When I met him he was the picture of innocence. Clean shaven. Well spoken. He went to church every Sunday. He thought that the little tattoo he had gotten one drunk night in for $25 in Vegas was a scandal. His girlfriend was the love of his life. He was shopping for a ring. That all changed when he bumped into me. I saw a man who was so lost, he had convinced himself he was happy. I saw a man repressed and yearning to let go of it all and start over. I saw a man I could break and rebuild.
It was so easy to just “keep bumping into him.” To familiarize himself with me. After a week he had my phone number. After two he was texting me regularly. I listened to his hopes, his dreams, nodding along, knowing that they were worthless to him soon. Then he came over to my place. I would ply him with a little booze and let his mind adapt to me. My scent was making him woozy at first. He blamed it on the beer, but couldn’t ignore the feelings he was having as I wrapped my arm around him. I joked at his cock getting hard. He blushed with shame, but didn’t leave. He knew he was safe with me now.
By the send time he came over I knew it was time. As he sat on my couch, he didn’t even blink as I took off my shirt. He complimented my body.
“I don’t usually love how tattoos look, but they really suit you. They look really good with your muscles.”
That was all I needed to know it was time. I leaned in close, shifting our position so I was nearly on top of him. His eyes grew wide. I let my hand graze his growing hard on. He was so cute when he still had shame. I handed him a pair of glasses I had picked out special. Told him to try them on. He didn’t hesitate. And it was over for him.
Instantly the spirals kicked in front of his eyes, as the bone conducting speakers in the arms came to life. It was moments before he started whining and whispering. Saying he didn’t understand. He didn’t want this. But as I positioned him right under my ripe arm pit, licked at his smooth chest, and stared playfully fondling his fat balls, the whispering was replaced with moans. And as I slowly shifted from rubbing his crotch to full on stroking it, the moans have way to drool. He was ready to give it all up. To give in. It was time to finish his mental transformation.
I ordered him to my bedroom. I told him to strip naked. I told him to worship me. He complied with every order. He shoved my socked foot right into his face, licking at the thin layer of fabric separating himself from his master, filling himself with my scent. I lifted my arms and like a moth to a flame he began huffing and slobbering on my pits, cleaning them better than they had been in months. As I lifted his face out and sloppily made out with his blank, obedient face, I let his tongue slip into my mouth and get my first real taste of him. His mouth tasted of my cheap beer and something faintly sweet. I knew the flavor of intense brain asphyxiation.
By now his neuron receptors were shutting down, simplifying in their logic. Everything that didn’t fit was being drooled right out of his stupid face. My words slipped right in as though they were his own thoughts. You would look so sexy if you started working out. You want to look sexy for me. You should get a few more tattoos. Let me pick them out. It feels right to let me use your body as my canvas. It makes me happy, and you want to make me happy. You love worshipping your master. It is better to be owned. His scent has marked you, so you are his to control. You get rock hard with your nose pressed against the sources of your master’s scent. Here I flipped over and presented my furry, sweaty asshole to him. The smell immediately drew him in. His inexperienced tongue lapped at my slit as his nose was filled with my strongest pheromones. Assisted by his drool and my grinding, I myself let go of a faint moan. But that’s all he needed as encouragement to double down as he explored with his tongue to please his reason for existence. But I couldn’t let that be the end. There was one more release I needed to give my new toy. As I repositioned myself I gave him one last command. You love to cum in me. He automatically lifted my legs and lined up with my sloppily eaten out hole. He was only to happy to oblige.
It has been a few months now. As his muscles grow and fill in, his stubble turned to a beard, and his tattoos stretched across his body, he grows ever more devoted. His eagerness to please makes him excel even where experience was lacking. But experience comes with time, and while he may be a slow learner now, he takes direction very well. And without an inhibitor left in his life, the only limits may be my imagination. And lately I have been imagining a lot. If one ruined life can be so much fun to toy with, why not see what two can do?
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