Date: Wed, 15 Mar 2006 02:40:42 -0800 (PST) From: Alistair Bentley Subject: Headshop-Neighbors-Chapter 5-Unmanned [RCF1] Headshop: Neighbors Chapter 5: Unmanned ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dear Headshop Fans: Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter posted. I have been recovering from minor surgery and am amidst a major life change, so my writing time has been truncated lately. Have no fear that I will finish the "Neighbors" storyline. I appreciate all of your attention and comments, and now appreciate your patience just as much. -- Alistair Bentley Xformguy ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- By Xformguy@yahoo.com At some point, Cameron stumbled to the shower. At some point, he fully examined the blank, bare spot that was his groin and his fingers probed around every inch of the sensitive skin. It had no hole, no crease - - nothing that resembled normal human anatomy. His cock and balls were simply gone. Yet, they weren't. He could feel them distantly. They weren't being handled any more, but they were nestled someplace warm, as if a hand were cupping them. They weren't moving and whatever was surrounding them was body temperature, warm and smooth. Cameron couldn't deal with this. Whenever he tried to get a grip, his mind just skittered off this reality. In the shower, touching himself, it was unreal to the extent he felt like it was a dream, a very detailed, very real dream. After the shower, he shut off totally. Hunger woke him sometime mid-morning on Sunday. He stumbled into the bathroom on autopilot and reached for his cock. His hand closed on empty air and he remembered with a flood of emotion. He had to piss, but there was no obvious way to do it. There was no hole for it to come out of. He stood at the toilet for several long moments, trying to contemplate an answer until he realized there was no answer to be had. Cameron pulled his briefs up - - refusing to notice the empty fabric pouch in front - - and went to the kitchen. He made a sandwich because he didn't feel like cooking and ate it standing at the counter. He drank some juice, but this only made him need to piss more. He went back to the bathroom and stood in front of the toilet again. A minute passed with him just standing there, his heart racing with the weirdness of it, and he finally got his body to release. Some inner sphincter released, as he pissed. He could feel it running out of his cock like normal - - if anything about this situation could be normal. Absolutely nothing happened on his end. Sunday passed excruciatingly slowly. He tried to go about his normal business, but every time he touched himself, he realized again the enormity of what had happened to him and spent time having anxiety attacks. His heart would race and he threatened to hyperventilate. He'd pace around his apartment like a caged animal, trying to come up with solutions - - there must be solutions he could pursue - - but every answer seemed impossible. How could he reattach his body part!? He didn't even understand how his genitalia had been separated from him! A doctor was out of the question. He even thought about just busting the door to their apartment down and beating the shit out of Brandon. But, there were too many unknowns. Only Brandon knew how to put his cock back on - - if it was even possible. Only Brandon knew where his cock even was! What if he'd moved it some place else? Whomever had it could drop it in a blender with just a phone call. Jesus! He'd never understood the meaning of helpless until now. Eventually, his energy would collapse and he'd sit on the couch, his breathing would return to normal as his mind blanked out, lost in a trains of thought that locked up completely into too many catch-22's. Cameron would white-out and something like sleep would take him. A while later, he'd get up, go about his business, and try not to touch himself again. It seemed that Brandon was giving him a break, because, while Cameron could still feel his cock and balls, they were still nestled someplace warm and soft and were not being manipulated or messed with. The night passed uneasily. Cameron dreamed a lot, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable in bed. He felt himself go hard several times and his hand would reach down instinctively to touch himself and find nothing. After what must have been ten anxiety attacks, even those were becoming pale. He just rolled over and tried not to think about it. On Monday, he got up, got dressed in his navy pin-striped business suit, put on his black socks and loafers and his smartly pressed white shirt with its matching cobalt tie, and he stood in front of the mirror. He considered whether or not anyone could tell he was missing what he was missing, and figured that it was possible. He balled up an athletic sock and stuffed it in his briefs, creating a fake bulge. He sighed, but he went into work as if nothing had happened. It gave him some comfort to be distracted. He worked in the legal department of a large retail firm, and had enough respect to share an assistant with another attorney, but when he went into work, he stayed at his desk and tried to keep to himself. The idea of interacting with anyone seemed strange to him, and he wondered if they would be able to tell if something strange had happened. The entire weekend flashed back through his mind - - the strange mutations that he and Duane had suffered, the ring's control of him, and then the . . . the maiming. He pushed it back out of his mind before it overwhelmed him. At mid-morning, Duane was in his office doorway, his bulky frame filling out a pair of chinos and a gray polo shirt with the company's insignia over his left pec. He came in, shut the door, and sat down in front of Cameron's desk wordlessly. His expression was unreadable, but Cameron stopped typing and watched him. They sat that way for long moments, both of them reliving the shit that had happened that weekend. Cameron knew they were trying to find their friendship again, that thing in their heads that was their relationship, but they were having trouble sorting out their feelings because of everything that had happened. How could it have all gone so wrong so quickly? "Is everything okay?" Cameron ventured, "I mean, with your . . ." Duane whispered, "My cock is bigger." He motioned with his hands, putting his palms about a foot and a half apart. "When I get hard, it's huge. I mean HUGE. And my nuts actually swell up like baseballs." Cameron nodded. It wasn't over for him; why should it be over for Duane either? Even so, Cameron could think of worse things than being hugely hung; having no cock for instance. "It takes hours for it to go back to normal," Duane said. He looked away from Cameron, finding neutral space to stare at on the surface of Cameron's desk, "you wouldn't believe how much I shoot. It's insane." "My cock's gone." Like Duane, Cameron looked at a neutral target. The admission was a surprise to Cameron and he felt himself flush with humiliation as he said it. He was suddenly, intensely afraid of what Duane would say or do. Would he laugh? Would he consider Cameron less of a man? How could he not? "What?" Duane asked, eyes wide. Cameron didn't answer for a moment, but he figured the revelation had been made, so he might as well continue. "That fag came back. The ring . . . he twisted it . . ." Cameron tried to explain what had happened, but he didn't exactly know himself, ". . . he took my cock off and walked away with it." Duane stared at him in shock. "No way. You've got . . . nothing?" "No," Cameron said forcefully, "No cock. No balls. Just a blank space." "Oh my God," Duane said softly, "Fuck, Cam, I'm so sorry. Here I am going on about my hugeness . . ." "I can still feel it," Cameron said, "I can't explain it. Whatever he does to it, I still feel." Duane just stared at him in disbelief. He didn't know how to process this any more than Cameron did. There was silence, but Cameron was relieved. The camaraderie of their initial experience was still there. They were still friends. They were supporting each other, even tacitly. Just being here - - just listening - - was enough. "I say we bust his door down and kick his ass. Get it back," Duane said, hitting his fist on the wood finish of the desk. "And, if he's the only one who knows how to reattach it?" Cameron asked dejectedly, "Or if it's not even there any more?" Duane looked crestfallen, but no more so than Cameron himself. "No. I'm stuck. I wait for him to make a move." Duane was clearly unsatisfied with this course of action and Cameron agreed with him. Duane shifted in his seat, staring off in the distance, imagining scenario after scenario. Cameron let him. He didn't really have the strength to debunk Duane's ideas. The day dragged on. Cameron concentrated on his work and, in the afternoon, he found himself in the typical Monday Status meeting, where the department met with the Vice-President of the department to go over their cases. Cameron, who usually enjoyed the meetings because he got caught up with his coworkers, sat quietly with his stack of files and his legal pad. He nodded as his coworkers entered, Marybeth with her pert suit and perky attitude, Jonathon with his youthful handsomeness and casual arrogance, and Cassidy with his beleaguered expression and gentlemanly wit. They waited for the VP to show up and exchanged small talk, but Cameron was uncharacteristically silent. Cameron had picked up his coffee cup when it started. Someone grabbed his cock at the base, warm and hard, and lifted it from wherever it was sitting. Cameron shifted in his seat and almost dropped his coffee in surprise. Another hand closed around his nuts firmly and pulled them downward in the sack. Cameron set his coffee down and placed his palms on the table, trying to control his reaction to what was happening. Something was being tied around his nuts to keep them pulled down - - a string? He felt himself being put back down and the touching stopped; he only had the discomfort on his nuts. The Vice-President entered the room with a nod to all of them. Anderson Craig was a well-connected lawyer with a keen legal mind and Cameron respected him greatly, both for his legal advice and for his clarity of perception at navigating corporate politics. Anderson sat down, gave them a genial greeting, then nodded to Marybeth, who began an explanation of her open cases. Cameron's phone vibrated and he palmed it from his suit pocket. Displayed was a picture of his disembodied cock, a leather shoestring tied around his nuts in an elaborate braid. He felt an erection forming and he shifted in his seat again. He closed his phone hastily and he felt slick fingers stroking his shaft and head. He instinctively looked down at his crotch, but remembered, whatever erection he might have would never be visible on him. It was happening across town. Cameron fought a wave of disorientation. He was sitting in a room listening to Marybeth explain in the briefs she'd filed, explained the depositions she'd made, while his cock was being stroked. It was a heavy dissonance to withstand. His phone vibrated again and Cameron flipped it open; checking messages wasn't that unusual in meetings. The picture of was of his erect cock, lined up next to a measuring tape reading 6-1/16", his normal length. He closed the phone as Jonathan began his turn around the table. The stroking began now. Someone - - Cameron imagined it to be Brandon - - has closed a lubed fist around his cock and was slowly jacking him. The sensations were enough to cause him to sigh and shift in his seat. From the quizzical look that Cassidy gave him, he realized that he was being more obvious than he intended. Cameron's mind disconnected slightly, trying to balance the physical sensations he felt with the environment in which he felt them. By the time Cassidy was deep into his report, he realized it wasn't ever going to be resolved. He was getting jacked off in front of his colleagues and his boss. The two would never go together and, what was worse, the sensations were increasing in pleasure, making him both embarrassed that he was showing it, humiliated that he had no control over it, and infuriated that Brandon was doing this to him. Cameron had had good sex before. His most memorable had been with a woman named Angela, someone he had deeply loved. Once he had realized his love, the sex had gotten better and he'd let some of his guard down. One afternoon, they'd spent hours teasing one another in a state of arousal, slowly undressing one another, touching every inch of each others' bodies, with Angela having a series of orgasms while she edged Cameron closer and closer to one without letting him tip over. Sitting in the conference room, this was what Cameron was remembering. He shifted in his seat again and became very aware of his naked body underneath all the prim and proper clothing. He was breathing deeply and his felt his face flush, even as all of his body was moving toward an orgasm. It was slow and teasing - - Brandon knew how to work his cock - - but it was approaching. His body was giving the signals and, as it did, his mind started to dissociate. Before he had a meltdown in the conference room - - something he could feel approaching - - Cameron stood up, excused himself and rushed toward the bathroom, intent on finding some privacy before Brandon moved to his next trick. His colleagues gave him a quizzical look as he left, mainly because of the way he walked. He'd never gotten up and strolled around while he was being jacked off before and found that it was fairly difficult to do non-chalantly. His legs wanted to spread, not keep him moving. About halfway to the men's room, something changed dramatically. Cameron felt some thick liquid drip onto his cock and the sensations from it kicked up several notches suddenly. He felt his blood pressure change as blood seemed to rush down into his groin. He staggered and held himself up on a file cabinet, rubbing his head and sighing to himself as a wave of light-headedness passed . Something was happening to his cock. He couldn't tell what it was, but it felt different. He could only imagine what horrors it might be. He collected himself and started walking again, embarrassed. He looked around at who might've seen him and a couple of people were giving him worried looks. He got into the men's room as the jack began again in earnest. By the time he saw down in a stall and closed the doors, he let out a long, heavy sigh, not caring who heard him. His cock was in a fist. And the fist was moving slowly up the shaft, fingertips tickling his frenum, palm circling his glans, then back down again slowly. Cameron bucked his hips each time. No movement he made changed the speed at which the hand jacked him. Then . . . he felt something new . . . something he'd never felt before. Two hands closed around his shaft at the same time. Two hands?! His phone vibrated and he fumbled with it, pulling it out and clicking it open. It was another picture of his cock next to a measuring tape that read 10-3/4". Cameron stared at the picture, trying to absorb what it showed while the two hands were jacking him again. He leaned back on the toilet and spread his legs in the stall, thrusting upward with his hips reflexively. Sex filled his mind - - thoughts of that afternoon with Angela again - - and he eventually closed his eyes, planted his square, black loafers on the floor, and thrust his hips, working his body inside his business suit. He had that same sensation - - of being naked beneath his clothing - - and tried to press out the dissonance of experiencing these physical sensations while at work, while fully clothed. They'd done something to his cock. Made it bigger. Thicker. More sensitive. It felt incredible. The humiliation of having his body altered against his will registered, but was swept away quickly by the pleasure he was feeling. In the middle of it all, another tingling feeling swept through him. He felt as if he'd been hit with a bucket of hot water, and he felt his body change subtly. They were doing something else to him. His breathing went into overdrive and he was about to hyperventilate as his muscles started locking up, flexing and unflexing out of his control, painfully so. It started with his hips and belly and he raised off the toilet seat in mid-thrust, a grunt escaping him. He was still in a public place and was desperately trying to keep himself under a degree of control, but when his abs flexed, he doubled over. He pulled out of it when his lower back and thighs flexed hard. He was getting worked over by something. His muscles hurt and he felt like he was getting a fully body work-out in an instant. Cameron fumbled with his belt and shoved down his pants and underwear. He kept his eyes from focusing on the blank spot where his cock and balls should have been - - the sight of it still swept him to a very disturbed place - - but his abs! He watched them flex suddenly, popping out in high relief, showing a solid six pack. He pushed up his shirt . . . no, it was a fucking eight pack! He'd never had that kind of muscle definition, no matter how hard he and Duane had worked out. What was stranger is that the hair around his pubes lengthened . . .grew out . . . spread up his belly while he watched into a wide hairy stripe. He was sprouting new body hair - - perfectly human in appearance - - but he was getting spontaneously hairier. His chest bulged like someone had pumped it full of air and his shirt buttons strained. He grunted again as his calves locked up painfully. Christ! He WAS getting a full-body workout. Whatever was happening was giving him the muscular definition of an Olympic athlete. His biceps swelled and his forearms grew tight in his sleeves. He pushed up his shirt, tie, and wife-beater. His chest was sprouting new hair. He'd always had a dusting of hair there, but it was a just a light covering. Now it grew dense and thick, obscuring his skin, hiding his hard nipples. He started breathing heavy again, as the jacking on his cock picked up in earnest. He understood he was being modified - - his body - - was being changed at Brandon's whim. Fuck! He felt helpless. Cameron's feet felt tight in his shoes and his hands shook violently enough for him to drop the phone. He bent forward, flexing his toes, realizing his feet had just grown a shoe size at least. "Goddammit," he breathed and his voice . . . cracked suddenly. He swallowed, coughed, then said it again as a test, "Godammit. Ohmygod." He kept repeating those words, listening as his voice deepened. The phone vibrated on the floor. Cameron bent to pick it up. He flipped it open and it was another picture, this time of his nuts. They were gigantic and hanging low beneath where the shoelace had tied them off. Cameron closed his eyes and tried to shut out this nightmare. Brandon had control his body. Whether he liked it or not, Brandon was making him into someone else. He felt himself getting angry, getting almost unreasonably angry. He wanted to leave the stall and beat Brandon to a pulp. He'd never felt so violent before. And the jacking on his cock began again. He leaned back with a deep throated sigh . . . no longer caring who was listening. His phone chirped a text message. He looked at it. ~Feeling more manly?~ Cameron sighed as the hands worked his cock. He was closing in on a massive orgasm. He realized what Brandon was doing - - making his nuts bigger - - the flood of hormones - - the body hair - - the voice. He was having a forced, second puberty. ~F U~ Cameron thumbed on the phone, sending a response. A hand slapped his nuts hard and he grunted, raising his legs in reaction. He put them back on the floor as the pain passed. Brandon had him. He had no way to stop him. ~UR mine now~ another message came. Cameron ignored it. When he'd had his epic sexual experience with Angela, when they'd finally worked themselves up to the finale, after she'd had three orgasms herself, Cameron hadn't been able to hold off any longer. The orgasm came powerful and inexorable, and washed away his senses. That's what was happening now. His mind shut off as it came over him. His consciousness dunked beneath the wave of it and he unloaded. He could feel the biological mechanisms inside him firing and firing and firing. There was silence. All Cameron could hear was his own breathing and heartbeat. He didn't know how much time had passed, but the piping behind the toilet was poking painfully into his back. He sat up. The sensations on his cock had stopped. He braced himself as a wave of light-headedness overtook him, made him reel. Cameron collected himself slowly, trying to hold onto rationality, despite all the unreal things that were happening to him. As with anyone pushed over the edge, there was a point when it was clear resistance was futile and, as each new weirdness occurred, it was accepted at face value. Cameron was in that place now. He had no control over his own body and humiliation burned in him violent and raw because of it. His phone chirped and he opened it again. ~3pm my place~ It was an order - - one Cameron obviously couldn't refuse. He didn't bother to respond. Cameron took a moment. He was breathing hard and his torso was slick with sweat. His muscles ached like he'd just gone through a massive workout with Duane. Usually only the most recent muscle group they'd targeted would ache; now it was his entire body. He smoothed down his shirt and wife-beater, pulled up his underwear, and readjusted the rolled up sock he'd used to hide the fact that his cock was gone. He buttoned up, zipped up, and resettled his tie. And, as soon as he made any move at all, the shirt button over his chest popped off and hit the stall door. Cameron sighed, bent down to retrieve it, and completely untucked his shirt. He realized he had grown a couple of inches taller, as evidenced by his suit pants, whose cuffs were hiked up above his ankles, revealing his black dress socks. Cameron sighed, took a couple of deep breaths against the anxiety attack that was forming in his brain, and pushed it away. He was being controlled by Brandon. His body had been mutilated - - sort of - - and now, his body had been altered against his will. Whenever he tried to figure out what was next, where this might end, the panic would rise up in him. What if he never got his cock back? How long could he live his life at Brandon's whim? What else would he become?? Cameron left the stall and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair had grown out, as if he hadn't had a haircut in six or seven week, making his normally trimmed hair shaggy. He had grown a scruff beard while he had been in the stall. Fuck! How was he going to explain this? The anxiety spiked and he knew the answer. He wouldn't explain it. Cameron checked his pockets; he had his keys. He didn't need to hit his desk for anything. Checking his cell phone for the time, he also realized that he didn't have a great deal of time before 3:00 either; no doubt, Brandon had arranged it that way. Cameron left the men's room at a brisk walk, moving fast enough to avoid side conversations and slow enough to avoid anyone thinking there was an actual problem. He headed for the stairs and descended them, taking the 20 flights quickly. Whatever had happened to him, his endurance was up. He went back to his apartment building, and literally paced outside it. He wanted to go home, but doing so would make him move past Brandon's door. He was due at Brandon's in a few minutes and the anxiety wouldn't let go of him. He couldn't push it away any longer. He was going to have to see this through and he had the dark feeling that this afternoon, it would end; he just didn't know how it would end. It took him awhile, but eventually, Cameron entered the building and approached the elevator like a doomed man, slowly and deliberately. He punched "5" for the fifth floor, and steadied himself against the waves of light-headedness that were hitting him. He concentrated on breathing deeply, giving himself reassuring thoughts despite that they sounded like utter lies. When the elevator doors parted, Cameron shuffled out and made for Brandon's door. He stood at it for a moment, smelling again the waves pot smoke that seemed to issue from the crack in it, and listening to the alternative, angst-music that vibrated through the metal door. Sighing - - resigning himself - - he touched the doorbell and waited for the next step to open before him. [RCF1]