A self-professed “Dom Top” who prides himself on converting straight guys into desperate cocksuckers and who thinks himself “too good” for gay rights gets turned into a cum-dumb fag when a conservative government puts in place a series of policies stripping rights from gay men.
Adam hissed at the sharp pain of teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of his cock. It shot up his spine like a needle. He gritted his teeth and raised his hand. He felt the hot, wet mouth wrapped around his cock pull off of it.
"Please, please, please! Don’t hurt me!" shrieked the simpering little bitch between his legs. Maybe if he hadn’t wanted to get hurt, he would have considered keeping his teeth off of Adam’s cock like he’d been told. "I didn’t mean it, sir. I won’t do it again, I promise."
The resounding slap echoed in the tiny bedroom of the bitch’s studio apartment. "You better not!" he screamed. The thundering of his voice drowned out the sniffling whimpers of the bitch. "Because next time, I’m knocking those fucking teeth out. Do you understand, bitch?" he said.
Cowed by the outburst of rage, the guy pinned between Adam’s thighs nodded his head meekly and bowed his head. "That’s a good little faggot," said Adam, with a small smirk. "Just think of it as a learning experience," he added, as he threaded his fingers through the guy’s soft blond locks. He scoffed to himself. As if this guy was ‘straight.’
This newest conquest was the product of probably a week’s worth of slow seduction. The downtown gym that Adam frequented was probably the perfect place to go fishing for just the type of person that he liked to have in his bed. At least, in his experience.
Adam didn’t go to Abdonis for the cut gay guys who eyed him up and down whenever he entered, their thirst for him clearly written on their faces. He didn’t go there for the women that liked to pretend that they weren’t surreptitiously flirting with him whenever he walked past them as they did their ab crunches or lifted their weights.
Abdonis was Adam’s hunting ground for a very specific type of guy. A straight guy. Very rarely was he after the kind that was confident, self-sure, and treated him like one of the bros. No. He was like a heat-seeking missile for the ones that had great bodies and handsome faces but still otherwise had that glimmer of uncertainty and doubt in their eyes.
Those were the guys that Adam could manipulate like putty. And those were the guys that adamantly defended their straightness to him despite coming back to him, week after week, on his orders.
It was funny. Adam could have sworn that every conquest felt easier than the last. Maybe he was just learning patterns of behavior, and becoming better at figuring out what buttons to push for any given target, but there was just something to be said about how his increasingly-buff appearance seemed to strike directly at those particular guys’ self-doubts.
The game almost always started with a little bit of people-watching. Adam would greet some of the guys that he knew, get down to a little bit of talking, while paying attention to the people around him.
From there, Adam would pinpoint a few candidates. The ones that seemed to glance at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. The ones whose eyes widened when they saw his firm, muscular body. The ones that blinked whenever he flexed his arms and showed off his broad shoulders in conversation.
Lifting weights was often a good way to confirm certain candidates. If they didn’t look again, they had probably just been taken aback. If they did, then Adam knew that he had their attention. He’d keep a close eye on them until he finished his work out, and then he’d make a move on the one that seemed most insecure.
Adam reached down between his legs and rubbed his thumb in small circles over the newest conquest’s cheek. Joey was a good looking guy and had the kind of body that most guys would have to work months, if not years, to get. But he probably had the worst case of impostor syndrome that Adam had ever seen.
"Look at me, bitch," said Adam. He made sure that there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in his voice, made sure that he came across as cold and mocking. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for his conquests, it was that once he had them in his grasp, they would get off on the humiliation, and degradation of being treated as ‘lesser.‘
"Still think you’re straight, cocksucker?" said Adam, with a derisive sneer. "You look so pretty down there between my legs, you know."
Adam brushed away the tears that had dripped from the corners of Joey’s eye. "Do you remember how strongly you protested at the beginning? How badly you wanted me to know that you weren’t, deep down, a faggot? Mmm… I remember," he said, clutching tightly on the tufts of Joey’s soft blond hair that came up between his fingers.
"I told you back then, didn’t I? That the truth would come out eventually," said Adam, bucking his hips. He kept his grip on Joey’s hair tight, kept the bitch’s head in place. He loved the sensation of Joey’s throat gripping tightly around his cock as Joey choked and gagged on his not-inconsiderable endowment.
As he slowly fucked his cock down Joey’s unaccustomed throat, Adam thought back to the way that this particular conquest had gone.
It was just like the others, at first. Joey had been one of the guys that Adam had picked out. But wasn’t even the one that Adam had targeted. Joey was the one that had made the first move in that little game of chess, coming around to Adam’s side of the gym unprompted.
Joey had picked up a couple of weights from the rack and gone over to the benches for a few bicep curl reps. Adam had been aware of him the whole time, but he’d ignored Joey just to see what Joey would do. The moment he figured out that Joey was going to make an easy mark was the moment that Joey looked up and started talking to him, asking him about what his secret was.
Adam had been upfront with Joey. At least about his workout and diet regiment. He’d seen the way that Joey’s face fell, and had heard the thick disappointment in Joey’s voice when Joey had said that he had been doing the same things but to no avail.
The opportunity was there, so Adam had taken it. He had mentioned that maybe Joey was just doing something wrong with his workouts and had offered to go through a workout with him. Joey had jumped on the opportunity.
Adam hadn’t found anything wrong with Joey’s workout regiment, though. He had wondered where to take things next when Joey said that maybe it was the food prep that was wrong. Completely unprompted, Joey had invited Adam over to his place to look over his meal plan, and at that moment Adam knew that he had Joey by the balls.
The evening that Adam came over to Joey’s house, Adam had walked right up into Joey’s personal space and had asked Joey how long he was going to pretend that he wasn’t trying to seduce Adam. Joey had been indignant at the accusation, and had told Adam to leave, but he hadn’t sounded convinced, and Adam had told him that the truth would come out eventually.
It had been a few days after that, in the locker room during a late hour when many of the other patrons had already left, that Joey approached Adam again. By then, Adam knew that he could take control of the situation. And he had. Before he left, Adam had managed to pin Joey to a locker and had written his number across the "straight" guy’s ass cheek with a sharpie.
The rest was, as they say, history. Joey had been serving at Adam’s personal pleasure for the last two weeks now and it seemed that the bitch had finally come to accept his place. "That’s where you belong, isn’t it, faggot?" said Adam, with a small smirk. "On your knees, between a bigger man’s legs, your throat full of a real man’s cock?"
Joey whimpered. A tear trickled from the corner of his eye as he looked up at Adam. He nodded, meekly. "Do you want my nut, bitch?" said Adam. Joey nodded, again. "Then why don’t you tell me what you are?"
A small, pathetic sound came up Joey’s throat. Adam relished it. But when Joey tried to pull off his cock, he kept his hand on the back of Joey’s head and kept him there. "I didn’t say you could take my cock out of your mouth, cocksucker," said Adam.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by Joey’s sniffle. He looked up at Adam, eyes wet with unshed tears. "Imfff a phuckhinghh fhhhagghhhot" said Joey, his face completely red with shame.
Adam clutched at Joey’s hair and shoved Joey’s face into his crotch. He speared Joey’s throat as deep as he could with his cock and grunted, his balls churning, his cock pulsing and throbbing and spurting blast after blast after blast of hot sticky cum down Joey’s eager little gullet.
Adam was barely a minute out of Joey’s tiny little apartment when he came across a gay rights campaigner on the side of the street. He rolled his eyes the moment that he caught sight of the pride flag stretched across the front of the table and sighed, knowing that because he looked the way he did, he would get pinned as someone to advertise to.
The last thing that Adam wanted to do was have to deal with this shit. It was not to say that he wasn’t glad for the massive progress that the movement had been able to effect, because he was. But he didn’t think that it was all that necessary anymore. Employers couldn’t fire him for being gay. Public services couldn’t deny him for liking dick and ass instead of pussy. And he could marry whoever the fuck he wanted, if he wanted.
As far as Adam was concerned, all the big-ticket issues for gay rights had already been won. The discussion was closed. He didn’t really care for or want to be involved in all the political shit that was going on around the country as long as he was free to be who he was.
"Sir," said the limp-wristed twink sitting behind the table. "Sir, are you registered to vote? Are you aware that the Republican candidate for the presidential election has a history of homophobia and has gone on the record to state that if elected he would—"
Adam was already getting a headache from the little spiel. He held up a hand and shook his head. "Look," he said, "I don’t care. Politics just makes my head hurt. All the parties are shit, anyway. I don’t know who the candidates are, but I’m sure they’re both shit. So no, I’m not registered to vote. And I don’t care to vote. It’s not like it counts anyway."
"But sir—!" said the twink. The chair behind him fell with a clatter to the pavement as he stood up forcefully, but Adam had already made up his mind. He heard the frustrated, disgusted grunt as he walked away, but frankly he didn’t really care.
Adam really didn’t think that there was anything to be concerned by. Oh, sure, the presidential candidate for the Republican party had a history of homophobia. As though that was anything new. It was just a politician pandering to the conservative Christian base like always. It’s not like there was anything bad that could come of it.
The twink had been about to say something about the candidate going on the record to say that if elected, he would do something. Adam suspected it was something along the lines of protecting religious freedom or some shit like that. It always was.
Shaking his head, Adam continued on his way home, sticking his hands in the front pockets of his sweater. That was the problem with modern liberals, he thought to himself. They freaked out over every little thing.
Using the wrong words. Calling someone by the wrong pronouns. The hundreds and thousands of "micro-aggressions" whatever the fuck those were. Adam just couldn’t be bothered with it all. It was all overblown anyway. Liberals had been screaming and foaming at the mouth about conservatives for as long as modern politics had been a thing and hardly anything had come of it.
This election year was just going to be like every other election year. People would be up in arms. And then people were going to forget. The government was going to keep being incompetent, and nothing would change. Adam was sure of it.
The smell of dinner filled Adam’s apartment as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table in the living room. He was aware that the guys he played with weren’t actually "straight" and were probably bisexual on some level, or were closeted gay men, but he got off on the fantasy so he often didn’t think too much about it.
Over the last few months, though, Adam become more than a little bit fond of Joey. Despite his early resistance, if the pathetic hesitation that Joey had shown could be counted as resistance, Joey had turned into the perfect little bitch.
Adam had insisted that Joey move in with him. As a house boy, of course. A live-in bitch to do his laundry, cook his food, and clean his home. It was nothing more than that. They weren’t together. They weren’t boyfriends. Even though on occasion Adam liked to enjoy a domestic moment with Joey.
If, perhaps, his relationship with Joey had been different, if Adam hadn’t been a dom top that prided himself on converting straight guys into simpering faggots all too eager to do his bidding, they could have been boyfriends. But as it was, it was unlikely to happen.
"Sir," said Joey, as he came into the living room, looking like an absolute tart. He was wearing nothing except for an apron and the jockstrap that was his uniform. "Did you hear about that law that they’re trying to pass through congress?" said Joey. He sounded uncertain, nervous. For good reason.
Adam looked over his shoulder in the direction of his house boy and frowned. Joey knew better than to talk politics at him. He just didn’t have time for that bullshit. But he could see the genuine fear in Joey’s eyes. "Let me guess, it’s another fuck the gays law?" he said.
"Y-Yes, sir," said Joey. He was wise enough not to elaborate unless asked, so he left it at that. Adam smiled, glad that he had trained his live-in bitch so well.
"I told you. Whatever those things say, we have the constitution that guarantees our rights. Those laws are never going to hold up in court," said Adam, waving his hand dismissively as he turned his eyes back to the screen. Ever since Joey had accepted his place at Adam’s feet, he’d become a lot more politically conscious, for some reason, studying up on the state of gay rights and other shit like that.
Adam tried not to find it annoying, but it really was. The only reason he tolerated it was because Joey at least tried to keep it to himself. But occasionally, Joey would get scared of something and tell him about it.
Adam wasn’t a monster, so he would listen whenever he thought that Joey was genuinely concerned. But it was always over something that he didn’t think would have any effect on him. At first it had been when the Republican candidate had won the election, and where both houses of Congress had come under Republican control.
If Joey’s hysterics that night were to be believed, the whole world would have ended right then and there. But it played out exactly as Adam had told him it would. The Republicans would posture and shout but would ultimately get nothing done.
The next freak out had been when the Supreme Court ended up with a conservative super-majority. Joey had said something to the effect of the foundations of civilized society crumbling as a result, but Adam had told him that the judicial branch was supposed to be non-partisan and that the judges would probably value their credibility as practitioners of the law over their politics.
"Come over here," said Adam, pushing his shorts down his legs and tossing them over to the side. He reached down and stroked his cock, having gotten a bit hard from watching the straight footballers running back and forth on the field and imagining having one or more of them naked, kneeling, and weeping at his feet. "Daddy needs a nice warm hole for his hard cock," he said.
Folding his arms behind his head, Adam smirked as Joey walked over to him and sank to the ground, hot breath ghosting up the side of Adam’s cock.
But before Adam could get the blowjob that he was eagerly waiting for, there was a loud bang as the door to his apartment was ripped clean off its hinges. There was a second loud bang when the door fell to the floor.
Joey jumped at the first loud bang and scrambled a good five feet away from Adam. By the time the second bang happened, he was hiding behind the couch. Furious, Adam got up to his feet and screamed "What the fuck do you think you’re doing?"
"Adam Farley?" said the heavily armed police officer that stepped through the ruins of Adam’s apartment door. "You are under arrest! Get on your knees and put your hands in the air where I can see them!"
Adam’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. He had done nothing wrong. "What the fuck?!" he shouted. "What the fuck did I do? What authority do you have to barge into my fucking home and destroy my fucking property? I want to see a fucking warrant!"
"Get on your fucking knees, now!" screamed the officer, not even flinching as Adam rose to his full height and flexed his muscles. "Get on the ground or I will shoot you!" said the officer, leveling his rifle at Adam.
That gave Adam pause. The rifle certainly looked intimidating. He scowled, but he had no other choice. He lowered himself to his knees and put his arms up in the air. "Okay, okay," he said. "Don’t fucking shoot."
The officer motioned toward the door and two more officers came in. They grabbed Adam’s arms and forced them behind his back. They put his wrists in hand cuffs and shoved him to the floor.
"Under the CCVRA, Adam Farley, you are under arrest for gross obscenity relating to homosexuality and sexual deviance," declared the officer with the rifle, a small sneer pulling at the corners of his lips as he said the words, like he had been waiting to say them for a long time.
"What the fuck? That isn’t a crime!" said Adam. He knew better than to struggle, so he allowed the police officers to pin him to the ground with their weight. "And what the fuck is the CCA?"
The police officer carrying the rifle shook his head and laughed. "The CCVRA is the Conservative Christian Values Restoration Act," said the police officer. "The real men who run this fucking country and remember the principles it was built on passed it into law just a few hours ago to put a stop to the degeneracy that is making society fall apart," he added.
"How the fuck do you not know that, faggot?" said one of the police officers who had a knee on Adam’s back. "Have you been living under a fucking rock? Or were you just too busy sucking cock to pay attention?"
"On your feet, faggot," said the police officer with the rifle. "You’re coming with us."
As the two police officers that had cuffed him pulled Adam up to his feet, the one with the rifle kicked him roundly in the balls. He squealed at the pain and would have dropped back to his knees if not for the police officers dragging him along as they laughed.
On the way out, lost in the haze of pain, Adam noticed that there was someone standing outside the apartment with a small smirk on his face. He looked faintly familiar, but Adam couldn’t place where he’d seen the guy before.
The officer in charge approached the man and said, "That your friend hiding behind the couch?" The man nodded. "And you’re sure that he was straight before this fucker got to him?" The man nodded again.
The police officer shook his head, turned around, and slapped Adam right across the face. Then, he spat in Adam’s face, making no effort to hide his disgust. "Fucking degenerate. That guy is a hundred times more of a real man than you will ever be, you fucking worthless piece of shit."
Adam gritted his teeth. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. The moment that he could, he would get a lawyer. He would get out, and then he would sue the police officers for every penny they had in their miserable little lives.
The police officer turned to the man that was, supposedly, Joey’s friend. "Go on in," said the officer, his voice taking on a surprisingly gentle tone. "Tell him what’s going on. Make sure he understands it. There might be some resistance, but that’s to be expected. We don’t know how much this sick fuck did to him."
The officer reached out and squeezed the alleged friend’s shoulder. "It’s going to be a hard time getting him to recognize that he was abused, but what you need to do is make sure that you keep him company until we can get him into deprogramming, understand? Don’t worry too much. Your friend is going to be back to normal soon enough."
Adam expected that he would be dragged to the precinct, where he would get some time to talk to an attorney, but instead the officers drove him down to the courthouse. They walked up to reception and said, to the woman behind the counter, "We have a code rainbow here."
The woman looked up and reacted with visible disgust at the sight of Adam. "Shit," she said, "what a waste." The woman jerked her head toward a door to the right. "He’s still dressed. Get him prepared. No judge in their right mind would want to see him like that."
The lead officer nodded and directed the two officers holding Adam to take him to the side room. It was a small, cramped room. There was an alcove for what looked like a shower in the back, but hardly anything else. Shoved into the center, between the three officers, Adam barely had any space to move.
The lead officer grabbed fistfuls of Adam’s shirt and pulled hard, tearing the fabric with surprising ease. The other two officers helped and before Adam could get a single word in edgewise, he had been stripped naked.
The officers picked up the scraps of Adam’s clothing. One of them pulled open a panel in the wall and the others passed him the fabric to toss in. Then, the three officers exited the room.
Adam stood there, shivering, as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. He was angry, but more and more he was getting scared. He was beginning to understand that he was in a bad situation. A very bad situation.
The problem was that Adam didn’t think the situation was one he could get out of. Who would he go to? The authorities? They were the ones that had put him in the predicament in the first place. And the last thing that he wanted to do was give them any more material to trump charges up on.
The door opening distracted Adam from his thoughts as a man wearing what looked like a hazmat suit entered the room. "Stand still," the man commanded, his voice a bit muffled by his outfit.
Adam decided to comply with the order as the man pulled what looked like a pressure cleaner into the room. "Tilt your chin up," said the man. Adam did as he was told.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man aim the nozzle at him and press the trigger. Instead of the jet of water that he expected, Adam saw what felt like a spray of foam on his body. It was cold and tingly.
The man walked around him, spraying every inch of skin that could be sprayed. Then, the man set the nozzle down and walked up to Adam. He worked his hands over Adam’s body, making sure to get the foam over every nook and cranny. Adam suspected that it was some sort of cleaning solution, but it was beginning to tingle uncomfortably.
The man then took out what looked like a tube of some sort of paste and lathered it onto his hands. He reached up, grabbed the side of Adam’s face, and applied the paste to Adam’s skin. He covered the places where Adam could possibly grow a beard and a mustache, making sure that every inch was covered before stepping away.
As the tingling gave way to an uncomfortable burning sensation, Adam hopped from one foot to the other. It stung his crack, his hole, his balls, his cock, but he couldn’t do anything about it. The man just watched silently.
About three minutes passed from the moment the man stepped away to the time that he finally spoke up again and told Adam to climb into the alcove at the back of the room but it felt like an eternity for Adam.
As soon as he stepped into the alcove, a glass wall slid into place, trapping him inside. He squeezed his eyes closed as he felt high-pressure jets of water assault him from all sides, scouring his skin raw. The water was cold, too, so when it was over, he was shivering.
When he opened his eyes, Adam looked down and saw that his entire body had been stripped clean of hair. He was as smooth as a baby, and thanks to the high-pressure water, his skin was as pink as a baby’s, too. The fans started blowing after that, drying him off with room-temperature air that just made him feel colder.
The glass door slid open and allowed Adam back into the center of the room, where the man that had applied the foam on his body told him to wait before leaving.
A minute later, the police officers returned. This time, they brought with them some tools. A bottle of lube, a large dildo with what appeared to be a perineum stimulator, a pair of manacles, a spreader bar with shackles, a dildo-shaped gag, and a heavy iron collar attached to a chain. That they even brought lube just felt like another slap in the face for Adam.
"Bend over, faggot," said the lead officer. When Adam hesitated, the officer stepped forward, slapped him across the face, and forced him over. He felt something cold being applied to his asshole and shivered, afraid of what was to come.
The large dildo was forced into him without much care. Not that he had expected any. It hurt like hell. It felt like he was going to get torn apart. He didn’t know how long it took but it definitely felt like forever before he felt the large rubber balls resting against his ass cheeks, and he felt the small nub pressed up against his taint.
The dildo gag was easier, but it was still big. It stretched Adam’s jaw so much that it hurt. And he couldn’t stop choking and gagging and spluttering around the thick cockhead that was lodged in the back of his throat. It was buckled around his head to make sure that he couldn’t spit it out.
The handcuffs were removed, replaced by the manacles and the heavy chain that hung between them. Then, his ankles were affixed to the spreader bar, and he was forced to stand with his legs apart. The last item was the heavy iron collar that was locked around his neck. "Alright, good to go, faggot," said the officer. "Time to see the judge for your sentencing."
Sentencing? What the fuck did they mean sentencing? Adam thought to himself. Wasn’t he going to have a trial? Wasn’t he going to get a chance to prove himself innocent? This was a sham. A shit show. He refused to accept it. But the time to fight had come and gone and he definitely couldn’t do anything in his condition now.
As the officers walked him out of the room, his hole burned around the massive dildo. His face burned in humiliation as the visitors to the courthouse pointed at him and laughed.
Adam waddled along, tears pricking at his eyes from the pain of the dildo lodged deep in his ass, led by the neck like an animal.
The officers shoved Adam into a court room and took him up to the well of the court. The judge took a look at him and rolled his eyes. "Alright, let’s get this over with," said the judge.
At that moment, Adam felt the dildo in his ass begin to vibrate. Despite the pain, it felt good against his prostate and against his taint. He would have moaned if he wasn’t too busy choking on the dildo in his mouth, but he was helpless as his cock, which had shriveled from the cold of the preparation room, slowly rose to full stiffness.
"Guilty," said the judge, with a sneer. "For the crime of homosexuality and being a sexual reprobate against the Conservative Christian Values of our country, I sentence you to reprogramming and assignment to a straight household in service of a real man so that these United States of America can at least get some use out of your miserable, worthless life," said the judge.
"Let the name Adam Farley be struck from the record. As far as the government is concerned, Adam Farley doesn’t exist, never existed, and will never exist. This criminal before me will be given a new designation fitting to its new status as a sub-human sexual deviant upon processing, but until then it will be referred to as Faggot."
"Let the record show that the faggot that once had the name Adam Farley is not a man, was never a man, and will never be a man, and is therefore not entitled to any of the rights and freedoms as men," said the judge. "So has it been ruled. So shall it be. We’re done here, gentlemen. Take it away."
And just like that, Adam’s fate was sealed.
Faggot tried not to cry as the bumpy road jostled the dildo still lodged deep inside it. He had been angry, furious at the mistreatment and the unfairness of it all, but it had been hard to hold on to that anger once it realized how impotent it was in the face of its circumstances. Fear had taken its place hours ago.
It was still difficult to believe that its entire world had been upended so quickly. A law passed immediately into effect that stripped it of all of its rights? It was insanity. It wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in a democracy. But it had happened, and there was nothing that it could do about it.
It was nigh-impossible for Faggot to not wonder if it could have changed anything if it had paid more attention to politics or participated more in the fight for gay rights. But it wasn’t really a relevant thought anymore. What was done was done. Now it was in a prison transfer bus, shoved into a single row of seats with four other faggots like itself.
The dildo in Faggot’s ass jabbed itself into its prostate as they hit another pothole. He gurgled a moan around the dildo gag lodged in its throat as a dribble of pre-cum slid down its cock. The bus was full of other sexual reprobates like it, gay men that had been leading their lives as normal until the police broke into their homes and took them in for their sentencing.
Faggot would have wondered who they were, if not for the fact that the judge had made it clear that as far as the law was concerned their old selves didn’t exist. Their names didn’t matter. Just like it, they were all just "Faggot" until they got their new designations.
The entire bus stank of piss and sweat and cum. Faggot hadn’t had the pleasure of creaming itself as a result of the bumpy ride yet, but it was close. The dildo buried in its ass hadn’t stopped vibrating since the court house, and its cock was rock hard and leaking.
But with its arms chained to the metal bar over its head like the rest of the desperate, miserable faggots on the bus, Faggot couldn’t stroke itself off to completion. And with the windows tinted so dark that it couldn’t see outside, it had no way to know how far it was to the reprogramming facility.
Faggot got its answer when the bus rolled to a stop a few minutes later, and it still hadn’t cum. Police officers with batons and cattle prods boarded the bus and started shoving faggots out, starting from the front. Faggot felt a pang of fear in its heart as its bladder started emptying out through its rock-hard cock, spraying the seat in front of him with piss.
The officers pointed at him and laughed derisively, sending a flush of shame through its body. Eventually, it walked off the bus and right into the sterile white light of what looked like a large warehouse.
There were other buses here, and lines of naked, chained, gagged faggots all over the place. There were desks piled with what looked like dog tags, cases of syringes, and men in lab coats manning them. One by one the faggots in front of Faggot moved up to the man in the lab coat, were administered a shot, and were led away.
Faggot’s turn came eventually. It tried not to tremble with apprehension as the man typed something down on his tablet device and reached for a dog tag. "From now on you will be FAG207-632-111276" said the man.
The syringe came up and was stabbed into Faggot’s shoulder before it could react. "This is going to destroy the ejaculatory reflex," said the man in the lab coat, "ensuring permanent feelings of lust, arousal, and docility."
"Hear that, faggot?" said one of the police officers nearby, "You’re never going to cum again!"
This time, Faggot couldn’t stop itself. It sobbed openly. Its cock ached. Its balls ached. It was so horny it felt like it was going to explode. It didn’t think that it was possible to do what the man in the lab coat said, but for some reason it believed him.
Faggot followed the previous faggot along to the back of the warehouse where it was taken through a door into another room. It watched as the faggot that had come before it was grabbed by another man in a lab coat, and grimaced at the scream as something was injected into the base of its neck, right under the collar.
It was next, so it shuffled forward, legs bowed around the dildo still lodged in its ass. It tried to hold in its cry of agony as the thing was injected into it, but it couldn’t. It screamed like the other faggot, and sobbed on its way out.
As it was walking along the sterile hallway, Faggot felt something intense overcome it. It was like taking a hit of poppers, only a thousand times stronger. It made it hornier, fuzzier in the head. It moaned around the gag in its mouth and uselessly humped its hard cock into the air.
It was led through what looked like a prison. It could hear the delirious moans and whimpers of the fags in the cells to either side of it. The sound just made it hornier. More desperate. It felt another hit and it nearly stumbled over its own feet, its cock drooling pre-cum liberally all over the floor.
Faggot was led to cell block 632, cell 111. The chains on its hands were removed before it was shoved in with probably another thirty faggots. There was hardly any space to move, and no beds to lie down in. The others were sitting on the bare concrete or lying down, moaning to themselves, eyes glazed over, hands pumping up and down their hard cocks.
Faggot was no exception. As soon as it found a place to sit, he started jerking off. It wanted to cum. Needed to cum. When lights out came, it was still desperately rubbing its cock, unable to coax even the tiniest dribble of cum out of its cock.
By the time that the next day came, Faggot was just like the rest, totally high on whatever drugs were being fed endlessly into its system, horny beyond all belief, unable to think of anything but coming.
It had to be dragged out along with the others, down to the reprogramming chamber. But it didn’t fight. It just let itself be carried down the stairs, desperately mewling around the dildo gag in its throat.
It was shoved into a sleek black pod before its gag was removed. Its mouth spewed spit and throat slime all over its chest. Then, the dildo in its ass was removed. It felt empty. So empty. But not for long. A rubber cock was inserted into its hole and another into its mouth as a visor was placed over its head.
It was plunged into darkness for a moment before the brainwashing started to play. Static pounded its ears for a good hour, though it didn’t really have any means of telling the time. Then, the screen in the visor came to life, displaying straight men, patriotic men, conservative men.
A low, droning voice spoke in its ear. "I am a worthless faggot. I will never be a real man. I am a useless waste of space. I deserve to have my rights taken away. I do not deserve to cum. Coming is for real men. Coming is for men who contribute to society. I am nothing but trash. I do not contribute to society. Therefore I do not deserve to cum."
Faggot only moaned as the dildos in its mouth and ass moved, thrusting in and out of him in tandem. "To make up for being a faggot, I will serve straight men. I will give myself to straight, conservative men. I am an object for their pleasure. I live to serve my betters. Helping straight men come is my purpose. Straight cum is divine. I crave straight cum. When straight men come on me, I have served my purpose."
The voice repeated its words as the visor stimulated Faggot’s eyes with images of superior men. It was kept in the reprogramming booth for what felt like an eternity. By the time that it was taken out, its ass plugged with a vibrator that kept it stimulated, it was deliriously repeating the voice’s words and believing them to be true.
Before the month was over it was groveling at the feet of the straight men that served as the prison’s guards, begging for their cum, begging for its worthless faggot ass and throat to be used for the pleasure of superior men.
A year later, Faggot was released from the reprogramming center. It was assigned to a straight man’s household and transported in a crate, like a piece of furniture. It didn’t care. It was just an object. Just a worthless faggot. It was fortunate that it hadn’t been forced to crawl all the way to its new owner.
When the crate lid was opened, Faggot looked into the eyes of its new master. The real man seemed familiar, but Faggot knew better than to assume it knew anything. It didn’t know anything. It was just a dumb faggot. A worthless piece of property that lived to serve its superiors to make up for being born.
"Recognize me, Adam?" said Joey, with a small, self-satisfied smirk as he looked at the bulky, muscled form of the man that had bitched him out about a year ago. "Probably not. Dumb fag like you only thinks about straight cock, isn’t that right?"
Faggot nodded. It fell to the floor and crawled to its master, keeping its fat muscular ass in the air. It was a big faggot, a muscular faggot, bigger than its master, but it was infinitely less of a man than its master. "Yes, master, 276 is just a worthless faggot that only thinks of straight cock," it said.
"Good, good," said Joey, with a lopsided grin. Deprogramming had done wonders for him. He had never gotten the body that he had wanted before, but he had learned to be proud of the body that he had. And he had learned to be proud of being straight. Because the alternative was being a fag like the one desperately sucking his toes.
And what sort of a real dom top would ever lower and debase himself like Faggot 276, anyway?