Date: Sun, 29 Aug 2004 17:46:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Story: Headshop, Chapter 4: Nick

Story: Headshop
Chapter 4: Nick

By Xformguy


I crashed hard from the weed. There were points over the night when I was
walking around the apartment, restless and edgy, pissed off and horny, and
the axis I walked around was the wood box of joints still sitting on the
coffee table. When I changed rooms, I moved it into the room with me. I
needed it around I knew what was happening to me. I knew it was the
cause. But I didn't care and I wanted to get high.

Those yellow-paper joints were both enticing and frightening. There was no
telling what I might become, but my consciousness couldn't keep from
thinking about how good smoking them felt. There was a point during the
night where my mind toggled between three things: "freaking out at all the
changes that had happened to my body," "god how I wanted to get off," and
"god how I wanted to light up and let my mind rest."

As it was, I was a worse basket case than when I had been stressed at
work. It had only been two fucking days, and I had work tomorrow.

To distract myself, I watched TV, again centering on ESPN channels. I
started to "get" basketball and baseball, which also sorta bothered me. I
tried watching some movies, but found them tedious. I tried reading but
that lasted about 1 minute before I threw it down in frustration; I just
couldn't concentrate. I ended up on my computer.

I was an IT professional so I had a pretty tricked out system. Sitting in
front of it helped to ground me back into my normal self. I realized how
much I was changing; all these new behaviors. All these subtle physical
changes. I started to freak out again. God, my life was at stake, my life
style.

I checked my email accounts. I had several set up, each for a different
purpose. I ran through my personal account and my spam-catcher, cleaning it
out, answering some emails, saving a lot I'd prefer to answer late when I'm
more in my right mind. In my work account, there was a email address I send
shiver down me: Sarge@headshop.com.

I opened the email: "Dear Punk: A Slave is coming to your house. Get
high. Fuck him. If you don't, he'll tell me so and I'll send the attachment
to your boss. -- Sarge."

I opened the attachment. It sparked off my Realplayer app and brought up
video of me, standing a darkened cubicle, lowering my jeans and jock while
stroking my cock. It showed me smoking weed. I showed me putting my cock
through the wall. It showed Sarge coming in, sticking his finger up my
ass. The audio played: "Who's your god?" "You are." I turned it off.

I sat there mortified, my forehead on the desk. I should have realized,
especially after the digital picture. I should have realized that they had
a plan, that they were organized. Sarge had said he had PAID to get me. Of
course they had thought this through. Once I was "gotten" they had needed
to keep me. Now they could.

This set off another bout of restlessness as my mind worked overtime,
spinning out paranoid plot after plot. Although it wasn't strictly
paranoia. They really were doing this; I wasn't imagining it. I stalked
around my apartment like a crazed tiger, wondering if I should get dressed
and get the fuck out of here before this "slave" showed up. I decided I'd
better. I wasn't ready to have this happen. I could explain to my boss
about the video -- I didn't know WHAT -- but I could. Having sex with a
guy, however, I couldn't take that back or fix it. I wasn't going to be
their bitch, no matter what.

I got to my bedroom, shucked my sweats. I put on another jockstrap, again,
with the idea to keep my errant cock in check. I pulled on some jeans, but
was having trouble finding some that didn't feel too tight. My legs and
waist were bigger than before, so nothing fit. I eventually just chose some
and figured they'd have to be tight. I put on socks and discovered that my
pants legs were too short too; it's like I had grown an inch overnight. I
pulled on my sneakers and found THEM too tight too, almost painfully
so. Goddammit this was like going through puberty again . . . horny as hell
and nothing ever fucking fit right. My t-shirt felt plastered to my skin
and my huge nipples totally hardened. I felt them contract sharply and then
stick out from my chest.

I pocketed my wallet, intend on getting out of here. On my dresser was the
box of joints. I opened it and fingered a few of them, scooping them into
my pocket. I brought my fingertips to my nose and inhaled their scent. GOD
-- so manly. I thought about lighting up right there, but the doorbell
rang.

I froze.

Fuck. I could just let it go. Not answer it. I thought about my boss
though. The video. I smelled my fingers again. Jesus. That smell wound its
way into my head again, sparking the high from last night.

I answered the door.

Standing there was a guy in his mid-twenties, just like me. He was wearing
jeans, athletic shoes, a sleeveless muscle shit that said "Pig" and had the
picture of a hog on it. He wore a baseball cap and he looked frightened.

"Nick!" I said, "What're you doing here?" I looked down the hall to make
sure the slave wasn't coming down the hall, but then did a double-take on
his shirt and realized why he was here.

"May I come in, Sir?" he asked politely.

"Sir?" I said. Nick and I had know each other for years, from college. We
were dorm buds. Drinking buds. We'd confided in one another many
times. We'd built a friendship and we worked together now in a corporate
environment where we were the only individuals we could trust. Now he was
calling me "Sir." "Um . . . yeah . . . come inside," I said. I opened the
door and let him walk in.

He game in and stood there quietly. I closed the door and realized, he was
waiting for me to order him around.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked him.

"I'm . . ." he started, then he hung his head and flushed red, "I'm here to
service you, Sir."

I understood what was happening here. The weed had done some things to
me. Nick had gotten different weed and it had done some things to him. "So,
you're a slave now?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What's that mean exactly?"

Nick looked at his shoes and was silent for a long while. This was fucked
up. He was completely different from the Nick I remembered. I remember him
being the cocky, outspoken, boisterous guy who closed down bars and fucked
women with impunity. Now he was standing here, meek and docile, barely able
to meet my gaze.

"I have do service you," he said, "please." He really seemed to mean the
"please." He put his heart into that and I wondered what lay behind it. I
looked at his smooth face as it looked at his shoes, bowing his head,
showing submission, and I started to think how fucking angry at him I
was. He had sent me to that place.

"Did you know when you sent me to that place what they had in mind?" I
asked.

He swallowed hard and flushed red again. "Yeah, I did, Sir."

Emotion exploded inside me. My fists balled up and my arms tensed. I wanted
to hit him, I wanted to kick him onto the floor and plant my foot on his
chest. I wanted to see his face looking up at me with fear in his eyes. It
took a moment for me to realize that I just had done all those things. My
anger moved my body without my conscious thought and I had him on the floor
my foot planted on his chest, putting my full weight on it. He was afraid
and with good reason. If I jumped on him now, I could crack his ribs.

"Look what you've done to me!" I yelled, "You turned me into a fag!"

"The weed did it," he choked out, "It happened to me too."

I spat a wad of spit into his face and dislodged myself. I stalked back to
the living room, a fury burning in me. He got to his feet and watched me
stalk around, both quiescent about being hit and looking out for my
movements. He was waiting for my orders.

"They want me to fuck you," I told him.

"Yes, Sir," he agreed.

"And you'd let me?" I asked him, "You want me, your straight friend, to
stick my cock inside you??"

"I can't cum, Sir," he said, "Unless a man cums in my throat or ass."

I blinked at him. The weed. It made him a slave. It made me unable to shoot
without permission from Sarge, but I still didn't quite believe that. I
hadn't tested it fully.

"I am bound to fulfill any sexual request made of me," he said also, his
eyes showing the pain he felt for this to be true.

"How long has this been true?" I asked.

"Weeks," he said, "And I'm always horny. ALWAYS."

"So, shooting inside you would do you a favor?" He nodded. "Trouble is," I
said, "I can't shoot without permission and he's not here to give it to
me."

Nick fished out a cell phone from his pocket and walked over to the coffee
table, setting it down. "He told me to have you call when you get close."
He set a string of condoms there and a small bottle of lube too.

"Of course," I said, throwing up my hands, "why didn't I realize he had a
plan?"

I walked over and sat on the couch heavily. He stood there, hands behind
his back, and said nothing. I knew what was expected of me here. I was to
order him around. I was to treat him like an object. He was my friend, my
formerly straight friend. I was to get myself hard and shove myself inside
his body. I'd seen guys naked before; I mean, it wasn't a mystery what guys
and cocks looked like. But I'd never touched another naked man on anything
other than his arm. To do more meant much more and I was straight. I
wondered if that meant anything anymore? Being straight seemed like a
memory.

I put my feet on the coffee table and grimaced a little. My shoes were
really too fucking tight for words. He sensed this and came over. He sat on
the edge of the table and took one of my feet in his hands. He unlaced my
shoe and slid it off, deftly pulling the sock off as well. His hands
massaged my feet and I sighed. It felt good. All my muscles were so damn
tight over the last day. His warm hands on my feet felt good. His thumb on
my sole, touching the sensitive nerves there, started to have an effect on
my cock. It started to stir. Nick moved to my other foot and shucked the
shoe and sock there. He started to massage that one too.

"So? Any sexual request, huh?" He nodded a little sheepishly. I thought
about what I could make him do, half-disbelieving it. He owed me so much
because he'd gotten me into this situation to begin with. "Lick it," I
commanded him, a sneer on my face.

"Lick it?" he said. I pushed my big foot into his face and practically
kicked him over. He grabbed my ankle to steady himself and I felt his
tongue on my sole. He was doing it. I felt his hot breath there too as he
worked his tongue from the middle of my foot down to my heel, licking,
nibbling, kissing it passionately. He moved upward to my toes and, one by
one, sucked each into his mouth, caressing each with his lips, blowing them
like he'd blow my cock. I shoved his face with my foot again and withdrew
it.

"Sir," he said, "Sarge told me to make sure you smoked."

"So the changes he's causing in me could be reinforced." Nick said
nothing. I fished out a joint from my pocket. I could have refused and
could have left. I could try to explain the video to my boss tomorrow
morning. I could do a lot of things. But, my friend Nick was here, unable
to control his own body. They'd already done extreme things to his mind,
obviously so. They could do more. I feared what they might do to him if
Nick came back with failure.

I put the joint to my lips and lit it. I took in a huge toke and let it
fill my lungs. While I waited for the surge to happen, I put my other foot
to Nick's face. He started working it over with his tongue as well as the
weed entered my bloodstream and shut down the nagging rational voice in my
head completely. Sex flooded my bloodstream, which flooded my cock
totally. I grew hard in my jock. My fingers unzipped my pants and eased
some pressure, just as Nick took my big toe into his mouth, nibbling with
his teeth.

"Stand up and take your clothes off, faggot," I said. My anger at him and
what he'd allowed to happen to me was surfacing again, intertwining with my
growing sexual desire to turn it hostile.

I watched as Nick's body appeared to me. I remembered him being athletic
and tanned, with a lot of hair on his chest and legs. What appeared to me
was utterly unlike him. His muscular definition was practically gone,
leaving only a thin build, lean and muscular, but hardly defined at
all. His skin was white, almost creamy with no trace of variation at all,
and he was completely hairless from the neck down, except for one
place. Across his chest, in large 3-inch letters, was the jet black body
hair in stark contrast with his white skin: F A G.

By now I was soaring. My head was spinning and I was enjoying it. I was
also in full sexual fury now. I stood up shakily and moved to stand before
him. He looked down at him, completely naked, this guy I'd know for years,
this guy I'd seen in the showers, this guy who was almost like a brother to
me. His cock hardened, a long, pink rod with a flaring head on the end. He
stood there, pink faced, trembling a little.

I took another deep toke and offered him the joint.

"I can't, Sir," he declined, "I have my own."

"Oh right right," I said, "you can't be turning into me now can you."
Without my command, he knelt in front of me and began working my pants
off. Because they were so tight, he had to practically peel them off and I
allowed him to remove them completely. I took off my shirt at the same
time, taking deep tokes from the joint. I wanted what was about to happen
to be as obliterated from my memory as possible. I was high now, totally
high and my cock was filling up the pouch to the point it was sticking out
my waistband.

Nick reached for my jock and I said sharply, "No. Stand up." He did it. I
shoved down my jockstrap, so I would be as naked as he was. We stood there
silently as I finished my joint and flicked the end of it into the trashcan
next to my desk.

He was my friend. I know he would do anything I said, but he was my
friend. I know I was angry as fuck at him and my instinct was to abuse him,
but. . .he was my friend.

I stepped into him. I pressed my naked body against his. I'd never touched
another man this way. I put my arms around him and pulled him close and he
allowed it. We stood there, both uncomfortable. The heat of him started to
register to me. The warmth of his skin, the weight of his physicality, and
I found it oddly soothing. I let my hands roam his back and sides, and
tentatively, he let his roam mine. His body wasn't all that different from
a woman's, especially being as smooth as he was, but it was more solid,
less soft. I found the firmness of it strangely familiar, like my own body,
and this was comforting to me.

I closed my eyes and moved to his face. I kissed him. He was strong and
didn't yield at my kiss, his tongue moving into my mouth to duel with my
own. I breathe deeply and I felt his cock on my hip. My cock was pressed
against his.

He head felt as if it was the size of the room and simultaneously, I felt
utterly trapped in my physical body. We kissed and as we did, something was
unlocked within me and within Nick. We were friends and we were sharing an
extraordinary experience that sent surges of pure, animal pleasure through
us.

Something more took over too. I was angry at him, infuriated at what had
happened to me physically and what was going to happen to my life because
of this. I knew I was also to blame, but he sent me there knowing what
would happen. As we kissed, as I groped his body, I put more force into it
and started to shove him around. It became apparent that this new body of
mine was much stronger than him. I wrestled him to the ground and put my
knees on either side of his head. I planted my cock into his mouth and
gasped as he swallowed it completely.

As he blew me, his hands moving expertly my body, I was confronted with his
cock, hard and pink against his belly, drooling rivulets of pre-cum. I'd
never touched a man's cock beside my own. But I did so now. It was
different than I expected. I'd heard the word "boner" since I had been 12
years old and so expected his cock to be literally hard like stone. It was
pliable and warm, turgid . . . just like my own. There was no reason to
expect it would be all that different from my own cock, but somehow, I had
irrationally thought it might be. I gripped it tight and angled it up. He
moaned as he swallowed me. I pulled it away from his body and let it flop
back with a loud smack. He squirmed.

With my head still high and my judgment still offline, and my desire still
at its peak, I opened my mouth and took his cock into it. It drooled
pre-cum onto my tongue and I swallowed it. It tasted like mine, but
different too. With his cock in my mouth, I felt connected to Nick, like
our bodies formed one solid unit of muscle and bone and sex. I swallowed as
much as I could . . . and was shocked when I pulled all of it into my
throat. I felt it lodged there. I heard Nick moan. I felt his moan ripple
through is torso into mine. I felt his hips jut into my mouth. I smelled
his musky scent as my nose touched his nuts.

I closed my eyes and sucked. I sucked as hard and fast as I could. I tried
to follow what he was doing to me, tried to match the moves of his tongue
as he blew me, but I could only do so much. We rolled around the floor in a
frenzy, bumping into furniture as we moved. I was humping his face for all
I was worth and I felt my orgasm start to rise up inside me. I felt my nuts
throbbing with it. I felt it in my temples and in the thrust of my hips. My
stomach clenched over and over and my kegel muscles were working overtime
again. I had felt this way before. Working to the edge . . . unable to move
over it.

I knew that Nick was feeling the same way, too. From the way he gasped and
squirmed. I knew he was on the edge too.

"Fuck!" I said pulling off his cock. I rolled over onto Nick again and
groped for the coffee table . . .  for the cell phone. I got it in my hand
and looked at the screen. I tried to work the controls while Nick blew me
unceasingly. He never let up on my cock. I finally found `Sarge' on the
contact list and hit `call.'

It rang once. It rang twice. "Motherfuck!" I breathed, "Answer!" It rang
three times. It rang a fourth time. Then it answered.

"Punk?" came Sarge's thick voice.

"Y . . ." I stammered, "Yes."

"You want to shoot, don't you?" he asked amusedly.

"God yes," I said. I could feel the cum in my nuts starting to over boil to
my cock shaft. I was primed completely.

"The slave is good, isn't he?"

"Please," I asked, "Please let me."

"What if I left you this way? What if I left you this horny so you could
service your bitch?"

"Leave her out of this!" I screamed into the phone. Nick raised his legs
and hooked them behind my arms, crossing his feet across my back. He
deep-throated me all at the same time and I gasped.

"I will, faggot," Sarge said, "If you cooperate."

"Please," I said, "Let us cum."

"Alright, Punk," Sarge said, "Do it."

As the syllables came out, I shot my load and, the second my cum hit his
mouth, Nick shot his wad in my face, a steaming dollop. I dropped the phone
and downed Nick's cock on instinct, swallowing everything he dumped into
me. We both swallowed it all until both of us were spent completely.

I rolled off of him and we lay side-by-side, panting. We didn't look at one
another, but I said, "You realize the only way we're going to get through
this, is together, right?"

"Yes, Sir," he said quietly.

We stayed that way for several more minutes, my head circling and flying,
the taste of Nick's cum in my mouth. He moved slowly, but eventually
stood. He looked down at my body and his face seemed to fill with shame. I
just smiled at him stupidly, slowly sitting up. I tried to stand up and
stumbled. Nick moved to catch me and our bodies touched again. Our faces
came close to one another.

I stood up to my full height, which now seemed even larger than it had been
yesterday and I pushed him away by his shoulders. I stumbled toward my
bedroom.

"You can go now, slave," I said harshly, "I'm done with you now." I
laughed, thinking this was a clever joke I was making, but part of me know
it wasn't. Part of me was glad I stung what was left of dignity. That's
what he gets for dragging me into this drama. I stumbled into my room and
hit the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.