as long as Chuck didn’t find him–and he didn’t want that, right?

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 2)

The next day Chuck was waiting for me, idling outside–and I didn’t want to go out there, but like before…I had to. I didn’t know how he was doing it, but he had some sort of fucking control over me, and I didn’t have the will to resist him. He’d arrived so early we had plenty of time to work, but he drove a couple blocks down, parked, and fed me more spit, making me shoot another load, and then ordered me to jack off on the way to work–that whenever I was in his truck, I was going to be jacking off, and shooting my cum on my clothes, where I’d rub it in and leave it. His spit…it got me so fucking horny, I shot another load on the way there, and when we got out, it was clear my shirt was…messy, but I just tried not to think about it, as we got to work.

But everyone on the crew had seen us arrive together. A few of the guys…they were looking at me almost…excitedly, while others couldn’t even meet my eyes. Chuck gave me my nickname at lunch–everyone was going to be calling me Spitoon from now on–Spitty for short–and no one objected, not even the foreman, who seemed…more scared of Chuck than anything else. Sure enough, more guys than I’d thought chewed tobacco on the crew, and starting that day…I got all of their spit. On me, in my mouth–it didn’t matter, but that’s what I was for–or at least, that’s what Chuck told me, and a small part of me…almost believed him. No one’s spit tasted like his though–his was…electric. Every time it hit me, every time I tasted it, it was like some strange wire sparked in my body. Still, I was getting out, right? That’s what I was still telling myself, at least. He could humiliate me for a few months, and then I’d be back at school, and I’d never have to see him again.

But on the third day…I noticed something strange about my body. I’m not a hairy guy by any means, but all of a sudden I had a beard filling in across my face. I’d tried to grow a beard a few times before, but had never managed anything like this, and it had been just two days since I’d last shaved. The rest of me was changing too–most noticeably my new gut. I wasn’t happy about losing my abs, but I also couldn’t explain the sudden weight gain. I hadn’t changed my diet, and my metabolism had always been so quick I could eat nearly anything and stay slender. Chuck teased me about it, of course–made me…rub it, while I jacked off on the way to and from work. He’d make me take off my shirt and spit on my belly, rubbing it in there until it was streaked with black and tingling–and a few days after he’d started doing that, I noticed that, like my new beard, hair was growing in all over my new belly–and my belly was still growing as well.

Still, it was a couple of weeks before I was certain–it was Chuck’s spit. I’d…known that, somehow, but that only seemed to confirm it for me somehow–it made it more real. Chuck was doing this to me, and when I got in with him the next day, I…I begged him to stop. That I was sorry, that I didn’t want this. I told him I had a future, that I didn’t want to be stuck in this shitty town for the rest of my life. That I was sorry his life had come to this, but that didn’t mean he had any right to ruin mine too. He just pressed his hefty frame into me as my pleads dissolved into whimpers, groped my cock with his huge hand, grinning at me, letting his slobber dribble into his beard…watching me watch it fall…and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in and sucking it from the hair of his beard, shuddering a bit. “That’s a good boy–you’re a real good boy, Spitty. I think it’s time daddy introduced you to the real shit tonight–yer comin’ home with me for some real fun.”

All day long on the work site…all I could think about was what that meant. I tried to make myself run off, I even begged the foreman for help, when I had a moment of clarity, but he just shook his head, grabbed me by the chin, and fed me a load of spit. “I’m real sorry, Spitty,” he said, “But Chuck…he’s real keen on ya. He was keen on me once too–I know…what it’s like. But don’ worry, things’ll git easier, after tahnight.”

I pressed him for details, tried to get him to tell me what was going to happen, but he didn’t say anything else–just told me to get back to work and try not to worry about it, because there wasn’t anything I’d be able to do to stop it anyway. Chuck didn’t stop grinning all day, and grinning at me especially. It wasn’t even mean–he was really fucking happy, or excited, or who knew what. Our foreman let us both go an hour early, when Chuck asked–I hadn’t really noticed how often Chuck got whatever he asked for from anyone on the crew–and the two of us got in the truck. After a sloppy kiss, he ordered me to haul my cock out and start jacking off, and he raced off towards his place, a run down but nice little house on the edge of town. I asked him if I could at least call my parents, but he didn’t even hear me–just dragged me inside by the hand, my head trying to fight him, but my body was his willing subject, as always.

Spitty Lives His Life (Part 1)

It wasn’t what I wanted to be doing, trust me–but when my athletic scholarship fell through because I couldn’t keep my fucking grades up…well, you end up back in the small town you wanted to escape, and you take whatever work you can find. I’d worked construction during the summers when I’d come home from school, so it was easy enough to find something to do. My parents weren’t happy about me living with them, but I figured that after a couple of months I’d be able to afford something of my own–that is, if I couldn’t manage to get back into school and finish my degree. Too much weed, too much drinking, too much partying–well, this was the wakeup call I’d been needing. First day I showed up for work, and I’m looking at all of the sorry ass middle aged fuckers–and god, I don’t want to end up like them.

One of them in particular, this guy named Chuck–he the worst of the bunch. So bad, that most of the other guys avoided him even. He fucking reeked like he never bothered showering at all, big hands crusted with mud, and that fucking shit he chewed all day long. This nasty fucking tobacco–he’d pack that shit in, so big you could see his cheeks bulge even through his tangled beard, and he’d spit that shit everywhere–or just drool it down into his beard like a fucking slob, occasionally wiping it off with a ratty handkerchief. Chuck could tell I hated him–but he knew it was because I was really afraid of becoming him–and he teased me relentlessly all day long. Look at me, smart ass jock thought he was good enough for the pros, and now here I am, working next to all of them. Thing is, I fucking was good enough for the pros, but I missed my fucking shot like an idiot.

Still, after a month, I was getting my shit together. I’d convinced the school to give me another chance, and let me re-enroll in the fall–on academic probation, but I wasn’t going to fuck my chance up again, not if I could help it. I made sure to rub that news in Chuck’s face the next time I saw him, letting him know I was getting out of this dump after all. He just sneered at me, like he knew something I didn’t, and that just pissed me off even more. But what the fuck did a fat nasty roughneck like him know anyway?

That next week, I started having trouble with my truck. I’m pretty handy with my old girl, but I couldn’t figure out what was up with it. I pulled out the fuel filter to check it, and found it…gummed up with this black tar-like shit, but I had no idea where it might have come from. Whatever was wrong, my engine stalled on the way home–I had enough momentum to get to the shoulder, but beyond that I was out of luck. I’d had time to get out and start looking at the engine when I heard someone pull off the road and park behind my car. I looked around the front of my truck in time to see Chuck hauling himself out from behind the wheel of his own truck, spit a big wad of tar onto the pavement, and start over towards me.

I wasn’t happy to see him, really, but I was happy to see someone. He too couldn’t figure out what was up with my car, but said he’d give me a lift home if I wanted. I told him I’d rather get my truck towed to the shop–and then he did the fucking…strangest and most disgusting thing–he spat a big wad of tobacco slobber right in my face, and then smeared it all over me with one of his hands. I was so shocked…I didn’t really have time to grapple with what happened next–he told me to get in his car, and that he was going to drive me home, and…and I did. I walked around and got in the passenger side of his car, he heaved his massive frame in behind the wheel…but he didn’t drive off. Instead, he pushed closer to me, grabbed my face with both of his big hands, locked lips with me, and started…drooling his spit into me, whispering for me to swallow it like…like a good boy.

My whole body was frozen, but I…did as he told me to do, sucking down the spit he was feeding me–and when he pulled his hands away I…I didn’t stop. I wanted to, I wanted to punch him and get the hell out of there, but I just kept slurping down everything he fed me, and one of his hands started groping my crotch, kneading my cock and balls roughly through the denim and underwear I had on, his other hand working his own cock similarly. I had a sizable cock, but his hand was so big he had no problem working it and my balls at the same time, and in a minute I shot, filling my underwear with a massive load of cum, spit dribbling down my chin as I gasped for breath. Chuck came a moment later, shoved his hand down into his crotch, got it covered in his own cum, and made me lick it off his hand. Then he sat back and drove me home.

I don’t know how he knew where I lived, but he did. I couldn’t even speak, I was so…fucking horrified at what I’d just let him do to me. I hadn’t even felt like I was in control of my own body the entire time, and when we pulled up, he gave me a sloppy kiss, and told me I’d call a junkyard to pick up my truck, and that he’d be giving me rides to and from work from now on. I could only mumble a “yes”–and then a “yes, sir,” when he demanded it–and I got out and went inside, avoided my parents, and after calling the local junkyard where to get my truck and telling them I’d take the title over as soon as I could, I took a shower, and went right to bed.