FSE

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~Prologue~

*Tuesday*

Micah was not happy when the doorbell rang interrupting his research on a new invisibility spell. Micah was even unhappier when he saw that the people who were gracing his front porch tonight were Rod and five small college nerds. He did not know who they were, and did not particularly care. He may go to college there, but Micah completed most of his learning at home. And the fact that they were accompanied by Rod was even worse. Likely, something was awry, and he would most likely have to spend the rest of the evening resolving it. "What's wrong Rod?" he asked.

"These five twerps would like you to cast a spell for them. They say that if you don't, then they'll haul you down to the police station." Rod smirked. Micah could tell he found that amusing, considering that no jail cell could hold him for very long, and he'd likely disappear before it ever came to that. That meant there was something larger going on here. Since Rod could erase their memories if he so chose, Micah figured he might as well play along.

"Hmm...And what evidence do they have?"

"They say that they know about Mike."

"Mike, eh? Well, I guess I don't have much choice. Come on in, and I'll see what I can do."

The group hesitantly wandered in, just beginning to realize that they may have gotten in over their heads, but Micah wasn't about to let them back down now. He was going to teach them the penalties of trying to blackmail a wizard and his sidekick. Technically Rod was his apprentice, but they both preferred sidekick instead. Considering how quickly he progressed the few years prior, Micah was beginning to worry about whether or not Rod was going to be able to fully control his powers. He closed the door behind them and asked, "So what kind of spell are you looking for? I specialize in curses, but I have a wide variety to choose from, but from your gumption, I'd say you already have something in mind."

Timidly, one of them stepped forward, named Peter. He answered, "We want revenge. On these guys." He handed Micah five plastic bags, each containing a photo and a sample of hair. They were nothing if not thorough. The five pictures all showed fairly athletic men in their twenties.

Rod looked over his shoulder and said, "Targeting the football team eh?"

"Of course," Micah thought, "Nerds always want revenge on the football team. The envy of a nerd is matched only by the athlete's vanity. They're all idiotic."

"Ok...but first I need to know a few more specifics," he said after studying the photos. He tore a few pages out of a nearby notebook, and gathered a few scattered pens. "I'll need each of you to pick one of these fellows here, write down what exactly you would like to happen to them, and then I'll need a few drops of your blood on the sheet."

"Our blood? Why?" The smallest one stammered, Bryce.

"Well, I have to have some sort of connection to your hatred. That's what fuels revenge after all. And I don't hate these people, so your blood will have to do." Micah passed out the sheets and then told Rod to go down to the basement and fetch the ceremonial blood knife.

One of the nerds, Evan, piped up and said, "No way are you getting my blood. You might use it on a spell against us."

Micah turned towards him, "Of course I'm using you fools in the spell. You're the ones with the motivation that can move it. You think I care about some stupid football team?"

"Hey, these guys are jerks!" A different one said, Orson I believe, "Are you defending them?" He was shorter and wider than Micah, but he still got as close to his face as he could, attempting to look intimidating.

Micah laughed, "Are you threatening me? Your little plot of blackmail is cute certainly, but I could disintegrate your right here with a thought and an incantation. I'm helping you five out of the good of my own heart. So if I could get your requests and your blood, I'd like you to be out of my hair as soon as possible."

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea guys," Evan said.

"I don't think you have much of a choice but to follow through. I have agreed to your request, and I will have your blood, whether it be by force or not. You will hold up your end of the contract."

They all looked fearfully from one to another, and then scribbled down a few lines on the sheets. When Rod got back, he pricked each of them, squeezed their blood onto the sheets, placed them in their respective bags, and then ushered them out the door. Micah told them that they could expect results the day after next, Thursday, and he would contact them Friday for a follow up.

After gathering up the papers and the bags, Micah turned to Rod and asked, "Is there any particular reason you felt that this intrusion was necessary?"

"One of them was resistant to mind wipes, so I figured you should handle it."

"I see. Well, I think I know just the thing for those twerps, and the football team they are so resolute on destroying. I should have everything so I can finish by tomorrow evening."

He sat down to look at the sheets, and the childish curses they had devised for their alleged tormentors. Of course, they didn't know that the spell he had in mind, at least after some modification. "Such pitiful curses," he thought, "a waste of my talents really, but I will fulfill them none the less. And they will certainly be in for a surprise come Thursday. Quite a surprise indeed." Micah handed Rod a list of ingredients and the bags, "Start boiling these in water. I'll be down after I change."

"What exactly are you planning?"

"Why, to exact their revenge of course, but they should have thought about the burden revenge places upon their souls. So I will place the burden for them. I'm planning an old pagan curse my Grandmother taught me. Very potent, but the person who casts it receives a piece of the revenge they enact as well, in proportion to the sin they hold within their own souls."

"Which means what exactly?"

Micah sighed. Rod may be talented, but he wasn't exactly knowledgeable about the intricacies of spells. "Basically, those nerds are about to get a massive dose of 'what comes around, goes around,' courtesy of Micah the Magnificent."

Rod nodded, and then asked, "But what about their redemption?"

"I think we'll handle that at the Friday follow up session." Micah said, and then went upstairs to change.

After a shower and donning his robe, Micah met Rod downstairs in the basement, stirring the boiling cauldron. I walked over to where he had placed the bags and the matching sheets, and tried to decide whom to start with. After a moment of consideration, he picked up Evan's sheet. "He had been so worried about the state of his blood, I may as well get him done first." he thought. The sheet said that Evan wanted George Grisham to become a 400-pound glutton. "Probably envious of his muscles," he thought, "but I have feeling that as much as George is going to enjoy his new body, Evan might like it even more."

Chapter 1 ~ A Taste of Gluttony

*Wednesday*

Evan didn't like that wizard one bit, but as he sat in Biology looking at George's toned muscles, he felt the old anger rising in him again. He'd seen the way George treated himself. He was a pig. He ate no vegetables, tons of fat, and drank four or five beers every night, yet nothing covered his ripped six-pack. Coming from a childhood of weight-watching and excruciating diets, Evan wanted George to know the pain of ridicule because of one's weight. That's why he was training to be a nutritionist; hopefully he could get rid of obesity once and for all, so no kid would have to go through what he did. But people like George deserved to be fat. They deserved to be ridiculed for their poor diet. But all that would change tomorrow. In the morning, George would be a 400-pound hog with no control over his gluttony. He wished he could be there to see his shocked face, but imagining it was almost as good.

As the professor finished up the lesson, Evan rounded off his daily notes, and then packed up. It was the last class of the day, and he wanted to see how the other guys were doing. They had decided to head over to the football field to watch the last practice any of those five would have.

He ran into Bryce in the hallway, a black eye still fresh on his face, "Who was it this time?" Evan asked as they walked towards the normal meeting place.

"Kenneth. He 'accidentally' swung his hand into my face. Apparently, I'm so short he didn't see me there." Evan saw a tear well up in his friend's normal eye, but he knew better than to comment on it. Bryce preferred to suffer in solitude. "I'm just glad Sam's gonna get it tomorrow. Let's see how he likes getting picked on and beaten up."

"Yeah, we'll see. They're all gonna get it."

The walked out into the sunlit quad, and started off towards the stadium. Orson was already there on one of the upper levels, watching the team warm up. Bryce and Evan sat next to him and waited for Peter and Daniel to arrive. They sat in relative silence, and when Peter and Daniel sat down next to them, they didn't speak either. They all just watched their targets, eagerly anticipating the next day's change. Evan watched George sprint down the field, ball in hand, and imagined him waddling between the refrigerator and the couch. "How sweet revenge is," he thought.

They all got bored before the practice finished and set off on their separate ways. Evan went back to his dorm room, and got into some gym clothes, looking at his body before he left. He wasn't unattractive by any measure, but there was still that last bit of gut he couldn't get rid of no matter how he tried. Cursed with a slow metabolism, he had been the fat kid most of his life, until he resolved to end it in high school. He'd changed a lot since then, but he'd never been able to measure up to George.

After working out in the gym for an hour, he headed back to his room to do a little studying before he went to sleep, but organic chemistry couldn't hold his attention. All he could think about was how great it would be to finally see George get his comeuppance. He turned in early, eagerly anticipating his first taste of revenge.

*Thursday*

Evan startled awake, and looked around the room for a moment, unsure of where he was. It seemed like he should be in a dorm room, but that didn't make any sense. He'd never been to college. He got a job at the local bakery right out of school. Cooking was his passion, especially when he could cook for men who loved to eat.

He heaved himself up, and staggered into the bathroom. After taking a piss, he took stock in the mirror. For some reason, he kept thinking things had been different. Like he had been thin, and pretty muscular, but he hadn't been thin in years. He wasn't exactly fat, but at 230 pounds with a healthy gut, he was definitely husky, not that there was anything wrong with that. The fatter the better he thought. Any man without a little fat on him was a waste of space.

He passed his unease off as a lingering dream and back in his bedroom he got on his uniform, then went out into the still black morning. Climbing into his car, he drove over to Kathy's Bakery so he could get help out before the morning rush. His famous doughnuts were known city wide, and some people would travel miles out of their way to get one. Everyone at the bakery knew how to make them, but he still liked to supervise and help out. He pulled into a spot at the back of the parking lot, and headed over to the small bakery. Kathy was in the front of the store, wiping down tables for the first customers. "Hey Evan," she said, "How are you doing this morning?"

"Same old, same old," he replied, "So who's working today?"

"Donald, Michelle, Gary and Larissa. They're in the back finishing the morning goods. Would you mind running the register today? Fran's sick, and no one else is trained but you and me."

"I can do it," Evan replied, a bit grudgingly. Register wasn't all that bad, but he'd rather be baking. "At least I'll get a good look at the fat businessmen on their way to work." he thought, and then stopped himself, unsure that he should be thinking something like that. He was gay, wasn't he? Why did he suddenly think he was straight? He passed it off as unease from the dream he had, and headed back to the safe to pick up a till, admiring Donald's overhanging gut on the way as he was mixing some dough. Evan had had a crush on him ever since he had started working there six months ago, and as his waistline steadily increased, which is usually the case for bakers, Evan was having a hard time not staring at Donald as he worked. He probably wasn't quite 300 pounds yet, but with a little encouragement, Evan was hoping to see him even fatter. He opened the safe and pulled out two hundred bucks, marking the deduction in the account book, and then headed out to the front again. Michelle was unloading the first batch onto the racks, and just in time for opening. After booting the register, it was time to open the doors, and business was good for the first few hours. A steady stream of men and women came in for breakfast, usually to go, and Evan knew most of them by face, and all of them knew, and complimented him on his work. As much as he disliked working the register, he did love getting compliments on his baking.

It was about nine-thirty when a new customer walked into the shop. Evan's mouth dropped open at the sight the massive man as he squeezed through the doorway. He tried his best to memorize every detail of that body for a later jack-off session. A full beard covering cascading chins, at least three if not more, leading to the fullest man-tits he had ever seen, stretching the t-shirt he wore tight enough to get a glimpse of the large pert nipples beneath. Below that a massive apron that overhung his waist by at least six inches, if not closer to a foot, descending just enough that Evan could just barely see the belly poking out the bottom. His arms jiggled, his hands like overstuffed sausages. He could imagine himself sucking on every single one of those for hours, licking every inch of that fantastic gut. He wished the man would turn around so he could get a glimpse of his ass. If his massive thighs were any indication, it was a beauty. He lumbered up to the register, Evan's eyes glued to his body the entire time, staring unabashed. "You ok buddy?" the guy said, and Evan felt his cheeks redden.

"Oh sorry about that...I was miles away." Evan stammered, "What can I get you?"

The man rattled off his order, but Evan was distracted by the thought of suckling on those massive tits. "Did you get that?" the man asked when Evan didn't respond.

"Oh sorry. Tell me again."

The man grinned, "On second thought, make that order 'for here'. I'd like a baker's dozen of your doughnuts. One chocolate bar, two maple bars, one twist, two glazed, one chocolate with sprinkles, one cinnamon sugar, one powdered sugar, two of those frosted and jelly filled ones, and two custard éclairs."

Evan finished scribbling the order down, and then went about collecting the order in a box, before he'd realized the man wanted them for here, "Do you mind a box? I'm not sure we have a plate that can fit all of these..."

"A box would be fine," The man said.

Evan brought the selection and put it on the counter, then rang the man up. "I hope you enjoy these, they're my own personal recipes."

"Oh? Are you the baker?"

"Yeah, I want to open my own place eventually, but this is good for now."

The man paid with cash, and Evan gave him his change, then he went as sat down at one of the tables scattered around, facing Evan at the register. He opened the box, and looked at his selection like a fine connoisseur, and finally picked up an éclair, and eyes right on Evan, slowly took a huge bite out of it. If Evan wasn't hard enough before, this new show almost made him cum in his pants. He was mesmerized by this massive, beautiful man and his erotically charged gluttony. He watched the man lick the custard off his lips sensually, and then take a vicious bite out of maple bar, never taking his eyes off of Evan, and Evan watching him the entire time, rubbing his cock through his jeans. When he had finished licking his fingers clean, the man said, "Like what you see Boy?"

Evan could only nod, and take a gulp.

"You want to feed me one? You do, don't you? You want to feel this belly of mine don't you? Yeah, I know your type." The man picked up the box, and headed into the bathroom, winking at Evan as the door shut behind him.

Unable to resist it anymore, he called back, "Hey, Kat! Could you man the register for a sec? I gotta take care of business."

Kathy yelled a yes back, and Evan took off for the bathroom, a single occupancy with a locking door. The man was already sitting on the toilet, his shirt off, an éclair in his hand. He held it out to Evan, and said, "Well, come on then. You know you want to."

Evan approached, letting his rock hard cock out in the process and throwing his apron on the floor. "I could get fired for this you know," he said, but started rubbing the man's massive gut anyway. It was harrier than he expected, not that he minded.

The man laughed, and then forced the éclair into Evan's mouth. "Shut up and feed me Boy."

Evan lowered the other end into the man's mouth, and the both started eating away at it, their lips meeting in a warm mash of pastry, custard and spit that drove Evan mad. He couldn't stop running his hands all over the man's body. Kneading his massive tits like they were warm, just risen dough.

When the éclair was gone, and they had licked the remnants of each other's face, the man asked, "You want some more of that boy?"

"Oh god do I." He buried his face into the man's massive gut, reveling in the soft flesh that surrounded him.

"When do you get off today?"

"At ten, in about fifteen minutes."

"I can wait that long. You should get back out there so you don't get fired. Can't have my little baker boy jobless now can I?"

Evan quickly put his apron back on, wiped off his face, and headed back to relieve Kathy. The store was still empty luckily. Kathy went back to supervise the bakers, and the man came out of the restroom a minute later.

"I didn't even get your name. I'm Evan," he said, as the man sat back down, eating another doughnut.

"George Grisham," the man said, and slowly stuffed half a doughnut into his waiting mouth.

The name seemed to resonate with Evan for some reason, as though the name had been in his dream too, but that was nonsense. It was just a case of déjà vu. The clock read five till ten, and he called back, "Kathy? Is it all right if I take off a little bit early?"

She said it was fine, and after she came up front to man the register, he stripped the till back to 200 dollars, deposited the rest in the safe, and when he came back, the man was gone. He hurried outside, and saw him down the walkway in front of a store window, the doughnut box in hand, another one halfway finished. "I picked up a few more for the road." George said, and then led Evan towards his waiting truck.

"But I have my car over there. Someone might think it's suspicious if I leave it here."

George turned around, got up close to him, and traced Evan's lips with the remaining morsel, before depositing it into his mouth, "Do you really care?" he asked.

Evan lunged in and kissed him, doughnut still in his mouth and then followed the man to his truck.

Before he started the engine, George pulled out his cell phone and placed a call, while Evan explored his massive belly further.

"Hey Sally, this is George...Yeah, I'm still coming today, but I have an unexpected guest. Could you increase the spread?...I know its short notice...Greg can handle it, he's fantastic in the kitchen...Yeah, I can wait another hour...Thanks Sally, see you soon."

He hung up and turned towards Evan, who was still rubbing George's gut. "Well, Boy, we have an hour to kill, and all these doughnut that need eating." He opened up the box and Evan saw that it was packed full of pastry. "How do you propose we resolve this?"

"I think I know a few places we could keep these." Evan said as he grabbed a cinnamon twist and shoved it into George's mouth. They began alternating their feeding, sometimes breaking the rhythm to make out, their lips and cheeks covered with sugar and frosting. Evan had never been so hot for a man his entire life, as though George fulfilled every gluttonous fantasy he had ever had, but was too frightened to actually do it. And there was something else too. For the other men he had been with, he had usually been on the top, feeding them, encouraging them, but with George, he was completely submissive. Even as he began to reach the bursting point, every time he told himself that éclair or that doughnut was the last one, he would willingly open up his mouth and receive another at one word from George. His cock had never been so hard in his entire life. Eventually, they both depleted the box, and Evan lay back, gasping for breath and holding his stomach.

George laughed, "Looks like my new boy isn't used to being stuffed." He bent over and kissed him, licking the last bit of frosting from his lips, "I think that's something we'll have to fix." With that, he started the car, and they drove across town to a neighborhood Evan didn't recognize, George massaging his gut at every red light. The massaging helped relieve his aching gut a little. He almost felt like he would be able to eat again in a few days. But when George pulled up into a "reserved" spot in front of an all you can eat buffet, Evan felt an ominous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"We're going to have lunch, my Boy. I own this chain of restaurants, and I come here often." He winked, got out and went around to Evan's side.

"But I don't think I can eat any more food..."

"Lesson number one," George said as he helped Evan down from the cab, "is to never think. Just eat. I won't steer you wrong. Do you trust me?"

Evan nodded, and together they waddled through the front door of the restaurant, where a woman was standing behind a desk, sending people off to their tables. "Morning Sally. Are you guys ready for us?"

"Sure George, just finished, even with your last second addition." She winked at Evan, "It's all in the back room, as you prefer."

"Thanks again Sally," George led Evan to the back of the restaurant and through a door. Inside was the largest collection of desserts Evan had ever seen.

"All of this is for the two of us?" he said, eyes bulging at the size of the spread, "I can't eat that much food."

George came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, burying him in his flab, massaging Evan's belly, making him moan. "I told you before. Don't think, just eat." George led him over to the table, picked up a slice of chocolate cake, and put it up to Evan's mouth. He knew he shouldn't eat it, but he couldn't resist it. He took a big bite, and then another, and before he knew it, the piece was gone, and his cock was pushing up into his belly. "Yeah, that's a good boy. Eat for your Daddy." George brought another piece of cake to his lips and he scarfed that down too, sucking on George's chocolate covered fingers as well. Unable to resist, Evan picked up a bear claw and began chewing on that as well, all while George kept massaging his gut, and stripped out of his clothes.

With his boy eating contentedly, George dug into the buffet as well, devouring an entire cherry pie, while Evan watched, eating two dozen cookies and rubbing his Daddy's gut all the while. Then George took another piece of cake and smeared it all over his gut, and rubbed Evan's face in it. He loved the feel of the rich cake and frosting and the hair mixing together. He began licking it off, unable to stop himself, and when George topped it all off with half a bowl of whipped cream, he ate that too, slowly working his way down to his Daddy's dick, poking out from his fat. George spread chocolate sauce all around beneath his gut, and Evan dived into it, lapping at the sweet nectar dripping down, and eventually finding the massive rock hard dick, started sucking on that. It was so big, that even though several inches were burring in fat, Evan still couldn't take it all. His stomach was full to capacity, but he didn't care anymore. All he wanted to do was serve this man, his Daddy, feed and be fed, grow and encourage. He wanted that dick so bad, just sucking on it made him want to blow a load.

George told him to take off his clothes and then lay back on the tile. After he did, Evan's cock pointing straight up to the ceiling, George began slathering him with a carton of ice cream, the cold refreshing against his hot feverish skin. The George began licking it off of him while he lowered his cock back into Evan's mouth so he could continue sucking, They sixty-nined for a while, each one tasting a wonderful mixture of ice cream, chocolate and precum, before George hauled him up, pushed him back onto the table and lifted his legs up into the air. After greasing his asshole with some butter, George shoved his dick up Evan's hole, muffling his moans with pieces of apple pie, chocolate chip cookies and huge handfuls of cake, rubbing the remnants all over Evan's body, which Evan used to lube his cock, lost in the throes of gluttonous desire. With a yell, George shot a massive load up Evan's ass, while with a muffled moan, he shot cum all over his chest, both of them scooping it up and shoving it into their mouths with whatever dessert they could grab.

After George pulled out, they both laid on the tile floor, licking each other's bodies clean in the afterglow, Evan had never felt so full and so hungry at the same time. He dove into his Daddy's belly, cleaning it with a gusto he had never felt for another man. He wanted this man to be happy, he wanted his cock up his ass, he wanted to feed him and be stuffed so full that he couldn't move, and then eat some more.

When they were more or less clean, the meager remains of the table scattered across the floor, Evan happily suckling on his Daddy's tit, wishing it would fill him full of milky cream, George said, "I have a job proposition for you, Evan."

"Anything Daddy." Evan moaned, and then went back to rubbing his face into George's chest.

"I want you to be my private pastry chef. You will live at my mansion, cook in the morning and then we will stuff ourselves for the rest of the day. All of your needs will be provided for; all I ask for in return is your absolute loyalty."

"It sounds like a dream come true." Evan said, and then kissed his new partner deeply. When they were done, George said, "Well, then I guess we should get you moved in then."

Evan nodded, and after they donned their clothes, they left, Evan hanging onto the arm of the man who had taught him all the pleasures of gluttony.

Chapter 2 ~ The Age of Lust

*Tuesday*

Micah scribbled a few more lines down on Evan's sheet, and then handed it to Rod. "Throw this in, but stick a doughnut in there as well."

Rod stopped stirring and looked up at him, "A doughnut? We don't have any I don't think..."

Micah sighed, "Then get a stick of butter, a cup of flour and two cups of sugar. That should do the trick."

While Rod ran upstairs to the kitchen for the supplies, Micah turned back to the remaining bags. "Orson, I think, will be next," he said. He pulled out the paper, and read that Orson wanted Lenny Silverton to become a gay prostitute obsessed with sex. When he had peeked into Orson's mind earlier, he had saw that he had a massive crush on Lenny and hated himself for it, but Micah figured it was time to let some of those feelings out. He went over to his shelf of reagents and poured in a few tablespoons of the sands of time, and a seed of lust. "I think I know just how to solve this problem, but before that, I think Orson has some growing up to do," Micah thought as he tossed the whole bag into the cauldron.

*Wednesday*

Hefting the towels into the washer, Orson threw in a scoop of soap and turned it on. Checking his watch, he saw that he still had fifteen minutes until his shift was over, so he sat down in the laundry room, hoping to avoid his supervisors so they wouldn't give him something else to do, and gave a heavy groan. It was bad enough that he was fat and short, but being assigned a work-study position in the athletics department was just cruel. Not only did he have to pick up after jocks all day, but he had to put up with their ridicule too. The only solace he could find was the eventual hope that when he was older, he'd be the boss of these jokers and not the other way around.

That was the story of his life. Every teacher had told him and his parents, "Orson will fit in better when he's older," "He'll have more friends when he's older," "He'll get taller when he's older." So far none of them had been true, he was still the short, overweight outcast he'd always been. But he knew someday it would come true. One day, he would be a successful CEO, and all of these jocks would his janitors, cleaning up after him. At least when he was older. He heaved another sigh, and decided to go sign out with his supervisor. Orson headed straight over to the football field and was the first one to get there. He climbed up the bleachers, hoping the football team wouldn't notice him or his friends as they arrived. He was sure that they would receive a whole new round of teasing, people pointing at them behind their backs, calling them a bunch of faggots who watched the football team to get off. It wasn't the talk that humiliated him really, it was the fact that they were right, or at least they were in Orson's case. He did love watching the football team, and they had been in many of his fantasies, but none of them would ever so much as look at him. He was too short, and too fat, and there was nothing he could do about that.

Evan and Bryce, sporting a fresh black eye, arrived a few minutes later, but Orson didn't say anything. He just watched Lenny, the quarterback, run back and forth, his ass encased in those spandex pants that left so little to the imagination. He couldn't wait until tomorrow. Part of him just wanted to revel in the irony. Finally, instead of Lenny conquering woman after woman, men would start conquering him. But really, Orson knew that what he really wanted was to find Lenny tomorrow, pick him up, and fuck his ass, while Lenny bit his pillow and squealed with lust. Just the thought of it gave him a hard on. Not that he could ever let anyone know. The idea of his friends finding out about his fantasies scared him more than anything. If he couldn't have a man like Lenny, at least he could have friends. So he endured the name calling, hating it even more because all of it was true, and he couldn't stop.

One by one, they all got bored of the practice, but Orson stayed for the whole thing, thankful that none of the jocks noticed him. Secretly, he kind of wished they would notice. At least then he could be honest about his infatuation. But they all left practice oblivious, or if not oblivious, no one cared what a nerd like Orson thought about them. Lenny's latest catch, one of the cheerleaders named Harriet, came running up and planted a huge kiss on his lips, at which point they started making out in front of the entire team. After they had gotten tired of the catcalls, Lenny pulled her over to his car, where they took of for his apartment. Frustrated and lonely, Orson wandered back to his room, laid back on his bed, and jacked off imagining Lenny as a gay bottom boy. After he came, he rolled over, still unsatisfied, and went to sleep.

*Thursday*

Orson woke up, cursing, and pulled down the shade of the window next to his bed. He didn't need the sun making his hangover even worse. He rolled over and tried to fall back asleep. He had been having an amazing dream about this hot college football player. In the dream, the jock walked up to him, pushed Orson over his motorcycle in the middle of a parking lot and started fucking his ass. As the memory came back to him, Orson reached around and felt the end of the dildo still in his ass from his jack off session the night before. It was kind of hard with his gut in the way, but he began fucking himself, trying to get his dick hard as he imagined the hot jock reaching under and jacking him off. But of course, it wasn't cooperating this morning; between his blood pressure, his weight, and his age, the old guy just wasn't working like he used to. With a grunt he pulled the dildo out of his ass, and rolled up to a sitting position.

Once the world had stopped spinning, he got up and lumbered into the bathroom to piss. He thought about taking a shower, but his pits didn't smell that bad. His graying beard was tangled and dirty, but he liked it when it looked a little nasty. Looking in the mirror, he was amazed at how the years had really taken a hit on him. He was just pushing fifty now, and the large number of wrinkles showed it. He had once prided himself on being a heavily muscled biker, but his muscles had long been covered with a layer of fat, stretching his already fading tattoos. He went back into the room and pulled a cigarette out of his jeans pocket, opened the window, and watched the traffic below, mentally undressing all of the young studs enjoying the early fall sunshine. When he had flicked the butt out the window, He went back inside and looked at the time. It was only early afternoon and he was still horny, so if he hurried, he could make to the local college before the football team started practice.

He picked up the clothes he had worn the day before and put them on: a stained fading and worn Harley Davidson t-shirt, some jeans, his leather chaps, and a leather jacket. As a last second thought, he got the dildo and shoved that in place too. Picking up his helmet on the way out, he hopped onto his bike and took off for the nearby campus, enjoying the vibration of the dildo the whole way.

Dumping the bike nearby, he snuck into the stadium and crawled underneath the bleachers just in time for the first few guys to arrive. Orson started rubbing himself through his jeans, but as he did, he felt an odd sense of déjà vu overcome him. He thought he recognized a few of these guys, and it seemed like he had taken classes with a few of them, but that was impossible--he was probably twice their age if not more. Putting the thought out of mind, he sat down on his jacket, pulled out his dick and started rocking back on the dildo, shivering every time it rubbed up against his prostate. Soon the rest of the team arrived, and they started practice.

As he was trying to bring his flaccid dick to life, Orson noticed that they had left their bags on the first few levels of the bleachers. He quietly snuck up there, careful to make sure no one was looking and pulled one of the bags underneath with him. Scrounging through it, he found exactly what he had wanted: one of the player's dirty jockstraps. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the sharp musk of sweat and piss, and felt his cock start to rise underneath his gut. After putting the bag back, he hurried back to his jacket, dropped his pants, and slowly started fucking himself with the jock draped over his face, moaning quietly. The jocks on the football field began a scrimmage, and Orson watched their tight asses as they ran across the field.

Taking a deep breath of the jock, he imagined that he was in the locker room with all of those muscular men in their prime. Then one of them pushed him onto a bench, and rammed his dick up his ass while another one started fucking his face, calling him an old pig as he ground the smells of stale cum and sweat, the essence of their youth, into his face and beard. Then the other players started rubbing their dicks all over him, taking their turns at either end, the rest of them laughing at his age and shriveled dick. Then one of the linebackers came up behind him, and shoved his hand into his hole. Orson started pistoning up and down on the dildo faster, imagining the man's fairy forearm scrapping against the sensitive tissue of his ass. With his other hand the linebacker started slowly stroking Orson's cock as he squirmed on the bench, aching for release. Then with a muffled grunt he rammed the dildo up as far as he could get it and shot all over his shirt and beard. He scooped up what he could and ate it, wishing he could be eating the loads of all those young masculine men instead. His old, slightly sour cum just didn't compare to their sweet semen.

Keeping the dildo in, he pulled his pants back up, shoving the jock into his pocket, but kept his dick out, creeping farther forward to watch the rest of the practice. But as he did, he couldn't help but be struck by feelings of recognition and nostalgia. The idea that he had attended this school wouldn't get out of his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he felt. His body began to feel a little unnatural, as though he hadn't always been old and fat. But that was silly. While he might have been young once, he had always been a biker traveling the country, looking for hot masculine men to fuck him. But with his increasing age, he couldn't work like he used to, and money was becoming a little tighter. He had a friend that was trying to set up a job for him at a local steel mill, but he didn't have very high hopes. He thought that it might be time to move on, but something held him in this town. It might be the two college campuses, and its large population of single men. He'd always been attracted to young college stallions and muscle bears, and this seemed like the best place to find guys to watch, and even a few who would fuck him. But sadly, not many people were interested in him now that he was getting older. He might pick up a trick every now and then, but it was getting harder and harder to get anywhere with that either.

The coaches called an end to the scrimmage and Orson retreated back out of sight. The team packed up and was on their way a few minutes later, one of the members puzzled by a missing jock strap, but figured it would turn up eventually. When the field was clear, Orson climbed out from under the bleachers, took another sniff of the jock, then headed back to his bike. The sun was just beginning to set, and he figured he could probably make his way over to Pigtown. Out of curiosity, he picked up a free magazine of job listings and flipped through it. His savings was getting low, and unemployment was going to run out on him the next month. Food stamps helped, but he figured he could go look at a couple of construction yards the next day, but it was hard working with so many hot young men. His leers had already gotten him fired from several jobs, but he couldn't help it. If they didn't want to be stared at, they shouldn't be wearing those wife beaters and those tight jeans showing off the bulges in their crotches. They wanted people to look, as long as they weren't him. He kicked a mailbox as he walked by, frustrated and angry. "The world is meant for the young," he thought, and threw the booklet into the gutter.

He hopped on his bike and started it up, and considered going out on the road again, but he didn't know where to go. Hoping to at least drown his miseries in a couple of beers, he decided to head over to Pigtown anyway. At least watching a bunch of masters manhandle their slaves might make him feel a little better. He sped off towards the harbor, imagining that he might be able to find some hot guy willing to fuck his ass too.

He pulled up into the near empty parking lot half an hour later, and saw that even though the club was open, it wasn't very busy and given that it was early on a Thursday, he wasn't very surprised. As he hopped off his bike, another biker pulled up as well with a massive man sitting behind him. It was one of the sluttiest pigs Orson had ever seen. Almost every inch of the guys body was covered in tattoos and piercings. The guy wasn't wearing a shirt, and on the guy's back he could see the top of a forearm pointing forwards his ass, and the words "BIKER SLAVE" printed across his upper back. They got off the bike, the biker taking a leash attached to the pig's collar, and started over towards the entrance, but the biker stopped when he say Orson staring.

"You want a piece of him man?" the biker called, startling Orson and making him blush. He tried to stammer and answer, but the biker just laughed and hauled his slave over towards him.

"How about feeding him some piss? He said, then looked over at his slave, "Would you like that Pig? You want this guy's piss?"

Pig nodded anxiously and got down on his knees in front of Orson, who tentatively pulled out his dick. Luckily, he did have to piss, so after that imagining he was standing in front of a urinal, he let the stream go into the pig's mouth, who drank it down like it was the best thing he had ever tasted, licking around Orson's cock and kissing the tip when he was finished. With that, the biker hauled him off again saying, "That's enough of an appetizer Pig. I'm already renting you out as a urinal, so you'll be getting plenty more of that." The pig snorted in reply, and Orson swore that if he had had a tail, it would have been wagging back and forth. He finished securing his bike, and then followed the pair inside.

The front room was pretty much empty. The music was playing, but quieter than it would be later that night. Orson wandered over to the bar and greeted Jim, the bartender, who poured him a pint of beer and set it in front of him. He took a long swig set it down, and then looked up when a stud he had never seen before sat down a few stools away. The man was massive, and Orson imagined that he probably could have competed as a body builder. He was clad in a tight fitting spandex top that left very little to the imagination, his biceps bursting out of the armholes and every line of his pecs and abs standing out. He was wearing jeans that looked a few sizes to small and sported a bulge that made Orson's mouth water just thinking about it. But the best part was the green handkerchief that was hanging out of his left pocket, which meant that if the price was right, the stud would go down for anybody. He wasn't too boyish either, with a strong chin covered in a day's worth of stubble, his head shaved, and a smirk that showed he knew he was in high demand. The bartender set a shot glass down in front of him and filled it with some rum. He caught Orson staring at him, downed the shot and then winked at him. Taking that to be an invitation, Orson got up and took a seat next to him.

"Hey, I'm Orson." he stuttered, unsure of what to say, "I haven't seen you around here before. You new in town?"

"Nah, I just never knew about this place. The name's Lenny. So, from the way you were staring at me a moment ago, I take it you see something you'd like?" he winked, watching Orson's face turn red, "Well, if you want a blow job, that's one hundred, fucking me is two hundred, and everything else is negotiable."

Feeling more brave, Orson replied, "That all sounds fine and good, but what I really want is your dick up my ass. How much for that?"

Lenny thought for a moment, and then answered, "I'll do it for seventy-five with a first time discount. Cash, up front of course."

Orson pulled out his wallet and dug out a few wrinkled twenties, and handed it to him. "I want it right now, in the backroom," he said and then led the way. The backroom was also relatively empty, aside from Pig, who was chained to the wall, eagerly awaiting his treatment that night. Orson shucked his clothes and then hopped into a sling. Lenny saw the dildo still up his ass and laughed, "Well I guess I don't have to worry about opening you up." The dildo came out with a pop, and Lenny took his dick out of his jeans. "So, big spender, who would you like it? Hard and fast? Slow and gentle?"

"Long. Fuck me longer than you've ever fucked anyone."

Lenny laughed, "That's a tall order, but I'll do my best." He came around to Orson's head and added, "How about you lube this guy up for me?"

Orson was flabbergasted. The bulge had been huge, but he hadn't expected the monster staring him in the face. The thing must have been at least ten inches long and as thick as a beer can only semi-hard. Just the sight of it filled him with lust. He sucked as much of it as he could into his mouth, and ran his tongue over the parts he couldn't swallow, and the more he licked it, the larger and thicker it got. When it was good and hard, Lenny went back around and slowly drove it into Orson's ass, making him moan as it touched places he had never felt before.

"Man you have a nice ass. I can't wait to fuck it." Lenny said as he started pulling in and out. "Yeah, a mighty fine ass."

Orson started trying to push as much of the dick into his ass as he could, swinging himself to meet Lenny's thrusts and clamping down on the dick, loving how much it stretched him out. He started jacking off his dick in time with the thrusts, stopping only to lick the precum off his fingers. Lenny started pounding harder, and all Orson could think about was how much he wanted this amazing cock up his ass forever. He had never had such a fantastic fuck before.

Before he knew it, he came all over his chest, but Lenny just kept on pounding away, "Cumming already?" he said with a chuckle, "I'm just getting started down here." And he slammed into Orson's ass, sending a blast of pleasure to his groin. Amazingly, he felt his dick twitch and start to harden again--an oddity since he hadn't cum twice in a row since he was thirty. Just being fucked my Lenny made him feel like he was absorbing some of his youthful essence into him, and all he wanted was more. He wanted that cock to grow more, fuck his guts into knots, maybe even long enough come poking out of his mouth. Lenny slowly increased his speed, and by this time, Orson's cock was hard and dribbling again, the pleasure from his ass resonating everywhere in his body, the blood singing in his ears. With a grunt, Lenny slammed into him and shot a massive load of cum up his ass, Orson could almost imagine it coating the insides of his body as his dick came a second time, an even larger load that shot him in the face. With a groan Lenny pulled out, wiped off his dick and pulled up his pants, thanked him for his business and left Orson to recover in the sling. His ass empty and dribbling cum onto the floor uncontrollably, he tried to catch his breath. The afterglow was fantastic, never had he felt so alive and young before. He needed to feel like that again. Getting out of the sling, he checked his wallet and saw that he had spent almost all of his cash on Lenny. But as the euphoria ebbed away he was left feeling only exhaustion and age, and too tired to even consider more sex, he dropped a few bills at the bar and headed back to his apartment.

Laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his largest dildo crammed up his ass, he tried to stop thinking about Lenny, but the lustful voice in his dick was demanding more. Orson knew he couldn't afford it; there was no way he could keep shelling out that kind of money for sex. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was the hope that he could find an alternative means of payment. Orson tossed and turned the whole night, images of Larry dancing just out of reach, a new victim of unfettered lust.

Chapter 3 ~ Slothful Seduction

*Tuesday*

Rod came back downstairs, the ingredients added to Evan's bag and added it to the cauldron, then went back to stirring. Meanwhile, Micah was hunting around the shelves looking for something. "What are you looking for Micah?" Rod asked.

In response, Micah tossed him Peter's bag. Rod read what the guy had written: "I want Samuel Haverick to lose all interest in hygiene and have his IQ drop to 80."

"So what are you trying to do?" Rod asked, looking for clarification.

Micah stood up and sighed, "I'm not really sure. Nothing here seems appropriate for what I have in mind." He snapped his fingers, "Of course. Rod, go get one of your dirty jockstraps."

"Am I going to get it back?" he asked, "I don't have very many."

"I'll buy you some more personally. Now hurry. I'd like to get to bed sometime soon. I promised those guys that their spell would be done by Thursday. I certainly wouldn't want them to be disappointed."

Rod rolled his eyes, and headed upstairs. As a final thought, Micah tossed some urea and dried pig feces in Peter's bag as well. "That should be dirty enough for him." he thought, and then turned back to the remaining bags.

*Wednesday*

Running his eyes down the list, Peter checked the test scores one last time for his class in Differential Equations, and saw what he expected. He had the second highest score with a 93, and the highest score was a 98, which of course belonged to Samuel. Peter sighed, and then took off for the student union building. Daniel needed someone to buy him a few meals because his meal plan had run out, and he couldn't afford to eat until he got paid on Friday.

He kept trying to tell himself that he shouldn't be dissatisfied with a 93. The next highest score was a 77, but he tried so hard to beat Samuel, but nothing ever came of his efforts. It wouldn't have hurt so bad if Samuel hadn't been overshadowing him since Middle School. They were both from Havensburg, and decided to go to HU, and stay with their parents, and as such they had known each other for a long time. They had even been friends back in middle school, the two smartest kids in their grade. But when Samuel went out for football, suddenly he wasn't interested in being Peter's friend anymore. He also wasn't very interested in academic excellence. He stopped studying for his classes and took reasonably hard classes, most of them with Peter. But the worst part was that no amount of slacking seemed to dent his 4.0 GPA. The greatest embarrassment for Peter was being beaten out for valedictorian by Samuel by a narrow distance.

Even worse was Samuel's laziness in other departments. He was never that interested in being presentable--he would let his hair grow out for months in order to avoid getting it cut, and sometimes you could smell him across the classroom. He showed up for graduation drunk, and made a fool of himself during his speech, but where Peter would have been mortified, Samuel just laughed and went out for more parties. Nothing mattered to him except instant gratification. Peter kept hoping he would get his comeuppance in college, but he had excelled as always, and fell right in with the football crowd, while Peter struggled just to find a group of outcasts and misfits that would take him in. Of course, he had never been very social, and his tendency towards obsessive neatness tended to weird people out, but everyone had their quirks. But he couldn't help but hate Samuel for hanging him out to dry and turning his back on his potential. It wasn't his higher grades that frustrated him, but the fact that Samuel did it without any effort or caring. It was a waste of his potential, and Peter wanted to see him lose everything he had, but didn't care about at all. It was only just.

Daniel was waiting outside the student union building, shivering in the cold. Peter wished he would just take one of Evan's old coats or something; it was going to get cold soon and his little threadbare sweatshirt didn't look like it would last another year. But ever since his parents had disowned him after coming out of the closet, he had been determined to make it on his own. Even taking meals from others left him in a sour mood. Peter waved to him, and they went inside, picked out some food, and then went to go eat. Peter tried to start several conversations, but Daniel would just nod and look off to some faraway place. "Are you ok? You seem down?" he finally asked after a silent moment.

"Yeah, I'm alright...I just got another email from my parents. They want me to go to this...center. They say it can fix me." He squeezed his fist hard enough to make his knuckles pop, "Cause, you know, something's broken, and only through the power of Christ can I be repaired."

"Why don't you just get a new email account?"

Daniel sighed and relaxed his hand, "I really should, but...you know. I just keep hoping they'll change their minds. I'm just not ready to turn my back on them yet."

Peter looked at his watch, and saw it was a little past four. "Hey, we should probably go meet the guys over at the stadium. Maybe imagining the surprise those jocks are in for tomorrow will cheer you up."

Daniel smirked, and they walked over to the field together. Evan, Orson and Bryce were already there watching the practice, and Peter and Daniel joined them. It wasn't hard to spot Samuel on the field. His hair was almost down to his shoulders and tangled. He obviously hadn't shaven in a few days, because he had a layer of thick stubble on his face, another thing Peter couldn't stand. When he saw him take a sniff of his armpits while they were resetting, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He didn't want to be anywhere near this place anymore. Quickly he stood up and took off for his room, indulging himself with a nice long shower. After studying for his German class the next day, he went to bed, anxiously imagining how different things would be for Samuel when he woke up.

*Thursday*

Peter woke up to a raging headache and an odd rumbling noise. His first thought was that he should be in his dorm room at school, but that didn't make any sense. He was 28, and had never gone to college. He might have been smart enough, but it just wasn't what he wanted to do. He tried to move his hands and legs, but found that he couldn't. Opening his eyes, he saw he was in a dark place, with two windows at either end. It dawned on him that he was in a truck bed with a canopy, hogtied and gagged. Thinking back, the last thing he remembered with any real clarity was the fight he'd had with his parents on Wednesday. They'd found his stash of ecstasy in his room, and tossed him out on the street. Its not like he used it all the time, it was just for parties, but they didn't understand. They'd never understood him. After they had taken his keys and thrown him out, he had decided to get out of town. There wasn't anything left for him anyway. So he walked around that night looking for a car he could take. He set his eyes on an old pickup. It wasn't in very good shape, but it would work, and he could get the ignition taken out pretty easily. He set about picking the lock, and that was the last thing he remembered.

Looking out the back window, he saw that if it wasn't morning yet it was close to dawn. It was hard to make out, but the truck was definitely out of the city, and traveling down a windy road. He struggled for a few minutes until he was sure he couldn't get out, and then sat there, increasingly nervous. He figured that the owner of the pickup had knocked him out, but he figured a normal person would just take him to the police. This was a whole lot worse, and it filled him with unease. After the sun had fully risen, the vibration of the truck increased, and Peter could hear gravel and dirt crunching under the tires. After another lengthy period of time, his whole body now sore from his bonds and rolling around in the back, the truck finally came to a stop.

After a moment of silence, he heard the door of the cab open and shut, and heavy footsteps walk away. A few minutes later, they came back, and the back of the cab opened. It was the smell that hit Peter first; the man stank like he hadn't bathed in months. The man was dressed in overalls without a shirt, and his whole body looked like it was caked with dirt, grease and grime. While his head and beard were shaved, both were covered in a few days of stubble. The man leered at him, his smile missing one of its front teeth, and then yanked Peter out of the truck. He tried to fight back, but the man was heavily muscled even if it was covered in a thick layer of fat, and easily hauled Peter over to a clearing. Peter looked around and saw that he was in the middle of a field, a trailer off to one side with a few pieces of furniture scattered around it. There was no one else around though, and his hopes of rescue were dashed, but he struggled anyway.

The man slapped him across the face and said, "If you don't calm down boy I'm gonna cut off your balls and make you calm."

Given that the man had kidnapped and carted him out to the middle of nowhere, Peter decided to take the threat seriously and stopped fighting. The man let go of him and stood up. "That's better," he said, "Given the circumstances, I don't think you should be complaining much. Trying to steal my truck...if my Pa had caught anyone stealing his truck he would have killed him with his shotgun. I could do the same to you if I wanted. You deserve it, trying to take my property."

Peter started shaking, vowing that if God let him get away from this madman redneck, he would never do drugs or steal a car again.

"But you're here, and since I could take your life if I wanted, I might as well use it for my pleasure. How does that sound boy? I've been needing a new pig around here."

Peter didn't really understand what the man meant, but almost anything was better than death in the middle of nowhere.

The man continued, "Now, first of all I need to get you all dressed up, and to do that I'm gonna have to untie you, so I figure we might start by setting a few ground rules." He picked Peter up and showed him the surrounding area, "The first thing is that I like my privacy. As you can see, I live out here alone. The nearest neighbor is probably fifteen or twenty miles away, and not even a little girl can scream loud enough for them to hear, and even if they did, they wouldn't care. They know better than to mess around in my business and I stay out of theirs. So no one is gonna be rescuing you, got it?"

Peter felt his heart sink, and nodded.

"Second, if I tell you to do something, you can do two things. One, you can do it. Two, you can not do it, get beaten on, and then do it. The first one is easier, the second is more fun for me. Your choice."

Peter gulped and nodded again.

"Third, I am bigger, stronger and faster than you. If ya'll try to run, I will catch you, and the first thing I'm gonna do after I catch ya is cut your balls off. If you want to stay a pig and not become a sow, I suggest you cooperate."

Peter nodded again, and the man dropped him.

"Lastly, my name is Samuel G. Haverick, but you will never call me that. You will call me only Sir or Master, and then, only if I give you permission to speak. If you do speak out of turn, you're likely ta lose a tooth or three. Your name is Pig. Don't even bother telling me what your previous name is. That life is over, got it?"

Peter nodded, but figured he would still make a break for it when the man untied him. He didn't want to know what this fatass redneck had planned for him. Sam came over then brought over a pile of miscellaneous equipment and dropped it next to Peter. The first thing he pulled out was a piece of thick chain that he put around Peter's neck and padlocked into a makeshift collar. It wasn't too tight, but it was heavy and he knew he wouldn't be able to squeeze his head through it. Then Sam took a heavy iron ball with a chain attached like had been used in old prison chain gangs and fastened that to his collar with a locking carabineer. The chain was long enough that Peter could crouch and crawl, but much too short to stand unless he carried the ball in his hands.

"This is to keep my new piggy on the ground. For the first few weeks I'm sure you'll want to stand up, but that ain't the proper place for a pig."

Peter let out a little squeak when the man said the word weeks. He hadn't imagined that the man would actually keep him here. What had he gotten himself into?

Next the man untied Peter's hands. As soon as they were free, Peter tried to punch him as hard as he could, but Sam deflected the blow, "Now I know you're scared boy, but you brought this upon yourself. I don't want to hurt you, but I will." Peter took another swing at him, and Sam punched him in the gut hard enough to knock all the air out of Peter's lungs, "I warned you, boy."

While he was stunned and trying to get his breath back, Sam latched two leather fist mitts onto Peter's hands. "These might come off occasionally to let your hands air out, but pretty soon your fingers will be so numb you'll forget you ever had opposable thumbs."

With that newest humiliation over with, Peter resigned himself to the rest. Even if he could overpower Sam, he would be stuck padlocked to a ball and chain that he couldn't haul around with him for twenty miles without his fingers. He was stuck there for the time being. Sam took the rest of the ropes off of Peter, and then cut his clothes off. After he was naked, Sam completed the ensemble with two leather bags over Peter's feet and two leather knee guards. As a final addition, he placed a ball gag in Peter's mouth, commenting that it would help curb his want to talk.

When he was finished, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. Peter looked at himself and blushed with humiliation. Not only was he completely powerless, but he was at the mercy of a dirty hick and whatever he wanted. It was then that Peter noticed Sam was rubbing his hard on through his overalls, leering at him. He tried to back away, but the ball hindered his movement more than he expected.

"I think it's time I broke my new piggy in," Sam said as he grabbed the ball and started hauling it around the back of the trailer, Peter following him as fast as he could crawl, grateful for the leather shielding him from the rocky ground. Around there, in the morning shade, Peter saw that there was a fenced in depression in the ground. Sam opened the gate and hauled him in. Peter cringed away from the large mud puddle, but Sam came around and pushed him in further, and then came up behind him, his large, uncut dick poking out of the front of his overalls. "Yeah, I think you're going to make a fine pig, but let's test that ass of yours. It looks like a great fuck," Sam said as he advanced on Peter who tried to get away but couldn't crawl fast enough. Sam grabbed his hips and started running his dick between Peter's cheeks. "Feel that Pig?" he said as Peter fought, "This is the dick that's going to break you, and break you good." With a slow push, Sam rammed his dick into Peter's ass, making his yell in pain. He tried to pull his ass away, but Sam pulled him back until he was fully impaled on his dick. He started to fuck him doggie style, Peter no longer struggling against the inevitable. When Sam noticed he had stopped fighting, he started slowly stroking Peter's dick in time with his thrusts. Peter couldn't help but let out a quiet moan, and Sam laughed. "I never said this didn't have to be pleasurable for you Pig. The more you cooperate, the better it'll be, trust me. In a few weeks, you'll be begging for this I bet you."

At the mention of his prolonged sentence, Peter started to struggle again, but Sam grabbed onto his nipples and gave them a savage tug, making Peter cry out in pain. "I see I got me a feisty one," Sam said as he began thrusting faster, "I always like breaking the feisty ones." He scooped up a handful of mud and spread it on Pig's back, who yelped at the sudden chill. "Get used to it, you're going to be living in it," Sam said as he spread some more on, rubbing it into Peter's hair, "You look even hotter all dirty. Can't wait to see you in a few weeks, you'll be one fantastic pig." At the thought of his new Pig frolicking in the mud, Sam thrust deep into Peter's ass and let his load loose. Collapsing onto Peter's back and pushing him deep into the mud, even covering his face. Sam rolled off, and Peter picked himself up, trying to scrape some of the dirt off while Sam laughed.

"Like I said, get used to it, this is your new home. Now, I got some slop for you inside, but it'll be a little while before it's ready. Now comes the moment of truth," he said, and squatted down so he was eye to eye with Peter, "I'm going to leave you alone out here. I already explained the ground rules to you, but you can try to run if you want. But God knows that if you do, I will catch you, and I will cut off your balls. I like sows as much as I like pigs, and I have no problem with turning one into the other, got it?"

Peter nodded, and Sam left the pen and went into the trailer. After scrapping of as much dirt as he could, Peter hefted the iron ball with his fists to test its weight, and the thing was pretty heavy, at least thirty or forty pounds. He could lift it, but running would be a challenge, especially without the use of his hands. He also had no doubts that Sam could catch him, and that if he did, he would become a sow as he so crudely put it. Depressed and humiliated, Peter found the driest spot he could and laid down, looking up at the sky. It was a beautiful fall day, and it was nice in the morning shade. He made shapes with the clouds while waiting for Sam to return with whatever slop he came up with.

About half an hour later, Sam came back out of the trailer hauling two buckets of brown mash. Peter crawled over there, tugging the heavy ball be hind him, and looked at it while Sam undid his ball gag and poured one of the buckets into a trough. It seemed to be a combination of oats and something else he couldn't quite figure out, and it smelled strongly of alcohol.

"This is what you're going to be eating from now on Pig," Sam said, "Go on, give it a try." Peter really didn't want to, but he was starving. He tentatively went to stick his fist into the slop but Sam batted it away. "That's no way for a pig to eat. Pigs don't use their hands." Humiliated, but not seeing any solution, he lowered his face towards the muck and licked it. The stuff was kind of bitter, but not all that bad. He could definitely taste some sort of alcohol in there, so the stuff would probably get him drunk as well, not that he really minded. At least getting sloshed would take some of the edge off of the situation. Trying to avoid getting any on his face, Peter began lapping at the slop, but he couldn't get any in his mouth. Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved him face first into the trough. He coughed and sputtered, and shook his head when Sam let him up, trying to get the food off, but it shuck there pretty good. Sam laughed and said, "You're a pig now boy, you don't need manners. In fact the dirtier you are, it just makes me hotter."

Peter shuddered at the thought, but dug in anyway, his face burning with humiliation as Sam stood over him yelling encouragement. When Peter was eating at a good pace, Sam said, "I'm gonna go get you some water now, and I want that slop gone by the time I get back." He picked up a half barrel over by the trailer and then headed around the front to where Peter had seen a spigot before. As he kept eating, Peter began to feel a little floaty and even more ravenous, and he started chowing down without any regard for etiquette. Even though it wasn't all that tasty, it was satisfying, and he'd finished most of it before Sam returned. He sat back, feeling really relaxed all of the sudden, and distantly wondered what had been in that slop. Surely just alcohol wouldn't affect him like this. But even if he could have figured it out, his brain wasn't moving as quick as it had, and he just kind of sat there in a stupor.

Sam came back, looked at the trough and laughed. "Well, I guess the slop worked, you're looking more like a pig already." He hefted the second bucket up and poured that into the trough as well, and then hopped the fence and joined Peter in the pen. "Now that you're feeling good, how about we start lesson one?" He stuck his dirty index finger into the trough and put it up to Peter's mouth. "Suck it off like a good little piggy." Peter pulled his head back, but most of the fight had gone out of him. He felt too happy to fight. He reluctantly opened his mouth and allowed Sam to stick his finger in his mouth. It was ok until he'd gotten all the food off, but then Sam made him lick the grime off too, which tasted awful. When it was good and clean, Sam dipped another finger in and Peter sucked that one clean to, but this time, Sam started jacking off his dick too, making Peter moan and suck harder. The faster he went, the faster Sam jacked his cock, and pretty soon he was sucking off Sam's fingers as he put them up to his mouth without dipping them in the slop first. The next thing he did was put his armpit up to Peter's mouth, and he started licking that too, not caring what it was as long as Sam kept a hand on his dick, and as he stroked faster, Peter began to lick into a frenzy, and found himself starting to enjoy the smell and taste of Sam's raunchy armpit. As he continued to clean up Sam's grimy body, Sam kept jerking Peter's cock, keeping him on the cusp of orgasm. Along with the aphrodisiacs, alcohol and euphoric drugs Sam added to the slop, Peter wasn't going to be complaining for a while, as long as Sam kept him fed and content.

When Peter finished giving his armpits a good cleaning, Sam grabbed the back of his neck, pulled out his cock and stuck it in front of Peter's mouth, but he balked, and lazily tried to pull away. "Aw come on Pig, you know you want it. All pigs are hungry for their master's cock. Here, let me make it taste a little better." He grabbed a handful of the slop and lubed his dick up with it. "Now go on, eat it."

Peter reluctantly opened his mouth to receive it, and was rewarded with Sam continuing to jack his cock. The slop did make it taste a little better, but it was still foul. He could still taste what must have been the remnants of shit from his ass from when Sam fucked him this morning, and there was a ton cheese and dirt stuck between the head and the foreskin, but as he fell back into his drug addled bliss, he began sucking with vigor, bucking his dick up and down in Sam's hand, anxious to cum. When the dick erupted in his mouth and he finished swallowing Sam's load, Sam pushed Peter back into the mud and started sucking of his cock. Peter moaned in ecstasy as he shot the largest load he had ever felt into Sam's mouth, who then kissed him deeply, feeding Peter his own load.

As Peter laid back in the afterglow, Sam picked himself up and got out of the pen. "I've got some work to do on the truck, so you're going to be a good little pig and stay here, right? I don't have to tell you what would happen if I found you missing, right?"

Peter vaguely nodded his head, and stared up at the sky for a while, before wandering back over to the trough and finishing up the rest of the slop. The sun came over the top of the trailer and Peter wished he could find some shade. Instead, he rolled around in the mud to help cool him off and block some of the sunshine. He also drank a lot of the water in the barrel. It was really cold and refreshing, and he used some of it to wipe off his face a little, but became frustrated when he couldn't use his fingers. Eventually he just sank back into the mud and lounged around, not really doing anything at all, and relaxed. Sure, he was at the mercy of a madman, but it really wasn't all that bad. It was certainly better than his parent's house. The morning wore on into afternoon and the euphoria began to wear off a little. He had already pissed and shit over in a corner of the pen, and was feeling bored, even preferring Sam's taunting to nothing at all.

A little after noon or so, Sam came back around the trailer with two more buckets of slop. But instead of pouring them into the trough, he set them outside the pen and climbed in with Peter. "Ok Pig, time to see what you remember from lesson one," He said as he raised his arm and brought it close to Peter's face, "Come on, you know what to do." When Peter tried to back away, Sam grabbed his collar and yanked him closer, and rubbed his face in his pit. "You were getting off on it earlier, you remember that. You liked licking my dirty pits. I've never felt a harder dick in my life than yours this morning." Sam grabbed Peter's dick and started stroking it gently, "You know you want to."

The smell of sweat was overpowering, but what disgusted Peter most was the fact that a small part of him did want to lick out that pit, the same part that loved the feeling of Sam stroking his dick slowly. He tentatively stuck his tongue out and ran it through the hairs there, and even though it was humiliating, he couldn't help but feel a little aroused. He tried to tell himself that it was just the situation, but he knew that was a lie. As he started licking more thoroughly, Sam kept stroking his dick and nibbled on his ear, whispering encouragement into his ear: "Yeah, that's a good pig. You like that taste don't you? You like your master's sweaty pits. You put up a big fight but I know you want this. You may not think you do right now, but you'll learn. I'll teach you how to be a good little pig."

After Peter had cleaned out both pits, Sam hopped back over the fence, picked up one of the pails and poured it into the trough, and let Peter start eating. He dove right in this time, and even though his breakfast was massive, he was still ravenous. As he ate, he felt the euphoria sweep over him, and felt his dick getting hard as he ate. Sam saw this and laughed, "Well I guess you really are starting to enjoy yourself, aren't you Pig?" Sam climbed back into the pen and got behind Peter and started fingering his ass and stroking his dick as he ate. It wasn't long before Peter started bucking back to meet Sam's hand. Then he felt something cold hit his hole and he yelped, but Sam just pushed his head back into the trough. "Just a little suppository. Nothing serious. Gotta keep my pig healthy." Peter could feel the substance creep its way up his colon and disappear. He knew he should be more worried, but he felt too good to care all that much. When the first batch was almost gone and Peter was feeling happy and horny, Sam suddenly dragged him back and stood between him and the trough. "It's time for lesson two Pig," He said as he dropped his overalls, turned around and presented his ass to Peter, "Something else you'll be cleaning out regularly."

Peter balked at the pungent aroma and grime incrusted crack, but he ended up flat on his back. Sam took advantage of the situation and straddled Peter in the mud, his ass pushed up against his face. Peter tried to push him off, but he felt too weak, and the smell was making him gag. Sam pushed back relentlessly until Peter's mouth was trapped deep in Sam's crack, coughing and sputtering from the stench. "Come on piggy, I ain't gonna let you up til its good and clean, and if you puke, you're going to be eating it back, even if I have to force feed it to you." Peter stuck out his tongue tentatively and started licking up the crack, appalled by the taste, but knowing he had no choice. He was rewarded by Sam rolling his nipples in his fingers and stroking his dick slowly. He descended back into the drug induced euphoria and tried to distance himself from the situation. All he had to do was clean it as fast as he could, and he could go back to eating. At least eating made him happy. Suddenly, he felt something warm splash against his chest. He felt his face burn with humilation as he realized Sam was pissing on him. "Yeah, now you're getting really nasty, aren't ya? You like the taste of my ass Pig, and now you're covered in my piss. You're all mine now, marked and everything."

When he was satisfied with Peter's cleaning, he scooted forward a little so Peter could get a few breaths of fresh air, but he didn't get up and Peter started to struggle as much as he could. "Now hold your horses. I'll let you up after you piss on yourself. I want to see just how dirty my little piggy can get. Peter struggled a little more, but Sam started pushing down on his lower abdominals and he could fell his bladder wanting to release. Come on Pig, you're already covered with mine...what difference is a little more going to make?" Resigned, he relaxed, and after a few moments his piss splashed up his chest while Sam gently pulled on his nipples. When he was empty, Sam got up, turned around and laughed. "Now that is a hot piggy. Your master's shit smeared all over your face, piss everywhere else." He hopped back over the fence and poured the second bucket into the trough. Humiliated, Peter got back up and dug in, hoping to drown his anger in what little pleasure he could get. Suddenly he felt Sam ram his dick up his ass without warning, and he cursed at the top of his lungs, and Sam wrapped his hands around his neck. "What did I tell you about talking Pig? Pigs don't talk. They might oink and squeal, but if I ever hear another word come out of there there's going to be hell to pay."

Relishing his moment of rebellion, Peter managed to whisper out, "Fuck you," at which point Sam pulled out and pinned him to the ground, face up.

"I know you're scared Pig, everyone's scared at first, but this is your life now. I told you before, you can do this the easy way or the hard way. You're getting awfully close to the hard way."

"Get off me you fucker," Peter said, spit at him and started to slur, "I'm not gonna be your--" but before he could finish, Sam's fist smashed into his mouth, making him scream.

"I warned you fucker." Sam said as he laid into Peter, "I warned you but you're gonna make me hurt ya. I don't want to do this, but it's for your own good. If you don't behave there must be discipline."

Peter began screaming "stop" at the top of his lungs, tears streaming from his black eyes, the words mangled by his bloody mouth and broken nose. When Sam didn't stop, he began grunting and squealing, and when that happened, Sam sat back and said, "Good you're learning," then wiped the tears away from Peter's eyes. "It doesn't have to be like this--you know that. But I'm not going to hesitate to use force if you resist...got it?"

Peter nodded, still crying silently. Sam got up, dragged Peter back over to the trough and said, now finish your lunch. Peter spit the teeth he had lost next to the trough along with a mass of bloody drool, and then started eating, moaning in pain at the alcohol stinging his bloody face and mouth. When Sam started fucking him, he started crying even more, but didn't resist, just lost himself in his slop. He didn't even notice Sam jacking his hard dick until he realized he was approaching orgasm, and he shot his load into the mud beneath him with a loud grunt as Sam came up his ass.

With that, he pulled out, and looked Peter right in the eyes. "Are you going to behave now Pig?"

Peter nodded slowly, sniffling through his bleeding nose. Sam reached out and pushed it back in place, making Peter wince, but at least he could breathe through his nose again. Sam went into the trailer and came out again with a rag and a bottle of vodka, and sat down in front of Peter, dabbing at his nose with the alcohol and making him wash out his bloody mouth. "I'll take care of you Pig no matter what. You're my property, and I take care of my property. But if you start getting ideas, I will not hesitate to beat them out of you, got it?" Peter nodded, and then began sobbing, and Sam pulled him into a hug, Peter clinging to him. Even though he hated everything that had happened, he couldn't help but feel a little gratitude, and maybe even love for Sam. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, leaning on him, but he didn't know what else to do. When he had stopped blubbering, Sam got up and went back into the trailer, leaving Peter in the pen alone.

He ran his tongue along his remaining teeth, and figured he had lost quite a few, most of them in the front, and those he hadn't lost felt crooked or loose. Tired and scared, he laid down in the mud, and cried himself to sleep.

He woke to a foot nudging him in the side. After rolled over, he saw Sam standing over him in the evening light. "Come on Pig, time for dinner." Peter struggled up, his whole face aching, and crawled over to the trough. But as he crawled, he felt a sudden need in his bowels, and before he could even think about clenching, he felt his shit start shooting out of his ass and onto the ground behind him. His face turned red in embarrassment while Sam laughed, and then dragged him back towards the trough, saying, "guess that laxative worked. Don't worry, pretty soon that will be normal for you, shitting and pissing wherever ya happen to be, just like a regular Pig." Sam hopped out of the pen, dumped one of the buckets in and said, "I have a special treat for you tonight." He pulled out his cock after Peter had dug in, and started pissing on Peter's head, making his recoil. Sam just kept pissing into the trough. "Time for lesson three pig. Come on, eat your dinner." Peter crawled closer, and sniffed at it, unsure, and was totally surprised when Sam pushed his head down into the slop. He struggled, but his only choice was to eat or drown. The piss made it a little more bitter, but he couldn't really taste it much, so soon he was eating without Sam's encouragement. When he had finished that, he was in his usual high, and feeling really good.

"Time for the next part of the lesson." Sam said, and squatted over the second bucket, and squeezed a massive pile of shit on top of the slop. Peter felt a lump of dread in the pit of his stomach that his high couldn't fully alleviate. Sam then stuck his hand into the bucket and began mixing it all up. Then he took his hand and stuck it into the pen at Peter, who backed away towards the center of the pen. "Now, Pig, don't make me come in there and force it down your throat," Sam said, waving his hand at Peter, " You know I will if I have to." Peter didn't want to, but he realized it might be better to go the easy way than the hard way. Reluctantly, he crawled back over to Sam and started licking the shitty slop off his fingers. The taste made him gag, but he knew he could either eat it, or puke and eat that too. When his hand was clean, Sam dumped the slop into the trough, and Peter started eating that too. It really didn't taste that different from usual, and that made him wonder whether shit had been a regular ingredient already. He knew he should stop, fight, or at least something other than just take it, but he was too tired of resisting. It was so much easier to just go along with it, be a Pig. It couldn't be that bad. He would have a caring master, all of his needs provided for, and no responsibilities. When Sam climbed in with him and started slowly jacking Peter's cock slowly, he started thrusting into his fist, grunting as he kept eating the slop, soon almost enjoying the extra flavor the shit gave it.

When he was finished, Sam grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back over to where he had shit earlier. "And now for your final test for the day," Sam said, "Eat your shit Pig. I know you want too, with the way you were chowing down on mine. So eat it."

Peter balked at the prospect. It was one thing eating the slop, but eating his own shit out of the mud? He paused and realized that it really wasn't any different. He looked up at Sam, begging him with his eyes to not make him do this final act of humiliation, but Sam just pointed towards the now cooling pile on the ground. Resigned to his new role, Peter bent down and picked up the smallest piece he could and choked it down. After he was sure it would stay down, he began eating the whole pile log by log, even more humiliated by the realization that his dick was now rock hard. He began crying realizing that he really was a pig, a shit and piss eating, lazy ass sex toy meant only for pleasing his fat, nasty owner, and that only made him even harder. When he finished, Sam pushed him onto his back, and thrust his tongue into Peter's mouth, jacking Peter's cock until he shot all over his chest. Sam got up, said good night, and went into the trailer, leaving Peter in the chill darkness. Peter flopped over in the mud, and realized he had to go piss. He thought about getting up and peeing in the corner, but instead he just pissed where he was in the mud. He was Pig now, and that was the way things were going to be from now on, he thought as he fell into a fitful slumber.

Chapter 4 ~ Sadistic Wrath

*Tuesday*

That left only two bags. Micha still wasn't sure what to do with Daniel's bag, so he went and picked up Bryce's, and read his request. It seemed that Bryce was tired of William Norton flaunting his muscles everywhere, and wanted him to get knocked down a few pegs on the manliness scale.

"What is it with meeklings that they think, 'If I get rid of their muscles, they'll have to be nice?'" Micah laughed, "Well, maybe I can give Bryce a little demonstration that anger can come in small packages too."

Rod was standing over by the stairs just watching Micah and yawning. "Anything you need my help with, or can I go to bed?"

"Why don't you figure out a fitting curse for the last bag while I fix this one up? I haven't had any good ideas yet."

Rod nodded, and then went over to examine the bag while Micah collected ingredients from around the room. He started with a few steroids and powdered mace, added a few fibers from a whip, and then tossed it into the cauldron, which frothed bright red for a moment before dropping back to a simmer.

*Wednesday*

For the first time in months, since the semester started, Bryce finally had something to be happy about. By the next day, William would be just another weakling, and the man who had caused him so much torment would finally be neutralized. Bryce could imagine the surprise on his face as he woke up almost a foot shorter, with almost no muscle mass. That would teach the bully a little bit about size.

Bryce, more than anyone, understood that size really does matter. He had been five foot three inches since the seventh grade. Not a midget by any means, but walking through the hallways was more akin to a forest hike, and by the end of the day, his neck almost always hurt from looking up all day. It was a miserable existence, and one that had led him to cloister himself away for most of his high school years, but he had hoped college would be better, that people might at least be more mature and kind. He was right in most cases. At least instead of constant ridicule he received cold disregard from most of the campus. But of course, some never lost their liking for inflicting high school humiliation. The worst was William, one of the linemen from the football team--all six foot three and 285 pounds of him. Bryce did everything he could to avoid him. If he so much as caught sight of him, it would lead to a never ending cascade of taunts, and if they should be alone, the least he would receive was a few cuts from being pushed into walls.

The professor dismissed the class, and Bryce slowly packed up his things and slipped into the hallway, making sure to keep to the sides rather than get caught underfoot. He rounded the corner, lost in his dreams of revenge, and didn't even recognize Kenneth, one of Sam's lackeys, coming down the hall towards him, or the fist swinging towards his face. He tried to flinch away, but Kenneth hit him square in the eye and sent him tumbling to the ground.

"Oops!" Kenneth said with mock regard, "Didn't see you there little man! Maybe you should wear stilts or something."

Bryce blushed, but what he hated more was that no one came to his defense. In fact most people were chuckling at him if not simply looking away. He hated them all sometimes, but it didn't ease his sense of powerlessness. All he could do was bottle it up, and get away from Kenneth as quickly as possible, clutching his throbbing eye with one hand to block the tears streaming from it.

Up ahead, he saw Evan waiting for him at the usual spot, and he quickly ducked against the wall and took a moment to get himself calmed down, balling up everything and tucking it away in the back of his mind. He felt his tender eye, and then strode over and met up with Evan. As he walked up, Evan asked, "Who was it this time?"

"Kenneth. He 'accidentally' swung his hand into my face. Apparently, I'm so short he didn't see me there." Evan saw a tear well up in his friend's normal eye, but he knew better than to comment on it. Bryce preferred to suffer in solitude. "I'm just glad Will's gonna get it tomorrow. Let's see how he likes getting picked on and beaten up."

"Yeah, they'll see. They're all gonna get it."

They started off towards the football field, silently contemplating their own revenge. Up on the bleachers, Orson was already watching the team practice. Bryce sat down next to him and watched. The offensive line was practicing on one end, while the defensive line did drills on the other. William was with the other linebackers practicing tackles on sleds, and hitting each other on the helmet between runs. Bryce didn't like admitting it, but more than anything he wished he could be one of those big muscular guys out on the field, but he was stuck as a little shrimp. He could feel the tears welling up again, and so he quickly excused himself from the group, but no one really noticed. He retreated down the stairs, and then wiped his tears away.

"Everything will be different tomorrow," he told himself, as he walked over to food service for a quick dinner. Hopefully he wouldn't get his tray knocked out of his hands again, and then perhaps he wouldn't get tripped on the way to his dorm. He set off from the stadium, knowing that his hopes were probably no more than wishful thinking.

*Thursday*

Bryce's alarm went off, and he swung his arm against it and heard a smash, and felt a sharp pain in his hand. The struggled awake, and could only register the crushed remains of his alarm clock on his bedside table. He gawked at it for a moment, and then saw the arm that had crushed it. It was the biggest arm he had ever seen. The bicep bulged out as he moved his forearm back and forth, but he was still not really connecting what was going on. He was a short little wimp last night, wasn't he? How in the hell did he pack on this much muscle overnight? He sat upright, and was met by another surprise: his feet reached the floor. Not only that, but they reached the floor easily! He got up, and looked down at himself in the morning light, astonished at the sudden appearance of huge pecs, rock hard abs, and toned thighs and calves. He quickly dashed to the room's mirror and gawked at his new appearance. Everything, even his face, was harder and more chiseled.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, he began running his hands up and down his body, feeling every ridge and every muscle in detail, marveling in its tightness. In particular, he found that his nipples were particularly sensitive and puffy. Every touch sent a wave of pleasure right to his dick. That was the only regret in this new body. His dick seemed shorter than it had been before. But on the other hand, his balls were bigger and more sensitive. He gave them a little tug and let out a little moan. He started to slowly stroke it while his other hand slowly twisted one of his nipples, working it harder and harder until he almost couldn't take it, and let out a groan as he shot his load all over the mirror, buckling over from the sheer force of it.

When he stood up, he tried to remember what he had been thinking about, but he couldn't remember. That usually happened when his hot body distracted him. Bryce knew that most men would die to have a body as hot as his, but they never would. Sure, he couldn't please the ladies much with his four-inch dick, but he could beat up any man who got in his way, and rape a chick if he really wanted her. He'd certainly done it before and was sure he would do it again. He was the cream of the crop, and he'd push through anyone smaller than him to get ahead. He threw a couple of mock punches at the air, feeling angrier than usual for some reason. He quickly got out his gym gear from the closet, pulled on his gym shorts and shirt, particularly loving how the material felt against his nipples, and then hurried off for his morning gym routine.

When he got out of his apartment building, he started walking along his usual route, eager to start working out. Up ahead, he saw a man approaching, and Bryce quickly stretched down and touched his toes, giving the man a perfect view of his perfect ass, knowing that the man wouldn't be able to help looking. When Bryce saw him notice, he quickly stood up, and pushed the man against the wall, "What the fuck are you looking at?" he yelled at the man's face.

"Hey man, I wasn't looking at anything..." the man stammered, trying to unpin himself and escape, but Bryce just pushed harder.

"Listen fairy, I know this body turns you on, but that doesn't mean you can gawk at it." Bryce picked the man up by the collar and threw up to the side, "If I see you again, you'll get the beating you fucking deserve, pervert!" he yelled as the man fled down the street. The encounter took the edge off of Bryce's rage, but he still wanted to vent more. He walked the rest of the blocks to the gym, casting wicked glances at those passing by, making them quicken their stride a bit faster to get away from him. He walked into the gym, flashed his ID at the guy at the front desk, and jumped right into his routine. The man looked like a total fruit, between the blonde highlights in his hair, to the light pink shirt he was wearing. The man followed him with his eyes the whole way, and he felt the rage start boiling up again, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it during business hours. Thursday was back and shoulders, so he headed over to the free weights and started with the upright bench. With every pump, he felt his anger decrease a bit, but he still couldn't help but look around at everyone in the gym for someone to harass. In particular, he caught sight of a small guy over on a rowing machine across the room. The guy couldn't be more than five foot four, and maybe 120 pounds. Guys like that shouldn't even be allowed in here, Bryce thought to himself. In the mirror, he saw the man get up and head towards the locker room. Bryce finished his reps and hurried after him, eager to take some of his anger out on the little man, and maybe teach him a little lesson about size.

The locker room was empty, but he could hear the shower going. Bryce quickly shucked his clothes and walked in. Sure enough the little guy was showering in the corner. Up close, Bryce could see large amounts of lean muscle, but he was nowhere near as massive as Bryce. Bryce moved up behind him and asked, "What exactly do you think you're doing small fry?"

Without missing a beat, the little man spun around and grabbed Bryce's balls in a grip like a vice, causing Bryce to squeal. He tried to back off, but that just felt like his balls were going to tear off. "Small fry? Really asshole? You think I don't know how to deal with dumb jocks like you?" he said, and then added, "For your information, my name is William, and I think you're the small fry in the category that really counts."

Bryce just moaned and tried to swing at the man, but buckled when the man squeezed even harder. As he lay on the ground, holding his aching jewels, he saw the man stand over him holding his ten inch member. "See what I mean? This is a real nice piece here, unlike your little thing down there."

Bryce let out a yell of rage and tried to grab the man's ankle, but he was incredibly fast. He lifted his foot, and brought it back down square on Bryce's wrist making his scream. "Don't interrupt me fucker, or next time I'll break it." Will spat, and then continued, "As I was saying, you should be ashamed of that thing. I'm surprised you even consider yourself a man."

Bryce was trying to wriggle his hand free, but Will just pushed down harder. "Let me go you fucking bitch, or I'll mess you up so bad you won't know what day of the week it is!"

The man let up his arm, but promptly stomped right down on Bryce's neck. "I have two rules for you to follow bitch. One, you only speak when given permission, and two, you address me as Sir, got it?'

"Fuck you!" Bryce yelled as he struggled up, only to be caught off guard by a sucker punch. "I asked whether you understood? Do I need to clarify a bit more?" Bryce started to struggle up again, but hit to the jaw brought him back to his knees. Will grabbed him by his hair, "Do you understand, or do I have to keep beating some sense into you?"

Bryce spit in his face again, and the man hit him in the head with his fist. It didn't knock him out, but it did leave him senseless and dizzy. As he tried to get up, the man quickly locked the door of the still empty locker room, and returned to Bryce with a line of rope.

"Good thing I didn't unpack, or this would have been a lot more difficult." While Bryce was recovering, the man quickly grabbed his hands and bound them, and then tied his feet together with the same line. "Now then, here comes lesson one bitch." Bryce had finally recovered enough to realize he was tied up, and realized Will was about to fuck his virgin ass.

"Get off me you fucker!" He yelled as he struggled, but the man yanked on his balls making him groan, and then rammed his hard cock into Bryce's ass up to the hilt, making him scream in agony.

"Yeah bitch." Will said as he plowed into Bryce's ass, "Go on and scream, it'll just make me even harder. I love a tight ass after a work out!"

Bryce continued to struggle, but couldn't get away with his hands and feet tied together. Fully humiliated, he felt himself start crying from the pain and humiliation of it all.

"Aww...now the big mean jock is crying? Guess you don't like being on the receiving end so much do you? But you know what would be even worse...?" Will said as he pulled out with a pop. Bryce breathed a sigh of relief, but then felt a finger enter his hole and start stroking his prostate, making his penis jump to life.

"Ah...shit. No, don't do that..." Bryce gasped as Will continued invading his ass, "Please stop!"

"Why?" Will asked as he started stroking Bryce's dick, "Afraid you might start to like it? I'm sure it feels good..."

Bryce felt his orgasm mounting as Will increased the pressure and speed on his prostate. He kept pleading, but was soon reduced to sobs as he felt his cock start leaking all over the locker room floor. He tried to hold back, but with a moan sprayed his load all over the shower floor, and collapsed, completely exhausted.

"Just as I thought, a total bitch," Will said as he got up. He washed his hands and left the locker room without another word, leaving Bryce hogtied on the shower floor. He tried to loosen his hands, but they were tied so tight he was steadily losing feeling in his extremities. After about 15 minutes, the door finally opened, and Bryce called out for help. The man from the front desk came rushing back, but stopped short when he saw the bloodied Bryce, hogtied, and lying in a puddle of cum.

"Oh thank god. Please man, you gotta untie me." Bryce begged. The man looked from Bryce to the door, and then walked over to him.

"Ya know, I knew you were cute, but I didn't have you marked as a complete slut." he said, and chuckled.

"You don't understand! Some guy named William tied me up! I swear!"

"Oh I get it. Another guy 'beat' you up, 'hogtied' you, and came all over you like a five cent whore. And a big guy like you was totally overpowered? Please...someone your size doesn't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Bryce felt his face turn red from the humiliation. "Please could you just untie me?"

"Well I could...but word of this might get around somehow. I might need something in exchange to make sure things stay quiet..." the man winked. "How about a turn at that nicely used ass of yours?"

Bryce felt his mouth go dry, "No...please, not that..."

"Well then I might just have to go tell other people about this whole unfortunate incident, and we can't have that happen, now can we? A Big straight-acting guy like you? Could destroy a reputation like yours."

"You're lucky I'm not beating your face in you fucking fairy!" Bryce yelled, and renewed his struggles.

"Careful," The man said, "It's words like that that would make me go call a few of my friends and invite them to a gangbang."

Bryce sputtered a bit, but finally said, "Damn it! Fine. Just untie me."

"Sure babe, but I get my payment first."

Knowing he had no choice, Bryce rolled up and presented his ass to the man. After lubing up with some spit, he felt the second dick enter him today.

"Oooo...You have a tight ass for a hogtied slut. Not sure I'm going to last very long if you keep that up..."

Bryce stayed silent as the man slammed into him, and tried to avoid crying. With horror, he felt his spent cock start to rise again from the renewed attention.

"Looks like someone's enjoying himself." The man said as he started stroking Bryce's dick, making him moan, "Yeah, you are enjoying this, aren't you? Big muscled man like you gets off on getting all tied up? How about you cum for me? Show me how much you love my dick in your ass."

Try as he might, Bryce felt himself cum for the second time as the man rammed his cock deep into Bryce's ass. When the man's dick stopped pulsing, he pulled out and untied the knot on Bryce's hands.

"Ok, you can get yourself out now. And thanks for the great fuck. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." He said as he left the locker room.

Bryce quickly loosened the rope around his wrists, and then untied his feet, and quickly got his clothes back on. Sitting next to them, he found a note scrawled on a paper towel, "I better get my rope back, bitch. --Will" followed by a nearby address. Bryce felt his anger rising again, and figured he'd do more than return the rope. He had some payback to administer. He quickly packed up his things, washed off the blood from his nose and chin, and then left the gym as quickly as he could, ignoring the wink he got from the man at the front desk as he passed by.

The address was only a few blocks away, and Bryce sprinted over there, not caring who he pushed out of his way. The address led him to a house on a side road. After waiting a few minutes to catch his breath, he went up and knocked on the door, ready to punch as soon as the door opened. When no one answered, he knocked again, and called out, "Hey faggot! I know you're shaking in your boots but it's payback time!"

Still no one answered. Angry, Bryce tried the door and found it unlocked. He pushed it open slowly, checking around the doorway, and cautiously entered the house, finding himself in a small foyer. Shutting the door behind him, he called out again. "I know you're here faggot! This is no time for hide and seek."

He cautiously explored the downstairs, but found it deserted, curious, he ventured upstairs, but that was empty too. Bryce wondered whether he had gotten cold feet and escaped somehow. He went back downstairs, and saw a door he hadn't opened before, leading down into the basement. It was pitch black, and he couldn't find a light switch anywhere on the walls. He called out again, but didn't hear anything. Cautiously, he crept down the stairs one at a time. When he hit the bottom step, he felt a pull chain for a lightbulb hit him in the face, but before he could reach up, something slammed into the back of his head, and he fell, out cold on the ground.

~~~~~~~~

He woke up to a throbbing headache, and a light shining right into his eyes from above. He tried to move his arms but found himself unable to move. Looking around, he saw that he was shackled to a table, and he was dressed in some sort of leather harness with a metal pouch over his dick, and a collar around his neck. He also had something around his hand that was stopping him from using his fingers. He called out for help, but got no answer. After struggling for a few minutes, he heard a nearby door open and close, and footsteps on some stairs. "Let me go you motherfucker! You can't keep me here!"

"Hey, you're the one I caught breaking and entering. I just made a citizen's arrest," Will said as he approached Bryce, "Of course, I still haven't totally decided what to do with you yet." Bryce renewed his struggles, but the collar suddenly gave him a strong electric shock that made his yell.

"All puppies need discipline. But for a puppy this big, I figured the shock collar would work best. Any disobedience will earn you a shock, so I'd be careful if you don't want to get hurt." "You can't do this asshole!" Bryce yelled, but was answered with another shock.

"Now, now, is that any way to talk to your new Master? Besides, you forgot rule number one: speak only when given permission."

"Fuck you! I'll speak--" but he was cut off by another shock.

"I can do this all day, just so you know, but trust me, you'll be unable to speak from the shocks alone before too long. They don't really approve the use of these on humans, and I got the highest voltage they had."

Bryce seethed, but stayed quiet.

"Good boy. Now that we have our introductions out of the way, we have a little session to finish up I believe. I'm going to unshackle you now, and remember what happens if you misbehave."

Will came over to the table and undid the shackles. As soon as both of this arms were free, Bryce flailed out with his enclosed fists, but as soon as he moved, Will gave him a shock making him cry out in pain. "If you're going to be difficult, I can do much worse things to you, and I don't think you want to go there, so just lay there like a good boy."

Bryce complied as the last shackle came off, when he tried to sit up, but was shocked again. "I didn't say you could sit up, did I?"

Bryce fought through the pain, and stammered, "Fuck you," before falling onto the ground in pain, and falling back into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was, "I can see you're going to be more difficult than I figured."

~~~~~~~~

When he awoke again, he found himself standing between two bars, spread eagle, his hands and feet chained to the bars. "You know it doesn't have to be this difficult, right? All you have to do is submit."

"Never! I submit to no one!"

"We'll see about that. For now though, we're going to be playing a game called questions. I'll ask you questions, and you'll answer them. Every wrong answer will earn you a lashing, while every right answer will get you a reward. Let's start with an easy one. What is my name?"

"Faggot." Bryce replied.

"Wrong." Will brought the whip across Bryce's back, causing him to scream in pain. "Did I forget to mention that I use a bull whip for this game? That was a light stroke by the way. They'll only hurt more as the game goes on. Now what is my name?"

Bryce didn't answer right away, but eventually he stammered, "William...?"

"Wrong again, bitch," Will said and swung the whip against Bryce's back harder, raising a harsh red welt and making Bryce scream even louder.

"I don't know! I don't know what you want me to say! Stop hurting me!" Bryce screamed, now sobbing.

"I'll give you a hint. It starts with an 'M'. Now, what is my name?"

Bryce thought for a moment, and then replied quietly, "Master?"

"Good. You're not as slow as you look. Here's you're reward." Bryce suddenly felt something in his ass begin to vibrate right next to his prostate making him slump over and moan as his dick tried to get hard within its metal confines.

"Next question. What's your name?"

Bryce, was silent for a moment. He knew what he was supposed to say, but didn't want to, but the thought of another lashing wasn't too appealing. "I...I don't want to say it."

Bryce screamed as the whip struck his back again. "That sentence wasn't finished." "I don't...want to say it...Master..."

"Better. But the wrong answer still." Will said and struck Bryce with the whip again. Making him cry out, "Next wrong answer will draw blood. What's your name?"

Bryce struggled to speak through his sobs, "My...My name is...Slave?"

"Good, Slave, and here's your reward." Bryce felt his prostate go into overdrive again, and he moaned with pleasure. "Feel's good doesn't it?"

"Ye...Yes...Sir. It does Sir." Bryce replied.

"You want to feel it again...don't you?"

"Yes...Yes Sir."

"Next question. What is the square root of 225?"

Bryce, tried to look back at Will, but couldn't see if he was joking or not. "I...I don't know...Sir."

"Wrong answer Slave, another lashing." Bryce cried out and tried to move, but he felt the whip tear into him even harder than before. "I didn't expect you to know that, I just wanted to whip you."

Bryce was now sobbing and shaking, as he felt something warm dribble down his back, and realized it was his own blood. "Please Sir...Please...don't hurt me anymore...I'm sorry..."

"I'll only hurt you if you answer wrong Slave--you know that. The choice is up to you. Next question. Will you suck my dick?"

"Yes Sir." Bryce answered, just wishing this nightmare would end.

"Correct." This time the vibration was even stronger than before, and made Bryce cry out in pleasure. "Next question. Do you want to suck my dick?"

Bryce opened his mouth to answer, but stopped, and was silent, waiting for some cue from his Master as to what the right answer would be, but got nothing. Eventually, he whispered quietly, "Yes...?" and then cried out in pain when the whip struck his back.

"I told you to answer my questions, not lie, Slave! I can tell when you lie, bitch. Now what's the answer?"

"No Sir. I don't want to suck your cock, Sir."

"Then why would you suck my cock, if you don't want to, Slave?"

Bryce paused, "Because I don't want to get hurt, Sir."

Will brought the whip down on Bryce's back even harder than before, leaving his gasping for breath. "Wrong answer Slave. You only get hurt when you disobey. Your fear isn't the cause. Why would you suck my dick if you did not want to?"

"Because...Because you told me too Sir." Bryce cried in exasperation, and moaned loudly when the plug in his ass began to vibrate again.

"Very good Slave. You do what you do because I tell you too, that is the only reason. My directions are your reason for existing. But first, let's see how good of a cocksucker you are." Will quickly unlatched Bryce from the bars, and unsupported, he fell forward onto the ground, and then struggled up on his hands and knees. When he looked up, he found himself staring at Will's raging hard dick. "Now suck it, and if I feel any teeth, you're going to lose them."

Bryce tried to get up, but Will brought a paddle down on his already painful back, making him cry out again. He looked up at the face of his tormenter, and was more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life. He saw a face so enraptured with sadistic rage that Bryce knew he would not hesitate to inflict any amount of pain to make him comply. Slowly, he opened his mouth and took the head of Will's dick into his mouth and began sucking. As he took more of the shaft into his mouth, he felt the plug in his ass begin vibrating again. Eager to feel the only bit of pleasure he had had all day, Bryce began sucking harder, careful to keep his teeth well away from the flesh.

"That's it slave, eat that dick. Swallow that fucking thing. Worship that piece of meat, because that is going to be the focus of the rest of your life, from this moment on." Suddenly, Will thrust the entire length into Bryce's mouth making him gag, he tried in vain to unimpale his face, But Will easily overpowered him, as he continued to violently fuck Bryce's face. Will pulled out and shot his huge load all over Bryce's face, making him spit and sputter. As Bryce made to wipe it away, Will said, "Leave it there and stay on the ground. If you move an inch, you know what will happen."

Will then went to a nearby table and came back with a digital camera. "Memories in the making. My slave's first facial." he said as he began snapping photos. "Now scrape it off with your mitts and eat it, Slave."

Bryce gulped, but complied, trying to avoid puking it back up, figuring that if he did, Will would make him eat that too. When he finished, Will rewarded him with another shock to the prostate, and then came over and removed the metal pouch allowing Bryce's throbbing dick out into the air. "I think my bitch has earned a little release. Go get on the table, Slave." Bryce quickly complied, and laid back on the table while Will shackled him with the chains. "Now it's time for a new game. This one is called Pain and Pleasure. The rules are simple. All you have to do is cum, and the game is over. Until then, I get to do whatever I want to you, got it? Let's begin."

Will went over to the table and fetched a cat 'o nine tails and brought it back, and began running it over Bryce's chest, making him shiver. Then the vibrator kicked on, making him moan and bringing his erection to full mast. Will reached into his pocket and pulled out two clips that he clipped onto Bryce's nipples. Will started flicking the clips with the whip, bringing out a number of moans from Bryce as he cranked the vibrator even higher. The amount of stimulation was making Bryce's head spin, he almost couldn't tell the difference between the pain and the pleasure, when Will started whipping him with the cat 'o nine tails he cried out in pain, but then moaned when the vibrator started going full blast. He couldn't hold back anymore, as he let lose the biggest orgasm of his life. As his dick pulsed wildly, Bryce fell back exhausted, and passed out, aware that, for the very first time, he felt at peace.

Chapter 5 ~ Euphoric Greed

*Tuesday*

Micah looked at the final bag, and read the note attached: "I want Greg Troyer to be poor and unemployed." It was by far the least interesting off them all, and wasn't entirely sure what he should do with it. At a loss, he tossed the bag to Rod, "Here, Mr. Apprentice, make yourself useful and figure out something for the last one. I'm worn out."

Rod stared at it for a moment, shrugged, and started collecting some stuff from the shelves. After adding a ripped up one dollar bill, he turned to Micah and asked, "Do you have any ecstasy or cocaine? Maybe both?"

Micah just cocked an eyebrow, but just reached up to the top shelf where he kept his stash, "Just don't use too much, a little goes a long way, and I wouldn't want to waste it."

With a glove on, Rod reached in and added a tablet of ecstasy and a pinch of cocaine, then added a few drops of addiction brew and concentrated pleasure to finish it off, and threw it into the cauldron with the rest. The concoction flared brightly for a moment, then the entire room went black. When they managed to relight the candles, the entire basin had emptied, aside from a bit of smoke swirling around the bottom.

"Come on, let's go to bed. We have a lot to figure out for Friday, and I'm exhausted," Micah said, and led the way out of the basement, Rod blowing out candles behind him.

*Wednesday*

Daniel knew that he could wait inside just as easily as out, but the cold helped him forget how hungry he was. He hadn't had breakfast, and after three classes where he had barely been able to concentrate, he had finally relented and given Peter a call, and asked if he could buy him lunch. This was made worse by the fact that he had gotten another email from his parents, begging him to attend "a center" where they could cure him of his sin. It was unnatural, they wrote, he needed help. Without Christ, he would be condemned to hell for all eternity, and if they didn't get him there, they would burn to.

Of course, they were simply being good christians when they cut off his meal plan in an attempt to force him to quit school and come home, but he was making it work. He didn't exactly come from a rich family, and was the first to even go to any kind of college. His father hadn't even finished high school, dropping out when he was fifteen to work at the local service station. They had always said that they were poor of pocket but rich of spirit, and that the Lord would guide them through, but a lot of good that had done Daniel.

A group of jocks came out of the door behind him, led by Greg Troyer, and Daniel immediately stiffened up as though he had been smacked across the face. Of course, Greg didn't pay any attention to him, why would he? Daniel was just a poor nobody, barely scraping through college with scholarships and expensive student loans. Greg had everything, but mostly he had money. His father owned Toyer Industries, which was responsible for employing about ten percent of Havensburg, and his great grandfather had actually been on the original board of trustees at the university, every successive generation of Toyer had been on it as well. Greg didn't have to do anything to graduate from Havensburg University. He didn't have to go to class, he didn't have to follow university guidelines, so long as his father's grant was funding the brand new science building being built across the way. It was a four year joyride for Greg, so why would he even bother to pay attention to someone like Daniel?

But Daniel knew Greg, oh did he. It was Greg's father who had instigated the layoffs which landed Daniel's father on unemployment right before Daniel was going to start college. If he hadn't managed to score that final scholarship, he would have been waiting tables to help keep his family afloat. But Greg didn't care about that, and Daniel was going to change that, oh was he ever.

He saw Peter approaching on a nearby path, and Daniel waved to him. They went inside, and Daniel loaded up a meager portion of food, just enough to keep him going until Friday when he got paid again from his work study position. Peter tried to convince him to get more, but Daniel said nothing, feeling it was better than getting into an argument. They went and sat down, where Peter asked, "Are you ok? You seem down?"

"Yeah," he replied, "I'm alright...I just got another email from my parents. They want me to go to this...center. They say it can fix me." He squeezed his fist hard enough to make his knuckles pop, "Cause, you know, something's broken, and only through the power of Christ can I be repaired."

"Why don't you just get a new email account?"

Daniel sighed and relaxed his hand, "I really should, but...you know. I just keep hoping they'll change their minds. I'm just not ready to turn my back on them yet."

Peter looked at his watch, and saw it was a little past four. "Hey, we should probably go meet the guys over at the stadium. Maybe imagining the surprise those jocks are in for tomorrow will cheer you up."

Everyone else was already in the bleachers, and Daniel watched Greg run back and forth, generally making a fool of himself. It was pretty obvious that even his teammates hated his antics, and only put up with him because of his connections. In the back of his mind, Daniel began to think that maybe they were being too hard on all of them, but it was too late to go back now. He left early, unsure whether the pit in his stomach was from doubt, or hunger.

*Thursday*

Daniel woke up the next morning, somewhat disoriented. It seemed like the ceiling was too high above his head, that his bed was too big and soft, but those were standard in his father's guest house. He sat up and stretched, figuring it was just lingering confusion from his dreams. For some reason, he had dreamed that he was a poor college student or something--as if that would ever happen! He was Daniel Brascoe the IV, the only son of the wealthiest family in Havensburg, had never struggled a day in his life, and that's the way he liked it. Easy work in the day as a vice president of his father's company, and partying late into the night with his friends--other trust fund babies of his father's corporate executives. Hell, other than the housekeepers and waiters his father employed, Daniel had never even dealt with anyone with a yearly income less than 250,000 dollars a year. As far as he was concerned, anything below that was sheer poverty.

As he tried to wake up, he realized that he did have a bit of a hangover from the night before, and a strange craving for...something. Mick had brought a new drug to the party the night before that he'd gotten somewhere, and convinced Daniel to give it a shot. It had been a blast, at least, everything he could remember about it had been a blast. It had made him so horny, he had basically forced the girl he was with to have sex with him, as if every girl he met didn't want to have sex with him already. Apparently his maids had already gotten her up, fed her and made her leave. He was never one for conversation the morning after, and the emergency contraceptive snuck into their breakfasts always took care of any other complications that might arise. Still, he tried to shake it off, got up and showered, dressed, and made his way to the dining room for his breakfast, which was laid out on the table for him by the time he got there.

He figured that some food and coffee would make him feel a bit better, but everything was a bit bland. He sent that food back, threatening to fire the cook, but the second round was just as unsatisfying. He still had that itch in the back of his head for whatever Mick had given him, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was. Of course, Daniel was no stranger to party drugs, and figured nothing bad would happen if he got a bit more to play with. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was already one in the afternoon, so obviously the office hadn't missed him all morning. Figuring he could use a day off, he gave Mick a call, leaving his breakfast half eaten.

"Hey, what's up Daniel?" Mick answered.

"Man that was pretty wild last night. You have any more of the stuff you gave me? I want some more of that shit."

"Nah man, I'm all out. I'm stuck at the office though, so I can't get any. You could go see the dealer though, if you really...uh...want to..." Mick said, and coughed nervously.

"Sure. Where's the guy at?"

"I'll text you the address and a map. It's a bit shady, but the guy's legit. Just tell him Mick sent you, and he'll deal with you."

"Sure thing, thanks for the tip."

"Uh..you're welcome, I guess." Mick added, then hung up quickly.

Daniel felt that something was off, but a moment later Mick's text message arrived, which automatically programmed the new destination into his GPS. He figured he could go ahead and pick up some of that stuff and then find a girl to fuck, and fuck, and fuck all night long. Funny, he hadn't asked Mick what the name of the drug was; he'd forgotten to do so. Oh well, he figured the dealer would know what Mick had gotten if he asked.

He got into his BMW convertible and sped away from his father's estate, taking various turns as the GPS directed, and didn't really notice where he was going until the final few turns. Somehow, he'd ended up out of the city and driven into the local indian reservation dotted with smoke shops and trailer parks, certainly not somewhere Daniel would want to be seen with his shiny BMW. Still, he needed that drug, and the craving was getting worse. Thoughts of addiction occasionally entered his mind, but that couldn't have happened already. It took heavy use for stuff like that to set in, and Daniel used drugs purely for recreational purposes. Still, what had Mick given him exactly?

The GPS took him into one of the rundown trailer parks and stopped him at a beaten down trailer with a rusty sedan sitting outside of it. Daniel could hear the sounds of a TV inside, but little else. Still a bit nervous, and not really wanting to abandon his car even for a minute or two, he went up and knocked on the door.

The volume of the TV dropped, and a raspy voice called from inside, "Who's there?"

"My name's...uh...Stewart." he lied, "I'm a friend of Mick's. He said I could get some...stuff here."

A number of locks were slowly opened, followed by the door itself. A middle aged man stood in the doorway, in far worse shape than anyone Daniel had ever seen before in his life. He didn't even know that people could look like that. The man was skinny, but had a large gut hanging over his faded, stained jeans, a bit of which could be seen hanging out from his grimy wifebeater. He had a few days of stubble on his face, and it looked like he hadn't bothered to cut his hair in months, and he might not have washed it since then either. He grinned when he saw Daniel on his stoop, revealing several black holes where teeth used to be. "Well don't just stand there," he said, his breath reeking of tobacco smoke, "Come on in. I got what you're looking for."

"Is my car going to be ok here? I'm a bit worried--"

"Hey, I don't care about your car. You want the stuff, you gotta come inside. What's it going to be...Stewart?" As the man said the alibi he smirked, not that Daniel noticed. The craving was becoming too much to handle now that he was so close to the source.

"Yeah, fine. Let me in," Daniel said, and stepped inside as the man shut the door behind him. It's not like he couldn't just buy another car if that one got stolen.

The man walked over to a drawer and started rifling through it. Daniel could see that it was filled with tupperware containers and ziplock bags containing all sorts of powders and pills, some of which he recognized, but a whole lot that he didn't. He pulled out a small bag containing a few small red pills. "Here's the stuff," he said, "Big Red, I call it. This what you're looking for?"

Daniel took a hard look at the pill, but couldn't honestly remember what he had taken the night before, "Uh...yeah, I think? I...forgot to ask Mick what he'd given me, actually."

The man rolled his eyes, undid the bag and cut a tablet in half before handing Daniel one piece, "Here, give it a try and see how it feels. If it's the same, we'll know soon enough."

"Are you kidding?" Daniel asked, "I'm not going to take that here."

"Would you feel better if I quarter it?" the man replied, cutting the piece again, "You'll feel just enough to know whether this is what you took or not. Give it a try, it'll help you feel better. I know how you must be feeling at the moment..."

Daniel knew he should refuse, but the possibility that this could make his itch go away was too tempting. He took the bit from the man's hand and dry swallowed it, and waited for something to happen. The pill metabolized quickly in his empty stomach, and soon everything began to look a bit hazy, and the itch disappeared. However, the pill from the night before had felt like the world was rushing at him. He had been horny and angry...vicious even. This just made him feel...empty. Light-headed, he sat down in a moldy chair behind him and felt his head loll backwards. He was exhausted, and it felt as though everything he touched was made from the softest pillow he'd ever felt, even the air against his face.

"Feeling good?" the man asked, "Here, go ahead and take the rest, my treat."

Unable to resist him, Daniel felt the man force open his mouth and slip the other chucks in his mouth, plugging his nose until he swallowed. A minute later, Daniel couldn't focus on anything.

"Now," the man said, "I don't think I introduced myself. My name is Greg Troyer, and until a few years ago, I was employed as a chemical engineer at your father's company. Yes, that's right. I know you're Daniel Brascoe the Fourth. I know all about you. See, my boss at the company didn't like me because I was gay, so he told a few nasty lies about my work which led to me receiving a pink slip one day, signed off by none other than yourself, not that you probably knew, or cared, what you were signing. No problem I thought, I'd just find another job, except I soon discovered that I had been blacklisted out of work. My house was repossessed and I have been on welfare for months now, and did I complain? Not really. Why complain when you can get even? Why complain when you can bring down the entire Brascoe family with a few well-placed chemicals? Now, you just make yourself comfortable--I have a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it," As he walked away into a back bedroom, Daniel felt consciousness finally slip away from him.

~~~~~

When Daniel woke up, it felt as though every part of his body ached. He moaned, and nearly rolled off the couch he was lying on onto the floor.

"Hurting?" He heard Greg say, "Give this a try," he stuck a lit cigar in the corner of Daniel's mouth.

Unable to do much else, Daniel took a deep inhale and felt some of the ache subside. The next few breaths he took were only cigar smoke, and after demolishing a good half inch of the tobacco, he finally felt well enough to sit up on the couch. "What...What did you do to me?" he muttered, still inhaling as much smoke as he could.

"Well, one of the drugs I gave you was highly concentrated nicotine, supplemented by a compound known to speed and intensify addiction. You're a smoker now, and will be for the rest of your life. Oh, and cigarettes won't cut it. I mean, you'd have to smoke, like twenty at a time, all day and night, just to feel satisfied. See, I like a man who likes cigars."

Daniel knew he had to get away, and he had to do it fast. He tried to stand up from the couch but was still so dizzy he fell to the floor, the cigar flying from his fingers. Terrified that the pain might resurge, he clutched at it and took a few more puffs, desperate for any relief, but no matter how hard he sucked, he still didn't feel well. He needed something...else.

Greg came around the back of the couch, and Daniel noticed for the first time that he was naked. A moment later it registered that he was naked himself, lying on the ground of a poor man's trailer, smoking a cigar like his life depended on it. Greg's body was just as ugly unclothed as it was clothed, covered with hair and smelling of smoke. As he came closer, Daniel could catch whiffs of his body odor as well, which only made him sicker. Greg's cock was erect and standing out from a wiry bush of pubic hair, and he stroked it for a moment or two in front of Daniel's face, grinning. "Suck it," was all he said, and stood there, waiting.

Daniel didn't, but found that as he did he began to ache again. He took a few more puffs from his cigar, but that didn't help. Finally in desperation he got on his knees and took the dirty cock in his mouth, only to be rewarded with a burst of pleasure that made him sigh. All of it was gone, for a moment, all of the aches. He began sucking, eager to be free from that haunting pain, stopping only to take the occasional puff from his quickly disappearing cigar. Above him, he saw that Greg had a small digital camera and was taking photos of him. "Look at the camera, boy. Look at the camera like you're having the time of your life. Look like all you want to do for the rest of your life is suck a man's cock--suck my cock."

Daniel looked up, and the wave of pleasure washed over him again. He sucked vigorously, loving the euphoria of the moment, despite the unpleasant taste of the cock in his mouth and the scratchy pubic bush Greg kept rubbing in his face as he snapped photo after photo.

"See, another drug I gave you permanently rewrites your brain so obeying someone's orders gives you pleasure, while disobeying them gives you pain. See, this is tied to a person's voice. Now, not only are you compelled to obey me, or suffer. I took the liberty of doing the opposite to the voice of your father. No matter what, you'll have to disobey him, and obey me, not that you'll mind doing it before long. Soon, it'll just be instinctual."

Daniel was horrified, and began to fight against the feeling. Greg allowed him to break away and struggle to his feet, only to have the aches descend upon him again. Unable to face it, he got back down and resumed sucking. He couldn't help it, it just felt too good.

"Yeah, feel's good, don't it bitch?" Greg said, "Stop sucking, I want your dad to see his prized son with a load of my cum splattered all over his face. Jack your cock while I do it, and cum when I do, all over the floor."

Daniel sat back, the stub of his cigar shoved in the corner of his mouth, jacking off gleefully, the pleasure of obeying a far more powerful aphrodisiac than anything he had ever experienced ever before. Greg was still taking photo after photo, and before long shot his load with a grunt all over Daniel's chin. Daniel shot his own load as soon as he saw the first spurts of cum emerge from Greg's cock. The orgasm paired with the act of obeying made him cry out in pleasure. Barely registering the flashes from the camera, He fell back exhausted, cum covering his face as well as the floor in front of him.

"Now, for one last demonstration," Greg said, and then in a loud voice, added, "Listen up!" At those words, it felt as though the entire world faded away until all Daniel could hear was the sound of Greg's voice. "You love sucking cock," Greg said to him, "You find me and all men who look like me irresistibly attractive. You love the taste of cum. Now, back to reality!" With that, Daniel snapped back, somewhat disoriented. It felt like something had changed, but he couldn't figure out what. He also had a hard time remembering what exactly Greg had just said to him.

Greg pulled out a video camera next and started taping, "Now, it's time for your interview segment. Tell me Daniel, do you like sucking cock?"

Daniel wanted to say no, that he was straight, but what came out instead was, "Hell yeah I love sucking cock! It's the best." Strangely enough, Daniel found that he did believe it--he didn't know why he had wanted to say the opposite a moment ago. Sucking cock was awesome, and he wanted to do it every chance he got.

"What kind of guys are you attracted to?" Greg said next, unfazed by Daniel's response.

"Well..." Daniel said, blushing, "Guy's like you, I guess."

"So you like poor, dirty rednecks? That's the kind of guy who turns you on?"

Daniel nodded in reply.

"Last question Daniel, do you like the taste of cum?"

"Are you kidding? Cum is fantastic!"

"Then how about you go ahead and eat the stuff that's plastered to your face?"

Daniel immediately began scooping Greg's cum into his mouth, as obeying another order brought him another boost of pleasure.

"Yeah, that's a good cum-whore. Go ahead and lick everything up off the floor. And while you're doing it, tell everyone that you're a raging slut for cock."

Daniel got on his hands and knees and began licking up his own cum from the carpet, "I'm a raging slut for cock!" he said between licks, "I lock sucking cock!...I love the taste of cum!"

Greg stopped taping, and handed Daniel a new cigar, which he immediately began sucking at, but nothing happened.

"You have to light it, you idiot," Greg said, and threw a lighter at him. Daniel ran the flame under the cigar for a moment until it burned red and released the sweet fumes he desperately needed.

"The last drug I gave you induces a hypnotic state in which the subject is highly suggestible. Another concoction of my own. Now, I laid out some clothes for you to in the bedroom. Go put them on."

Daniel raced off, already responding to the subtle command. He wanted the pleasure, sure, but he was also afraid of what would come if he disobeyed. Pleasure was his new wealth. He was greedy for it, wanted any little bit he could scrounge up, but even more than that, he feared poverty. This is how he had been raised, and it had taken little effort to shift him to this new currency. Greg could give him what he wanted, and in a far more pure form than his father's money ever could. Already, he felt his will to fight back shrinking.

In the bedroom, he saw a pile of leather on the bed. quickly pulled on everything as best he could, though it took him a moment to figure out how the harness went on. The final touch was a thick metal collar which he put around his neck and then padlocked shut. There was no key in sight, which kind of worried him, but he was dressed, and the happiness returned. In a mirror on the wall, he saw a person which bore little resemblance to the man who had gotten up this morning in his father's mansion. Daniel looked ragged, exhausted, but more than anything, hungry for more. The leather was well worn and dull, but felt pleasant against his bare skin.

"You done? Then get back in here!" He heard Greg yell, and he rushed back into the living room. "Now, listen up!" Greg said, and Daniel fell back into the same void as before. "You love being fucked up the ass. You love begging other men to fuck you. You love begging men to let you suck their cock. I am your master. You love your master. You will refer to me only as master. The only name you will respond to is slave. Being called slave makes you aroused and horny. You can only cum after your master tells you you can. Return to reality!"

Daniel felt his head ache as it tried to take in the new information and commands. However, after a few more puffs on his cigar, everything was perfectly clear. He was Slave. That was Master. HIS Master. He loved cock. He loved getting fucked by cock, sucking cock, anything with cock.

"We're going to have some company over slave, and you are to please them as best you can, understand?"

Daniel nodded, eager to obey. A moment later there was a knock at the door. Greg opened it and Mick stepped into the trailer. Daniel was shocked, but couldn't help fulfilling his new commands. He got on his knees, cigar smoke all around him and said, "Please sir, will you let me suck your cock? Please, I need it. I need your cock, I need your cock up my ass!" He saw that his Master was filming his performance again, which shamed him.

Mick smirked, "Sure, I guess I can do that. Bend over the couch, slave."

Daniel knew he had been betrayed, but he got up and bent over anyway, his ass twitching with need. Mick took out his cock and without any mercy jammed it into his former friends virgin hole, making him yell loud enough that the cigar fell from his mouth. Master was kind enough to put it back, and Daniel was able to relax as Mick began thrusting in and out.

He knew he should want to know why Mick had done this to him. He knew he should care that his Master was filming this, and would probably send it to his father. He knew he should be trying to escape, but he was in too deep. He had fallen too far. He had become too greedy, and could only go further down into the pit of ecstasy his life had become.

Chapter 6 ~ Glimpses of Redemption

*Friday*

George lolled in bed, listening to the sound of his new chef cooking up something in the kitchen a couple of rooms over. His massive belly growled, already hungry after having no food for eight hours, but George was used to that. He pretty much had to eat constantly just to feel the least bit satisfied, and he hoped that Evan would be able to keep up with him, in more ways than one. He rolled onto his side, his massive apron sprawled in front of him, then pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging under his five hundred pound bulk. It was only then that he noticed the young man sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room.

"Good, you're finally up. Now, I'll make this quick because I have four other stops, and because I'm sure you'd like to get to breakfast. Now, see that tub of lard you have for a body? You weren't like that two days ago."

George, still confused, replied, "I...I'm sorry. But who are you? And what are you doing here."

"Look, just listen to me," he said, "Two days ago, you were a jock with a fantastic body. Now, I cast a spell on you, as requested by an...enemy of yours, but no magic is permanent unless the subject is offered a chance for redemption, so here it is. You are a glutton, and an unabashed one at that. All I ask of you, if you'd like your old body back, is that you refuse one meal today."

George tried to interject, but the man suddenly disappeared, leaving only a trail of smoke and a disembodied voice, "One meal George, that's all. Shouldn't be too hard for a big guy like you."

Unsure whether what had just happened was real or simply a figment of his imagination, George shook his head, pulled on a very large pair of boxers while he was still seated, and then hefted himself up. Surely what the man had said couldn't be true; George had always been fat, and he loved it. But some part of him in the back of his mind insisted that these memories were a lie. As a ball of doubt began to form alongside his growing hunger, he exited the bedroom into his personal dining room, where servers and assistant chefs were hustling about, preparing the table for his breakfast. Evan flew in through one of the double doors, his white chef coat splattered with sauces and flour, his face red and flushed as he tried to catch his breath. He hadn't worked this hard on a meal in years, but it was the most satisfying work he had ever done, or at least it would be, once he sat down to eat the fruits of his labor with his new lover. He spotted George across the room, and rushed over to give him a kiss, and was a bit surprised when George didn't return it with the same vigor he had the day before. "What's wrong love? Sleep badly?"

"Huh? Oh...nothing like that, I think," George said, "Say...you didn't...see anyone go into my room, did you?"

Evan eyed him, "No...was someone in there?"

"I...Look, never mind. It must have just been a dream I had."

"I'm sure a good breakfast will help make everything better," Evan said, pulling out a massive chair from the table, "Have a seat. Everything is just getting set out for us."

"Actually," George said, backing away, "I...I'm not feeling well. I think I might go back to sleep for a bit."

Evan looked confused, and then the redness in his face deepened, "You...You don't...like it? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, it's not that," George said, "I'm...I'm just not feeling like myself right now. Look, I'm sorry, but I'm just not hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"Well, I'm not hungry right now!" George yelled, a bit louder than he meant to, and the look of utter disappointment which spread across Evan's face just made him feel worse. "No...No, I didn't mean it like that. See, I'm just not doing well this morning. Let me sleep it off, and we'll have a great lunch together, how about that?"

Evan looked away, and then back at George, anger now filling his eyes, "No. No, I made this for you, and you're going to fucking eat it, you fucking asshole!" He grabbed a muffin from a passing tray and advanced on George.

"What...What are you doing?"

"We're going to make sure you're good and full. Trust me, you'll sleep better with a full stomach," Evan said, then motioned to some of the servers, "Hold George down for me. I think he wants his breakfast 'rough' this morning."

George fought against the first tray of food that Evan forced down his gullet, but his rock hard cock couldn't be ignored, especially when one of his servers took it out and began milking it just how he liked it. Before too long, he was sharing food filled kisses with Evan as though nothing strange had happened, the memory of his morning visitor having long since passed.

~~~~~

Lenny was hot, and as he walked down the street, he knew that every man he passed was thinking the same thing. They all wanted him, and he didn't care, as long as they paid for the privilege. Pigtown was already open however, and while it would probably be a ghost town for a few more hours, he sometimes picked up the occasional early fuck. Hell, it wasn't like he had much else to do.

Behind him, a voice called out, "Hey! Hey, there you are." Lenny turned around and saw a young man running up to him, "I need to talk to you."

"Hey, you want some of this? You gotta pay."

"That is definitely not what I wanted to talk to you about," the man said, finally stopping and catching his breath, "Man, you're a hard guy to track down, you know that?"

Lenny was now a bit worried. What was this guy, some kind of cop? He didn't want to get busted or anything.

"Listen, who you are right now, isn't who you were two days ago. You might think it is, but its not. You were a jock, and an enemy of yours asked me to place a spell on you. However, all magic requires a chance of redemption, so here's yours: You need to not have sex today--with anyone, but especially not that biker, Orson, you fucked yesterday."

He had mostly forgotten that, it simply hadn't been the most important transaction of the day, but how had this guy known that they'd fucked at all?

"Yo, I don't know what you're getting at here, but I'm not a prostitute, alright?"

"Yeah, sure you aren't," the man said, and then rushed off again, appearing to disappear right before he turned a corner down the way. When Lenny continued walking and passed where the man had gone, he saw that it was a dead end alley, and the man had simply disappeared. Had he ever been there in the first place? Still, even though he tried to put the words out of his mind, they came back. Some part of him kept yelling that they were true. That he had been a jock, and that this was all wrong. By the time he got to Pigtown, he was decidedly not horny, but figured a drink might steady his nerves a bit, so he went in anyway.

As soon as he did, he wished he hadn't. The biker from the day before, Orson the man had called him, was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and watching the door. Lenny tried to back away, but couldn't before Orson spotted him and got up.

"Hey, you. I need that cock of yours up my ass again. Please, I'll do anything. I even got money. More of it. 200 dollars if you'll fuck me all afternoon, what do you say?"

Lenny had never been offered that much to fuck someone, and under any other circumstances he would have happily agreed, but given what the man had said, he didn't think it would be a good idea. The voice in the back of his head agreed vehemently. "Thanks for the offer, but uh...I actually got plans already."

Orson looked surprised, then dejected, "Is...is it not enough money?"

Lenny didn't know what to say, so he just shrugged, and pushed his way into the bar. He ordered a light beer for himself, then took a seat at a nearby table, drinking half the brew on the way, hoping it would help clear his head. Orson, disappointed, sat back down at the bar and asked the bartender for something harder.

Lenny felt sorry for the guy, and wasn't sure why he was turning down the offer, but maybe the guy he'd run into was right. Maybe something strange was going on here. As he drank more of his beer, his eyes kept wandering over to Orson, or more particularly, Orson's ass, propped up on the bar stool. It looked bigger than it had the day before, meatier and hotter too. Lenny readjusted his crotch, trying to keep his hardening dick down, but suddenly the encounter he had barely remembered that morning stood out clear as day. No ass had ever felt like that one. Every thrust, every movement was intensified. Not too loose, not too tight, it had been all he'd ever wanted in a fuck, and now he was just going to give that up?

He downed the rest of the beer, feeling a bit floaty from the alcohol, but mostly from the pure lust coursing through him, and stalked back over to Orson, "You know, maybe I was too hard on you before. I've...I've been doing some thinking," he said, squeezing one of Orson's ass cheeks. "Damn," he muttered, "I...I just gotta see that ass of yours one more time..." he said, mostly to himself, but Orson couldn't believe what had just come out of his dreamboats mouth. He stood up, grabbed Lenny's hand and pulled him into the backroom. Lenny knew he shouldn't, but watching that ass move...he had to have it again. It had to be his.

"So, this ass?" Orson said, moving it around in Lenny's face, "This is the ass you want?"

"Oh hell yeah...yeah, let me see that ass," Lenny said, openly massaging his cock now. He need to fuck. He was desperate.

"You want it? I need something for it then," Orson said with a smirk, "A little something green maybe? To make up for your harsh words earlier? 75 dollars ought to lift my spirits enough. I know you got that much."

Without really thinking, Lenny pulled out his wallet and stuffed some bills in one of Orson's back pockets, cupping that sweet ass as he did. "I have a better idea. How about we head back to my place and get to know each other on more...intimate terms?"

Orson couldn't resist that offer, and they both left the bar giddy with lust. The voice cried out in dismay, but Lenny just squished it out of existence. Sex was everything--no, Orson's ass was everything. It was everything he would ever need.

~~~~~

Sure there were things Samuel could be doing. He could clean up his trailer, or go play with his pig, or any number of things. But why do something productive when you could just sit on your porch, drink a beer, and listen to the radio? He didn't get any TV channels out here in the country, so he had to settle for a single country station that came in alright from the next town over, but that was fine with him. Sam didn't ask for much from the world. He just wanted to be left alone.

Of course, not everyone understood that, he thought, as a lone figure came around the curve in the long driveway back to the rural road. From a distance, Sam couldn't make out who it was, but it sure as hell didn't look like any of his neighbors. Besides, they knew well enough to keep out of his business. As the man approached, it definitely looked like someone from the city. Sam grabbed his shotgun and stood up, "Ya can go ahead and turn around and git the fuck off my property, whoever ya are!" He yelled, "I ain't got nothin' for ya!"

"All I want is a word, Samuel," the figure called back, and continued walking until he was about fifty feet away, and then stopped. "Who you are now is not who you were two days ago. You were a college student and a brilliant student. A spell was cast on you by an enemy, but all spells must offer a chance at redemption. So cleanse yourself Samuel--cleanse and be cleansed."

At that, the figure vanished, and Samuel was no longer sure anyone had ever been there in the first place. Cleanse himself? What did that mean, that he should take a shower? Samuel sniffed his pit out of curiosity, and it sure did reek. When was the last time he had taken a shower? He couldn't even remember. Did his shower even work? He got up and went into his trailer, wading through piles of junk he collected off the side of the road. Why did he have all of this stuff? Something told him that he needed it, but maybe he should just get rid of it. Maybe he should just burn it to the ground. That would cleanse it, wouldn't it? Something told him that would work, but why was he thinking about this anyway? All of this thinking was making Sam's head hurt. Still, out of curiosity more than anything, he made his way to the filthy bathroom and found the basin of the shower filled with trash he had thrown there. If he wanted a shower, he'd have to clean it out first, but that seemed like too much work. All of it was too much work.

Out the bathroom window he saw his new pig in his pen. He'd put up a bit of a fight the day before, but had settled in quite well. He hadn't even tried to talk when Sam had taken him his morning slop, he hadn't even complained when he'd cleaned out Sam's shitty ass after he took a shit. Sam rubbed his cock through his filthy jeans, thinking about all of the hot pig sex he could have later. Hell, why not have some of it now? Cleaning could wait.

Pig sat up as his master approached, and Sam saw fear and loathing, but also a growing desire in his eyes. He liked being a pig, he just didn't really know that yet, but he was learning, and he was learning fast. "I'm horny, Pig," Sam said as he clambered into the pen, "So let's play."

Pig tried to crawl away, but Samuel got down behind him and grabbed his ass. Looking down, he saw that the crack was absolutely caked with filth. Hungrily, Sam buried his face and began licking at the crack, relishing the taste of shit, mud and his own cum from the day before, and shot his own load of cum in his shorts, just from the sheer eroticism of the taste. Pig eventually joined in, grunting as his master fucked him and he fucked Sam in return, drinking each other's piss, and scarfing down shit. Before they realized it, it was well past sunset, and the night was growing dark. Looking at himself, Sam found that he was dirtier than he had ever been before, and that he loved it. He loved rutting with his pig, no, he loved being a pig. Instead of going into his trailer, Sam curled up with his pig in the mud. He was happier here, happier as the pig he had always known he was.

~~~~~

Will could hear his slave moaning in the basement as he watched TV, which probably had something to do with the fact that Will had strapped some billiard balls to his nuts earlier and left him standing there, chained to some posts. The thought of his slave suffering made him happy, but the sounds were interrupting his show, so he got up during a commerical break, ready to gag the fucker so at least Will wouldn't have to listen to him. But when he got up, he saw that a stranger standing in the doorway, blocking his path.

"Who the fuck are you?" he yelled, looking around for something to use as a weapon, but there wasn't anything nearby.

" Man I'm sick of doing this," he mumbled, and then spoke louder, "I come bearing a message, nothing more. A spell was cast upon you by an enemy. Who you are now is not who you were two days ago. However, every spell comes with the possibility of redemption. So, if you'd like to reclaim your life, all you must do is perform an act of mercy," with that, the man stepped back and vanished into the wall. William ran over to see where he could have gone, but there was nothing. It was easier to assume he had imagined it all, so he forgot about it, and headed down into the basement.

"Man, for a slave who thinks he gets it, you sure to make a lot of noise," William said as he entered the dungeon. The slaves balls were purple from their stretching, but looked like they were making good progress. "So, since you can't shut up, I guess I'll have to gag you so I can hear the TV."

"Please Sir, please. I can't take anymore, please just let me go. I won't tell anyone I swear!" The slave blurted out.

Will nearly blurted out a quick retort, but didn't. Mercy was what the man had said--did this man deserve mercy? Did everyone deserve mercy in some sense? Will shook his head, confused to find that he might be caring for a fellow man, a feeling he had never experienced before.

"Please Sir, I beg of you. I'm sorry..." The slave continued, and then began to weep.

"So, you don't want this?" Will asked, walking around his slave, "You don't like the pleasure I've given you?" The slave gasped as Will ran his hand across the barely healed cut from yesterday's whipping. He grabbed a remote of the table and added, "You don't like how this feels?" as he turned on the slave's prostate massager, making him groan, "because from the sound of it, you like it a lot."

"Sir...I, I..." The slave began, but didn't finish. William hated his weakness. He hated his inability to decide what he wanted. He hated this man, and everything he was. Mercy? No, he did not deserve mercy. He did not want mercy, but he did not know it yet. He wanted to feel pain--it would be his only pleasure before too long, and Will would take him there.

He hefted a studded paddle and brought it down on the slave's ass, making him cry out in pain, "Repeat after me, 'I am a slave!'"

"Please...Please no..." The slave muttered, but his erect, dripping cock revealed what he really wanted. William hit him again, harder, "Say it! Say it or I'll fucking make you regret it!" The anger rushed out of him, pure, unfiltered.

"I am a slave!"

William hit him again with the paddle, "Repeat it!"

"I am a slave!"

Again!"

"I am a...I am a...oh god!" The slave cried, as his cock erupted uncontrollably.

"You fucking bitch! Who said you could cum? Who said you could? You're going to get it for that one," William said, then came close, getting ready to fuck his slave into oblivion, only to find that is cock was completely soft. This only made him angrier. Why should the slave be able to cum, but the master unable to? He jacked it a few times but his dick didn't even react, and this only made Will feel hornier.

"Please sir, I was a bad slave, I was. Please fuck me sir, I deserve it!" The slave said, which only made William angrier at himself.

"I'll fuck you when I feel like it, bitch," he said, then attached a chastity device to his slave's cock, "And that'll keep accidents like that from happening again, and this will keep you quiet," he added, shoving a large ball gag into the slave's mouth, then storming up the stairs, still soft.

He tried jacking off upstairs, but no matter what he did, his cock wouldn't respond, which only increased his ire. "Well," he said to himself, "if I can't release, I sure as hell ain't going to release my slave," but that didn't make him feel better, just restless. All he knew was anger, and now that he was so horny, he couldn't stop. He returned to the basement, but the more he beat Bryce, the more the slave loved it, the hornier they became, and the more distance both of them put between themselves and the release they desperately craved.

~~~~~

Looking through the pictures he had taken so far on his computer, Greg was picking out which ones he would send first to Mr. Brascoe, and which ones he'd send to the Havensburg Times. Thinking about the slave fucking himself with a dildo in the bedroom, Greg couldn't help but admit that it had really seemed all too easy. Sure, it had been hard finding someone like Mick to betray one of his best friends, but when all you really care about is money, what value does friendship have? Mick's father was next in line to take over the company and Mick wasn't one to be second best, not anymore. With Daniel out of the way (and most likely his father, after he had a stroke from witnessing the depths of his son's depravity) Mick would likely be the next owner of Havensburg's financial district.

"Finally, the last of 'em," A voice said behind him. Greg whipped around in his chair and found a man standing behind him who he did not recognize. "Now, I'll keep this quick, because I'm tired," the man said, "Who you are today is not who you were two days ago. A spell was cast upon you by your enemy. However, you still have a chance to redeem yourself, if you forgive, and let go." With that, the intruder vanished, and Greg was alone again.

Had his dream the night before been real, Greg wondered? He had dreamed that he had switched places with Daniel, that he was the rich son of a billionaire, and when he woke up it had seemed more real than the abandoned trailer he was squatting in. He looked back at the photos, and a tinge of guilt collected in his mind. Who was he to destroy these peoples' lives for revenge? But then again, what gave them the right to so callously destroy his own? Conflicted, his thoughts were interrupted by his slave moaning through the thin wall that separated the office from the bedroom. Most likely he had tried to cum again, but failed. Maybe George ought to pay him a visit, to see how he's doing.

The bedroom was full of cigar smoke, and from the pile of butts in the ashtray next to Daniel, it looked like he had smoked ten, if not fifteen already that day. Seeing his master come through the door, he increased the speed of his thrusting, the thick dildo in his ass far more massive than most men's fists. Still, Mick wanted to borrow his "friend" for a party tonight, and wanted to make sure that the guests would be able to abuse their new toy in any way that they wanted, so he'd requested that Daniel be prepared to take anything up his ass they wanted him to.

But who was Mick to order Greg around? In pursuing revenge, it seemed that he had come full circle, and returned to being a pawn of the rich men he hated. He hated them, all of them, they all deserved to pay. Looking at the now destroyed Daniel, he couldn't disguise his disgust. Forgiveness? He didn't deserve it, none of them did. "Suck my cock, bitch," Greg ordered, and eagerly, dildo still wedged high up his hole, the slave got down on his knees, shaking from the need for his new drug.

Sure, Greg knew he could stop. He could let Daniel go, he could even cure him of his addictions, but the power was too tempting. He owned Daniel, not the other way around, he was his. Mick needed to learn that, they all did, but Mick most of all. In fact, there was no reason why Greg shouldn't own Mick as well. And all the other rich boys that he hung out with. Greg should own them too. He would own them all.

~~~~~

Rod materialized back in the basement, and Micah was nowhere to be found. Climbing the stairs, he saw that he was sitting on the couch watching TV, and working on some school work during the commercials. "How'd it go?" he asked as Rod stumbled in and slumped down in an armchair.

"Well, I found them all, but it wasn't easy. I mean, Samuel ended up all the way in the Ozarks for some reason, and even then I had to hike halfway across the county just to find his trailer."

"Aww...poor baby."

"Oh shut up. It's that stupid transportation spell. If you'd just teach things to me the easy way--"

"There is no easy way. There's only people who learn easily, and those who take a bit longer. You're just on the far end of the curve. You'll pick it up, eventually."

The two of them sat is silence, watching some crime show, before Rod spoke up again, "Aren't you curious what they chose?"

"Not really. Besides, I'm sure they all fell for it. Not a strong will in the bunch of them. They asked for it."

"Well sure, the nerds did, but the jocks too? Isn't that a bit unfair?"

"Life isn't fair Rod, but magic especially isn't fair."

"But I thought magic had to give you an honest chance for redemption? Isn't that why I spent all day missing class and running around the country?" Rod said.

Micah, for the first time in the conversation, sat up and looked over at Rod. It was the eyes that still scared him the most, those grey steel eyes. "Redemption. Redemption is a token, a promise, if you will. The magician can make it as easy to access or as difficult as he'd like to. I mean, none of these guys really had a chance of changing back--the spell was too good. Did I have to offer them a way out? Well sure, but that doesn't mean I had to make it easy. Hell, I had no interest in making it easy," he added, then sat back turned up the volume. "Now, I'm trying to watch this show, so go have your moral crisis somewhere else. You're here to learn magic, not how to become a good person."

Rod wanted to say more, but decided against it, and headed up to his room to look through the grimoires Micah had lent him to study from. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with what Micah had done, and had done many times before. That football jock that he turned into a sex pig was just the first he'd heard about, and since he'd become Micah's apprentice, he'd witnessed at least a dozen more. But what could he do? He was just an apprentice. If nothing else, at least he was on the stronger side, but was he on the right side? That was a different question altogether, and one he wasn't ready to answer for.