Jacob stepped off the train at London Euston carrying the weight of his old life in a single duffel bag and a suitcase bursting with gym clothes. At twenty five, fresh out of his sports science degree, he was the epitome of straight, athletic confidence. Tall and broad shouldered, with a chest sculpted from years on the rugby pitch and legs like tree trunks, he moved through the station like he owned it. His short brown hair was tousled just right, and that cocky grin had won him plenty of attention back home. He had left his long term girlfriend with little more than a shrug and empty promises. London was going to be different: endless nights chasing pussy, clubbing in Shoreditch, and finally living like the alpha he knew he was.
The flat in the converted warehouse block was decent for the price. When Jacob pushed through the door, his new flatmate Oscar was waiting in the kitchen. Oscar was leaner, about five ten, with sharp cheekbones, messy dark hair, and an easy smile that hid something sharper. He wore a loose tank top and cheap navy boxer shorts from Tesco, the thin fabric hanging low on his hips and doing little to hide the heavy outline of his cock.
“Jacob? I’m Oscar. Your room’s on the left. Dump your stuff wherever.”
They shook hands. Jacob’s grip was strong and testing. Oscar’s was calm, almost playful. Jacob unpacked quickly, stripping down to his own cheap grey boxer briefs from Asda basic, stretchy cotton that clung to his muscular ass and cupped his heavy balls and thick cock. He caught Oscar’s eyes flicking downward but thought nothing of it. Blokes shared spaces. It was normal.
That first night, Jacob lay in bed stroking himself through the thin Asda material, fantasising about pulling some hot girl at a club. He shot a thick load into a tissue and fell asleep satisfied, completely unaware that his new life had already begun.
Oscar, meanwhile, had prepared carefully in his own room. The fleshlight on his desk looked ordinary soft, realistic sleeve with a tight, textured interior but it was anything but. Weeks of rituals, ancient words spoken at midnight, and a glowing potion mixed with his own cum had transformed it. A single strand of Jacob’s hair from the shower drain sealed the link. When Oscar fucked the toy, Jacob would feel every thrust deep in his virgin ass. The potion ensured obedience to every whisper spoken into it. And the final touch: Jacob would stay denied until Oscar allowed release.
The first day at his new corporate wellness job was meant to be Jacob’s moment to shine. He dressed in a sharp navy suit, the trousers hugging his powerful thighs. Underneath were fresh cheap black boxer briefs from Tesco, the waistband already riding low on his V line. He stood tall in the conference room, pitching recovery programs with his deep, confident voice.
Back at the flat, Oscar woke horny and decided the time was right.
He lubed the fleshlight and sank his thick eight inch cock into it, thrusting steadily. The magic ignited.
Jacob froze mid sentence. An impossible pressure stretched his hole open, invisible ridges dragging along his inner walls and hammering his prostate. His cock surged instantly, straining painfully against the Tesco boxers and suit trousers.
“Jacob, are you okay?” his boss asked, frowning.
He tried to answer, but Oscar picked up speed, pounding the toy hard. A desperate moan tore from Jacob’s throat. His hips jerked. Pre cum flooded the cheap black fabric until a dark, humiliating wet patch spread across his crotch. He came dry in front of the entire team body convulsing, face scarlet with shame—while colleagues stared in disbelief. His boss sent him home immediately, the pity and disgust in her eyes burning into him.
Jacob stumbled back to the flat, cock still throbbing uselessly, ass feeling raw and empty. Oscar lounged in the kitchen wearing his own Tesco boxers, the thin material tented.
“What the fuck is this?” Jacob demanded, voice cracking.
“Sit down,” Oscar said quietly.
Jacob’s body obeyed instantly, dropping into a chair with his legs spread, the wet Tesco boxers on full display.
Oscar explained the link, the potion, the denial. “You feel everything I do to the toy. And you don’t cum until I let you. Simple as that.”
Jacob wanted to rage, but his cock twitched eagerly. When Oscar picked up the fleshlight and slowly rimmed the entrance with his tongue, Jacob gasped as he felt the wet, swirling sensation directly on his virgin hole. He gripped the table, moaning like a whore, his cheap boxers soaked through.
“Please… make it stop…”
Oscar pulled back with a smirk. “Beg better next time, rugby boy.”
The middle weeks were a slow, humiliating erosion of everything Jacob thought he was.
Mornings set the tone. Jacob would shuffle into the kitchen desperate and leaking after another night of denial. He always wore the cheapest boxers he could find Asda multipacks in grey, black, or basic blue thin cotton that grew tighter as his ass responded to the constant magical stimulation and the squats he started doing obsessively. What began as “maintaining fitness” quickly became an addiction. His glutes swelled into thick, bouncy mounds that strained every pair. The cheap waistbands dug into his flesh, riding up his crack and framing the new plumpness.
One typical morning he stood at the counter in a pair of shrinking white Asda boxers, the fabric now almost sheer from repeated leaks, his hard cock tenting the front obscenely while his ass cheeks spilled out the bottom.
“Oscar, I’m begging you,” he said, voice hoarse. “I haven’t cum properly in weeks. My balls feel like they’re going to explode. Just let me jerk off once.”
Oscar, wearing his own loose Tesco boxers, stepped close and ground his bulge against Jacob’s crack. “No. Make my coffee first. And keep that pathetic cock leaking while you do it.”
Jacob whimpered but obeyed, moving around the kitchen while Oscar casually used the fleshlight under the table, slow deep strokes that made Jacob’s knees buckle. He spilled coffee, moaning, the white Asda boxers turning transparent with pre cum.
Work became a daily nightmare of public humiliation. During one important team meeting, Oscar fucked the toy relentlessly from home. Jacob sat at the table rock hard, shifting desperately as invisible thrusts pounded his prostate. He came dry twice, biting his fist to stay quiet, face flushed while colleagues whispered. His boss later pulled him aside.
“Whatever is wrong with you, fix it. You looked like you were having an orgasm in the middle of my presentation.”
The shame was crushing. Jacob, the big strong sports science grad, reduced to a leaking mess in cheap suit trousers.
Weekends brought new torments. Jacob tried one last desperate night out at a club, chatting up a curvy girl in a tight dress. They danced, she grinded on him, but his mind kept flashing to Oscar’s cock. He failed to get hard for her in the way that mattered and went home defeated, ass aching emptily.
Then came the rugby mates visit.
Three of Jacob’s old teammates from university came down to London for a weekend. They were loud, masculine lads built like Jacob used to be, full of crude jokes about pussy and pints. They crashed at the flat, bringing beers and takeaway.
Jacob greeted them in his usual cheap grey Asda boxers and a tank top, trying to act normal. But Oscar had been using the toy all afternoon. Jacob’s cock was rock hard, the thin grey fabric stretched obscenely, the head clearly outlined and leaking. His swollen ass cheeks jiggled as he moved, the boxers riding high and revealing.
“Fuck, Jake! You been hitting the squats or what?” one mate laughed, slapping his ass. The contact made Jacob moan softly.
Throughout the evening the lads drank and played FIFA. Jacob sat on the sofa, rock hard the entire time, pre cum soaking the front of his Asda boxers into a dark patch. Oscar occasionally slipped away to thrust into the fleshlight, forcing Jacob to squirm and whimper. When one mate asked why he was so fidgety, Jacob could only mumble about “new job stress” while his cock throbbed visibly for everyone to see.
Later, when the lads were drunk and laughing, Oscar whispered commands into the toy. Jacob dropped to his knees to grab more beers and nearly came dry again, moaning loudly. The mates stared, confused and amused.
“Mate, you got a boner like a fucking teenager. What’s wrong with you?”
Jacob burned with humiliation but couldn’t stop leaking. The old alpha rugby lad, exposed as a desperate, denied mess in front of his friends. Oscar loved every second.
Another devastating example came during a casual five a side football match with his new work colleagues. They played on a local pitch after work. Jacob changed into shorts and a cheap pair of blue Tesco boxers underneath the smallest pair he owned now, the fabric stretched tight over his enlarged ass and barely containing his cock.
Oscar stayed home and used the fleshlight the entire game.
Every time Jacob ran, phantom thrusts slammed into him. He missed easy passes, stumbling as pleasure ripped through his ass. His cock stayed rock hard, tenting his shorts noticeably. Teammates noticed.
“Jacob, you alright? You look… excited.”
He tried to play through it, but Oscar intensified the fucking. Jacob collapsed near the goal during a corner, moaning openly as he came dry in his Tesco boxers, hips bucking on the grass while the other lads watched in shock. Cumless spasms wracked him. His shorts showed a clear wet spot. Someone joked about “performance issues,” but the humiliation sank deep. The sports science expert, the athletic one, reduced to a writhing, denied slut on the pitch.
As the weeks passed, Jacob’s wardrobe of cheap boxers from Asda and Tesco grew smaller and more revealing. The waistbands shrank, the leg holes tightened, and the fabric became threadbare from constant leaks and washes. He wore them constantly now tiny red Asda ones that disappeared between his massive cheeks, black Tesco pairs so small they looked like underwear for a much smaller man. His body had changed with them: thicker thighs, softer middle, and that enormous, jiggly ass that demanded attention. His mind followed. Thoughts of girls faded. He craved cock, craved Oscar’s control, craved release.
Oscar pushed the domination further every day. He made Jacob clean the flat wearing nothing but a tiny white Asda jockstrap, the straps framing his plump cheeks while Oscar fucked the toy slowly from the sofa. Jacob would moan and push his ass out, begging.
“Tell me what you are,” Oscar demanded.
“I’m your himbo slut… my ass belongs to you…”
One evening Oscar invited Liam over again. Jacob served drinks in shrinking grey Tesco boxers, rock hard and leaking as usual. While the two men chatted, Oscar used the fleshlight openly. Jacob dropped to all fours, ass high, moaning and grinding against the air while they watched and laughed.
“Look at the big straight lad now,” Liam said. “Pathetic.”
Jacob came dry again, humiliated tears mixing with sweat, but his cock never softened.
The denial built to breaking point. Jacob’s ass grew even plumper, his lips fuller, his thoughts simpler. He was a himbo now eager, submissive, desperate.
The breaking point came on a rainy Friday night exactly one month after moving in.
Jacob had gone out one final time, trying to prove he was still straight. He flirted with a beautiful woman at a bar, bought her drinks, even kissed her. But when she invited him back to hers, he made an excuse and left. His body only wanted one thing. He stumbled home drunk, soaked from the rain, cock aching and ass empty.
Oscar was in bed reading, wearing only tight white Tesco briefs that strained over his massive erection.
Jacob didn’t knock. He stripped down to his smallest pair yet tiny red Asda boxers that were more like a thong now, the front pouch barely covering his leaking cock and the back vanishing between his fat, hairy cheeks.
He crawled onto the bed, drunk and broken. “Oscar… Sir… please. I need your real cock. Fuck me. I’m not straight anymore. I’m your desperate himbo. Breed my virgin ass.”
Oscar set the book down, eyes gleaming. “Beg like you mean it.”
Jacob turned, presenting himself. He yanked the tiny red boxers aside and pushed his plump, hairy ass back against Oscar’s bulge. “Please, Sir. I’ve been humiliated in front of my boss, my mates, everyone. I leak in my cheap boxers every day for you. I do squats so my ass gets bigger for you. Use me. Let me cum on your cock.”
Oscar finally gave in. He pulled his briefs down and pressed his thick cockhead against Jacob’s hole. Jacob pushed back eagerly, impaling himself with a loud, relieved moan. Inch after inch stretched him open, the real thing so much hotter and fuller than the toy. Oscar gripped those fat cheeks and started pounding hard.
The bed creaked. Jacob’s massive ass rippled with every thrust, his cheap red boxers tangled around one thigh. “Yes! Fuck your himbo! Harder!”
Oscar slammed into his prostate mercilessly, whispering filthy commands. “You’re mine now. No more pussy. Just my cock every day. Say it.”
“I’m yours! Your submissive gay himbo slut!” Jacob cried.
When Oscar flooded his guts with thick cum, Jacob finally came properly. Rope after heavy rope shot from his cock, soaking the tiny Asda boxers, the sheets, his own chest. The orgasm lasted minutes, months of denial exploding out of him. His body shook violently, ass clenching greedily around Oscar’s shaft.
Afterward, Jacob collapsed against Oscar, panting and blissful. The old cocky straight lad was gone forever. In his place was a content, submissive himbo who lived for his flatmate’s pleasure.
In the days and weeks that followed, their life together solidified into perfect dominance and submission.
Jacob woke every morning by crawling under the covers to suck Oscar’s cock, still wearing whatever tiny, cum stained pair of Asda or Tesco boxers he’d slept in. At work he wore remote toys synced to the fleshlight, coming dry in meetings and sending Oscar photos of the wet spots in his cheap boxers. Weekends were for total use fucked over the kitchen counter, made to ride while wearing nothing but a revealing jock, or serving Oscar and his friends with his plump ass on display.
His rugby mates visited again a few weeks later. This time Jacob answered the door in tiny black Tesco boxers that left nothing to the imagination. He was rock hard instantly, and when Oscar used the toy during their FIFA session, Jacob moaned openly on the sofa, leaking everywhere while his confused mates watched the former alpha reduced to a whimpering mess.
The football matches with work colleagues became legendary for all the wrong reasons. Jacob always showed up in the smallest shorts over the smallest Tesco boxers, knowing Oscar would edge him the whole game. He’d stumble around the pitch, ass jiggling, cock tenting, eventually dropping to his knees in orgasmic spasms while everyone stared.
Jacob never bought normal underwear again. Only the cheapest, smallest pairs from Asda and Tesco that got smaller and more revealing with every week. They framed his transformed body perfectly plump ass spilling out, cock always half hard, ready for humiliation.
He had come to London desperate for pussy and freedom. Instead he found Oscar, the fleshlight, endless denial and humiliation, and finally the deep satisfaction of total submission. The straight rugby lad was dead. Long live the eager, cock hungry himbo who lived in tiny cheap boxers and begged to be used.
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