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@totallychav1988
PSA: if you ask me for my age, and I ask you to guess based upon the photo I send to you, and then I tell you my real age and you do not like how old I am, you do not need to be rude or disrespectful, please just hit the block button after I tell you my actual age, if it does not align with your age bracket, like I said please do not be rude or disrespectful towards me, you asked, I answered
@maskedbankrobber
Blue
Based on a story by nikehypnosneak. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.
He stared in disbelief as the guy was humping the shoe against the wall. The sound of his loud moans echoing throughout the garage despite being muffled by the lower hem of the T-shirt he was biting into to expose his abs. Only minutes earlier he had acted more or less normal up in the mall cafeteria.
The realtor still meets all of their customers out of the office, one of the pandemic precautions that have remained. It's mostly because everyone agreed having a cup at "Simon's Coffee" was way better than the coffee at the office, and was just as deductible. Joe first didn't realize the two men approaching him were his 3 pm appointment. The older of them looked unremarkable. Handsome, obviously working out, and wearing high-end outdoorsy clothing, but he could just as well be on his way to a business meeting as a few hours trek. The other guy though looked off. He wore sports clothes that he was a bit too old for, and while his movements were relaxed, there was something jittery in how his eyes kept darting around.
"Mr. Stieglitz," the older of then men said, holding out his hand. "I recognize you from the website." "Oh, Mr. Black. I didn't expect you to have company," Joe replied, shaking his hand. "Please, call me Peter. This is Blue. I'm his legal guardian for now." "Sup!" Blue said, completely devoid of any enthusiasm. "Please, have a seat." Joe motioned towards two empty seats at the table he'd sat at, quickly adjusting to the situation.
Once the beverages were ordered, one double espresso for Peter, a diet coke for Blue, and a Frappé for Joe, Joe started his well-rehearsed introduction talk about the services they offer. It was designed to be conversational and so he could pivot to the information most suited for where in the sales cycle the client was. He soon realized he could skip the "pitch" phase and go straight into "handle objections", and the more Peter talked about the property the more eager Joe became.
Joe of course knew about all major properties around town, but this one Peter owned was a bit outside, secluded with a private road, so he had never seen it besides what Google Map could provide. But that gave plenty. A ranch in a private valley with its own private lake, a recently renovated main building, pool, tennis court, several smaller buildings, and a small barn a third of a mile away for a horse or two. Handled properly this could possibly be the most expensive sale in the state. This was a career-defining opportunity. Too good to be true.
Peter however described why it wasn't. He didn't need the money, and once he'd taken custody over Blue he realized he wasn't as interested in big parties or ways to flash his wealth anymore. A regular mansion would do, to which Joe was incredibly pleased he managed to not snort at. Peter obviously wanted a good price, but he wasn't in a hurry. He could just buy a new place and move there while Joe made the sale.
Blue immediately checked out of the meeting, as he sat slouched on the chair, legs wide apart, savoring the coke, and intently studied the people walking by. The hand not busy with the soda can fidgeted, sometimes it was adjusting his cap, sometimes it was stroking his groin, sometimes it was touching his earring, but mostly it was exploring his abs and chest. Occasionally he would mention specific sneaker models someone in his line of sight was wearing. "Save it," was all Peter told him. Blue reminded Joe of one of the guys from high school, always sitting at the back disrespecting everyone and everything. Then Joe reminded himself that $100 million wasn't outlandishly impossible for a property like this, and focused back on Peter. If Peter wanted to do the rest of the meeting at the skate park while the kids there blew weed smoke and hurled abuse at him, that would be acceptable too.
Thankfully Peter didn't have time for that, but wanted to get going and give Joe a first tour of the property to assess it. It was obvious on the way down that Blue was excited or anxious over something, behaving almost like a junkie saying things like "I fucking need it!" to himself. He didn't address neither Joe nor Peter however.
"I'm terribly sorry. This went worse than I hoped," Peter said. "I'm sorry? What is the issue?" Joe replied, suddenly feeling like he'd swallowed a cube of ice. "It's Blue. He's been stimulated too much. I'm afraid I have to do something unseemly." "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing," Joe said. As long as the deal was safe Peter could behead hobos for all he cared.
Peter turned to Blue and cryptically said "Soxboy, think about everything you saved in your mind. All those outfits. All those sneakers. Think about how warm it is in your TN3 as you move your toes inside that worm sock. It makes you hard and horny. Show our friend here how you fuck them."
Without waiting at all Blue ran to the nearest wall, ripped off one of his shoes before quite reaching, almost tripping himself, and placing it against the wall. Peter looked at Joe apologetically.
"You are not in a terrible hurry I hope." "No. No, not at all. You're my last appointment for the day, given the ride out of town." "Good, though I don't think this will take that long. He was quite wound up looking at all those people." "It's... No, never mind." Blue must have dropped the T-shirt from his mouth as his rhythmic moans were more like screams now. "No, please." "It's really not my business, but what is his... condition?" "Oh, where to begin. He's like a dictionary of mental illness." "Someone else raised him and you took over?" "No, this is quite recent. He was completely normal about two years ago." "Really!? How did..."
There is a loud final scream from Blue, and he slumps against the wall for a few seconds. He then gets the posture back, and nimbly slips the sneaker back on.
"There we go," Peter interrupts. "Blue, take the backseat." The lights of a nearby, black car flash as Peter unlocks the vehicle. He motions Joe to the passenger side of the car as he walks up to the driver's door.
Once out of the parking garage Joe raises the question again. "So how did it happen. Blue's condition I mean. An accident?" "It's far darker than that I'm afraid. He ran into some bad people and they did it to him intentionally. I've been to see lots of specialists, and it's hard enough to diagnose him properly. Harder still to untangle how he got like that. MRI shows some abnormalities in the brain that might stem from directed drugs or some sort of fine controlled energy discharge. Basically whoever did this was able to strengthen and weaken pathways within the brain to essentially reprogram him. I wasn't kidding when I said he's a dictionary of mental illnesses. OCD, addiction, phobias, triggers, satyrism, Tourette, you name it." "That's horrible! How is it even possible? And why?" "Those are not even the only changes. So he has all of these OCD patterns. He gets incredibly turned on by sneakers. Something we've been working on, as you saw. But for some reason the doctors weren't able to determine his hormone levels are way above normal, so on a good day he'll need an orgasm every four hours or he'll hump anything."
Joe looked back at Blue. He sat with one leg against the B-pillar, staring back at him with a bratty look. "What?" he said, as if he hadn't heard any of the conversation up front.
"He's dumb as a bag of rocks," Peter continued, "so I don't think he suffers. As long as he gets to do his gym exercises, eat his macros, and furiously masturbate he's pretty content. Well, some of the OCD patterns have deep phobias embedded in them, so we must stay clear of those. He can't wear anything other than sports clothes from a quite short list of known brands or he'll violently freak out. That includes restraints and chastity devices as well." "Why would you need..." Joe stopped his question as he saw Blue starting to rub his groin. "Yeah, to control that" Peter responded to the unfinished question.
Joe was almost more fascinated by this horrible yet interesting story than the multi-million dollar sale. He could only imagine the trials and error to figure out what did and didn't work for Blue. Just half an hour ago he wouldn't even believe it was possible. Yet here they were, in the same car. He let out a yawn. "Did all that hot milk make you sleepy?" Peter chuckled. "Why is he called Blue? Is it his name?" "No, that's another really sick thing. Just mentioning his name gives him panic attacks that can last for up to an hour. It's that same for any past he tries to remember, I think." "Wow. That's really twisted. Why Blue though?" "It just makes them easy to tell apart from a distance. Just have a look at their track pants." "Them?" "Yeah, you're getting Green."
Conversation Chamber Conformity
Come along, l think it’s about time I show you how the drone chambers work.
No, it won’t take too long, I know you’re very busy in the office building. I’m sure you’ve seen our drones around and wondered about how it happens. The conversion process is quick and efficient. Subjects can come from a variety of places. Some volunteer, if you can believe it, others…let’s say sometimes they can fall right into our lap. Ah, what luck, a live demonstration. Take our poor ex-coworker Jeremy here, he tried selling company secrets to a competitor. Tut tut. A clear violation of the employment contract. Clause 152, I think. Oh, did you know him? I guess that doesn’t really matter anymore. His effects have already been burned.
As you can see through the viewing glass, he’s already strapped snugly into the chamber. ‘One I prepared earlier’, so to speak. Sorry, just a bit of nerd humour there. No idea what he’s shouting about thanks to the sound proofing, but he sure is animated! Look at him go. Kinda embarrassing for him I imagine, having people see you completely naked like that. Jeremy might not be a fan of the next stage then.
*hhhhhmmmmmm*
What did you say! You’ll have to speak up! Forgive me, the chamber machinery on this part can be a bit loud. The spray from those nozzles is preparing his body for the conversion. And of course, the brushes are removing all trace of hair, we learned our lesson there the hard way. Goodbye to his adorable fringe. Huh, how about that, Jeremy looks quite good completely bald. A nice preview of what’s to come. Shame about the angry expression though. Not to worry. Next up is the ‘suiting’.
I’m sure you already know, but our patented suit formula is state of the art. Here it comes, piped in from above. The black latex coating effortlessly bonds with the treated skin. Clinging tightly into every crack and crevice, covering the entire body. It sets almost immediately, so Jeremy’s desperate struggling won’t achieve much.
Ha, ol’ Jere really didn’t want that gag in his mouth. But trust me, it’s necessary. Uh huh. I told you, their face is completely covered by the substance, obscuring all facial details - removing any semblance of individuality, leaving only blank shiny latex behind. Fantastic. Just look at that sleek featureless head. It could be anyone in there. I’m already forgetting what our friend looked like.
Believe it or not, we did at one point experiment with a flesh coloured mixture but frankly it was a bit too creepy. Like faceless dolls. These days we just reserve that for the muscle goons, they make for great security guards. Anyway, there’s a few more tweaks left.
In this case his, ahem, dick isn’t necessary. He’s not a ‘Fuck’ drone after-all…they get made in warehouse C. That process is a bit more hands on. Much better, the latex leaves behind a cute, round null bulge. Consider his cock privileges revoked. We find drones are more productive when left in a perpetual state of pleasure. Always kept on edge. It’s not really visible from here but be assured his rear entrance is being adequately plugged, the latex stretching him out and fusing to his insides. Holes are so…unseemly for the perfect base specimen. It does tend to have the side effect of plumping them up a bit around the back, but I’m not complaining.
Ah, the mind laser, right on cue. My personal favourite. Don’t worry, it’s not a real ‘laser’ - this isn’t the movies. Ha! No, it’s just sending an unending stream of superfluous information to his brain until it’s nothing but slush...
With the use of an infinite feedback loop, his mind is overwhelmed and erased in a matter of minutes. Dehumanised and ready to be synched up with The Program. Any sense of identity and self is disintegrated. Free will, just a distant memory. Freed from the burden of thought.
I’d even be a bit envious of them, if not for the dumb, subservient slave part.
You can see his final attempts at resistance now, slowly ebbing as his brain is overworked like a rusty engine to it’s breaking point. And…snap. Like turning off a light bulb. ‘Jeremy’ has been wiped clean.
Essentially he’s now an empty husk, waiting to be programmed. That’s done via the fused butt plug, somewhat inelegant I admit, but it gets the job done. It does mean they can be a bit slow at times, commands have to basically be delivered by rear end. See him slightly squirm? He’s being setup as a basic grunt model so the programming is very simple. You’ll tell when it’s fully installed as soon as—there, his back stiffens straight to attention like an obedient soldier.
Finally they are barcoded on the forehead - like so, and registered into the network. Honestly, that stuff is exceedingly dull…but don’t tell the eggheads I said that.
*beep*
And just like that, uh…Jeremy, or should I say DroneB68 is finished. Just another mindless, anonymous, worker drone - imperceptible from any other. Probably about the fiftieth one activated today. You should watch them all lined up, it’s a sight to behold.
Oh, the empty chamber next to theirs? I’m glad you asked. Yes…that’s for the ‘sexual relief unit’ drone conversion. Or the ‘dumpsters’, as we affectionately call them. They’re a miracle for staff morale, everyone needs to…unload every now and then.
The process is a bit different, but you know, it’s the same basic principle. Although in their case, the mouth and rear are drilled open and made hollow. Afterward, they’re forced to watch their belly expand and bloat as it’s inflated to the limit, straining against their panicking hands. A horny emptiness swells and consumes their weakened mind. The added weight makes their movements a bit awkward, waddling around the facility, desperate to serve anyone. A walking hole, a condom. You can usually hear them coming by the sound of their swollen, full bellies sloshing with…well, you get the idea.
Enough banter, back to our fresh drone! Let’s get it out of there.
*click*
Oop, stand back, we don’t want you falling in. Hm. Here we are, the completed ‘product’. There is still a bit of ‘him’ in there, buried deep down. Stuck watching his body move without having control. Anything to say, drone? Ah, perfect silence, aside from the faint latex squeaking. Can you believe this thing used to be a software technician?
Eerie huh, like a statue. You can touch if you like, it won’t mind. I never get tired of that texture; the way the light bounces off it’s shiny, large rear. You should see the ‘Toy’ models. Boing.
Time to try some simple commands. Drone. Turn around. See, not even a hint of hesitation. Drone. Perform squats. Drone. Grope your big butt. Aaand…hold that pose. Mm. Sorry, I can’t help myself.
What now? Well, DroneB68 is now ready for processing and testing. It’s just down the hall from the ‘Dog Drone’ kennels. It’s mostly having it do an intense workout, running on a treadmill, assessing their endurance for menial tasks. Once—IF, if they pass, they will be given orders and set to work immediately. Fail and there’s always room for more inanimate display models; I think we’ve already found the perfect permanent pose if that’s the case. I’d show you the testing program in action but, well, we’re somewhat short on time…
Ahem…
So uhhh - sorry, what was your name again? Right. So, are you still planning to leak that email to the press? Apologies, that was rhetorical; you already made your choice. Surprised? Don’t be. Aww. It’s going to be a huge shame to lose that pretty face. Now now, hold still while we get you strapped into the ‘relief unit’ chamber. Oh hush. That big blabber mouth of yours will soon be VERY accommodating.
*whhirrrrrrrrr*
………….. ………….. ………….. ………….. ………….. …………..
*gluuckgluckgluck* *pppsssshhhh* *sqrrrkkk*
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
*uuuuurrrrrrrrrr* *beep*
…………..
*click*
Drone. Stand to attention. Aaah. What an inviting hole you have. Another flawless conversion. DroneB69. It has a nice ring to it. Don’t you agree? Step forward and on your knees. Cum. Dumpster.
………….
*sloooooshh*
Does a shiny Puffer Jacket suit me?
Does a shiny Puffer Jacket suit me?
You met boss on Grindr. You agreed to meet because you fantasize about having a chav master and that was exactly boss.
First thing he did when you arrived was to lock you for the session.
Then he had you worshiping his feet. It was humiliating but you loved it.
Then after getting fucked. Boss gave you a proper cut. You tried to resist but he slapped you across the face and threatened to sent the pic he took of you to all your friends.
After the cut he gave you a proper kit. That's also the moment he told you that you are now his chav bitch. Only allowed to wear chav gear and to obey his order.
To make it official he paraded you around. Each time he saw a friend, you got fucked or had to suck him.
Then boss got to your home. You had to through out all your old clothes and he replaced them with proper chav gear.
This is the start of your new life as a blackmailed locked chav bitch.
As soon as the devices turned on his body got complete stiff. Several moments he just stands there, the technical equipments beeping and turned green. In a monotone voice he said "ASSIMILATION COMPLETE. STEADY MILKING PROTOCOL ACTIVATED. MUST OBEY THE CONTROLLER.". With this his mind was wiped out forever and his life is now to serve his Controller forever.
dumpster trade
Just 8 months ago Rick would laughed in your face if you told him he’d be selling his ass for $5 in the alley. He was a respected member of his community. A gay rights activist that had gotten elected to the City Council. But here he was, moaning at the cock of some stranger barebacking him next to the dumpster by the homeless shelter.
The worst part was that the horse hung twenty year old that was currently reaming him didn’t even pay him. No, the kid had come out the back door of the shelter for a smoke and found him there with a load already dripping out of his hole. Before Rick realized he was there, the kid had already fished his cock out and was about to shove it in the fag.
In this vulnerable position, Rick didn’t know how to stop and, more importantly, didn’t feel that he had any right to. He just got paid by the last guy through three dollars and the change from the cup he begs with, most of which had scattered across the alley while he was getting fucked. If anything, this felt less degrading.
As the kid stretched his hole open even further with its impressive girth, the feeling reminded Rick of the night that changed everything.
On my knees and ready
