Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 09:00:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop Chapter 11: Broken

As a former science nerd, I had never "gotten" motorcycles. I had always
thought of them as loud to the point of obnoxious, and impractical at
best. Now, riding around on one them, I understood the attraction. There
was an unparalleled sense of speed, exhilaration, and freedom I was
experiencing as I shot through the streets, ducking and weaving around cars
and through turns. Nick held on tight and I liked his hands on me, his hips
thrust up against my ass and the feel of his legs near mine. Beyond that,
it was basically like riding one gigantic vibrator, as the pulse of the
engine transmitted directly through the hard cup into my nuts and prostate.

I swear the hard cup was undulating, massaging my nuts, actively cupping my
cock. It felt like the back of the cub, there it connected to the leg
straps was somehow elongating backward toward my hole, like a questing
finger. After my last set of changes, I was very "aware" of my prostate and
its need to be touched. The motorcycle was touching it all right, but not
in a satisfying way. It was just teasing it, making me squirm in the seat.

Nick and I got some food. I was distracted the entire time, wanting to get
back on the motorcycle and feel the vibrations. I wondered if I could cum
that way. The hard cup wouldn't quite let me get completely hard. It let me
chub up nicely before it started to get painfully restrictive and it let me
leak out juice. I was surprised, however, that none of the juice ran down
my leg. Instead, it seemed to be absorbed into it, almost like the cup was
drinking my juice.

I had the suspicious that this cup wasn't an object at all. They had turned
Nick into a sex doll; I wondered idly if this garment that was wrapped
around my cock wasn't some other guy enduring some other punishment. As it
was, the way the cup was massaging me, I could barely keep my hands off
myself. Yet, whenever my hand strayed there, the cup hardened totally and
stopped moving.

Anyway, we finished out lunch and got back on the bike. I enjoyed another
round of teasing and we headed over to the shop. Down in the basement, when
we moved through curtain to the "backroom" there was a guy there. It was
that same hairy, young guy I had dissed the other day. He was arguing with
the proprietor, his hands on the counter and his face leaning over it. The
bouncer guy, a latino muscle stud this time, was hovering near him with a
concerned look.

". .  .how can I stop this!!" he screamed.

I noticed that whatever was happening to him had progressed. He his "beard"
had spread to nearly every inch of his face, leaving only his eyes and lips
uncovered. It wasn't yet as dense as fur might be, but I noticed it was
also on the back of his hands and down his neck. I suspected his whole body
was covered.

As soon as I entered, he noticed, seemed to follow his nose. The underside
of his nostrils were black and wet, and I realized, it was just like a
dogs. I knew my scent was intoxicating and he looked me up and down again,
just like he had the other day, only today he had less concealed lust.

His lust turned to annoyance rather quickly, despite the growing bulge in
his jeans, "Excuse me!" he yelled, "I'm trying to have a private
conversation!"

I almost walked over and decked him and I actually took a step to do
that. The bouncer moved to intercept me and the proprietor just looked
amused at the exchange. I caught myself. "Alright," I said, "touché" and I
headed out into the more conventional leather shop. After all, I had done
the same thing to him.

We waited. They talked. He threatened and bitched, then stormed out of the
curtained area with a determined look on his semi-canine face. I smirked
and headed into the alcove.

Without ceremony, I placed the flask containing my former "lady" on the
counter. The proprietor picked it up and looked at the little 3-inch tall
straight man that had been my girlfriend. The guy in the flask just glared
at the examination.

"You gave her the liquid?"

"Yes," I told him, "turned her into this guy."

"Excellent." He turned around and pulled out a large box from behind the
counter. Inside were several more such flasks, each with a tiny guy in
them. They all perked up when the lid was opened, straining to see outside,
but calmed down once the new flask was placed in their midst.

"Fuck me," Nick breathed, staring at the tiny, naked men.

"That can be arranged," the proprietor said, closing the lid and replacing
the box. He then pulled out a strange metal probe thing with a wicked claw
on the end of it and motioned to Nick to come over.

Nick was apprehensive to say to the least. With everything that had
happened to him and what he'd just seen, I couldn't blame him. "He'll
remove the post," I said, pulling up Nick's t-shirt to show his navel,
filled with a small rubber stopper."

Nick came over and stood near the proprietor, who bent down and started to
work the probe into Nick's navel, the claw prongs moving around the sides
of the post. From Nick's expressions, it looked uncomfortable, but, with a
small metallic "pop" and a sharp gasp, the entire post came out, leaving
Nick's navel human and normal.

"Nothing to it," the proprietor said, "service provided, we're even."

"Yes," I said, "let's go."

We headed out before anything else could happen in the shop, before some
squid boy came in waving tentacles and sloshing out his complaint. Frankly,
the less I saw of this place, the better. Back at the motorcycle, I told
Nick, "I have to get to Sarge. You'll have to take the bus home."

"Oh," he said, a little deflated, "okay."

I roared off from him and headed toward the address that Sarge had sent
with the clothing. The address was to a huge town-home, maybe twice the
width as the others that were around it and about four stories tall. It was
a little imposing, with its red-brick façade, it's up-town demeanor;
definitely as imposing as Sarge himself, as somehow, not at all what I
expected. I parked the bike on the street, secured the helmet, and headed
up the stairs. It was a couple of minutes before 1:00pm.

The door opened as I approached. The guy who opened the door was a little
odd. He was wearing a pair of patchy, faded jeans with the knees rubbed out
of them, and black tennis shoes. His bare knees and bare chest were clean
and fresh, new skin, the skin of an middle adolescent, yet pulled around a
frame that was healthy and athletic. His head and face, however, was that
of a 40-year old man, with close-cropped graying hair, a controlled, formal
demeanor, and steel gray eyes that regarded me, coolly.

"Greetings, Mr. Hollins," He said respectfully with a clipped British
accent, "Sir is expecting you. Please follow me."

He gestured for me to enter and I did. The closed the door and then began
walking through the town home, leading me somewhere; I followed. The town
home was also not quite what I expected. It was furnished with excellent,
affluent taste, yet held an air of powerful masculinity, instead of the
fru-fru places I like it had expected. There was no woman's touch here, and
that suited it entirely.

Passing the living room, I saw something a little odd. There was a guy
crouched on the floor in front of the easy chair, completely naked,
completely hairless, his body crouched as compactly as possible, right
before the large easy chair. He seemed to be composed of some kind of
smooth wood, polished bright. I realized that this guy . . . in this
position . . . right in front of the easy chair . . . he'd been turned into
an ottoman. I smirked at this. More punishment for someone. While this
amused me somewhat, I also realized darkly that this was another example of
how I needed not to fuck up.

The butler guy led me to a door, opened it and gestured down a flight of
stairs into the darkness below. "This is the temple," he explained, "There
is an antechamber at the foot of the stairs. Sir's orders are for you to
enter, remove your clothing, and then enter."

"Alright," I said. I went down the stairs, my big boot clomping on the
wooden, claustrophobic stairs. At the bottom was a leather curtain dividing
a small foyer from whatever lay beyond. There was a small wooden bench
built into the side. I sat down and worked off my boots, then proceeded to
strip, leaving my clothes in a pile on the bench. I was wearing only the
black-plastic codpiece that, the more naked I became, the more frantically
it massaged my cock and nuts. Shit . . . I was straining at it to get an
erection and that was fucking uncomfortable.

I pushed aside the curtain and entered what could only be called a
dungeon. There were huge wooden posts with o-rings in the side, a leather
covered table with o-rings placed all around it, and even a metal
cage. Everything in the room seemed designed so that men could be secured
to them without much effort.

In the center, was a natural centerpiece. It was some sort of stocks. In a
thick metal frame, boards were stocked and secured into a short wall. In
the wood were bored holes suitable for one's head and hands to be placed,
the sort of thing you'd expect to see a 1600's witch trial. On this side
were padded cups and manacles; as I imagine seeing a human body in this
contraption, I realized those cups were for one's knees and the manacles
for the ankles.

"Atten-shun!" Sarge snapped. He came out of the shadows in the back of the
room and barked the order. My body responded without my direct permission,
standing up strait, pushing my chest out, flexing my gut, and squaring my
shoulders. The codpiece contracted just a bit around my cock and balls,
nothing painful, more just as flexed solid as the rest of me.

Sarge walked over. He was wearing only his camo pants and military boots,
so his thick, solid body was displayed. His shared head gleamed in the
overhead lights and he swaggered over. Just the sight of him made my heart
soar unexpectedly. He was glorious and I craved his attention on a level
that was unaccustomed to feeling. Even as I stayed stock still, the emotion
welled up inside me silently, making my shiver a bit and my prostate
clench. I wanted to be fucked. The image entered my head, but I had no way
to imagine what the experience might feel like.

He stood before me. I could feel the heat of him radiating. I wanted
desperately to touch him, but none of my muscles would move. I stared
straight ahead into his eyes. I wanted desperately for him to touch me and
he knew it. He was taking his time, prolonging the process, teasing me.

Sarge looked up and down my body, appraising me. From my sprawling tribal
tats on my shoulder and arm, to my recently enlarged huge cock trapped in
the black codpiece, his eyes traveled up and down across me. I could almost
feel it on my skin.

"You have become one of my prized bulls," he said, "How's that feel?"

Suddenly, I could move my mouth and tongue. "It's hard to say, Sir," I
responded, "It's unfamiliar."

"Yet, it's not unpleasant?"

"On its face, no Sir, it's not," I said, "But, there have been casualties
that I didn't like."

"The monkey?" he said astutely. He waited a moment before responding, "I've
taken charge of the animal," he said, "It will be looked after until it
returns to boy-shape. I might even give him to you when its done. I've
reviewed the footage. He was very attracted to your scent."

"Thank you, Sir," I responded automatically, "But also my `lady.'"

"Your took care of that yourself," he said, "You regret punishing her
betrayal?"

I thought a moment. I would have looked away, if I had had command of my
own body. "I regret it was necessary, Sir. We had years together."

"That's understandable," Sarge said, "But you have adopted Nick, I
see. You've had years with him as well."

"Yes, Sir," I said, as my heart swelled at the thought of Nick. It was
clear that he was swiftly eclipsing my love for my "lady," replacing her in
my heart entirely.

"So then," Sarge said, "you serve me now. You'll do whatever I say, however
I say it. Isn't that right?"

"I . . . I don't know, Sir," I said. My mind was full of confusion. I
wanted to do what he was saying, to obey him utterly, but there was a part
of me that felt it was anathema to give up self-control so completely. What
about my life? What about my job? How would I pay my bills and survive?
Even if Sarge provided such a thing, how long would I last before he tired
of me and I became a piece of furniture in his living room? I didn't trust
that or him.

He slapped my face, not too hard, not too soft. I could only stand there
and withstand it. "You already are doing anything I say," he countered,
"You'll learn to like it."

He walked over to the stocks and circled it, obviously drawing my attention
to it. "But," he said, "It's time we sealed the deal. It's time for you to
trust me implicitly." He walked over to a work bench and pulled up a small
ring of some sort. He approached me and I got nervous. It was another
stainless steel ring, like the ones he fused with my nipples. He gripped my
face and I started to panic, even though I couldn't move a muscle or react
in any way. He brought the ring to my nose and punched it through my
septum, sending burning pain coursing through me. I would have screamed if
I had been allowed. As it was, my breathing quickened pace and I started to
sweat. I might've worked up an ineffectual tremble.

He pulled away and the pain subsided quickly. It had been a single, prolong
stab, nothing more. I knew that the septum piercing had already healed,
just like the nipple rings had. It was in my face (!) and there was nothing
I could do about it.

"Sir," I said, "I can't go to work like this."

"No worries," he said, "you have a new job now. At ease."

My body relaxed significantly, and I spread my feet and folded my hands
across the small of my back. The codpiece also relaxed back into an
undulating massage of my genitals. With the smell of sex in the room, with
my attraction to Sarge building by the moment, my cock started to harden
and leak, but the codpiece kept both in check. Again, it seemed to be
absorbing the liquid I was producing. Maybe Sarge noticed how I was
thrusting my hips slightly at the sensations of being sort-of-jacked-off by
a jockstrap, he smirked.

"You may have an erection," he said. All at once, the codpiece's resistance
faded and my cock got hard. I looked down and watched it expand and thicken
to its full hugeness; again, marveling that such a thing was attached to
me. I wasn't used to it yet. The codpiece morphed itself as I grew erect,
turning into a shiny, black plastic covering on my cock and balls. It
started undulating again, this time, jacking me off in slow earnest, it's
grip tight as it rippled down my shaft and teased my head. It pulled my
nuts away from my body, acting as a ball stretcher in the process. I
grunted, and thrust my hips more.

"You're enjoying your jock, then?" Sarge asked.

"It's unusual, Sir," I said.

"It'll get usual," Sarge said, "You'll be wearing it unless you're
servicing a client."

It was then I realized what the plan was. I had been systematically turned
into a muscle stud, a fetish god in leather pants, replete with piercings a
huge set of equipment, and the stamina necessary to fuck all day long. I
had been turned into a hustler! And I came complete with addictive,
narcotic secretions to keep my future clientele addicted to me, paying for
my services. The shame of it burned on my cheeks, but ultimately, the real
shame I was feeling was that it sounded like fun.

"It used to be a person?" I asked, "Didn't it, Sir."

"Very clever," he said, "You'd be surprised how much that man paid to be
turned into a thing."

The ministrations of the codpiece was getting me going. It was an expert
jack-off artist. Or maybe it was deep throating me. The sensations were
mixing together into a beautiful synergy of pleasure and I didn't
care. "He's very dedicated to his efforts, Sir."

"Come," Sarge ordered, pointing at the stocks, "Kneel down here."

I moved to obey without hesitation. I was at his command and here I was
walking over to the stocks, placing my naked body into bondage, knowing
that Sarge would then use me however he wanted. After everything that had
happened, after the access to my body that Sarge had already shown he
possessed, this should not have bothered me. But it did. Sarge was
beautiful and I had been changed into someone who sought to please him. I
had no choice here and so, absolved myself of the responsibility that
might've gone with actually making the choice.

I knelt into the padded cups at the base of the stocks. My heart started to
thump in my chest and my breathing deepened, a mild anxiety filling me. I
had never been put into bondage before. Even though Sarge's control of my
body just now was technically the same thing. This was different. As if
sensing my anxiety, the codpiece increased its rate of work, giving me a
distraction.

Sarge moved to secure my ankles in the manacles, adjusting them for my
height, until my legs were secured. He then gently bent me over and put my
head and hands the in the stocks. He secured me there. And, inside my calm
exterior, I started to panic a little.

"You're released," Sarge said and whatever hold he had on my body
dissipated, I could move as I desired. Following my panic, I started to
struggle, squirming the in bonds. I sucked up my courage and managed not to
whine, but I felt like whining. What the fuck was I allowing? Then I
corrected myself, I wasn't allowing it. I was being controlled.

"Such defiance," Sarge marveled. "You realize why I chose you, right?"

"Because of this defiance," I said, "You told me once." My new body was
very strong and I pitted that strength against these bonds, attempting to
force it stocks open. I didn't have the leverage I needed and failed. I
grunted, tried again, failed again. I couldn't free my hands, no matter how
much I wriggled, and getting my head out of the stocks was out of the
question. Constantly, the codpiece was massaging my cock. My brain was
having trouble deciding if it was sexually excited or physically
threatened. I figured Sarge wanted this experience to be a little bit of
both.

"Not entirely," Sarge said. As he spoke, Sarge milled around me, observing
my body, this beautiful thing he had created. "Do you know how you were
chosen?"

"My `lady,'" I said, "She sold me to you."

"Yes," Sarge confirmed, "partially." Without warning, Sarge grabbed a wide
leather strap and brought it down on my ass hard, producing a sharp whack
and sending pain shivering up me. I grunted loudly, throwing a curse
out. "What did you just say?" Sarge asked facetiously. He brought another
one down on my other cheek just as hard.

"Sir," I spat, angry, "She sold me to you . . . SIR."

"That's better, punk," Sarge said, "Yes. She wanted a muscle stud for a
boyfriend, not a science nerd. Turns out, so did we. Do you know why I
prefer science nerds? Why I don't just do this same process with bulky,
cocky, muscleheads?"

"No, Sir," I said. I moved my body from side-to-side, testing out my
freedom of movement. I worked my feet, but the manacles held them in a way
to avoid them touching any surface. I kept trying to work my hands out of
the stocks, but they were firmly held there. Fuck! Why had I done this to
myself! I brimmed with anger and testosterone, no doubt partially parked by
that fucking codpiece that kept sucking my cock. I was entering a sexual
high, yet one charged with frustration and anger.

Sarge let a couple of slaps hit my back, eliciting some painful grunts from
me. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of screaming or begging. He picked
something up off the counter and circled in front of me. "Science nerds
spend their lives not getting enough sexual stimulation," Sarge said, "yet,
they do nothing but imagine it. They watch science fiction and read
fantasy. They live in their heads."

Sarge circle in front of me. I looked up at him, but because of his angle
and because of the angle that stocks kept my head, I could only stare at
his crotch. I had wanted to meet his eyes, but surely, he knew what he was
doing.

"The transformation of others takes imagination," he said, rifling his
hands through my hair. I relaxed a bit and, without warning, he brought the
strap down on my upper back. I cursed and squirmed some more, instinctively
trying to escape the pain. The codpiece picked up speed again and the curse
was followed by a long, angry groan. "You should have seen the mess made by
muscleheads who tried it. Terrible. But," Sarge countered, "the downside of
science nerds is that they can intellectualize almost everything, pushing
it away from the real emotions."

Sarge put something on my forehead, smooth and cold. I looked up and it was
the same sphere that had drained my intelligence, still glittering with
inner light. Ohfuck! "No! Don't do this!" I screamed, "Please!!"

Real fear gripped me and I threw my entire weight against the bonds that
held me, back and forth. Nothing moved significantly and I couldn't get my
forehead away from the sphere. Nothing worked. I felt the sensations in my
head again . . . the slippage of thought and memory as they flowed in
streams out of me and into that glass sphere. I grew more and more
confused, the sensations I was feeling more and more alien and
unexplainable. I couldn't put thoughts together into a line, it was like my
brain was a game of jenga and too many struts had been pulled
. . . everything was collapsing into a jumbled pile.

"Nonononono," I kept murmuring,

"Let it go," Sarge said, "Let it all go."

As my intellect diminished, my emotions flared. The anger I was keeping in
check with the rationalization burst on me, filling me. The sexual longing
for Sarge ripped up and down my nervous system, pulsing in my cock and nuts
. . . and my prostate. The shame of what I had done to myself, to Nick, to
Melanie, to pizza-boy and code-monkey . . . overwhelmed me. The fear of
being stupid, of having my very being stripped from me as easily as my
clothing. . .all this mixed together into a soup that I drowned in.

He finally pulled the sphere off. I could only struggle in the stocks,
wondering how the fuck I'd gotten here, what I was going to do, what was
going to happen. My hands work gripped and grasped at air. My feet
struggled to find purchase, but failed. I even started slamming my head
against the wood to escape. Finally, I just collapsed into the bonds and
looked at Sarge. He'd moved back so I could see all of him, holding the
glass sphere that impossibly held about half of my intellect.

I think I whimpered. I think I drooled. "Why?" was all I could stammer out.

Sarge, with all his beautiful masculinity, posed there for a moment. He set
the glass sphere back on the counter and approached again. He let loose a
rain of blows form the strap, working his way down my back to my ass,
landing a blow on my hanging nuts, on my calves, then finally, on the soles
of my feet. I struggled and screamed and cried as this happened. I panicked
and freaked. I was gasping for breath when he finished.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Why, SIR!!" I screamed, "WHY, SIR!!"

He knelt down into my face, grabbed my hair, and forced our eyes to
meet. "In all men, there is a core of confidence, a feeling of
invulnerability, of sanctity. We're taught from an early age never to
compromise ourselves, never to reveal out most inner natures to anyone for
fear it will be perceived as weakness. We are all predators," he said.

I just looked at him. His explanation was going right over my head. The
more I tried to assemble his words into a coherent thought, the more it
escaped me. I felt like a retard. The only things I was truly aware of were
my powerful emotions as they surged and ebbed, and the fucking codpiece
working my cock.

"To break you," he said, "I'll have to break that core of your being. I'll
have to strip you of all your power. Now that I've brought you down to your
innermost self, free of all those rationalizations you layer upon yourself,
it will be an easy matter to show you who has the power."

He pocketed the sphere and moved to undo his pants. With his meaty hands,
he pulled out his cock and balls. It hung there, slowly getting erect, a
thick tube of veined meat. He started slapping my face with it. I closed my
eyes and shame surfaced to the forefront. All my years as a child and as an
adolescent flared up; how I had been taught that another man's cock was
dirty, shameful to see, degrading to touch - - here I was suffering the
ultimate humiliation. I burned with it. Even as the memories of my sucking
Nick's cock surfaced, I burned with it, until it blotted out everything.

"Stick out your tongue," Sarge commanded.

"Nononono," I pleaded.

This brought only a renewed strapping, until physical pain blotted out
shame and tears ran from eyes. I opened my mouth and stuck out my
tongue. With my eyes squeezed shut, I felt Sarge's salty cockhead touch my
tongue, partially invade my mouth. He slid it over my tongue, getting it
wet, then slapped my face with it again. Without warning, he plunged it
down my throat to the hilt. I swallowed it without gagging - - my new body
could take it. He grabbed my ears and started pumping in and out without
regard to me. I eventually opened my eyes and looked into his pubes. The
smell of him and the taste of him intermingling, blotting out the pain and
fury. My cock was still being massaged and whatever was happening picked up
its pace.

The grunts that came from me were pleasurable now, at least, mostly. Sarge
thrust completely down my throat, leaned over the wooden stocks, and sent
another series of strappings across my shoulder and upper back. I screamed
with his cock down my throat, the vibrations massaging him. He had the
power. I knew this. He had it. I didn't. I was nothing compared to him. My
self-esteemed squashed, crumbled under the weight of my emotions. I was
nothing. Sarge took his pleasure in my throat, grunting on his own.

He pulled out, leaving me gasping. I wanted more of his cock and I wanted
to be free of this torment, all at the same time. My emotions had become
slam dancers careening into one other to some heavy-metal music. I couldn't
focus on any one of them, they just flowed through me, replacing one
another.

Sarge circled behind me, standing between my legs. I felt his hands on my
ass, his fingers sliding down my crack. I realized how wrong I was . I had
not yet suffered the greatest shame. I knew what was coming now. I knew
also that I had craved it. My prostate pulsed even now anticipating it. I
knew in my heart that wanting it was wrong. Everything I'd ever been told
said it was wrong. I had believed it. But, shame and desire crushed into
one another. What had Sarge said? Power. He had the power. I was
nothing. Was it wrong to desire power? To desire to be filled with power?
Was it wrong to want Sarge's power inside me?

I couldn't think. I could only react.

I felt Sarge's finger touch my pucker. I felt it circle the muscle there. I
gasped, gasped again, groaned. I felt the finger enter me. I felt it probe
around. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't pleasure either. I felt it
retract. If felt two more enter me. I groaned. This was a little
painful. My muscles retracted and strained against the intrusion. I gasped
and gulped down air. The fingers probed around in circles and my sphincter
started to expand. I burned with the humiliation of this. I had another
man's fingers inside me.

The two fingers retracted and three entered me. Ohgod. Ohgod. I hadn't been
penetrated like this ever in my life. The sensations were alien, almost
incomprehensible to me. I had trouble processing them and they seemed to be
sparking off new emotions, or combining old emotions in new ways
. . . something! I couldn't think. I only felt.

The three retracted. I felt Sarge change his position. I knew what was
coming. And it did. I felt Sarge enter me. I pressed slowly against my
resistance. He slid inside. I groaned and tried to move away, but I was
held by the stocks. He had control of my hips and my moving side to side,
only helped him slide farther inside. Ohgod. Here I was. The low point. The
point of complete humiliation. Sarge slid into me to the hilt. I felt his
nuts press against me.

I gasped. My heart was tripping in my chest. I was gulping for breath. I
wanted to struggle, but I knew it was useless. I could only wait for him to
do what he wanted with me. I had let him. Everything that had happened had
brought me to this place, this moment, when I was nothing compared to
Sarge's power.

Sarge started fucking me. The noises that came out of me were
unfamiliar. Not the usual powerful grunts that came out when I was fucking
someone, but more like those than streamed out of Nick when I fucked
him. Had I degraded Nick? Had I subjugated him like Sarge was subjugating
me? God . . . the levels of shame and humiliation coursing through me were
incredible. With each slap of Sarge's body against mine, a new shade of the
emotion blossomed.

Something inside me snapped and my emotions lost their boundaries, flowing
over into one another completely. I only felt the power of Sarge and myself
intermix. Whatever it was, I was both powerless and powerful at the same
time. I was my own power and Sarge's together. I was myself and Nick and
every other person I had fucked. I understood now what I had done to them
when I had fucked them. Had I inflicted damage? Did I feel damaged now?

I didn't. I had expected to. But this didn't feel like damage. It felt like
an intimate connection on the most serious level. I was connected to
Sarge. I had let him into my body. It felt so strange and yet, I had done
it countless times to my "lady." Whatever Sarge was guilty of, I was guilt
of also. Now . . . whatever shame and powerlessness my partner had felt, I
felt now. There was a perfect symmetry forming in my brain.

How long Sarge fucked me, I couldn't say. In my current state, my brain
could barely process the physical sensations. The codpiece continued to
suck my cock, faster and faster as Sarge fucked me. The pleasure rocketing
through my cock felt planted there directly by Sarge's cock inside me, as
if his cock were pushing into mine, wearing it like a skin. My prostate was
being pounded, sending juices up into my nuts until I felt like I was going
to explode. I couldn't of course, not without permission, which Sarge had
not yet given. But each insertion, sparked another burst of pleasure.

"Shoot it punk," Sarge commanded and suddenly, I was cumming. From the
sound of it, Sarge was also, The codpiece soaked up my cock and literally
began sucking out the juice. I screamed in pleasure and pain and
humiliation all at once. The physical release was followed by an emotional
one and I passed out with the intensity.

I woke up in the alley behind Sarge's townhouse. I was naked, but my
clothes were carefully folded nearby. In my hand was the glass sphere,
glowing brightly, with a note that I couldn't read. I looked at it blankly,
trying to remember what the markings meant. I knew they were letters,
forming words, but I couldn't tell what they signified. Shit! I was
stupid. I knew it. Very very stupid.

I stood up and stretched, my naked body cracking with the stretch. I was
still huge, hot and that fucking codpiece had turned back into a normal
shaped one, preventing my horniness from letting my cock get hard. I
reached down and it stiffened into hard plastic. Goddamnit!

Lazily and sloppily, I reached down and grabbed my socks. I put the glass
sphere on the step and started to pull the first sock on. Frankly, the air
on my skin was sorta nice. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been naked
outside before. I felt good. I focused on that and after standing there for
a few minutes, I realized that I was still naked. God! I was so
unfocused. I steeled my concentration and pulled on the other sock. Just
getting my brain in gear long enough to concentrate on that was an
effort. I fumbled with the pants.

In the process, the knocked the sphere and it rolled down the steps. There
was a sharp crack and light flared out of it, streaming like a mist to my
head. I ducked away from it, afraid of what was happening, but it touched
my head. I fell backward, pants half on, as my brain seemed to burst with
information, like a balloon filled too much, burst.

Information blasted into my skull. All the information I had
lost. Everything, even from the previous time . . . back into my skull. All
the science nerd stuff . . . all the programming knowledge . . . all of
it. . . back into my skull.

I realized what I had done. I realized what I had allowed to be done to
me. I realized all of it. And instead of freaking out more, I just calmly
accepted it all. It had happened. I had been complicit. I had been
responsible. I was who I was, then and now.

I got dressed and found my way out of the alley in the late afternoon
sun. I went to the new motorcycle and mounted it. I turned it on and headed
back to my apartment, back to Nick.