Joel had some…well…anger issues. Physical aggression, to him, was just the easiest way to settle the score. He’d gotten into any number of bar fights over the years since his college days, but things had gotten worse recently, with him punching coworkers at the office, and a domestic violence complaint by his wife. He knew he needed to find some other way to take out his anger, so when trolling Craigslist he saw an ad for an underground wrestling competition, he thought it couldn’t hurt.

He’d wrestled back in high school, and while he wasn’t in great shape, he trusted his instincts and rage to push him over the top–however, he seriously misjudged his first opponent. Pinned in under a minute, and then the chain around his neck, and then…why did he feel so strange? He crawled over to the victor, nuzzled the older man’s rock hard cock through the singlet, licking and tasting his sweat, feeling his anger dissolve into obedience. He’d neglected to notice that the losers were owned by the victors for a week after each round, but he suddenly didn’t mind. He felt calm, obedient, and god, this cock tasted so good…

I don’t get it, why won’t he take a fucking shower? It’s been two weeks–he’s stinking up the whole apartment. Just use some fucking deodorant or something, but fuck, I can’t…Gotta just sniff it, sniff it a bit. I mean, just…

Fucking smell him in there, in his room, workin’ out, yeah, workin’ out sweating, fuck, can smell him in there, gotta sniff sniff, fucking snif it, bury my fuckin’ face in his pit, lick it, fuckin’ yeah Fuck fuck fuck!

Again, I fucking came again, god fucking damn it, what the hell is going on. I need to get out of here, get some fresh air…just gotta…why won’t the door open? What the hell? And none…none of the windows either? I mean…I mean it does smell…I gotta…gotta smell it, gotta smell him, right, fuck–I have to get out of here, I have to.

There he is, he’s so sweaty, I can see the stains, see the sheen of it on him, he’s so nasty, so fuckin’ nasty, gotta…gotta go sniff him, yeah, sniff it, fuckin’ lick it all, lick it like a pig good pig, pig fuck, yeah…

Here’s a picture a me wit’ mah latest trespasser. He came up mah drive one night, tellin’ me his car broke down on the road, but I knew what he was, really. Another one a ‘em spies, sent by the guvment, just like the rest. Sure, it took a few days, but I beat the truth out. He says he a real sorry–the fuckin’ liar. He don’t know what it means tah be sorry, but I’ll learn him here soon enough.

I’ve been thinking ’bout the fact that I could use a fancy garbage disposal, somethin’ tah make mah food scraps intah compost faster. Think I’ll hook the spy up tah the sink, work a drain down his throat intah his belly, ‘n he can take care a that fer me. It’ll be tough gettin’ him tah fit under the sink–but a garbage disposal don’t need arms ‘r legs, right? Think I’ll get a couple more fucks outa him ‘fore convertin’ him though. He’s got a real tight ass, that one. Maybe I’ll make ’em a fuckhole instead, ‘n then move ’em intah the kitchen when his ass is good ‘n loose. Sounds like a plan tah me!

“See Kit? It don’t hurt so bad anymore, does it?”

“Nah, Jimmy. That…that feels real good. Can…Can I jack my cock Jimmy? I’m real horny, ‘n I don’t know what your hand keeps hitting but…but fuck…”

“That? That’s yer loveknot–every pig like you has one. Now keep that arm still. Damn you look good with your hair cut like that Kit. Like a right punk–a nasty, trashy skin.”

“Oh god Jimmy, don’t stop–that feels so good…”

“Not as good as that needle feels I bet. It still hurts right, but it’s a good kinda hurt, like what we’ve been talkin’ about. The good kind of hurt that makes your cock hard and your ass hungry, ain’t that right?”

“Gettin’…Gettin’ close Jimmy…can, can I cum, sir? Please?”

“Edge it Kit. Edge it, ride that cusp. It hurts, don’t it? But you crave that even more, or you will soon. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get all new gear for you, get you pierced, all dressed up in rubber with your cock locked up. A right and proper skinpig, just like you wanted. I can’t wait.”

Like, I can’t tell you how amazing it’s been to work with Master Trainer. I was crazy skeptical at first, I mean, who wouldn’t be? The training program is, like, hella extreme, but when I sat down with Master Trainer and I felt…um…so calm, and everything he said made, like, so much sense, I just signed right up.

I had no idea that I was going to have to sacrifice so much to get into shape, though. I mean, quitting my job, breaking up with my girlfriend–those were, like, understandable. After all, I needed so much more time to work out with Master Trainer, but the drugs hella scared me at first. Still, when I noticed the drop in my libido, it just made working out that much more important to me. I swear, I haven’t jacked it in, like, months now. My cock is so small–it looks amazing in my posing trunks. Sure, the side effects were strange, like my hair falling out, and my voice jumped, like, so high, but, Master trainer has a thing for muscle headed valley girl sluts. I’m so hot now though, and it’s all thanks to Master Trainer!

When most people find out that the water company is going to be tearing their street up for the next two weeks, they’re probably pissed off. Granted, it’s been loud while they work but man, the eye candy! I love a guy in work gear, getting dusty and dirty. Still, none of the guys were really as filthy as I like, so, being the nice neighbor, I’ve been offering them a special lunch each day.

I hear the project has been extended another week because the men keep taking extremely long lunches, and there’s been complaints about their collective hygiene. One of my neighbors even caught them having sex in her backyard–that was hilarious. I’ve definitely found my favorite though, and he’s getting some special treatment. Gareth just goes under so easy–I think he likes it. I’m gonna push him and see how far he’ll go. By the end of the week, he’s gonna be pissing and shitting himself as he’s working, not even noticing until someone else points it out to him. Sure, he’ll feel humiliated, but love the stench too much to even clean himself up. By the end of the week, he’ll be happily incontinent for life.

No, I don’t think the two of them are scared anymore. In fact, I don’t think the two of them are feeling, or thinking, much of anything anymore. What do you think, I would say they’re about 90% covered myself, and it while the spread has slowed, it won’t stop until they’re completely covered. I did both of them just last week–they were planning on getting married, and wanted each other’s names on their arms. Stupid. They’re much hotter, and kinkier, just pieces of meat now, like you’ll be.

Is it spreading? Of course it’s spreading you dipshit. And no, that raging hardon you’ve got isn’t going away, not now, not ever. Now go on, suck their cocks like a good tattoo bitch. See? You can’t even resist my orders. Pretty soon, you’re gonna be one more empty headed tatted whore for my collection. Still, I don’t much like your look–I don’t think I’ll keep you. I can probably get 10 million for you on the market though. You’d be amazed how much rich men will pay to have a punked out ass for them to play with whenever they want–just you wait and see.

“It’s fer yer own good,” they’d told Sheriff Brady when he’d asked about what was inside the trailer.

“Well that’s fine boys, but I still have to know what’s in there.”

Kit and Rudy looked at each other, said nothing and shrugged their shoulders, looking a bit defeated, and so the Sheriff left, only to return that evening with a search warrant. The two protested and urged him not to go in, but they eventually stepped to the side and the sheriff entered the trailer.

He was in there for hours, and when he finally stumbled out, bleary eyed, it wasn’t the same man who’d stepped in. His uniform was gone, replaced by a pair of nearly destroyed jeans and a belt like the other two, a massive gut heaving over the waistline covered in grey hair. He was smoking a cigar, his hair had grown out into a messy, greasy skullet and he now had a long goatee braided down to his chest.

“It git ya then?”


“Tried tah warn ya.”

“Ah know.”

“Ya need a fuck?”

“Damn straight–This hole a mine is just itchin’ fer a cock.”

Drew looked from the mirror down to the underwear box. The underwear definitely didn’t look as good on him as it did on the model–and he felt that same rush of jealousy he always felt looking at crap like this. He wished he could be the model on the package instead of that guy–and then, something strange happened. 

Looking down at the package, the image was suddenly different. The muscle god was gone and replaced with, well, him. Not a new him, the same gruff bear he’d always been, showing off his hairy belly, tattooed arms akimbo, and he didn’t understand what he was seeing, but memories filled in. He’d been thrilled to hear that Calvin Klein wanted him as their new underwear model, but he hadn’t been surprised. He was the top menswear model in the world–why wouldn’t they want him?

He glanced around his ritzy penthouse apartment, seeing himself on the billboard across the street showing off the newest Fall men’s collection from Versace, all flannel, denim and leather, and smiled. It may not have the result he’d imagined, but now every man wanted to look like him–and he could live with that.

Ha, gullible fucks. So many guys out there want to be hypnotized, you wouldn’t fucking believe it. They just want some guy to tell them what to do, and be unable to resist their commands. Well, sure, none of them know that it’s me–you have no idea how many personas I have online. There’s the personal trainer, who promises to help with your workouts, the leather god, the muscle bear. No one really wants to obey a guy like me, or so they think.

They all eventually ask to meet me in real life, I make sure of that. Man, the look on their faces when they discover the man behind the screen is as far from their fantasies as can be, not that they can resist serving me, by then. That’s when I really fuck with their heads, man, they leave those meetings so warped you wouldn’t believe it. Maybe I make them impotent, maybe they feel compelled to show off their bodies, it all depends on my mood. And naturally they all empty their bank accounts for me. Yeah, it’s damn good to be a hypnomaster, what do you say, slave?