"Fuck man, I don't want to get my fucking tongue pierced" I hissed at Robert as we sat in the Jeep, putting the car in park. The air was tense with testosterone, it hung around us two like a cloud.  He just rested his meaty hand on my broad back, massaging the bunched muscles through the tank top like he always did to get his way.  A grunt passed, nodding his head as he went.  I guess we looked like fucking soldiers, two beefy guys sitting in a military vehicle like they owned the fucking world.  To a casual onlooker, we looked like two heavies ready to bust down a door.  Rod sure is acting ready to break open something, only I think the something is me.

"Oh yeah" he said, rummaging around in the glovebox, until he found a metal chain "put this on, would you?"  I grabbed the chain as I pushed the door open, to angry to go slow or think to check what it was. I guess that the grunt had been about right, except in our world, Rod was taking posession of me.  A ripping pain in my arse made me slow down from the deep steel arse hook he'd crammed in before leaving, which plumbed my insides uncomfortably from the long shaft to the bulbous shiny tip.  Wearing it made me fell like a giant rack of beef, which I guess was what I'd become.  I slid down from the drivers seat of the Jeep, the pain shooting up my spine, and made another mental note to sell the car that had once made me feel like a king-shit stud, but now just pummelled my pussy with every bump and dismount.

I was also painfully aware of guys leering on the street as my skimpy running shorts hiked up as I slid down, revealing a hefty mound of stuffed jockstrap nearly bursting from the seams.  Rob had made me wear the smallest jock I owned, and my fat package strained against the loose cotton, the old elastic struggling to contain my throbbing thumper and the arse hook in place.  At least as my feet touched the pavement, the shorts slid back down, covering that few precious inches between my tight waist and golden haired thighs.  I opened my fist, and my jaw almost dropped when I saw the chain properly.  Rob had handed me a thin silver chain - like the greasy Italian street boys wore - only the square pendant had a big black paw print in it, like a bear cub.  Reluctantly, I pulled the chain around my neck, giving the boys a flash of my hairy armpits, hoping the sign would be obscured between the cleft of my hairy pecs.  Unluckily for me, though, when I dropped my arms down, the chain barely fit around my corded neck, and the logo sat prominently on my clavicle, just above the fork where my hairy pecs arched out to meet my shouldercaps.  The tank top didn't help any - my old college gymnasts training top - the wide scooped neck revealed my chest almost to my nipples, and arm holes hung low to show off my tapered lats.

Rob had slung out of his seat and came around the car, hand on my back posessively, showing everyone who was boss.  I couldn't help but shiver, I mean Rob is a big muscular rugged man like me, but he was plenty happy letting guys think he was willing, or even hint that I was, too.

It was a real mindfuck having guys check me out.  Although I still have a big square gymnasts body, since I left college I no longer needed to shave down for competition, and my naturally thick blonde fur covered my chest, arms and legs like a grizzly.  I didn't care - chicks really dug a strong masculine man, and although I am stocky and chiselled enough to get the occasional look from guys, they could tell I was a real man from the hair, conservative clothes, that kind of shit.  Even on a building site - never less than jeans and a collared work shirt - and off site, nearly always had a Jeanne or a Tracey hanging off my bulging arm.  Now I have to get used to being a helluva lot more uncomfortable in public.  Rob still lets me dress like a "straight jock" as he calls it, but they're the kind of clothes I haven't worn for a decade, and there's a difference to me between a 25 year old gynmnast wearing this gear on the mats, and a 35 year old carpenter wearing it on the streets.

I guess I should explain how I became Rob's pussy.  I hate that name, it makes me want to curl up in a ball, but that's what he calls me, and it's true.  Not so long ago we were drinking buddies - best buddies I guess - and we used to horse around lots - stupid shit like wrestling for beers or harmless pranks.  A lot of the time we'd talk chicks and pussy, getting each other horned up for a night on the town.  One drunken night we were wrestling like idiots in our trackpants, and he pinned me down - side hold with my arm pinned behind me - I could barely move a muscle. He was leaning in, breathing heavily, waiting for me to submit.  There was something about the position, maybe just accidentally, but we both became aware his crotch was pressed against my arse - actually his cock was pretty much nestled in the crack, only our thin trackpants separated us. I barely breathed, and Rob just began rocking back and forward, grinding his horsecock into my crack like a dry fuck.  My own cock went rock hard, and seeing that, he dropped his arm down, jamming his thumb against my meatus as he rocked.  It was electric - like a shotgun, my cock exploded, spraying fucksauce all over the crotch of my trackpants, leaking through and onto his hand.  It had been a few days since I had had a date, but this was something else, like I was hard wired to him.  After that, he got up quickly, wiping his hand on the couch and quickly going to the bathroom.  I guess that probably would have been it - we were both straight brawny guys, and I guess we would have made some lame excuse about the booze and then never talked again.  I went to my room, humiliated, wiping off the cumsauce as best as I could with the trackpants, waiting for the thud of the door as Rob left.  I did a half arsed job, distracted, and when I still couldn't hear anything, I pulled on some jocks and wandered down the hall, figuring he must've left the door ajar.  I never in my life expected what would happen next.  I could hear what sounded like crying from the bathroom, and made the biggest mistake of my life - I went in.

Rob wasn't crying.  The titan man had his trackpants around his ankles, hard wired body and dark hair on display as he beat his long distended cock in long sloppy strokes.  Each backstroke tugged at the foreskin, revealing the bulbous head, while each forward stroke made a slug of precum spurt from his dicklips.  I'd heard him pant as he got close to cumming, and now I was standing there in a jock, streaks of cum down my leg, like an idiot.  Without missing a beat, Rob leaned forward, grabbed the back of my head and forced me to my knees, slamming his cockshaft into my slack-jawed mouth before I even realised what was happening.  In a stroke he came, the first volley of cum shooting into my mouth so hard it splashed off the back of my throat and overflowed from my lips, cascasding like a fountain over my hairy chest.  He kept cumming, pumping volley after volley of thick tangy goop down my throat, and I was forced to swallow just to breathe.  It was all over in a second, when it sunk in that he'd blown his load in my mouth.  I instinctively lifted my hand to wipe the thick pasty cream from my lips and tongue, almost gagging from the taste and smell, when he roused from his post-fuck haze long enough to slap my hand away, like he wanted me to wear it longer.  I tried to say it was all a mistake but the goop clotted my throat, making me gag and spit cum bubbles.  I was still reeling, a ladies man who'd just had a load blown in his face by his best friend's cock.

I guess Rob saw it different. Maybe he'd always figured I would come in, and prove I was up for taking his choad.  Maybe he just didn't give a fuck, and rolled with the punches as they came.  Maybe, like me, when his body responded, he was a slave to it.  Whatever it was, the air was thick with more than just sweat and cum.  He leaned down, helping me to my feet, and told me to lick my lips, there was shit dripping off them.  It was gross, but I kind of went with it.  When I did, my tongue was recoated with his goop.  As I did so, he leaned in, kissing me hard, forcing his tongue down my throat, mixing his dickspew with his hot spit as he tonguefucked me with his mouth.  When he'd finshed he let me go, telling me to get dressed for town, as if nothing had happened.  That night, I went out with him like we always did, but with his cum between my pecs and the taste in my mouth.  It made me feel dirty, and horny, and very twisted.

I pulled that night, and fucked that girl like a bronco.  But it was never the same.  Next evening, Rob came over again to watch the game and head out. But we never made it out on the town. He spent the night sitting on the couch yelling at the TV, and I spent the night, my rugged body stripped naked, on all fours between his spread legs, licking out his sweaty ballbag and chowing down on his fat stalk.  Since then, although I still dig chicks, and have no interest in other guys, I find it hard to resist whatever kinky shit Rob comes up with - the more emasculating, the harder it seems to make me.  I don't know how long we can keep it up before someone else finds out.  I guess for a while I thought we were casual fuckbuddies - literally two guys just getting each other off - but then it was always Rob getting off on me, or in my mouth, anyway, it quickly became clear that Rob called the shots.  The exact day was probably the day he 'suggested' I clipper down my chest hair, even though he knew I thought only fag boys did that.  Or maybe because he knew that.  That was the day he called me 'pussy' for the first time, started telling me what to wear, and began slyly fingering my sensitive arsering, just to remind me what was at stake.

Now, he says, facefucking me isn't enough.  He wants more than a blowjob.  Not that subtly, he suggested this while tonguing my throat, and fingering my arse, hard.  Then two days ago, he brought home the steel hook, and in his words, began "training my worthless mancunt".  I flat out refused, I was a fucking guy for fucks sake, But he just calmly told me I wouldn't be allowed to spray my juice until I agreed.  He stayed overnight to make sure, and I crumbled, my resistance lasting only a day.  This morning, after shooting his junk down my throat, he bent me over, his hand on by broad back, and I went down passively, like a fucking Pavlov dog.  He has me trained I guess.  But I'm a fucking virgin straight man for fuck's sake, I don't want some chick seeing a ripped arsehole, so when that steel knob touched my sphincter, I bucked and resisted like a colt.  Eventually he waited me out, patiently, until he got his way.  He wormed the fucker into my virgin chute , and now I can feel my g-spot like it's dialled up to 10.  I blew my load as it went in, of course, but as soon as I came of the post-orgasmic high, I began begging him to take the plumbing out.  "Uh uh" he said, "that thing's only coming out if I get to fuck you instead."  I backed off as much as I could with the steel poking into me, and hobbled to the bathroom.  It was too much, I was going to rip that hook out if it killed me, and finally stop this sick shit.  I began swearing as I waddled, but he caught up easily, stroking me on the back of the neck, telling me that he understood, if I wanted my pussy intact a little longer, that was understandable - any normal guy would.  If only there was something else I could offer...

So here we are, two rugged boys on the street, outside a fucking piercing shop.  He figures either I get a tongue piercing, to make blowing him more pleasurable, or I let him get his rocks off some other way.  "Hey hey big man" he growled, pushing me forward through the small crowd of guys "it's your choice man, either we do this, or you gotta offer me your cunt...".  "But I really don't want my tongue pierced" I repeated, without much conviction now.  I folded my guns across my chest, attempting to salvage some sense of masculinity as I began walking towards the shop.  "Atta boy" he said, loud enough for the guys to hear "you're doing just fine".

A Mans Decision 2

by Emile

2009.  This is a work of fantasy. You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

---

Oh boy, things have amped up a bit since the piercing shop.  After the guy had done the deed, skewering my tongue with an excessively thick bolt that Rob had chosen, my tongue was numb for days.  I should have know, but Rob wasn't one for abstinence, and on the second day of not being to fuck my mouth, he ordered me onto my bed, buck naked, to take his pussy plugger up my hole.  I was humiliated, stretching my sinuous body out on the white sheets like a slut, grabbing the headboard tight so my body was stretched out and he could grab my hairy thighs, fold me over and begin forcing his blunt leaking head into my virgin pucker. But I was also hot for it, and Rob knew that, using his abs to mash my own leaking cock against my belly as he thrust in deeper, making me spurt dollops of precum as he hit bottom, stretching my cornhole wide around his flanged fleshy root. He got into a steady fucking rhythm, hard thrusts, where he pulled out until just the bulbous head stretched my ring, and then plunging full hilt again.  He called me a bitch and whore as he thrust, mauling my nipples and punch fucking my hole until I yelped and moaned.  After a dozen thrusts, my sphincter was in overdrive, and I shot my load all over my hairy chest, my arse clenching sending Rob over the edge, who filled my gut with his cockspew.   It was the best fuck he'd had, he said, so I should get used to putting out regularly.  That meant, even when my tongue recovered and he began facefucking me again, he still plugged my sore hole at least twice a day. 

By now Rob had basically moved into my flat, so when he woke with his piss-hard, he could use it to piston fuck my hole, sometimes lining me up while I slept so I would awake screaming with his first piercing thrust. He'd fuck my hole raw for 20 minutes, no more lube than spat out of his cockhead, until he shot his load, and then I had to clean his stinking cock up, before he sidled off for a piss, cock smacking his thighs, leaving me to clean up and jump in the shower.  I wasn't allowed to cum while he fucked me, which was hard, my cock was always twitchy and leaky the whole time, so I jerked off like a bronco in the shower, slaking off the mixture of juices before hauling on my work clothes for the day.  I pleaded for him to go easy on my arse, which was constantly red and sore.  I hated the puffy gaping lips that were forming around my hole, and could barely move without feeling pain shoot up my innards. But it was like he wanted me to feel my fuckhole constantly, and so the sessions got longer and longer, until there was no time for showers and jerk offs.

One day, he just finished the fuck by sticking his funky juiced up dork into my mouth, still streaked with cum and arse slime, fucking my mouth while his thick tool softened, and then unloading his bladder with a groan, pumping litres of hot piss down my throat.  I choked and spluttered but he forced me to drink it, until he pulled out of my sloppy mouthcunt with a pop.  I barely had time to recover before he pulled some sweats up over his thick poker, threw me some clothes and told me to dress - that I'd have to go to work as I was.  Since then, that became the pattern, and I had to scramble to haul on my gear as Rob gunned the engine to drive me to work.   And of course, he was pretty careless with my clothes, so some days that meant going to work not only cum streaked and sweaty, mouth tasting of piss, but also wearing clothes I'd not be caught dead in only months before.  Wifebeaters and torn jeans were his favourite. 

Then one day, he didn't bother to throw me a jock, so his cum would leak straight out of my hole and stain the dark denim.  In the car I begged him to turn back, that the other tradies barely spoke to me as it was, but he just laughed, undoing the top fly button and wrenching it off in his paw.  It meant when I got out, my jeans dropped low on my thighs, revealing tufts of my pubes when I walked, and a fair bit of arsecrack.  At least, he said, this way the cum would leak down my legs instead of into the material.  The guys ignored me after that, and Rob made sure never to give me jocks again.

During the day, Rob would always swing by the site to bring me 'lunch'.  Lunch of course was his packed lunch stretching his fly, so I had to bob down on his cock in the car while he fingered my hole, making me buck and suck harder.  Somehow I got through the afternoon, my cock straining the front of my jeans by now from the pent up fucklust, so all the guys could see the plum head pushing out the denim.  A few guys commented 'lucky chick' when they saw it, but when they saw Rob hanging around, their comments turned nasty.  I'd gone from studfuck to jailbait, and despite my brawn, it was becoming harder and harder to hide my secret.

Rob wasn't much interested in hiding it either.  Although the guys had guessed he was fucking my arse, they treated him just the same - after all he was just giving it - even giving him my beers when he turned up in the afternoon to pick me up.  I had to sit in the jeep, kneeding my hard cock through my jeans as I waited, while he drank beer and palled around with them, telling them fuck knows what about me.  Whatever it was, while they didn't lay into me, I became the dogsbody at work, doing the shit no-one else wanted to, not even the apprentices.  At 35, I was carting boards in the blazing sun until sweat clung to me like a sheet, and crawling into the tightest claustophobic holes.

Night was no different.  I was ravenously hungry by then, horny and tired, but Rob decided the man of the house has to be satisfied first.  Rob would eat whatever the fuck he wanted, often his friends coming over for pizza and beers, and I hovered in the background, like a housewife.  I don't know what he told them, but they ignored me too.  When he was done, I could wolf down whatever scraps were left - my only meal of the day I'd rush to eat, clean up and shower while he dicked around with internet porn or went out on a date with some random chick, so I could be ready, naked, legs spread wide, for him to come home and plough me at night.  I had to wait like that, sometimes for hours, only to have to scoot off the bed and hide in the cupboard if he brought home the chick for a fuck.  If not, it was my arse on the line, and my only relief was the orgasm from my twitching dork as he plugged me for the second time that day.

Since I was now his to play with, Rob decided I should look more hot for cock.  He said plenty of hot jocks have their tongues pierced, not to mention the guys with barbells through their nipples or Japanese yakusa tattoo sleeves on their arms.  I guess that's what a TV series can do. Anyway I wasn't up for being inked or marked, I guess I drew the line at my tongue, but once he knew he could push me, Rob wasn't going to stop at that, and soon I was sporting both.  I could still pull it off as masculine at work, I thought, until Rob came home with his next great idea.  "You know what would be really sexy" he said, resting one hand on my head so he could scratch the hairy pit - "I think you'd look hot with one of those mini mohawks.  You know, just a thin strip of hair down your skull, like a snatch.  But you know, you're blonde and all, I think you need more contrast, so I bought this hot pink hair dye as well.  Go on mate, how about we do it now?  I'm sure we can find somewhere to use the leftover dye..."

A Man's Decision 3

"Troy, Punk Boy"

by Emile

2009.  This is a work of fantasy. You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

---

After I shaved, I looked at myself in the mirror and it was obscene - my hair was shaved to the scalp on both sides, leaving only a furry strip of dense hair that ran from my nape to my forehead.  I felt like a punk kid.  The 'snatch fuzz' as Rob called it had been trimmed to two inches long, and Rob had made me sure I dyed it bright, hot pink.  With my angular jaw and clippered barrel chest, it was a real mindfuck - like a guy that would steal your wallet - and the tattooed sleeve and barbell piercing skewering my tit made me look even more like punk trash.  But wasn't happy with just a punk look, he wanted dick trash too.  The shave down didn't stop on my skull - he also insisted I shave smooth my hairy armpits, my belly, even clean up around my dickroot and arse, leaving just a V shaped wedge above my crotch.  I'd heard of "manscaping", but I didn't know any straight buddies that would expose themselves like this.  Naked, it was like I was advertising sex, and humiliatingly, when I saw myself, it only made my dick throb and leak more.  It had been a while since my pork roll had spurted too, and it was fat and heavy in front of me.  It looked bigger against my smooth skin, but the worst was the contrast between the fleshy brown cockskin and my blindingly hot pink crotch.  Yep, Rob had dyed my man thatch pink as well!  In public I still looked formidable - my hairy arms legs and chest bulging out of my clothing, only the mohawk and sleeves giving away another edge - which made it even more uncomfortable for me, my sore hole squeezed between smooth buttcheeks, now constantly moist with sweat from clenching, and my pornographic dork, highlighted against shaved flesh and its hot pink root.

Rob sauntered in, naked, dick swinging.  "Hey Troyboy, so where should your first outing be" he chuckled, giving my ripe dork a squeeze.  A dollop of precum spat out onto his hand, which he wiped on my hair.  "How 'bout a swim at the Y?" he asked, holding up a bathing suit.  No, actually, it was more of a thong - small, white, with a faggy red cross on the front.  String back.   He saw the horror on my face.  "Ha, just kidding mate" he chucked again "for now anyway, like I'd be caught dead there!  He stepped in the shower and turned the water on high, sudsing up his beefy body with broad soapy swirls.  Nah the football's on, I figured we could still catch the game."  I breathed out, relieved.  "Maybe we can even get Joel Gonzalez's autograph this time" he added through the clouds of steam.

I walked out of the shower feeling pretty good, dick swinging as I padded around the flat.  I mean, that what guys do, watch football games, that kind of shit, so what if I had a mohawk.  How bad could it be?  Then I got to the bedroom, and saw the clothes on the bed.   The label on the bag was some Gen Y kids surf shop, I figured that's where the swim suit had come from.  But there were other clothes too - laid out on the bed deliberately.  It was 80's punk trash - a wide necked singlet, dog collar, black denim shorts - like skinny jean cutoffs, wallet chain and adidas trainers.  Nothing else.  He had to be kidding!  I wasn't 15, and how the fuck was I supposed to fit my beefy thighs and swinging package in those spray on pants?  I tugged the clothing on, my pecs pushing out the singlet like a second skin, nips highlighted against the thin fabric, while the pants could barely contain my hefty meat and veg.  Eventually I arranged my cock so it pointed down the inner thigh, the only position in which it wasn't obscene, and slipped on the trainers.  Then I picked up the wallet chain - the long chain had a keyring on one end and a long chrome.  I was still staring at it, trying to figure out how to put it on, when Rob sauntered in, towelling off his growing hard-on.  "Hey hey, you found it! It's a special  chain just for you.  That little prong is to plug your pisshole, stop you having any accidents..."  I stared, slackjawed.  It wasn't little at all, it was a fat, long chrome fucker, and he wanted me to ram it up my pisslips?  But he just grinned, and started dressing himself in a team shirt for the game.  I pleaded with him, that the chrome would rip my fragile skin apart, and damage my dickstalk for good.  "Okay Troyboy" he shrugged, "but if I hear one complaint, you better plug that thing in, or I'll shove it in myself, and I won't be so gentle about it...".  He slipped on his baggy pants, which still managed to give a vague outline of his hanging dork, without being nearly as filthy looking as me, and made for the door.  I slipped the prong into my pocket, chain hanging down punk style, and we left.

As we drove to the game, Rob did his best to get me all hot and bothered, fingering my iron hard cock through the tight pants as I drove.  Of course, trapped between my thighs with no-where to go, it soon became painfully constricted, and the seat became sticky as my prefuck slaked down the underside of my dork and dripped between my legs, coating my ballbag and the seat of the shorts.  I just prayed none would leak through.  We got inside just as the pre-game music began, and Rob sent me for beers.  I ordered two large beers and walked to our seats, painfully rubbing my own dick raw as I went.  When I got to the seats, Rob was unhappy.  "That shit is like piss" he said, looking at the yellow liquid.  "Here, get some of the premium stuff"  I put down the two plastic cups and went back. When I returned, the game had started, and Rob was sprawled over the seats, forcing me to sit half hanging over the seat edge, balls uncomfortably mashed against the rim of the seat.  The first part of the game was pretty uneventful.  We chugged our beers, game was slow, and I began to relax.  The beer was going straight to my head - partly the strength, partly the lack of food.   Then as I finished, my bladder began to feel full.  I held on, figuring I would go to the bathroom when I got the next round, but Rob just leant down and handed me one of the warm weak beers from earlier.  "Here Troy my man, drink this."  I was forced to chug the second beer, warm from being in the sun, draining it dry.  Rob handed me the third.  "Okay, Troy, just one more."  I begged him, but he insisted, and I began drinking. He pushed up the base of the cup, forcing me to skull, but not fast enough, and the beer slaked over, soaking my chest and tank top.  Now I really needed to piss.  I sat there for a while, waiting for half time.  It was agony.  Finally, Rob saw me rubbing my cockhead through the shorts, the only way I knew to hold in the pressure.  "Well buster, I told you so, now you're going to have to plug it".  Then I realised this is the moment he meant - where I had to shove it in, or he would.

Sitting in the seat, thousands around, I had to discreetly feed the sound up the leg of my shorts, and pressing down on my dork with the other hand, to feed the fat fucker up my pisslit.  The pain was awesome, and despite bringing tears to my eyes, I could barely whimper without drawing the attention of a dozen strangers to my perverted act.  The thing must've been 8 inches long!  As the plug hit bottom, my bladder went into overdrive, and my whole dork swelled with the pressure.  I realise then that if I got up, everyone could tell what I've done, the chain dangling down from my dork to my knees before connecting to my waist.  "Uh that won't do" Rob grinned, tugging at the chain for emphasis, forcing the sound to slip an inch out.  "You'll have to pull the chain through a belt loop and inside your shorts, and connect it that way.  Of course the next few minutes are agony, as I slip the sound slowly out, and have to thread the greasy dickstuffer through the loop and down into my crotch, until gravity drops it between my legs. It's getting close to half time, and Rob says "better hurry - we gotta Joel straight after the siren".  Suddenly I'm racing to pull it through, forcing the blunt prong against my stinging pisslips, and thrusting it deep inside me.  Tears cloud my eyes, but as the siren goes, it's buried in.  Rob goes to get up, and glances down at my crotch.  It's spattered with dick goop and prefuck from the double insertion, and the chain still hangs down.  'That won't do' he barks, yanking on the chain through the belt loop, which pulls the chain up, and jerks my dick too, so it's horizontal against my thigh.  The whole fucking fleshtube is bulging out now, but with Rob's grip on the chain, I can't fix that now.  He hauls me to my feet, dragging me towards the changerooms by the chain.

We got to the doors just as the players were going in, and Rob called out to Joey as he went by.  The sexy player was running his hand through his matted hair, sweat slaking from his body.  As he came over to us to, his eyes dropped to my bulging crotch.  "Hey man, we're both big fans" Rob said as he shook hand hands with the player, but his eyes skated over both of our bodies before coming back to my crotch.  I felt like meat.  Rob must've known something, because he sported the biggest shit-packing grin I've ever seen.  The other players had gone in by now, and the fans, after giving us some quizzical looks, had mostly gone back to their seats, leaving the three of us alone in the passage, "Troy here would really 'preciate an autograph." he said "... something personal..." Joey grinned, giving my cock a hard squeeze.  I moaned involuntarily from the painful pressure on my cock,  "Yeah man, meet me after" he said, sauntering off.  As he left, I turned to Rob "man,  really gotta piss...".  Joey stopped in his tracks, and came back, slipping a digit between the buttons of my fly, fingering my plugged pisshole.  "Okay guys, meet me at the player's entrance in 5 minutes."  He jogged of with a whoop.  Rob collared me with his beefy arm, hauling me towards the doors.  "Yeah, I should've told you, word on the street is Joey is a big piss pig.  It's not the filthy fucker's only habit, when he tops, he had a real brutal sawing fucking style.  Must be cause his cock's so thick.  Anyway, I thought he'd like to meet you..."

A Man's Decision 4

"Y Chromosome"

by Emile

2010 (revised).  This is a work of fantasy. You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

---

A young guy walking past spat out "Fag" as I got down of my car in front of the Y.  My cheeks burned, I'd always thought of myself as a regular ladies man, but it was getting harder to defend that, even to myself.  I mean, I know Rob had been pounding my butt for weeks now, and then there was the shaving thing and the pink mohawk.  But somehow, I figured it was all temporary - you know, a one off fuckbuddy thing, a kinky haircut for a lark - that go back to pulling ladies and grow back my clean cut (and man fur) just as soon as I got over this little thrill ride.  Lots of guys shaved their armpits, and my chest adn limbs were still sprinkled in tawny flecks, after all.  I mean the most permanent mark was the sleeve tattoo, but hey plenty of guys had ink these days.  Even the tongue piercing that clunked against my teeth I figured I could ditch whenever.  But as the comment echoed in my ears, it seemed to ring true, or at least I felt a lingering embarrassment that I couldn't brush it off lightly.  First, as I was painfully aware, I was dressed pretty gay, my white wrestlers singlet and shorts not leaving much to the imagination.  In my kit bag I had a towel and swimshorts, but since Rob and Joey liked changing in the shower room (to give the guys a show), I had nothing supporting my swollen fleshtube, and it plumped out my pants obscenely.  Then there was the fat dong crammed up my arse, which I was pretty sure made me walk funny, not to mention stretching out my hole even when I eased it out before swimming.  Every time it moved, I felt like the world could see it plugging me, I might has well been taking it up my arse right there on the corner.  For a guy who would have decked someone for even looking at me funny a few weeks back, it was a hard adjustment.  "It's just a little experiment" I told myself "I'll get bored and quit this soon", but the lurch in my groin told me different. I quickly slammed the door and made a beeline inside, avoiding the flirty looks of the reception guy, heading for the showers.

When I got in, the room was pretty full, but Rob and Joey had yet to show up.  Since the day at the arena, Joey had become fast friends with Rob, and it stung to see him quickly slip into the friendship role I'd had for so long.  But even though they hung out now, they made sure I was never far out of their reach.  Like Joey said, they liked having me under their thumb.  And I was a sucker for it.  I guess I was getting kind of addicted to it - I don't know what exactly, maybe the humiliation itself, but the worse they treated me, the more I came back.  It was sick shit. After we'd met Joey behind the changerooms, and he'd straddled me, shooting ropes of thick creamy spunk across my chest as I tugged the sound from my pork roll, he had demanded to fuck me.  I panicked.  First, I gave dick to girls, and didn't take it from guys - well - except this thing with Rob.  Second, I felt like he wanted to grind me down, like he just wanted a power trip and to make me feel it.  Third, and most importantly, his cock was a monster truncheon of flesh, and it would rip me apart!  I mean Joey was huge!  Then, weirdly, after refusing, he said he was cool about it.  Just flipped off me, and started shooting shit with Rob.  The next day I kind of blurted to Rob why I said no, but they sounded like lame excuses.  He shrugged, told me I was right.  I thought I'd escaped the noose, until I found out how much Rob wanted to push me, and just how nasty Joey could be.  Just as we were sitting around shooting the breeze that afternoon, Joey swung by unannounced.  Clearly Rob had called him over, because he let him in without question. Joey had jogged, still in his practice gear, with a plastic bag in his hands.  He came over to me, grabbing me in a friendly kind of bear hug, hauling me with an arm around my neck towards the bedroom.  I glanced over at Rob, helpless, but he just looked on amused, as Joey jostled me in the bedroom, spattering sweat over my tee as he pressed against me.  When we got in he slammed the door and handed me the plastic bag.  I pulled it open and inside was a thick veiny flesh coloured dong, as big as Rob's dick but a little longer.  The plastic was unforgivingly hard and unlike Rob's curved dork, it pointed straight up like a fence post.  I dumbly stood there, holding the oversized tool, while he pulled off his stinking tank and barked "Get undressed".  I meekly obeyed him, until soon we were buck naked facing each other, his cock, even when soft, was as long as mine hard, and pointing up his body, thick as my wrist from base to tip.  He spat on his hand and pushed the flat of his palm against his corona, just peeking out of the brown wrinkled hood, which he wrapped in his fingers, gently frigging himself as he spoke.  I was mesmerised by the dark tanned flesh, staring at the dork at it swelled and lurched, comprehending his words just as he finished.  He was saying that Rob had agreed to share me, since he was my hero and all, and yeah it was a power trip, and I loved it, but that he would probably rip me apart if they didn't train me (it's not like a porn fantasy he said, it takes time to get to this), but that he was happy to wait, so long as I began stretching myself daily, and paid him off in suckjobs and favours.  And I just stared at the mammoth prong that was leaking over his fingers, knowing it would stretch my jaw to breaking, holding a dong that would already split me apart, and getting achingly hard at the prospect.

Now, my jaw and arse were permanently sore from being stretched around their tools, and there were plenty of moments when my cocky swagger - sauntering off the squash court after a hard fought win, getting checked out by ladies on scaffolding, or leaning back, arms flexed in front of a sports bar screen - that was quickly put in check by a Rob or Joey leaning in and whispering "break time".  Break time meant different things to each of them.  For Rob, it meant being hustled into a toilet cubicle strip and squat on the seat, so he could ease the rubber dong out of my arse and replace it with his own hard staff, brutally arsefucking me, making me bounce on his stalk until he shot a big load up my gut, and then pulling out, stuffing the load in with the invading dong, and having me spin around and clean him up while his juice churned inside me.  For Joey, it was much slower and more public - usually somewhere just out of sight, but easily discoverable, like a back alleyway, where I crouched on the ground, unfastened his fly and slowly worked my way over his huge semitumescent dong - slobbering and licking, until the blunt head slowly pushed its way out of the hood, dripping goop, and he began to jackhammer it into my throat in short stabbing thrusts, each deeper than the last, pulling out to my lips each time til I was covered from my chin to my gullet with milky sap.  It took me weeks to take his jumbo salami all the way down my throat, weeks of stretching and gagging and getting my mouth filled with scum, which always leaked out in ropes when he shot his enormous load, covering my shirt front with spatter, forcing me to scurry home early from the night.  In fact it was getting harder and harder to live my life as an ordinary guy.  Even when they weren't around, they controlled me.  The full feeling in my bowels reminded me of that.

I made my way to the lone toilet stall at the far end, locking it and dropping my pants as I got in the cramped partition.  There was not much separating me from the changeroom, and with the stall doors set 5 inches off the ground, I had to turn around to face the door, feet apart and drop my shorts to my feet, as if I was about to take a shit.  As quietly as I could, I began tugging the mega dong out of my hole.  This one was midnight black, ribbed, and two sizes larger than the first one Joey had brought me, but still less thick or long than his greasy porker, something he proved by pushing the fat head against my unwilling hole before giving it to me.  I slowly slid out the fake prick with both hands, scrambling to keep grip with the lube and arseslime coating my fingers.  Somehow, I managed to yank it five or six inches out before my arsepucker began to grip it less tightly, and it started sliding on its own.  Unlike his dork, these dongs tapered, and I was getting loose enough they'd slip out and bang on the floor in the last few inches. I desperately scrabbled to hold the gargantuan dong, only just catching the slime covered flanged head in my fingers, and avoiding another humiliating exposure.  So there I was, half naked, clutching a mega dork in one hand, grease and arse juice running down the inside of my legs, panting, in a gym stall.  It was whack, but my cock was rock hard.  I waited a few seconds for my breath to slow down and my dork to start hanging down again, and then squat down onto the rim so I could wash my hands and the dork in the toilet bowl. It still sickened me a bit, but this was the only way I was allowed to clean off the gunk.  Finally, when there was as much slop in the water as there was left on me, I hauled it out, dried it with the last of the toilet paper (which always seemed to have only 2 sheets left) and slipped the brutal dong into my kit bag.  I was still a mess, and needed to piss, which meant I had to scoop up the water as best as I could and clean out my hole with my fingers, hoping the sucking noise was not too loud.  Then wash down my legs a bit, and finally let my heavy cock droop over the rim (I wasn't allowed to hold it), and fire off a hot streaming jet of piss into the bowl.  I let as much drip off me as possible, and then got up and flushed, hauling my pants back up over my moist crotch, hoping it would soak up the rest.

I went back out, a few guys glancing over at me with penetrating looks, but Rob and Joey were still not in sight.  I gingerly went back out and took a seat in the middle of the changerooms, facing the door, easing my butt onto the wooden slats.  I'd have liked to sit in a corner, on my towel, but they wouldn't like it, I knew.  As it was, even though I wanted to sit legs together and hunch forward as I waited, the pain in my arse wouldn't let me, and I was forced into the awkward position of having to put my hands out beside me, behind my arse, spread my legs shoulder length apart and lean back, hairy chest thrust out, like I was relaxing in a sauna.  The position let me lift my arse a little from the bench, which was a relief, at the cost of partly exposing my sleeping trouser snake to anyone that walked in.  I didn't mind, I was getting used to the looks, and I was still pretty proud of my big dick.  Well, I guess I shouldn't say that anymore - when you're dicking chicks it's easy enough to say - "I got a fat dick for you bitch" etc, since the only one you ever stare at is your own.  But now it's like I see dick all the time - well three dicks anyway, including mine, and suddenly every fucking fold and ridge is in my mind.  I even find myself just staring at dicklumps as guys cross the street, wondering whether their meat is long or stubby, veiny or smooth, really fucked up shit.  I guess that's Rob's fault really, making me ring his voicemail and leave messages describing our dicks in detail.

So yeah, I guess now I'm pretty conscious that my dork looks like an overripe split banana - a half-hard curve of tanned prong almost the same length from root to tip, with the hint of pouting cockhead poking through my unpeeled skin, with two ripe peachy balls hanging below like fruit salad.  Rob's cock is more like a bludgeon - the fat blunt pink head capping the stalk like a battering ram, or maybe a mace with a thick club handle joining his dense hair-studded double mace-head balls.  He used it like that too, punching his cock into me with fierce jabbing thrusts.  But Joey was the real standout.  His dork didn't arch out like ours, it pointed straight up from his ballbag to the tip, like a lamppost welded to his hip.  Like an aerosol can, his thick tube of flesh was a solid column the width of his ballbag that didn't taper or thin, it just rose up, capped by a head slightly smaller as it rounded out to the pisshole, just like a trigger nozzle.  He used it much the same, one hand grabbing the fat base, pointing it forward, while the other guided the enormous flesh cap, finger just below the frenulum, making it drip over in anticipation.  The names kind of took on a life of their own - my unplucked banana trapped in its thick skin, Rob's beating medieval pounder and Joey's ever dripping spraycan nozzle invading my whole life, even my dreams.

Finally they turned up, still talking loudly about the latest game, and I stood up quickly, wincing from the jab to my guts. A dozen guys turned around as they joined me, maybe because Joey Gonzalez was a pretty big star, or because three muscle hulks draw plenty of attention, or just because they were loud and drawing notice - whatever the reason, when we began stripping off, it was like the whole gym was looking.  As Joey popped the buttons on his sleeveless shirt, I noticed with annoyance it'd been my best dress shirt, the sleeves now ripped off, that he was wearing.  Joey had taken to doing that - even though he made thousands a  game, he'd take stuff, stretch or rip it to fit his bulging body and chuck it when it got too grungy to wear.  I guess it doesn't matter , since Rob controls my clothing now, but like the 'fag' comment outside, it's another little chip in my belief that this is temporary, or in my control.  I peeled off my shirt, and slowly slipped down my shorts, hoping Rob and Jock, both naked now, would distract some attention from my obviously stretched hole.  It was unlikely now, all eyes were on the show of swinging tackle, and along with my shaved crack and sack, and pink thatch, my busted hole was right in their gaze.  Joey and Rob stood their talking, dicks swinging in the breeze like it was natural, but I was scrambling to grab the white swimsuit Rob had bought me, and slip it on as quick as I can.  In a flash, Robs hand shot out to my chest, and he told me to stop.  He didn't withdraw his hand, but idly caressed my rippling body, grazing my nipple before dropping to my abs and down to my wrist, balling my swimsuit in his palm. "We got you a suit this morning, left it in Locker 8" he told me, pulling my old suit away with his hands. I was horrified.  The first 12 lockers were at the far end of the room, facing the showers, and were notoriously reserved for the muscle mary types, who liked posing there and stalking for jerk offs in the showers.  "Walk proud" he said, slapping my on the arse, and I grabbed my bag, knowing I'd have to walk slowly, hands by my side, as rows of guys glared at my naked gymnast's body, and punk pumped porker.

Locker 8 was a low locker of course, so I had to squat, knees apart, hole facing the room to open it.  There was an unlocked combination lock, and I pulled it off, swinging the locker open.  There, hanging from the hook, was a short note and my new suit.  I tugged off the note and drew in my breath when I saw it - a sheer white fishnet thong, that would cover nothing.  The note just said "Lock your things first", and I reluctantly drew out the ridiculous scrap, jammed my kit bag into the locker and slammed it shut, clicking the combination lock in place.  As I did so, I realised I had no idea what the combination was.  Worse, as I stepped into the string jock, and stood to a crouch, ready to slide the fragment of material up, I felt a warm wet hand on my arse, the finger worming into my hole.  I shot up, pulling the thong up with me, and spun around.  The move was less effective than I'd hoped - first the thong was too small, and barely scooped up my balls before filling up, the strings cutting across the base of my throbbing stalk and hugging my waist bone.  The back was no better, the silk string doing nothing to cover my stretched hole.  His finger had worked its way past my sphincter, so as I spun around, my hungry arse pulled his finger with me, drawing him closer, so his other hand smacked into my exposed prong.  We were chest to chest, and despite his pumped muscles, I recognised him as one of the camp steroid freaks from before.  He squeezed my tackle, murmering how long he'd waited for this, before a hand on his shoulder drew him back.  It was Rob rescuing me, in a way.  Despite the guy drawing back immediately, something from the grin on his face as Rob whispered to him told me that wouldn't be the end of it.  I tugged at the thong, just barely managing to push down my stalk over my balls, so it was somewhat hidden by the mesh, the exposed head tucked under the strap between my legs.  Still, with my crotch and dickroot exposed, and the mesh thong hiding nothing, it was a futile gesture.  The guy left, giving my arse a squeeze as he went, and Rob and Joey linked arms over my shoulders, hauling me in my obscene state out to the swimming pool.  They were both in baggy board shorts, making my costume seem even more obscene.  Rob leaned in to me, whispering in my ear.  "I gave Dean there the combination, told him you'd be needing it to get out tonight.  He should be around a while, he likes to spend quite some time sudsing up, which if I get his drift means fucking other guys, but he said he'd stick around until you were done.  He said to find him in whichever shower stall he's in when you finish.  Despite burning with embarassment, my dick gave a lurch against the arse strap.

"Okay now, we're gonna do 20 laps in that lane, and we want you to do 50 laps over here.  You know, Joey likes his cunts nice and svelte when he fucks them, and you've been drinking too many beers with your builder mates since you quit gymnastics.  I groaned, I still had only 9% body fat, but the guys had been talking about changing my diet all week.  Already Rob had made me skip two meals, and I could feel my stomach gnawing.  "So, 50 laps, then grab your gear from Dean, and meet us at Riley's Bar.  Don't take too long, or we'll eat without you."  We were out by the pool by now, and the two let go of my shoulders, to head towards their lane.  Hundreds of people, including a high school swim team now staring at us - at me - like the freak show I'd become.  I spun around, grabbing Rob by the shoulder, begging for him to tell me the combination, and head off now.  He looked angry.  In front of the crowd, he slapped me across the face, and told me there'd be hell to pay for my attitude.  With that they walked off, leaving me stinging and near naked by the pool.

Fifty laps of the Olympic pool later and every muscle in my body ached.  I climbed out of the pool slowly, my shoulders screaming from exhaustion, and barely shuffled across the tiles before I realised that out of the water, I was even more obscene than in.  Water glistened in my golden clippered body hair, but slaked down my smooth abs and crotch, without a follicle to stop it, highlighting the damp string thong.  I don't know how I wasn't kicked out for showing my buttcheeks as I breaststroked, butterflied and finally freestyled my way up and down the beginners end lane, buffeted by waves from the fast lanes.  Plenty of people were still staring at me, and as I entered the changeroom I saw myself again, slick with water and (perhaps in my imagination only), already leaner and more incised than before.  Just how chiselled did they want me to be?  I half jogged over to the showers, trying to avoid the leers of the late afternoon crowd, and began checking out the shower stalls.  It was awful - the regular guys thought I was a freak, and the perverts kept grabbing me, stretching my thong and getting plenty of hands on my package and arsecrack, before I could get away.

Finally, I'd checked all the stalls and he was missing.  I panicked, before turning around and seeing him, fully dressed sitting in front of the first 12 lockers.  He beckoned to me, and I covered my tackle, slowly walking up to him with dread.  As I got near, I noticed that he'd already opened locker 8, and my kit bag was sitting next to him.  Loudly, he drawled "So I got tired of waiting.  You're cute, and so I'm not letting you off easy.  Plus, no bitch of mine stands me up.  So I've left you some stuff, but if you want the rest of your gear back, you better meet me at my house later.  I left you my address."  And with that, he flounced away to the door.  I was furious, and made a couple of steps to chase him, but slick with water, exhausted and nearly naked, I realised I was defeated, and barely tried.  He'd taken my kit bag and almost everything in it, except my wrestling top and shorts.  Even my car keys and towel.  Looking around, I realised that unless someone else lent me a towel (and that was unlikely with my dork nearly hanging out of my thong) then there was nothing else to dry me - not even toilet paper in the stall.  It dawned on me I'd be walking to Riley's bar, barefoot, wet and exposed, and there was nothing I could do.  No way to hide my pornographic body from anyone on the rush hour streets. And worse, no option but to visit the guy at night, across town, after meeting Rob and Joey.  I pulled on the gear, which immediately clung to me like a glove, and glanced at the guy's card.  Despite the discomfort of keeping the thong on, I'd hoped it would conceal some of my nakedness, but the bulge of my tubesteak, as well as my pink pubes, immediately showed up against the now translucent material.  Correction - I thought, as I looked closely as the card - at this guy and his boyfriend's house, with their hyphenated names and swanky uptown address.  Underneath he'd written "ENTRY FROM REAR!", and with a shiver, I realised that rifling through my kit bag he'd have discovered the long, fat, black dong.  Oh man, I told myself, what the fuck had I got myself into?

A Man's Decision 5

"Dogged Werewolf"

by Emile

2010 (revised).  This is a work of fantasy. You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

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I was a lot more uncomfortable now.  I'd arrived at the bar still damp, the translucent white threads clinging to my hulky body, the pool water trapped on my chest and legs had been drawn into the fabric, so each fleck of hair was now silhouetted against the material, making me look even more trashy.  Since my gymnast's V-tapered body was on display, I copped plenty of looks from girls and guys, which when they took in my translucent clothes and pink mini-mohawk were either disgust or openly cruising me.  I crossed my arms in the street, tucking my hands under my pits, but there was no hiding my beefy body, especially not with my tackle flopping about so much against my hairy thighs, and in a few seedier areas the unfriendly hoots and cat calls made my shiver.  Still, I guess I'm pretty beefy and imposing, so I played it like some kind of bucks-night trick, and no-one took me on.

When I arrived, Rob and Joey were at a bar table finishing off their burgers, and the sight made my mouth water.  They made me wait, so I stood hands behind my back, thumb pressed against my pucker, a barefoot hangdog piece of junk next to their clean cut jeans and polos.  Rob finished first, swirling the last french fry in the oil of the plate, making to offer it to me, before finishing it himself.  "I'll take care of him" he grunted to Rob, who handed him a small chain, before the nasty player led me to the bathroom stalls.

When we got into a stall, Joey showed me what they'd brought - it was the prick stuffing sound Rod had made me wear at the game.  I half heartedly protested, but was already getting hard at the sight of it, shucking down my pants to mid-thigh.  When he saw the mesh thong he gave me a wicked smile, telling me I should know better than to keep em on, and that I'd need to be punished for that.  Rather than tugging them down, he grabbed the front with two fingers, ripping a giant hole in the front and tugging my cock through.  It was rock hard now, and he teased my foreskin back, rolling it down the shaft to expose the cap of my blunt banana.  I was dripping sweat and precum in anticipation.  He expertly parted my cocklips with his fingers, pulling down until they pouted wide, and forced the blunt silver head in, pushing hard until the long metal prong sunk deep into my shaft, making me gasp involuntarily.  He kept pressing until his thumb grazed my cocklips, forcing the ball end into the slit, and wormed his thumb a little more, splitting the lips wide as he mashed the prong in another fraction.  It didn't just tear at my cockhead, but made my cock and bladder both uncomfortably full.  But he wasn't done yet - still gripping my foreskin tightly, he wrapped the chain around my exposed glans with his other hand, in three loops that made the flesh bulge slightly, trapped by the chain.  Then he let go of my foreskin, now jammed behind the chain, and tugged the remaining short leash downwards, while he smeared foreskin cheese from the first hand over my cupped balls, pulling them down in a sudden gut wrenching jerk.  He wrapping the chain around the mesh-covered ballbag as many times and as tightly as he could, trapping my nads low and tight in their pouch, lastly threading the end through a loop and pulling hard, cinching the chain in place.  It was exquisitely obscene - my cock spung out of the mesh, pink and veiny against the dark netting, but was almost doubled over itself, my exposed and tender bound cockhead yanked between my legs until the pisslips hovered inches from my ballbag, tethered low and tight in their material confines.  My cock, which had softened a little from the pain, now began to stiffen again, impossible in that position, putting me in a nut-aching half-hard bind. And the pressure, combined with the knowledge I couldn't get an erection, made me even more horny, hot and bothered.

But Joey had more.  He spun me around, pressing two fingers against my sphincter.  "I really wanna fuck you like this" he purred, worming his way into my arse with careless rough force.  I begged him to let up, but he pushed me forward, making me brace against the cistern, shaved pits high, while he flogged his monster prong with long slapping strokes, and teased my pucker open with his fingers.  I wasn't ready, underdressed and trussed, in a grimy stall in the middle of the city, but he felt like a fuck, and that was it.  There were guys at the urinals chatting, and I had to bite my tongue as he pressed the cockhead against my pucker, pressing hard and forcing it to open wide.  But  rather than plunge in, he kept stoking his stalk, just fucking the head millimeters in and out, forcing the sphincter to stretch and contract, never quite in or out. He reached around, grabbing my face by forcing his arseslimed fingers into my jaws and jerking my head back.  He put his head near my ear, whispered "fuck you're tight", and then gripped me hard, as an orgasm washed over his body, and he started pumping spurt after spurt of hot cream into my arsecrack around the just-pierced hole.  In that moment of searing pain of his first flesh fuck, I realised Joey breaking me would be no quick hard buttrape, but a slow and methodical tearing through me, in as many humiliating steps as he could manage.

So here I was, really fucking uncomfortable, sitting on a bar stool, legs spread wide, interlocked with Joeys and Robs under the table.  Every couple of minutes, without breaking their conversation,  Rob would pause in his feed to squeeze my trapped balls hard in his greasy fingers, making my trapped banana throb, which tented my now sopping shorts like a fucking faucet down my pants.  I sucked on my vodka soda to hide my intake of breath, the only thing I was allowed to have, despite my hunger.  And the tall glasses on an empty stomach were making me woozy and pressing on my already stuffed bladder. After a few drinks I was pretty buzzed, really needed to hang a piss, and it was dark out, so i was itching to go and get my gear back from the uptown mansion.  I really didn't want to get pawed by two fags, but given how I was manhandled by Joey and Rod, I figured I could handle myself, plus I was still a helluva lot stronger and more muscular than them, so I could take care of myself.  Finally, the two boys cleared off their stools, and I stood there, hopping from one foot to another, ready for them to leave me so I could take a piss somehow and high tail it to the mansion.  Rod looked me up and down, hopping from one foot to another trying to stave off my piss hard.  "Fuck man, we can't let you go across town dressed like that" he said "we'll give you a lift."  Even though I was deperate to piss, I was grateful for the ride, and hightailing my wet cumspattered arse behind them, I followed the two jocks out of the bar and to his truck.

When we got there, I waited around the side of the cab while Rob rummaged around in his kit bag for something for me to wear.  Joey was holding me against him in a possessive date embrace, and had shucked my tank up so he could 'fondle my puppies' - mauling my hairy pecs in his hand.  It was making me painfully hard in my shorts, and when Rob looked like he'd found what he was looking for, he slid his hand further up, pulling my tank over my head.  I put my hands up to help him, soon standing bare chested in the street, grateful for better clothes.  But I was wrong.  Rod looked me in the eye, telling me he didn't want homo cupslop on his seats, and holding out a dog collar on a chain.  I was confused, but Joey grabbed me in a half nelson, dragging me to the tray and half marching me up.  Rod clipped the old dog collar to the rear window crossbar, and buckled it around my neck before climbing into the driver's seat.  Joey, who was still over me on the tray table, grabbed a rope and tied one of my hands between my ankles, forcing me into an awkward crouch, my knees against my chest, cock now jammed against my roped hand. "There you go" Joey said as he jumped down and made for the cab "you can keep a grip on the cross bar now for balance".  I realised with horror that all the world would see me, a half naked punk guy in a crouch, his tattooed muscular arm punched high like a statement, broad hairy chest exposed to the elements, while my own tortured dick and balls bumped and ground against my clenched other fist wildly.  "yeah man" I heard Joey say to Rod as they got in "this way we can make sure they know exactly what they can do..."

Although plenty of people saw me in my 'pride stance', most of the looks were lustful, and I was pretty proud of my man's body so I loosed up again.  That didn't last though when we got to the place, and Joey untied me from the truck.  They decided to leave the dog collar on, undoing the clip and wrapping the chain around my wrists behind me instead. I tried to beg them to stop - I couldn't defend myself, and who knows who the fuck these guys were.  "Guys" I pleaded "this ain't a joke - how bout we just go home and get our kicks there..."  I was scared, this was going way further than just a bit of flaunting and fucking between men.  But they'd hustled me to the door, and when it opened, Rob got down to business, telling the grinning queen at the door how it was gonna be.  "So he's $1000 bucks for the night, half now, half in the morning when we pick him up.  You look after him - he's our friend - so no damage, unless of course you count a bit of arse ripping from a double fuck or something.  That's cool, we're trying to stretch him out anyways. Is it a deal?"  My jaw had dropped.  I was being whored out for a double fuck?  The muscle mary smiled thinly, putting one hand on my hairy pec, fingers tweaking the nub.  I groaned involuntarily, bucking against his grip, but Joey held me firm, and I relented.  "Well , seems like fair terms. We always wanted to break in a colt.  Now, why don't you bring him in while I get my wallet..."

A Man's Decision

By Emile, 2010

Usual Caveats apply

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Dean leaned in, nuzzling my stubbly cheek with his lips, and whispered "spread em wider cowboy...".  His hand was wrapped around my meaty right thigh, hefting it up higher, guiding my arm underneath the hairy muscle until my bicep squeezed against the inseam of my leg.  The position hurt like crazy, the skin around my arsehole was stretched tight as a drum, and every poke and prod of those invading fingers I swear was about to rupture my skin.  I could feel Dean's boyfriend pushing up my left calf, forcing that leg up further as well.  My skin bristled, if not from the discomfort of forcing my leg high, then from his warm moist breath as he slurped and sucked at my boxer's muscle, the fold of my pit and neckline, leaving dark red hickeys as he went.  I was their little straight fucktoy, and they wanted me to know it.  Dean reached down, giving my aching banana another couple of tosses, just enough to keep the sap drooling.  The two fingers that had been poking at my cherry now pushed in firmly, and spread out til my pucker was wide as a sheeps gut ready for sausage stuffing.  I could feel the prodder fumbling around with his prong, lining up the engorged head in a rush, quick to pierce my sphincter before I disappeared.  I guess, when you're a weedy 18 year old fag, fresh out of the closet, to chance to drill a blonde tank stud like me doesn't come every day, and despite my groans, he wasn't gonna lube up or slow down for no-one.  "That's it Brad, fuck him hard" Dean ordered, leaning over the table and clapping his young protege on the back.  Yeah, this was no loving bedroom scene, I was spread wide holding my legs back on their dining table, with a bunch of guys watching and panting, as Dean and his partner held me down, and young Brad fucked with brutal careless bone-slamming thrusts that only a teenager can do.

I was his birthday present, a week late apparently, but Dean had drummed up the quick party as soon as he'd gotten hold of my gym bag, and they were gonna make the most of it. There were 18 other guys, each with a 'present' for Brad that involved me, and each of whom weren't going to leave without a piece of my arse or mouth for themselves - once Brad had finished, naturally.  Dean explained this all to me in the hall after the guys dumped me there, as he stripped me of my last vestiges of dignity, unwrapped the dick plug from my piss and cum control engorged fat, and led me naked to the waiting party.

Being fucked was awful, but it wasn't the worst to come, I knew.  They seem to have lined up the presents in advance.  The first was a fairly bland leather harness, Brad's size, so it chafed and cut into me, cross straps digging in under my pecflesh and shoulder bands pulling at my neck, but somehow they stretched down the cockstrap enough to force my bloated tool through the steel dickring, making sure it quickly became uncomfortably hard in its kinky holster.  The permanent marker, inking up my hard gynmasts body with unspeakable filth on every free and highly visible zone was a slower and more humiliating gift, especially as they taunted me with the knowledge it'd take weeks to scrub off the demeaning insults.  The DOG scrawled across my forehead was the worst.  But then, the metal nipple clamps were worse, much worse, not shame, but real blinding pain, and they still tore at my nubs terribly.  The bit-gag wasn't much better, and I'd almost choked on my screams into it when they smeared icy-hot over my 'JUNK' inked stalk and ballbag, coating the pink prickbush with the burning cream.  Someone had started slapping my nads rhythmically like a bat and ball around this point, as the others stretched me back over the table, and soon I was moaning for them to stop, but the gag mufled everything.  Eventually, when I was in place, and my nutsack throbbing intensely, Dean looked over and stopped the assailant - apparently not one of the presents, just a sick and twisted little diversion while they prepped me for being fucked.  And now, number 6, Brad got to dry fuck my precious pucker as hard and fast as he liked.

"Oh man, oh man" he started crying out, little spurts of precum making him slip and squelch in my fuckhole even more.  He wasn't well endowed, but he made up for a lack of size by sheer brutality, and I started screaming into the gag as he built up to cum.  "Oh fuck, oh boy, aah, aah, fuck, I'm gonna, I'm fucking gonna blow, here it comes dumbfuck, oh, fuck, I'm cumming!"  The little turd didn't need to scream it out, I could feel him flooding my guts as he did so.  Slowly, he eased up on the pounding, and stopped, slowly withdrawing after a moment, pulling his fat helmet out of my throbbing arse with an audible pop.  My sphincter was burning, and I yearned to lower my legs and cover up my exposed freshly raped bunghole.  But Dean and his boyfriend held my thighs firm, guiding my fingers to grip tighter.  "Now we know you're a bottom, but everyone's got to fuck some arse once in their life, and it might as well be this stud, eh" Dean quipped, to my growing horror.  "But our other present we think you'll get hours more fun from, and just to show you what it can do, we thought we'd give you a little demonstration!"  I heard a gurney wheel over, and scrunched my head on my chest, to see a massive dildo heading my way, mounted on some kind of metal piston.  It looked like one of those tackle dummies in football practice, with the padding removed, and a mean rubber fake dong welded onto the crossbar.  "Oh boy, please don't do this" I mumbled into the gag, but they got none of it, lining the oversized plastic porker against my already aching hole.  "Yeah we know you're a seasoned dicksman, so we got you something extra sized..." Dean added, as the blunt head forced its way into my dilated hole.  If I hadn't just been hole-punched by Joel and then dicked by Brad, I doubt I'd have taken it, it must've been close to Joey's mammoth size.  I watched wide eyed as they dribbled the barest trickle of oil on the shaft, none on the head that was already wedging me open, and then ratcheted the fuck machine closer.  It was barely in, and it felt like it was ripping my hole apart.  "Now, this knob here controls the speed, while this lever sets the depth.  How about we start slow, and let it gear up to, uh, maybe 9 inches, yeah?  It'll take a while - this setting fucks at about 10 strokes a minute, so once it's on we can go get some dinner, and rest up.  Don't wanna peak too early eh.  I was freaking out - the massive plastic cockhead was buzzing in my cornhole, and it hadn't even begun to fuck.  While he'd been talking, Dean passed a strap across the dining table, and his partner cinched me in across the pecs, so I was held down.  They swung around two vertical arms on either side of the fuck machine, to reveal heavy boots gaffer taped to metal plates.  "We've fixed these to the footplates, so we can lace him in tight."  Unable to resist, they guided my feet into the tight boots, lacing them up tight so my feet were trapped.   My legs were still spread wide, now in a horizontal crouch, and there was nothing I could do to retract them.  "Now I'm reliably told that the feeling of the buzzing fuck machine against your g-spot will make you stiff as a rod, and when in full swing, you can cum without touching your cock in minutes.  Of course, on this setting, you'll probably just hover a little below shooting, that writhing gnawing tempo that makes you twitch and itch but completely unable to cum.  He flipped the switch and the machine began slowly forcing its way up my chute.  Still tender from Brad's punchfuck, I could feel every cunthair of its progress, and began uncontrollably moaning into the gag. The others chuckled, and began filtering out of the room.  When they were gone, he reached down between my spread legs, pinching my retracting foreskin and smiling as my tingling fucker bobbed and weaved in frustration.  "Enjoy there, studfuck, we'll see you in about an hour. By the end of tonight, no-one will ever mistake you for a breeder again.  Oh, and that lube, it's chilli oil..."  I tried to yell into the gag, but it was futile. 

They returned much, much later.  I was hoarse from screaming, and my fuckhole felt like it would never close again.  The relentless pounding never got any easier - the hefty size and chilli oil left me in constant agony, and my prick was so overstimulated it looked like it would break its skin from swelling, bright red and blotchy, half curved towards my abs in an exaggerated banana shape, too hard for too long without relief.  The pricklips gaped and bubbled with precum, coating my six pack in a lake of sauce, a slow drip of desire I couldn't turn off.  Dean turned the knob down, and the machine stopped plunging, but stayed wedged in my arse, humming against the stretched cavity.  "Now" he said "if you cum, I'm gonna crank that dial up to the max, and set it to fuck you the full 12 inches, understand?"  As he said this, he reached in between my legs and began slowly, ever so slowly wrapping his fingers around my pumped engorged stalk, gently tugging down at the foreskin further and further, until my prickskin was taut from cockhead to root, and my fat salami stood up straight from my hips.  My cocklips flared and began pumping slugs of sap that could've been mistaken for cum if they weren't still translucent and sloppy. My chest heaved in agony, and I moaned silently into the gag, using every fibre of my body to resist the urge to spurt.  My toes curled and my back arched away from the table, until I was stiff as a board, bucking against his hand in desperate fuckneed.  At the last moment, just as I felt like I couldn't hold back the floodwaters, he let go, making my dick jerked up and slap my stomach so hard it made an audible thwack.  I yelped, the colour rushing back into my prickroot, and slumped, my cocktubes still fiery with barely contained juice.

"Okay, test is over for now, unless you shoot, and then we'll strap you back down quick smart. Now for the next present.  For this, were gonna have to untie you, and take that ridiculously small harness off."  They unstrapped me, pulled me off the fuck machine, and let me sit up, finally letting my legs dangle over the edge of the table, well fucked hole hidden, and stiff aching dick in full view.  They even took the gag out, but now I was hoarse anyway. "Now I hope you're not too proud of that manly chest hair of yours, cause this next present is a makeover.  See pinning down and fucking a straight punk is fun and all, but Brad really wants to step it up a notch.  He's always dreamed of turning a prime stud like you into a slutty sister, know what I mean?  A real whorish tramp drag queen lookalike, except there's no mistaking the dick.  My tongue felt like sandpaper, but I managed to croak "uh pleease, I'm not into that, I don't like cross dressing..." but I got a sharp slap across the face for that.  "Of course you don't.  We don't really either, but we figured it would be extra fun to parade your arse out on rent boy row in a little tartan dress, just for kicks.  So come over here into the chair, and Steve here will get the shaver.

An hour later, and I was ready for the outing.  I was completely smooth - everywhere - my head, my pits, my crotch - not a fleck of hair remained.  After the shave they'd oiled me up in Nair just to make sure, removing every iota of my ruggedness, even the stubble off my cheeks.  They'd given me a hot pink bob wig to replace my mohawk, and obscenely red lipstick, but otherwise left my face normal, and obviously male.  Brad had strapped me into a kind of corset that pushed my chest up, and then a halter top which barely covered my chest, so it looked like I was flashing tits.  My engorged swollen nipples from the titclamps slipped out from under the shoulder strap with every movement.  As promised, they'd given me a tartan micro skirt, so short it didn't reach the bottom of my arse, and knee high fuck me boots.  I begged them to let me cover up my prick - the dripping head hung lower than the hem - and eventually they found some panties for me - crotchless panties, that did nothing to support my dong.  And last of all, Dean produced an impossibly fat buttplug, forcing me to bend over and grab my ankles, so he could ram the pussyfiller into me, keeping my stretched sphincter wide.  When I stood up, I bucked from the feeling, and could barely take a step without it grinding my chute.  That is, if I could've taken a normal step anyway, in those boots, my dick swinging and titflesh hanging out.  "Please please don't make me go out like this" I begged, but they were insistent, dragging me out to the SUV and pushing me in the back.  Four guys came with - Dean and his partner, Brad and Steve, while the others stayed back in the house.  I was sat in the middle between Brad and Steve, who made my widen my legs as Dean drove off, so my package was completely exposed.  My cock had drooped to half-hard while they'd worked me over, and now Steve casually pumped my prick in slow strokes as they went.  I was mortified.  Finally they slowed, and we were in the trashiest part of town.  Seeing movement, Dean stopped the car with a jerk, and Steve suddenly withdrew my hand.  With a grunt of glee, Brad swung the door open, yanking me across him, so I stumbled out and on to the pavement.  As I fell, they screeched off.  Suddenly I was standing there, looking like a shemale slut, in front of three angry looking doped out callboys.  'Oh man' I thought, 'I'm in for a beating, or a pack rape, or both!'  I heard the car jerk to a stop up the road - too far to run, but easy watching distance.  'Oh fuck' I thought again, as the boys started approaching me, "this was the next present, they wanna see me fucking gang raped!"