FART FANTASY

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

At the time this event happened


 At the time this event happened  Lisa and I had been
active in Golden Showers for about three years, but never
had the opportunity of sharing this fun sport with anyone
else. But that changed one summer when Lisa arrived at a
major West Coast airport after a 5 week visit in Germany.
     After setting up a meeting with a couple in that area,
I drove the 300 miles to the airport.  Lisa was unaware that
I had made contact with Doug and Margie, who had answered
our ad for others into golden showers, but I knew that she
would be pleased.
     Upon locating Lisa after her arrival, we immediately
placed her luggage in the canopy on the back of my
pick-up.  I was extremely horny after 5 weeks of celibacy,
so when I found her lovely ass practically sticking into
my face as she positioned  her overnight case in the
truck, I could not help but raise her skirt to expose the
naked body beneath.  I turned her over onto her back and
started eating her delicious red haired pussy right there
in the parking lot of the airport.  It tasted just as
delicious as I remembered, and I soon had my mouth filled
as her cum juice oozed from her pussy.  "Oh, God, eat my
cunt" she ordered as my tongue flicked over her clit and
then dove deep into her snatch.
     Temporarily satisfied, we went to the bar where I had
arranged to meet Doug and Margie.  We arrived first  and
were able to observe them as they came in.  They were a
very good looking couple, in our same age range.  Margie
was a tall slender blond with sparkling eyes and a winning
smile.  Her clothing was expensive and accentuated the
twin mounds of her high set breasts which moved,
unencumbered by a bra, beneath her blouse.  She was
lovely, and I found myself wondering if I was really going
to be allowed to piss on such a beautiful woman, and could
she possibly enjoy it as much as I.  Doug was also dressed
very well.  A trim, athletic man with a very confident
manner, and a smile that made us feel comfortable and at
ease from the onset.  After a couple drinks and some
conversation to get us acquainted, we followed them to
their tri-level home on a private lake.
     We retired to the family room, mixed some drinks, put
some golden shower videos on the VCR and cuddled up on the
sofa - Doug with Lisa, and me with Margie.  Doug had some
Lasix, a diuretic, and we each had one to help us 
manufacture the liquid that we all desired.  Lisa 'broke
the ice' by saying, "I have to pee.  If someone wants it,
let me know now or I'll waste it".   Doug and I
immediately laid on the floor, feet opposing, so that Lisa
could straddle both our faces at the same time.  She let
forth with a heavy stream as Doug and I opened our mouths
to catch what we could.  While this was going on, Margie
was standing on the hearth of the fireplace taking photos
with their 35mm camera and at the same time pissing down
her legs.
    The Lasix, they explained, removed all color and odor
from the urine, therefore we should not worry about
stained carpeting as the piss would have the same effect
as clear water and could do no damage.  We could pee
anywhere we wanted to.  I placed Margie on the sofa and
kneeled between her tanned legs and brought my face to her
hairless pussy.  I spread the pussy lips with my fingers
and proceeded to lick and suck on the lovely pink folds
inside.  While I was doing this, Doug and Lisa were on the
floor and he had his face buried in her snatch and she was
filling his mouth with more of her hot piss.  I could see
his hard cock throbbing in excitement as he drank from her
spurting pussy.  Margie asked if I wanted another drink,
and then proceeded to make one for me by holding a glass
between her legs and filling it with her clear piss. 
Holding it out to me she said, "Here, try this special
one".  When I hesitated, she raised the glass to her lips
and drank down her own piss.  My God, I couldn't believe
it!  I had seen this done once in a porno movie, and had
read of it in porno books.......but never in my wildest
imagination had I ever thought that it would happen in
real life, especially involving me!  I took the glass from
her hand and happily swallowed the few remaining drops
before bending her over the pool table and sliding my hard
cock into her wet pussy from the rear.  "Ooohh", she
moaned, "That feels sooo good."  With my prick thrusting
deeply into her cunt, I could feel the need to release my
bladder.  "I'm going to piss inside your pussy", I
whispered into her ear.  "Oh, yes, fill me up" was her
heated response.  I let it flow.  It flooded into her
cavity, and when it could hold no more, it gushed from
between her lips and cascaded over my balls, down my legs
to form a puddle on the floor.  It felt fantastic!  Then,
I suddenly felt more hot piss running over my cock and
then down my legs.  She also had released her bladder and
pissed all over me.
     I had gotten so deeply engrossed in my own activities
that I forgot about Lisa and Doug.  When I looked up I saw
them on the far end of the couch with Lisa laying on her
back, her legs over the back of the couch and her head
hanging from the seat.  Doug was standing over her,
releasing a hard stream that was splashing off her neck
and chin as he attempted to hit her open mouth.  Lisa was
fingering her pussy with one hand, her legs flying in the
air, her other hand was squeezing and pulling on one of
her tits.  The low moan that was coming from her throat
was soon changed to a gargle as Doug found the mark,
filling her mouth with his fluid.  Doug had a look of
complete pleasure on his face and I knew that whatever he
and Lisa decided to do to each other would only enhance
their pleasure.
     With this in mind, I returned my concentration to the
beautiful blond woman that was rubbing her ass cheeks
against my now flaccid penis.  I could see her puckered
asshole between her lovely cheeks.  It looked so inviting,
I could not resist. Kneeling behind her, I spread her
cheeks with my hands and attacked  her asshole  with my
tongue, licking and sucking as if it were a delicious
desert.  I love having a woman in this position.  It gives
me complete access to both her pussy and asshole, and in
this case it was even more stimulating because Margie's
cunt lips were still glistening with drops of her recently
expelled urine.  My tongue traced down to the lips and
gently licked off the remaining drops.  My nose was
pressed tightly against her anus and I could feel her
asshole moving as if trying to get a grip on it.  I licked
back up to her puckered brown hole and attempted to
penetrate her with the tip of my pointed tongue.  She
thrust her hips back into my face, saying, "I'm so
sensitive there....Please don't stop", and I didn't
either.
     I licked feverishly on her butt hole, knowing
that within a few moments I would be reaming her asshole
with my hard cock instead of my tongue.  In order to
prepare her and loosen her up, I slowly inserted my index
finger into her ass while I continued to lick around the
edge. After it was in past the second knuckle, I started
inserting the middle finger also.  It slipped in with
ease, as she thrust her pelvis hard against my probing
fingers.  I proceeded to add a third, my ring finger, and
watched in awe as her rectum expanded to receive them all.
I knew that she was ready now; she was moaning and cooing
with pleasure.  In my mind, I was ready too, but
unfortunately when I reached for my cock, I found that it
was not.  Now  this  is not the first time that this has
happened to me, but it is unusual, and of course
disappointing.  I didn't know if it was due to the long
drive, over excitement, the Lasix, or any other cause; but
whatever it was, it certainly came at an inopportune time. 
I explained the situation to Margie and she suggested we 
retire to a bedroom to relax.
     We laid on the carpeted floor of the downstairs 
bedroom and just cuddled; Margie's hand rubbing my soft
cock.  After applying a creme lubricant, she began
stroking it while sucking on the head.  Her lips and hand
felt marvelous but did not produce the desired results. 
It looked like I was finished for the night.  Margie laid
on her back and smiled wickedly at me as she said, "I want
you to pee on me.....All over my body".  Anxious to
comply, I kneeled straddling her thighs, my cock in hand. 
I peeled back the foreskin and aimed at her breasts. 
Slowly I felt the pressure from my bladder building and
the fluid beginning to travel through my penis. It spurted 
forth with  more velocity  than I had anticipated, and
certainly more than Margie had expected.  It squirted up
to her face, just missing her eyes, but she quickly turned 
her head while opening her mouth to catch what she could. 
The stream slowly eased off and my pee retreated down her
body covering her as she had desired.  It was this time I
heard Lisa at the door saying, "I'm very tired.  I think
we should go to bed".   She was right, of course, she was
suffering from jet lag and needed to get some sleep.
     The next morning, after a delicious breakfast of 
fresh fruits, juices, bacon and eggs, served to us naked
in their hot tub, Lisa and I had to say good-bye.  We made
a promise to get together in the near future.  And we did,
too, but that's a whole new story...

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Evelyn Comes Home By Tinker, July 1994



It had been a nice evening with my friends, and while I cycled back home
through the almost deserted streets with my best girlfriend, we chatted a
lot about the new boys that we had met. At least two were really cute and
we absolutely wanted to see them again next week. Two corners from where I
live, my friend went her own way and I rode the last hundred meters alone.
It was still quite light, so I had nothing to fear; not that there was much
chance of anything bad happening to me, but still.

When I approached my home and stopped pedaling to freewheel the remaining
distance, I sighed and hoped for the best this time. You know, I am one of
those skinny and pale girls that even in their early twens sometimes have
trouble holding their pee. It is quite embarassing, to say the least, but
I've to live with it. I had not wet my bed anymore since I was about twelve,
but occasionally something went wrong. A typical situation in which I often
had a wet experience was coming home after a nice evening with my friends.
I would have been drinking a lot, and would have gone to the toilet just
before leaving, but the cycling back apparently held back the urge well
enough for me not to notice. Until it was too late, that is.

Last time I came back from such an evening I had just stepped off my bike
and was looking for the key of our front door, when I suddenly experienced
something strange in my belly. It seemed like I was melting inside, and
before I could react or even realised what was happening to me, I felt my
crotch getting warm, and then something started to leak down my legs. At
that moment it became obvious what was happening to me, and with a red
head, teeth grinding and thighs clutched together, I thoroughly soaked my
jeans. There just was no point stopping, it was already far too late when I
noticed. When I carefully glanced down, I could clearly see the wet stain
going down between my legs, and I only hoped that my bum would not reveal
too much to people that might just be looking. Actually, wetting myself did
not feel that unpleasant; as you might know, the feeling is warm and cosy.
But it left such a mess that after finishing the soaking of my pants, I
hurried inside and went straight into the bathroom to undress, get a
shower, and forget about it. I left my wet garments in the laundry basket
for my mother to clean up, and removed the experience from my memory.

I really had forgotten about it all, until I was dressing up for the next
evening together. I was already sliding myself into my tight jeans when I
remembered the awful experience of two weeks earlier, and sat on my bed for
a few seconds. Knowing myself, I knew that I could not do much about my
slight medical problem. Fortunately, it was quite predictable. I had two
alternatives. Either I could not drink at all, which seemed very dull and
would certainly provoke questions from my friends. Or I could try to put on
a diaper to catch the stream if it went wrong. Uh no... *when* it went
wrong. Sigh. Wearing a diaper under a tight pair of jeans was not that
attractive, and besides, I did not have them anymore; the last diaper went
down the garbage can quite some years ago.

I sighed again and tried to find another solution. Basically the problem
was solved if I could manage to find a toilet immediately after stepping
off my bike. But I had to put my bike against the wall, open the front
door, hurry through the hallway, hope the toilet was not occupied, and
undress myself. All in two seconds. Not possible, not even with practice. I
would end up peeing in my pants again, and not a little bit. Although my
mother had never mentioned anything to me about those wet clothes in the
laundry basket, I knew she knew, and I really wanted to prevent it.

When my eyes roved around my room in search of nothing special, I suddenly
noticed my closet with skirts. I rarely wore skirts anymore, since that was
not the fashion of my environment. The tighter the jeans, the better. But
for someone with my problem, I thought, a skirt would at least be a partial
problem-solver. I would still wet myself, but the amount of clothing ready
for the laundry machine would be vastly smaller, and I figured I had a good
chance of getting away with it unnoticed. Slowly I slid down my jeans
again, and walked towards the closet. Given the nice weather, I chose my
long blue skirt, that I always wore with a wide belt around my waist, and a
white blouse. While stepping into the skirt, I looked for some old pair of
panties, since I did not want to wet the new pair I was wearing and that I
had just bought that week. For a moment I considered going out without
panties, but that seemed too bold. I hiked up my skirt, pulled down the
white elastic panties I wore, and replaced them by the oldest pair I could
find. They were pale pink, and just barely elastic enough to stay where
they belonged. But my skirt was long enough to prevent any peeking.
I sat down on my bed and put on my boots, as black as my belt, and made of
the same smooth leather. Looking at myself in the mirror, I really was
happy with the general look; the skirt nicely enhanced my waist and hips,
and covered up my upper legs which were not as slim as I wanted them to be.
I put on a nice thin golden necklace and my earrings, and went out.

So there I was, almost home, still sitting on the saddle of my bike, and
hoping for the best. After all, it could really have been just stupid bad
luck the last time I came home. Maybe it was just cold, or I had really
drunk a lot, or we cycled home way too slow. Anyway, nothing inside me
indicated that anything was at stake, and to be honest, I thought that I
was getting away with it tonight.

I bumped the bike up the sidewalk, crossed into our little front place (no
garden, only concrete), and stepped off. A slight, exciting tingle went up
and down my back, and I felt my cheeks blushing a bit. For a few moments I
stood next to my bike, eyes closed, and expected the embarassment to come
any moment. But my pink panties did not get wet. I carefully probed
my bladder, and everything seemed OK. Quickly I put my bike against the
house and searched for my house keys. Still no problem. I put the key
into the lock, and turned it while pulling at the door knob to facilitate
the lock's movement. This was the moment I had started to wet myself last
time. But now, still nothing. The door opened, and I pulled out the key
when I went inside. The hallway was deserted and the door of the toilet was
open. Slowly I let go of the front door, that would be closed automatically
by a spring. The tingling at my back now had spread throughout my whole
body, and it was especially noticeable in my belly. Or no, somewhat lower.
My cheeks glowed like in mid-winter, and I hesitated slightly while walking
towards the inviting toilet door. With the door in my hand, I switched on
the light and entered the stall. Puzzled I stood there for a moment, with
my skirt already hiked up a bit. Everything had gone like I wanted it to,
yet something in the back of my head was calling for attention. I hiked up
my skirt further and started to pull down my panties.

Suddenly I knew what was bothering me: I had forgotten to put the lock on
my bike, which was only three meters away from the open road and quite
expensive. Much in doubt, I had to decide to go to the toilet first or lock
my bike. And the tingling in my body wasn't helping matters. It was
exciting and pleasant, and reminded me of semi-erotic experiences with
boys. Strange, since I had not met any interesting boy this evening; even
the two boys we had high hopes for turned out to be dull soccer
enthusiasts. Bike or toilet?

I don't know what made me choose for bike, because it was a stupid thing
since I knew very well that my sphincter could give up any moment, and
probably without much warning. After looking in the mirror and stroking my
hair back, I glanced over my clothes and enjoyed the smooth feeling of my
skirt as I left the toilet and walked down the hallway again. There really
was nothing to worry about, I reminded myself. My bike would still be
there, and I could easily hold my pee for another thirty seconds. I opened
the door, went to my bike, stooped down a bit to set the lock, and waited.

I waited. For a few seconds, I just stood there on the concrete front
place, with the lock completely in order and locked, and I waited. There
was nothing special about it, I just waited for something to happen.
Something *had* to happen. I just felt it in all my limbs, and the tingling
was not lying either. I *wanted* something to happen. With a smile, I
straightened my back and turned around towards the street. Nobody was in
sight, every curtain was closed. Happily I looked up to the sky, where some
stars already had appeared. It was a beautiful night, warm but not too hot,
with a nice breeze to freshen up everything. No clouds. A small light dot
moved through the sky. And I waited, still not knowing exactly for what.

After what probably was about half a minute of relaxed anticipation, I
gradually became aware of some pressure in my belly. Slowly I started to
realize what kept me from going inside and visiting the toilet. It
immediately led to a big blush on my cheeks, and I felt the tingling creep
upwards over my spine. Should I? After all the precautions I had taken, it
seemed so awfully silly to screw it up by stupidly standing here. Still, I
wouldn't move. I just did not want to. I had visions of what happened last
time, with the wonderful feeling of warm liquid running through my pants,
and realized that I actually could enjoy it again. By doing nothing. I only
had to wait, and everything would come by itself. I had prepared myself for
it, dressed up for it, postponed it, waited for it... everything was in
place. Nobody would notice. And then I realised with a shock that my mother
probably even *expected* to find some wet clothes in the laundry basket
tomorrow. I was *expected* to wet myself. My heart skipped a beat as wild
fantasies crossed my mind.

So that was it. Now I knew what I wanted to do. And I decided that that was
exactly what would happen. Now.

I checked my long skirt and pulled it up at the belt, so I could feel the
smooth fabric touching my legs from my upper thighs almost down to my
ankles. I took a deep breath, and prepared myself for the inevitable. The
tingling feeling came down again, went right through my back towards my
belly, and then sank into my crotch. I sighed and imagined my pink panties
deep under my skirt. I really wanted to do it now. I really wanted it. I
even started helping it. Unbelievably, I was actively trying to wet my
panties and enjoyed it! Being almost there, I opened up my purse that still
hung around my right shoulder and started looking for something irrelevant.
Almost there. Quick glance to the left and right. Nobody. Very close.
Almost there. In a sudden wave of naughty pleasure, I felt my body
anticipating the event by moving my legs a bit apart. I did not do it
myself, it must have been some deeply-rooted instinct. I looked down to my
boots, which were parted for about twenty centimeters now, and with a smile
I put them further apart. Twenty-five centimeters. I rummaged in my purse,
and found a little mirror. Still not enough. Thirty centimeters! A nail
clipper. Never before I had been so close to wet panties. I really wanted
to wee through them, to get myself a wet crotch, to play that I got caught
again and could not help it. I had just stepped off my bike and was just
looking in my purse for my keys. By coincidence, I had my legs forty
centimeters apart now. My skirt gracefully flowed down my legs, and I
felt very excited, very attractive, and very determined.

Finally, all my urges became too strong to resist them. I jumped up slightly,
and when my boots touched the ground again they were sixty centimeters
apart. My instinct told me that that was sufficient, and I hurried to put
the things back in my purse. While I closed the purse's flap, I put my left
hand in my left side and let my right elbow rest on my purse. My smooth,
long skirt moved slightly in the breeze. Almost there. Almost. Casually I
looked down the street, and tightly grasped my purse. Almost.

There.

While my legs started to tremble a bit, I had the familiar experience of my
belly melting, and this time I knew exactly what was going on under my
skirt. Calmly and steadily, I let my warm liquid enter my pink panties and
just enjoyed it. They spread the warmth around my crotch, and I noticed the
moment floating by that I could not possibly deny to myself what was
happening anymore. I was weeing through my pants, and I was not holding
back. Actually, I started pushing. While my pink panties still managed to
absorb the pee, I took a deep breath and wetted myself thoroughly. I could
hear the soft hissing sound under my long blue skirt, and hummed from
delight. Soon a tiny stream dropped down onto the concrete pavement, and I
could not help but look down to my skirt. It moved a bit in the wind,
covering up every sign of what was happening. While I got more and more
excited, my pee now really started to gush out and a complete waterfall
clattered down between my boots. I vaguely thought about the noise alarming
somebody, but then drifted away again on the breeze, floating on my self-
made ocean, with a wonderful, cosy secret lovingly covered up by the big
sail. This was the first time I actually enjoyed wetting myself. I had
chosen to do it, and it had not dissapointed me. It was heaven.

After what seemed really a long time, I finally finished, and took a moment
to assess the situation. I was standing on our front place, dressed for a
party, with my legs spread out and just having peed my panties like a
child. It was absolutely the most relaxing and exciting thing that until
then had happened to me, and I really wished there was more to add to the
moist in my panties. I stooped forward a bit, and with a last tension of my
muscles I managed to get a last wave of pee into my panties. Then I stepped
backward, pulling my boots together and deeply enjoying the tiny streams of
liquid that spiraled down my legs. The puddle on the ground was
considerably larger than when I had peed my jeans. No wonder; my tiny
panties really were not comparable to the massive amount of fabric that got
soaked last time. I sighed and went inside. Feeling horny, I switched off
the toilet's light (no need for that today anymore!) and went up the
stairs. Everybody was asleep already.

In the bathroom, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and turned
left and right. Nothing showed, really, except for a few drops on my boots.
Reluctantly I removed my skirt, to reveal that my panties were deep pink
from between my legs until halfway up my waist, both in the front and back.
I couldn't help to look at myself in the mirror again. Wet panties were not
only good to wear for the feeling they gave you, but they looked
incredibly sexy, I found. Quickly I slipped out of my blouse and boots, and
took off everything except my panties. Knowing that my parents *knew* that
I had wet myself, I did not bother to lock the door of the bathroom, and
with the obviously pissed panties still on I opened the hot tap and let the
water reach the correct temperature. While the shower still ran, I left the
bathroom and went into my bedroom to get my night gown. I hoped that my
mother would appear and see me, but she stayed in bed. Back in the
bathroom I took the shower head and directed it away from me, stepped into
the shower, and spread my legs again. This time, I would see it myself.

My panties became a bit darker between my legs, and soon a small stream ran
down. Of course I had very little pee left, and I was dissapointed when it
died out quickly. Slowly, I let the shower head coming up between my legs,
and directed it to my crotch. The warm water soaked into the fabric and
excited my sensitive parts in a great way. I let the water reach every part
of my panties that were wet already, but not more. Not that very much of
them remained dry, but still enough. After having rinsed myself clean
enough this way, I washed my legs and feet, and stopped the tap. I dried my
legs with a towel, and put on my night gown over my soaking wet panties. In
the mirror, nothing could be seen... yet. With the exciting garment around
my bum, I brushed my teeth and enjoyed the irregular drops between my bare
feet. Finally, I went to my bedroom and closed the door. My bed waited. I
pushed the blankets to one side, let myself down on my back, and while
carefully pulling my night gown down over my wet panties, I replaced the
blankets.

I felt my night gown absorbing the wetness of my panties, and pressed it in
my crotch with both hands. Anyone seeing me now would know that I had wet
my bed. This thought excited me in such a way that I spread my legs a bit,
pulled up my knees, and started to finger myself through my wet gown and
panties. I came fast and hard, quickly dozed away, and slept very well
that night, having wonderful dreams.

Next morning, I woke up early and found out that I was dry again. It was
seven o'clock, and I had the time to relax a bit before coming out of bed.
Of course, my first thing to do was to check for the need to pee. And of
course I had to. Blushing, I rolled onto my back, spread my legs and pulled
up my knees, and waited. I could wet my bed and nobody would ask questions.
Would I? A bit worried I thought about my mother who would have to clean up
the mess. My clothes and the sheets where not the problem, but the mattress
was unprotected and would get very wet. I remained in wetting position for
a few minutes, came quite close to do it, but eventually backed out for
respect of my mother. But then, something else was possible. Quickly I got
out of bed, hurried to the bathroom and sat down onto the toilet. I pulled
my night gown out of the way, spread my knees, and eagerly looked down to
the pink triangle between my legs. Starting was much easier now, and soon a
dark spot appeared. It grew quickly, and before I realized it, I was weeing
through my panties at full power. While holding up my gown with one hand, I
used the other to massage my clit through the wet fabric, and while still
wetting my panties, I had the most intense orgasm ever.

Later, I showered (panties still on) and dressed in my skirt again. Having
a standing lunch, I prepared for the day, and I have been very happy since,
knowing that a slight medical problem could lead to great pleasure.




Thursday, September 15, 2011

Naughty But Nice

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Naughty But Nice I have been a knicker wetting fan for some years now and am always interested in letters on this subject. I thought readers may like to know what I have discovered recently as a big turn on. Firstly, I insert my small vibrator (turned on of course), in my fanny. Then I attach four large sized, looped sanitary towels to a belt and pull them tightly so that they rub on clitoris. Next go a pair of plastic lined sanitary knickers and I hold the lot in firmly with a tight panty girdle. I am then ready to get on with the housework or go out shopping - all the time slowly releasing little jets of pee, getting the pads nicely sodden. And all the time with my vibrator whirring away inside me. I contract and release my vaginal muscles to allow it in and out slightly as I walk. This gets me really randy - especially when out in public as I wonder what people would think if they knew I was peeing my pants while queuing in the supermarket. By the time I get home I frantically lie on the bed and, delving down into the dampness I wank myself off to the most incredible orgasms with the vibrator and my fingers. I hope you print this letter I'm getting well juiced up - not to mention warm and wet pee whilst writing this - seeing it in print would give an even greater effect. (This is your lucky day then - Ed.) I must go and wank myself off and hope my husband is soon home to give me a really good fucking. Ellen, Twickenham. "Fiesta. Christmas Special Issue," 1986 THE WATER PROOF I decided to write to you when a friend of mine showed me a copy of your excellent magazine. The friend is Louise whose letter "Baby Love" was published in Vol 20, No 2. I am really pleased at the interest shown in this topic. Louise has asked me to recount the tale of our meeting. We both think that this will be of interest to other readers. My name is Janice. I'm 23 years old, slim build, with blonde hair. About 18 months ago I moved into my present house on a new estate. Louise, a neighbour, being a friendly soul, invited me round for a coffee one lunch time. We were sat in the kitchen chatting and Louise climbed on a chair to reach a high cupboard. She suddenly lost her balance and tumbled to the floor. I went to help, but there was no harm done. She had landed with her legs splayed and her mini skirt had ended up around her waist. We laughed at her predicament, but while Louise was recovering still sat on the floor, my eyes strayed to her panty crutch which was clearly visible. At first I didn't recognise the transparent PVC, stretched taut over her pubic area. Then I twigged saying, "Louise, are you wearing baby pants?" To cut a long story short to ended up having quite a laugh about it. She explained over a couple of cups of coffee about her and Peter's love of plastic pants. I was amazed, but interested, playing the innocent to try to get her to tell me more. Finally Louise added, "Jan, you see I wet my panties too; I wear baby panties with a nappy so that I can wee in my knickers whenever I wish - it's a lovely feeling." I remembered visiting her house on a previous occasion and seeing a couple of pairs of water-proof pants on the bathroom radiator, I had wondered whose they were, as they have no children. She went on to tell me how her boyfriend puts her into a nappy and waterproof pants before going to bed. In the morning he checks to see if she's been a naughty girl and wet her nappy. She then has to be changed before going to work. All this talk had removed the initial embarrassment, but I was feeling decidedly sexy. I finally managed to summon up the courage to ask, "Would you mind awfully if I tried a pair of baby pants on, just to see what they're like?" She was clearly delighted and suggested we went upstairs. I followed her into the bedroom of the house. Louise asked me what sort of waterproof pants I wanted to try and if I wanted to wear a nappy too. I was spoilt for choice, but still determined to go through with it, I eventually asked her what sort she was wearing. Without a trace of embarrassment she pulled up the hem of her skirt. I must have gasped at the sight of her pussy lips spread pink and moist against the transparent PVC of her plastic knickers. Her pubic hair was dark and wet, with a little trickle of pee running into the plastic crutch as I watched her using her baby panties. "Oops, another little accident," she said, grinning. It seemed the right moment to make MY confession. I proceeded to tell Louise how as an adolescent I had wet my knickers on the day at home. We giggled as I recalled how I had reluctantly told my mother, I remember that when I was upstairs washing my mother called me into the bedroom. Laid out on the bed were plastic panties, pins and a nappy. She suggested I wear the baby clothes just as a precaution until the problem went. I was reluctant at first, but became strangely excited as she pinned the fluffy nappy around my bum, and pulled the waterproof plastic pants up my legs, settling them neatly over the nappy and around my waist. That night I even suggested to my mother that I sleep in my nappy and plastic pants in case of an accident! The next day I could resist no longer. As I sat talking to my mother I realised I needed a wee. I went to the bathroom, but rather than pulling down my nappy and rubber knickers as I had done before I just sat on the side of the bath and weed in my nappy. The relief was tremendous. My plastic panty crutch gradually warmed as my pee soaked the nappy. This led me to masturbate on this occasion and several subsequent occasions. I spent several weeks wearing baby pants wetting them on purpose to prolong this most enjoyable interlude, Louise was obviously pleased at finding another girl with the same interests. She said, "Right Baby Janice, do you want to get undressed and I'll find you a pair of rubber pants of your, own?" I paused, for a moment losing confidence, but unbuttoned my dress and stepped out of it. Louise turned to face me with a packet containing the plastic pants I was about to get into. She looked admiringly at my choice of undies - white stocking, a lacy suspender belt, and my favourite tiny lacy panties. She advised me to take off my stockings and suspenders, or at least to put the suspenders outside my plastic knickers (as she said, "You don't really need the loo when you're wearing water-proof baby pants"). I was told I could wear my tiny nylon panties if I'd enjoyed weeing through them. I quickly rolled off my stockings, unclipped the suspender belt and pulled my panties down, noticing that the crotch was already damp from my growing excitement. She got me to lie on the bed, opening the waterproof baby pants I questioned, "I've not worn a pair of these for ages, are you sure they'll fit me?" Louise reassured me and held the legs of the plastic pants open to allow them to slide up my thighs. I raised my bottom off the bed as we finally settled the incontinence panties over my womanly hips. I must confess that I was pleased with the effect of the white transparent PVC. I smoothed the knickers over my pubic mound and my index finger strayed to my pussy lips. I suddenly realised I was bursting for a pee. As I made for the bathroom door Louise said, "Jan, there's no need. Why don't you try your baby pants for real?" I stopped in my tracks for a moment, but muttered something about not being able to do it in front of her. The time taken for these words proved too much, and by the time I made the bathroom my pee was flowing into my waterproof pants. All the memories came flooding back. I just sat on the toilet and continued to wee into my plastic pants, massaging my clitoris and pussy behind the plastic covering of my baby pants. After the groaning of my orgasm had subsided Louise popped her head around the door with an impish grin on her face. She sent me home with several pairs of plastic waterproof pants to try out. I have now come to appreciate their feminine charm, and, surprise effect on a guy when he slides his hand up over your stocking top to find you wearing baby undies - it never fails! Love to all Fiesta Babies. Janice, Birmingham. Fiesta. Special Christmas Issue, 1986

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Karen and Michelle’s Sad Story Provided By: BDSM Library www.bdsmlibrary.com


 Synopsis: Cody's hitchiking to college and the free booze and fucks it entails. But Cody didn't count on the tables being turned on his tail.
Cody 1 - Hitchhiking's Dangerous
by Emile

Copyright 2007.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.
----

He was hitchiking on the side of the road, wearing only a rucksack strapped to his back and a pair of loose trackpants which still showed a big meaty cock in the fold of the crotch.  I guess he must've been half hard or something.  I don't usually stop but that changed my mind.  He had dirty blonde hair and a killer smile, and when he got in the car, a heavenly scent of soap and male aroma wafted from his exposed torso, lightly dusted in blonde hair.  He tossed his rucksack in the back and slouched down on the seat, scooting forward, his abs were crunched down and his legs akimbo.  He grabbed the headrest with his big hands, thanked me, introduced himself as Cody, and started up an easy conversation.  That is, what would've been an easy conversation if I could concentrate, but with his pits exposed, the smell was intoxicating, and I kept glancing across to see his blonde snail trail and thick carpet snake that  hefted around in his pants.  Cody must've noticed, about the second time he stopped talking, and I stammered, trying to remember the question, he just chuckled, and said "hey man, it's alright, I get it.  For $50 I'll haul it out for you.  $100 and you can touch it."  I pretended not to know what he meant, but he grabbed my arm off the steering wheel in one easy motion, planting it down on his throbbing cock.  The tool must've been 7" easy, not even hard, and thick as a beer can.  I almost swerved off the road, and he laughed.  He squeezed my hand around it, and I glanced down involuntarily - shit if his dick wasn't already seeping junk into his sweatpants.  This hunky kid was built for sex.  I was hard as a rock in my pants.  He laced his fingers in mine and guided them down the shaft to the head, letting me knead the throbbing head through the sopping fabric.  My own dick began drooling scum into my jockeys.  He pulled my hand away, guiding it to my face, where the heady scent of juice almost sent me over the edge.  He told me to pull over, and I almost swerved off the road, taking us into a rest bay just down from the road. Bushes screened us from the traffic.  I killed the engine and glanced around, half expecting him to be ready for sex, but he just slouched there, grinning, lighting up a spiff. I'd usually protest, as the scent filled the car, but he was a living god, and I was in his power.  "So" he said "what'll it be?  $50 or $100?"  I figured he wanted to be paid.  It was perverse but I was so turned on I couldn't resist.  I fished out my wallet and pulled out two $50s.  He reached over as I fumbled around, fishing out four $50 notes, saying I could suck him off.  In the haze I was powerless, and he pocketed the notes, sliding the trackpants under his arse, revealing his prize package to me.  It was like I'd died and gone to heaven  - his tool was at least 9" hard, impossibly thick and the tight purple helmet oozed precum like a faucet.  Mesmerised I sunk down on the prize dong, choking on the shaft of flesh as he pumped furiously.  After 5 minutes he was holding my head, pistoning me like a pro, until he came in a violent volley of jism down my throat, making me  cum my pants in unison.

After that was the usual disappointment.  Cody acted like all straight men after they've got their rocks off, pushing me away and shucking up his pants, letting the marijuana and endorphin rush lull him into a hazy half-sleep that allowed him to ignore the act he'd done with another guy, ignore my excited babble, my dickbreath.  He languidly brushed me away, pointing to the road as if to tell me to resume my driving duties.  I was hurt but not surprised, this was nothing new.  But as the sun began to set and the highway stretched out in front of us, I looked over at the dozing hunk and felt anger - that he could have ripped me off so easily, that he had everything and gave nothing, that he could go through life dicking who he liked with no repurcussions.  Most encounters would end here, with a cheerful wave at the bus stop and reminisces when I was 80.  But I began to hatch a plan to get much more than that, to ensnare Cody as my plaything forever.

Stage One began at 10pm, when Cody finally woke up from his slumber to find it dark, still on the road with me.  He began cussing and swearing, something about only wanting to go to Cleveland, which was miles behind us now.  I reverted to my usual hapless self, apologising, and then I offered to drive him back, even to pay for a motel until the morning.  He took the bait, sitting back looking satisfied, arms folded across his chest as he pointed out places to stay.  Of course he chose a fancy motel, but that suited me, I told him I only had credit enough for one room, so we had to share.  He sneered, but soon was hauling his rucksack up the stairs to the chintzy room we'd been given.  The manager had given us the most out of the way room possible, not liking fags much (his words), but that suited me fine.

Upstairs Cody took a long shower, coming out steaming, his muscles rippling with only a white towel separating his obscenely handsome body from me.  I'd cracked open a Coke from the mini-bar, certain he'd follow suit with the booze, which he did.  He told me he was on his way to college, and began cracking open the beers like it was a frat party.  I protested I couldn't afford it, which egged him on all the more.  Three beers and two spiffs later, and he was messy drunk, flaunting his body and insulting me, like he was king shit. Inwardly I grinned.  He went to take a leak and I sprung, emptying the sleeping pills I'd crushed while he showered into his unfinished beer.  He came  back and finished it off in a few swigs, telling me about the last chick he'd dorked.  And then, mid-sentence, he paused and nodded off to sleep.

When he awoke, Cody received the shock of his life.  His brawny tanned arms were spreadeagled, tied to the bedposts, his ankled likewise tied to the base.  My third and final towing rope I'd run under the bed, tying each end around a knee, forcing his thighs wide apart.  His cock, jutting up from his short prickbush, jutted upwards, hard from the slow stroking I'd been giving it.  His sticky sap coated his bloated cock and bull balls, an aching pain I was sure he'd never felt before for long.  He tried to yell but his throat was hoarse, a side effect of the alcohol and pills.  I put my finger to his lips, gently telling him to be quiet or he'd be punished, so he'd better listen closely.  I slipped my grip up his shaft so my fingers just grazed the plump cockhead, sending his hormones into overdrive. Involuntarily, he bucked his pelvis ever so slightly, the gnawing urge to cum already taking control.  Pleased, I explained how things would be.

"So Cody, since you just take orders from your prick, I thought I'd do you a favour and give it a new master.  I'm guessing a dicksman like you is used to shooting loads daily, eh?"  Huskily he rasped "twice you fucker".  I smiled.  "You're right calling me fucker, but you'll wish you weren't."  I grazed the light hairs around his arsehole with my finger as I spoke and he sucked breath in, clearly sensitive around his virgin shitchute.  More for later, I thought.  "Now, this horsecock of yours is achingly hard and leaking, and we've just begun.  I'll bet you'll do about anything to get off..."   Cody's eyes trailed my free hand as I reached for a wide rubber band from a pile on the bed.  His eyes widened as I looped it over his cockhead without missing a stroke, holding it wide as I slid it down the shaft and over his balls.  I let the rubber band slip off my fingers, hearing Cody suck in his breath as the tight rubber snapped around the base, his own poor man's cockring.  "... but getting off it a privilege you'll have to earn from now.  I know you were primed for all your college parties with your jock mates, feeding sorority snatch nightly, so it might take some adjustment to only cum, say, once a month."  Cody moaned loudly, still bucking against my hand, dick throbbing and desperate to cum.  His straining body was covered in a sexy sheen, the same hot flesh that was on display by the roadside, now utterly out of his control.  I let go of his cock, watching it bob and weave, leaking goo in a steady stream that basted his balls and made his arse slick.  I stroked up his V tapered torso to his wide heaving chest, running my fingers through the light hairs.

"Yeah boy, by the time I drop you at your college dorm, you'll be so heavily in my debt you'll be begging me for instructions.  Talking of debt, since you brought all your details in your wallet, I logged on to a few sites and checked you out.  Part time modelling eh, thought that'd pay the college bills?  Well your agent was pretty dumb signing you to me exclusively then, you're pretty much at my mercy for jobs.  And $15,000 in your bank accounts will hardly pay for tuition, especially now I've racked up double that online on your credit cards.  S&M wear is so expensive these days!  I also booked you in for a session at Bodyworks - non refundable - who do some great work with hair removal and piercing.  I'll drop you off there today!.  Hey, man, don't sweat - you'll love your new body. Well, I will for sure."

He was sweating pretty heavily now, fear perhaps, and his taut body was straining in the dim light, begging for me to fondle it. Even with his beefy arms stretched above his head, his chest was still bulging, dime nipples hard and pouty.  I tweaked his left nipple, hard. "Don't worry, heaps of guys on campus will have pierced tongues and nips. Most guys find it sexy wandering around with not much on - you seemed to by the roadside yesterday.  I'm sure no-one will give it a second thought you wandering round in these little black sweat shorts I found in your bag..."  I held up the threadbare laced football shorts I'd found in his bag.  Obviously he'd kept them for sentimental reasons, they were well worn and would be a tight fit over his thick thighs and horsecock.  I looked forward to seeing him hard and horny, that dull ache in his gut, which would only get worse, until his need to shoot consumed everything, and his dick throbbed constantly against the thin fabric.

"But I wouldn't worry your dumb jock brain too much about that.  By the way, I took some pictures of you last night to send to your folks and your new frat buddies - here's a couple - your leaking dick in hand, gay porn around you.  This one with your legs spread wide. My favourite is the last one, fingering your hole with one hand and stroking your dick with the other - took quite some time to get you in position for that one.  I emailed them to some buddies of mine as security, so don't get any funny ideas."  His dick had gone down a bit at the news but in two strokes it was hard and drippy all over again.   I untied his calves and hands, testing how his mental cage would hold up against physical freedom.  There was fear and hatred in his eyes, and he pulled his arms down over his crotch massaging his wrists.  I told him he wasn't allowed to cover or touch his crotch without permission, and reluctantly, he withdrew his arms away from his juiced up cuntstuffer.

Stage Two.  I slid  out of my clothes, giving Cody his first look at my body.  I must admit that Cody's tight athletic body was hotter, but I still turned heads in the gym, solid muscle dusted with dark wiry hair.  As I slipped off my briefs I saw his eyes widen, my 7 inch curved cock not as impressive as his, but still quite a mouthful.  I moved over to the side of the bed, already hard as iron, and Cody stared at my cock, mesmerised.  I told him to suck, and after a hateful glance, he scooted to his knees, arms still by his sides, his drippy dork throbbing.  I guided his lips to the head of my cock, steadily feeding him my salami until he was gagging on the full 7 inches, head tickling his tonsils and root tickling his nose.    Definitely his first time, he struggled to take my dick, especially as I began leaking my own tangy juice down his throat.  I let him swing on my dick for a good half hour, until he was used to the feeling of cock sliding down his throat, and had developed a reasonable rhythm.  Then I pulled out.  He looked up quizzically.  I smiled, and told him to get ready to become a pussyboy.  Tears welled up and he began pleading, then abusing me, angry.  I slapped him hard, hauling him to his feet and slapping his balls until he turned green and ran to the bathroom to puke, dick swinging. I called out for him to use the Vaseline on the counter to grease his arse.  He was gone a long while, but eventually he returned, fight gone out of him.  "You fucking bastard" he said "how can you ruin me like this?"  But I was lying on the bed, legs apart, dick hard, and just smiled, gesturing him to squat down on top of me.  He climbed up and began lowering himself, eyes still blazing at the double humiliation of being fucked up the arse, and having to inflict it on himself. As the head pierced his sphincter he gasped, attempting to pull back up, and I had to grab his calves and pull them forward, forcing his weight down on my rigid stalk.  He slid down a few inches, the lube doing its job, groaning at the humiliation and pain of my dick invading his guts.    I let him slide down until I was balls deep, and he was gasping for breath like a fish.  "Quit whining, when you're the muscle pussyboy to all the black janitors on campus,you'll will have much thicker dicks than mine to worry about.  Oh yeah, did I mention that?  Anyway, more of that later boy, now start fucking yourself."

He gently eased himself off my cock, still gasping, his dick throbbing and leaking from the pressure on his sphincter.  When he just had the tip of my cock in his hole, I grabbed his balls, yanking them down hard so he plunged in full depth.  "Now that's how I want you to fuck" I snarled.  He fucked himself faster then, groaning with humiliation and arousal as the fucking pushed him closer to orgasm. He was looking up at the ceiling, eyes closed, but I could tell nothing could take his mind away from the fact he was being fucked hard by another guy, and he was about to cum from it.  After 10 minutes I felt his arse contracting and knew he was about to cum.  I thrust up a few times, sending us both over the edge, and after letting him ejaculate two volleys of thick creamy cum, I grabbed his ballsac, pulling hard to cut off his pleasure mid-orgasm. He yelped and the cumming subsided, leaving his dick hard and shiny, unrelieved. I lay there for a second, my dick still half hard in his hole, taking in his sweat sheened cum spattered torso, abs clenched and buff chest heaving as he squirmed his cummy bubble butt on my dork.  How I relished turning this arrogant muscle stud into a complete bottom pig.

Stage Three.  I didn't let Cody shower after sex, I wanted him constantly reminded of his submission.  I told him the fucking had been caught on webcam, showed him the feed, securing my control of him.  Then I made him slide the threadbare shorts up his tree-trunk legs, watching him struggle to stretch the fabric over his arse, and stuff his hard swollen dick into the front.  I let him touch his dick for that, knowing the  touch would make it even more uncomfortable, the dick unfailingly drippy from the attention.  Precum began soaking through the laces and it wouldn't be long before my cum soaked a patch in the seat.  I let him scoop off his own cum from his chest and eat it, the only cleaning up he was allowed, and his sweat beaded cum streaked body was exposed to the waking world.  He tried to run to the car but quickly found out the pain of a freshly fucked arse. Back in the car, he eased himself into the passenger seat, clearly expecting the worst was over.  But I wanted him to ride closer, and made him scoot over, straddling the two seats, and shucking his shorts to mid-thigh.  He was riding stick-shift, humiliatingly having to slide his lubed arse down on my knobbly gearstick, bumping and grinding on the hard steel and plastic as we set off down the road.  His iron hard dick made a good surrogate stick, and I kept a firm grip, manouvered him into position and making him change gears and constantly shift position, keeping a constant stream of sticky manjuice flowing from his overstimulated cock.  His sexy arms again gripped the head rests, biceps pumped as he supported his weight, a mockery of the easy relaxed position he'd adopted the day before. I joked about the stench of his sweaty pits next to me, which we'd have to fix at our next stop...

Cody was caught between a rock and a hard place.  The trip to Bodyworks was a non-stop arse grinding experience, and his dick dripped rivulets of sap down the veiny shaft the whole way.  But despite the agony, I could see the dread on his face as we approached the sleazy parlour, just outside Cleveland.  As we drove through the slums, I began explaining in detail what they'd do to him - his lightly sprinkled chest and abs would be smooth and waxy, his crotch would be reduced to a mere finger of hair, thin as cunt lips, an appetiser peeking above his waistband and making the rest of the smooth crotch more obvious. His cock and balls would be smooth too, of course, permanent hair removal for them.  Then the piercings - his tongue and left nipple he knew of, but also a nice barbell through the base of his ballsac, and through the frenulum just below the head of his dick - jewelry that'd be sure to raise questions in the showers.  I explained how they would slide a wire in under the skin of his dick, the length of the shaft between the two piercings, fixing them together.  The wire'd be a little shorter than his dick, invisibly and agonisingly tugging on his cock if he got too hard.  If he got too hard or came, the pain would be intense.  He moaned at that, already permenantly stiff from the lack of cumming.  It would also itch and tingle below the skin, and attracted static electricity, so he'd be shocking his own dick every few hours just from walking, having his dick swing etc.    Cody just let out a gutteral moan, taking in the full scope of his rapid descent from college jock to sex pig.

"Hey man, don't sweat" I said, patting him lightly on the arse, "it'll be our little secret."

Cody 2 - Road Trip
by Emile

Copyright 2007.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.
----

We got to Bodyworks, and Cody eased himself off the stick, his dick burping ropes of clear sap as it popped past his sphincter.  His recently virgin hole spasmed as he pulled off, and I dug two fingers into the slick hole, which easily took my thick digits with nothing but a grunt from the stud.  He squirmed as I fingerfucked him, helplessly trapped between the car roof and my scraping ministrations, his muscles bulging as he tried to take his weight through his arms. I felt up his love nub, pushing  him further and further to the brink of orgasm, until the swollen head of his dick was purple and his shorts were slick with goop.  Then I pulled out, jerking the shorts up to trap the throbbing cock in sticky denial.  He collapsed into the passenger seat and I fed him my fingers, the varsity jock reluctantly being forced to suck the arse slime and cum from them.  He almost gagged at the taste, so I made him lick the gearstick clean as well, while the rest of my deposit seeped through his shorts.  When he was done, I patted him on the head.  "Good work cunt, Now let's go inside for your reward"

The clinic was fairly bland outside, but the minute we entered the sterile white lobby, Cody's chiselled jaw dropped. On the walls beside the reception were photo series' showing the progress of some of their recent work.  The top photo showed a healthy good looking teen, probably 19, standing bare-arsed, his dick impressively long but thin. The next three photos showed him after a series of augmentations over maybe 6 months.  While it looked like he'd worked out, his popping chest and cut abs were noted as implants.  He'd also had collegen injections in the glans of his penis, the once thin dick now sporting a bulging mushroom head.  The series continued over the next year - the kid must've become something of a size junkie.  Bodyworks was happy to oblige his fetish, replacing his pec implants with heavier, titan udders, to go with his dysmorphic steroid pumped body.  His dick too was pumped with collegen, in two separate operations the guys dork swelled to beer can width, hanging low and veiny like a polish sausage.  In the most recent photo, just after the second dickbloating operation, he'd stopped smiling, his eyes slits of latent anger.  Seeing Cody stare, the receptionist chirped "He's one of our best customers.  He's in for a testicle enlargement now.  We've never used that much saline before, but his agent was insistent."  I asked if it cost much, just to see Cody pale. "Oh, well" the receptionist smirked "all our customers pay, eventually. He now has quite a lucrative job in the adult movie business ... although I'm not sure he planned it that way. Anywho, how can I help you folks?"

I gave her the details and the receptions sized up Cody with a smirk. "Excellent.  Now you can wait here while we work on the subject, it shouldn't take more than an hour.  Now, boy, follow me..."  I waited a few minutes, thumbing through magazines, and got bored. Fortunately Bodyworks had an open door policy, so you could freely wander around and check out the patients, humiliatingly exposed for all to see.  I went past a few rooms, until I found the boy from the photo.  He was in a reclining bench, legs up and wide apart, exposing his floppy horsecock and balls.  They'd taped his tubeflesh down just below the flared corona, and the doctor was carefully explaining to the sedated, but concious, patient what he was doing.  "Now Horace, I'm injecting the first syringe into your left testicle."  Horace grunted as the needle pierced the ballsac, giving a long low groan as the fluid began forcing its way into his nuts.  When the syringe was empty, his left ball looked large and smooth, like a goose egg.  He mumbled something like "Please stop", body breaking into a sweat, but his agent just smoothed Horace's hair off his forehead, as the doctor took another syringe.  Rather than starting on the right ball, the doctor slowly fed a second syringe load of collagen into the fearful teens left ball, stretching the tender flesh to the size of a tennis ball, the skin was taut and shiny.  Horace's groans turned to grunts, as spasms of pain racked his crotch.  "Ok now Horace, now for the right ball." The agent turned around, looking satisfied, and told me that 'Horse', his stage name, was one of his finest new talents.  Raising his voice slightly over Horace's gutteral moans, he confided in me that in just 6 months, his flicks had made the studio over a million dollars. When he'd started, needing the money to feed his steroid and surgery addictions, he'd done some straight porn, being a ladies man himself, but since he kept growing, the only audience he appealed to now was the rough trade market - all muscle dicks and S&M.  In desperation he'd auditioned for a role fucking guys, but being repulsed by gay sex and drug-addled, he'd struggled to keep his monster cock hard.  He'd tried to quit but they'd not let him, gently explaining that he couldn't afford to go on the streets now even if he wanted to.  They paid for his last two operations, and had recast him as a prisoner in Cellblock Cocks, where thanks to the drugs and a sensitive love nub, he'd taken it up the arse like a bitch in heat.  He was fucked by the prison guards, the warden, his cellmate, they'd even changed the script to include a gangbang in the prison gym.  His co-stars were all hired for their dicks, and his raw cunt didn't take less than 12 inches the entire time.  His hole was gaping by the end, a dripping mess.  Since then he was a favorite, taking everything from fists to wine bottles up his mancunt, and amazingly, he got a raging hard-on every time. 

They were just adjusting his balls, so they'd look better for the close ups, since his sack had looked a little small bouncing off the 13" dicks that routinely skewered him, under his own meaty cock. Secretly, he told me they they were planning on stuffing his arse with real horse cocks in their next enterprise  - Horse Man - and wanted the buff tank to be fully primed.  A big ballsac would make it easier to tether him for the stallion to pierce his hole, and a hefty swinging sac always looked good on the movies.  Since they couldn't film a cumshot, they'd have to make do with his grunts as the horse cum squirted out of his hole, coating his nads.  The doctor interrupted - he'd finished the four syringes, and in his opinion, the young actor (breathing heavily in the chair) could take no more.  Any more and he risked permanent crushing to his testicles.  The agent waved his hand dismissively, telling the doctor they'd already paid for six shots.  The doctor went back to his work, preparing a third huge syringe to inject in the helpless boy.  While he prepared, the agent took me over to meet the star up close.  His skin was beaded with sweat, and his pupils wildly dilated.  "Shh, Horse, that's ok."  As the third syringe plunged in, he tried to scream or something but his voice was (amusingly) hoarse.  I leant down and kissed him, plugging his screams with my tongue as he fought both me and the doctor's invasions.  The power of kissing a helpless studmuffin like him was great.  His mouth tasted cummy, and when I stopped, the agent shook his head.  "You're a brave one, I don't know many people that would kiss that sewer hole unpaid.  I'd get some mouthwash if I were you."  I nodded and left, looking for a bathroom, to the dying sound of Horace gasping as his ballsac was stretched inhumanly.

After the bathroom I found Cody, the doctor gripping his big brown nipple tightly to skewer the barbell through.  They'd already taken all his hair off, his skin taut and bare from the paste they'd applied.  I noticed they'd even smeared it on his cheeks, leaving them bare apart from a hot goatee ring they'd left around his strong lips. He was looking a little dazed from the sedatives, but not so out of it that he didn't still buck and moan every time they began a new step.  "Hey doc" I announced "can we also arrange a tattoo?  I was thinking something suggestive, like a naked guy with a priapic dick, on his inner tricep."  I knew a tattoo there was very painful, and would raise some juicy questions, without being obvious.  Cody moaned again, but the doc just finished pinning his chest with the thick rod, and looked over to nod his agreement.  As the doctor stood back I got a good look at his exposed flesh.  He was bald as an eagle.  The hair removal paste they'd used was strong - nothing much would grow back there.  His barrel chest, arms and legs were smooth and lightly tanned, his crotch, dick and balls lighter as they lost their thick fur.  As promised, a thin cuntlick of hair still ran from his belly button to the root of his cock, like a guide arrow to the goodies.  His masculine body, which had been his trading staple for years, had been converted into rent boy material, hot and sluttish.  It would be good to know that for the months he was on campus, he would always look like a call boy beneath his jock clothing.

The doc had finished up the piercings, and the silver from his new ballbag piercing shone in the light.  His cock too arched forward, obviously painfully tugged down by the heavy prince albert, and the invisible wire threaded down his shaft to the base.  He began moaning, as the sedative began to wear off, but struggled to free himself.  The doctor gave him another shot, this time just to immobilise him, shoving a piece of well chewed wood between his teeth to stop him biting.  They began work on the tatt, a 5 inch long cartoon of a buff boy stroking his mega cock, juice dripping down to his feet.  The tatt was upside down, would be hard to miss when he lifted his arm to reveal his sexy pits. While the artist inked up the supple flesh, Horace's agent wandered in, admiring my charge.  "Hey fella" he said to me "I think Horse is getting a little uppity, maybe you could bring him down a peg before you go."  I nodded, having had just the thing in mind.  When the tattoo was done, I took the timber out of Cody's mouth, noting with satisfaction that the wood was soaked with multiple men's saliva, and pitted with tooth marks.  The 8 inch block was thick enough to wedge open his mouth, and I could tell the taste of the other guys trickling down his throat had been unpleasant.  But nothing had prepared him from the gut wrenching pain as I squirted lube up his hole and shoved the wooden rod up his arse, jamming it right up his tender rosebud.  "Ok" I said "bring in your star".

As we waited, the gag slid out a little from Cody's arse, slick from my cum still clinging to his anal cavity, and I pushed is back up with a jab.  Five minutes later, the agent came back, Horace's arm slung over his shoulder as he stumbled buck naked through the corridors.  Horace's dick and balls made a hefty thwacking sound as they flopped about, the pumped boy obviously still in a mountain of pain.  "Ok" I said to Horace "now get down on your knees and put your pretty head between Cody's legs here."  Horace paled, and Cody began to buck, but we guided Horace's forward, his head planted on Cody's spread cheeks.  I could tell Cody was  gripping the gag with his arsecheeks like a champion, despite the pain he was trying to spare a similar victim a worse indignity.  We weren't having any of that, and a light kick to Horace's swinging balls got him sucking on the hole like a champion, until the sloppy sound of timber suctioning out of the hole could be heard.  We told Horace to suck up the log like a cock, and could see his face screw up as the cum and spit soaked gag passed through his lips.  The lube loosened everything, and as the timber got a few inches out, it suddenly shot forward, spraying Horace's face with cum and arseslime, causing him to choke.  He spat the timber out, and his enraged agent gave him a sickening kick to the balls, making him curl up in the foetal position, clutching his oversized nads.  He thrashed about in pain, oblivious to the juices on the floor being smeared across his rippling body.  It was priceless, especially as Cody's kept dripping goo from his arse and hard dick over Horace's face.  But all this fun had to come to an end, so as Horace slowly recovered, gulping breaths like a fish, I helped Cody out of the chair and towards the door.  He limped from the stabbing pain shooting up his gut, thighs basted, looking at me pleadingly as I dragged him towards the door.

As we got to the entrance, I gave Cody his final present for college.  I'd kept a couple of other items from his bag, the only items, bar the football shorts, that he would be allowed to own.  The first was a thin tee with his high school emblem, a little small, and so tight on his sexy body that the fabric folded around the barbell through his nipple.  While we stood there, I ripped off the arms, turning it into a hot muscle tee that would expose his hairless pits and tattoo if he lifted his arms.  The other item was running pants, long and loose, with no support for his floppy tackle.  No jocks, no shoes.  He pulled on the clothes, now looking more obscene than before, almost a parody of a jock, just barely concealing his abused body.

We drove to campus, this time he got to sit in the passenger seat, tissues stuffed up his mancunt to stop himself staining the pants.  I rolled a condom over his swollen tool, and told him to lick it clean every night before reusing it.  We pulled into campus in the evening, only a day late, but a world apart from when he'd flagged me down, a cocky jock with the world in the palm of his hands.  Now he was in the palm of mine.  Three frat boys came up to the car, hooting and cheering, apparently seniors who he'd met when he first checked the place out.  "Well our little pledge has finally arrived.  Hey welcome man!" Cody got out, trying his best to swagger without revealing the pain of his raw fucked arse.  The guys looked at me quizzically, still smiling.  "Your old man?" they asked.  Cody hesitated, and I grinned.  "Yeah" I said, "I'll drop by to check on my boy from time to time, eh boys.  Now unfortunately Cody here left his stuff back home, except these shorts. Don't worry son, I happen to know the janitor there, I'll make sure he gets your clothes shortly." Cody looked at me aghast, gazing over to where my finger was pointing.  As promised, I did know one of the janitors, a black dude called Jamal, who nodded from the distance. The guys began heading up to the house, and I gestured Cody back - "You can't leave without giving your old man a hug" I bellowed.  He turned back, and I gave him a big bear hug, whispering in his ear.  "Yeah fuckface, welcome to the family.  If I hear from Jamal you fuck up even slightly, and all your buddies will be getting those photos.  And remember - no cumming.  See you in a few weeks!"

I drove off laughing, watching the buff boy stand in the drive, shoulders slumped, in the rear vision mirror.  My how far he'd come!
Cody 3 - Farewell to Horace
by Emile

Copyright 2007.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

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I hung around nearby campus for a couple of weeks to make sure Cody settled in okay. Jamal gave me daily reports, of how the pledge had attracted lots of unwanted attention from the seniors when they caught a glimpse of his smooth tattooed flesh during the frat hazings.  The boys were cautious though, and while his shiny skin and sleazy tatt meant he had no friends, neither did he have any enemies.  None of the others had seen his cock jewelry yet, I suspected that things might change if they did.  Even so, he was at the bottom of the pecking order, and Jamal did his best to inject some humiliation into the role the boys would not.  When they made him collect all the clothes for washing, Jamal followed him into the empty laundry and told him to suck the jocks clean before washing them.  This he did barearsed, since it was also his once weekly chance to wash his own single change of clothes.

That's when Jamal noticed something about the sexy jock I'd missed - his short frenulum. Of course the muscle stud's tight foreskin was hard to miss, covering half of the glans when he was soft, retracting only to the edge of the corona when hard, but I'd not given much through to the tight ridge of skin holding it there.  Jamal, whose own hooting foreskin still slid up the shaft when he was hard, noticed immediately. It was enticing - on the one hand, a quick snip could free his foreskin, and with Cody's unusually short bowstring, not only would it free the head during sex, but his soft hood would slide down over the head, which would be sure to make it an ugly stinking fold in no time.  I'd heard of boys tucking quarters into their hood to measure it, and relished the chance to make him carry ten dollars in change in stretching flesh.  On the other hand, the condition made erections even more uncomfortable, obviously something he'd lived with for a while, although now he was constantly hard and horny, and we'd tethered his prince albert back with wire, his curved erections strained against the dickflesh.  Jamal reported the stretched skin looked angry and inflamed, the head straining against the tethered hood. In the end, I opted for making the most of both options.

On the first morning of the second week, Jamal let himself into Cody's room pulling the sheet down from his naked torso, over his jutting piss-hard on and down his silky legs.  In one swift movement, he clamped one hand over the jock's sexy pouty mouth, and with the other, clipped a mini-bulldog clip to his stretched shaft, right on the frenulum.  The little clip, barely half an inch long, fiercely clamped down on the fold of flesh, pulling it away from the shaft maybe a quarter inch.  It was enough to send Cody howling, his muffled screams rousing him from deep sleep as his clipped dick bucked in the air.  With the clip on, the foreskin was tight to his glans, so tight it could barely move.  The pain must've been unbearable.  In a few seconds, he stopped screaming, seeing Jamal towering over him, and Jamal cautioned him to stay quiet if he didn't want worse.  He released his mouth.  The only sounds that came from the tortured jock were deep breaths and a slight whimper, as he tried to keep the pain under control.  ""Okay dickboy" he rasped, his own face only inches from the panting jock, "that clip stays on until we say so. Don't even touch it, not even if the skin goes purple, which it will..."  Between breaths, Cody begged "But it's killing me, it's like it's ripping my skin!  How do you know it won't do permenantly damage?"  Jamal laughed.  "Well actually we're hoping it will.  Don't worry, bull calves like you can take it.  Remember, don't touch!"  With that Jamal gave the jock's throbbing stalk a squeeze, and crept out of the room.

It must've been agony struggling into his tight laced shorts, pierced and trussed dick now savagely clipped at the base, but he did it somehow, and by the time I dropped in on campus on a fatherly visit, he was fully dressed, although sweating into the thin cotton tee and still breathing like a crash victim.  The other guys kept their distance, and I caught sneers in their glances.  When I arrived on campus I told him I'd take him out for lunch, and he reluctantly followed me to the car.  He said he'd miss classes, clearly still clinging to the idea he'd have some sort of normal life ahead of him.  But I didn't want to enlighten him just yet, that I had other goals for his college days.

Once we took off I made him strip naked again and prop his feet on the dashboard, so his smooth legs were wide and his dick in full view through the windscreen.  We'd only driven a little way and Cody tried to cover up when he recognised guys from campus on the sidewalk.  I slapped him for trying, passing him a bottle of baby oil and telling him to begin smearing it on, starting with his crotch.  I slowed to a crawl, so the guys could get a good gawk at the handsome stud , glistening dick in hand, lathering up his naked flesh in the sun.  Of course it made him achingly hard as well, the head of his dick now pulled sharply downwards towards his bulging balls.  But for all the pain and embarrassment, his fear kept him in check, and kept lathering on the sticky oil until his whole body shone from his wide shoulderblades to his cut calves.  After passing dozens of stunned students and townies, we finally arrived at a grimy motel on the outskirts of town.

Our trip wasn't lunch of course, but to visit Horace, who was about to travel back to the movie stables after a week's convalescence.  His swollen nads, after the swinging and kicking treatment they'd got, had immobilised him, and for four days he was a mask of screaming pain needing sedation.  But now he was somewhat recovered, and his agent and I thought it would be nice to get the pair back together before he left.  In truth I was becoming quite fond of 'Horse', being my chief entertainment for Cody's first week of college. When I wasn't booking new modelling gigs for Cody, I was at his bedside, making him feel uncomfortable.  It didn't take much - a lingering tonguefuck, slowly jerking his fat salami until it throbbed with unreleased fucklust, or forced crunches in bed until rivulets of sweat dripped from his pecs, while I idly fingered his hot hole.  That one had the bonus of his balls resting on the palm of my hand, so the slightest movement made him wince with pain.

But my immediate concern was to get some nice pictures of Cody for his new modelling portfolio.  Something with a bit more action.  When we got to the motel, I had my first good look at his tethered dick.  The head was tugged sharply down, the skin almost translucent below as it stretched between the shaft and head.  Cody's foreskin was paper thin, one that stretched easily, and if it weren't for the thick ridge of the frenulum, it too would have easily ripped apart.  When I checked on the condition, before devising this cruel solution, I found out about some guys, whose thin skin was irreparably severed when the ridge snapped.  I gleefully noted for Cody it would be the same. It was time for the final preparations - I unclipped his cock, releasing a savage wave of pain as the blood throbbed in the sensitive skin.  He cramped, tears squeezed from his eyes, but I put an arm across his meaty chest, holding him back so I could get a good look at his dork.  The skin was bruised hideously purple below the head, and if we left it now, the damaged skin would still take weeks to heal.  From the back, I grabbed a ball stretcher, a bulky steel cuff 2 inches thick.  I flourished it in front of him, making his eyes wide, before grabbing his ballsac, stretching the smooth skin hard and clamping on the cuff.  Of course the thick weight is challenging to bear at the best of times, but with his nads stretched down, this put additional strain on his stalk, already reeling from the clip.  With that, I marched him inside.

Waiting for us was Horace, in position on the floor, crouching with his arse up facing the door, arms and legs apart like a colt waiting to be harnessed.  He too was sweating, more from the fear of discovery as I'd left him there with the door unlocked, and strict instructions not to turn around. He tried to turn his head, and I waited, door wide open, silent, until he murmered, almost a beg "Uh, who is it?"  My response, once we hustled through the door, was to slowly trace from the base of his spine down between his perfect arsecheeks.  He quivered from the touch, head hanging with a mixture of relief and anticipation.  To Cody I handed a regular condom - a little small for him - and told him to pull it on.  And while he struggled with the latex, I kept warming up Horace's hungry tail, slipping in a thick ribbed dildo, grinding it against his love nub.  Although the movie star was a regular at 13 inch dicks, he was still pretty tight - I guess the fuckers were chosen for long tools, rather than thick.  That'd have to change.  At least I knew squeezing Cody's thick 9 incher into his hole would still be a struggle.   And that's exactly what he'd have to do.  No lube of course.

As soon as the condom was on and my camera primed, I had him grab Horace's haunches and begin fucking his arse like a bronco.  Well despite everything, the piercings, the cockring, the clip and the condom, he began a savagely hard buttfuck, mashing Horaces hole and making him grunt like a pig.  I don't know if it was the endorphin rush, or the ache of unreleased cum, but I couldn't have asked for a better scene, Cody going crazy plowing Horse's hole.  But while I got dozens of prime photos, the real object was not a cum shot at all.  And then, after a few minutes of furious pumping, it happened, with a sickening scream, Cody ripped his cock out of the hole, clutching his rigid stalk.  I slapped his hands away and pushed him onto the desk, Horace ignored.  I peeled back the arse slime covered condom to reveal his throbbing dick. Sure enough, the skin had ripped, a near bloodless tear, like a paper cut, but mindlessly painful, as Cody's clenching fists on the table edge attested to.   His breath was ragged, like a winded athlete, and he hissed as I fingered the dickflap.  The edges were beginning to colour like a welt, so I picked up my cigarette, puffed a little until it glowed hot, and stabbed it out on the ends, making Cody buck with pain.  Cauterized.  The foreskin had slipped right back down the shaft, helped by the ball stretcher I think, and the skin was tight from the head to the base.  The jock was blubbering mindlessly, scratching at the desk with pain, and I had to smack him around until he stopped.  I left them there for a while, in the dank, grungy room, while I had another smoke outside.  When I returned, Cody had unclenched his fists, but was still perched on the table, in pain.  He was holding his shaft, obviously inspecting the rip, and he dropped it so fast when I entered that his eyes watered.  Horace must've been exhausted from spending so long on his knees, and had crumpled to the floor, where he stared up at Cody, perhaps empathising with the stud's helpless pain.  Then again, it could have been lust, or even malice, it was hard to read his warping mind.

If he thought that was it, though, he was sadly wrong.  The fuck fest isn't over till the fat cock swings, or something like that, and with a firm hand on his shoulder, I guided him back to centre of the room.  It was simple, I told them, one of them would have to cum in the other's arse.  It was their choice, so long as they did it now, on camera.  It was the ultimate mind fuck, getting two straight muscleheads argue over who would fuck the other. Cody was clearly the loser - if he fucked, his ripped dick could be damaged further, maybe ruined.  If he was fucked, he'd have to take Horace's impossibly large dong up his manpussy, probably ripping it apart as well.  For Horace the choice was easy.  Endure another humiliating bruising fuck from the young bronco, who'd only just been savagely brutalising him a few minutes before, or get to unload gallons of churning cum for the first time in months.   Cody pleaded to top Horace, maybe fearing two injuries more than one, or just delaying, and I put it to a wrestling match.  The two were brutal - no holds barred naked struggling - and it was no contest.  Horse was bigger and stronger, and the match finished with the first hard tug to Cody's balls.  Before they could catch their breaths, Horace was on top of him, pushing his legs up like a two bit whore, and lining up his thick cigar against Cody's sphincter.  With a yelp he was in, and his revenge fuck was no less harsh than he'd received, his cock clamped with every backstroke by Cody's glove-tight arsesleeve.  When he came, it was awesome to behold, even through the lens - with a roar he plunged in balls deep, the artificially swollen sac crushed between his pelvis and Cody's arse.  He unloaded so much cum it squirted out the sides, drenching both of them with hot ripe cream.  As he withdrew, they were both a sight to behold.  Cody, fucked, his arsepucker winking as it vainly tried to close, dickspew coursing down his thighs. Horace, collapsed on the floor, clutching his inflamed balls.  Both of them covered in sweat, cum and arseslime.  But best of all was Cody's prize cock - flaccid from the pain and humiliation of the arsefucking - the hood, for the first time ever, curling over the glans, trapping the precum and arseslime that had smeared over the head. His glared down horrified at his once handsome cock, the skin now wrinkling over the piss slit.  "Now Cody, boys with drooping skin like that have real problems keeping clean. Especially you, since you're not allowed to touch your cock, not even to peel back the skin in the shower.  Jamal will be checking to make sure.  So I'd better take you back to campus, before you miss your afternoon session."  He looked up, fearfully.  "No, please, I'm covered in filth!  The guys are already giving me wierd looks, what if they smell cum on me?"  I smiled, coaxing the naked jock out the door.  "Cum and arse slime cumdump. Who know what they'll do..."

As we left, I called back.  "Oh, Horace, you can shower.  You don't want to stink up your agent's car, riding stick shift all the way home.  Sorry, private joke, something I suggested he try on you.  Enjoy your trip."

Cody 4 - Moneybags
by Emile

Copyright 2007.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

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Cody was a fucked out wreck coming back from the motel, slouched in the seat, legs akimbo, cock flopped to one side, cum leaking out of his inflamed hole.  It was hard to believe that the fuckbag musclestud with dull eyes next to me had only two weeks earlier been a cocky jock without a care in the world.  Same taut muscles that would stretch an A&F tee and fill out jeans like a poster boy.  Same sexy lips and chiselled jaw.  Same musky aroma (although increasingly masked by the heady scent of dickcheese, arseslime and stale sweat) but unlike before, barely the glimmer of a fight.

Now I'm not one just for turning jocks into free fuckholes for guys to offload into, (although that's all good and well), and I felt I'd broken him too easily, like a christmas toy wrecked before new years.  What I think he needed was a bit of time alone, with just the threat of exposure dangling above him, everpresent yet remote, to build up his sexy fear and resistance.  Enough guys on campus had seen him that with all the goings on in the frathouse, I barely needed to intervene.  So as we pulled in close to campus, I handed him a webcam, and told him I was going away for a while, and that all he needed to to was report in nightly to a site I'd set up for him, to check his progress.  The site was a blog, already uploaded with pictures of the sleeping stud from that first night, to which the fuckfest photos would be added.  He had two video entries to give a night - one "Cock Shots", with status updates on his hooting dicksleeve (narrated, of course), the other "Fear and Loathing" of his treatment by others.  For that entry, he had to sit naked at his desk, ankles astride the monitor, and jerk his knob until he finished - a minimum 15 minute monologue.  Before or after the Cock Shots update, can't be too demanding.  Posting naked personal accounts on the big wide web should keep him nervous, and it was a good way of gauging when to come back (if his uncut dong didn't develop complications sooner). As well as face shots, full frontals, dick pics and soon the arse fuck session, the site contained his full name, college and frathouse, and a guestbook for visitors.  All public, of course.  I wondered how long it would be before someone stumbled across the blog when googling their campus, or frat.

I should mention that Cody came up excellent on camera - really photogenic, his thighs almost pop out of the screen as he hugs the monitor with his calves, dork arching up towards the camera, bloated and throbbing with need.  After he returned, his unsatisfied dick plumped up to its previous, and now near permanent, half hard state, making wearing clothes itchy and uncomfortable, as his fat sausage rubbed constantly against his leg (his words).  The juicy foreskin was pulled back a little from the dull erection, and the rim now hugs his glans just a little behind his wide piss slit, like a split peach.  That makes the dribble of precum that almost constantly leaks from the stalk problematic, some encrusting around the edge, but the bulk still slaking off the head, staining shorts, keyboards and bedsheets alike.  Apparently he's taken to pushing his stalk near vertical down one leg, so the tip is grazed by the hem, so when his cock drools, the rivulet of sap snakes down his leg and doesn't stain the pouch. Not sure how he gets rid of it (he glossed over that in the blog), I might have to give instructions on how often he can lick it up or leave it drooling. As it is, he says he sits alone in most of his classes, his classmates giving him a 2 desk berth on all sides, and he's not sure if its the smell of dickdrool wafting up from his crotch, or sweat soaked into the translucent tee, or just the sight of him slouching there, fat skin cigar poking out one leg of his tight shorts, beefy thighs and guns stretching the clothes to ripping point. Personally I think it's all three, and the vacant stare on his face that makes him look like a fuck flick fluffer.  And thanks to Horace, I've now met a few.

See, to keep myself occupied while Cody struggled through college, I gave Horace's agent a call.  They were back at the studio's ranch, already filming his debut with a stallion, when I rang. I told him I'd enjoyed working over the young stud, and would be happy to take a more permanent position. The agent thought for a moment. He said he'd really liked what I'd done, and they had quite a bit of trouble with Horace's oral work.  He took pretty much anything up the arse now, but still had these sentimental qualms about oral sex, even kissing, he felt it was 'personal'. He'd really been freaked out when I'd tongued his tonsils in the surgery.  The problem was, after all their cuts, there was only 16% of his income left, which went to him, money he needed for drugs and to send back to his poor family back west.  "Not a problem" I said "I'll make him a willing puppy, you can pay me his 16%, which'll give him a great incentive to co-operate." The agent chuckled, and agreed.

The next day I drove to the ranch, arriving in the late afternoon.  The sun was dropping, and they called the final cut for the day.  I came in to see two wranglers holding a chestnut stallion, as another pair of guys dragged Horace off its rigid stalk.  He'd been on all fours for hours, arse in the air, and yet still managed a gut wrenching howl as they pulled him off the enormous horse prick.  I went over and joined the agent. "Ah just in time" he said.  "Horse, you remember this gentleman?  He'll be helping you get rid of your squeamishness."  Horace looked up at me, his eyes wide in fear and recognition.  He was so exhausted he could barely talk, and kneeled there, battered in horse cum, mouthing a silent protest.  The agent continued "and since the poor man has to make a living, you'll be paying him from your cut - all of your cut - until you improve, alright?"  He let out a quiet plea, something about his mama and two brothers, but with cum bubbling out of his lips, it was hard to take him seriously.  His agent just clapped a hand on my back and let me away from the pleading star, loudly welcoming me aboard.

He took me to one side to sign the paperwork while one of the strapping lads that had unempaled Horace slung his beefy arm over one shoulder and guided Horace limpingly back to his trailer, still filthy and completely exposed, his protest turned to hoarse pleas.  Horace seemed to be trying to cup his fat bouncing balls with one hand, and cover his thick tool with the other, but he was hustled along at a pace that left nothing to the imagination, particularly as he let go to wipe some cum drool from his cheek.  Glancing up at my gaze, the agent told me "One of the boys always has to help him home".  At his trailer was a security guard, a beefy guy I first thought was there to protect him, or something, but as they arrived at the beat up mobile I realised it was otherwise.  The guard gestured for him to put his hands on the trailer, kicking his legs wide in a search position.  He stood there, chatting to the rancher for a while, so Horace was fully exposed, his beefy arms and legs spread, wide shoulders and rippling back, arse up and tackle hanging low and heavy.  His bubble butt was spread by the stance, and his thick thighs quivered keeping the stance after just having been fucked hard by stallion dick.  Even from here I could see his exertion keeping his rosebud tight in that position - all the more embarrassing then when the abused hole winked, burping sloppy horse cum, the goop coursing down his inner thigh. A few guys took pictures with their cellphones, or just stared, laughing, until the guard finally felt ready, and began a slow, and somewhat pointless (since he was naked) pat down, caressing his body down to his arse.  Every time he touched a sensitive part, Horace flinched, but he bucked violently when the search turned into a cavity search, the guy fingering his well fucked arse, scooping out horse cum and holding it to Horaces nose, like evidence.  Whatever the search was, drugs or weapons, he eventually passed, and he and the rancher climbed into the trailer and out of view.

I signed the papers and the agent gave me a tour of the ranch, explaining how things work.  There were four tiers - the top tier was the directors, producers, cameramen, agents and consultants, like myself.  They all tended to be hard gay men, willing to do anything to produce and market a successful fuck flick.  Part of their strategy for fresh blood was to recruit young bloods, 18 to 20, from their 'catchment teams' in latin america and eastern europe.  They found these young hot studs, with lean bodies and handsome faces, and offered to take them out of poverty and to the west, in return for a few years indentured service at the studios.  The studios paid well, and many a young 20 to 22 year old had walked out their gates and in to their dream lives of fast cars and consumerism.  The pool of 'skilled migrants' was divided into two tiers - the second tier was the straight boys, including those who couldn't dick or be dicked for cash.  They had the menial jobs, and it must've seemed to them that they were on the lowest rung - particularly as we on the upper eschalon took pleasure giving them the most uncomfortable jobs - oiling up the stars, mopping up the studio floors, cavity searching for drugs and alcohol (both strictly controlled on site).  But they were the second tier, and they basically controlled the tiers below them.  We didn't care how rough or careless they were when they scraped down a sloppy superstud, so long as he looked hot on camera.  The rule was that anything went, so long as it left no visible scars.  The third tier, who bore the brunt of their anger, were their gay and pay-for-gay comrades, who formed the background cast of fuckboys and eye candy for the movies.  These mega dicked studs were underpaid and few made it the full two years becoming a fucked out wreck, either physically or from the constant abuse of the first and second tiers.

But the lowest rung, the trash whores to all others, were the stars themselves.  Drawn from the west, they were boys in money trouble, from drugs and gambling mostly, but sometimes the rarer addiction like Horace's, which wound them into trouble.  An obliging network of friends would refer them, as an alternative to being dumped at the bottom of a harbour -  and they too could work off their troubles for the studio.  On camera they were the focus of attention. Off camera they were the focus of abuse.  They were fucked and fucked up by everyone, from the janitor to the supporting cast, their trailers the revolving doors of the lot.  I smiled, on top of the world, relishing how my luck had turned.  We ending back near the trailers. He offered me my own, but I declined, telling him I'd share with Horace, so I could do some private work.  He warned me against it, since his trailer was the "big party place" but I was adamant.

I wandered over to the star trailer. As I got close, I could hear grunting, and the trailer rocked slightly.  I went up, prising the door open, to find Horace sprawled on the plastic table, arms limp, legs slung over the set-hand's shoulders, as the young tyke brutally fucked his arse.   Horace saw me, and tried futiley to prop himself on his arms, his titan tits heaving with fear.  From the waist up he could have been a wrestling champion, veins popping from his sculpted arms, chest slabs the size of hubcaps, but from the waist down it was all porn star - his shaved tackle throbbing, unreleased dick drooling, as he was skewered on the ranch man's pole.  I told the guy to stop, and for the first time, he noticed my presence, jerking back with such force he almost fell out the door.  His surprise soon turned to anger, at having spoiled the fuck.  I looked down.  His hefty cock (weren't the all?) was covered with a condom, slick with horse cum, and the tip was rapidly filling with oozing precum, since the guy had been close.  I guess he figured the sheath was enough to protect his own dignity, although he was none to clean himself.  "Take that off" I barked, "you can unload on his tongue."

Horace's eyes snapped open, and he begged me to let him go, but I marched right up to the splayed musclestud, grabbing his tackle like a vice.  It was a move I'd practiced on him before - my middle fingers thrusting in his hole as my hand closed around his nuts, so as I closed my fist he'd get shooting pain in both his cunt and nads at the same time.  I took a firm grip and thrust forward, sending him skitting across the table until his shoulders reached the edge and his head hung over.  "Okay stud, ready to offload?" The brute stayed iron hard watching me manhandle Horace, and effortlessly flipped off the condom, walked around, and pistoned his tool into Horace's perfectly positioned throat.  Horace choked and gagged, even after the guy slapped him, but no matter how bad the blowjob, he was so close to the edge that after a few seconds he came with a roar, filling Horace's gullet with scum.  I'd released my grip on Horace and had wrapped my sticky fingers around his throbbing dick, wanking him off in time.  By the time the dude pumped his last slug down Horace's throat, his own cock was hard and drooling prefuck onto his cut abs.  "Now get the fuck out" I barked, and the guy couldn't have pulled his pants up fast enough.  In moments the door banged closed, and we were alone.  As I kept jerking, I asked him softly - "Horse, can you taste the cum".  Quietly, a defiant yes, his voice still rich with bubbles of cum.  Horace's dick was enormous, and bloated with fucklust, not having cum since his session with Cody.  "Good boy" I purred, still jerking his fat tool. "You'll get used to that taste.  Now why don't you run your hands over your sexy body, tweak your nipples, massage your bald crotch, like for the cameras.  Yeah make yourself really hot.  Now lick off the dudes cum from your lips,  really savour it.  No, don't gag, keep petting yourself - look you're aching hard now, your cock is almost popping out of my hand.  Okay, now I'm just going to slip an elastic band over your dork like this - no moaning - and another one just below the head like this - excellent - see how your fat tool stays rigid and engorged.  Now if you do just as I say, in an hour or so I'll let you take them off.  If I don't, well, those bands can sure cut into ya!  Okay Horse, now scoot up on all fours, so I can give you a nice sloppy kiss - although you'll have to swallow all that protein first.  Yeah, get on all fours on the table, like a good little piggie.  When we're done, you can lick that condom shiny clean, inside and out.  No buts.  And then we'll see how you can make space for your newest roommate.

Cody 5 - Star Shots
by Emile

Copyright 2007.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.
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Two weeks after I moved in to Horaces cabin, I took a break to drive back to Cody's campus.  I'd booked his first modelling shoot on my agency.  Before I left I had to take care of some things.  First, I grabbed a poster from Horace's latest movie.  It featured a close up of the hunky stud, from armpits to mid-thigh, every tanned muscle in high definition.  He was porn star perfection, flawless honey skin wrapped taut over his oversized rippling torso, the now smooth skin contrasting with his dark aureoles, hanging from the square base of his pecs, like little caps, just a little stretched from our ministrations.  He filled the whole poster with his brawny body, except the glistening brown shaft visible between his legs, sliding slickly up his bubble butt.  His arselips were just visible gripped around the thick horsecock - actually a plastic prop since the real horse could hardly keep still long enough - but the same cuntsplitting thickness and length of the real thing, and lathered with real horsecum for authenticity.  Across the centre of the poster, held in Horace's strong hands (just the hint of bicep flexing either side of each pec), was the word "HORSEHUNG" stencilled out of sheet metal.  But my favourite part was Horace's silicon swollen nads, resting full and tight on one thigh, a tight rubber band clearly visible high on the hairless sac, cutting into the skin, while his half hard choad flopped down from his smooth crotch over them, just a drop of precum dangling from the dicklips, above the poster edge.  We'd milked him to the brink of orgasm before taking it, and then smacked his plump balls hard until the engorged log bobbed down, giving it that sexy needy arch towards the camera.  His bloated tackle was like a magnet, drawing your eyes to it, a sure winner when it hung above him at all the public (and private) signing sessions we'd booked for him in the nation's adult stores.  But this poster was destined for a different poll position, right over Cody's frathouse bed.  I even had it autographed - "Great Fuck!    Horse" across the other thigh, while I pumped his raw arse full of my spunk.

I even took time out to say goodbye to Horace - in public - a nice long tonguefuck as I roamed his hunky naked body with my hands, making sure his cock was hard and drippy, throbbing helplessly against my palm, before leaving him cold and horny.  It was just before shooting started, so all the guys stood there, ogling and cheering.  If Horace had been relieved when I first told him I was taking a break, by now he dreaded it. Not only had I instructed Pedro and Luis to keep up the nightly suck-and-fuck lessons, but I'd forbidden Horace from cumming until he sucked off 10 cocks in one day - something he was a long way off.  His fat dong and swollen balls jutted out from his tight, smooth waist like a lever every day on the set, and his 'condition' made the musclehunk the butt of laughs and jeers from all the crew.  Still he'd begged me not to make his cocksucking public, as he knew once he was branded a cocksucker, his porn career would only sink to new lows.

So I left Horace with instructions on how to get dicked while I was away, in thick marker pen up his forearms, the list coiling around his wrist until his brawny arms were covered in explicit commands.  He was pretty cut up about it, crying and begging me to stop, since he spent his life in singlets or shirtless.  As I gave him my farewell tonguefuck, all the crew could see the start his perverted list, curling from under the sleeves.  When he stripped, it would get worse - it was hard keeping the lines in proportion on his beefy biceps and shoulders, and some words, like "clean knob"  bulged out at the viewer in massive letters.  For the backchat, he got another message, down his throbbing shaft, as the crew would soon discover, "keep me aching / stop me cumming" - one line down each side.

The snaking black letters were permanent marker, and although one of the commands was not to wash it off, I relished the moment he secretly tried, and discovered the lettering would not fade for weeks.  Against his bare shaved skin and taut rippling muscles, the effect was electric, he looked like a hard core prison slut under his master's thumb.  Perfect for "Cellblock Cocks II - The Impaled".  If all went well, perhaps we tattoo it on.  I set up a webcam in the trailer to monitor him, gave the squirming buck a final french kiss while squeezing his perpetually collagen swollen tackle, and left for town.

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