Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2006 11:22:47 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop-Neighbors-Chapter 6-Evicted

Headshop: Neighbors
Chapter 6: Evicted

By Xformguy@yahoo.com


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Thanks to everyone for their support and continued interest in the Headshop
series. My apologies for the lateness of this submission. I hope that I can
make it up to everyone. I enjoy all your correspondence...Keep them coming!

--Alistair

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The door opened and Brandon stood there wearing the same dirty jeans and a
loose-fitting black t-shirt with the words "Dog Pounders" scrawled across
it in an angsty font. A joint hung from his full lips, resting against his
dirty-blond goatee. Brandon's face spread in a dopey grin and his lips
pursed to avoid losing the joint. He sucked in and the tip flared. He moved
aside and motioned for Cameron to enter, padding aside on his bare feet.

Cameron sighed and came into Brandon's apartment. It was shabbily
furnished, with an old leather couch that had cracked upholstery, a sagging
leather recliner, and an impressive amount of audio-visual equipment
stacked into an entertainment center. Cameron counted three gaming consoles
at a glance, a DVD player, VHS recorder, and enough stereo equipment to
power a small club.

On the coffee table was a shoe box and, as he walked inside the apartment,
he could see with horror that it contained a bunch of disembodied cocks and
balls, each with a silver ring, each sitting on one another. His own as on
top, although he hardly recognized it with its new size. Somehow, his body
responded and the tell-tale sensations he was feeling from his genitals
suddenly matched up with the rest of his senses. Next to the shoe box was a
towel, a dark unmarked bottle, and a balled up measuring tape.

Brandon said, "Sit down." He closed and locked the door, took another deep
toke on his joint and watched Cameron maneuver around the coffee table to
sit on the couch. Cameron reached out for is cock. "Don't," Brandon
ordered, "It's still got some of the potion on it. We don't want you having
a third puberty, do we?"

Cameron withdrew his hand, but kept watch on his cock. His body was
responding to the weirdness and his cock start to harden. Cameron watched
as it plumped up and started to lengthen. He'd never seen it from this
angle and he shook off the disturbing feeling he was getting from watching
it.

"Can we just get through this?" Cameron asked, "Give it back."

Brandon took another deep toke from his joint, his eyes going half-closed
as he did, and released it in a puff. He padded over and picked up
Cameron's cock out of the shoebox by the metal ring, then moved into the
kitchen. He turned on the water in the sink and thrust Cameron's cock
underneath it.

Cameron jolted on the couch, as the cold water sluiced over his disembodied
member. He shuddered and squirmed as Brandon washed his cock and balls
off. Cameron heard the garbage disposal kick on and he leapt off the couch
with a shocked look on his face.

"Psyche!" Brandon giggled, hitting the switch to turn it off. He tossed
Cameron's cock at him over the kitchen counter and Cameron fumbled, but
caught it. His own hands on his own cock at last. . . but the sensation
still felt wrong. When it was attached, he reached down to hold it. Now he
was holding his cock at chest level and his body processed these sensations
incorrectly.

His hand closed over the base of his shaft and he felt the new girth of
it. Cameron looked at himself up close and was fascinated. He had never
seen his cock close up like this - - it had been physically impossible - -
but now he was staring at it from underneath and from the side as he turned
it over in his hands. He marveled that, even having been doused with cold
water, that it was still hard. His erection seemed to still be growing and
firming up, as if it were taking longer than usual.

"It'll stay hard for about four hours," Brandon boasted, coming around the
counter, "and when you shoot, it'll squirt out a phenomenal amount of
spunk. I know some people who are serious cum-hounds . . . they'll really
dig that."

Cameron felt the heft of his nut sack in his palm. Each of his testicles
had about doubled in size until they were like plums, but the sack itself
didn't hang down. It was round and tight, but felt like a softball in
size. He wondered how much of a package he'd show when it was in jeans and
already was humiliated at how he imagined it.

"Are you going to put it back on?" he asked Brandon softly.

"Already?" Brandon asked, "You've got an amazing opportunity here. Haven't
you ever wondered what it would be like to blow yourself? Fuck yourself?
Now you can."

"No," Cameron said, shaking his head, "I never wanted to know that. I still
don't." He didn't want to admit it, but the idea of had just crossed his
mind. He wasn't gay and didn't get into cocks - - the concept that he'd
blown Brandon and Duane this weekend weighed heavily on his self-image - -
but staring his own cock in the head was intriguing. He had thought about
licking it, knowing it would just be masturbation - - a fucked up a means
of masturbation - - but masturbation just the same.

"Let me show you something," Brandon said. He dug in his pocket and pulled
out a leather cord about a foot long. The cord had ten knots tied into it
and Brandon held it up where Cameron could see it. "Each of these knots has
three things in it: a hair from a different part of your body, a drop of
your blood, and a drop of your semen. It was a mother to collect all of
this, but you got drunk about two weeks ago and I snuck into your place."

Cameron flushed red at this. Two weeks!? This fucker had gotten into his
apartment two weeks ago? And done things to his body? The part of his brain
that processed outrage was already worn out from this weekend's mutations,
so he knew he should display a stronger emotion than he did. Instead he
just nodded sullenly.

"Anyone who holds this can tell your body to do anything," Brandon said,
"and your body will obey." Cameron scoffed, emitting a dismissive noise and
clearly annoyed Brandon. "Hop on one foot," he ordered.

Before Cameron could even think about the command, his body responded. He
started to hop on one foot, hiking his other one up a little. He tried to
stop, but couldn't do it. It was as if his brain had been disconnected from
his muscles.

"Stop," Brandon ordered and Cameron did.

"Jesus Christ!" Cameron yelled, "When is this going to fucking stop?
What're you doing this for?"

"Shut up," Brandon ordered. Cameron's mouth snapped closed and he found
that he couldn't make a sound. He tried gulped down air and tried to form
it into words, but nothing came out. He tried to moan or make any sound at
all and couldn't. "Good boy," Brandon chided. He put the joint to his mouth
and finished it off. "Now . . . go ahead and blow yourself."

Without hesitation, Cameron brought his disembodied cock to his mouth and
started to suck on it. He pushed it in and slid it down his throat to the
base, taking the huge shaft into him completely. His mind reeled at the
double sensations - - like he was 69'ing himself - - as he continued to
pump his cock into his mouth, slathering it with his tongue. It was all
just too weird . . . to be having this type of extreme pleasure, fully
clothed in his business suit, standing up in front of his asshole neighbor,
and sucking a cock at the same time. Cameron felt that sense of unreality
again - - as if he were watching this scene in a movie - - but his body
kept on sucking himself to the base.

Cameron never imagined he'd be any good at sucking cock, but whatever the
spell that Brandon had placed on him, he was doing a fair job at swallowing
himself. He marveled at the way his own tongue and throat felt, how the
whispered blur of teeth helped keep the pressure right, and how the taste
of his own pre-cum registered in the back of his mouth. From the other
direction, his cock was incredibly sensitive now - - having been "modified"
by Brandon - - and sliding in and out of his own mouth was giving him
sexual sensations better than many blowjobs he'd gotten from others.

He wanted to stop. He wanted to just pull himself out of his mouth, but he
couldn't. There was some force in his body that was working it against his
will, stymieing any attempt to give his muscles and bones different
instructions. So he stood there in his rumpled suit, shoving his cock into
his mouth, cupping the heavy balls to protect them as he guided it. He felt
the rest of his body responding to the phantom sensations, his breathing
gulping in air and his knees getting unsteady; normally when he was this
aroused and standing up, he had someone else to pivot against, to help
carry his weight. He wanted to sit down something awful.

Then a guy walked into the room from the back hallway. He was the Latino
kid that had shown up on Brandon's phone several nights before . . . during
his pig experience. The guy was fresh-faced and young, with caramel skin
set off by thick, black hair. His mouth cracked into a wide smile and he
laughed hysterically at the sight of Cameron, blowing himself. The Latino
kid wore just a pair of jeans, and was bare-chested and barefoot as he came
into the room. Brandon laughed with him and passed the stub of the joint
over to him.

"I see yours arrived," the Latino kid said. He fumbled for the roach, but
realized there wasn't enough left to relight, then flicked it away.

"Yeah," Brandon agreed, "Yours is late! That fucker."

And Cameron could do nothing but stand there and blow himself in front of
them. They watched him doing this, dopey grins on their faces. Cameron felt
humiliation burn in him again, but he'd already been through so much that
this slice of new shame felt timid in comparison. He just closed his eyes
and kept working his cock, this time with more gusto. The pleasure he was
feeling allowed him to forget the drama that surrounded him.

"Let's see what he's got," the Latino kid said.

Brandon shrugged, held up the knotted cord and said, "Stop." Cameron did
immediately, with his cock half-lodged down his throat, drooling pre-cum
down it. Brandon stepped up, removed Cameron's hand from the base of his
disembodied member, where the metal ring gripped him, and slid the cock out
of Cameron's mouth with a slick pop. Cameron cursed in his mind - - he had
been close to shooting.

"Eddie wants to see your body," Brandon explained, "Get naked and pose for
us."

Cameron's hands moved to his shirt, untucked it, and began unbuttoning
it. Brandon sat down on the leather couch and propped his foot on the
coffee table and Eddie just stood there, hands in the pockets of his
hip-huggers, rocking back and forth on his heels. All Cameron could think
was "assholes" as he pulled off his tie and shed his dress shirt and
jacket. Following orders he couldn't control, Cameron peeled off his
wife-beater and bent down to untie his dress shoes. In a crouch, he pulled
one off, then shifted and pulled the other off. Standing up again, he undid
his belt and pushed down his boxers and pants in a smooth motion, standing
there in only his black, calf-high dress socks.

"Leave those," Brandon said perversely, stopping Cameron from pulling them
off his feet. "Pose."

And Cameron did. He seemed to know instinctively what Brandon wanted, as he
launched into a series of body-building poses. He brought his arms up and
showed off his impressive guns. He pushed his arms down and showed off his
shoulders, then his chest. He put his black socked foot forward and
clenched his quads and calves for Brandon's pleasure. Brandon fingered the
cord that was controlling him in his hands as Cameron went through this
exercise.

"Stop," Brandon said, freezing Cameron in an upright pose, his arms
clenched down and his abs and chest puffed out. Eddie had already lit up
another joint during Cameron's routines and passed it to Brandon.

"Dude," Eddie said through clenched teeth, "What's with the socks?"

"I like them," Brandon countered, sucking on the joint. Brandon crawled off
the couch unsteadily and approached the stock rigid form of Cameron, who
was frozen striking a clenched muscle pose. Brandon's hands started to roam
over Cameron, as if appraising his musculature. His fingers probed the
planes of his body, curling around his biceps, across the chest, plowing
through the dense body hair that he'd caused to grow on Cameron. Cameron
could only stand there as he was inspected, as Brandon's hands ran down his
back, cupped his clenched ass, probed between the cheeks.

He wanted to his Brandon. He wanted to curl up and die from this
inspection. But he could do neither. He could only stand there and take
it. He couldn't even alter his facial expression. For the thousandth time,
he wondered where this fucking shit would end? He wondered what he'd done
to deserve it? He wondered how he could stop it.

"He turned out perfect," Brandon declared.

Cameron started - - but gave only a clenched shudder - - when Eddie grabbed
his cock off the coffee table and gave it a powerful squeeze. "Just gotta'
reattach the goods," Eddie said, tossing it toward Brandon.

Brandon fumbled with his cock and dropped it. It smacked onto Cameron's
socked, right foot with a wet flap and Cameron winced internally as his
nuts bounced against the floor. Brandon chuckled, picked his rigid cock off
the ground, and knelt down before Cameron's blank crotch. Giggling, Brandon
picked up Cameron's cock and balls, and tried to align them against the
blank skin, all the while tottering unsteadily. Whenever he did, the lit
joint in his lips came uncomfortably close to scorching his crotch, but all
Cameron could do is watch this happen.

Then, a flood of sexual pleasure blasted through him and, even frozen as he
was, he shuddered and moaned. He felt his flesh reattached. He felt the
weight of his cock and balls on his crotch again, heavy and full, and he
felt whole again. He decided that, if posing in his socks for his neighbor
fag was the price for being a hole person again, he could pay it.

"There," Brandon said, "All better." He pulled the joint out of his mouth
and sucked down Cameron's hard cock in a single gulp, held it there for a
second, letting the sensations register on Cameron, then pulled off. He
took another toke, stood up and looked Cameron in the eye. "You're perfect
now. And you're mine."

Eddie had drifted closer to Cameron's naked form, his face slack and a
bulge in his loose jeans forming. Eddie was staring down at Cameron's feet,
but reached out to touch his cock. God! He was a plaything for these
freaks! Cameron wanted nothing more than to go home and forget all this has
happened.

Brandon giggled, "See, Eddie's got a foot fetish," he told Cameron, "I gave
it to him. It's great . . . he could give you a foot massage and cream
himself at the same time."

Eddie sneered at Brandon. "Asshole."

Brandon hiked up the leg of his jeans a little and put his foot out,
balancing it on his heel. Eddie's attention snapped to it immediately and,
while his fist closed over Cameron's exposed pink rod, he breathed deeply
and sighed. Brandon wiggled his toes toward Eddie and the Latino boy
clearly was having a struggle with himself.

"Asshole," Eddie cursed at Brandon, but both Brandon and Cameron saw the
liquid spot soaking through the Latino boy's jeans at his hip.

"Get down there and kiss it, footboy," Brandon sneered.

Eddie resisted, but his body was trembling with the effort. This clearly
annoyed Brandon and the two looked like they were about to have a
confrontation, but there were several loud slams on the front door.

Brandon gave up on his foot seduction of Eddie, and padded toward the
door. "About fucking time," he cursed.

Cameron shuddered at the thought of someone else being brought into this
scene. Here he was, trapped in a stupid muscle-man pose, showing off his
furry abs, plank-like chest, and rippling guns while his hard cock - -
having been increased to a ridiculous size and thickness - - jutted out of
his crotch. Now . . . some stranger was going to see him like this. Some
person he didn't know was going to catch sight of Cameron in this
compromising position. If he could have folded in on himself and
disappeared, he would have.

But no one had the chance. As soon as Brandon opened the door, a huge
chrome gun was thrust into his face by a man whose skin was blacker than
anything Cameron had ever seen. Brandon froze, his expression solidifying
like ice freezing, and Eddie just started and babbled.

"That's right!" the black man said, pressing Brandon backward, muzzle
pressed against his cheek, "Now you respect me! Get your cracker ass back
inside!" The black man came in and Cameron could see how badly his clothing
fit. His shirt was tight in the wrong places and loose where it shouldn't
be and his jeans were both hanging off his hips and showing well above his
ankles. He had clearly had an experience just like Cameron himself, where
his body was "modified" in ways his clothes couldn't keep up with.

Brandon backed up slowly and allowed the black man to close the
door. "Keevin . . ."

"Shut up!" Keevin screamed. The man was already fumbling with his belt and
the front of his jeans. He motioned at the table, where the shoe box of
disembodied cocks sat and all of them could see the jet black pole sticking
out from the others . . . huge and thick beyond reason. "You're gonna put
it back on right now!" Keevin demanded.

Brandon said, "Okay," but didn't move. Keevin managed to open his jeans and
let them drop, revealing a ripped, hairless body of smooth, jet black
muscle. Even Cameron was impressed at the sight, but he knew that it was
manufactured. Keevin was obviously being worked the in same fashion that
Cameron was, and he felt instant empathy for the black man. He only wished
he had thought to get a gun himself. This level of intimidation seemed to
be working.

But, then Cameron realized that an irrational man was waving a gun around -
- and he couldn't move a muscle. If he pulled off a shot, there was a good
chance that he could get hit in the cross-fire. There was nothing he could
do and he knew it. He cursed Brandon again and that fucking cord he
held. He looked down and realized it was on the floor where Brandon had
dropped it. Shit! Control of his body has been casually cast aside.

Keevin shuddered and moaned as Brandon's hand closed around his pole in the
shoe box. Brandon pulled it up and Cameron saw that it was gigantic - -
thick as a beer can and now, nearly a foot long as its erection grew. They
had worked overtime on it, making it a monster of an appendage. Cameron
glanced down at his own thick pole, jutting away from his artificially
clenched body, and felt a mixture of shame and satisfaction at how large it
was. How was he going to live with that hanging between his legs?? It was
easily twice the size it should be. He couldn't even imagine having the
insanity of Keevin's cock there instead.

Brandon, despite having the gun centered on him, was cool about it. He
stroked Keevin's monster appendage as he walked back to the black man and
descended wordlessly to his knees as he got close enough. Eddie seemed
anxious beyond words, but contained imself by fidgeting where he stood.

Brandon put the cock up to Keevin's body and manipulated it. Keevin
suddenly let out a cry of pure, animal pleasure and raised up off his feet,
the gun going wide as his arms stretched out. "That's what I'm talkin'
about!" Keevin shouted.

"Don't move a muscle," Brandon said. Keevin responded by freezing
completely. Brandon stood up and pulled another cord out of his pocket,
tightly knotted, and Cameron's stomach fell. He had control of Keevin
now. Of course! It was why he had been invited here.

"Whew!" Eddie said out loud in relief, "Jesus!"

"Carefully click the safety on the gun," Brandon told Keevin, who complied,
wide-eyed but otherwise placidly. "Give it to me." Keevin handed over the
gun to Brandon, who looked at it silently for a long moment, then turned
toward Eddie with a look of subdued rage on his face.

"Oh no!" Eddie told him, "He's mine!"

"Fucker held a gun to my face," Brandon said, padding across the room and
disappearing into the back hallway.

Whatever effect that had been wrought on Cameron was starting to fade. He
could feel his ability to move consciously begin to return and he relaxed
his muscle pose slightly. Eddie looked frantically at Keevin, who stood
stock still with his foot-and-a-half erection jutting off him like a
flagpole, the back to Cameron, the to the hallway. He paced the room,
worried, but clearly also afraid of Brandon.

Brandon re-entered with a small brown bottle and was unscrewing the cap.

"No, no!" Eddie pleaded, "C'mon! you got yours! Let me have mine!!"

Brandon turned on him quickly and got in his face, his sneer frightening
Eddie with its intensity. "You want some!?" He held up the bottle as a
threat, "You can join him on the shelf if you want."

"No," Eddie said quickly and quietly, holding up his palms.

"Alright then," Brandon said and reoriented on Keevin. He unceremoniously
threw whatever liquid was in the bottle onto Keevin's chest, then held up
the knotted cord and said, "You can move as you like now."

Keevin immediately went into convulsions and some change rippled through
his body. Cameron wanted to turn away, to leave the room, but he could
barely unclench himself, much less walk out. Whatever was happening to
Keevin wasn't pleasant to watch, as Keevin's muscles jerked and spasmed of
their own accord. He doubled over onto the floor so it wasn't obvious at
first, but after a minute or two, it was clear that he was shrinking. The
change was slow and methodical, reducing Keevin in size and mass by the
moment, reducing him to a small squirming mass on the floor no more than
six or seven inches in height. He lay there, a perfectly proportioned
replica of himself, a tiny organic figure that moved spasmodically. Cameron
noticed that his huge cock was still erect and looked like a third-leg
sticking out of his crotch. Then, something strange happened - - he stopped
moving all together and the tiny sounds of his struggling ceased. A change
happened in his body, as the material of flesh changed. His arms and legs
were stock rigid and his face lost all expression.

Brandon picked him up with his thumb and forefinger and tossed him bodily
at Eddie, who flinched as Keevin's body bounced off his chest. The black
man fell at Cameron's feet and he only shuddered in horror. Keevin had been
turned into some kind of action figure of himself, a small rubber thing.

"OH MAN!" Eddie screamed, angry at Brandon, "Now what am I supposed to do!!
God-damn it!" Eddie stalked off and in the back of the apartment, Cameron
heard the door slam.

Brandon retrieved the action figure and talked to hit, putting it his face
into the face of the tiny figure. "With the dose I gave you, you should be
this way for about a year. But this isn't the best part."

Brandon proceeded to ball up the little humanoid figure in his fist,
bending Keevin's limbs at impossible angles, stretching his rubbery body
into a weird knot of limbs. He released Keevin and he stayed in that
knot. Brandon bounced him off the kitchen linoleum like a rubber ball and
Keevin's body came back up into his hand. Brandon was demonstrating this
more for Cameron's benefit than Keevin's, but then strode to the front
door, opened it, and pitched Keevin's rubber ball body out the door,
sending it careening down the outer hallway, bouncing off walls the floor
as it did. He closed the door silently.

"Now that I've dealt with that," he said, brandishing Cameron's cord, "Get
into the back bedroom."

Cameron's legs moved him down the hall and into the master bedroom, a wreck
of collegiate unkemptness. He stepped over the piles of dirty clothes on
the floor, around the boxes of unpacked personal items, to stand in the
center of the room. Brandon had followed him every step of the way and
closed the door behind himself as he entered. Brandon took a deep breath,
seeming to shake off the fury that had gripped him.

Brandon went to the dresser and opened a small wooden box. There were
plenty of small wooden boxes all over the dresser, each of a different
shade of wood and each with a different decoration scheme. Some were thick
with rivets, some had detailing of leaves, some were abjectly plain. He
pulled out the one with the leaves and inside was a load of pot sitting on
a swath of cellophane. Brandon picked up a double-bong, one with two
breathing tubes, and filled the bowl with the weed, glancing back at
Cameron as he stood there.

"Take off those stupid socks," he ordered and Brandon balanced on one foot
to do so, "I only left them on you because I didn't want Eddie sucking your
feet while you stood there." Brandon shrugged, "I kinda' overjuiced him on
the foot fetish thing . . . you should seem him sweat it out in the locker
room."

Cameron said nothing - - still couldn't say anything - - but he realized
that the order to be silent was starting to wear off just like the order to
stand still and pose had done. He made a soft moaning sound in this throat;
that was the extent of his control.

"Sit down in the center of the bed and spread your legs," Brandon
ordered. Cameron - - still under the influence of the cord, crawled into
the center of the bed and did as he was told. He spread his legs, showing
off his spiked erection and sat back, bracing himself on his arms. He
looked over at Brandon and the younger boy was slowly revealing his smooth,
pale body as he shed his clothes. Brandon had only the barest during of
body hair on him - - chest, belly, arms and legs. Only the patch of dirty
blond pubes over his enormous pink cock betrayed his adulthood.

Brandon brought the double-bong, the knotted cord, and a lighter into the
bed with him and sat facing Cameron. Brandon positioned himself in the
reverse pose that Cameron took, his own legs splayed out and propped
backward on his arms. He slid himself under Cameron's legs until their
crotches were touching and Cameron was practically sitting on his
lap. Brandon put the paraphernalia to the side and wrapped his legs around
Cameron so that the soles of his narrow feet were touching Cameron's furry
glutes.

Brandon touched Cameron's cock gently, gripping it and pulling at it. "See
how hard you still are?" Brandon commented, "I made it so you stay hard for
about 3 or 4 hours after you get aroused." Brandon reached under and palmed
Cameron's huge nuts. "You've got a recoil rate of about a minute after
shooting. You can keep fucking and the sensations only get better. After
about the fourth orgasm in a row, you go multi-orgasmic and, as long as
your stimulated, you have this constant orgasm."

Cameron only listened to this. He couldn't really respond, given the cord's
command on him, but the idea that his body has been turned into a sexual
machine worried him. He was horny as all get out right now - - and had been
since he'd arrived and been forced to suck himself - - the idea that the
sensations he was feeling could get dramatically more intense was a little
frightening. He could foresee himself getting completely out of control
because he was teetering on that now. Brandon's grip on his shaft got
stronger and he started milking Cameron's cock, driving him crazy with the
desire to move and react.

Brandon reached a couple of fingers underneath Cameron's nuts and pressed
on the space there - - if Cameron could have, he would have moaned - - as
it was his cock suddenly spurt out a dozen or so pulses of pre-cum. Each
was less intense than a real orgasm, but the liquid flowed, and flowed, and
flowed until his entire cock and Brandon's hand was slick with it. Brandon
chuckled and slide himself closer, lining up his own huge pink member with
Cameron's cock and fisting both of them at the same time. A huge, dopey
smile cross Brandon's features.

"And when you shoot . . . fuck that feels good . . . you won't believe the
amount of jizz that'll come out," Brandon bragged. He hefted Cameron's nuts
in his palm again. "These are little cum factories now."

Cameron felt weird, having himself jacked off by another guy. Moreso, he'd
never had his cock touch another guy's cock and the slick, smoothness of
the skin caused appealing sensations, even if it was a fucked up
situation. He sighed as Brandon pumped him slowly. It wouldn't take long
for him to shoot.

Brandon held up the cord. "Ok, three more orders. You'll sit here and smoke
this bong with me. Then we're going to 69. You cum when I cum, not before,
not after. Otherwise, you can do or say whatever you want."

Cameron immediately began wriggling and squirming with pleasure. His legs
extended outward and his feet worked against the messed up comforter as
Brandon worked on his cock with his other hand. "Jesus fuck!" he exclaimed,
"What have you done to me?"

"Feels good, huh?" Brandon chuckled, palming both their glans in a circular
motion and eliciting another sigh from Cameron.

"Yes," Cameron breathed, bucking his hips to rub their cocks together in
Brandon's closed fists. Cameron shuddered as a micro-orgasm rippled through
him. It felt like his cock was pumping out jism, but when he looked, it was
only another load of pre-cum bubbling out of his tip and sluicing down both
their shafts. He rose up on his heels as it happened, prompting Brandon to
do the same. They both fell back onto the mattress.

"You pump while I light," Brandon said, releasing their cocks and grabbing
the double-bong. Cameron, a little unsure - - but too fucking horny to
resist - - grabbed both their shafts with both his hands and started to
manipulate them. Brandon's cock was now shorter than thinner than his own,
but still impressive in its own right and Cameron explored its contours
with his slick fingers, using it as a toy to work against his own sensitive
spots.

Cameron didn't know if his doing this was the cord's influence or just
whatever Brandon had done to him. He hated Brandon still - - but he was so
horny right now he couldn't control himself. All that talk about what had
been done to his cock HAD turned him into some kind of a slut-whore. All he
could concentrate on was getting off. Whenever the anxiety of what he was
doing surfaced in his mind, this throbbing cock took precedence, shoving
unpleasant emotions aside in favor of the quest for his next orgasm.

Even as he pumped them, Brandon brought the double bong to their
faces. Compulsively, without any conscious thought, Cameron leaned over and
put his mouth on the tube. Brandon did the same and lit the bowl with a
lighter. They both inhaled deeply, the smoke curling into Cameron's
lungs. He looked across the clear glass of the bong and saw Brandon's thick
lips in an "O" as he sucked in the smoke.

The both disengaged and held in the pot smoke. Cameron felt a powerful wave
of light-headedness sweep through him, sending tingling sensations across
his skin and making his cock that much more sensitive. The same must be
happening to Brandon, because they both let out a massive groan at the same
moment.

Cameron had gotten high before in his misspent youth in North
Carolina. But, once he'd gotten out of college, he'd never touched the
stuff. Yet, he couldn't remember any weed, no matter its quality, having an
effect this fast. Already, with one puff, he we was reeling. He let the
smoke seep out of his nose, giving only the slightest cough. Brandon leaned
in for another toke and so did Cameron, his body acting without his
conscious thought. He sucked in another huge gulp of the smoke and it did
the same to his body, heightening the tingling on his skin and making his
cock jump. His kegel muscles went off into a series of machine gun pulses,
clenching and unclenching reflexively until he thought he was having an
orgasm. But when he looked down, his cock was jumping next to Brandon's,
but no liquid was coming out. God! He had never wanted to fuck something
more in his life than right now. He actually tried to launch himself on top
of Brandon and penetrate him, but his body didn't act.

A third toke and the bowl was full of cinders and ashes. Both Brandon and
Cameron were high now - - stratospheric - - and both had reached of level
of sexual arouse that was sublime. When Brandon put the bowl down, Cameron
couldn't help himself. He pulled Brandon closer, touching their torsos
together - - Cameron's furry one and Brandon's smooth one. He wrapped his
arms around Brandon's back and he kissed Brandon, feeling Brandon's slick
tongue invade his mouth and duel with his own.

Everything that had happened vanished to him. There was only the moment
now, the need for human comfort found in one another's body. He couldn't
freak out about that human being a man - - it didn't matter now - - he was
too far gone. And so, Cameron kissed Brandon, explored the younger man's
smooth skin with his own and pulled him close enough that for several slick
moments, Cameron couldn't quite discern where his skin ended and Brandon's
began. He knew it was the weed - - and silently, in his deepest, most
secret place, decided that he needed to get some of this weed for
himself. They way it made his cock feel, sliding against Brandon's as they
both bucked against one another's hips and crotches, was better than he had
imagined it could feel.

Brandon was clearly getting off on this as well, as his hands were
exploring and probing Cameron's muscles and body hair as they
kissed. Without saying anything, he disengaged enough to move the double
bong aside, toss the knotted cord on the floor, and rolling over on his
side, guiding Cameron into a 69 position. Cameron accepted this readily,
not because he wanted to suck Brandon's cock again, but because he needed
his own sucked. As Brandon's hot mouth engulfed Cameron's cock to the base,
he did the same to Brandon's and soon, they were blowing each other in
unison.

Cameron pulled Brandon as close as possible, still allowing for the
movement of their heads, and wrapped his legs around Brandon's
torso. Brandon did the same for him, locking his ankles in the small of
Cameron's back. Somewhere during the dual blowjobs, the weed drove Cameron
over the edge of conscious, rational sense. The pleasure was too great - -
whatever Brandon had done to his cock was a masterwork of sex! He couldn't
imagine doing this several times in a row. He felt his skin touching
Brandon's and it seemed to dissolve, until he was feeling what Brandon felt
and he knew that Brandon was feeling what he felt. They were synched up so
completely, it was like they were the same person. Emotions flowed through
him like a river - - there was simple bliss that dominated everything else,
tinged with a fucked up affection for Brandon, mixed with all his hatred,
annoyance, and humiliation. It was all overwhelming and he could only
really concentrate on his good his cock felt - - their cocks felt.

The speed of their work picked up and as it did, so did the feeling of
their union. Cameron didn't think of them as separate people any more. They
were working to achieve the same, explosive orgasm. It came upon them with
abandon. They didn't work up to it, they raced toward the edge at breakneck
speed, and both of them shot at the same time, sending hit liquid pumping
down one another's throats, and their minds into a blank state of
completely satisfaction and sexual fulfillment.

It was the most religious thing Cameron had ever felt.

He didn't know how long it lasted.

When he awoke, he felt strange. His body ached and he was still loopy from
the weed. Brandon was gone. He was alone in Brandon's bed, curled into a
ball. He lay there for several long moments, unable to consciously move his
limbs in a hypnogogic state. But, as he came aware, he knew immediately
that something was wrong with him.

Looking down at his body, he saw an twink, a pale-skinned, smooth, young
body with small pink nipples, a lethargic pink cock, and a small shrub of
dirty-blond pubes.

What!? This lurched him awake and Cameron scrambled upward, tilting badly
and bracing himself against the dresser. The weed was still in him, making
him loopy and disoriented. He pulled himself to the mirror and looked at
himself, but stood there shakily and flummoxed.

It was Brandon's face that looked back at him from the mirror, not his own.