Tag: under 200

Saul really had been wrong about his new neighbors. Sure, he’d been worried when those black thugs had moved into the foreclosed house next door, playing their loud music at all hours, and throwing huge parties on the weekends. In his misguided judgment, he’d even mistakenly called the cops on them a few times. He’d never understood why the officers never broke up the huge parties–they would just knock on the door, talk to one of the hoodlums, and then leave like nothing was wrong.

Now he understood though–he understood that these young, beautiful black men were his ideal neighbors, how could he have not realized it before? With their young toned bodies, ebony skin, and huge cocks, how could an old, fat, perverted faggot like him be disappointed with that? Of course, he’d needed their help to realize that about himself, but after a long chat, and especially after feeling each of their huge cocks crammed down his throat, he quickly realized that they were right. He was a total pervert who spent his days fantasizing about big black cocks–and he was the luckiest pervert on the block.

He never knew where the first one had come from. It had come in an bubble envelope in the mail, and when he’d opened it and pulled out the filthy, yellow stained jock, he’d dropped it, disgusted beyond belief. He could…smell it. He had immediately thrown it in the trash, and then gone to wash his hands, but that smell. He couldn’t not smell it, and he’d gone back, again, and again, and again.

Now, his collection was growing. Soon, one wasn’t enough–he’d needed more. At first, he had tried to make his own filthy jock straps, soaking them in his piss, sweat and cum, but it was never enough–it was never right. It needed to be someone else’s filth for him to get off. When the link arrived in his email, it was a godsend. A site devoted to young athletes auctioning off their smelly jocks to old men like him. The bidding wars were outrageous, but he had to win, no matter the cost, and all orchestrated by the jocks, getting rich old men addicted to their stink. They had to pay for booze somehow, after all.

“Oh please Lord, not again…” Paul said, as he wrapped his hand around his hard cock once more. He had lost track of how many times he’d shot this morning, but he just couldn’t resist. He’d spent his life spreading Christian virtue, and warning people about the dangers of masturbation and sex, but now–it was like he was possessed.

Even worse, with every load, he was changing. His hair was falling out, he was getting fatter. He had no ambition anymore–it was like all his body wanted to do was lay around and masturbate. This time though, just jacking off wouldn’t be enough, he could tell.

He reached around and probed his asshole with a finger, and worked it inside with a groan. “Oh yeah, that’s it. Feels so good having a finger up my shitter,” Paul heard himself say in a voice not his own, and moments later, he shot his load all over the carpet in front of him, and he sobbed. He didn’t know what demon had possessed him, but he was too weak. Soon, his righteous character would disappear, and he’d be a chronic masturbator forever more.

Jeff didn’t know where all this gear was coming from, but he knew he wouldn’t stop. The thong and cock ring had come first, and he hadn’t taken it off for weeks now–not even for work. At home though, he’d drag in the next package outside his apartment, strip down to the thong as soon as he was inside, and then rip open the box to see what new treasures he’d been sent.

Already he’d gotten harnesses, chaps, rubber body suits, jackets, boots, jocks–everything he could imagine. He spent his evening in various states of dress, jacking off and smoking for hours at a time, but not tonight. Tonight was special–he could tell. There hadn’t been a box today, and he was milking his cock, waiting, when he heard a knock. Outside he found a young leather cub on his knees. “Hello, Sir,” he said.

“Shut it cub, daddy’s horny,” Jeff replied, dragged the boy inside and fucked his face, now a leather daddy forever more.

“Oh God sir! Please–it hurts!”

“Relax slave! Relax and open up.”

“Please…please no–I’m not gay, I’m not an–an asspig! Ahh!”

“We’ve been over this slave, don’t make me get rough again. Now repeat after me. I’m a fag.”

“I’m–I’m a fag.”

“I’m a whore. A dirty faggot whore.”

“A–A dirty whore. Please! No more, it’s so big!”

“Relax pig, this is what you want. You have always wanted to be an asspig.”

“No…No…”

“Say it pig, Fucking say it, or I swear to God–”

“I’m a fucking ass pig, Sir! I’m a fucking ass…oh…oh fuck…oh that feels…ohh…”

“See? I told you, all you have to do is relax and let your hole do the work. How does it feel slave, to have your master’s fist buried in you?”

“It feels…amazing sir. Thank you sir, thank you for making me your asspig.”

“You’re welcome pig. Now let’s see if you can take me up to the elbow, eh? Would that make you feel good?”

“Oh yes sir, my hole is so hungry sir, fist me hard…”

Source: theboyrook

Jared had wanted to be bigger. At five foot seven, he’d been ignored and looked down on all his life, and when the gypsy woman had offered him one wish–he jumped at the opportunity. And now here he was, eight feet tall, and all he wanted to do was  serve every short man he came across. And worse yet, Jared knew he was still growing–it wouldn’t be long before serving men of short stature was the only thought occupying his empty mind.

However, as far as Master Harris was concerned, he loved watching the giant slave lick his size seven boot clean. At only five foot two, he’d never been taken seriously as a master, but having a big man at his beck and call was something he could get used to, and he planned on doing everything he could to make Jared his permanent property tonight. He had already “humbled” the gentle giant, forcing him to remain on his knees less he stand and rip his balls off. The pain would weaken him, and when it came time to brand his giant, Jared would know he was born to serve.

It was their first family portrait, Mark and Brian, the two daddies with their new beardslave, Joey. Their last beardslave, in a moment of resistance, had managed to get a hold of some sheers and cut away enough of his facial hair to gain back some semblance of free will, and had run off on them. Joey though–they could both tell he would be with them for a long time. They had been courting him for a while, through a community dedicated to bearded men. Joey had confessed that he’d always wanted a big bushy beard like Mark and Brian, but his genetics weren’t on his side, but Mark and Brian knew how to fix that.

He had been scared at first, they always were after the abduction, but once the daddies applied their special beard growth formula, he settled down. His beard was lush and full only three days later, and already he was wonderfully compliant. In a few more months, when his beard was long enough to reach his belly button, he wouldn’t have a single thought of his own ever again, a complete thrall to his ever growing beard.

Andy hadn’t planned on drinking tonight, but after getting his first beer free for buying a room at the inn, he hadn’t turned it down. But a few drinks later, he was feeling pretty strange. His shirt wasn’t fitting right, and he’d had to unbuckle his belt and undo his top button, which had been cutting into his stomach. He was also really itchy, but he figured it was just the Southern heat.

The rest of the patrons though–the bears eyeing the fresh meat–they knew the score. They could see the mutton chops developing into a nice full beard, the bulging, furry gut, the cigarette many hoped would morph into a cigar before too long. Some were restless, but they could wait. Wait until he was good and drunk, well into his change, before bending him over the stained pool table and having their way with his ass one after the other, and by the morning, he’d be begging them for more. No, for Andy, the road trip was over–he was about to become a permanent whorecub for the regulars at the Big Bear Inn.

It was working–the collar was really working! In the mirror, Gregory could see years melting off his body, fat and gray hair falling away. He watched muscle fill in, and he grabbed and tugged at his nips, his smooth cock hardening, and he suddenly wanted to dance. 

Oh god, was it happening already? He had hoped to have his mind for a while longer, but it was becoming harder and harder to think about anything other than grinding up on a pole, desperate to feel men’s lustful eyes upon him. That was the deal though–eternal youth, but he would spend it as an empty headed stripper in one of the Organization’s many lucrative night clubs. It had seemed like the chance of a lifetime when Gregory had been 82 and suffering through cancer–but now, well, now Gregory was gone.

“Come on GiGi, get your G-string on,” the handler said, hooking a lead to “We have some clients who have already reserved you for a private showing.”

“GiGi dance! GiGi dance good!” the muscle slave said, as he pulled on the skimpy garment and sashayed out of the room, his hips forever grinding to an invisible, pounding beat.

“Dang, and you’re uncut too, you really would be great. A lot of my clients love roughnecks like you, and once you’re all trained and bound up in leather, you’ll be one hot piece of faggot meat. Go on, take another drag off that cigarette, and think about how much you love feeling my big, masterly hand on your cock. 

Yeah, you never really enjoyed all of this manual labor, did you? Sure, you’ve been doing it to get by, and you love being told what to do, but think of all the other opportunities out there. Why, six months in my program, and we’ll have you in the best shape of your life, you’ll be able to take a ten inch cock down your throat or up your ass with no resistance–you’ll be a star! The perfect whore.

Oh? You’re interested? Well come up to my office then–I have all the papers you need to sign, and I’ll even let you suck my cock to seal the deal. Don’t worry, it’ll be the best decision ever made for you, I promise.

Source: trigafilms