"Hey, You Mind If I Drop This?"

"Hey, you mind if I drop this?"

Rex flashed his million-dollar smile as he asked the question, not really waiting for Terry's reply before he undid the towel and let it fall to the floor. Those pearly whites stayed on display as Rex stood there, acting as though it was the most normal thing in the world to totally expose himself to his new dorm-mate the very first time he was meeting him.

Internally, Rex was horrified by what he was doing -- not that anyone would ever suspect such a thing while he wore that confident look on his face, of course. The science students who'd "rewired" Rex's brain yesterday had been very intentional about how it all worked, making sure that Rex's true consciousness stayed present even when his body was following quite a different set of newly-implanted commands.

It was really too bad that Terry never got to meet the real Rex. If he'd just moved in 24 hours prior, he would have seen what those science students spotted yesterday: a bully who'd never learned his lesson, a conservative Republican who was happy to spread hate, and a frat-boy-in-the-making ready to roofie some drinks if that's what he had to do to pound all the pussy he knew he deserved.

Yet, before anyone got a chance to meet that Rex, a group of well-meaning scientists-in-training came to the rescue, nabbing the beautiful bastard and hooking him up to their neural redesign matrix before he'd figured out what was going on.

Now, Terry watched as his newly-exhibitionist roommate strode out into the middle of their dorm room, stretching when he got there, apparently trying to make sure Terry got an even better look at his manly and well-muscled physique from additional angles.

A very run-of-the-mill and ordinary guy, Terry tried to make sense of what was going on. He knew college was going to introduce him to some pretty "out there" kinds of people... And he supposed if he had a body as nice as Rex's (instead of the very average form he currently kept beneath several layers of clothing), he might be inclined to show it off a bit more too, right...?

"Uh, okay, uh... yeah, sure, bro..." Terry awkwardly choked out, never having been very good at social situations. "I mean, hey, I guess I'd want to show off too if I had what you have," he said unsteadily, gesturing awkwardly to everything Rex had on display.

"Oh, yeah?" Rex asked cheekily, obviously goading his roommate to say more about his body.

"Oh, umm, I mean, like..." Terry trailed off, uncomfortably looking at and then away from Rex's one man show. He didn't know what to say, really. As a fairly awkward guy in general, Terry had never had many male friends... Just what did men say about each other's bodies without sounding gay?

"I mean, you've got a great cock," Terry blurted out, regretting it immediately when he said it. He'd been trying to think of something "normal sounding" to say and instead just put his foot in his mouth by commenting on the most sexual thing he could.

To his surprise, Rex was unfazed. "Yeah, thanks, but you should just ignore it," Rex stated matter-of-factly, walking past Terry and over to his side of the room. "I'm a gay total bottom."

It was at that point that Terry noticed the metallic object sitting on Rex's nightstand -- an apparent penis-prison he held up for Terry to see. "I just take this off for cleaning about once a week, but otherwise it's 100% 'out of sight, out of mind' for this little guy," he said good-naturedly as he slipped the base ring for his cage into place behind his balls.

"Shit... uh, wow..." Terry said, genuinely at a loss for words. Was this guy serious? It was one thing for him to be a nudist or whatever, but this was quickly veering into "total pervert" territory.

"That doesn't bother you, right?" Rex asked casually as he clicked the tube section of his chastity cage into place, nonchalantly rendering his dick totally useless right in front of his new roommate. 

"Umm, well, I'm not, like... I'm not homophobic or anything, but..." Terry stuttered out, trying to think of a way to gracefully extricate himself from this situation and race down to the Student Services office to request an urgent room reassignment.

"Awesome," Rex said, flashing his winning smile yet again. "Well, maybe you can hold on to the key for me then?"

"Oh, uh, I think we both get our own room keys..." Terry said, looking to the door and back as though that would tell him something about how many keys they needed.

Rex laughed like Terry had said the funniest thing in the world. It was a full-throated and warm laugh -- one that, Terry was sure, must have seemed charming to any girls... err, any guys that Rex would flirt with.

"Nah, I mean the key for my cage," Rex said with a bit of a chuckle still in his voice. "Like I said, I just forget about this little guy," he said, reaching down and flopping his pathetic-looking caged cock around obscenely. "So, maybe you could be in charge of the key for me?"

"Uh... no, uh, thanks..." Terry said, somehow feeling even more uncomfortable than he had before. It was bad enough when Rex just seemed like an exhibitionist who needed someone to watch him act like a depraved perv, but now he was asking Terry to be involved with this somehow? Terry considered himself to be accommodating and open-minded, but it was a firm "fuck no" from him on this one.

"Hey, no worries, bro," Rex replied with a dismissive shrug. "I'm saving up to get a cage that doesn't need to come off for cleaning, so the whole key issue isn't going to matter much in a few weeks."

"Uh, great..." Terry muttered uncomfortably, learning much more about the intricacies of permanent chastity than he'd ever wanted to. "You know, I need to get going," he said, giving up on trying to think of an excuse to leave, just wanting to get the fuck out of this room now.

"Oh, right, you probably need to go grab your stuff!" Rex said, that charming smile still on his face. "Let me throw on some shorts and I'll help you carry your boxes or whatever."

At that, Rex turned around and bent over right in front of Terry. Before his roommate could look away and avert his gaze, his eyes landed on something other than what he'd expected to see. Rather than Rex's manhole winking back at him, the wide and thick base of a buttplug stuck out between Rex's well-muscled cheeks.

Turning back around, Rex stepped into the garment he'd pulled from his drawer, with Terry thinking that his roommate made some kind of mistake.

In what world were those "shorts"? The underwear Terry had on under his pants covered more than that skimpy get-up did -- to say nothing of how the combination of sheer white material and clingy spandex left nothing to the imagination when Rex got them on (with every curve of his body and ridge of his chastity cage totally visible even when "clothed" in this way).

"Uh, thanks, but, uh..." Terry awkwardly choked out. "I'll just do it myself, thanks."

"Cool, whatever you say," Rex said, seemingly unfazed by Terry's abundantly apparent discomfort. He took a couple steps over to their dorm room window, looking out at the quad just beyond it. "Well, it's a beautiful day, so I'm gonna head out for a run," he added, putting on the only other thing he'd be wearing on his body as he jogged around campus: an arm band to hold his phone and room key.

"Right, great..." Terry said, waiting for Rex to leave first (as he didn't even want to be seen walking next to someone who looked like such a perverted exhibitionist in that "outfit").

"Oh, before I forget," Rex said, starting to step towards the door. "All my clothes are in there," he said, pointing only to the nightstand. "All my dildos are all in the wardrobe over there," he added, gesturing to where clothes would normally be kept. "And all my BDSM stuff is in the desk drawers."

Terry was, once again, at a loss for words -- and now he was counting the seconds until he could get down to the Student Services office and get himself away from this depraved slut for good.

"But all the other side of the room is yours," Rex concluded, flashing his winning smile and stepping out to take his run -- after he made one important pitstop on the way, that is.

***

Back at the lab, Rex was strapped into the neural redesign matrix once more. His eyes pleaded desperately to be let go, but the rest of him remained paralyzed as the science students reviewed the footage from the camera he'd set up in his room and read over the brain scan results from the first 24 hours.

"Looks like his brain accepted most of the new networks," a chubby redhead sitting next to Rex said as he looked over the numbers in front of him.

"Yeah, but we need to find a way to get the sex-specific ones to activate," a tall twink with thick glasses said as he studied the information on his own screen. "We got him to expose and humiliate himself, but he didn't even offer once to blow his roommate."

"Fair, fair..." the redhead replied. "His aversion to sex with men must be a lot higher than we'd originally thought."

"Exactly," the third member of their group -- a short, pale blond -- added. "He should have been begging to get DP'd from both ends today, based on everything we dumped in his brain yesterday, but he won't go further than taking a buttplug up his muscle-cunt."

"Well, let's just try upping his libido somewhere between 400 and 500% and see if that does the trick?" the tall twink asked, tweaking some numbers on the device attached to Rex's head. "His 'permanent chastity' neutral networking took, so he's bound to start using his holes a lot more if we do that."

"Hmm, I'm still not totally pleased with it," the pale blond science student said hesitantly. "But, you're right, it should get him asking other men to fuck the living daylights out of his man-cunt sooner rather than later."

"And with any luck," the chubby redhead said, looking over to Rex to meet his pleading eyes with his own. "Your next roommate will be happy to help give you exactly what you need..."

Ricky had absolutely no idea why he'd stripped completely and totally naked when his roommate Ian had told him to. Normally, he would have told the fruitcake he reluctantly shared an apartment with to fuck off with his faggy fantasies unless he wanted to be eating a knuckle sandwich for his next meal.

Something had changed, though. Ever since Ian had shown him that strange video -- what had that even been, anyway? what were all those odd colours, shapes, and sounds? -- there was something about Ian's voice that made it impossible for Ricky to do anything other than exactly whatever the scrawny little poof told him to.

Just stripping down in front of him was humiliating enough on its own. Ian -- dressed like he had somewhere important to be -- had regarded Ricky with an almost clinical gaze as the beefy bodybuilder had peeled off each article of clothing, making him feel significantly more vulnerable and exposed than he did when undressing in the locker room or getting naked with a sexual partner.

But that was far from the end of what Ian was going to order his homophobic roommate to do for him. Before the bare-ass beefcake had even had a second to process what he'd just done, Ian handed Ricky a bottle and issued a simple command: "oil up."

"Heh, okay, come on, bro, you've had your fun," Ricky said nervously, trying to act like this was not freaking him out as much as it was. Despite his profound desire to escape this situation, he was nevertheless doing exactly as he was told, starting by rubbing the baby oil all over his meaty pectorals as Ian looked on hungrily.

"Don't stop there," Ian said, ignoring Ricky's words, openly objectifying him by paying attention only to his body. "Make sure to get plenty on your abs and biceps, too."

"Right... cool, but... uh, this is probably enough of this shit now, right?" Ricky asked with the same nervousness in his voice as -- despite himself -- he applied more baby oil to his well-muscled flesh.

"Dick too," Ian said plainly, gesturing to the nether regions where he wanted Ricky to continue oiling himself up.

"Fuck, come on, Ian," Ricky pleaded as he applied the slick substance to his crotch. "I know I was a jerk, but don't you think whatever you're doing has gone far enough now?"

"Arms above your head," Ian stated, again ignoring Ricky's words in favour of his body alone. As the burly bodybuilder lifted his arms, Ian circled around him, evaluating him like a piece of meat for purchase instead of a person he shared an apartment with.

When the slender, smaller man had finished his walk around the Greek god currently displaying himself like a cheap whore for sale, he finally looked Ricky in the face. The beefy meathead's hope for a response to his plaintiff pleas for mercy were dashed when Ian's next command came: "No more talking, got it?"

While not an order that came with a physical action like the others had, Ricky felt his body obeying, his tongue choosing a position to rest in and his jaw clenching shut ever-so-slightly.

"And to answer your question," Ian began, studying Ricky's oiled-up physique as he spoke. "I've barely gotten started."

Ricky swallowed hard as a vindictive expression came over Ian's face.

"You think I don't know the shit you get up to?" he said, contempt in his voice. "Date-raping all those girls you bring home?!" Ian spat. "Acting like a goddamn neo-Nazi at all those fucking far right rallies?!" he continued. His eyes narrowed and his voice went ice cold as he concluded: "Beating the shit out of my best friend and his boyfriend for holding hands in public?"

Ricky felt his stomach drop. Ian knew. Ian knew all of it. And, thanks to whatever impossible trick he had used to put Ricky into his current state, Ian was going to make sure that this malicious macho man learned an important lesson: karma's a bitch.

Ricky jumped when a knock came suddenly at the door to their apartment.

Ian glanced at his wristwatch, a sly grin forming on his face. "Looks like some of my guests must be early," he said simply.

Ricky, unable to speak, pleaded with his eyes, knowing he deserved no mercy but still praying that he might receive it.

"Not to worry, though. It won't take me long to set things up for the party..." Ian said, reaching down to start pulling items out of a sack that had been sitting at his feet. Calmly and methodically, he set the first few items down on the table in front of him: a leather flogger, shark-tooth nipple clamps, a full-sized wooden frat paddle, and a spiked chastity cage.

Ricky didn't know what mortified him more: the torture devices Ian had just spread out on the table, or the fact that the bag that these BDSM nightmares had come from still appeared to be three-quarters full.

A knock came at the door once more, this time louder and more insistent.

"Well, don't just stand there," Ian said to the white-as-a-sheet Ricky as he began to dig in the sack once more. "Be a good boy and let our guests in."

Dreading what would come next (answering the door -- naked, oiled up, and on full display -- to a couple of fags who loved his muscles and hated his guts) and what would come after (a night -- or more -- of sadistic sexual torment from every last homo Ian knew), Ricky still had to do as he was commanded.

As he turned the handle to let the first of Ian's guests inside, he heard his new master call out with words that told him things were only going to get worse from here on out: "Come on in, guys! The party's just getting started..."

Bring Your Kid to Work Day

Not only was Timmy’s image of his father totally destroyed in the moment the announcer had welcomed "Dirk the DILF" to the stage, but something else dawned on him in the same instant: if word got out among his classmates of what his dad did for work, he knew that the “Tough Guy Tim” image he’d worked so hard to cultivate would be shattered.

Almost as though someone had heard that thought passing through Timmy’s head, it only took a second for a familiar voice to let him know how quickly that his new fear of irreparable reputational damage could become a reality: “Tim? That you?”

Timmy froze, hoping that, if he didn't turn around, then he could just slip out the back before whoever thought they recognized him could confirm it.

"Tim, hey! It's me, Freddy," the familiar voice continued, reaching out and grabbing hold of Timmy's shoulder to make sure he couldn't ignore him anymore.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Of course it had to be "Freddy the Fairy" who spotted him here. Given how frequently Timmy had bullied this limp-wristed faggot, he had a strong suspicion that Freddy wouldn't hesitate to spread some reputation-destroying information among everyone at their high school.

"Uh, hey, Freddy..." Timmy said hesitantly, still not looking his classmate in the face as he tried to think of a way to explain his presence here without letting it slip that his own father was the one who'd just been shaking his ass in a skimpy little g-string on stage.

"So, I guess we have some common interests," Freddy said, clearly thinking that Timmy had come here to enjoy the show. That would explain why Freddy seemed pleased to see someone he normally recoiled in fear from: he evidently thought that he'd just discovered that Timmy was secretly as gay as he was.

While Timmy could have -- and probably should have -- used that as a cover story, he didn't think through his instinctive response: "Oh, fuck off! I'm not a fruitcake like you are you little --"

Timmy was cut off by another familiar voice coming from behind him. While not speaking to him this time, just hearing what it said was enough to knock him off-kilter.

"Hey there, hot stuff," his dad said, apparently speaking to Freddy. Noticing Timmy standing next to his #1 fan, Dirk added, "Oh, great, I see you've already met my son."

Timmy went bright red, a reaction caused in equal parts by humiliation and by rage.

"What the fuck, Dad?!" Timmy spat. "What is all this?!" he continued, gesturing at the sleazy male strip club around him. "And why the fuck are you calling Freddy the Fairy 'hot stuff'?!"

Dirk's face made an expression Timmy was familiar with: it was the one he'd worn when he'd told Timmy he and his mother were getting a divorce, when he'd told Timmy they couldn't take a summer vacation, and when he'd told Timmy he couldn't afford to send him to college next year. Normally, it was a gentle, fatherly look that helped to put his son at ease -- although, given that his dad was still wearing a g-strip with dollar bills sticking out of it, it was hard for Timmy to feel "reassured" by someone who looked like a cheap man-whore.

"Oh, wow, Timmy... I'm sorry," he started, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's just, well... I thought you knew this is what I did for work."

Timmy's mind played back all the things his dad had said and done since getting a "job at the club" on the outskirts of town. The clues were all there, he realized now -- he'd just chosen to ignore the obvious because of what it would mean.

"And, well, I don't want to drop too many bombshells on you at once, but..." Dirk looked to Freddy and then back to his son. "Well... Freddy here is my boyfriend, son."

Timmy's jaw dropped. This was too much. It was bad enough to think that his dad would let all of those men grab and grope at his body for money, but this?! He'd just revealed to his son that he was DATING the weak twerp Timmy had terrorized for years.

"Listen, I'll give you some time to process that," Dirk said, looking to see where his fellow stripper was in his own routine on stage. "I gotta get back up there in a minute, so we can talk afterwards."

Stepping over to Freddy, Dirk continued (now in a sultry, seductive tone), "And I'll see you afterwards too."

It would have been hard for Timmy to see his father kissing another man -- but what actually happened was even worse than that. Freddy took Dirk's head in one hand and pressed the DILF's mouth forcefully into his own, his tongue obviously invading the older man's orifice as soon as they connected. Dirk eagerly allowed it happen, obviously enjoying submitting to whatever Freddy wanted to do to him. As though that weren't enough, Freddy's other hand reached around and gropingly manhandled Dirk's bare butt all the while.

The body language spoke volumes: twinky little Freddy was "the man" here, while Timmy's dad was nothing more than a fucktoy himbo.

Freddy gave Dirk's ass a firm slap as the older man turned to start walking away, his eyes then glued to those two beefy globes until he turned the corner to go backstage.

"So, uh, 'Timmy'," Freddy said, dropping the "Tim" moniker that his bully had used to make himself seem more manly than his given name of "Timmy" suggested. "I have a feeling things are gonna be different from now on."

Timmy felt sick. He'd just learned that the faggy kid he'd been pummelling with his fists was now going to be pummelling his own butt-slut father with his twink cock from here on out. How was he supposed to handle any of this?

"But, uh, hey, how about this," Freddy said, putting a sympathetic hand on Timmy's shoulder in an imitation of the fatherly gesture his dad had used on him only a moment ago. "I've been getting pretty sick of Dirk telling me we have to 'keep it down' when I'm plowing into his muscle-cunt on the other side of your bedroom wall. So, I'll keep quiet about all of this," he said, gesturing around him, "if you let me and your dad make all the noise we want at your place, hmm?"

As Dirk the DILF returned to the stage, Timmy swallowed hard and nodded in agreement to the conditions Freddy had just set. His reputation was all he had and he'd do anything to preserve it.

"Sure, Freddy," Timmy said sullenly to the dom top twink who'd be slam-fucking his own father with total abandon later that night. "Whatever you say..."

The Anatomy Lesson

Howard normally dreaded the part of the day he'd have to spend in Mr. Kent's class. As the school's "physical education" teacher, time with Mr. Kent usually meant one thing: "gym class."

Fat and effeminate, Howard would naturally be the target of bullying from other the other boys his age — even at 18 years old, many of them still acted like children, after all. Perhaps that's something he could have dealt with. But the relentless taunting he received from Mr. Kent was on a different level.

It seemed every day Mr. Kent would single out Howard, either for his more-than-average weight, his less-than-masculine mannerisms, or a combination of the two.

Today, however, Howard was feeling very different about having Mr. Kent for second period. It wasn't just that this was a "classroom day" -- one of the rare times the meathead Mr. Kent had to pretend to be able to teach "health studies." Rather, it was that Howard had a feeling he'd finally figured out how to test the project he'd been working on for psych class.

Howard made sure to be the first one in the classroom that day, scoping out the best place to sit. Where his normal tactic was sitting in the back to try to avoid Mr. Kent's notice as much as possible, today he knew he'd want to be near the centre of the action.

The classroom gradually filled up, with every student eventually finding a seat. A couple seemed surprised to see Howard sitting right in the middle of the second row, but no one was fazed beyond that. Instead, most students seemed more interested in the empty space at the front of the room, with Mr. Kent normally being there well before the class began.

As the minutes ticked by, Howard began to worry that maybe he would not be getting what he had hoped for. He knew Mr. Kent had seen the hypnosis videos -- his IP address was all over the site he'd anonymously sent to the buff blockhead last night -- but perhaps the effect had not been what Howard had expected...? Mind control was tricking business, after all. Maybe Mr. Kent was still snoozing away in the "deep sleep" of a trance he must have entered into...

The high school senior let out a sigh of relief when the physical education teacher walked into the classroom, seeming like he was in a bit of a daze.

"Sorry I'm late," Mr. Kent said as the room of teenage boys quieted down and he took his place front and centre of the classroom. "As you all know," he began, mostly sounding and acting like he normally did (a certain vacancy in his eyes only visible to someone who knew to look for it). "We're supposed to have our human anatomy lesson with a model to demonstrate today."

This was, of course, completely untrue. The anatomy lesson, in reality, tended to consist of little more than a series of slides and some worksheets to fill in. But Mr. Kent spoke with such certainty, everyone in the class just accepted that this must have been something they'd already been told and which they'd simply forgotten about.

"Unfortunately, I was just informed our model has the flu," Mr. Kent said matter-of-factly. "But, thankfully, Principal Shaw has authorized an alternative."

Without missing a beat, Mr. Kent peeled off his shirt and casually threw it aside, revealing an impressive physique. With his clothes on, it was clear that Mr. Kent was a muscular man, but the details were always left to the imagination. Now, with bulging biceps, plump pectorals, and rippling abs on full display, it was apparent that whatever this man lacked between his ears was more than made up for with the body he possessed.

Acting as though his behaviour was not out of the ordinary at all, the physical education teacher undid his pants as he continued to speak normally. "Since I'll be the model today," he said plainly as he began pulling down his waistband and fully exposing himself to his class, "I'll need someone to walk us through the lesson plan."

Casually, he stepped out of his trousers and adjusted his ample package like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Howard, since you're the only honours student in the class, I'd like you to do that, please."

"Sure thing, Mr. Kent," Howard said, grinning widely as he got to his feet and made his way to the front of the class.

This bastard had spent years making fun of Howard's body. If it wasn't his rolls of fat, it was his limp wrists. If it wasn't how winded he got, it was his lisp when he spoke. In other words, he'd made Howard a laughing stock because of the body he moved around the world in.

Turnabout was fair play, right?

So far, no one in the class was objecting, so Howard figured he'd start out slow and gradually ramp things up. He didn't want to spook anyone and end things before they even got started.

A few muscle groups explained, a few poses from his puppet -- and Mr. Kent would gradually get an erection all the while. If the exhibitionist display on its own wasn't enough to have the class thinking Mr. Kent was a bit of a pervert, the pre-cum that would soon be oozing out of his rock-hard and throbbing cock any time Howard touched him during the lesson would send that message much more clearly. Eventually, the bare-ass beefcake would be blissfully blowing his load from his totally-untouched cock when the hands-on portion for the "buttocks and anal region" began.

Still, they were not there yet. Before any of that could get underway, Howard had a very important instruction for the class.

"No notes today, guys," he said cheerfully, looking around the room before returning his gaze to his totally-exposed tormentor standing next to him without a clue about what was really going on. "I'll need your full attention on Mr. Kent, so feel free to pull out your phones and record if you think you'll want to refer back to this later."

Based on the hungry look a few guys in the room had on their faces, Howard knew many of them would be "referring back" to this often. Still others, he was sure, would waste no time spreading the footage around, ensuring everyone got to enjoy Mr. Kent's anatomy as much as they did.

Howard was looking forward to Mr. Kent himself seeing the footage tomorrow and realizing that stripping, posing, and spewing buckets of cum in front of his students was not some bizarre nightmare he'd had the night before. Instead, it was just the first of many new lessons he'd be learning thanks to one student he'd made such an impression on...

It would be an understatement to say that the crowd was shocked when the football star shrugged off his ceremonial robes right before he began to give his Commencement address.

More shocking still was what Harrison was wearing underneath: a full slave collar around his neck and full steel chastity belt below the waist.

“I want to speak directly to you briefly because I think it is you, the ‘macho’ men like me who are graduating today, who have had the most diabolical lies told to you.”

Still caught up trying to make sense of what Harrison was wearing, most of the crowd was not listening to his words. Yet, as he continued to speak, more and more of them — especially the young men to whom he was speaking directly — started to listen.

“How many of you are sitting here now about to cross this stage and are thinking about all the promotions and titles you are going to get in your career? Some of you may go on to lead successful careers in the world, but I would venture to guess the majority of you are secretly fantasizing about a life of obedience, servitude, and submission.”

Not everyone could relate to what Harrison was saying — but a sizeable number of young men were now enraptured by every word he spoke.

“I’m here today to tell you it’s possible. It can happen if you want it to. If you are honest with yourselves—”

He paused to step out from behind the podium, allowing the crowd to get their first unobstructed view of his bare, beefy body and humiliating chastity belt.

“— like I am being honest with all of you today, then you can have the life you’ve always dreamt of.”

Harrison paused again, studying the faces in the crowd. Making eye contact with as many of the young men still captivated by his speech as he could, he concluded what he had to say.

“My life truly started when I began living my vocation as a servant and as a slave. I urge all of you who dream about that to do the same today.”

As Harrison turned to leave the stage, there was no raucous applause. Most still had no idea what to do in response to such an unexpected turn of events: the manliest football star the college knew not only just admitted to being a perma-locked and collared slave, but also actively encouraged others like him to pursue the same.

Still, even as Harrison walked away, out of the corner of his eye he could see what a difference he had already made: one, then another, and then yet another of the young men who had been hanging onto his every word were peeling off their graduation gowns, their shirts, their pants, and everything else that had been giving them a single shred of dignity and lowering themselves down upon their knees to where they knew they always dreamt of being…

Finding himself on his back, legs spread wide open, and about to take a third load from the man who was pummelling his hole like there was no tomorrow, it was hard to believe that Henry was supposed to be getting married to a member of the opposite sex this weekend.

Worse yet, the man who seemed intent on shooting his next load as deep into Henry's guts as possible was his fiancée's gay younger brother.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to go. Henry was supposed to marry a nice girl, settle down, get a little place in the suburbs and raise 2.5 kids while their dog ran around in a yard surrounded by a white picket fence.

But somehow, one thing had led to another when Greg was the only one left at his bachelor party...

Before he knew it, Henry started flirting back.

Before he knew it, Henry leaned in for a kiss.

Before he knew it, Henry was down on his knees.

Before he knew it, Henry was on his back with nine thick inches of cock splitting the formerly "straight" stud in two.

Looking up in wonder at the man who was supposed to be his brother-in-law, Henry knew he'd have to call the wedding off. After all, he could only see one future for himself now and it didn't involve any of the images of respectable manhood he'd previously envisioned.

Instead of being a husband, he'd be a whore. 

Instead of being a father, he'd be a faggot. 

Instead of being a dog-owner, he'd be the dog begging every real man for a bone for the rest of his days.

As Greg flooded Henry's insides with yet another massive load, the heretofore heterosexual felt his fiancée's younger brother's cum spilling out of his well-used man-cunt -- and every ounce of "manhood" he once pretended to have was leaking out alongside it...