Next year, I’m starting college. I was targeted by a bully because I was gay, in a Southern state. Jason was the worst of them, and it didn’t help that he had a hot, thick southern accent and the shape of someone who works the field.
Yet, there is a thin line between love and hate. I want you to turn him into even more of an imposing bull. I would like it if, by the time I go to the first day of college, that he has the body of a power-lifter. Give him a nose ring and a mohawk that fits the bull name.
However, I want to brand his ass with my name. You don’t need to change his personality much. Maybe make it so that my hand slapping his butt makes him moan like a needy bull, like he needs my hands to milk his breeding bull balls.
You can scarcely remember now, the events that lead up to where you currently are. It’s hard to remember anything, anymore. When you accepted the deal, to change him, to change your history, you gave something up, something that you’ll never quite attain again. You used to have thoughts flying at a mile a minute through your head, but now it’s like your skull is an empty shell. It’s hard to figure things out, now. Hard to think at all. But as you rub your hand over the ass of your once-bully, you can’t help but rub your own hard cock and think that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
Jason bullied you relentlessly through high school. You remember this much. At first you looked forward to getting to college with your good grades and leaving him behind in your little podunk of a town. That all came crashing down when you heard that he’d gotten an athletic scholarship at your college of choice. Your 18th birthday party came and went. You didn’t feel like celebrating. After all, you knew you could look forward to another couple years of torture.
And then it happened. One night. A strange dream. One that you can only remember bits and pieces of, on a good day. A sex shop in a grey city, at the crossroads between two streets that shouldn’t exist. You remember wishing for a change. Making a deal. Paying a price. Things were never quite the same after that.
Jason was still his old bullying assholish self, but you knew how to curb his behavior. A slap to the ass was enough to set him off. His cock went rock hard. He dropped to his knees. He begged you to jerk him off. To “milk” him, in fact. At first, you did it out of fear, but eventually you realized the power you held over him.
Whenever you met him in the halls, you slapped his ass. He’d fall to the ground mewling, utterly humiliated. It wasn’t long before he was actively avoiding you. But he couldn’t stay away for long. He needed your touch. So you refused to give it to him until he promised to be your bull.
He did. Eventually. He broke. You had your name branded on his ass. His hairstyle changed. A nose ring put through his nose. He looked the part by the time you rolled up to college.
But that’s when thinking became difficult. All the knowledge that you used to have, those brains that helped you get into your college of choice, it melted away, dribbled like water through your fingers. You don’t know how to do much these days. It’s the price you had to pay for this change. But your bull is always there to help you. And there’s one thing you never forget: how to milk him.
