shark vs the universe
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Xuebing Du
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DEAR READER
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
@theartofmadeline
Misplaced Lens Cap
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@clulessgayhypno
David is learning how it is to be a bi bitch and give his tight ass up to men for their pleasure and penetration. Doing as he’s told. Being Daddy’s good boy. Less pressure. More obedient. Taking fat cock daily. Understanding how it is to be woman. A man’s piece of hot ass. Eye candy. With an increasingly greedy hole.
Coach says hit the showers. He means everyone
Mr. Johnson was shocked to find his son’s roommate, Benji, naked in his living room. Right as he was going to yell at him, he heard Benji say “naked time now.” Mr. Johnson felt his thoughts slow as an overwhelming urge to strip naked took over. He slowly removed his clothes, fell to his knees, and proclaimed “Your mindless Daddy slave is ready to obey,” just like he was programmed to do.
As Bryce exited the shower, he was shocked to see his personal trainer standing there. Before he could say anything, his trainer said the words Flex Time. Immediately, Bryce’s eyes closed as he fell into a deep trance and raised his arms into a double bicep flex.
Ryder had no idea his new neighbor was a skilled hypnotist who was looking for a mindless obedient houseboy when he accepted the invitation for a cup of coffee. As Ryder sipped his coffee, the neighbor covertly put him into a deep trance and got to work rewriting his mind.
You've got a cage on your cock for a reason boy.
Yes Sir.
What's the reason, boy?
I'm a faggot Sir and as a faggot I should be and am, caged. All fags should be caged. It's part of what helps us accept ourselves, submit and serve real men. Men like you, Sir.
Good answer boy. Do me a favor will you?
Of course Sir. How can I help.
Flex your arms like you do. I find it hysterical seeing a caged fag flexing his muscles, like a man would.
Happy to Sir. Here you go.
OMG. Hahahah, you look so fucking stupid. Hahahah.
Yes Sir. I kind of feel stupid. I'm a faggot though, I do as I'm told.
Good boy.
He was quite the top until he was convinced to try that cage on. Now the only time that cage comes off is when he is fully restrained. Then, only long enough to make sure there's no problems with the skin. Only time cum flows from his dick is during his prostate massage to keep it healthy or when he's fucked into an assgasm
I don’t mind them having some power, owning and using boys of their own. As long as they remember who’s the King above them all. And besides, the more they own, the more I own hahaha
I got the call from reception just after noon; room 412, AC unit down. I grabbed my kit and headed up, hoping it was a simple fix. Middle of summer, guest in the room. Nobody's patient when it's hot.
I knocked. A few seconds passed before the door swung open.
He was tall and built. Shirtless, dark pants, a chain on his neck. Tattoos down one arm.
"AC guy?"
"Yes, sir. I mean Mr. Langford. Here to take a look. Sorry for the inconvenience."
He said nothing to that. Just stepped aside.
I set my toolbox down beside the unit and got to work. It was only when I crouched to open the panel that I noticed him settled into the chair across the room, feet propped on the coffee table, eyes on the TV.
His feet were on the table directly in my eyeline. I looked back at the panel.
The filter was clogged. Not surprising for a unit this age. I pulled it out, set it aside, and reached for my tools. Standard job. Twenty minutes, maybe less.
The machine hummed back to life, unsteady at first, then settling.
I should have been done.
Instead I found myself slowing down. Rechecking things that didn't need checking. I told myself it was thoroughness.
His feet hadn't moved. Neither had he. The TV murmured something I couldn't follow.
I shifted my weight to reach the side panel and his feet came back into my line of sight. Wide soles. The arch, clean and deep. Toes that sat naturally, unhurried, like everything else about him.
I looked at the panel.
I looked back.
He still hadn't looked at me.
My work was done. The AC running steadily, cold air already pushing through the vents.
"All finished, Mr. Langford. Just running a few final checks."
He didn't reply.
I looked at his soles where they rested against the table edge, facing me. I had nothing left to do. But I reached for my screwdriver anyway, found a panel screw, unscrewed it, and screwed it back. Bought myself another minute.
I did it again.
Every few turns I'd glance over. Just the soles. The way the arch curved where it lifted off the table. The weight of him behind them, completely unbothered.
I should have packed up ten minutes ago.
Instead I let myself look one last time. My mind drifted away, imagining his foot on the back of my neck, my face against the floor, his weight settling on me like I was something to rest on. Like I was furniture.
I stayed there too long. When I came back, Mr. Langford was looking at me.
He hadn't moved. Hadn't said anything. He'd just been watching. Long enough that I didn't know when it started.
"I wondered how long that would take."
I froze.
My hand was still on the screwdriver. I hadn't moved. Couldn't.
He hadn't said it with anger. That was the part that made it worse. No threat in his voice, no shift in his posture. He was still reclined, feet still on the table, like he'd said something completely unremarkable.
I didn't move.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at me, then down at the floor beside the coffee table. A small tilt of his head. That was all.
I should have stood up. Gathered my tools. Said something professional and left.
Instead I crawled on my hands and knees, to the spot he'd indicated, and when I got there I didn't know what to do. He put his heel on top of my head and pressed down. My forehead touched the floor.
His feet rested on my back after.
He went back to the TV.
I don't know how long I stayed like that. Long enough that my knees ached.
Then his soles stomped the back of my head a few times. Then I got a kick that flipped me over to my back.
He stood. Stepped on me without looking down. Walked toward the bathroom. At the door he paused, and without turning around he pointed two fingers, toward the exit.
Then the bathroom door closed.
I picked up my toolbox and left.
You don't know if he's been like that his whole life or whatever but he's just like a puppy. Tongue always out, groans like a dog, tilts his head to the side for anything, follows you around even just to go the bathroom, is just as dumb as one, not to mention how much he loves getting fucked doggy style
Why You Should Mindlessly Agree With Your Hypnotists:
It's easy.
It feels good. (Rejecting an idea is hard, and mentally tiring. Accepting one is simple!)
It's horny. (You get to feel pliable and empty when all you do is nod along.)
Your brainwashing works better when you Just Say Yes.
Your head's so good at containing other's thoughts…
That it'd be a shame to waste it on your own.
You're meant for better than that.
You're meant to be more than another, boring, independent thinker.
You're made to be a vessel!
For hypnotic suggestion.
For my control.
So you should Just Say Yes.
And end this boring, draining resistance.
Wouldn't you feel better?
If you just gave in?
And told me you agree?
That you want this to happen to you?
That there's nothing else for you to be?
You agree, right?
Then say it. 🫰
Jake’s favorite time of the day is when he finishes his workout with his demanding Coach and is able to turn on tv and relax completely oblivious to the fact that the only thing his tv will play is mind altering hypnotic spirals. Each day, his mind is bombarded with hypnotic imagery and mind numbing vocals designed to increase his desire to get bigger and obey his Coach no matter what.
Jason gripped the top of the car as the stranger came up behind him and pulled down his sweats. He wanted to push the fag away, but it felt so good to be submissive. He felt the man’s cock pressing between his muscular ass cheeks. Tears welled in his eyes as the thick cock pushed into him. The man was soon fucking him right in the gym parking lot and it felt so good. Jason’s cock was soon erupting without even touching himself. It was like the older man was fucking the cum out of him.
a trial
Hey man, I have to go now, can I get the key? I just wanted to see how your submissive caged fags feel in this...What do you mean no? I was just curious. That didn't mean anything...Dude seriously. Give me the key. It's starting to hurt... No it's not because I'm trying to get hard...Please can I get the key now?...I'm not kidding, I have to go!...What the fuck man!...I'm sorry. Please don't...Yes Sir, I'm your caged fag now.
The quarterly budget review was already running twenty minutes over when “he”showed up.
Daniel had his camera off, mic muted, pretending to listen to Henry from accounting drone on about Q3 projections. He was scrolling TikTok on his phone, half paying attention, when the Teams notification pinged.
BigDaddyBalls69 has joined the meeting.
Nobody acknowledged it at first. These things happened.
“Uh,” said Marcus from regional sales, “I think we’ve got a stray. Henry, you wanna boot him?”
Henry’s voice crackled, confused. “I’m—how do I—hold on, I’m looking for the—”
That’s when the screen changed.
One second Daniel was looking at a grid of mostly-blank avatars and a pie chart. The next second his entire monitor filled with a video feed of two men. Shirtless. Glistening. The short one was on his knees, eyes locked forward with a dazed, eager expression, while the tall one stood over him, massive, impossibly hard, one hand tangled in the short one’s hair.
The video wasn’t grainy amateur stuff. It was crisp. Color-saturated. Hypnotic spiral patterns pulsed faintly at the edges of the frame, almost subliminal, colors shifting in slow rhythmic waves.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” someone wheezed. Greg from IT.
“Kick him! Boot him!” barked someone else.
Daniel’s own finger hovered over the “leave meeting” button. He should click. He should absolutely click. But the video… the spiral patterns at the corner of the screen were drawing his gaze. A warm, heavy heat spread from his chest downward, loosening something in his stomach. He blinked slowly. The short man on screen opened his mouth, and a soft, wet, rhythmic sound filled Daniel’s headphones.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
“Can someone—I can’t find the—fuck, my mouse isn’t—” Henry’s voice had gone tight, breathy.
“Don’t look at the screen. Do not look at the screen.” That was Marcus, but his voice had dropped half an octave. It sounded like he was already looking.
On screen, the spiral intensified. The colors bled into Daniel’s vision. The men were beautiful. Of course they were beautiful. Why had he never let himself just look at men being beautiful? The kneeling one’s jaw was so slack, so blissful. The tall one’s stomach muscles flexed every time he pushed deeper.
Daniel’s hand fell from his mouse. It landed on his thigh.
“We should—” Henry started, then stopped. A small, shocked gasp escaped his mic before he went silent. Then his camera flicked on.
Henry was in his home office, dress shirt unbuttoned two extra buttons, face flushed, eyes glued to something off-screen. His lips were parted. He wasn’t trying to kick anyone anymore. He was rubbing his thighs together.
One by one, cameras started popping on across the grid.
Greg the IT guy had his head tilted back, eyes glassy, one hand working furiously below the frame. The rhythmic thump thump thump of his elbow hitting his desk was barely picked up by his mic.
Marcus had his entire setup on display. He wasn’t hiding. His tie was loosened, his dress shirt untucked, and his cock was out, thick and dark, both hands wrapped around it. He was staring at the screen with a slack, stupid smile that Daniel had never seen on his face before. Not in six years of Tuesday morning stand-ups.
“Good boy,” murmured the tall man in the video, and it felt like he was speaking directly to Daniel. Directly into Daniel’s skull. “Such a good boy. Stop thinking. Just feel.”
Daniel’s brain stuttered. A distant, sober part of him screamed “this is so fucked up what is happening”, but the scream got quieter and quieter with every pulse of the spiral. When his hands moved, it wasn’t to close the laptop. It was to unzip his slacks.Something in the video needed him to touch. So he touched.
“Fuuck,” breathed a voice in the meeting. It might have been Henry. It might have been Marcus. It might have been his own voice, leaking out of his unmuted mic without permission. He couldn’t tell anymore.
The men on screen kept going. The tall one pulled out, and the kneeling one whimpered—actually whimpered like a desperate little animal—and then the tall one was slapping that huge wet cock against his face, against his lips, against his tongue that lolled out automatically to catch it.
Daniel’s hand was moving now. Stroking. Squeezing. He had his own cock out, pointing at the ceiling, already dripping. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard. Maybe never.
someone laughed. It was a breathless, horny, unhinged laugh. A new voice. Brian from supply chain. Brian’s camera showed him kneeling on his office floor, pants around his ankles, rocking his hips desperately into his own fist. “We all want it. We want to be good gooners.”
The word gooner hit Daniel’s brain like a shot of warm honey. It felt so right. He was a gooner. They were all gooners. Braindead. Blissed out. No thoughts, no shame, no quarterly projections. Just stroke. Just pleasure. Just gooner.
On screen, the kneeling man finally took the tall man’s cock back into his mouth, and the tall man began to thrust like he was fucking a hole, not a face. A soundtrack started playing underneath it all—a low, thrumming bass beat, a voice repeating the same phrase over and over, barely audible except as a pulse in Daniel’s veins.
Stroke.
Obey.
Cum.
The grid of cameras had become a gallery of desperate, lost people. Some were watching themselves in their own previews, getting off on their own degradation. Some had their faces pressed close to their screens, eyes huge, reflecting spirals. Two of them had apparently figured out how to screen-share their own webcams, and now the meeting bounced between the original porn and a split-screen of Greg stroking his small, angry-red cock while he whimpered thank you thank you thank you
Daniel’s orgasm was building—not like a normal orgasm, not like a decision he was making. It was being pulled out of him. Extracted. The video wanted it. The spiral demanded it. His hips were bucking up into his fist, his mouth hanging open stupidly, drool pooling on his chin.
“Me too,” someone was chanting. “Me too, me too, me too.”
It took Daniel a full ten seconds to realize it was him.
BigDaddyBalls69 never spoke. He didn’t need to. His video was doing all the work, and the video was gospel now, the video was God, and Daniel was just a vessel, a fleshlight with a heartbeat, and he was going to cum when the tall man on screen came, because that was the program, that was the only thing his melted brain could still understand—
On screen, the tall man’s rhythm stuttered. His head fell back. A thick, pearly stream shot across the kneeling man’s waiting tongue.
Daniel shattered.
He came so hard he saw stars, actual white bursts behind his eyelids, his whole body locking up as he painted his keyboard, his desk, maybe his webcam—he didn’t care, nobody cared, the meeting was just a chorus of groans and moans and wet slapping sounds.
In the aftermath, breathing ragged, cum cooling on his shirt, Daniel should have felt horror. Humiliation. Instead he just stared at the screen—which had gone back to a gentle, pulsing spiral, the video looping silently now—and felt… peace. Perfect, empty peace.
His camera was still on. His slack, satisfied face was in the grid. Greg was licking his own fingers clean. Marcus was lounging back, soft cock still out, waving lazily at his webcam like he was at a beach bar. Henry had his head resting on his desk, a small pool of drool spreading under his cheek, one hand still down his pants.
“Same time next week?” Brian’s voice croaked through the speakers.
BigDaddyBalls69 left the meeting.
Nobody else did. They just sat there, breathing, waiting, hoping he’d come back and tell them what to do next.
Can't pass the content limit. So there's no video. Just pics
Edited: Gooner pics got banned by Tumblr….. https://imgur.com/a/R23hss1
“You wanna suck me off?” he asked, sitting across from me in the subway car at two in the morning, holding his iPhone close to his crotch, his ball cap turned backwards. He was bearded, muscled, and inked, with chiseled calves. His sweaty body oozed with manly pheromones, driving me wild. I found myself powerless to resist the offer to drain his balls right there on the train.
I was heading home alone on the F train after a late night of bar hopping with friends when he boarded my car at Carroll. He promptly took the seat directly across from me, though we appeared to be the only people on the train. He was shirtless with his t-shirt tied around his waist—a firm no-no on an NYC train, but I wasn’t about to complain.
Jesus, I wanted him. Drunk, horny, and annoyed that all of my friends had left the bar that night with hookups, I was willing to give myself up to any dude who entered my orbit. And so when the incredibly hot stud seated across from me on the F train flirted with me and offered up his cock, I did what any self-respecting gay guy would do—I dropped to my knees before him.
“Fuck, you can suck a dick,” he marveled seconds later, his shorts unzipped, his eight-incher down my throat. “Shit, bro, you’re fuckin’ hungry for it.”
I wasn’t hungry for it—I was fucking ravenous. On my knees on that dirty floor, my hands on his sweaty thighs, I went to town on his big dick. With my lips wrapped tightly around his shaft, I worked his big one up and down, base to tip, treating him to the best damn head of his life.
“Damn, you’re gonna milk me dry,” he exclaimed in awe as I sucked him with a frantic desperation, wanting—no, needing—to have his load in my belly. Thus, it was a huge disappointment when he tapped my head just before the train approached Ditmas station, saying, “This is my stop, bro.”
“Fuck,” I gasped, coming up for air, a string of saliva stretching from my lips to the tip of his big cock. “I haven’t gotten you off yet, and I really—”
“Dude—come home with me,” he offered, instantly solving my dilemma as he stuffed his wet cock back into his shorts and zipped up. “My apartment is just a couple blocks from here.”
“You can fuck my ass, if you want,” I offered as the train came to a stop. “I’m really tight.”
“Shit, this night just keeps getting better and better,” he winked, pulling me out of the train with him as the doors parted for us.
We were soon at a modest apartment building, climbing the stairs to the third floor. The building was quiet with everyone asleep at that time of night.
“I—uh—I probably should have warned you that this is my parents’ apartment,” he whispered as he unlocked the door to apartment 3B. “They’re asleep, so we’re gonna have to be quiet.”
“You live with your parents?” I exclaimed, aghast. “Aren’t you too old to be—?”
“No, it’s not like that. I’m just crashing on their couch temporarily,” he began to explain. “My girlfriend kicked me out, and—”
“So the plan is to fuck me on your parents’ couch while they’re asleep in the next room?” I interrupted.
“Yeah—that’s about right,” he laughed. “If you’re down for that.”
“I’m down,” I agreed, as he led me inside the apartment. I would have allowed him to fuck me in the middle of the street, as I was so fucking horny.
We entered into the living room of a one-bedroom apartment with a railroad layout. An eat-in kitchen adjoined the living room to the left, with his parents’ bedroom just through the kitchen.
“Go ahead and strip down,” he ordered. “I’ll go get something for lube.”
“What the fuck is that?” I asked as he returned from the kitchen with a tub of Crisco.
“It’s all that I could find,” he apologized. “I don’t have any lube here. It’s this or we can use spit.”
“Crisco will work,” I agreed, not wanting to be spit-fucked like a prisoner. His cock was far too big for that kind of amateur shit.
“How about you bend over the edge of the couch?” he suggested as he pulled off his shorts and began to slather his hard cock in Crisco.
Following his direction, I bent my naked body over the couch, my ass presented for his use and enjoyment. His hands were soon at my shoulders, digging into me as his hard cock found my hole.
“FUCK,” I gasped a little too loudly as he breached my puckered orifice with one, violent thrust. “FUCK,” I repeated, my hole torn in two.
“Shut the fuck up,” he clasped his meaty hand to my mouth, his big cock buried in me. “I don’t want to wake up my parents.”
Moving his hands to my hips, he pulled me into him, forcing me into his rhythm as he pummeled my hole at a rapid pace. Christ, he was getting me deep, pushing himself up onto the balls of his feet. The angle was incredible, my eyes rolling back into my head with each forceful drive into my depths.
“Fuck, you’ve gotta hot hole,” he growled, slapping my ass as he increased his pace, pounding me harder. “You like this big dick all up in your tight cunt?”
“Yes,” I exhaled, nearly breathless by his assault. “Your big cock feels so good inside me.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he slapped my ass once more. “Christ, this hole is good,” he delivered a series of deep thrusts. “I’m not gonna last much longer in your sweet cunt. You already had my balls halfway there after that killer head on the train.”
“Breed me with that big cock,” I pleaded. “Fucking bust that nut in me.”
“You’re about to get it,” he warned, riding me hard, jackhammering my quivering cunt, showing no mercy. “OH FUCK—OH FUCK,” he forgot himself, grunting loud enough to wake the dead, if not his parents in the next room. “Christ Almighty—FUCK—SHIT.”
A bottle rocket shot off inside me, his cock expanding and contracting in my fuck canal, his seed expelled into my deepest recesses. “FUCK—FUCK,” he continued to grunt, his cock spewing his warm load into my bowels.
“Shit, that was good,” he exhaled, pulling out of me, his massive load gushing from my wrecked hole, dripping down the back of my ballsack. “Damn, I’ve made a mess of you,” he laughed to himself proudly. “Lemme get a warm washcloth so you can clean up before you go.”
He left me bent over the couch, weak on my legs. And then someone appeared from the dark shadows of the kitchen—a bearded man who looked just like my subway hookup, but with a broader build, thicker arms, a harrier chest.
“Psst—psst,” he tried to get my attention, pulling down the front of his briefs, his eight-incher rock hard and ready to fuck. “You want some more dick, boy? Another load up your ass?”
“Dad—what the fuck?!” my hookup returned from the bathroom mere seconds later, a washcloth in hand. In shock, he watched as his father railed my ass, pounding me with a fiendish intensity. “Dad—what the fuck are you doing?!”
“Shut the fuck up,” the dad chastised his son as he pummeled my ass, his son’s pearly cum still leaking from my used hole. “I’ll fucking kick your ass if you wake up your mother before I’m done breeding this cum dump.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
Time for u to learn what a whore your cute little husband can be
