Mental Health Spa of Oakland Hills

Prologue

I was working one of my two jobs as a security guard at the YSL in Union Square when a short fat man, in a polo and slacks, with a pink Starbucks drink, approached me to compliment my looks.

“They have you doing security? You should be the model!” the stranger flirted.

“Haha, thanks,” I accepted the compliment.

“I love a man in uniform. I’ll see you around,” he winked.

“Alright, have a great day,” I waved him off.

Getting hit on by pedestrians, sugar mamas and expensive gays, isn’t an uncommon occurrence for a 35-year-old 6’1” 275 lbs macho bodybuilder working security. My guard uniform for YSL did resemble cop attire: dark blue baseball cap covered my brown hair; dark blue long-sleeved shirt that stretched over my massive torso and hid my hairy chest, back, pits and arms; plated vest that further enhanced my Herculean proportions; dark blue trousers that hugged my packed quads and beefy glutes. It was a rent-a-cop uniform though. I didn’t even carry a weapon, meanwhile the Walgreens security guys were allowed to respond with their gun when homeless drug addicts try to stab them.

My rugged face and manly features came from Germanic-Jewish heritage on my Mother's side and Russo-Ukrainian on my father's side. I could never see myself as a model though: crooked nose; far from squeaky and hairless; acne scars from my high school athlete days; a layer of stubborn COVID lock-down fat that I couldn't get rid of through bodybuilding alone, expanded what was once a chiseled physique. The compliment had me glowing for the rest of my shift at YSL.

At my second job that day as a security guard at the Line Hotel on Market Street, I spotted the same short fat man, who complimented me earlier, being hassled by some drug addict.

“Hey, get out of here,” I commanded with authority to the druggie.

“Sorry man. I’ll go, I’ll go,” the druggie mumbled, meekly acknowledging my imposing size, and stumbled off.

“You okay?” I asked the short chubby stranger.

“Yeah, thanks,” the short fat man said shakily. “I was just trying to play Pokemon Go, haha.”

“No worries,” I grasped his squishy shoulder with my firm paw to steady and assure him.

"The Wilson Building is the Pokemon Gym but you probably live at the real gym when you're not saving people, oh my!" the stranger admired my packed form up and down.

"Yessir. Gotta keep fit cause my body is the tool for the my role," I subconsciously peacocked to look larger.

“You're just protecting everyone all over the place with those muscles?” he flattered.

“Nah, just security here at the Line and at YSL,” I said humbly.

“This outfit is different from there but it's just as sexy,” he squealed.

“Thanks,” I chuckled. My line hotel uniform was more militaristic rather than like a cop-like, with a black baseball cap, long-sleeved collared shirt, plated vest and khaki pants (which highlighted my prodigious basket more than the dark blue trousers).

“I’m Doug Duggan, I was VP of Sales at ApolloBiotech but now I’m now founding my own startup, working out of the coworking space at the top floor of Ikea." He adjusted his smart watch which glitched across the screen. "So I’ll be around here often. I’m glad that a hulking hunk like you is patrolling around here.” He hesitantly patted my bicep with his stubby fingers.

“I’m Rocco, my parents were fans of Sly Stallone,” I flexed for him straining the black fabric of my arm sleeve to ease his self-confidence.

“If I may ask, why are you working two jobs? How much do you work? Are they not paying you enough? You don’t have to answer if you feel like I’m prying too much.” The smart watch screen glitched again when Doug adjusted it again.

I would have generally view those questions as invasive but Doug boosted my confidence and seemed like a good guy. “I work about full-time at both, so 80 hours a week. I think they pay me fairly. I make about $190,000 gross across both jobs. I’m happily paying to support my 18-year-old son that I share with my ex and making sure his college is taken care of.”

“Oh?” Doug grabbed my developed forearm and guided me to the hotel's outside patio between the Tenderheart and the Warfield. He adjusted his smart watch again and it glitched like last time.

“Jessie and I were high school sweethearts at Lincoln High School. We were the idyllic quarterback homecoming king and cheer captain homecoming queen, except her father didn’t approve of her dating a white dude from a poor family. They were new money, owning probably the only black-owned country club in California. In Stockton, I did have some social capital for being white which evened out the social standing of her financial status. Despite her father’s objections, I did the right thing and proposed to Jessie when she found out she was pregnant with our son, Balboa. In order to wed, he ensured I signed all the paperwork that excluded me from their generational wealth. The marriage didn’t last long because of obvious reasons, but we’re on good terms.”

"Aww, that’s nice." Doug guided me to a patio chair stroking my flexor and extensor while his smart watch glitched.

“Jessie did well for herself and became a mommy blogger. She ended up with my football team rival, whom her father did approve of. While I was the better athlete, my rival was the better suitor since he was wealthy, smart and black. I think he works for NASA on the Peninsula now. Balboa lives with Jessie and his three half-siblings: a 14-year-old, 10-year-old, 4-year-old.”

"Hmm, and how did you get into security?" His smart watch glitched as he circled around the chair and felt up my corded triceps and deltoids through my black shirt and started massaging my lats. It felt great.

“The owners of Pacific Ave. Motel were fans of my football career and got me started in security to provide for my son. I was with them for about 10 years. Downtown Stockton is a different kind of seedy than downtown San Francisco. The motel owners were nice people but turned a blind eye to the hookers that were using the motel as their place of business. I looked out for those girls and they happily let my fit physique partake in their services once in a while as a token of their appreciation.”

"Oh?" Doug kneeled between my legs, examining my jacked calves and quads through my khaki pants. I spied a glitch on his wrist while he was sensually tracing my adductors through my khaki pants with his finger tips. My crotch area felt tight.

"I was laid off during the COVID lock-downs and they never reopened so there was nothing to go back to. I live in Oakland with my high school weed dealer, Fizzy. He was a few years ahead of me and got me the job at YSL. When he fell out of business when weed was legalized in CA, he entered the market of high-end substances. So he had luxury network contacts. He’s trying to get on the 'straight and narrow' though."

A glitch. Doug sat in my lap trying to grope my bulging pecs underneath the plated vest but settled for playing with the chest hair that spilled over my shirt collar. "So manly, like a wolf or bear, and with that beard, yum." A crowd of observers seemed to form in front of the patio.

"Jessie hated my body hair so I'd shave it squeaky clean for her. My current girlfriend doesn't mind." The voyeurs started pointing their phones at me in my direction.

"Oh you’re not single that’s too bad?" Doug grabbed my face to attention and ran his finger through my beard and knocked my baseball cap off to comb through my hair. A smartwatch glitch.

"Yessir, I’m taken by a hot Trans girl. She’s 23. I’m also helping out with her medical costs which is why I’m working two jobs."

Grinding his ass against my hardening cock trapped beneath my boxers and uniform pants, Doug asked, “So you’re bi then, I do have a shot?” A glitch.

"No sir, Trans women are women. Unfortunately for you, I’m straight,” my hip muscles grinded against his saggy ass.

"That is unfortunate. My husband and I are both bottoms. How does that work, one may wonder. Hosting a third top," he laughed to himself. His hotdog finger wedged between my plated vest and uniform shirt finding my nerve-sensitive areolas. "I could probably connect you and Fizzy with a job opportunity in my network. You could be making $190k at just one job alone. How does that sound?" Glitch.

"That sounds … fuccckkk uuuunhh.. -ing great” my cream seeped through the imprisoning layers and darkened a wet spot forming from my basket.

1920’s, Sylvester II’s Insane Asylum

1970’s, Oakland Hills Sanitorium

Now, Dieter Zhel Mental Health Spa of Oakland Hills

IRS Tax Name DZPH Psychiatric Hospital: Rehab and Inpatient Psychiatric Care

Zuckerberg General Hospital. Dieter Zhel Psychiatric Hospital. What was with rich people who put their names on hospitals? Dieter Zhel, a gazillionaire philanthropist and conservative gay, was notable for his controversial investments, like his life extension startup that sourced blood and other bodily fluids from healthy young men. My new friend, Doug Duggan, was linked to Zhel through venture capital work. Doug’s professional network was to my benefit.

Doug got my former-drug-dealer stoner roommate, Fizzy, an admin assistant role. It was only $55k but it was an honest pay. I was glad his time was taken up by a real job. He lusted after my body. Fizzy would previously spend his free daytime being a bum and planning new drug cocktails that would "somehow turn me gay." He beg me to try it when I got home from my double shifts because he was so thirsty to be fucked by me.

He worked on the main campus where wealthy Bay Area families sent their close ones to get treatment. They chose our facility because of our reputation for extreme discretion. The main campus grew around the original insane asylum. The insane asylum became the pro-bono ward.

There was a security vacancy for the ward due to the previous guard getting spooked. Doug vouched for my protection services bona fides. I knew I would be equipped for the role, building my body my entire professional life for the sole purpose of security. I only met Dieter Zhel once, during onboarding. He approved of how the uniform looked on me.

Like my previous jobs, my daily uniform was combat sartorial. The trousers were some sort of black vegan pleather with stitching that emphasized my already huge package. They were so tight that the ass panel had a fly too in case I needed to go number 2 since they were so difficult to pull down past my quads and hamstrings. They were so tight, I opted to go commando since my boxers wouldn't fit. The grey collared long-sleeved shirt was just as tight as the trousers. The collar nearly choked my swole neck while the shirt itself was stretched to it's limit by my bulk. The grey fabric was so sheer, that my chest (and back, pit and arm) hair and sensitive areolas were easily visible depending on the lighting and angle. And often nearly translucent due to perspiration since the my workstation was only updated with heat but not A.C. An undershirt was not approved in the dress code. There was no risk of gun injury so I wasn’t assigned a plated vest, however I was assigned a matching black pleather chest holster, containing my security gear, that wore on my traps like a backpack but also ran under my firm pec cleavage, further emphasizing my muscled slabs and jutting out my nipples.

I was instructed to wear the uniform daily. With the uniform being so tight and without room to breathe, the uniform was often rank and musky by Friday. I would surrender it to the facility and by Monday it would be fresh again. Fizzy told me the rumor that Zhel was collecting the musk for his startup. I was also assigned a second uniform that was nearly identical to the first but I wasn't supposed to wear it yet, and couldn't fit in it either since it was even smaller than the first. Zhel mentioned I would eventually switch to that one ‘when it was time.’

Beyond the pay itself, this career move felt like a progression in unenumerable ways and was quite cushy in others. In my over-decade security career, I was never issued a desk or a chair until this role. The only downside of the new job was that it was the graveyard shift. However, it was a small price to pay to make as much at one job than working twice as long to provide for my son and girlfriend.

I started dating my Trans girlfriend when she was 21. She was already so freaking beautiful when we met. But for her self-esteem, I financed her boobs, her ass, her lips and anything else she wanted done. I never felt taken advantage of since I, too, got to enjoy her enhancements, after all.

I had hoped my son, Balboa, would have followed in my athletic pursuits. While he did derive fitness from fencing and horseback riding, he gravitated more towards his stepfather's academic pursuits. Had Balboa not gotten full scholarships to UC Berkeley, I had saved enough to cover his college tuition without scholarships. He could now use my savings for housing, study abroad or anything he wanted.

Decorative topiary, brick wall and and an electrified fence separated the eight-sided pro-bono ward from the main campus. The architecture was a combination of modern renovations to a Mission Revival foundation. Elements of the facility were so weathered that I wondered how some parts hadn't crumpled yet. The only way into the ward was a hallway on the west side that led to the interior anteroom. Seven patient dorms, which weren’t all occupied, ajoined the seven other sides connected by double doors to the anteroom (extra precaution due to the severity of the psychopaths). The patient dorms were spartan, furnished only with a bed, sink, shower and toilet. Their clothes were just as spartan, DZPH branded sweats. The anteroom housed the patients' medications and state-of-the-art medical tools all stocked by Doug's former employer, ApolloBiotech.

My monitor desk was located outside the anteroom in the west hallway. I could view all seven rooms from the comfort of a sitting down. Since all the medical care and feedings happened during the day shifts, I was principally responsible for ensuring the patients remained alive until the next day. This didn’t seem difficult at first since they didn't have much to work with. I actually had downtime which I filled by browsing OnlyFans on my phone. When that got stale, I spiced it up by jerking off to the monitor feed of the patients.

The medical care for these patients were pro-bono due to Dieter Zhel’s direct funding. I was never given the patient’s real names and was only supposed to address them by their number, though I did have nicknames for them just for myself.

South Dorm, Vacant

SW Dorm occupant, Patient 7 aka Bloody Mary: Caucasian Female; 40-years-old; institutionalized for strangling wild animals and abusing pets.

Mary had ruddy hair and huge tits. She was kinda scary looking but was still spank bank material.

NW Dorm occupant, Patient 1 aka Bart Beater: Latino Male; 24-years-old; institutionalized for violent assaults on BART.

Beater was slim but extremely fit, definitely a fighter's body.

North Dorm occupant, Patient 2 aka Schizo Santa Clause: Arab Male; 46-years-old; institutionalized for PTSD and paranoid schizophrenia.

Santa's hair had gone fully white for not that old of an age. He was also extremely obese but buried underneath all that blubber was an Air Force veteran.

NE Dorm, Vacant

East Dorm (directly across the anteroom from my desk) Patient 4, you: African-American Female-to-Male; 18-years old; institutionalized for dissociative identity disorder.

You were our newest patient. My son was your age but you looked nothing alike. Despite being smaller than I was at his age, Balboa's bourgeois fit body was still larger than your twink one. You claimed to be Gerb D'Aurillac, the reincarnation of the demon pope this hospital was originally named after. I wasn’t a medical professional but I suspected at least three personalities: brief glimpses of a gentle personality that could have been the true one; the demon pope personality that seemed to host most of the time; brief glimpses of a presence even darker than the demon pope. I didn't have a nickname for you since you already gave yourself one.

SE Dorm, Vacant

One night, I was already annoyed due to the heat blasting, all four patients had concurrent episodes. You hysterically laughed so hard your face turned blue. Bart Beater self-harmed by holding his head in the sink. Shizo Santa cried uncontrollably and Bloody Mary self-harmed by slapping herself. I went in order from most at-risk to least at-risk.

I opened the NW anteroom door and entered the space between the doors. I closed the anteroom door, opened patient-side door, walked through and then closed the patient side door.

“Patient 1, you are currently having an episode and are at risk of harming yourself. If you can not stop, I will restrain you.” Bart Beater did not stop. I approached him with a restraining technique. He whipped his head out of the sink when I was near. He lashed out by grasping my nerve-sensitive nipples which were advertised by my see-through shirt and bullseyed by my gear holster. It both hurt and chubbed me up at the same time. When I reached to remove his hands to save my nipples, he grabbed my right arm twerked it behind my back. When I fell to a knee, he reached down and unzipped my fly with his free hand. He fondled my chubbing cock until he found his target, my balls. I could feel the nausea in my gut with his skinny-fit grip strength sapping my own strength. Assuming he had worn me out, he abandoned my right arm to get a few punches on my massive muscles. Seizing the opportunity, my strong frame and training overpowered his smaller frame and scrappy fighting spirit. I secured the patient to the bed and tended to my arm.

I opened the patient-side door and entered the space between the doors. I closed the patient-side door, opened the anteroom door, walked through and then closed the anteroom facing door.

I entered the South West dorm.

“Patient 7, you are currently having an episode and are at risk of harming yourself. If you can not stop I will restrain you.” Bloody Mary stopped slapping herself but tried to seduce me into assisting in her escape.

"Come on musclestud let me outta here. I'll take care of you,” she purred dangerously.

Mary’s devious emerald eyes bore into me as if she knew I jacked off to her. Momentarily dazed by guilt, I was taken off guard when she closed the gap and ran her hands across my buff physique. She enjoyed molesting my hard abs and dense pecs. She settled with one hand plucking my sensitive areolas through my sweat-through shirt, which were already sore from the attack earlier, and her other hand went for my fly which I had forgotten to zip. With her soft hands, she pulled my cock, already chubbed from the previous patient, from the pleather confines.

“Thick and long,” Mary cooed. Discovering her double-jointed wrist, she jerked my girth with her digits while she stimulated my head with her thumb. She sapped my will through my cock like Bart sapped my strength through my balls. I lost track of time and forgot about the other patients while she edged me. When she started passionately kissing me, I wrapped my left arm around her and carried her to the bed with my single good arm. While she was engrossed by my build, I secured her to the bed. I could have fucked the real thing instead of the spank bank version right then. She was eager. I reluctantly got off her since she was 1. restrained and 2. a patient.

I entered the North dorm.

“Patient 2, you are currently having an episode. What can I do to assist you the evening?”

“Hold me,” Schizo Santa sobbed wrapping his arms around me, his much larger blubbery body enveloping me. I hugged him back. He cupped my round ass globes and I laughed. When he finally calmed down I guided him to his bed.

I entered the East dorm.

Before I knew it you uppercut my chin and kneed me in the balls. When I fell to my knees you yanked my left arm behind my back dislocating it from the shoulder. All while still laughing, you grabbed my middle finger on my right hand and bent it back while you headbutted me, cracking my nose. You straddled my rooted quads, trapping my powerful bodybuilder frame with your powerless twink frame. You grasped my collar and easily tore my sweaty sheer shirt.

“Yes, I love my daddies hairy!” Your explored my exposed torso. Your fingers twisted my nipples, already tender from the previous attacks. I cringed as you licked my face, slobbering over my acne scars. You bounced your tight twink ass on my cock, still out and hard from Mary's handling. Your mouth made it's way down to my traps. I could feel a hickie form from where you landed. You bit down like a vampire and I could feel the skin break. Using my training, I fought through the pain (and pleasure) and accessed my holster which was still intact over my tattered shirt. Even with my finger bent, I zapped you with the stun gun. I efficiently restrained your arms and legs with zipties and then ziptied those together, hog style. I went through the double doors to get the ApolloBiotech pharmaceutical sedative from the medicine area of the anteroom. When you knocked out, I cut the ties and restrained you to the bed. You'd be the day nurses problem.

"Shit! Bro, they fucked you up good, huh?" Fizzy laughed as he reset my arm and the night nurse adjusted my finger. "You look like a total badass though. Doesn't he looked yoked?" The nurse blushed. God, I loved my stoner fag roommate.

When my Gen Z supervisor eventually came in, he said I would receive no worker’s compensation since handling patient episodes was part of the job description and that all patients were up to date with their vaccinations. I was frustrated and feverish. I drove Fizzy and myself home and knocked out immediately while the sun was rising.

I woke up around 2pm and felt I had drunk a Prime energy drink. Invigorated, my plan was to take a shower and do some cardio to try to tackle the stubborn lockdown fat. By the time I was drying off and about to put on my running gear, my sleep fog had fully cleared. I checked myself out in the mirror to examine the battle scars from last night.

Not only were the bruises and broken skin gone, but I was shocked to see my stubborn fat layer was gone too. I was shredded again. Even more cut than my namesake, Rocky Balboa. Perhaps even more lean than I was in high school. Not only did I have defined abs again, but I could count two more than the six I had before. There was some separation where the eight-pack-abs could even look like ten. One could wash clothes on these abs. My obliques and serratus where rippled so sharply that one could grate cheese. My iliac crest was cut from marble and my quads and calves were cut diamonds. The vascularity across my physique was more prominent than ever. My proportions were insane from my two decades of bodybuilding gains dedicated to my security guard career combined with what looked like the lowest fat percentage I've ever had. My skin was clear of acne scars and my crooked nose from high school football injuries had straightened out. I really could have passed for a model.

“What’s taking so long? I need to piss," Fizzy whined groggily while he stumbled toward the toilet. His eyes bugged out when he saw me. He rubbed his eyes and did a double take, "Woah dude, when did you get this hot?"

"I've always been hot. You've been trying to get me to fuck you since high school," I teased, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

"Nah, man. I'm serious. You went from working class rugged every-man hot to god-tier studly perfection hot," Fizzy said, ogling my ripped build while he stood pissing in the toilet.

"It's gotta be from last night when Gerb bit me. Maybe his T got into my system or DZPH has him on some super serum or something. But it's hard to complain about this," I flexed and saw my defined anatomy dance under my skin in the mirror.

"Dude, we gotta commemorate this.” Fizzy enjoyed lathering my cut muscles with posing oil. I flexed shirtless in my workout gear around the apartment in different poses while he snapped multiple angles and crops on his iPhone. He posted the photos where I looked most aesthetic to my dating profiles and my Instagram. I texted some more risque ones to my girlfriend to excite her. I texted less risque ones to my new friend Doug to tease him.

Jessie, my ex-wife 'liked' my IG story and slid into my dms. She messaged that she had a dream about me last night. Apparently, we fucked in new ways than we did when we were in high school. We made plans to meet on the weekend. Balboa would babysit his three younger siblings.

The next few days at work went without any major episodes while I anticipated my date with my ex-wife. Though, I was unsettled when the patients would stare at the cameras, like they were hungry for me directly through the monitor. I caught the night nurse and my Gen Z boss staring lecherously often too. Since my original uniform was fairly wrecked, I tested out my backup. With my COVID lock-down fat layer gone, I could squeeze into the second uniform, though it was still very tight. The new grey long-sleeved shirt seemed even more sheer than the first. Combined with the tightness, each of my defined abs were outlined while the fabric wrapped itself around each of my beefy pecs.

On my date with Jessie on Friday the 13th, I allowed my ex-wife to shave me as hairless as she kept me in high school. With my nose straightened again, my shredded bodybuilder physique, and my smooth skin, I really was picture perfect to be a model. Over the course of the evening we did fuck in multiple new ways that we didn't in high school. With the stamina to vaginally make her cum five times in these new positions, she was even open to end on anal, reverse spider.

About two week later at work, I was both sexting with my hot 23-year-old Trans girlfriend and texting with my ex-wife, when Jessie told me that she thought she was pregnant again but going to the doctor the next morning to make sure. I beamed. I was going to be a father again and Balboa was going to get another sibling that would be a full sibling. Unfortunately for me, you wetblanketted my glow when you started having another hysterical laughing episode on the monitor.

I proceed with extreme caution so I wouldn't be caught off guard again (though the results of the last encounter actually shook out to be rewarding). I opened the East anteroom door and entered the space between the doors. I closed the anteroom door, opened patient-side door, walked through and then closed the patient side door.

"I made her fall in love with you again? Do you want to marry her?" you pranced around the room hysterically laughing.

"I made herfallin lovewith youagain? Doyouwant tomarryher?"

You were fucking up my head. How did you have outside information about my personal life? How did your bite transform me from a rugged hulking hunk to shredded muscle god? How did you make Jessie fall in love with me again?

"I made herfallin lovewith youagain? Doyouwant tomarryher?"

"YES! I want to marry Jessie again!" I yelled, grabbing you. You looked startled for an instant, like I broke through to your core personality that wasn't Gerb. The innocence quickly left as fast as it came.

"If you want to marry her, you have to fuck me like how you fucked her,” you started roaming your hands around my shredded physique.

I'm not into dudes, but you were playing me perfectly. You cleverly took off my gear holster and then unbuttoned my shirt, freeing my smooth hard muscles.

“Eww, you’re too naked, daddy,” you whinged. My chest itched then my brown fur forest burst from their follicles. You ran your fingers through my chest hair, ending up at a common target, my areolas.

You encouraged me to shrug off my shirt over my round shoulders. You undid my fly and freed my hardening cock from the pleather uniform pants. Exploring my gear holster, you grabbed some zipties, that I had used on you, to use on me as a cock ring at my base. You hopped on my bodybuilder frame with your twink body, wrapping your legs around me. I secured you by grabbing your tight butt and guiding your hole to my long thick cock. You pulled my beard and mustache to your patchy-haired face. Your tongue taunted my lips then your lips slurped my tongue in your mouth. You grabbed my back hair, indicating that I needed to lower us to the ground. While still carrying you, I squatted, then lied all the way down with you still impaled on me. You bent yourself backwards, desiring my cut quads and calves, while I stabilized your legs on my upper pecs and anterior delts. This was was the last position Jessie and I did. Your tight twink ass hole vacuumed my girthy shaft. I came so hard it was as if a part of my essence was sucked into you.

“We made a great sex tape,” you laughed, pointing at the security camera.

Fuck, I forgot about those but no one really reviews them unless an issue comes up. I wasn’t too worried about it in my post-orgasm daze.

The next afternoon, Jessie got back to me with the results. It was a false pregnancy. She was devastated to also find out she could no longer have kids again.

I charged to the psychiatric hospital with my muscles pumped in fury. I stormed into your dorm, not even waiting for the interior door to close, to confront you. I was about to strike you when your pupils dilated you entire eyes black and blood spilled from your mouth, nose, eyes and ears. You reached out at me and I was blasted into the anteroom. While you were walloping my muscular prone body with a rain of invisible punches, a plague of spiders burrowed through the weathered foundation of the insane asylum. The patient doors crumbled and the three other patients joined us.

Bart, Mary and Santa explored the anteroom while you reappropriated my stun gun. You unzipped my fly, exposing my balls from the pleather trousers. You unleashed each node to their own testicle. You were delighted by every muscle in my body tensing to their limit.

My overworked muscles failed to resist Santa manacling my arms and legs with ApolloBiotech patient restraints to bolts on the floor. Without a plated vest to protect me, Bart plunged any syringe he could find up and down my pecs and abs. Mary wrapped medical gauze around my throat, weaving the tail ends into a leash.

Santa took a seat on my face and unbuckled my holster. Mary straddled my crotch, tearing off my second issued shirt. Bart doused my body with medical oil, matting my torso fur and highlighting my muscular definition.

Santa’s fat thighs were crushing my big biceps while his chubby hands explored my torso like it was the control panel of his cockpit. My sensitive areolas must have translated to important jet buttons in his mind. The little air that I was able to take in with Santa’s jiggly ass on my face was further constrained by Mary’s grip on the gauze collar and leash. Mary’s sensuous worship of my abs, Santa’s dissociated pleasuring of my erogenous nipples, and the lack of blood to my brain redirected all the blood to my sexual extremity.

Santa removed his sweatpants and resat on my face. He pulled on my nipples until I started to lick his asshole. When he enjoyed my tongue bath, he rewarded me by rubbing my nips. Mary took off her sweatpants and planted her tight pussy on my engorged cock, lubricated by the medical oil.

Bart extended my leg restraints and lifted my pleather covered legs up in the air so you had access to my rock hard bubble butt. You unzipped my ass fly and took off your patient sweatpants. You inflated your phalloplasty cock and spider crawled under my legs.

When you plunged yourself into my hole between two pleathered covered ass globes, Bart brought his heel down on to my balls against Mary’s back. Whatever cocktail of drugs I was dosed with combined with all the sensations the four psychopaths were acting upon me ascended me to painful nirvana. My face was flushed due to lack of air. My face was also flushed due to my nipples being worked by an insane incubus, my cock slurped by an insane succubus’ pussy, my p-spot being hammered by an insane demon’s dildo and my balls being crushed with vengeful aggression by an insane incubus.

“This host,” you started. “…thinks he is the demon pope born again. So foolish of him. But you know who I truly am. Who am I?”

In terrible harmony, your cock hit my prostate so perfectly, I released a vigorous load into the red-haired witch mercilessly riding my thick cock and I knew who you were. The knowledge of your name was instantly telegraphed into my mind, “Zepar, the Great Duke of Hell,” I spewed my seed.

Epilogue

From a selectively-crowded opulent ballroom beneath the Transamerica pyramid, a man in an expensive topical fancy dress wear and a man in a less expensive generic Halloween costume are watching a livefeed of a mental hospital where a ripped masculine bodybuilder security guard was combating four psychopaths in sexual battle. The security guard lost.

“The Black Book thanks your for your service,” the unnaturally youthful man says to a shorter rounder man. “You found a truly delicious muscular sacrifice for Zepar and his acolytes.”

“It all still boggles my mind.” the shorter man says.

“Think of it like an operatic tragedy,” the wealthy man narrates. “Zepar has the ability to change the form of a man to make a woman fall in love with him. He also has the power to make that woman barren. Zepar stole the baby for his concubine. A demon prince conceived on All Hallows' Eve.” The wealthy man’s phone rings. “Please excuse me while I take this,” he dismissed himself from the short man lusting at the scene before him.

“You’ve taken care of all your roommate’s belongings?” The unnaturally youthful man asks to his administrative assistant. “Lovely, as agreed to, you will be rewarded with access to the hunky husk that will now be known as Patient 5. Have fun enjoying him too.”

“Shouldn't we be worried about the hell-on-earth end-of-the-world of it all?” The short man asked the returning wealthy man.

“The demons we summon serve us. Zepar will repay you for this sacrifice. Don’t you want a successful valuation of round B funding for your hypnotech hardware startup?”

“Yes, indeed I do,” the short man agreed meekly.

“Wonderful, now let’s continue enjoying tonight's entertainment. The other two acolytes get their chance to feed on the muscled sacrifice’s vitality.