If Reed had done what he typically did with his mortified conquests, he’d have dumped Van Twinkle’s fucked-over ass into a back alley somewhere, like the garbage he was, and let the debased douchebag make his way home the best he could. Something about the chagrined bitch, though, inspired him instead to ask Sarge to drive them back to the big tool’s place in Soho. Little did he know at the time how that decision would alter the course of his life?

When Reed hustled into the lobby that morning with his arm about Van Twinkie’s waist to keep the fucked-over prick from collapsing, the look of astonishment on the elderly doorman's face was priceless. The former golden boy's slacks were ripped, his trench coat barely concealed his naked chest, and his mangled mug appeared even more frightening under the harsh fluorescents.

The distrustful old geezer eyed them warily and scowled down at Van Twinkle’s dirty feet. Reed quickly launched into an excitable tale of woe about how his buddy had gotten jumped and robbed that night, which concluded with his exclaiming in exasperation that the thugs had even stolen the poor dude’s expensive loafers. The old coot's eyebrows rose quizzically, but he nodded them passed.

Once safely inside Van Twinkle’s loft, Reed shoved a fistful of painkillers and sedatives down the already delirious prick’s throat, and shoved his filthy ass into the tub for a bath. Afterwards, he bandaged the wincing tool’s wounds, lugged him into the bedroom, and dumped his groggy butt onto the bed. Within seconds, the drowsy douchebag dozed off, but that didn’t stop Reed from screwing his snoozing fag hole. Afterwards, he cuffed the battered tool’s wrists to the headboard for safe keeping.

The following morning, Reed called in sick for them both, and stuck around to look after Van Twinkle. He kept the ungrateful bitch pumped full of sedatives and cuffed to bed, except when he needed to relieve himself or get bathed. Once he'd fed the defiled douchebag, he fucked him, to keep his fag hole from tightening back up. It was extremely swollen and sensitive as hell, but had no lacerations, so the suffering bitch could deal with it.

After nursing Van Twinkle for a week, Reed returned to the office to find his case load was a mile high. So, he spent the next several nights playing catch up. After the first couple, he began to feel as if he had a pet, because he’d have to sneak off to let the big tool relieve him, and then rush back afterwards to finish. Finally fed up, he vowed to train the bitch, figuring if a dog could learn to control itself, the big tool could as well.

Before dressing for work the following morning, Reed cuffed Van Twinkle to the shower nozzle, and flushed his squalling ass out with several warm enemas. Afterwards, he locked the dithered prick back onto the bed, tied his scrotum off nice and tightly, and twisted a fat plug up his sore fag hole. The big tool caught on quickly and after only a couple of days could hold it for twelve hours at a stretch.

Humiliating Van Twinkle was the most intoxicating experience of Reed’s life. He took to calling the horny prick Faggot, because more often than not when fucked in the ass the bitch came. He still flirted with every babe who crossed his path, but hadn’t banged a single one since bringing Faggot home. Still, he didn’t consider what they did as gay. He owned Faggot now, that’s all, and could do anything he wished to the sleazy pussy. Sex was just one means he had of keeping the big cunt in line.

When Laura announced on one of their infrequent nights together that she was moving her headquarters to Los Angeles because most of her clients were out there, Reed listened just enough to make out that Tomas was behind this scheme. He’d known for some time that his wife was sleeping with her creative director and didn’t really give a rat’s ass. He gave her a peck on the cheek, wished her well, and took off.

After a month on bed rest, it was time for Faggot to return to work. Otherwise, he might lose his partnership, and tongues would wag. As it were, the shattered prick had a lot of explaining to do. Reed drilled the big tool on the details of his supposed beating, until he sounded convincing enough to pass muster.

Fearing Van Twinkle might flee the moment he got free, Reed consulted Luther, who recommended he phone this doctor who’d lost his license for abusing his male patients. Apparently, the fellow would perform just about any procedure for a price, particularly if it were on a man. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, Reed rang him up. As soon as he explained the situation, the overly eager doctor rushed right over.

After groping Faggot’s tethered ass far more than was necessary, the salacious doctor suggested a GPS microchip. That sounded like a good idea to Reed, especially when he learned the device would be implanted in the former golden boy’s rectum. He approved the procedure and the doctor performed it on the spot. Once it was completed, Reed basked in the stunned prick’s dismay, and felt so much better.

Since Reed spent most of his free time at Faggot’s place anyhow, he decided it was time he moved in. To make room for his things, he threw out most of the prissy poser’s clothes, including all of his socks and underwear, and kept only those few articles he’d need for work. At home, the slavish douchebag could live in the nude.

For Faggot’s first day back in the office posing as his former self, Reed stuffed a fat plug up his distraught ass, and gave him a blue pin-striped Ralph Lauren suit to wear. Before the dizzy douchebag zipped away his morning boner, Reed gave it a few stern tugs to keep it in line. He powdered the big tool’s tanned feet and slipped them into a pair of shiny black loafers.

Reed had his driver drop Van Twinkle off first. Before the unsteady prick slunk out, he drew him close, and snarled in his ear.

"I’m watching you, Faggot, so don’t try anything stupid. I’ll be back to pick your ass up promptly at six and you best be here. Otherwise, I’ll track you down, and cut your balls off. You got that?”

“Yes, sir,” snivelled the cowering douchebag.

Reed watched the flustered former golden boy totter off through the back window of the car for as long as he could, until they turned a corner, and he lost sight. Throughout the day, he checked his tracking app every chance he got, and was pleased to find Faggot stayed put. When he and his driver pulled up at six that evening, the befuddled tool stood waiting at the curb.

They soon settled into a routine of traveling to and from work like this each day and Reed couldn't help but admire how slavishly Van Twinkle fell into step. In fact, it was almost eerie how radically the degraded douchebag adjusted. He marched through his paces each morning with nary a complaint and at the end of the day was always waiting to be picked up right where he was supposed to be.

The moment they arrived home each evening, Reed had Van Twinkle undress, and blow him, and it didn't take the big sourpuss long to become quite proficient. Unless he'd had a particularly bad day, and then he'd bend the depraved douchebag over, and take out all his rage on the squealing bitch's snug shitter instead. Afterwards, Faggot would scamper off into the kitchen in his birthday suit to prepare dinner, moaning and rubbing his aching butt.

Reed savoured watching the intimidated prick bumble around the kitchen, quaking in fear of messing up. The flustered tool didn’t know how to prepare much, but he was getting better. Whenever the sorry bitch whipped up something Reed didn’t like, he'd order his whiny ass to fetch a metal spatula, shove his protesting mug in the plate, and beat his screeching butt raw. After all, that’s the only way dumbasses like he learned. Afterwards, he'd insist Faggot admit what a fuck up he was and apologize by blowing him.

It was marvellous how well Faggot blossomed. It was as though the former golden boy had been waiting all his life for a real man to take charge of his horny ass and the fact that the sleazy prick almost always came when he got fucked only served to reinforce that hunch. The big tool took to sexual servitude like a fish to water.

When their six month anniversary rolled around, Reed felt like doing something more than just buying the complacent prick a new plug for his horny butt, or some steel clamps for his nubby nipples. Once he realized there was a Fuck Club meeting this Friday, he couldn’t think of a better place to celebrate than where it all began. Faggot blanched and fell to his knees in sobs when Reed told him, affirming it was the perfect choice.

By the time Friday night rolled around, Reed was so excited he could hardly stand it. When he and his driver pulled up at the curb at six, though, Faggot wasn’t waiting in his usual spot. Assuming the bitch was just running late, Reed phoned his ass, only to reach a recording telling him the number was no longer in service. Assuming he’d dialled incorrectly, he tried again, but the same thing happened.

Reed surreptitiously checked his tracking app. The green dot representing Faggot showed the disobedient prick to be at home, so he directed his driver there. Once inside, he scoured the loft, but found no sign of the bitch. He wandered over to the bar to pour himself a Scotch, only to discover a cocktail napkin with a note scrawled on it, alongside a wadded tissue. He quickly read its missive, snickered, and unrolled the tissue to find the vanished tool’s bloodied microchip.

To confirm his suspicions, Reed rang Faggot’s assistant, Janice, who informed him today had been Mr Van Winkle’s last day with the firm, and he’d left no forwarding address. The inevitable had finally happened. Faggot had grown a pair and fled to try and rebuild his life elsewhere. Considering what he'd been through, good luck with that.

For a moment, Reed considered pursuing Faggot, and making good on his promised to castrate the big tool, but in the end the bitch just wasn’t worth it. The defiled douchebag had suffered enough. His horny ass would never be the same again and that was all that mattered in the end.

Reed no longer felt like going to Fuck Club, so for a complete change of pace he hit the bars instead, hoping to pick up the hottest babe he could entice and bang her brains out. No doubt before the club met next, some arrogant prick would piss him off, and put him in the mood again, but right now he craved something soft and sweet.




Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus