Rob is a proud and arrogant jock but a chance encounter with a mysterious barman changes not just his body, but the course of the rest of his life.
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"One more, bro! You got this!"
The plates on the bar rattled as Rob’s arms trembled under the weight of the last rep. The air was thick with tension, as if the entire gym was waiting, with bated breath, for what would happen next.
He’d made a bet with James a few days ago, after football practice. James was one of the bigger guys on the team, and pretty proud of how much weight he could bench.
Not to be outdone, Rob claimed he could lift just as much, no problem. James was skeptical. And so, a bet was made. On the line was a night out with the boys, food and drink on the loser, and bragging rights, besides.
With a final push and a loud grunt, he heaved the bar off his chest and up into the air. He held it aloft for a moment, his arms trembling from the strain. And then, just before his strength was about to give out, he let go and the bar dropped into its rack with a loud clang.
The suspenseful breath the audience had been holding in was released in a rush. Rob took a moment to lie back against the bench as the crowd broke into applause and cheers.
He couldn’t help but grin. He loved the attention, even if it wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as what he felt on the field.
He felt great but, at the same time, he felt as if his arms were about to fall off. He was going to be sore tomorrow, he was sure of it. But the pain was worth it. He wouldn’t have to pay for the night out.
"Fuck, man. I didn’t think you could pull it off," said James. He came up to the bench and held out an arm to help Rob sit up.
Rob grinned. "And yet, here we are," he said. He barely had the strength to grip James’ forearm and pull himself upright but he managed, somehow. "Wouldn’t want to be your wallet right now, buddy," he laughed.
"Ugh. Don’t remind me," said James as he shook his head and rubbed his temples. He glanced over at their other teammates who had been standing off to the side the whole time. "I don’t suppose I could ask you guys to take it easy on me tonight, could I?"
Rob laughed. "Now that is a stupid question," he said. There was a smattering of chuckles from the boys.
"Aw, come on, bro!" James groaned. Not that the complaint was unjustified. Even Rob had to be a bit sympathetic. Taking the guys on a night out wasn’t cheap.
Had they just been a group of regular guys, it wouldn’t have been much of an issue. They weren’t, though. Every bro on the team was a privileged, athletic, red-blooded man with particular taste.
It wasn’t out of the question for one of them to blow through a few hundred bucks worth of booze in a single evening. Only some of the money would be spent on drinks for themselves, of course. Most of the money went toward buying drinks for the women they tried to pick up.
Put all the boys together on what would probably be a legendary night of bar-hopping on a single person’s dime and even a rich kid like James was bound to burn a hole in his pocket.
With a grunt, Rob got up from the bench and patted James on the arm. "I would’ve let you back out in exchange for doing all my homework for the next two months but I didn’t think your dumb ass could manage."
James laughed and punched Rob in the shoulder. "Fuck you, bro. I can fucking run circles around your dumb ass in Statistics, man."
Rob chuckled. "Wanna bet?"
"I thought not," said Rob as he turned toward the rest of the team. "Well, if y’all are done with your workouts, maybe you can figure out what we’re gonna be doing tonight, yeah? I’m gonna go take a fucking shower."
James laughed and used the opportunity to take a jab at Rob. "You better, bro. No chick’s gonna want to bang you when you smell like a fucking pigsty."
Rob flipped James the bird over his back as he made his way to the showers.
There was nothing better than the hiss of water spraying out of the showerhead as Rob turned the knob. The water was hot and quickly filled the cubicle with steam.
He tilted his head back into the stream and sighed. The heat of the water washing over his face made his skin flush red.
He stayed motionless for a while. He stood under the showerhead and took his time to savor and enjoy the hot water against his skin.
After a minute or so, he took a step backward out of the shower stream. As the shower stream was running down his chest, he wiped the water from his face and rubbed what remained out of his bright blue eyes.
His toiletry bag nearly slipped from his fingers when he opened it to retrieve a brightly colored tube from within. He squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his palm and reached up to work it into his soft, golden locks.
He stepped into the shower stream and rubbed his fingers through his hair to wash out the suds. He made sure to be thorough. After all, he was hoping to get lucky tonight and there was no reason to look anything but his best.
Once he was satisfied, Rob grabbed his bottle of body wash and lathered up. He wasn’t the most muscular guy on the team. Far from it, actually. But he was no slouch, either.
Rob had the body of a male model. He had muscles, but not too much. More importantly, he was lean. His muscles were well-defined—as if they had been cut from marble.
He worked on his arms, first, paying close attention to his armpits. James might have been an ass, but that didn’t make what he said wrong. Post-workout stink didn’t tend to attract many women, especially the classy ones he loved to have writhing under him by the end of the night.
From his arms, Rob moved on to his chest. He palmed his firm pecs, lathering them up well before sliding his hands down to his rock-hard cobbled middle.
His fingers brushed over the mounds and crevices of his stomach. He particularly loved it when a girl admired his abs from up close. It felt good. And even when he was on its own, it never failed to arouse.
Man. Even just the thought of pulling a hot chick tonight was making him chub up. He grabbed himself, wrapping his fingers around the base as the heat of the shower made him hard.
He braced one hand against the wall in front of him as he tugged on his length. It was hefty in his grip. Long and thick. It filled his hand, hot and throbbing against his palm.
He stroked his eight inches a few times but forced himself to let go before long. There was no use wasting a load now when he was sure he’d get to nut inside a tight pussy later. And besides, he didn’t want to keep the boys waiting.
His cock bobbed up and down in the shower stream as he washed his legs. His thighs were thick and his calves were hard with muscle. They needed to be. Speed was important and while he wasn’t the biggest guy on the team, he was definitely the fastest.
The last part he cleaned off was his ass. Women had told him he had a nice butt and he made sure to work on it since he knew they liked a good bubble on a man.
But apart from making sure he was clean back there, he didn’t pay any particular attention to his ass. He didn’t have to.
It didn’t matter how smoking hot the girl was or how big her tits were. No one was getting anywhere close to his ass. He’d sooner strike out than entertain any strange ideas. He wasn’t a fag.
Not that he had anything against queers or anything. He just didn’t swing that way. And he wasn’t one of those guys that were flattered by that kind of attention.
After rinsing himself off and making sure there weren’t any suds left on his body, Rob toweled off and made for the locker room. He didn’t bother wrapping his towel around his waist and instead just slung it over his shoulder.
A guy was stripping down for a shower by the row of lockers across from Rob’s when he got there. The guy seemed surprised to see him and stared a bit longer than Rob was comfortable with. "The fuck you looking at, bro?" he said.
The guy went scarlet. "N-nothing," he said, hurriedly stripping down the rest of the way before shuffling off, half-crouched, toward the showers.
"Yeah, I thought so," Rob called out as the guy disappeared. "Fucking fags," he muttered under his breath while reaching into his locker for his clothes.
Rob was having a great time. He had a cute girl on his arm. He was feeling a slight buzz. And the night was only just getting started.
He and the boys had already visited their regular haunts early on in the evening. Now, they were standing in line outside the new hotness.
The club had rave reviews, allegedly. Rob hadn’t looked at them, himself but James hadn’t led the boys astray so far. And even if he did, it would probably make for a funny story at some point down the line.
One of the richer boys had a bit of an altercation with the bouncer but a sizeable tip and a promise from the rest of the group to keep the guy under control managed to smooth things over. The boys were admitted into the club and the first thing that hit them was the deep bass thrum of the house music.
Rob could feel the notes in his bones and was bobbing along to the music before he knew what he was doing. The rest of the boys were in a similar state and none of them could help but do a little dancing as they made their way over to the bar.
They ordered their drinks and got settled in. He pulled his girl into his lap and flirted incessantly in front of the bartender.
Rob knew what he wanted and he was sure the girl was aware. He was hard, after all, and he wasn’t doing anything to hide it. And from the way she was rubbing up against him, he could tell she wanted what he wanted, too.
They made out and Rob was just getting into it when the girl abruptly pulled away. He looked at her, confused, but she slipped out of his lap and excused herself to the washroom.
Rob was left with a straining lump in his pants. Just in time for the bartender to deliver the pair of drinks they’d asked for. "Where’s your friend?" said the guy.
The bartender chuckled. He grabbed an empty glass off the counter and set about cleaning it. "Ah. Well, I’m sure she’ll come back," he said.
"Of course, she will," said Rob. He had to laugh. Girls were lucky to have the privilege of his attention. The notion that one would just up and leave him was just utterly ridiculous.
The bartender smirked. "Used to pulling well, are we?" he said.
"What of it?" said Rob with a smirk of his own.
"Nothing. You just seemed the type."
Rob cocked an eyebrow at the bartender. He had the faintest feeling the guy was making a pass at him or, at the very least, leering at him. "What’s that supposed to mean?" he said, leaning forward and wrapping his hands around his drink.
"Just that you look like one of those guys who don’t need luck to get lucky—if you take my meaning," said the bartender.
Rob scoffed. "Sure, man," he said. Since he was busy with his girl this whole time, he hadn’t really paid close attention to the guy behind the bar. Now that he had an opportunity to look, though, he recognized the guy.
He didn’t know from where, exactly. It was on the tip of his tongue, he just couldn’t put a finger on it. "Hey. You look kind of familiar. Have we met?" he said.
The bartender shrugged. "Maybe?" he said. "I used to work at some of the other bars in town. Maybe I served you once."
Rob shrugged. It sounded like a reasonable enough explanation to him. He took a sip of the drink and while there was an odd aftertaste he couldn’t place, it was pretty good. "This is nice," he said.
"Thanks," said the bartender.
Rob’s cock throbbed. He was suddenly unbelievably horny. He felt like he was about to explode.
He looked at the bartender and frowned. There was no way it was a coincidence. Between the weird aftertaste and how fucking hard his cock was, right now, it had to have been the drink.
The bartender smirked. "Not that I think you of all people would ever need help performing but I hope you don’t mind I added a little something to help spice up your evening."
Rob clutched the edge of the counter and fought down the urge to moan. Holy fuck, he was hard. Normally he would have been alarmed to know the bartender had adulterated his drink but he was just so goddamned horny he couldn’t bring himself to care.
"Got a problem there, buddy?" said the bartender.
Rob scoffed as he scooched back on the barstool. "Yeah," he said with a low, sardonic tone. "No thanks to you."
The bartender grinned. "You’re welcome." His eyes flitted down and Rob didn’t have to be a genius to know where the guy’s gaze went. "Pretty big problem too, huh?"
Rob’s cheeks warmed. Whether it was embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t quite tell. But if he hadn’t thought the bartender was hitting on him before, it was pretty much blatant now. "Hey. Dude. My eyes are up here," he said.
"Sorry, sorry," said the bartender. He raised his hands in a small, disarming gesture. "My bad, man. Mea culpa. Couldn’t help but look."
Rob rolled his eyes. Yeah. Couldn’t help but look. Sure. Sounded like a convenient excuse, as far as he was concerned. But he didn’t call it out. He didn’t want to cause a scene or anything, after all.
And besides, even if he would never admit it out loud, part of him was into the attention. And he was just horny enough he didn’t care if it was coming from another guy.
The bartender lowered his hands and resumed cleaning up glasses. "You know how it is, man. Sometimes, you just get so goddamn curious what a guy’s packing."
Rob shook his head. It was true, he had to admit, but that was the part you didn’t say out loud. "Well, I’d rather not have another dude staring at my junk, okay, bro?" he said. Even if the idea, strangely enough, did make his rock-hard cock twitch.
The bartender leaned across the bar, planting his elbows on the counter as he came down to Rob’s level. "You know, if you wanna touch yourself, you should feel free… It’s not like anyone’s paying attention… And I won’t say anything if you don’t."
It was such a bizarre comment Rob had to take a moment to process. "The fuck, man?" he said.
He pretended at alarm and scandal but the bartender had hit upon a particular problem he was having: he was too horny. He could barely keep his hands off himself. And now, with permission from the bartender, it was taking all his willpower not to do just as the guy had suggested.
"Just a suggestion, man," said the bartender. "If you wanna do it, do it. If you don’t wanna, then don’t."
Rob stared at the bartender for a little while. He tried to resist but his cock was just so goddamn hard. "Fuck it," he said. "This is your fault."
He slid his hand down between his legs and ran his fingers along the obscene outline of his cock pressing up against the fabric of his pants. He had to bite back a groan as it felt much better than he expected. "Holy shit," he breathed. "What the hell did you put in my drink?"
The bartender laughed. "I told you. Something to spice up your evening."
"Fuck," Rob practically moaned as he palmed his cock through his pants. His cock had never been this sensitive before. It was almost too much and yet it felt so good he couldn’t stop touching himself.
If he stayed this hard when he finally got with tonight’s girl, he probably wouldn’t end up lasting more than a couple of seconds. He already felt he was on the brink of exploding. "It’s too much, man," he gasped.
"Maybe… Some guys do have a stronger reaction," said the bartender.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Rob hissed through his teeth.
The bartender laughed. "Nah, man. But that’s pretty easy to fix. You just gotta rub one out to take the edge off."
"What?" said Rob. He was utterly mortified. "Right here?"
"I mean, yeah. I told you, no one’s paying attention," said the bartender. "Although…"
Rob groaned. He rubbed his hand insistently along the lump in his pants leg. "Although what?"
"Well…" The bartender trailed off.
Rob wanted to grab him by the collar, scream at him, and tell him to get to the point. Because he just wasn’t sure how much longer he could take feeling this way. "Well, what?" he growled.
He was pretty much on a hair-trigger. It was only sheer force of will that kept him from creaming himself right there in front of the bar.
The bartender smirked. "Well, I was just thinking that you looked like the kind of guy to be loud when he comes."
Shit, Rob thought to himself. The guy was right. He was about ready to blow his load then and there but he was loud when he nutted. So loud, in fact, that his roommate in his freshman year at college had called him ‘Robert the Lion.’
"Fuck, man, I’m gonna bust," Rob muttered under his breath.
Somehow, the bartender heard Rob over the pounding of the music. "Here," he said, slipping a card across the counter. "You go down there and to the left and you’ll see a staff washroom. Passcode’s 6969."
Rob quirked an eyebrow at the bartender. "Really?" he said.
The bartender shrugged. "What can I say? Management’s got a sense of humor."
Rob took a moment to respond, fighting back a groan as he humped his hand. "Fuck. Fuck. It’s private, yeah?" he said, placing his hand on the card.
The bartender nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Single-occupant, too, so just lock the door when you get in there."
Rob nodded. "You’re not fucking with me, are you, man?" he said, pocketing the card with his free hand.
The bartender raised his hands again. "Cross my heart, swear to die," he said. "I know some of the other guys on the staff go there for some relief on those nights we get more than our fair share of 10s."
It was a bit off-putting to think there was a designated jerk-off room in the bar but Rob was horny beyond caring, at this point. "I’m going," he said. "Let the girl know I took a piss if she comes back before me, yeah?"
The bartender gave him a thumbs up before moving down to take a new order.
Rob found the washroom in question and not a moment too soon. He’d managed to muster the willpower not to touch himself on the way there but just the sensation of his cock head rubbing against his pants was enough to take him right up to the edge.
Much longer, and he would have busted then and there. Fortunately, he’d made it to the place the bartender had directed him to. He swiped the card and pressed the keycode. Relief washed over him when the LED indicator turned green and the lock clicked open.
He wrenched the door open and hurried inside. He closed it behind him and engaged the deadbolt.
The washroom was small but immaculate. The walls, floor, and ceiling were tiled in glossy black with some subtle gold marbling. Every inch of the place was cleaned to perfection, polished to the point of gleaming in the soft overhead light.
Off to the left of the entrance were a sink, a large mirror, and a rack of hand towels. Just ahead was the toilet.
Rob stumbled toward it as he unbuttoned his pants and yanked the zipper down. He shimmied his pants down his legs and plopped himself right on top of the toilet seat as his cock sprang free of his underwear.
Holy fuck, was he hard. His cock strained in the cool air, leaking so much pre-cum it rolled down the underside of his dick and dripped off his balls into the bowl.
He hissed as he wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. Just the touch of his hand was almost too much. His fingers felt warm. His palm, unbelievably hot.
His cock twitched in his grip and leaked some more, pre-cum dripping down the backs of his fingers. He stroked himself languidly, sliding his hand little by little from the base of his cock to the tip, groaning as he worked himself over.
He had to go slow. He had to. Because his cock was so fucking sensitive he was pretty sure he would lose his mind if he went any faster, to start with.
He had to get used to the way his cock felt, first, even if it was pretty much goddamned torture. His body wanted nothing more than to either fist his cock so hard his arm turned into a blur, or fuck his fingers so hard he knocked them up.
He resisted the urge but he didn’t manage for very long. He lasted a minute, at least, which was more than he expected.
Rob threw his head back and pumped his cock, moaning loudly as the pleasure washed over him like a wave. He pumped his fist and bucked his hips, unable to help himself now that he’d really started in earnest.
His cock pulsed and throbbed in his hand. He leaked copious amounts of pre-cum. With every stroke, he got closer and closer to the edge, closer and closer to spilling over and blasting his load all over the inside of the bathroom.
But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get past that final hurdle. His hand was a blur, his fingers smearing pre-cum all over his cock. He felt like he should have come a dozen times over but orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach.
And he didn’t know whether it was just all the jerking off or whether something was going on with the air-conditioning but the air was getting hot. He was sweating. Profusely.
There were wet spots under his armpits already and his shirt collar was stuck to his chest with sweat. It was already too hot and he was only getting hotter. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it off to the side.
Going shirtless only granted him a moment’s reprieve. He kicked off his shoes and socks. And when even that wasn’t enough, he kicked off his pants.
He sprawled on top of the toilet gasping as lewd wet squelching of his hand sliding back and forth over his cock filled the room. He was struggling to breathe. It was so hot. The air was so thick.
Rob’s chest heaved with shallow breaths as his thoughts dissolved into static. He moaned loudly and whined pitifully, rubbing his cock raw as he chased after an orgasm that was so close and yet so far, at the same time.
As he sank into madness, his head felt lighter and lighter. Black crept in around the sides of his vision as it became more and more difficult to breathe.
He kept stroking himself, desperately fucking his cock into the loose ring of his fingers until he passed out and went limp.
Rob came to some indeterminate amount of time later. His head felt like it had been stuffed full with cotton and his whole body ached like he’d been put through Coach’s favorite pre-game ritual: The Wringer.
It wasn’t just his head that was out of sorts, though. His mouth tasted like mud and his throat felt as dry as the Sahara. He also wasn’t entirely sure where he was. The last thing he remembered was going to a club but the rest was pretty muddled after that.
He smacked his lips and yawned. That was something to figure out when he was more awake, he supposed. Something felt odd about the situation, but nothing too alarming. At least not to his groggy brain, anyway.
He stretched his arms over his head, trying to get the knots out of his shoulders. Or rather, he would have stretched his arms—if he could move them at all.
That was odd, he thought to himself. He tugged on his arm but it was kept firmly in place. He tried again but to no avail. Weirder still was the faint rattling sound whenever he tried to move his arms.
It was only then that Rob’s brain caught up with what was happening to him. His breath seized in his throat and his eyes flew open.
Startled into alertness, he realized one thing first and foremost: he wasn’t on the ground. Casting a look around him, he saw that he was suspended in the middle of a metal ring that hung from a gantry overhead.
His arms and legs were forcibly spread. Stout chains attached to the ring hooked into thick leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles.
The chains were taut. There was hardly any slack for Rob to work with. At least it meant he wasn’t just hanging by his arms. If such were the case, it would have been agony.
The next thing he noticed was the feeling of the cool air on his skin. He was naked. And to make matters worse, he was hard.
A wave of horniness slammed into him. It was so intense and unexpected he was gasping for air by the time the brunt of it faded. He was harder than he had ever been in his life and he hadn’t the faintest idea why.
He could only stare at his rigid cock and watch it bob up and down between his legs. It twitched. It throbbed. And it leaked strands of pre-cum that glistened in the dim light.
There was a loud clang as a door Rob couldn’t see opened into the room. He must have been in a warehouse of some sort—because that wasn’t a normal sound to hear.
Apart from the platform he was suspended over, the place was dark, too. Wherever the door was, it must have been behind him. Because he could hear the footsteps echoing from that direction.
A voice called out from the shadows. "Looks like you’re awake," it said. "That’s good."
The voice sounded familiar to Rob but he couldn’t place it. "Where the fuck am I? Do you have any idea who I am?" he said. His heart hammered in his chest as the gravity of the situation dawned on him.
For all his bravado, Rob was terrified. The bluster was little more than a façade. When the voice didn’t respond and instead the footsteps got even closer, he swallowed his fear and said, "Whatever stupid game you’re playing at, it’s not going to work. Someone’s going to come looking for me."
Rob yanked at his bindings. The chains clattered but refused to give. "Are you even listening?!" he said. "I’m telling you I can make your life miserable, so you better fucking let me go right now!"
A low chuckle accompanied the sound of footsteps climbing up a metal staircase. "It just so happens I know exactly who you are," said the voice.
Rob heard a faint click and a whir. The ring he was suspended from began to turn. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the motor to bring him face to face with his captor. When it did, he couldn’t help but stare.
Suddenly, the events of the night came flooding back. "You!" he shouted. The metal ring was pretty high up above the platform so he had to look down to see the other guy but the man’s face was unmistakable. It was the bartender.
He had a handsome, lined face. Wrinkles in the corners of his bright blue eyes. His hair was black with a smattering of gray, same with the stubble on his chin.
He was just dressed better than earlier in the evening. Gone were the club-branded shirt and jeans, replaced by a suit and tie, and immaculately pressed dress pants.
He looked every part the successful businessman. He looked sharp. And the way he carried himself spoke volumes. He stood with an easy confidence as if he was perfectly in control and knew it.
He was also standing behind a console that, presumably, controlled the metal hoop and the gantry it was suspended from. "Me!" he said as he came around to the side of the console and leaned against it. "Surprised?"
"Fuck you!" Rob screamed. "What the hell? What makes you think you’ve got the right to do this to me?" He was furious.
In fact, Rob was so angry he could briefly ignore the confusing tumble of fear and arousal coursing through him. "My friends will notice I’m gone! And then it’s over for you!"
The bartender laughed. "Remember what I told you?" he said.
The man’s unflappable demeanor made Rob’s confidence falter. The guy had to know something he didn’t if he was acting like discovery wasn’t going to be a big deal. "What?" he said, perhaps with a bit more hesitation than he would have liked.
The bartender grinned. "No one’s paying attention," he said.
Rob’s heart sank. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Fuck you. The boys and I? We’re fucking tight. They’ll realize I’m gone and then you’ll have a fucking problem in your hands."
"Sure, kid," said the bartender. "Keep thinking that. It’s not like your buddies are known for getting distracted by hot pussy or anything."
Doubt. It was a poisonous thing. And for the first time since he came face to face with his captor, Rob was beginning to doubt his faith in his friends. "N-no," he said, the fear managing to take root inside him once again. "T-that’s not… T-they’re not… We’re a team, man. We protect each other."
The bartender chuckled. "Sure… If that’s what helps you sleep at night," he said as he leaned over the console and pushed a button.
The metal hoop trembled as it lowered Rob to the bartender’s level. "And even if they did notice, it’s not like they’d be able to help you," said the bartender. "If the hungry looks on my associates’ faces when your group entered the club are anything to go by, your friends have enough of their own problems to worry about."
Rob shivered at the implications. "W-what did you do to them, you fucker?" he said.
"Irrelevant," said the bartender. "Certainly not your concern, now."
"L-like hell it isn’t!" Rob spat at the bartender’s face. Or he tried to, at least. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t do it. It was as if his body just refused outright. "W-what the fuck?"
"The only person you should be paying attention to tonight is me," said the bartender. "And if you think I’m stupid enough to let you attack me like that, you’ve got another think coming."
The bartender reached up and grabbed Rob by the chin. "And I don’t think I appreciate the attitude. I mean, I knew you were a bit of an asshole but I thought you had more respect than that for authority figures."
Rob snarled. "You don’t deserve my respect, fucker," he hissed.
The bartender placed a finger on Rob’s lips and shushed him. "I have a name," he said. "But a dickhead like you doesn’t deserve to know it. So you will call me Master instead. Not fucker. Not bitch. Nothing disrespectful like that. Master. Understood?"
"Fuck you," said Rob. "Who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do, Master?"
His eyes went wide. "W-what the fuck?!" he said. "What the hell did you do to me, you F—Master? What? Why can’t I call you f—Master? Fuck!"
Master chuckled. "Language, boy. I don’t appreciate your foul language, Now, apologize for running your mouth off," said Master.
Rob was going to tell Master off with a couple of colorful choice words but those weren’t the ones that tumbled from his lips. "I’m sorry for using profanity, Master. I won’t do it again," he said, despite his best efforts to do otherwise.
"Good," said Master. "Make sure that you do."
Swallowing the bile that was rising in the back of his throat, Rob finally asked the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind the whole time. "W-why are you doing this to me?" he said.
"Pretty simple, really," said Master. "I need a boy to serve my needs and you fit the part perfectly. Well, you will fit the part perfectly by the time I’m done with you."
All of the false bravado Rob had mustered earlier had left him. He was just afraid, now. And somehow, aroused as well. His cock hadn’t gone down at all. "W-what is that supposed to mean?"
Master smirked. "You’ll see," he said. He pushed a button on the console and the entire setup that kept Rob suspended in the air shook as a large screen descended in front of him. It crackled to life as Master pushed another button, providing a live view of Rob’s back.
As Rob was staring, dumbfounded, at the screen, Master pushed yet another button on the console. A trapdoor in the platform opened up and what appeared to be a tattoo set came up from underneath.
Master pulled on a set of nylon gloves before picking up the tattoo gun. He pressed a button on the side and watched the needle tip vibrate back and forth for a few seconds before nodding in satisfaction.
"Y-you’re not going to use that on me, are you?" said Rob. God. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout. He wanted to spit profanities and insults in Master’s face but he just couldn’t.
It was frustrating. It was humiliating. And for some godforsaken reason, that was making him rock hard.
He didn’t understand a thing that was going on. He didn’t know why he was following Master’s orders against his will. He didn’t know why he was so turned on he felt like he could fuck a rock open. And he most certainly had no idea what was going to happen to him next.
Master reached over console and lowered Rob a bit more. He also made the ring tilt forward and a bit to the side, giving him easy access to Rob’s shoulder as he sat down in his chair and dipped the tattoo gun in ink.
Rob bit back a gasp as Master’s fingers brushed over his shoulder. Master’s touch was electric. It sent a bolt of pleasure straight to his cock.
"First things first," said Master, "I think you could use a little bit more muscle. I like what you’ve got going on, and I don’t want to go too overboard, so I’m not going to be giving you the full beef treatment."
Rob had no idea what Master was saying but the one thing he did know was that he didn’t want more muscle. He’d optimized his physique to fit the role he played on the team. More muscle would just slow him down without providing a tangible benefit.
But even before that, it didn’t make any sense. Master was talking about giving him more muscles but he didn’t get what that had to do with a tattoo. It wasn’t like his body would magically change just because he got some unwanted ink on his skin.
Before he could voice his complaint, Master put the tip of the needle gun to his shoulder. He bit back a hiss at the initial pain as the needle pierced his skin. But instead of getting worse, the feeling of the tattoo gun on his flesh only got better.
Rob could barely suppress a moan as Master worked on the tattoo. The vibration of the tattoo gun against his shoulder felt like it was a vibration against his nuts. It made his cock throb and leak. And as the design took shape, it only felt better and better.
By the time Master lifted the tattoo gun off his skin, to reveal the outline of a hock of meat with a bone through the middle—like the kind cavemen ate in cartoons—Rob was flushed and panting. His entire body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and his cock was aching for release.
If not for the chains binding him tightly to the metal ring, he would have been squirming the whole time. It had felt so good.
Rob didn’t feel any different despite the tattoo. "W-was that supposed to do anything, Master?" he said through gritted teeth.
"What? Oh! You thought that was it?" Master laughed. "Of course it hasn’t done anything yet. The tattoo isn’t finished."
Master retrieved a small hand towel and wiped away the excess ink from the outline he’d tattooed into Rob’s shoulder. He then took a second tattoo gun and dipped it in another color of ink.
He got back to work without so much as a word of warning to Rob. This time, the younger man didn’t quite manage to stifle the noises spilling from his lips.
Despite himself, Rob mewled pathetically as Master filled in the outline of the tattoo. It felt good. No. It felt amazing.
Rob squeezed his eyes shut as jolts of pleasure surged down his spine and up his cock, making it twitch and bob between his legs. It felt so good. Almost as if someone was jerking him off.
But the pleasure wasn’t enough to take him all the way. He bucked his hips as much as he could, flopping his cock up and down futilely in the air as Master finished off the tattoo.
He got close. So, so tantalizingly close. But it was all for naught.
"There," said Master, wiping down Rob’s shoulder once he’d finished tattooing the hock of meat into his skin. "Now the fun part begins."
"What… What fun part?" said Rob. His pulse was racing for trepidation. Nothing made sense. Least of all the self-satisfied smirk on Master’s lips despite nothing happening.
Master patted Rob on the shoulder. "You’ll see, boy. You’ll see."
Almost as if on cue, Rob’s response died in his throat. Heat burgeoned in the pit of his stomach, gentle at first but growing quickly more intense until he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.
The heat soaked through his guts, spreading from his tummy to his chest and from there to his limbs and his head. He tilted his head back and gasped, sucking the cold, stale air into his lungs in a vain attempt to cool off.
But his body was getting so hot even the air around him was warming up. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down the sides of his face, plastering his hair to his scalp.
The rest of him fared no better. He was drenched. He could hear the sweat dripping off of him, splashing into a pool on the ground below.
He felt like he’d been shoved in an oven. Every breath he took seemed to scald his mouth and scorch his throat. His lungs were baking in the heat.
He jerked in his bindings, the chains rattling as the heat redoubled. It seeped into his flesh and pooled in his muscles. He felt like his entire body was aflame.
And yet, there was no pain. Only intensity. And pleasure, even, as the heat surged up his cock and made him strain.
Rob groaned. "Rrrgh…" he said, "w-what’s happening to me?"
Just when he thought he couldn’t take the heat any longer, something else happened. It started with his thighs. He felt his muscles tense. But instead of cramping, they swelled.
And then, it was like a dam had been broken. His calves exploded. On the screen in front of him, he saw the veins pop under the skin. He saw the muscles bulge and harden.
His stomach tightened. His abs popped. He’d had a washboard before but now the muscles were hard, and the crevices between them deep and well-defined. With as tight as the muscles in his middle were, he might well have been able to flex his core and crush a rock on his abs.
His chest swelled, too, drawing his skin taut over a pair of thick, firm pecs with a deep cleft right down the middle. Hell, he could see the corded muscle shift under his skin as he writhed against his chains.
A low grunt escaped him as his neck bulged out, veins popping along the sides. His arms soon followed suit, his biceps and triceps swelling, his forearms growing hard with muscles.
In a matter of minutes, his whole body turned thick and veiny. Not to the point of obscenity, or anything like that. But judging from the horror-show that had become of his physique, it would be difficult to tell who was bigger if he stood beside James.
Gone was the body he’d optimized for speed on the field. In its place was something stronger but he had his doubts Master wanted him bigger for that.
If he had to guess, his new body was made to be a showpiece. A trophy, of sorts. Something for Master to enjoy looking at and showing off.
He didn’t know how he knew that—just that it was what he felt in the core of his being. Master wanted him like this because Master thought he looked good like this.
When his newfound strength ended up becoming useful—if it ended up becoming useful—it was probably going to be little more than a pleasant side-effect.
Gods. The thought of it made him sick. None of it made sense. It shouldn’t have been possible. Magic wasn’t real. And yet, here he was, his body perverted against his will.
He looked at his body on the screen, a distinct sense of dread gurgling in his stomach. There had been other changes, too. Changes he hadn’t noticed because he was too busy gawking at the ones he had.
His shoulders were huge. He could see the knotted muscles under his skin. The way they shifted whenever he tugged against one of his chains.
His ass, too, had been changed. It was bigger than before. More muscular. Tighter. The kind of ass that went on a porn star. Or a fag.
Rob gulped audibly. "W-why are you doing this to me?" he said. "W-what do you want? I-is it money? Because I can pay you whatever you want if you just… If you just let me go."
He had no idea how he was going to get out of this. He had to trust his friends. He had to believe Master was just bluffing about them. Because there was no hope, otherwise.
And if he was right. If there was rescue on the way, he had to play for time. He didn’t know what else Master was capable of but the last thing he wanted was for Master to change him in such a way that anyone who might come to save him wouldn’t recognize him at all.
Master, on the other hand, seemed to have no desire to play along. "Why would I need money when I have you right here?" he said. "And do you really want to make me repeat myself? You’re here because I need a boy. And you just happened to be the most suitable candidate."
Rob was grasping for straws, by now. "Then why do you have to change me?" he said. "If I’m your ideal target then you don’t have to keep doing this!"
Master smirked. "Because you’re not perfect yet," he said.
Rob shivered as Master reached up and cupped the side of his face. And when Master looked up into his eyes and said, "But you will be," he couldn’t help but shiver. It was as if someone had trickled ice-cold water down his spine.
"Please…" The plea came out more pathetic than he was intending. But it wasn’t like Rob had anything left to lose. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to get out of this the usual way.
"Enough of that," said Master. The flippant dismissal made Rob’s heart sink as it seemed Master wasn’t at all interested in what he had to say.
He’d suspected it all along but now he was certain. It didn’t matter what he said or what he offered. Master wasn’t going to stop. Master wasn’t going to let him go.
Master reached over and tapped a button on the console without looking. As the ring tilted forward, he then said, "I won’t hear any more complaining from you, boy, and that’s that."
The casual way Master wielded the power in his words terrified Rob. Hell, he was pretty sure it would terrify even the bravest men he knew.
In just one sentence, Master had stripped him of the only means he had to make his displeasure known. He couldn’t so much as whine. Even that was denied him.
"Now, let’s see," said Master, reaching up and running his fingers over the corded muscles of Rob’s new body. They were deft and light, leaving trails of tingling heat that lingered in their wake and made Rob’s cock throb.
Rob didn’t know why it was that way but Master’s touch was like sex. It felt so good he couldn’t help but moan.
And Master sure noticed. He got even more handsy as he inspected Rob’s body, rubbing his hands over the swollen biceps and thick pecs.
Rob tried—and failed—to suppress a moan as Master’s hands wandered further down. His cock jumped at the touch of Master’s fingers on his abs. It was as good as getting a handjob, the sensation of Master’s touch brushing over the hills and valleys of his abs.
And when Master made the ring tilt backward to give him better access to Rob’s legs, Rob thought he would cum right then and there. When Master’s fingers grazed his cock, a bolt of pleasure so intense it made his mind briefly go blank shot up his shaft.
His length had pulsed and throbbed and swelled. It did everything short of actually letting him come. He had even felt the load churning in his balls, just desperately wanting to burst out of him. But to no avail.
He could only whimper in pleasure as Master’s fingers traced his quads and calves, caressing his new muscles with a gentle and masterful touch. It was like torture, but the best kind Rob had ever experienced.
"Very nice. Very nice," said Master. "But still missing a few important details. For one thing…"
Rob gasped as Master grabbed him by the balls and rubbed over his crotch. Master’s touch was orgasmic. The only thing he could think of was how good his balls felt cradled in Master’s fingers and how badly it made him want to blow his load.
"Master… Please!" he whined. He cursed himself. He tried so hard to resist but he just didn’t have the willpower. Not when he felt so close to blowing his load.
Master smirked. "Please, what?"
Rob groaned. "Please let me come!"
"Maybe later," said Master as he gave Rob’s balls a quick squeeze. "Maybe I’ll let you cum if you’re a good, obedient boy for me the rest of the night. How does that sound?"
"It’ll be a cold day in hell before that ever happens," Rob wanted to say. But he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried.
And he was just about desperate enough that the next thing out of his mouth was, "T-that sounds good, Master…" He needed to nut. He needed to nut so badly.
Master chuckled. "Now, I think you’re a bit too smooth for my liking. So let’s fix that, yeah?"
The ring tilted forward again as Master grabbed his tattoo gun and sat down. This time, he pressed the tip to Rob’s left pec.
Like before, the tattoo gun only hurt in the first few moments. It was pure pleasure the rest of the time. In fact, it felt even better than before.
Rob tried to keep his head on straight. He gritted his teeth. He fought down the moans. He tensed his muscles, hoping that would slow Master down but for all the effort he put into resisting, he had nothing to show for it in the end.
The pleasure of the tattoo gun vibrating against his skin, pumping ink into his flesh, made his thoughts scatter into pleasant static. The moans he’d been holding back spilled from his lips as his cock leaked.
What felt like an eternity of mindless pleasure passed before he was aware again. And as he regained his alertness, his gaze drifted down to his chest where Master had given him a new tattoo.
This one was of a gorilla. It was surprisingly lifelike, even if its pose wasn’t. It looked like the classic bodybuilder, chest out, both arms curled in a double bicep pose.
Somehow, Rob knew it was an adult silverback. But he didn’t have long enough to wonder how he had that knowledge because his whole body started to itch.
He yanked at his bindings hard. He wanted to scratch himself all over. Needed to scratch himself. The worst parts were his crotch, his asscrack, his chest, chin, and armpits.
He was sweating again before long. He whimpered as his attempts to break free of his shackles only managed to make him flail about uselessly.
The itching was so intense. If this kept up, he was going to go insane. The only thing he could think of was scratching himself or finding some way to get relief from the maddening itch.
But then, all of a sudden, the itching subsided. He opened his eyes—he hadn’t even realized he’d squeezed them shut—and looked down at whatever horror Master had wrought upon his body again.
He couldn’t even gag because Master didn’t want to hear him complain. He couldn’t even screw up his face in disgust.
All the visceral revulsion he felt at seeing the thick mat of hair covering his chest had to remain purely internal. But the chest wasn’t even the worst of it.
His stomach was covered in a thin pelt of fur, too, complete with a dark blond treasure trail that led to a thick wiry bush of pubes at the base of his cock. And as a draft worked its way between his legs, he could tell his balls were just as hairy.
A glance at the screen showed him the utterly deplorable state of his back. His ass didn’t have peach fuzz anymore. It was covered in hair and his crack was dark with it.
His arms and legs weren’t spared. Had his body hair been black or dark brown instead of dark blond he might well have passed for a gorilla, indeed.
And while he was thoroughly disgusted by what Master had done to him, the older man seemed quite pleased at his handiwork. "Now, that’s what I’m talking about. You look like a proper man, now," said Master.
Rob would have rolled his eyes if he could. As if not having body hair had made him less of a man. He had preferred being smooth. And the women he’d been with had preferred it, too.
He shivered when he noticed Master was smirking. He couldn’t help but feel as if the older man knew exactly what he was thinking.
Of course, mind-reading was supposed to be impossible but given the events of the night, he wasn’t even sure what was possible or impossible anymore. One thing he did know was that he probably wasn’t going to like whatever happened next.
"Thank me," said Master.
Against his will, the words tumbled from Rob’s lips. "T-thank you, Master." He’d resisted with all his might but the most he managed was a slight stutter.
Master laughed. "What a weak thank you. Say it like you mean it! And tell me what you’re thankful for!"
As far as Rob was concerned, there was nothing he was thankful for. But a command was a command, and if the night had made one thing very clear, it was that he was compelled to follow. "Thank you, Master, for making me look more like a man."
Master grinned. "Now, doesn’t that feel better?"
Rob wanted to say no but it did feel better. It was the weirdest thing. Somehow, he felt grateful that Master had made him hairy. Like a proper man.
But no. He rebelled against the sensation. He knew he shouldn’t be thankful. He understood, intellectually that this wasn’t what he wanted. That this wasn’t how he wanted to look. And that just because he’d been smooth, before, didn’t mean he’d been any less of a man.
But no matter how hard he tried to resist he couldn’t help but feel thankful. Thankful that Master had done this for him. Thankful that Master had changed him to finally become a proper man.
"You missed something, though," said Master. "Tell me what you were before I turned you into a man."
Rob bit his lower lip so hard he almost drew blood but he couldn’t stop the words that bubbled up out of his throat. "Thank you for transforming me from a hairless sissy-boy into a proper hairy man, Master!" he blurted out.
And just like that, all the pride he used to have in the way he looked, went away. All the revulsion he’d felt toward his new body went toward his old one, instead.
Intellectually, he knew Master was fucking with his brain. He’d been proud of the way he looked before. He’d been damn happy about the way he looked before. But it was hard to hold on to those memories, to those thoughts, to those emotions when the only thing he could feel was disgust at how faggy and sissy he used to look without a single scrap of hair on his body.
And for all the disgust he had in his mind toward his new bulky, hairy body, the artificial sense of thankfulness and gratitude Master had forced on him was bringing him around.
He was starting to love the way his muscles looked. He was starting to enjoy the way his body hair glistened with sweat, the way they were matted down on his damp skin.
It didn’t take long before he was feeling genuinely grateful that Master had changed him. He barely even remembered feeling disgusted at his new body. Those feelings seemed almost like someone else’s emotions entirely.
"You’re happy with your body now, aren’t you?" said Master.
Rob frowned. He was so confused. His current emotions were clashing with his remembered ones. It hurt his head. But he had to go with what he felt instead of what he thought he should feel, so he let go of his old disgust. "Y-yes," he muttered, almost breathlessly.
"Good," said Master. "Very good. But I’m not done with you yet."
Master’s command stifled a whimper that would have spilled out of Rob. He was happy with his new body. Master had made sure of that. But just because Master had forced him to be thankful for his new body didn’t mean he wanted to keep getting transformed against his will.
Not that his opinion seemed to matter, anyway.
Master reached over to the console and pushed a button. The ring swiveled, exposing Rob’s back to Master.
Rob couldn’t help but tense. It was a more vulnerable position than before. And he couldn’t see Master, either. Not without looking at the screen, anyway, which only added to the mind-fuck of it all.
Goosebumps broke out over his skin as Master lowered the ring and tilted it forward. He was even more exposed and entirely at Master’s mercy.
He couldn’t help but jerk in his chains as Master brushed a finger over the space just above his right ass cheek, three or four inches from his hip. The cold needle of the tattoo gun grazed him. The sharp point traced a thin line across his skin.
Master’s other hand grabbed his left ass cheek. A moan spilled from him before he could stop it. His cock twitched, bobbing up and down between his legs with a dollop of pre-cum dangling from the tip as Master palmed the meat of his ass and squeezed.
"These are good," Master said, "But they could be better."
Rob’s back arched as the tattoo gun dug into his skin yet again. The pleasure was nigh-overwhelming. And it brought out a reaction he’d never experienced before. His hole twitched.
As the pleasure from the tattoo gun thrummed through his body, he couldn’t stop his asshole from spasming. His pucker quivered. He could feel an itch.
And even though he’d promised himself he’d never let anyone near his ass because he wasn’t a fucking faggot, the only thing he could gasp out as his rock-hard cock throbbed was the desperate plea, "P-please, Master! My hole itches!"
Master didn’t miss even a single beat. He worked away at Rob’s tattoo but he let go of Rob’s ass cheek with his other hand.
Rob sighed with relief as Master’s gloved finger brushed over his hole. It helped, but barely. The itch returned with double the intensity soon thereafter, though Master seemed to be prepared.
Awash in pleasure from the tattooing, Rob couldn’t even think of complaining as Master rubbed his gloved index finger in slow circles around his pucker. It helped the itch. And for some reason, it felt good.
But again, the itch didn’t stay gone for long. It returned. Three times as intense as it had been, on the first occasion, but this time deeper into his ass.
Rob pushed his ass back. As much as he could manage, anyway. His hole quivered and trembled, fluttering at Master’s touch.
He whined. It wasn’t enough that Master was rubbing the outside of his hole. It wasn’t even enough when Master started rubbing his pucker directly. If anything, it only made matters worse.
The itch was inside him. Just inside his asshole. Being scratched, but not quite where the itch was, was the worst.
But Rob eventually got his prayers answered. He felt something warm and slick splatter his ass crack. His brain was so addled he didn’t realize it was spit. Nor did he have the presence of mind to think about it when Master pushed the tip of his finger into his asshole.
Rob groaned at the intrusion on his virgin hole. He felt his ring stretch around Master’s finger. It burned slightly. But more importantly, Master’s gloved finger was now within reach of the itch.
Master curled the tip of his finger and Rob damn near lost his mind. He cried out in ecstasy as the itch was finally scratched. "More, Master, please!" he begged.
And for the first time that evening, Master obliged. Rob sagged in his bindings, relief and pleasure coursing through him as Master scratched his itch. It never even occurred to him he was willingly letting his ass get fingered.
Little by little, the itch disappeared. It was replaced, instead, by pleasure. He moaned as he basked in the sensation of it, Master’s finger stroking his insides and sending waves of pleasure throughout his body.
It felt so good he couldn’t help but whine when Master pulled his finger out. His hole tightened around it, unwilling to let go. But he was powerless to stop it.
Rob’s hole clenched shut around nothing just as Master lifted the tattoo gun off his skin. His gaze wandered over to the screen as his brain tried to process what had just happened—what he’d just let another man do to him.
Just as the disgust struck he saw the tattoo Master had given him: a pair of watermelons rendered in loving detail.
Confusion set in. Not just at the design of the tattoo, but also at how much he’d enjoyed having a finger in his ass. He wasn’t a fag or anything but it had felt so good. And even now, when his mind was clearer and he wasn’t quite as horned up, part of him wanted Master’s finger back inside him.
"W-what are you doing to me?" he gasped as he felt his asscheeks spasm.
He stared at the screen, wide-eyed, when the sensation passed. "What on earth is…" he mumbled, trailing off before suddenly letting out a strangled yelp as his ass muscles spasmed again. This time, he could clearly see them move under his skin on the screen.
The third time it happened, he couldn’t help but cry out. It felt so intense. It felt like the worst kind of cramp, just without any of the pain.
And then, just when he thought everything had settled down, he watched with growing horror as his asscheeks began to swell. His ass ballooned out into a thick, muscular bubble butt bigger even than he’d seen on some female porn stars.
His only consolation was that the ass didn’t look obscene on his frame. Just big. And deliciously so, he caught himself thinking, much to his dismay.
There was definitely no way he was fitting in his old clothes with an ass like the one he was now sporting. Not a chance.
He hissed as Master swatted his ass cheeks. The sharp sound of the smack echoed in the wide, open chamber. "There we go. Nice and juicy. Just how I like them."
Not that Rob could disagree. Big asses were nice. It was just… It never occurred to him he would ever be the one with a fat bimbo ass.
And the way he’d moaned and begged for Master to finger him? God. His brain was still as straight as an arrow but Master was turning his body queer. It was a nightmare.
He shuddered as the ring turned around again. It also tilted back to an upright position as he slowly came to face Master again.
"There’s some more work to be done, but…" Master traced his index finger along the underside of Rob’s straining cock. "Even if you don’t like them, you can’t wait for the next one, can you?"
No, Rob wanted to say. He could wait. In fact, he’d rather wait forever and not have it happen at all. But the strange power Master’s words had over him hadn’t gone away. It had only gotten stronger.
He shook his head. "Yes, Master. I can’t wait!" he said, the words springing to his lips, unbidden.
And just like that, his whole opinion changed. At the drop of a hat. One moment he didn’t want to change at all, anymore. In the next, he was outright excited to see what Master was going to do to him next.
No matter how much he tried to remind himself of the truth: that he didn’t want these transformations, that he didn’t like them, for that matter, there was nothing he could do to change how he felt. He was excited now. And his cock twitched to show that he was.
Master had the machinery lower the ring to give him a better angle to work. This time, he placed the tattoo gun against Rob’s stomach.
Rob hissed as the needle pierced his skin. He gritted his teeth, determined to resist the pleasure this time. As if his determined attempts hadn’t failed spectacularly on every prior occasion.
This time was no exception. Rob tried his best but his mind went blank from the pleasure before long. His world shrank down to the pleasure of the tattoo gun on his skin, the straining of his cock, and the sensation of the copious pre-cum dribbling from his length.
It felt like an eternity passed by the time the absence of the tattoo gun brought him back from the haze of pleasure. It could have been but a second, or it could have been days. He had no way to tell.
When he looked down, there was a new tattoo on his stomach: a bear reared up on its haunches, showing off its vicious claws, but, most prominently, its round belly.
Rob’s stomach gurgled. The muscles in his middle seized. If not for the chains keeping his arms and legs spread taut, he would have doubled over from the discomfort.
It felt like a bad bout of indigestion. His stomach rumbled. Or maybe gas. He tossed his head back and groaned, sweating so profusely the air filled with the scent of his musk.
And then, he felt it. His belly bulged outward, his skin stretched taut over his distended gut. His abs were still there but less prominent, smoothed out by the sheer muscle he’d developed around his middle.
Master slapped his belly and the sound it made was like a hollow drum. Rob groaned. There was the stinging pain of the impact as it didn’t feel like Master had held back at all, and there was also the pleasure, a bolt of lightning that went straight to his cock.
When the intense sensation faded away, Rob had to gawk at the tattoo. It was huge, and it was so well-detailed there was no way Master finished it in a single sitting.
A cold sweat ran down the side of his face. He must have been losing track of time even worse than he thought. A tattoo like the bear he had on his stomach must have taken days. If not weeks.
Rob’s heart sank. And if no one had come to rescue him yet… The thought was almost unconscionable. He couldn’t bear to think it but he had to accept it.
No one was coming to save him. And if Master had been telling the truth, no one was coming to save any of them.
It was that realization that broke him. What use was there resisting? There wasn’t anything he could do to stop Master, anyway. Not even if he tried.
He was stronger now, yeah, but not strong enough to break free of his chains. And he had nothing to offer Master but his body—which Master was already doing what he wanted with, anyway.
It was probably going to be easier if he just gave up. He didn’t have to fight. He didn’t want to fight. Not anymore.
It all felt good, anyway. His cock hadn’t stopped throbbing this whole time. He had been hard for weeks on end now, probably. And he’d never been hornier in his life.
So what, if Master turned him into a fag? He’d probably end up liking it, the way things were going.
And was it really so bad? He could still remember the way Master’s finger had felt in his ass. It made his skin tingle just to think about it. And part of him couldn’t help but want more of that. Part of him couldn’t help but want more of that.
Rob’s thoughts were interrupted by Master’s interjection. "I think we’ve hit a bit of a stride here. You want to keep going, don’t you?"
There was only one choice Rob could make. Resistance wasn’t an option. He’d just get dragged along, anyway. The only choice he could make, the only way he could exercise his free will, was by going along with it.
This time, he said the words himself. "Yes, Master. Please!" And from the way Master smirked as he said them, Master knew exactly what was going through his mind.
Again, Rob’s world dissolved into nothing but pleasure. One moment blended into the next, trapping him in an eternity of frustrated bliss as time lost all meaning.
The sensation of the coarse towel rubbing over his skin brought him back. Master cleaned away the excess ink to reveal a new tattoo.
This one was on his right breast. It was a cow, complete with udders. And no sooner had he recognized it than he felt the heat in his chest.
A low, delirious moan escaped him as his cock strained and leaked. His pecs expanded, pushing out into a pair of firm muscle tits.
It was humiliating to watch. There wasn’t any sound to it but he could almost hear something. Like rubber balloons inflating. Creaking as they expanded to fill their new shape.
His cheeks burned at the sight of his new muscle tits. If he was being honest, he’d seen worse racks on porn stars and prostitutes—even ones so shot up with silicone they looked like walking, talking bimbo dolls.
His tits were so big he could hardly see past them. Master could clap his hands on his chest and not be able to fit a pec in each palm. But damn did they look squeezable. And beyond that, they’d gotten big enough to titty-fuck.
But the transformation didn’t stop there. His areolas got larger and darker. His nipples became thick, juicy nubs at least a quarter of an inch long.
They looked perfect for piercing, pulling, clamping, biting, and sucking. If he’d seen nipples like that on a chick, he’d have had to stop himself from chewing on them.
He’d barely had a moment to process the changes that had happened to him when Master pressed the tip of the tattoo gun to his chest. He moaned as Master started work on another tattoo, this one right next to the cow on his chest.
An eternity of numbing, frustrating pleasure passed before Rob was aware again. He’d been edged for so long he couldn’t remember what it was like to come, at all. His balls ached, so full of cum and so denied of any release.
But as he looked down on his chest to see the tattoo of a bull that Master had inked into his skin, the ache in his balls doubled. He groaned, face contorting as if he’d been kicked in the nuts but it hadn’t been painful at all. He just felt like his balls were uncomfortably full.
The sensation got worse. And worse. And then, worse again. Rob could only groan. He felt like his balls were going to explode, and not in a good way. They felt so full of cum he was genuinely afraid they might burst.
But just as the feeling of fullness got to be too much, he felt his sack drop. He had to watch the screen because he couldn’t see his ballsack very well past his rack of muscle udders.
The view from behind was spectacular. He watched in slack-jawed amazement as his balls swelled to fill his pendulous new sack.
His nuts had been quite sizeable before but now, as they swung between his legs, they looked almost as big as chicken eggs. The larger variety, in particular. And considering they felt just as full as before, he could only imagine that his next orgasm—if he ever got it—would probably be enough to paint a wall.
"Perfect bull nuts, aren’t these?" said Master, with a small smirk.
Rob nodded and moaned as Master grabbed his sack and rolled his balls around in his hand. "Yes, Master," he groaned.
"A bit disproportionate, though…" Master smirked. "Maybe we could give you a bigger piece of meat to match."
Rob groaned. "Please, Master," he breathed. What kind of guy would turn down a chance to have a bigger cock? Definitely not him.
Even without all the mind-fuckery, he’d have jumped on it. Hell, if Master had proposed that at first, he might have just surrendered easier.
But as Master grabbed his cock and examined it closely, he got the sense that Master wasn’t particularly interested in that part of his anatomy. Not as anything more than a toy for his pleasure, anyway.
"Yes, I think so," said Master. "A pretty cock to go with your big bull balls."
The motor whirred as the ring turned again. Rob tensed as Master’s hand went on his back. He blanked out the moment the tattoo gun went on his skin.
When next he came to, Master had created something beautiful. He had to marvel at it. He had no choice. Because the tattoo Master had just inscribed into his flesh was a sublime work of art.
Across his back was the image of a stallion. It was so realistic its mane seemed to flow in an invisible, intangible breeze.
It was reared up on its hind legs, showing off its proud physique. Its muscles were visible, like frozen ripples under its glistening red-black pelt.
Perhaps most prominently visible, however, was the stallion’s cock. It was fully erect, displaying the full length and girth of its maleness.
Rob’s cock throbbed at the sight and didn’t stop. He moaned out loud as his cock got harder than he thought possible.
Drool dribbled out of the corner of his mouth as he looked at the screen. His cock twitched and pulsed, growing bigger and bigger with every throb.
The one relief he had as his cock stretched past the foot-long mark and started leaking a steady stream of pre-cum that dripped off his balls was that he hadn’t grown a horse-cock instead. He supposed that was a step too far, even for Master.
He was sweating like a pig by the time the transformation finally stopped. His new cock was at least 14 inches long. And it looked about as wide as a battering ram—though, more realistically, it had the girth of Master’s forearm.
His new cock was so massive that he couldn’t keep it up. He was still horny beyond belief and so, so hard, but the heft of his new cock just made it sag under its own weight.
At least, that was the case until Master turned him around again and touched his cock. The pleasure he felt as Master’s fingers grazed his hot, throbbing cock flesh made him feel like he’d been tasered in his sack.
Instead of just leaking a bead of pre-cum from the tip, his cock spat a glob into the air. It fell to the ground and splashed on the platform with a lewd, wet squelch, sending a secondary shiver of pleasure up his spine.
Rob’s shaft didn’t even entirely fit in Master’s hand anymore. Master’s fingers couldn’t close around his girth. But he wasn’t so big that Master needed two hands, at least.
After two strokes or so—Rob lost track when all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, leaving him light-headed—his cock finally managed to stand at attention. "Master. Please… I want to come so badly…" he begged.
"Later, boy," said Master, adding a twist to the motion of his wrist as he worked his hand up and down the formidable length of Rob’s new endowment. "If you’re good. Now, ask me to keep changing your body."
Rob could only moan. He didn’t want more changes. His body had already turned into a grotesque caricature of what he once was.
But at the same time, he did want it. Like Master had said earlier, they had hit their stride. It felt so good to be changed against his will like this and he wanted to keep going.
"Please keep changing my body, Master," he breathed.
"Tell me how much you love what I’m doing to you."
Rob would have whined if he could. There were some dregs of resistance left in him but they were hardly of any consequence. He moaned, instead, his cock trembling in Master’s grasp as he said, "I love everything you’ve done to me, Master. It makes my cock so hard. It makes me feel so good and so horny."
Master grinned. "Good boy," he said. "Now, tell me what I’m turning you into."
Rob gasped as Master rubbed his thumb into the sensitive head of his cock. "Y-your perfect fucktoy, Master!" he moaned.
Master laughed. "That’s right," he said, sounding thoroughly amused. "That probably disgusts you, doesn’t it, straight boy?"
Rob couldn’t say anything. It was true. The thought was repulsive on a fundamental level. But telling the truth would pretty much be complaining and he wasn’t allowed to do that.
Master laughed. "I thought so," he said. "Don’t worry… We’ll fix that."
Rob didn’t really want Master to do anything. He didn’t think there was anything to fix. But it wasn’t like he had any choice. It wasn’t like Master would give him that sort of choice.
While the thought of being turned into a faggot against his will made his stomach turn, he also knew he would never escape Master’s control. Master had demonstrated that pretty thoroughly.
And if he had to say which he preferred between learning to love sucking cock and getting fucked, and spending the rest of his life as a miserable straight guy trapped in the body of a muscle-bound faggot freak, the choice was clear. If this was going to be his life from now on, he figured he might as well enjoy it.
So he swallowed his pride and disgust, looked Master in the eye, and said, "Please fix it, Master."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Master’s mouth. "With pleasure, boy."
Rob swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat as Master brought the tattoo gun to his skin. He couldn’t believe he was letting this happen. He couldn’t believe he’d asked for this to happen.
Tears pricked at the corner of his eye. He’d thrown away his pride. He’d thrown away his dignity. He had nothing left anymore. Master had made sure of that.
This choice was the one he had to make. He needed this to survive. But even so, he felt like puking until the moment Master pressed the button on the side of the tattoo gun and sent his mind scattering into static.
When he came to, he had a new tattoo on his upper arm. It was a pair of male symbols, the circle with an arrow, hooked through one another.
At first, he felt no different. He had to wonder if the magic had somehow failed this time.
The moment he saw Master, his breath hitched in his throat. His cock got even harder—and he hadn’t even known that was possible.
His pulse raced in his veins, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His stomach did somersaults and the breath caught in his throat.
He’d never considered just how hot Master was. Of course, he used to be straight so he couldn’t see but god. Why hadn’t he asked Master to turn him into a faggot faster?
He almost didn’t mind that Master had perverted his body like this. It almost felt like an honor to be changed and twisted by such an attractive man.
He could scarcely breathe in the sheer magnitude of Master’s presence. "Master…" he gasped, a delirious moan spilling from his lips as the man in question caressed the underside of his throbbing cock.
Master chuckled and cupped the side of Rob’s face. "Enjoying having your eyes opened, boy?"
Rob let out a blissful sigh, leaning into Master’s touch. "Yes, Master," he said.
This was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Oh, sure, he’d felt his heart stop at the sight of a pretty girl before but this was different. Master wasn’t just a hot guy in his eyes. Master was the hottest guy in all the world.
He had to wonder if this was what falling in love at first sight felt like. It was so intense.
He wanted to hold Master. He wanted to kiss Master. He wanted to be on his knees, lovingly sucking Master’s cock.
He wanted to be on all fours, ass in the air, begging for Master to split his ass open. He wanted it so, so badly he was amazed.
His old self would have been horrified at what he’d become—at what he’d let Master do to him. But his new self didn’t care. His new self was glad for it.
"We’ve just got a few last things to go, boy," said Master. "And then. And then you’ll be perfect."
Rob chewed on his lower lip and moaned. "Yes, Master, please," he breathed. He wanted nothing more than to make Master happy—than to satisfy Master’s desires.
Master patted the top of Rob’s head, eliciting a moan and making his cock throb. "Good boy."
Rob shivered as the ring turned around again. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He was excited.
He watched Master bring the tattoo gun to his skin, to the space just above his asscheeks. He fought to stay aware. Not to resist the changes, this time, but to watch Master work.
The pleasure was still too much, though. And before Rob knew it, Master was finished. His new tattoo was different from the others. It was lettering, to start with, but he loved it all the same.
Master had given him a tramp stamp. "Cock slut," it said, one word over his left ass cheek, and the other over his right.
There was a sizable space between the words but he didn’t get a chance to wonder what that was about before the tattoo took effect.
His eyes went wide. A desperate moan escaped him. The itch in his ass had returned, only a hundred times worse and much, much deeper inside him.
There was another itch, too. This one, in his throat. On his tongue. In his mouth. He wanted cock. Needed cock. Craved cock.
"Feeling something, boy?" said Master.
Rob nodded. "Master… Master, please… Please fuck me!" he begged.
Master chuckled. "Soon, baby."
Rob moaned. Master was rubbing two fingers up and down his crack. Every time it brushed over his pucker, it would twitch and he would jerk in his chains. "Master…" he moaned.
Master pressed his fingers into Rob’s pucker. "What, baby? Want me to fill your pussy?"
"Y-yes, Master! So badly!"
Rob arched his back as Master pushed harder. He could feel his hole stretching, starting to give. But before they could push into him, Master pulled away.
"I know, baby," said Master. "I made sure of that. But as much fun as it is to pop a cherry, I like my boys more experienced. We’ll just have to make sure your cunt’s nice and soft for me when I do decide to fuck you."
Rob shivered. "P-please, Master… W-whatever you wish!"
"Good boy," said Master. He picked up the tattoo gun and just like that, Rob was gone again.
Rob came to, struggling to fight through the haze of pleasure that had descended over his thoughts. When he looked up at the screen, the space in between the words on his tramp stamp had been filled in by a massive butt plug pointing toward his crack.
His eyes widened. Just in time for a profound feeling of fullness to manifest in his ass.
He moaned, his toes curling and his hands balling into fists as his asshole stretched around the toy that had magically appeared inside it.
On the screen, he watched the molded base of the plug expand between his asscheeks. At the same time, the neck stretched his hole, while the bulb swelled inside him.
He felt fuller and fuller with every passing moment. And even though it didn’t scratch the itch inside him, it still felt great.
He moaned, wiggling his ass as much as he could as the buttplug settled inside of him. It was huge. And he was sure it would do a great job of breaking him in for Master as he could feel his hole burn from the girth of the plug’s neck.
"Oh Master, thank you!" Rob moaned. The plug was intense but if it prepared him to take Master, then he could hardly complain. He wanted nothing more than for Master to reshape his body to best suit Master’s pleasure.
"Glad you like your new toy, baby," said Master, rubbing his fingers over the base of the plug before turning Rob around once more. "Ready? Two more tattoos and we’ll be done."
Rob nodded. He was ready for anything. Though he did feel a bit nervous when Master brought the needle of the tattoo gun very close to the base of his cock.
It was an instinctual reaction. Even if the tattoos had been nothing but pleasurable so far, it was only reasonable to not want a needle near his cock. Especially a needle that jabbed the skin hundreds of times a second.
Rob’s concerns dissolved into nothing before he could voice them, though. And when next he was aware, Master had inked a locked padlock just above the base of his dick.
A sudden pressure on his cock made him groan. It wasn’t painful but it was definitely uncomfortable. And it only got worse as time went on.
Something uncomfortably tight also seemed to cinch around the base of his cock and balls. It took a moment to register but when he looked at the screen he realized it was a metal cock ring.
The pressure on his cock was becoming almost too intense to bear. As the sensation got worse, a metal cage materialized around his length.
It forcibly bent his cock down and pulled it back toward his body. Then, as soon as it touched the ring at the base of his cock and balls, the two pieces of metal melded together without any seams.
The cage shrank, growing tighter and tighter around Rob’s manhood. When it finally stopped shrinking, all 14 inches of Rob’s massive cock had been crammed into five inches of metal cage.
There was nothing to describe the sensation of it. It was the most exquisite frustration. But it felt so, so good, too.
He couldn’t help but moan, his hole convulsing around the plug buried inside him. He smacked his lips, too, and swallowed. It was almost as if, with his cock locked away, his whole body began to crave dick even harder.
"Master… Master, please fuck me already!" he moaned.
Master grinned. "Soon, baby. One last thing. To make sure no one comes looking to take you away from me."
Rob’s eyes widened. "I-I thought no one was coming, Master?"
"Hah. Your friends aren’t coming but that doesn’t mean your university won’t start looking for their football team captain," said Master. "Why? Do you want someone to come rescue you?"
Rob thought about it. Did he? Did he want someone to find him looking the way he did now? Feeling the way he did now?
He’d be the laughing stock of the school. Though a filthy fantasy of being used as the team’s cum dump crossed his mind, it wasn’t a particularly realistic one if the rest of the boys had already been captured by Master’s associates.
The answer was clear. "N-no, Master!" he moaned.
"Good, then you won’t object to his," said Master.
Rob’s mind went blank from the sheer pleasure of the tattoo gun on his skin for what, allegedly, was the very last time.
It took longer for Rob to recover from the last tattoo. In fact, it hadn’t just plunged him senseless into a sea of pleasure. It had knocked him out altogether, at some point.
But as he blinked his bleary eyes and stared at the video feed on the screen in front of him, he felt something break in his brain. The person hanging from the metal ring wasn’t him.
For one thing, his skin had darkened. He was well past tanned and into brown. His hair was black now, too, without a single hint of the soft gold he used to have.
His features had changed, too. He still looked somewhat like himself but if he’d been born somewhere in Latin America, instead of New Jersey.
He glanced at his new tattoo. It was just lettering, this time, a name wrapped around his bicep. "Roberto," it said.
It seemed so simple, so innocuous. But with just seven letters, Master had changed who he was. Fundamentally. Irreversibly.
Not a single inch of his old self remained. Except, maybe, his mind. But even that had changed. He was someone else now.
He still remembered his friends. His old life. But it was all more of a distant dream, now. Maybe the memories would fade someday. Maybe they wouldn’t. It didn’t matter.
There were new memories in place of the old. Of growing up in a Mexican household. Of playing with the neighborhood kids and getting up to no good. Of discovering his sexuality in middle school and developing a fascination with bodybuilders in high school.
Everything was different. He wasn’t Robert James Moore, anymore.
He was Roberto.
Because the fact a fucktoy like him had been given a name was enough of an honor already. And besides, he did not need a family name. He no longer had a family.
Master was his whole world now. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
"How are you feeling?" said Master, reaching up to brush a lock of dark hair behind Roberto’s ear.
Roberto moaned. "Really good, Master…"
A smirk tugged at the corner of Master’s mouth. "About time I make you mine, isn’t it?" he said.
Roberto nodded. He wanted nothing more.
"I love how excited you’re getting," said Master as he pulled out a transparent acrylic box that contained a few metal objects.
It took Roberto to figure out what they were but he did, after a bit. They were piercings. And they looked heavy.
Master plucked one from the bunch and examined it in the light. It was shiny. Polished to a gleam. Nothing but the best for Master, Roberto supposed.
One thing that did make him curious was the lack of a piercing tool. Not that that was the strangest thing he’d seen all night. However, instead of taking anything else out, Master just took the Prince Albert he was holding and pressed it to the tip of Roberto’s caged cock.
Roberto howled at the sharp, burning pain that pierced through his cock head. He could hardly think of anything else for a moment. Fortunately, the agony faded away into a dull throb before long.
He looked up at the screen—because he couldn’t see his caged cock past his rack—and saw that he’d been perfectly pierced with a Prince Albert. It was heavy. He could feel it weighing down on his cock and it felt amazing.
The piercing turned him on so much it didn’t take him long to cover it in pre-cum. He was so aroused his cock was straining hard against the bars of its cage. It almost looked like his meat was ready to bust out of its metal prison but he knew there was no chance of that happening.
He was so distracted by the Prince Albert he didn’t notice Master press another piercing to his taint. It was a small ring but he definitely felt the sting. He jerked in his chains because of it, but he felt even sexier and sluttier once the pain had faded away.
Master added another piercing. This one at the bottom of his sack. It hurt like a bitch but not for long.
Three piercings in he felt even more submissive and devoted to Master than he was just a minute ago. He felt like each one represented a chain wrapping around his soul, binding him to Master.
A couple of choice curse words died in his throat when Master pierced his belly button. What came out was more of a strangled scream, instead. But instead of anger, all he felt was a profound sort of gratitude.
"Th-thank you, Master," he panted.
But Master wasn’t done with him. Far from it, even. The next piercing went on his nose. A ring right through his septum.
The ring was small but it did its job. Master even tugged on it slightly, saying "my cute little bull," as if the purpose hadn’t been obvious enough.
The last two piercings were thick metal rings with a ball on one side. Master attached both to Roberto’s nipples. And the pain when they went on was exquisite.
Roberto screamed. And he didn’t stop until he’d shouted himself hoarse. Shortly thereafter, the pain went down to a dull throb. The soreness in his nipples, though, that lingered.
"Who do you belong to?" said Master.
Master smirked. "Whose body is this?"
"Whose tits are these?"
Roberto gasped as Master tugged on his nipple rings. "Yours, Master!"
Master laughed. He flicked the Prince Albert hanging off the end of Roberto’s cock, eliciting a low grunt. "Whose cock is this?"
"And whose pussy is this?" said Master, reaching around and grabbing Roberto’s ample ass cheeks with both hands.
Master grinned, leaning in and biting down on one of Roberto’s nipples. "And how badly does my cute fucktoy want Master’s cock up his cunt?"
Roberto’s breath caught in his throat. "I want it so badly, Daddy! Split my pussy in half. Please!"
Master grinned. He produced a thin silver chain with clips on either end. He clipped one end to one of Roberto’s nipples and threaded it through the Prince Albert before clipping the other end to the other nipple.
Roberto whined. The sensation was intense. His nipples tugged on his cage. His cage tugged on his nipples. Both ways, the pleasure went straight to his cock, making it strain and swell in the confines of its cage.
"How could I say no when you ask so sweetly, baby?" Master said with a smirk. He reached over to the console and pressed a few buttons.
The metal ring that Roberto was suspended in tilted backward until he was in a horizontal position. Then, the entire frame shuddered as the ring was lowered to the floor.
Roberto sucked in a breath through his teeth. The cold of the metal platform under him stung against his skin.
There was a quiet hum that sounded like it was coming from underneath the platform. Shortly after the noise started, the metal warmed. And with the heat, the tension in his shoulders began to melt away.
For the first time since the evening began, he relaxed. The heat soaked into his muscles and sapped away the tightness that had set into his body.
He was so at peace he scarcely noticed Master moving from one limb to the next, unlocking his shackles. If not for the clatter of the chains on the metal floor, he might well have failed to realize he was free.
He opened his eyes and looked at his arms. The cuffs had been removed from around his wrists. And he could only assume the same was true for his legs as the metal ring rose into the air with the cuffs and chains dangling from it.
He watched it disappear into the darkness high above. And once the metallic clanging of the machinery stopped, it almost looked as if the whole thing had never been there in the first place.
Once the ring was gone, Roberto turned his attention to Master. The older man was standing in the space between his legs, smirking down at him.
"Go on, baby," said Master. "Show daddy your pussy."
Somehow, Roberto knew just what to do. He lifted his legs into the air, bending himself almost in half. He was surprised at how flexible he’d become despite the additional bulk of his body.
He could have kept the position with the power of his muscles alone but he wrapped his arms around the backs of his knees to keep his legs up, instead. It was easier that way. And more efficient, too.
Master smirked as he knelt behind Roberto. He placed one hand on Roberto’s hip and used the other to rub the base of the buttplug, eliciting a low, desperate groan.
"Ready for me, baby?" said Master, as he hooked two fingers under the molded base of the plug.
Roberto whined as Master tugged. He could feel his hole stretch around the flared bulb of the plug. It felt good but it was also so goddamned intense.
He tightened his arms around his legs. "Y-yes, Master," he moaned, as his muscle pussy dilated and stretched around the plug.
It had felt big inside him but he’d never imagined how big. It made him feel like he was pushing out a football. Or a volleyball, for that matter.
Whatever sporting metaphor was the most appropriate, he didn’t care. All he knew was that the plug would ruin him on the way out. If it didn’t make his fuckhole loose and gaping, he didn’t know what would.
Roberto strained and sweated as Master slowly extracted the plug from his cunt. He panted, groaning as his rim stretched around the widest part of the plug.
It caught. His breath hitched in his throat. A high-pitched and desperate whine escaped him as Master pulled with more and more force until, at long last, his pussy gave up.
The plug popped out with a lewd squelch. The rest of it practically shot out of his asshole. As soon as it was gone, he felt two things.
First and foremost, he felt empty. His hole clenched weakly. He couldn’t even close it. The plug had forced his pussy into a slight gape, one that Master took immediate advantage of by teasing his rim.
Second, he felt disbelief. He could see the plug in Master’s hand. It was huge. And somehow, it had fit inside him. Even more surprising, he’d managed to get it out without tearing something.
The plug bounced a few times as Master tossed it aside. Roberto watched it roll off the edge of the platform and wondered if that was the last he would see of it but Master chuckled and said, "Don’t worry, baby. It will be back on its own."
"You want Master’s cock, don’t you, baby?" said Master as he reached into his pants to fish out his cock.
Master’s endowment was sizable in its own right. Nowhere close to as large as the cock he’d given to Roberto but big enough. And even though it wasn’t monstrously huge, it still looked a hundred times more imposing than Roberto’s locked-up nub as Master tapped the head against Roberto’s hole.
"I’ve got one last thing for you to do," said Master. He leaned over Roberto’s body. He used his weight to pin Roberto’s legs in place. It just so happened the position was perfect for him to slide his cock up and down the crack of Roberto’s ass by rolling his hips.
"If you do nothing, you’ll turn back into your old self after a few weeks," said Master as he traced the side of Roberto’s face with his fingers.
"But…" Master dropped a thick leather collar onto Roberto’s chest. "Put this on and you make the changes permanent."
Since Master was keeping his legs in place, Roberto let go of them. He grabbed the collar off his chest and stared at it.
The collar seemed to be of quality make. The leather was exquisite. It shone in the light with a unique sort of luster and the texture of the leather on his fingertips was nothing short of sublime.
"There’s only one catch," said Master, positioning his cock at the entrance to Roberto’s pussy. "If you don’t put that collar on, you’re not getting my cock in this hungry cunt of yours."
Roberto whined. Not that it had been much of a choice, to begin with. But the idea that Master wouldn’t fuck him? That Master wouldn’t claim him? It was unconscionable.
He wrapped the collar around his thick neck. He looked into Master’s eyes, groaning as he tightened the collar around his throat.
"No going back if you buckle that, baby," said Master.
"I know," said Roberto, as he did just that.
A chill washed over his body as the buckle disappeared. The collar had turned into a single seamless loop of leather wrapped tightly around his neck.
There was no way to take it off.
"What a good little fucktoy you are," said Master. "Now open wide, baby. Here comes your reward."
Roberto tilted his head back and cried out. He moaned as Master plunged into him, sealing the deal, claiming his body, and changing his life forever.
IMPORTANT NOTE: This story was written as a paid commission. If you are interested in commissioning your own story from me, please see the [Commissions] page for more information!