The Formation of Calluses

Raw

The rest of the afternoon was a strange, nightmarish blur. I know it lasted for hours, but I only remember bits and pieces of it...hazy moments like dim shadows on concrete walls, the lone survivors of a nuclear bomb.

I remember him dragging me out of the shower. I was already exhausted, drained, and sore from being forcibly milked for nearly an hour, but he was only just beginning.

I was pushed against the wall of his bedroom, naked and dripping wet, as he reached into the top drawer of his dresser. He found them quick and yanked my arms behind me, locking my wrists together in a pair of cold metal handcuffs.

Seconds later I was on the bed, on my back – and he was bending my knees, pushing my heels into my thighs just below my buttocks – then tightly binding my calves against my hamstrings with cobalt-colored climbing rope. My blood was pulsing in my thighs, my groin, straining to push itself into the rest of my legs – and then I was yanked around and shoved face-first into the mattress. My legs had been transformed into heavy, useless stumps, toes curling in fear as his hands wrenched my thighs apart and slathered the entire crack of my ass with cool, slippery lube.

“Don't worry, boy,” he growled into my ear, punching his fingers into my defenseless ass, lubing me up in the roughest possible way. “This was gonna happen anyway. I was gonna work up to it...make you want it more...but you had to go and win that stupid – fucking – bet.” I snarled and panted through gritted teeth as he fucked his fingers into my hole with each word. “You just moved the timetable up, that's all. Hope you think it was worth it, whenever we get around to your faggy little dinner date tonight...now...are you ready to take what I'm gonna give you?”

“Yes...” I whimpered. There was no reason to simply act like I was his slave; he had turned it into a physical reality. “Let's just...get it over with, please...sir...”

“Oh, baby boy...poor little pup...” His fingers were kind for a moment, massaging me easy from the inside out. “I don't think you know what this is. Once I start...I'm not gonna stop for a long, long time. This is me breaking you, boy...this is the main –  fuckin –  course...”

I wasn't able to answer him, but that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

He hauled my body around to face him, and I shrieked at the sudden pain of two wooden clothespins clamping down around both of my nipples at once. They pulsed like burning embers under the constant, merciless intensity of the pressure, quickly becoming part of me. He rubbed the firm meat of my hairy pecs between them – licking his teeth as the pale skin of my heaving chest quickly blossomed into shifting shades of dazzling red – gorging his palms on the frantic pounding of my heart beneath the bone.

The pain was so dominant, so severe, that I hadn't noticed his cock punching up into my sloppy ass like an old friend. He flicked the clothespins to make me bellow and arch my spine away from his hips – then ground his fingers into my belly to make me sputter and crunch my abs right down into his hands...only to attack my nipples again – again – then back to my belly, on and on… At some point, I realized I'd been fucking myself on his shaft the entire time, to his lecherous amusement...

I found myself bent over his lap like an unruly child. He was spanking me again, steadfast and pitiless, until I was screaming – sobbing – begging him to stop...and eventually he did, but not before I'd become little more than flinching putty in his hands….

I strained and tensed against rope and metal, but I could do nothing to stop him as he locked his arms beneath my shoulders and lifted me into the air with all his immense strength. He'd impaled my ass from behind with my own weight, now walking us through every room of his house as I bounced and grunted around the speartip of his cock like a hunting trophy – now fucking my bound body against his bedroom wall like a flailing amputee in a fetish snuff porn – now dumping me onto the rug at his feet – and now he was on me again, attacking me, fucking me into the floor, pistoning in and out of my sweating, cramping, shuddering body like an industrial-grade machine.

I could have begged him to stop. I could have done everything in my power to convince him I'd rather have years of jail time over this extreme treatment – but I didn't. I was exhausted, bound, helpless...resigned.  I let my low, defeated sobs dribble into raw, protracted moans that bled along the floor, buzzed across his skin, warmed his brain like nectar – only to stiffen into reflexive gasps whenever he went back to flicking the clothespins on my nipples, or pinching the flesh of my tortured buttocks with his knuckles, twisting it like hot pincers.

The thunderous pain in my cowering balls was the only thing that brought my voice back to a healthy, sobering wail. They quaked in his grip as he pulled them away from my body – squeezed them like grapes – batted them aside like troublesome gnats. It made my legs convulse into jelly – even made me piss myself again, which only made him angry – or would have, if my ass weren't also constricting and spasming around the root of his buried cock in a way that made his eyes go wide. The happy medium was a grinning, gluttonous cruelty that only fueled further torment and degradation of my balls, my belly, every inch of my bound and helpless form...

My ass had yielded to him completely by then, slack and audibly squishing as he drove it into oblivion with his fingers, his cock. In fact, every last ounce of throbbing muscle bellow my waist had dissolved into a quivering tool for him to use – a sturdy, meaty channel in which to sheath his long, hard, thrusting monster of a cock. My body wasn't mine any longer, in any sense – I was numb, plastic, watching my bound legs sway like severed tree branches as my hips and ass got pulled against his giant, grunting form...slapped, molested, bent in half...manhandled into obscene positions at the whim of his frothing lust...skewered by a needy weapon I was now only dimly aware of...a long, swollen shadow flickering across my spent nerves...a fire that refused die…

Whenever I got hard, he'd stop whatever he was doing – no matter how much he was enjoying it – and viciously stroke my swollen cock. Either the pain would bully it back down into softness, or he'd force me to come yet again...meek little dribbles of thin white milk that barely seemed worth the effort, and only served to make me numb once more. Either way, he made sure I was limp and drained throughout the entire trial, unable to fully enjoy his hammering cock as it slammed in and out of my conquered hole – the only thing that would have made this experience worth it in the end.

Still, somehow...in some ugly, primordial way...I was stuck in an endless, carnal loop that could only be described as...rapture. I was aimless, thoughtless, powerless in every way...a drifting mound of carbon in an ocean of strange, alien lust. Not the simple lust of the body, no...my body didn't exist...this was something else entirely...something Beyond...

I was much too far gone to realize it then, but during this long, mind-bending transformation of my flesh into his...breaking me down into smaller and smaller pieces, until nothing remained but his reflection in the empty pool of my eyes...he never came. Not once.

My shoulders being crammed against the sweaty, scattered quilts of the bed when I began to emerge from the haze of sensation he'd been drowning me in. He was standing at full height, my cramped legs held tight against his sinewy flanks, his eyes like distant moons as they rolled back into his head, pumping deep into the Thing I'd become. I'd thought I'd known how sadistic he was, how utterly depraved. If I had known the true depths of his desire for me...or for what I represented to him, as that was all a Thing could be...I might not have had the nerve to set my malformed plan into motion…but it was far too late for that sort of thinking, even if I were capable of it.

Date night...remember. Wine and a movie. It's going to happen. After this is over with...after he's burnt himself out...keep yourself aware. Awake and alive. Be ready for that moment, whenever it comes...whatever it ends up being...and then...make him pay for this...

My numb, throbbing nipples suddenly burst into piercing, white-hot daggers – more than enough to rip me out of my stupor. He'd slapped the clothespins off of them, artless and crude. They were still clattering across the hardwood floor as my legs bloomed, imploded, expanded with a rush of blood and endless needles of nausea – he'd untied them, tossing the lengths blue rope over his broad, sweaty shoulder. He was hauling me to my feet now, but I wasn't able to stand – my legs had cramped up and fallen asleep some time ago. They were throbbing with a sickening agony that was beyond my ability to bare. I bellowed pitifully, pleading from the pit of my being, for he was the only one who could help me. I wasn't in control of my own body...his body…

He immediately laid me back down on the bed. I was twisting against the gripping, relentless pain in my legs, which was pushing me right back into tears. He had both my ankles in his strong hands seconds later, and then he was straightening my legs into the air, stretching them out, making them groan back to life as the spasms slowly died...now pushing them towards my face one at a time, stretching my hamstrings, my calf muscles, and even my buttocks...inviting blood back into them, one grinding compression at a time...now whispering something soft and warm into my ear that I couldn't quite make out, something that might have made me feel adored...

Once my legs had recovered, he carried me into the bathroom like a sack of flour. I found myself on the cold tile once more, the floor this time, slumped against the wall like a discarded mannequin with the handcuffs still clamping my wrists against my spine. I was being drenched in...something hot. Pungent. Sour.

“You're mine now, baby boy...” came his voice from somewhere far above me, rumbling in my skull. “You'll call me Master before this is over...and you'll do it all by yourself...”

The warmth of him was gone in moments, only to be replaced by an icy jolt from the showerhead as it spewed cold water across my skin.

The water was soon warm again. He was looming over me then, his veiny, grotesquely aroused cock pressed against my hair, my forehead, funneling a burning cascade of soapy water into my eyes. I was laid on the tiled bench some moments later, and his hands were on me again...soft and firm...lathering my limp muscles with soap and water, stinging me in deep places...checking my ass for signs of lasting injury...checking my eyes for signs of life.

Focus.

I blinked up at him through the billowing steam, silent and aware. He patted my cheek after a moment, and ran his thumb across the sopping scruff of my beard with something akin to tenderness.

“You lie right here, baby boy...you rest, now. You're doing so good. Holding up like a fuckin champ. You've still got another couple hours in you, at least...I'm not done with you yet.”

The door of the bathroom slammed shut, and then he was gone. The walls began to throb with muffled rock music, and I knew I was alone again. My mind had begun to recover itself, sharper by the second, until I was fully myself again. Awake and alive...

Over the course of many precious minutes, my hands still cuffed behind my back, I somehow managed to get to my feet. I pushed myself along the glass until I was out of the steamy shower stall, now standing in the empty bathroom between baby blue walls. I shuffled over to the sink – the foggy mirror – the medicine cabinet.

I opened it with my teeth, my jaw, the shaking muscles of my neck and back screaming in protest. I found what I was looking for in seconds, on the second shelf of the medicine cabinet. That was the plan, then. I hadn't been sure it even existed...but it'd been here the entire time, waiting for me to find it. 

Soon.

I shut the cabinet with my forehead and lurched back into the shower stall, where I collapsed into the steaming heat and the hard, shimmering tile.

Soon...

The bedroom was bleary and calm in the afternoon glow that leaked through the plastic blinds, bathing everything in sterile white. My wrists were burning where the handcuffs had been digging into them for so many hours. My shoulders were still pulled back behind me, aching sharply, forearms crossed and pinned beneath the small of my back. My body was sprawled in plain view – he'd really done a number on me. Smeared red marks from his open hand, faintly purple bruises from his fingers and fists. My dick was only just beginning to recover from his ferocious milking. Its foreskin was puffy and swollen nearly to the size of a tennis ball, matching the pummeled pink scrotum below it.

He’d barely given me time to dry myself before he’d pushed me onto his bed, naked and cold, balls shrinking into my groin. He'd been very quick to lay me out and push my legs open, and very quick to leave the room afterward. The quilt was gone, and the sheets smelled clean, telling me he'd changed them. I stayed on my back, every part of me aching and ready to cramp...but I dared not move. I had to keep playing the part. It was the only way.

He’d keep doing what he wanted with my body, but I knew I’d already won – he just didn't know it yet. Our positions would be very different once the sun went down, and I wasn’t going to waste any energy crying over whatever brutal humiliation he had planned for me now. I only wished I were still in that dreamlike place...drifting beyond all sensation...

The wind was picking up again outside, battering the sides of the house with another groaning snowstorm that would continue well into the night. I could hear shifting and banging in other parts of the house, ominous echoes…

He finally emerged from the hallway, still just as naked as I was. His dark-furred chest was heaving a little, covered in sheen of fresh sweat, and his eyes were bright and dancing. He was carrying something. I craned my neck – stiff black stalks, metal and plastic – a tripod and a digital camcorder.

 “What are you gonna do?” My voice was gravel.

He grinned, white teeth against black beard, but it wasn’t kind. “I don’t know why I wasn’t doing it before, but I’m gonna film this. I want to remember the look on your face. I want to remember that big hairy muscle ass, and that sexy little hole of yours, exactly how they look right now. I’ll jack off to it for years, I bet – even if I never see you again.”

The fact that it was even a question only hardened my resolve.

He went about setting up the tripod in front of me, positioning it between my feet at the foot of the bed. My voice was meek when I finally said something. “You’re not – you’re going to keep it? The video?”

He grinned again as he mounted the camera, but it was only a gesture this time, a reflexive social cue. “Of course I’m gonna keep it, boy. Take it as a compliment. I don’t fiddle with this damned thing very often.” He stood up and adjusted the height until it was hovering a foot or so above my open legs, tilted slightly downward. The red light flashed on, now recording every part of me it could see. It introduced a coldness to the imminent fucking that I'd never felt before...a presence of unknowable eyes and minds, peering cynically at my battered, naked body from grim futures that hadn't happened yet. It was a masturbating stranger as much as it was the hot, judgmental blonde girl in my history class...my parents...

His dick was very hard and very large, demanding most of my attention. It bobbed in his pubic hair as he moved behind the camera, bringing me into focus. “Now turn yourself over on your belly. That’s right...you can squirm for it...”

Turning over was harder than it should have been, between my weary muscles threatening to give out and having my hands cuffed behind my back. I finally got onto my stomach, hissing bitterly as my swollen, impossibly sore nipples scrapped against the dry cloth of the sheets.

His hand appeared at my ass, tapped it. “Put this fine thing in the air for me. That’s it. Higher...there.” I pushed my face into the bedding and grunted as I pulled my sore knees up, jutting my ass towards the camera as his warm hand guided me. My buttocks spread open as I did this, opening my hole to the faint breeze of the room. He squeezed me, and his hand left my skin. I heard him positioning the camera. “That’s right – that’s a beautiful shot right there...don't move.”

His finger suddenly dug into me, pulling me open methodically, as if he were inspecting a horse. I felt the lovely ache of blood rushing into my bloated cock despite the dull, nagging pain – and because of it. “Yeah – that’ll do. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

His finger left me as he positioned himself at the head of the bed, his impressively dense mass hovering just above me. The mattress complained as he placed his knees on either side of my head, his hands now clamping down upon my straining shoulders to support his weight. I felt the tip of his hard cock nudge against my scalp as he did so. He took it in his hand and slapped it against my bearded cheek. “Put it in your mouth.”

I hesitated, suddenly crushed by the realization that I'd never had a man's cock in my mouth.

 “Did you hear me?”

 “Yeah – yes, sir – but I can’t lift myself.”

 “No excuses.” He pulled a pillow from behind his ass and shoved it underneath my chest. It gave me just enough support that my nose was touching the sticky tip of his dick. I opened my eyes.

It engulfed my vision. Huge and blushing and purple at the tip...throbbing veins against pale skin and black pubic hair...massive furry ballsack hanging below...thickly muscled thighs closing in on all sides. “Now put it in your goddamned mouth.” He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back, straining my neck and throat. The head of his huge erection dragged along my chin, leaving a trail of sticky precum that I could smell. “After all I’ve done for you...after all the bits of you I’ve sucked on...this isn’t too much to ask. Is it…?”

I resigned myself once again, thinking only of what came after. “No, sir.”

“That’s good.” He took his dick in his free hand and pushed it past my lips, holding me still with a fistful of hair. I opened wide for him, wondering how it would all fit. “I'll make you bleed if you bite me, boy...”

I could only grunt stiffly through my nose, muscles twitching from head to toe as he slowly, deliberately pushed his dick past my lips and into the back of my throat. The overpowering taste of his scent – musk and sweat and salt – filled my mouth, my nose, my brain. I could feel my eyes watering. Precum was pouring out of his stalk, sliding down my throat and into me, lubricating my gullet as he pushed even further into it.

I gagged heavily, choking, frantically sucking air through my nose as the head of his dick filled my mouth, throat, esophagus. I was doing everything I could not to graze his cock with my teeth, even when I was sure I'd suffocate on it.

He only laughed. “What a fuckin amateur you are... Too much for you? You gonna make me stop before I'm done?”

I shook my head, even if I knew it wouldn't matter.

His hand left the base of his dick and ran roughly down the straining muscles of my arching back, following the tensing curve of my spine until it reached the cleft of my clenching ass cheeks. His fingers found my hole tender, lax. Subjugated.

He pushed into it, and I gagged loudly, wetly, on his cock. “Beautiful fucking ass,” he growled, as he began to fuck my face slowly, steadily. My jaw ached like a wound, pounding at the base of my skull – stuck in a continuous state of dry heaving – but I kept it wide for him, kept my throat open as his dick slid in and out of it like any other quivering hole.

His rough fingers forced their way past the wincing asshole at the other end of my body. There wasn't any lube left inside of me after that last shower. It hurt, and I clenched tighter.

 “Aw, poor Mikey...” He rubbed it tenderly, massaging the exposed valley of my ass. He bent over me, pushing his dick even deeper as I sputtered around it, saliva gushing from the sides of my mouth to catch the tears running down my cheeks. He spit, letting a huge dollop of mucus fall straight onto my hole. I felt its warmth there, felt it going cold already – but not before his fingers returned to push his own slime into me.

My dick was raging, aching, my stiffening erection steadily pushing past the swollen barrier of my own foreskin. My body had already forgotten the trauma of the afternoon's grueling ordeal, now that my cock was finally back in action. Even now, it was primed and ready to receive the sort of fucking he'd given me the very first time. Funny how well it remembered the pleasure so blindly...hungered for it, welcomed it, as if nothing else existed in all the world...traitor...

I could feel my cock heat up from the inside out as he pulled my ass cheeks apart and pushed his fingers into me. I felt a spreading pain as he pushed in a third...and then a sharp, searing pain as he added the fourth…

I tried to yell no, please, I’m sorry – but I could only choke pathetically on the hot meat of his cock as he fucked it into my skull, tears smearing my perfect view of the angry black thicket of his musky pubic hair.

All the while, the camera watched...

All things end, and so did that terrible afternoon.

I was sitting on the stiff black leather of the couch in his living room. I was slowly remembering what it was like to feel comfortable and calm, fresh enough from a third and final shower. He'd allowed me to put on a fresh pair of his boxer briefs, as well as one of his old t-shirts, which was a loose fit even for me. We'd eaten a quiet dinner in the kitchen not so long before that, some kind of steaming, waxy takeout that I'd already forgotten the taste of. I'd been hungry – ravenous – but eating with him had been a mechanical action. Pure maintenance.

A soft, folded blanket had been placed beneath my branded, aching buttocks, for which I was thankful. I had a wine glass in my hand, having just drained it completely. The wine he liked was red, cheap, but potent at least. We were already on our second bottle.

He sat to my right, wearing only a pair of loose gray pajama bottoms. His hand was stuffed in the front of them, stroking his hardening sex as he sipped his own wine and watched the giant television screen in front of us. The long, arduous ordeal he'd put me through that afternoon had apparently satisfied the sadistic monster lurking inside of him, at least for now. In fact, he'd been almost jovial since we'd started our “date night” of wine and a movie...most likely due to the specific movie he'd chosen for us to watch. I had to remind myself that this was exactly what I'd asked for, my prize for winning the bet. I knew I had absolutely no room to complain, but...

He'd hooked his digital camcorder into the mass of black electronics that comprised this entertainment system. He was playing the video he'd finished recording just before dinner.The television was glowing with a sharp, high definition image of my open ass. I’d never dreamed of seeing it this way, in such excruciating detail. Flaming red cheeks, permanently inflamed by his slapping, fading into pink as they curved inward to meet a ring of dark hair that enveloped a pulsing sphincter - a ring of stretched, swollen muscle that was very much alive with effort and pain. Its color was a deep, angry red, and it was tightening in vain around the bulk of four spit-slick fingers. I could hear myself clearly over his state-of-the-art sound system, whimpering and pleading with my lips around his cock, indecipherable weeping sounds doing their best to beg for mercy.

“Too late for that, bitch,” his deep voice rolled over mine from the speakers. He spit on his knuckles and pushed them deeper, stirring them back and forth as my entire ass convulsed around him, hole to cheek. The digital self on the television screen cried out, gurgling on hard cock.

He laughed beside me, physical and present, and raised his wine glass. “Bottoms up, muscle-tits. You're a prize fuckin stud. I can't even remember what put you on my shit list, but you're damn sure off it now! Seriously, I'm impressed. I thought you'd pass out a lot sooner, but I worked you over for what – four, five hours? And you had enough left in you for this fuckin Oscar winner right here. You're something special, boy. If you only knew what some sickos would pay to see this...”

I muttered something that might have been mildly appreciative, but I was mortified. I could feel myself blushing deeply as I sucked down the last swig of wine, hoping it would numb this moment, and give me courage. On the television, the camera tilted and swung wide with digital blur – he’d picked it up. Part of me dreaded watching what came next, but the rest was getting severely turned on by it. I couldn't look away. I didn't want to.

The camera worked its way up to my flushed, straining face, where he stopped. He filmed himself fucking my teary, snotty face a for bit, then lowered the camera to the bed. This new angle gave us a view of my hard, swollen cock bobbing beneath my bent hips, dribbling a pitiful stream of precum onto the bed sheets below – a bold confirmation to go with the sounds of my mouth being sloppily fucked between gulping whimpers that I couldn't believe were mine.

It wasn’t long before was he was obsessively filming my hole again, along with the fingers filling it. I’d always wondered what it would be like to watch myself have sex on camera, like all the porn stars I'd lusted after. I’d never guessed it would be quite so vulgar, much less with another guy...or so intensely focused on the brutalization of my ass.

He was touching himself next to me now, his huge cock rising until it had punched through the slit of his boxers. How was he always so hard?

“More wine, sir?” I asked politely, taking his empty glass as he offered it.

“Sure, sure – kitchen and back, boy. Don't be long.” He slapped my ass as I walked by him, and I stumbled as my legs almost shook out from under me. It was so uncannily sore…

I glanced back at him before going into the kitchen. He was drunk and distracted. His dark eyes were glued to the screen, grinning in awe at the perverse chain of events playing out in front of him. Still, I'd have to be extremely discreet...

I uncorked a half-empty bottle of cheap wine on the counter. I stood with my back to him, keeping my stance loose and timid, invisible...but listening so intently I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. He was snickering to himself in the living room, still enthralled...good.

From the a tight, hidden fold in the crotch of my boxers, I produced six golden pills – liquid benadryl. Enough to knock him out, I hoped. It was all I could do to keep my hands from shaking as I split each pill with my fingernails – as fast as I could – and dumped their contents into his glass of wine. The digitized whine of my own pained, mewling voice filled the entire house, urging me onward.

I let the limp, empty capsules disappear down the drain in the sink, my entire body tensing into my spine. I turned around slowly with the glasses in hand, close to chewing through my own lip. If he'd seen…

He was still drunk, still distracted, leaning back on the couch and rubbing his crotch, as if he hadn't even noticed I was gone. I handed him his glass of wine and joined him there, wincing as I lowered my poor ass back into my seat. He was already dumping a huge gulp of wine down his throat...then another, eyes dancing across his handiwork as it flickered on the screen.

The anxious pressure bearing down on me finally lifted in that clean, beautiful instant, expelled into the atmosphere like so much smoke. It had been crushing me ever since I'd stolen the pills form his medicine cabinet, after that last shower. I was on the home stretch now.

Focus…

On the screen, his hand had all but disappeared into my supplicant ass. His wrist was shaking with effort as he kneaded it into me, and my digital self was screaming around his stifling cock. The gutted feeling of this assault was still fresh in my memory, but I knew I'd been painfully hard in that shot. The deeper he'd dug his fingers into me, the harder my cock had become, well on its way to recovering its full strength.

“Ohhh, you breaking yet, boy? You ready to snap? Huh?” his digital self cooed as he savagely knuckle-fucked me.

“Nooooo – no sir – please, sir, pleeease stooppp…!” 

I cringed. That couldn't be my voice. I sounded like a broken doll, a slaughtered victim in a slasher movie.

“Tell me you want it! Tell me you want my cock – before I shove my whole fuckin fist up in you!”

“PleasesirIwantyourcock!”

“Huh?!?” His knuckles fucked into me even faster, harder, deliberately punching into my guts until everything but his thumb had disappeared into my obscenely stretched hole.

My digital self wailed keenly, reduced to wordless pain and real, genuine terror. “Please, sir – I want your cock in me!” its voice cried, sobbing openly. He believed it, because I was telling the truth.

The camera whirled again, and came to rest at the head of the bed. The shot had me laid out on my belly,hands bound behind me, ass perked high in the air above them. My bearded face was front and center, quashed against the mattress, wet with tears and twisted with fear...but somehow I was still handsome. I was sniveling and swallowing the sobs, for he'd finally taken his hand out of me. The fingers of that hand where now caressing my beard, wiping the tears away, running through my sweaty dark hair...pretending to comfort me.

“Good boy. God damn...you can take a fuckin beating! Never met anybody who could take this much, bounce back this quick...not even close. You've fuckin impressed me, boy...” His hand clamped down on the back of my neck, pushing my throat into the sheets. “What do you say? Huh?”

 “Th-thank you, sir,” my red face croaked, looking away from the camera in shame.

 “Good boy.”

The image blurred as he grabbed the camera again, giving us an aerial view of my prone body, the bruised muscles of my back taut and glistening under a bright sheen of sweat. My hands were fists in the clinking metal handcuffs, knuckles white with dread. He zoomed down at my tortured ass once again, his left hand pulling it apart while his right hand filmed. My digital self whimpered as he spit onto my hole, two massive wads of saliva and phlegm that spread across that gaping, pink crevice before disappearing into the wide, dilated center – captured in vivid detail as they glistened between the tender wrinkles of velvety red flesh.“We’re gonna do this the natural way now,boy. Just like the cavemen use to do it – the way God intended.” 

My digital self grunted and writhed as the camera zoomed in on the head of his cock pushing into me. I was loosening up as he spit onto my ass a few more times, opening myself up as much as I could, like a ruddy flower of tenderized flesh – but it wasn't quite enough. The shower had flushed any remaining lubricant out of me – he was basically going in dry...

It didn't matter. He'd bottomed out in seconds, and he was fucking me hard soon after that, with barely any warmup at all. I was crying, moaning, groaning, begging, sure that he was tearing a hole in my guts. The screen tilted as he slapped my ass hard, snickering like a bully as he fucked me raw. The camera began to alternate between the enormous cock slamming into my sweaty, clenching ass – and my hard, bouncing cock beneath it. Just to prove that I was enjoying every minute of it...or, at least, that my body was. I couldn't remember which was true. I only remembered surrendering to it…and then nothing at all. The camera remembered, though. The camera would never forget.

He kept fucking my limp, sweaty body long after I'd fainted beneath him. He was bending its powerful, lifeless muscles into all kinds of degenerate positions, as sex doll that wore my face. It was completely surreal to watch this with him, as if it were a snuff film he'd run across, as if it were happening to someone else. It was gut-wrenching, humiliating...and also hot. Extremely hot. Obscene in every possibly way. My cock – my real cock, my present cock – was so hard it hurt. I crossed my legs, hoping he wouldn't notice.

He didn't. He was laughing next to me, loud enough to rattle my chest, stroking himself and rewinding to re-watch the parts he liked with increasingly hooded eyes. He'd drained his drug-laced glass of wine in minutes, and had eventually finished the rest of the second bottle all by himself.Before long, his bald head was swaying above his wide shoulders, smiling dreamily beneath his beard, already too drunk to stand without help.

Finally the video ended with a long, lingering shot of my engorged cock where it drooled against my flat belly...the fuzzy pink lump of my ballsack...and the gallon of cum that had been deposited into my gaping, worn-out hole, oozing into the sheets like cream from a crushed eclair. The screen then tilted into wrinkled beige cloth as the bed creaked and shifted, followed by the muffled slurping of his mouth sucking his own cum out of my flaccid hole...eventually joined by my confused, wavering moans as I awoke to the unnerving sensation of a vacuum turning me inside-out...

He shifted his bleary head towards me when the screen went black, letting the remote fall between the couch cushions. His eyes were pleasant and bloodshot, his smile broad, authentic...pleased. He put one beefy arm on the head of the couch and stretched his magnificent body to meet me, beefy muscles flexing above his over-stuffed pajamas, pale and flushed beneath his luxurious black body hair. The purple head of his engorged cock poked out of his waistband as his heavy thigh ground against my hard crotch. “I think I’m drunk enough to let you be on top this time, boy. Bounce you up and down like a rodeo cowboy, heh...” His words were slurred, soupy and rich. His hand was groping my tenderized pec over the loose shirt I wore. “Heh...fuck yeah, boy...you can saddle up and ride me into the sunset…I bet your ass will love being in control for once, eh? Prob' a good idea, at this point...yeah...n' I'll definitely let you cum this time, if you even can...earned it, n' then some...”

Part of me tried to feel proud, to revel in his praise, but I quashed it down into nothing.

His heavy hand dropped down onto the stiff mound of my cock, where it was tenting my boxers. “Can't believe you're up for more after the marathon we had...seriously though, boy...you might just need to rest a bit...we can skip the bronco thing, you know...let your poor little pussy heal up...just say the word...” He was kissing my mouth sloppily between words, drowning me in his husky, sour, wine-choked breath. “We can cuddle up and suck each other off, hit the hay after that...just like you wanted...” His clumsy hands were lifting up my shirt, fondling me like a perverted uncle as his significant weight began to crush me into the couch.

I was kissing him back without thinking. The drug was working. His defenses were weakening by the second. I could enjoy him now, in ways I couldn't before...

My greedy hands were running over the solid muscle of his bare shoulders, down the succulent planes of his broad back...lower. I'd invaded his loose pajamas against my better judgment, perhaps too soon, but I finally had my hands around the furry meat of his mature, muscular ass. It was everything I could do not to slip my fingers into the raging heat between them.

He was far too drunk to care, thankfully. My touch was only horning him up, making him slobber into my beard as his kisses dissolved into hungry moans. My cock was throbbing under his palm…

He fell back against the couch, doing everything he could to keep his eyes open. “Boy...I am fuuuuucked up, heh...” He was grinning and open, friendly and vulnerable. If things had gone differently between us, in some parallel universe, I'd have been charmed enough to crawl on top of his massive body and kiss him again, to guide his cock back into my ass and fuck myself on it, right there on the couch...but I knew this wasn't him. It was a fluke – a pleasant, temporary anomaly.

“Let's get you to bed,” I told him, using a shy smile to mask a hint of command. I knew I wouldn't be able to lift him if he passed out too early.

He raised his giant arms and held his hands out with a dazed smile, like a musclebound toddler ready to be lifted into my arms. I grabbed his forearms and pulled him to his feet, where he sank into me without warning. I wobbling for a moment before I found my balance under his heavy bulk, letting him lean into me as I guided him down the hall to his room.

I even held his semi-hard cock for him while he swayed above the toilet moments later, as it unleashed an endless jet of clear piss into the bowl. He was steadying himself with both hands against the wall above the toilet. His eyes were closed, head bobbing, a languorous expression overtaking his relaxed face, making it...handsome. Pure. This was the moment when my lust finally caught up to the logic my plans for him – when I finally started to want him the way I needed to want him, if this was going to work. I'd only been technically sure I was capable of it, until that moment.

My fingers dug into the hot flesh of his waist where his pajama bottoms had been pushed away...my eyes drank in the pale expanse of his powerful, furry body like a private buffet, relaxed and undefended...his meat was thick and warm in my palm, flexing absently as the last drops of piss dribbled from its tip...

He collapsed onto the bed seconds later, bouncing heavily on his stomach. I watched as he stubbornly clawed his way up towards the headboard and flipped himself onto his back. He let his legs fall open, hands loose at his sides, his giant, furry chest heaving with drunken effort. The pajamas had been dragged halfway down his waist, exposing the meaty curve of his well-toned hips along with half his giant cock, which was already hardening again. He panted heavily as I stripped off my shirt. He was watching me with his dark, hooded eyes, studying the contours of my form for the thousandth time along with all the various brands he'd left on it. He slowly patted the bed beside his hip, beckoning me.

I joined him, laying down beside him. He growled playfully, like a bear, and wrapped me in his arms. Stubble and lips attacked my neck. Big hands ran over my thighs and my hips and the small of my back, into my boxers, drowning me in goosebumps. If only this were all he was...this powerful, lusty creature with strong, eager hands...

His lusty embrace was over as fast as it had begun, seeping away with the last of his energy. I burrowed against his flank as his heavy arm fell around my shoulders. I pressed my skin against his, sinking into his rippling heat. I let my hand snake across the powerful thickness of his torso, making him stretch and purr like a basking lion. I rested my head on his barrel of a chest, his heart hammering steadily into my skull, his body expanding into mine with each rumbling breath. His hot, hairy armpit was inches from my nose. His potent musk was making my head spin, keeping my cock hard against his thigh.

Focus. He just needs to pass out...almost have him...

“Why?” he asked suddenly, yanking himself back from the brink of sleep.

“Why...why what?”

His heavy hand had fallen over mine, pinning it against his chest, fingers strangely intertwined. “Why did...you want this? For...your bet. Why'd you want this?”

I shrugged against him, relaxing into another easy lie. “I, uh...I told you, right? I just wanted to...see what this was like. While I had the chance.” His even breathing told me he was still awake, still listening. I was nibbling my way down his body as I spoke, following my instincts. “I guess, if you really want to know...I'm gonna get married some day, right? I thought maybe I'd be a better husband, when the time comes, if I knew what it was like to...er...what it felt like to be a wife.” I pulled the elastic waistband of his pajamas away from the long shaft of his engorged manhood, inhaling it with every sense. “A normal wife, with a...a normal husband. You know...” I kissed the head of his cock, tasted the salt of his sweat, a pearl of his precum. “Normal...couples...do stuff like this, right? Not the crazy stuff...just this.” Was I rambling? I was rambling...

“More like a son,” he grunted absently, stroking my hair. He grinned to himself, lost in thought. “I got a...actually...”

 “Yeah?” I asked, taking his thick cock into my mouth as I looked up at him, wishing he'd just shut up...but, to my surprise, I was immediately turned on the second his sex touched my lips. This was nothing like getting face-fucked at ramming speed. It belonged in my mouth. It was hard and aggressive, but also soft. Velvety skin shifted loosely over its long, sturdy shaft, hot meat throbbing against my tongue. It tasted just like him...it tasted so good...

A sloppy moan grumbled out of his throat, his hand now a fistful of hair. “I've got a son, you know...about your age...” He grinned as my mouth became more confident, kneading the belly of his cock with my tongue as male intuition took over. “You kinda remind me of 'im, actually… I think that's why I like you so much better n' all the others.”

He pulled my mouth off his cock, a thick string of slime dripping between my panting mouth to the head of his raging sex. His drugged eyes were looking right at me, into me. “You're better 'n him, even...at least, I like you better...”

“No way...you're just saying that...” I was blushing awkwardly, even if he was too drunk to notice.

He pulled my hair, turning my face up to his. His eyes were only half open, and he was obviously intoxicated, but his voice was hard. Clear. “My son's a faggot. A real faggot, not like you and me. He's got no use for pussy at all, that boy...which means I'm not ever gonna have no fuckin gran'kids...” He was sneering as he said it, disgusted at the very thought. “And he's got no fuckin dignity either. Lets the whole goddamn world know his business, like it's something to be proud of...like anybody wants to hear it...like it wouldn't ruin his family's good name...he's a fuckin disgrace.”

Without warning, he spat powerfully into my face. I took it without complaint, because I knew he was looking at his son in that moment – spitting in the face of his son, who must look so much like me. “His fuckin mother...” he huffed angrily, throwing his head back into the pillow. “I don't know why I ever married that hippie. She ruined that boy...so she can keep him. They can both rot down there...”

I took his cock into my mouth again, and that shut him up. He grumbled happily, opening his knees to me, and I slid right into the heat between his thick, hairy thighs. I gripped the root of his towering cock and slathered it with gushing saliva, circling the cockhead with my eager tongue, flicking its piss slit, hungrily caressing the entire length of its shaft. I was kneading it with my entire sweat-slick face, sucking up whatever I could fit down my throat, happy even to gag myself on it. I was immediately in love with sucking off this massive organ, this gorgeous piece of rhythmic meat. The man it was attached to had quickly faded into the distant groans that only existed to tell me what felt best. This was amazing…

I no longer intended to finish him quickly. I wanted this to last all night...

“Oh fuck, boy...fuck...you're so fuckin good...bitches ain't got nothin' on this buck's mouth, so sir...such a good boy...my favorite boy, best buck I've ever…oh, sweet baby, sweet boy...I'm never gonna let you go, you hear me…? I...gonna...lo...you...oh...gonna keep you...forever...”

No, you won't...

My throat vibrated around his cock as I responded with long, low, hungry groan. I was projecting eager, wordless acceptance – playing the part – but what really mattered was the sudden, unwitting hummer I was giving him.

He came with a deep, shuddering sigh, his meat swelling in my mouth – and then the head of his cock exploded with a searing gush against the back of my throat. It burst hotly from my mouth even as it rushed down my gullet – nearly choking me. Its taste and smell were inescapable, overpowering – pure mineral sex. I heaved as it drenched my senses, pulling back to save myself. His giant, pulsing cock flopped out of my mouth with a sticky splat against his belly. It was leaking runny pearls of juice, slowly deflating as I watched with childlike fascination, cum burbling down my chin.

The pungent mess that coated my entire mouth became less repulsive every time I swallowed, each slippery gulp more oddly satisfying than the last. The taste of his cock was still lingered, mixing with his cum, creating a perfect nectar. How had I never known I loved sucking cock?Why had I waited so long to taste another man's cum? I was licking it off of his firm stomach in seconds, not craving its taste so much as its essence. I didn't stop until I'd swallowed every drop of his jism I could find, vaguely disappointed that it grew cold so quickly...

He was snoring far above me, rumbling like a distant earthquake that snapped me out of my cum-addled fever dream. His hands had fallen open at his sides. His chest rose and feel in to shallow, even beat, his eyes closed and dreaming. He had finally passed out. I'd won...but not before I'd discovered this final, mind-twisting truth about myself. I loved sucking cock. Loved it. I was definitely going to do it again...as often as I possibly could...but...I couldn't imagine sucking another cock. I craved him – his taste, his scent, his seed – on a visceral, carnal, chemical level. I craved his physical sex just as deeply as I knew he craved mine...I had from the start...

I flushed those thoughts away with the rest of the garbage, and made myself cold again. None of that mattered. Pure lust was a neutral, elemental force – older than even the reptile's mind. It didn't care that this man was unpredictable, dangerous, a threat to my entire future. No, it only wanted to...fuck him.

I grinned as my cock strained deliciously against my boxers. Yes. I was going to fuck him. In every way I could...but I had work to do before all that, and the night wasn't getting any younger.

I pulled myself off his body slowly, carefully, but it wasn't necessary. He was totally dead to the world, a listless sack of flesh, just as I'd needed him to be. I crossed the room to his dresser and searched through the junk in the top drawer. Socks, an unloaded pistol, zip-lock bags full of foreign coins…

I felt like a new man when I finally snapped his own handcuffs around his wrists, binding them behind his back just as he'd done to me. By the time I'd knotted the last of the rope around his slumbering bulk, I was completely reborn...