Date: Thu, 21 Oct 2004 18:34:18 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop Chapter 12: Obedience

I was pretty much out of it for a couple of days. Whenever I shut my eyes
or was alone, the image of me in the stocks, submitting, came back with
powerful force. The sensations I had felt, Sarge's cock pushing into me so
completely, the power of his thrusts, the feel of our connection all came
back to my brain with a strength that knocked me off balance. I had been
controlled and humiliated and used. I had allowed it without much fight,
all brought on by my own vice, magnified down the chain of events since I
had toked the first joint weeks ago. And what was unsettling and hard to
absorb was that I had liked it. Whenever I thought about it, my cock
strained against the codpiece (which would NOT yield into an erection) and
my prostate buzzed again with the need for Sarge's cock to massage it.

Life with the hard cup was annoying at best and unbelievably frustrating at
worst. Before, I had been constantly horny and, while I could never get
myself to shoot, I could at least tease some pleasure from the experience
and surf the need for cumming. Now, whenever my hands strayed down to my
crotch, the hard cup hardened into plastic and ceased whatever massage or
sucking motion the cod piece was performing. When left alone, it would
oscillate between a gentle grip, to a firm massage, to a deep throating
sucking sensation on its own schedule, without regard to where I was or
what I was doing.

I'd been jacked off at restaurants by this thing. Deep throated while in
traffic. Gently massaged the entire length of a night. All without ever
getting a complete erection and all without anyone ever knowing.

The cup never came off. It seemed to drink my narcotic pre-cum and,
whomever this garment might have been in a former life, he was an addict
now. The cup never came off at all, so every so often, I released my
bladder into it as well. That was also a weird sensation, especially when I
was able to break the social conventions of doing this in the bathroom. For
a day or two, I kept going to the men's room and taking a stall, even to
the point of standing there with my pants down over the toilet and I'd
relax the muscles and let it flow. Then, at a restaurant, I figured "what
the fuck" and I let it go at the table. The cup drank it. No one was the
wiser. The powerful feeling of doing that was unexpectedly potent.

Nick went back to work, which left me bored and alone at home. I couldn't
go there. I couldn't return to that life. Beside the fact that my new
septum piercing violated company policy, whenever I though of spending my
entire day staring at a compture screen, my psyche balked and panicked. I
knew I was different now, despite having reclaimed all my former
knowledge. I kept calling in sick, which was ostensibly okay at this
point. We'd just finished a major project and a new one had not yet been
assigned to me.

I knocked around the house, being mostly naked and trying to regain my
mental composure, my mental picture of who I was. I was in flux; I knew
this and I was having trouble processing it all. All of this was deep,
emotional stuff, nothing my intellect could help with, so I was a little
unprepared for a lot of it.

Three days after my encounter with Sarge, there came a knock at my door. It
was a trim, pert business woman who introduced herself as Andrea. She was
Sarge's lawyer and business manager. She came in, completely unphased by my
near nakedness and/or the pheromones that must surely be circulating
through the apartment because I hadn't showered since yesterday. She sat at
the table and threw out a huge amount of paperwork.

Then, still in my emotional fog, I proceeded to sign my life away. I
entered into a contract of employment with "Sarge, Inc." become their
employee. I signed away my car (frankly, it was too fucking small for my
6'11" frame anyhow; I could barely sit in it), but I could keep the
motorcycle as a company vehicle. I was to make $250,000/year, plus client
bonuses. I could keep ownership of my apartment and my possessions, but
agreed to remain under Sarge's employ for at least five years. The contract
was generous. I could afford to be. The entire conversation, the cod piece
was slowly tightening its grip on my nuts, until it was becoming
painful. When I signed the paper, the grip loosened. Sarge had me - -
literally - - by the balls; I knew who was in charge.

Andrea gave me a company credit card, a new cell phone, a gym membership,
and directed me to a tailor who would fill out my wardrobe. Everything was
arranged and provided for. I signed everything without balking and
eventually, Andrea left. I called into work and quit. When I told Nick, he
almost flipped, but agreed to get my stuff from my desk.

I lay back on the couch for several hours after than, staring at vacuous
television, processing what I had just done. I had become dependent on
someone else. My entire life had been based around the idea of independence
- - it's what an adult does, works hard to stand alone and be
self-sufficient, to bull his own weight. Now, I had deliberately violated
all of that. I had become dependent on Sarge, trapped by his codpiece,
transfigured into this ultimate man form. I should be grateful at the body
I'd received and, in a way, I was. I certainly enjoyed it. But, I was
having trouble reconciling my feelings for Sarge. Part of me hated him,
part of me worshiped him. It was confusing.

Nick came home and we had a fight. Well, HE had a fight, I just
listened. The fight was basically about how my life was detiorating and how
I was giving up. Being in the process of giving up, I just let him rail. I
knew also that he was looking peaked and shaky, probably from the
withdrawal from my juice, which the codpiece was hogging. I felt bad for
him, but there was nothing I could do.

The next day, I got dressed in my leather jeans, my "Butte Pirate's"
t-Shirt, and my boots and cycled down to the tailor. The guy was a nebbish,
short, maybe 5'2", mid-thirties, in excellent shape and dressed
impeccably. Upon seeing me enter, he immediately guided me to a back room,
where he asked me to undress for measurements. He seemed to be "in on
everything," so I stripped down to just the codpiece that wouldn't come off
and let him to his work. He measured every aspect of my body's length,
width, circumference, shoe size - - everything.

He had racks and racks of clothes for every occasion, from the most black
tie, to business professional, to business casual, to work-out clothes, to
hang-out at home clothes, to underwear, socks, shoes - - and I picked out
what I wanted. Everything here was very hip, trendy and designed to show
off my massive frame. I didn't try anything on, but I picked out the styles
and colors I wanted and he said he'd be delivering them to my
apartment. Odd that he already had the address and contact information. I
felt like I was standing at the bottom of a carefully orchestrated trap,
and, of course, this was absolutely true. It had sprung and I was trapped.

Within a day, the clothing arrived. The delivery boy was hot and he kept
flirting with me as he brought in packages, but I was ignoring him. His
submissive undertones left me cold today and, while I could tell he was
grooving off the sight of me wearing little else than sweat pants, and
being infected by the pheromones I was pushing out, his interest just felt
annoying. He brought in an enormous amount of packages from the van he
drove, piled them up and then assisted in gutting my closet and dresser of
my old clothes that were useless to me. I let most of them go, keeping on a
few choice items that had meaning to me. Staring at the empty closet just
underscored to me the strangeness of this transition. I HAD become a new
person.

The delivery boy brought in the new clothes and helped me hang
them. Somewhere in there, Nick came home from work and had a jealous flare
of the delivery boy. I was tired of Nick's crankiness and my testosterone
flared up from its dormancy. "Get on your knees and blow him," I
commanded. Nick, unable to resist any sexual command I gave, dropped to his
knees and started working on the delivery boy's pants. The boy, already on
edge from hanging out near me, was happy to allow it. When Nick unzipped
his pants, he was already hard. I left the room and let them go at it. From
the groans the delivery boy was issuing, he was enjoying Nick's attention.

Naturally, this really didn't do much for Nick's mood, since he was now,
sexually stimulated and completely unable to cum. Nick eventually gave up
and headed back to his own apartment, being around me, drenched in the
pheromones, so close to the source of his addiction, was only tormenting
him further. That was fine with me. I just crashed on my couch, letting the
now familiar pulsings of the codpiece keep me occupied.

I wondered briefly who the guy who'd become my codpiece was and what he'd
done to deserve this. Hell, for all I knew, he was enjoying this treatment.

I got a page on my new pager, it was Sarge ordering me to his place in two
hours and to be ready to service someone. I really didn't know what that
meant and how I was supposed to get "ready," but hey, I used took a shower,
got dressed in the leather pants, a black silk shirt, the boots, and headed
over.

I actually showed up a little early, eager just to do something, anything
besides languish in my apartment. I parked my bike on the street and headed
up. The same butler guy answered, again striking me as odd with his
forty-year old face and pristine 18-year old body. Tonight, he was decked
out in black slacks, black loafers, a black tow-tie around his neck and
nothing else. He ushered me into the townhouse and off to a study. Sarge
was somewhere in the house - - I could almost FEEL his presence - - but I
could tell he was occupied as well.

The study was cozy, all dark hardwood and leather, with soft music
playing. I sat in a wing chair and waited patiently, scenario after
scenario playing in my head as to what to expect from this encounter. It
could literally be ANYTHING, I knew. Looking down at the ottoman on which I
rested my boots - - the placid faced, completely smooth guy crouching on
the floor made completely of wood - - "anything" took on a new meaning. I
rested my black boots on the guy's back and wondered if he could feel
them. I knew he could, I mean, what would be the point of this if he
couldn't?

Sarge came into the room and I stood up and went to "attention"
immediately. This was some deep-seated impulse beyond my conscious thought,
my body reacting as if I was just a passenger. I looked down demurely.

"Good Punk," he said, coming over to me, his tone genuinely
appreciative. He filled my gaze with his body and I just stood there and
waited for his instructions, my eyes on his boots. "We have a client
upstairs," Sarge explained, "You are to fuck him and transform him per his
request. He's an extremely powerful businessman, extremely wealthy, and is
paying a great deal or his transformation."

Sarge began working on my leather jeans, unbuttoning them. My codpiece,
seemingly recognizing what was happening, went into overdrive, sucking my
cock with a certain frenzy. Sarge buckled my belt and unzipped me,
spreading the front of jeans out. I let him, just standing there placidly
while he did it. He gripped the codpiece with both hands and tugged at
it. When his hands touched it, the plastic when hard and inanimate and the
sucking stopped; the codpiece came free entirely from me and I sighed with
the relief of being released. Sarge dropped it on the table and nodded at
me to close up my jeans, which I did immediately.

"Sir?" I asked.

"What is it, punk?"

"What shall I transform him into?"

"He'll tell you," Sarge said, "But it should be fairly obvious once you see
him. Second floor, third door on the left." He reached into his camo pants
and brought out a plastic vial. "Use this lube," he said, "It'll make entry
into him easier. Put it only on his asshole - - only there." He handed it
to me, turned on his heel and left the room. I turned the vial over in my
hand, then headed up stairs. The butler-guy stood by the steps and nodded
at me as walked up the stairs.

I reached the door and quelled the sense of mild panic that erupted in
me. What was I about to do? I had taken steps in the last couple of days,
all leading up to this point, yet this was the act of finality. No matter
what legal shit I'd signed, none of it had affected ME, yet. I could still
get out of it. If I did this now, of my free will, it would seal what I had
become. It would become who I was. Even after the changes in my body that
they had caused against my will, I still had my own mind. But even that,
they had invaded. They had not changed it, but they had invaded it, as
surely as Sarge's cock had entered me.

I had been shown something deep inside myself, my own willingness to
capitulate, my own ability to submit. I couldn't tell how much of what
happened with Sarge had been my own choice. And how I had allowed it
all. My own vice, my own choice, all leading to this.

I rapped on the door softly and opened the door. The room was full of the
dark wood that Sarge apparently preferred, ruddy with chestnut. The bed was
kingsized, posted, elegant and pulled down. There was a man standing by the
window, a gentleman in an exquisitely tailored navy suit, white shirt, and
a deep red tie. He was in his mid-forties, tall and stocky of build, with a
smooth, masculine face and deep thoughtful eyes. He turned to look at me
with an expression that was hard to read, serious and unyielding. He
reminded me of my boss . . . my former boss, his face a calculated mask of
business logic and necessity. He was doing something now that was well
outside his emotions, something he had decided to accomplish no matter the
cost.

I entered, and sensing the privacy of the moment, closed the door behind
me. We were quite a contrast. I was maybe a foot taller than him, much
bulkier, and dressed in my leather pants and silk club shirt. He, with his
dark close-cut hair, turned and adjusted his tie. He looked me up and down
carefully assessing me. I puffed out my chest and took a stance. He barely
reacted, but came to stand in front of me.

We regarded one another for a moment, caught in an awkward union, neither
of us knowing how to start. In the end, he did.

"What have you been told?" he said in a rich voice.

"I've been told you want to changed," I said quietly. I had never felt so
nonsexual in the last several weeks and the words seemed absurd as they
came from my lips.

He nodded. He quietly slipped off his tie and shucked his coat, carefully
putting them on the back of a chair. He started to unbutton his shirt. "I
had a wife," he said, choosing his words carefully. He pulled his shirt out
of his pants and pulled it off his shoulders. Underneath, we wore an
undershirt tank-top and revealed a muscular frame that was a little
unexpected. "We parted ways under poor circumstances." He unbuckled his
pants and unzipped them, holding them up, as if unwilling to go
further. "At the time, I was unaware that she was able to place curses. I
don't know how she accomplished these things, but her anger with me became
obvious soon enough."

He stopped his story there, obviously embarrassed and cautious about
proceeding. To make him feel more comfortable, I unbuttoned my shirt and
shucked it, revealing my muscular frame and hairy torso. His eyes moved
over me, but without the obvious lust that I had witnessed in others. I
thought this was curious given why I was here and what I had become. While
I had never been able to smell the pheromones I knew my body produced, I
was so unexcited right now and figured that he must also be. Instead, there
was an emotional thickness in the room, an apprehensiveness that seemed to
ground a lot of our mutual sexual attraction.

He looked at me like he'd look at another guy in a locker room, noting my
presence, but with barely an acknowledgement. I sniffed loudly, as the
septum piercing tickled my upper lip.

"She cursed you?" I said, prompting him to continue.

"I did a lot of research," he said, standing there, "trying to find a way
to reverse the curse. I've met practitioners of very conceivable kind, some
of them highly unprofessional, but the curse is still with me."

I nodded my understanding, "You want me to undo whatever she did to you?"

"Exactly."

The moment hung there. "Do you know what's involved in my doing that?"

He nodded his head gravely. He toed off his loafers, revealing black dress
socks and he pulled off his tank-top, revealing a smooth chest and
stomach. I sat down the chair in the room, a huge leatherback, and pulled
off my boots and socks.

"I'm very straight," he said flatly, as if that fact conveyed a lot of
meaning or somehow mattered.

Memories of what Sarge had done to me erupted in my head. I could feel his
hands on me, his cock inside me. I could feel the penetration again in my
asshole and understood the depth of submission it would take for me to fuck
this guy. At his admission, I merely nodded.

He pushed down his pants, taking his maroon bikini briefs with them. He
stood there and displayed what had happened to his crotch, flushing almost
as red as his underwear, sporting only his black, knee-high dress socks.

His cock was flaccid and nestled up next to his compact nuts. They were
gray in color and as he stood there, they seemed oddly unmoving. They
didn't change shape one jot as he freed them from his underwear, didn't
flop out or change the way they hung there. As if to demonstrate, he
flicked them with his finger. They made a dull "clank." I stood up and
sauntered over, squatting before him, but I didn't touch him. His cock was
made of metal.

"She said that since my heart was made of metal, then so should my most
prize possession."

"How long?"

He changed his tone, moving to a more boardroom mode, as if he were
reciting business statistics. "Two years, 4 months," he said. He crossed
his arms across his chest. I reached up and placed a finger on his metal
cock. He didn't react at all.

"I can't feel anything," he said, "But I can piss out of it. I haven't had
sex in that long, of any kind."

I stood up to my full height, placing my chest about face level with
him. "You've never had sex with a man?"

"No."

"You've seen naked men?"

"Of course," he said, "In gyms."

"Never aroused?"

"Porn."

I reached out and touched his chest. He flinched a little, but allowed my
to rub my hand down his torso slowly. His breathing warmed up and got a
little deeper and his nipples hardened slightly.

"I'll do what you ask," I said, "but I'll have to touch your body. You'll
have to touch mine. Are you ready for that?"

"I have to be," he said, meaning that "no," he wasn't.

I leaned into his neck and kissed him there. He was stiff and inflexible,
as if receiving a physical exam by his doctor. He didn't know how to act
and wasn't comfortable releasing his inhibitions with me, a stranger and a
guy. I understood all this.

"How big was your cock?" I asked him.

"What?" he asked.

"How big?"

"Normal sized," he responded.

"Do you want it to be bigger?"

"I just want to fuck again," he said, an edge of desperation in his
voice. His "businessman" façade was breaking down now, as I kissed his
neck, as my torso pressed against his, as he felt the weight of our bodies
together.

"Alright," I said.

I let my hands roam over his body while he stood there with his hands to
his side. I'd gotten his heart racing and his breathing to deepen. I
stepped back, undid my pants and stepped out of them. He looked at my huge
bobbing cock with interest, as if sizing up a task he must perform. I
collected a little pre-cum on my fingers and brought them up to his
face. He made a face and backed away, disgusted. I just chuckled, and
licked the juice off my fingers myself.

I pressed closer to him, reaching out to touch his back. He had turned
completely away from me. Again, he flinched a little as my hand touched him
and went down his spine. When my hand touched the muscular globe of his
smooth ass, his reaction got stronger.

"I don't know if I can do this," he said, "but I have to do it." He stood
there for a moment in his dark dress socks, contemplating, as if waiting
for me to "get the message." I stood there, my cock hardening to full mast,
leaking copiously now. His body was hot and my sexual drive was taking
over. "You may have to force me."

"Force you?" I asked, suspiciously, "Is that what you want?" Another moment
passed as my cock throbbed. The idea of forcing him was attractive to me.

"You're a big man," he said, "stronger than me. You can do it."

I reached down and picked up his tie from the chair and I allowed the surge
in testosterone to take over. I moved to him in a deliberate manner, not
quick and not slow. I put both hands on his back and shoved him to the
wall. He slammed into it with a quiet grunt. I pressed my body against his
fully, my cock pressing into the crack of his ass and my belly at the same
time. I bit his neck and held his wrists against the wall with my hands.

He reacted. He bucked against me, but it felt exploratory, as if gauging my
physical strength. He couldn't budge me. I thrust my hips into his ass as I
stood there, pinning him, biting his neck. He realized what he'd done now,
that he was trapped. And he bucked harder, literally trying to throw me
off. He couldn't. I hoped he was ready for this, because, as the hormones
flooded my bloodstream, I was about to lose control. I could feel his heart
racing now, his breathing panicking. He realized it too.

I bent his arms behind his back and secured them with his red tie. I stood
back a little and let him struggle through that, too . . . to convince
himself he couldn't get out. Then, I flipped him around so his back was to
the wall. His body was flushed, sweating, but his cock was still just a
flaccid knot of metal, completely unreactive. I shoved myself into him
again and forced my mouth onto his despite his grunted objections and the
disgusted faces he made. He was right . . . he was VERY straight.

I kissed him, forced my tongue into his mouth. He accepted it all with the
body language of someone who hated every second of it. I knew that to get
him going sexually, I'd have to do something else. But . . . this was a
challenge, because I was completely unfeminine now and my only other
strategy was to bend down an blow him, letting him fantasize about whatever
he wanted . . . but this wasn't possible with his metal cock.

I pushed my huge cock onto his belly and let it dripple pre-cum there. I
collected more on my fingers and then gripped his face with his hands,
digging my fingers into his jaw until his mouth opened. I shoved the
fingers into his mouth, smearing pre-cum on his tongue. He reacted strongly
then, trying to get his head away once he realized what I was doing, but my
grip was too strong. Once on his tongue, I covered his mouth with my palm
to keep him from spitting it out.  His face turned into a mask of rage
under my palm and his breathing increased as he fumed . . . but then the
pre-cum started to have an effect. His eyes softened, into an expression of
disbelief, then startled lust.

"Tastes good, huh?" I said. He nodded under my palm. "Yeah, I thought so,"
I said. I pushed on his shoulders and he looked down at my cock, but he
didn't acquiesce. I gave a slight laugh, grabbed him by the back of the
neck and pulled him off the wall. I put my foot on the back of his knee
while I pushed him down to the floor.

He stumbled there and said "No," quietly.

"Yes," I said, sauntering around him. I looked down at his body,
middle-aged but still in great shape, obviously tended for body hair. His
back and ass where completely shaved, but he had ample hair on his legs. He
looked silly with his knee-high black socks on and seemed so small compared
to me. I still wasn't used to how huge I had become.

In front of him, my cock bobbed in front of his face. He looked at it
warily, his face an unreadable mixture. He struggled again to free his
hands, his eyes never leaving the head of my cock. I knew that the narcotic
was starting to kick in. I folded my arms across my chest and flicked the
piercing post in my tongue against my teeth.

I pitched my hips forward a little, pushing my cock head onto his cheek. He
flinched and turned his head away. I leaned a little further into him and
his cheek moved against my shaft; I drooled some pre-cum on his skin. He
could smell me now. As I stood there, his face went a little more slack and
his struggling quieted. He turned his head slowly into my crotch, eyes on
it, his nose moving to my bush. He sniffed tentatively . . . then he
inhaled deeply.

He nuzzled my crotch and I let him, arms folded. He worked his nose to one
side, around underneath, then to the other. He looked up at me in
confusion, no doubt wondering why he felt what I knew he was feeling.

"No so straight now," I mocked, "are ya?"

"What have you done to me?"

I reached down, opened his mouth and shoved my cock head into it. He didn't
take very much of into his mouth, in fact, he was likely too inexperienced
to do it, but he certainly sucked on it. I felt the juice oozing and this
just inspired him further to work on it. He was, however, not doing enough
of a job to get me going. My body was responding, but only in the most
basic way. I wanted his ass, and, since he'd paid for it, I was going to
have it.

I stepped back and pulled my cock out of his mouth. He pitched forward,
following it, and fell over. Seizing the moment, I put my bare foot on his
face and pressed it into the floor. He tried to get out of his bindings
again, and to wiggle out from under my foot. I just pressed harder, putting
more of my weight on him.

"Get the fuck off me!" he yelled.

I reached up and turned my septum piercing in its hole, taking my time as
fought in vain against me. "I'm going to fuck you," I told him
flatly. Frankly, the site of his ass working, as he kicked with his legs,
trying to gain a foot hold in his slick socks was erotic enough to get my
crank to turn. I reached down, grabbed my shaft, and milked out a dollop of
pre-cum onto his back. He grunted in annoyance.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you," I said, pushing my heel into his temple.

"Let me up!" he commanded me, his tone retaking that corporate businessman
tone.

I ground his head into the carpet, no doubt causing his some pain. "Tell
me!" I scolded him.

He didn't say anything, but just kept trying to wriggle free. I stepped up
on his back with my other food, putting my full weight on him. He cried out
but I just stood there on him, pressing his head and chest into the
carpet. He screamed again and the door to the bedroom opened. Sarge stood
there, looked at him, looked at me.

"Everything all right in here?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I said emphatically, "Just showing him who's in charge, sir."

Sarge looked at the scene for a moment, said "Carry on," and closed the
door as he exited.

I stood on him. He wriggled, but finally gave up and lay there, huffing
under my weight. "Alright!" he yelled.

"Alright what?" I asked.

"I want you to fuck me!"

I waited a couple of beats, then hopped off, my feet landing on either side
of his head. I bent down, hooked my hands under his arms and hauled him
onto his feet. I bent down and dug my shoulder in his waist, hoisting him
up off his feet. I threw him onto his back on the bed. I grabbed his ankle
and peeled off one sock, then the other. I left him there for a moment to
consider what was going to happen and I fished the lube Sarge had given me
out of my leather pants. I then went back to the bed.

I didn't speak and neither did he. Underneath it all, he knew he needed
this. I grabbed the metal knot of his genitals and shook them, reminding
him of it. He spread his legs, closed his eyes, and pushed his head back. I
knelt over him, walking on my knees until I was between his thighs. I used
my weight to push them farther apart, until they were resting on my thighs,
fully spread.

Still, I didn't speak, but spread some lube on my fingers. They immediately
started to tingle and feel weird, but I worked through that and spread the
clear juice onto his pucker, neatly surrounded by a halo of wispy, dark
hair. He sighed heavily, taking in breaths and preparing himself for what
he must've felt to be the ultimate torture. I remembered this reaction far
too vividly to disregard. It had happened to me and I could empathize with
him.

I lined up my fingers to his hole, teasing it with my fingertips. "Push out
like you're taking a shit when I push in," I told him, "it will hurt less."
Slowly, I pushed. He grunted, held his breath, and slowly accepted my
digits. I could feel his muscle contract around them, tight, connected to
all the tension in his body. I pulled out one digit and was surprised to
find him ready for two. My new hands were gigantic, and so were my
fingers. I was a little shocked he was adapting to easily, but still my
fingers felt strange.

I pulled them out of his ass and he gasped. With my other hand, I reached
up and touched my fingers that had been lubed, finding them a weird
consistency. They felt perfectly fine, if a little tingly, but exerting
pressure, I bend them completely back to my hand, as if they were made of
rubber. I got it . . . the lube made body parts elastic . . . like his
asshole. I chuckled and poured the stuff on my cock, using my "rubberized"
hand to smear it all over. The tingling reached solid proportions and I
smiled with the delight of it. Oh yeah . . . nice. My cock took on the same
rubber consistency and I bent it at a weird angle just to see it flop back
into shape.

He looked up at me, wondering what was taking so long. See him face, I
lined up my cock to his hole and pushed into it. His mouth flew open in a
silent scream as I shoved, my hands spreading his legs apart as they
threatened to close up and push him off me. I pivoted my weight, laying my
torso across his, holding him in position, and slowly my cock entered him
to the hilt. It took several minutes, but once lodged inside, I waited for
him to adapt.

His breathing raced and his face and chest flushed bright red. I could only
use that as a gauge to how horny he was, since his cock was a motionless
hunk of metal. It was a little weird, not seeing his erection. He let out
gasp after gasp, but soon, his breathing equalized.

I started to pump and he lost it again, wriggling and writhing to
sensations he was obviously unprepared for. I wondered if this guy had ever
even touched his asshole before. I let him have it. I had been pent up in
that black plastic codpiece for too long, as it had constantly massage me
without allowing an erection and I was ready to fuck. My stamina was like a
horse, and I raced him, I galloped him, I sauntered him, changing my speed,
my angle, my rhythm enough to keep him guessing. His body reacted, time and
again, he beat his head against the mattress, alternating from opening his
legs wider to allow me access to pushing them together, trying to dislodge
himself. Once he even hooked them together across the small of my back,
holding me in place as I fucked.

My own mouth was active, as I leaned on him, I bit and licked his nipples,
something else he was obviously unprepared for. I kissed and nibbled his
neck, my hot breath coming out in pants as I worked his ass. At some point
his arms became untied, but he didn't try to escape really. He didn't reach
out to me, though, but lay at his sides, gripping the mattress, providing
stability as my thrusts pushed him around the bed.

Soon enough, I worked myself to the edge. I had permission from Sarge to
shoot, and I was nearing that point easily enough. He was a hot, virgin
fuck and the remnants of his cherry were lolling around the base of my
cock.

I cleared my mind, knowing that I had to concentrate on changing him. I
folded him in half under me and got in his face. "You ready?" I asked him
through hissed breath.

"Yes . . . please . . . god . . . please," he begged. I was horny and I
understood his torture. So horny and completely unable to touch himself and
relieve even the barest measure of it.

I sat up and pivoted my cock in him again for the last few strokes I would
need to shoot. I looked down at his body, taking in its sight, building it
in my mind, imagining it with a live, active cock. As my orgasm began, I
dreamt his cock and balls, living flesh, beautiful, organic, male . . . and
it began to happen, even as my cum shot inside of him.

He looked up in hopeful, fearful desire and watched as the metal started to
get hard. Just as if it had been normal flesh, the lifeless steel of his
genitals perked up and started to get erect. As they did, they slowly
turned back into flesh, and, as the sensations returned to him, his face
lit up with an ecstasy unlike anything I had ever seen before. His hands
moved to touch his cock, even as it filled out to its full 10" length and
beer-can thickness, even as his nuts expanded to be gigantic low-hangers,
he touched it tentatively, as if afraid it was only a dream.

I could have given him a cock so huge it wouldn't have fit in the room, but
I left him with a prodigious member, not so big as to be freakish, but
sizeable enough to be a reward for his curse. In his mind, I left his
straightness intact, but gave him a little shove to enjoy powerlessness and
to be deferential to men of greater physical power than him.

He shot a load that was two years in the making, geysering even more than I
was capable of shooting, covering himself. As our orgasms subsided, I
gently pulled out of him. He had passed out, holding himself and I was okay
with that. I stretched my back, bending backwards and pushing my arms out,
feeling the burn in an arch down my body. I got dressed and headed out,
feeling good that I had helped someone.

And that was how it worked. I'd live my life, sometimes trapped in the
codpiece, sometimes allowed to work Nick over and have my own fun. All the
time, at Sarge's beck and call. He'd line up the clients, who desired
transformation and I'd come over to fuck them into whatever state they
wanted. Some wanted to be younger, prettier, butcher, bigger, smaller
. . . the list was endless. Some wanted to be animals, some to be other
people entirely, some to be something between animal and man. Some were
females wanting to be men, some were men wanting to be females.

Whatever . . . I indulged them and I earned a good salary doing it. I lived
with Nick, and I'd have fun shifting him around sometimes, just to break
the monotony. I live my new life, so different from the programming science
geek I had been. While I had never considered that life to be bad, then or
now, or even unmasculine, I was now in touch with all things male on all
levels and it was sometimes a little overwhelming. Sometimes, it felt
perfectly right. All depends on the day. I guess that's how all people live
their lives.