Fulfillment

By webb025 published August 5, 2016
webb025@hotmail.com
Summary
College freshman Todd finds himself forced to jack off constantly to a picture of someone who has disappeared.

Fulfillment

by: webb025hotmail.com

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the legal age to read this, or are offended by the idea of male-male sex or mind control, DO NOT read further.

I just had to pound this one out on a long flight back to the US, during which I joined the Mile High Club in the lavatory (except that my membership pin will have just one single oak leaf cluster, sadly).

I’m varying my routine by posting this first on gayspiralstories.com. In a week or so, I will add it to my regular collection at mcstories.com, assuming I get OK reviews.

Hope you don’t find this too repetitive of my other stuff. But hey, this isn’t exactly going to be studied in a literature course, is it? :)

I came racing back to my dorm room. It had been nearly three hours since I had last cum and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I pulled the poster-size picture of Master out of its drawer, unfolded it, leaped into bed, and within seconds I had spurted an unbelievable amount of cum onto my already-crusted sheets. Panting, relieved, I put the poster back in its hiding place. There was nothing I could do about the sheets since I would need to do this again in a few hours at the most. At the end of the day I would put the sheets with their five or six cumloads in the hamper, and put new sheets on the bed. The new sheets would get their first load before I could get to sleep.

How had it come to this? Two months earlier, I had arrived at the university as a relatively normal gay guy, and was delighted to discover that my freshman roommate Perry was gay like me. Although we were not each other’s types at all, at least we could carry on normal conversations without worrying about offending each other.

We couldn’t compare guys we admired, though, since our tastes were totally different. For me, a guy’s personality was the most important thing: he had to be sweet, intelligent, interested in the arts, and show a capacity for true loving. Perry, however, was all about bodies: muscular, strong, hung, and athletic were his criteria. Tall was a plus, but not necessary if the guy was beefy enough. While I was all about the mind, it was kind of surprising that Perry was all about the body, since he was a psychology major.

Since I wasn’t even close to Perry’s type – both he and I were small, skinny, virtually hairless-body, non-athletic types, looking years younger than we were – and since Perry’s personality was almost the opposite of what attracted me – he saw big, powerful, muscular guys as nothing but “pieces of meat” to be fucked – there was zero sexual interest or interaction between us.

At first.

It was a hot autumn, with high temperatures lasting all the way into October. We had a mini-fridge in our room where we kept large bottles of water. Apparently Perry had this hygiene fetish, and he insisted that we keep our bottles of water separate. I didn’t understand how it affected hygiene if you poured water from one bottle into separate glasses, but I honored his request.

A few weeks into the semester, for some reason, I started getting hard when I thought about Perry. In order not to freak him out, I hid this fact from him, but it was getting steadily worse. At first it would happen when I saw him in the room. But then, his face would pop into my mind while I was in class, and I would instantly get hard no matter where I was. And when I would picture his whole body, the image would be of him standing over me while I lay at his feet, face to the floor. Sometimes the sexual impulse was so strong that I would have to run back to the room when I had a spare period, or lunch, and pound one out. Fortunately, Perry would be always elsewhere at the time, so I could do it without explanation or embarrassment. After classes, when he WAS in the room, he would mostly offer up small talk or pay no attention to me as he worked on his computer, as usual.

By early October, the images had evolved to a whole new level. He would be standing above me, flexing his little muscles, and his cock – like mine, only about four inches – seemed to glow with power and demand to be worshipped. I began to feel waves of great admiration for him, and felt it would only be right for me to obey any command he might give (in the dreams, that is – by then he barely spoke to me in real life). I could no longer even remember his real name at times; to me, his face was now associated in my mind only with the name “Master”. His image even commanded my body to do things without my having anything to do with it. In my dreams – where he now appeared regularly – when he said the word “cum”, I would suddenly wake up and find my bed soaked with my sticky seed. I was going crazy, and was about to tell him, when –

He was gone. His things were gone from the room. When I checked all the drawers, all I found was a large poster-size photo of him, naked. When I unfolded it, I came in my underwear almost instantly. I somehow knew that Master intended for me to have the photo, and that I needed to keep it, so I transferred it to the drawer next to my bed. I couldn’t go very long without pulling it out, unfolding it, and shooting a load.

A few weeks went by like this. I needed to buy several sets of sheets so I could keep up with my insane orgasm schedule without having to do laundry several times a day. Coming back from my sheet purchase, I walked across a part of the campus I rarely ever had reason to visit. And then I saw him – Master – accompanied by some tall, heavy-set guys, going into the jock dorm. His small frame was dwarfed by those of the entourage of muscle jocks following him. While he looked straight ahead, the power jocks behind him were looking longingly at HIM. Even at that distance, I could see obscene, huge bulges in the jocks’ pants. None of them noticed me watching.

As they disappeared into the dorm, I ran in their direction. I needed to tell Master what was happening, and ask if he know what was going on. Yet when I got to the door of the jock dorm, I couldn’t go in. I mean, I stood at the entrance for awhile, trying several times to cross the threshold, but for some reason just couldn’t do it. I gave up, rushed back to my room, and barely had time to strip off my pants before I was forced to cum again.

For the whole following week, I kept walking over to the jock dorm and trying to enter. I got a lot of unfriendly looks from the residents coming and going, wondering what I was trying to do, since I clearly didn’t belong there.

Finally, a 6’8" guy, clearly a member of the basketball team, with a nicely defined upper body and wearing a tank top, approached me with a suspicious look.

“Say, I’ve noticed you here every day standing at the door but not going in. What’s up with that? Can I help you find something or someone?”

"Um, yes, I’m looking for – " What was his real name again? It was totally gone from my mind – all I could come up with was – “Master”.

Instead of looking confused or concerned, a smile came over his face. “Sure, I can take you to his room. You belong to him? You don’t really look his type. But who am I to question his desires? I’m Kent, by the way. I’m scheduled for tonight’s overnight, and I sure am excited about it. I’ve been waiting a few weeks, going crazy with lust. Follow me.”

Of course, I still couldn’t follow him across that threshold. So Kent effortlessly scooped up my small frame, his biceps bulging under the tank top, and carried me in, and up a flight of stairs.

There was an open door leading to a large room. Inside at the far end was a huge bed. Face down along its length was another member of the basketball team, this guy closer to 7’ tall, with his long arms grasping the sides of the bed and his feet – like size 20s – dangling over the back edge. And there atop him, looking tiny but fierce and commanding, was Master, his cock pounding away at the giant’s upturned ass. He looked almost like a jockey riding a thoroughbred, compelling the steed towards the finish line. The muscles in the big stud’s legs and arms pulsed visibly through his skin as the frantic ride accelerated.

What was even weirder was that the carpeted floor of the room was filled with large naked guys staring up at the action on the bed, jerking themselves off exactly in time with the pounding going on up on the bed. Each thrust of Master’s cock into the supertall jock’s ass was matched by a handstroke on every cock in the room. Well, not the twins posed and frozen in place on a display platform at the side of the room, who stared straight ahead and seemed oblivious to the whole scene.

The floor was full of frantically jacking jocks of every description. Some were sitting, some were kneeling. Most of them seemed to be football or basketball players, or wrestlers. There were a few swimmer types, and maybe a few lean soccer players, but the vast majority were from sports where muscle or height counted. And the cocks being jacked were all well above average in size, sometimes absurdly so. Remembering Master’s tastes in men, this made perfect sense.

The bed-pounding and floor-jacking continued faster and longer than I expected. Clearly, everyone in the room was waiting for release. But clearly, that wasn’t going to happen until Master commanded it. I suddenly noticed that I myself had torn off my clothes and was now jerking synchronously with the rest of the room. I had no memory of having stripped. Next to me, a now-naked Kent was kneeling, staring at the action on the bed and pulling on his 9.5-incher.

At long last, after a particularly fast series of simultaneous pounds/strokes, Master shouted, “3..2..1..CUM!” And at exactly that moment, everyone in the room shrieked and shot. Some took longer than others, but eventually everyone was done, and exhausted. Including me. Then one by one, each jock in turn knelt towards the bed, said “Thank you, Master,” then got up and left the room. As each one left, a very short but obscenely muscled and hung wrestler-type quickly crawled over to the spot on the carpet vacated by the departing jock, and lapped up the cum. On the little muscle-dude’s face was a totally contented expression that seemed to say, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” Despite his having just shot a giant puddle of cum, his huge cock was fully hard again and looked ready to explode.

As the room emptied, Master suddenly noticed me. “Todd! What are YOU doing here? I .. um .. didn’t think you’d want to come in here.”

“I couldn’t get in without help. Look, I’m desperate. I’m being forced to jack off five, six times a day thinking of you. I can’t control it, and it’s getting worse. What’s happening? What can I do? I know you don’t want me, but I can’t help needing to worship you!”

Master had a slightly guilty expression. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry about that. I needed a guinea pig to try out my new drugs and mind programming methods, and you were right there. I was able to try different formulations in your water bottle and study the results. And thanks to your, er, help I was able to almost perfect the necessary combinations.” Despite myself, I felt a rush of pride and excitement that I was useful in helping Master develop his enslavement formula, and that this validated my life. Deep down, though, I knew this feeling was a result of my programming.

"Unfortunately, I couldn’t just turn off your programming afterwards. So I left you the big photo and hoped for the best. That wasn’t really good enough, I know. But I needed to move on. Thanks to the methods I developed, once I got my first basketball player in my power, I used him to capture his teammates. Same with the other teams. Finally, the rest of this dorm became mine.

"But only the biggest and best athletes, and the biggest hung, make it into my bed. The rest just dream of it, and function as my everyday slaves. They ARE allowed to worship and serve me, however, which is all they really need. And they all have a copy of the photograph.

“You know that I can’t use you in here, not even close. I’m sure you remember that I prefer my sex toys to be muscular and hung. I know that sounds shallow, but after all, personality doesn’t count for much when you break a dominant super-alpha male into a needy cumdump, or a thirsty toilet, or even an attractive room decoration.” Master nodded at the two incredibly cute, blond identical twin “statues” frozen in place on the display platform, about 6’ tall, creamy-smooth with chiseled chests, bulging biceps and pecs, and hard, fat 8-inch cocks curving in opposite directions. They were posed in a kind of “victory” position, arms raised, shit-eating grin on their faces. Man, how did they hold that position without moving, while staying hard the whole time?

“Hey, I know how I could make this up to you. I’m kind of done with the McGregor twins for now. They’re real pretty, but they’re too small and not hung enough for me to want to use sexually very often. And I’m sure they’ve built up a huge cum load, having been posed there for a few days watching me, their absolute master, dominate all these giants, without the twins being allowed to shoot. Let me arrange for a replacement display.”

Master went over to his desk and picked up his cellphone. He seemed to be sending a text, but it only lasted a couple of keystrokes. It couldn’t have been a very detailed text, maybe just a code of some kind.

“All right, McGregor slaves, down here.” As if released from a spell, the prettyboy twins’ glazed eyes seemed to come to life, they lowered their arms, and they stepped off their display platform, identical eight inch cocks bobbing and still fully hard, gazing at Master with their bright green eyes and clearly waiting for further orders.

Master turned towards me. “So, Todd, meet your new roommates. How do you want them? Would you like them as weak-willed, totally submissive slaves that worship the ground you walk on, who live to serve your every pleasure? They’re extremely well trained in every sex skill I’m interested in, and I could make them desperate to be spanked, beaten, or even tortured by you. I could have them worship your feet, or your asshole, or need to lick the sweat from your pits to be able to get off. They’re from a pretty rich family, so they could take care of you, bring you gifts, do anything to get you to viciously use them. They’re surfers, so they could dream about becoming your surfboards, and they could be forced to cum instantly if you said, ‘Cowabunga, dudes’. That’s it! I could change them into teenage mutant ninja surfboards!”

I noticed the twins now staring at me longingly, their fat cocks twitching, drops of precum forming on their big mushroom cockheads as they stood there side by side frozen in place. I knew from experience that the scenarios being described by Master were coursing through their minds as he said them. I saw drops of sweat forming on their foreheads and across their creamy-smooth chests as they daydreamed about being allowed to use their fine jock bodies to worship and serve my skinny little one.

Master went on: “Or maybe you’d prefer them as superdominant jock gods, who view you as a plaything and convenience, not as a real person. Their word would be law to you. You would serve them in any way they would want. You’d cook and clean for them, maybe serve as a footstool under their aromatic size 14s while they’re watching TV, or as their punishment toy if they happened to be in a bad mood. You would long for their attention, but you’d be too well controlled by their wills to be able to do anything they didn’t want. And they would view you with complete contempt and amusement, maybe order you to drink from the toilet after they’ve used it, or use your tongue as their toilet paper. When they weren’t around, you would secretly lick the insides of their sneakers without their permission, and they would catch you and severely punish you. And you wouldn’t even realize they had planted that idea in your head before they left!”

By now the twins were still staring at me, but their facial expressions were now completely altered, full of disgust and contempt. They looked at me as if I was a thing to be used and discarded. I could be played with if they were in the mood, or slapped around, or ignored yet still forced to serve them in every way. As they listened to this, their precum production was accelerating, and they were starting to drip on the carpet. One firm and meaningful look from Master, and the small supermuscular “vacuum jock” scrambled over on his hands and knees, his cock dragging on the floor, his mouth sucking out the twins’ precum before it could settle into the carpet.

Master had another thought about my situation. “Or maybe you’d like one of each? An all-powerful master twin to be worshipped and obeyed, and a weak-willed slave twin who lives to serve and be punished? That way you could explore all sides of your sexuality. I can make you the alpha twin’s preferred fucktoy, and give you complete control over the slave twin. I’d LOVE to see the results of a setup like that. In fact, your new job is to buy and install webcams around your room so I can record and watch how things unfold. In the meantime, it’ll take me a day of drugs and recorded mind-programming to get the twins ready for their new lives. They’ll be at your room tomorrow afternoon. And don’t worry, you’ll know pretty quickly which twin is which!”

At that point, through the open door walked two students in wrestling outfits, one a large burly senior-looking bear-type, maybe 6’6", and the other a tightly-muscled totally smooth freshman sort, about 5’5". Their singlets had holes cut in strategic locations, and the large guy was displaying a hard, short (maybe 4") but incredibly fat cock, while the little guy sported a hard long, thin eight incher that looked out of proportion to his body. The two climbed onto the display platform, where the big guy assumed a parody of the “down” wrestling position, with his huge ass elevated, and the smaller guy positioned himself standing behind and over the muscleman, with his long cock pointed directly at the crack of the big ass and his hands resting on the big man’s seriously muscled back. And there they froze in position and their eyes glazed over.

“Great, the new display is looking good. OK, Todd, back to your room and get it ready for the master and slave twins’ arrival tomorrow. I’m sure this will more than make up for your months of sexual frustration. And don’t worry, your dorm is almost completely in my power, so no one will think anything unusual is going on. You’ll know my takeover there is complete when no one wears clothes around the dorm anymore.”

As I left, I felt a huge wave of gratitude to Master flow over me, for his thoughtfulness in finally providing me the sexual fulfillment I had always desired. And I knew that the gratitude I felt was natural, and not just put there by Master.

Or was it? I guess I could never be sure.


Not one of my best, but it’ll do.

I wrote this story instead of the original project that popped into my mind (and which I would never do without permission, which I wouldn’t even ask for), which involved adding mind control to the stories of two authors I enjoy. Chaz’s stories usually involve an ordinary guy taken over and dominated by a couple of alphas, then a (younger) super-alpha comes around and crushes the alphas (and the original guy). GladiatorKid’s stories have a super-alpha with a growing entourage of alphas that rule the school and/or neighborhood, including parents and teachers/coaches. Chaz added a mind control theme to his latest story, but then seemed to drop it without permanently mind-crushing the target character. What I felt the urge to do was introduce a smaller, physically weaker guy but with an even more powerful mind/will, who would use mind control to gradually take over the regular alphas without the super-alpha’s knowledge, then subtly use those controlled alphas to capture and work on slowly enslaving the super-alpha. Unlike the slower-witted regular alphas, the super-alpha would eventually realize what was going on and fight like crazy to avoid being programmed, and would even be strong enough to break free at least once, but ultimately the whole team would fall under the little guy’s control.

If I were to write something like this, I would do it with Chaz-LIKE or GladiatorKid-LIKE characters, rather than ask to use actual characters from their actual stories.

Anyhoo, if you catch me this week before I leave the country again, I’ll respond to your emails. Otherwise, there will be the usual indefinite wait. Comments to webb025@hotmail.com

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