The following is a work of aspirational fiction:
My day begins before dawn, with my alarm going off next to my cot. I groggily make my way to the bathroom to piss and reluctantly flip on the light. My eyes burn as I drain my bladder, but eventually I am at my full senses. I catch my reflection in the mirror and reflect on the transformation that has taken place in the months since @dsstud and I moved in together: I’ve grown from a doughy 205 pounds to a solid 230, with thick shoulders, chest, arms, back and legs; my waist narrows into a nice taper; my ass has become a perky bubble; my hair is kept short and tidy, almost military-style, but my beard has grown out; two large rings pierce my nipples and match the 2 gauge PA in my cock; Alpha’s sigil is tattooed at the top of my right thigh; his collar hangs from my neck. Scrawled in black marker across the mirror is this week’s mantra: “Grow for Me, boy.”
I slip on my jock for the week and the rest of my clothes, before jogging to the gym a few blocks away. My morning cardio session is uneventful and taxing, but key to maintaining some degree of leanness while I am adding size. I’m soaked by the time I am finished and happy to add another days’ worth of sweat to the jock. As an extra source of income to support the household, Alpha has me perform cam shows now and then, and the muscle-worshiping guys are willing to pay top dollar for used gym equipment. The funds from the cam shows and gym equipment go straight into a special account that Alpha has set up and he receives updates via text message. On some Friday nights, Alpha has me stay home to perform while he enjoys time with his friends; the updates on his phone give him a constant Alpha buzz and I know that if he hasn’t found a boy at the bar to unleash that on, I will be in for a hard session when he gets home. Needless to say, I delight in the nights when the bar is slow and boys scarce.
Back home, I strip to my jock and quietly enter Alpha’s bedroom, kneeling by the foot of the bed. He looks incredibly powerful, even while sleeping, and I reflect on the joy I feel being his collared property for a few minutes. At 6:45, I envelope his cock with my mouth (his preferred method of being woken up) and Alpha audibly moans. He gives my head an affectionate pat as his cock hardens.
I set the water temperature to Alpha’s liking and wait inside the stall. He joins me once he is fully awake and I get to work soaping him up from head to toe. I start at his chest and then get his back and the back of his legs. Once he turns around, I wash his thighs before he places his cock in my mouth and drains his bladder into my stomach. I greedily drink it down and feel my stomach swell. There was a time when the thought of drinking another man’s piss turned me off; now I crave taking Alpha’s and am grateful anytime he decides to give it to me.
Once he is clean, Alpha washes me back for me and I get hard from his touch. These bits of tenderness are as erotic for me as the most intense play scenes. He tugs on my piercings and my head drops as I begin to slip into subspace. He relishes the power he has over me. I step out of the shower first to dry myself, before toweling Alpha off. Then I head to kitchen to cook Alpha’s breakfast (scrambled eggs, bacon, tea, English muffin) and drink down my morning shake while I do so. My meals have been carefully calibrated to meet the growth goals that Alpha has set and these shakes provide the right mix of carbs, fats, and protein.
As I am preparing breakfast, Alpha sets out my clothes for the day. He’s taken to controlling my dress and He likes me to look my best, going above and beyond what my office’s policy requires. Monday through Thursday, it’s usually well tailored wool pants that hug my thighs and ass and a nice dress shirt that shows off my developing shoulders/back/chest/arms. Fridays are more casual with well fitting jeans. Every day is a jock, however. Dressing well has bolstered by performance at work, actually, and people treat me with more respect as a result. It’s a nice ego boost to catch some of the gays at work staring at me, and it gives me a sub buzz, being discretely on display while at the office. Before I dress, I get on all fours, Alpha grabs a fleshy part of my ass, and drives a needle deep into me. With steady pressure, he floods my system with testosterone and then wipes up the small trickle of blood. Maybe it is all psychological but I swear my body swells whenever Alpha injects me.
Alpha enjoys his breakfast while I dress; he can take his time since he’s working from home for that day. I kiss his feet before walking out the front door. “Go kick ass today, boy. Make Me proud.”
As I walk to the train station, I pop in my iPod and listen to a track called “Work Meat”. It’s a soothing hypnosis track meant to bring me in to a sub state but increase my productivity at work. It reminds me that working hard at the office is a form of service, of worship to Alpha, rather than just earning a paycheck. This reframing has caused my performance at work has skyrocketed and I’ve been given more complex, interesting projects. At the end of each week, I give Alpha a download of my performance at the office; what worked well, where I struggled, how I handled difficult situations. Together, we walk through ways I can improve and each week gives me the chance to put his suggestions into action. His perspective helps me navigate the nonsense of corporate America.
I eat my calibrated meals at regular intervals throughout the day, wolfing them down between meetings. Over lunch, Alpha has a local service fag stop by to do some housework while he is busy on his laptop. Alpha sends me a few pictures of it cleaning the bathroom and folding laundry. It’s great having a fag in service to the household, as it takes care of chores, which lets me devote more time to Alpha and meeting his goals. Its reward is a tall glass of Alpha’s piss and a slap across the face before it leaves.
My work day is uneventful, but busy. I am productive and earn positive feedback from my leadership with how I’ve been managing my workload. I text Alpha as I head to the gym for my evening lift. He instructs me to spend at least five minutes looking at my body in the mirror of the lockerroom, in just my jock, and pick out three features that I am proud of. It’s a confidence building exercise that Alpha has designed, and it’s also a bit of exhibitionism. Plus, my gym is very gay-friendly and a collared muscle boy spending an inordinate amount of time in the lockerroom in just a jock strap is a good way to attract men.
I listen to a different track on my iPod en route to the gym (“Gym Meat”), and it puts me into a workhorse kind of subspace. I visualize lifting heavier and heavier weights, my muscles bulging, veins popping, sweat dripping from my brow. By the time I arrive at the gym for my chest workout, I have been pushed into a deep subspace, incapable of much thought beyond lifting. “Work hard, meat,” Alpha texts me just as I walk in the front door.
The lifting session is grueling; heavy weight, low rep exercises, followed by higher rep, lower weight supersets. My thighs, hamstrings, and glutes burn and I’m hobbling more than walking by the end. I spend some time stretching on a mat to ward off soreness as much as possible. I text Alpha that I am finished and he instructs me to say hi to Sir Todd before I leave. Sir Todd is another leatherman that Alpha has developed a strong connection with and works out at the same gym I do. I head to the lockerroom and as I am enjoying my protein shake, I catch Sir Todd walking past my row. Rather than call out to him, which would be rude to do to a Sir, I follow and find him at the last set of lockers. I say hello and he greets me with a big hug. We catch up and I mention that Alpha told me to say hello. He says that they had texted earlier that day and that Alpha asked him to take some measurements of me, to monitor my gym progress. This comes as a surprise to me but a welcome one.
“Strip,” Sir Todd says as he snaps is fingers. I peel off my shorts and shirt, standing in just my jock while Sir Todd runs a tape measure over my chest, torso, quads, and upper arms. I feel exposed as my measurements are recorded, like I am some kind of show animal, but my hardening cock and bowed head prove how this activity pushes me into an enjoyable subspace. “Good, boy,” Sir Todd says. “You’re Path’s good fuck meat, aren’t you? Grow for him. Work hard for him. Be a good piece of meat for him. He deserves the best.” He grazes my nipple piercings and my cock is fully engorged, poking out of my jock and dripping. “Better go get yourself cleaned up, boy.”
I head to the showers, with full pair of blue balls, and enjoy the warm spray across my back. I am lost in thought; I don’t notice the curtain being pulled back. Sir Todd comes up behind me, squeezing one hand around my neck while the other finds its way between my ass cheeks. Two of his soapy fingers slide in easily while he restricts my air flow. As strong as I am physically, I’m in such a submissive state that I am merely an object for him to enjoy. “Good fuck meat. Fuck you have a nice hungry hole. That’s it, milk my fingers.” He withdraws from my ass and pushes me to my knees. His hands grip my head and he slowly begins to fuck my face. Alpha has trained me to relax my throat so that he can fuck my throat as he would my ass and I do the same here. Sir Todd begins to get more aggressive and I struggle to breathe between the intrusion in my throat and the water pouring down my face. “Such a hot piece of meat. God, you’re a hungry boy tonight.” With a grunt, Sir Todd unloads his cum down my throat, holding my head into his pubes ensuring that I swallow every drop. With a pat on my head, he leaves the stall. I take a minute to collect myself before rinsing myself off and heading home.
Once home, I strip to my jock and grab the thick leather slave collar that hangs by the door. Alpha has given me the latitude to wear this collar when I am feeling especially subby and tonight that energy is coursing through me. I position myself on all fours, ass up high, back arched, head lowered, and wait for Alpha. This is my reflection time. Alpha may appear immediately, or he may take upwards of an hour, but I use these moments to collect myself and think about how Alpha has molded me into a better piece of meat, a better man. As I am deep in thought, I feel Alpha’s hand scratch my head. “Good boy”. I melt hearing those words after a long day. He prods my body, inspecting it, noting the swollen veins in my legs from my workout. He runs his fingers up my spine, giving me good bumps. His hand lingers on the slave collar for a moment. “Noted,” he says.
“Prepare dinner. Let me know when it is ready, boy.”
In the kitchen, I throw together a stir-fry dish for Alpha. I’ve pre-cut the vegetables and pre-measured all of the ingredients so it’s only a matter of heating the pan and mixing everything together. I set out a nice place setting for Alpha at the head of the dining room table and pour a glass of wine for him. Once the stir-fry is prepared, I ring a bell in the kitchen to signal to Alpha that everything is prepared. I kneel on a mat beside Alpha’s chair and wait for him to join me.
I hear Alpha’s boots as approaches the table and he plops my dinner down in a bowl before me – reheated chicken and rice with mixed vegetables. “Eat,” he says. Using just my hands, I scoop the food into my mouth; I’m famished after that workout. Alpha laughs to himself. “Hungry, aren’t you, boy?” “Yes, Boss. Starving.” “I guess Sir Todd’s load wasn’t enough to satisfy you, boy.” I pause for a moment. “Of course I know about it, boy.” He’s not judgmental; he’s actually encouraging of my servicing other leathermen. “Be sure you inform me immediately, though, boy.” “Yes, Master.”
He takes his time enjoying his meal, complimenting me on the skills that I have developed in the kitchen. I thank him but say that it’s really a credit to him, as he’s encouraged me to try one new dish a week. We discuss our respective days; despite sitting atop a throne and addressing a piece of property, he’s genuinely interested in my day and encouraging with his words. It turns out the the service fag has decided to offer financial tributes as well, which speaks to Alpha’s skill as a Dom. He had a productive day at work and is doing well on a challenging project that he has been tasked with. I know that he can do anything he sets his mind to, but I swell with pride to hear that he’s doing so well. I spend some time at his boot while he finishes the last of the wine.
“Head to the living room, boy. Put on the hood and listen to the iPod that I have laid out. And crawl.” I scurry to the living room and insert the ear buds and hit play before slipping the blackout hood on, leaving only my mouth exposed. The track is called “Fuck Meat”, a twenty minute hypnosis session that quickly pushes me into a deep subspace, one where I think only of Alpha’s pleasure, where my entire purpose is to worship and serve him. Instinctively, I am in a child’s pose from yoga, my ass resting on my ankles, my hands outstretched before me, my head to the floor. I remain like this while the track runs, pushing me deeper and deeper and deeper into service mode. I begin to lose a sense of my humanity, feeling more and more like an animal, like an object that craves to be used and toyed with.
A hand pushes my face into a leather boot. My tongue goes to work. Another boot finds my back. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. That’ll leave a mark that I’ll wear proudly. The ear buds are pulled out from under the hood. I hear Alpha’s voice: “Good fuck meat. Worship. You exist to serve. My property.” None of these are questions or necessitate a response but I uncontrollably grunt into Alpha’s boot, now slick with my saliva. “Show Me your ass.” I spread my legs wide and arch my back as hard as possible. Regular yoga classes have given me more and more flexibility. My furry, beefy ass is properly on display now and Alpha begins to rain down heavy whacks with his hands on each cheek. The pain escalates quickly and my skin burns red in short order. I take the blows that Alpha dishes out and grunt in appreciation.
My body shakes under the duress of the pain Alpha is dishing out. He gives me a momentary break to collect myself before resuming, this time with a riding crop, which inflicts localized, but more painful, stings to my ass. Each hit leaves a small red mark. Alpha enjoys decorating my flesh this way. My arms start to grow weak; it’s becoming difficult to support the weight of my oversized torso after the rush of endorphins have gone through my system. Alpha gives me another break, if only to attach a lead to the slave collar around my neck. He pulls upward on the collar, cutting off my air but also helping me maintain my posture. My sense of touch is magnified with my sight blocked by the hood, making every blow that much more intense.
He’s behind me now, methodically spreading cold lube on my hole with one hand while holding the lead in the other, choking off my air supply just enough to turn my face a wonderful purple color. He does not ask if I am ready or if I want his cock – the answer to both is obvious – before he begins to work his fat, uncut meat into my hole. He’s a skilled top and had refashioned my ass into the perfect receptacle for his cock. As soon as his head has popped into my first wall, he slides the rest inside, only stopping once his bull balls are pressed against my ass. “That’s My good fuck meat. Show Me how much you want this.” I begin to back myself onto his cock, clenching my hole as I work up and down his shaft. I flex my lats wide to show off the progress that I have made in the gym, as Alpha loves a nice, strong back. With time, I’ve learned how to stimulate Alpha physically and visually to the best of my ability, knowing that there are dozens or hundreds of men out there who would love to take his cock. I’m careful to maintain my arched back as I work to pull Alpha’s cum out of him.
“Very good, fuck meat.” He grabs my hips with one hand and takes control of the tempo, ramming into me with greater speed and force. I’m lost in subspace but focused on pleasing Alpha; I can only groan and grunt in appreciation for this moment. Alpha roughly pulls on the leash, eliminating my air supply completely. This involuntarily causes my hole to grip his cock like a vise. We both enjoy this sensation immensely; I drip precum heavily while he enjoys the tightened hole around his cock.
Alpha’s a relentless fucker and I lose track of how much time has passed. However, with each stroke, he nails my prostate in just the right way and am I kept on edge for an agonizingly long time. I’m so close to busting that the sensation is overwhelming. “You’re My property. You exist to serve Me. This hole is Mine.” The verbal assault combined with a hard yank of the leash sends me over the edge and my neglected cock shoots entirely hands free, my cum dripping all over the floor. The satisfaction that Alpha receives in that moment, the manifestation of the power that he has over me, is enough to push him past the point of no return. He unloads in me with animalistic grunt.
As he with draws his cock, I am careful to clench my ass around him, squeezing every last drop of cum out of him that I can and ensuring that the big load inside me stays where it belongs. Alpha pulls on the leash once more, pulling me back so I am resting on my haunches. “Open”. His semi-hard cock slips down my throat and I taste the mix of his cum and my own ass, savoring this thorough breeding. He pulls his cock out and says, “Mantra.” “I am Your property. I exist to serve You. I will worship and serve You with all of my thoughts and actions.” Satisfied, he pulls the hood off my head and when my eyes bring things into focus, I see Alpha smiling down on me, his hand grazing my cheek.
He gives me some time to reflect and invites me to join him on the couch when I am ready. With each day, and each scene, our dynamic strengthens. Each day, I venture deeper in subspace in service to my Alpha and each day, he pushes me further into his service, guiding me and molding me into the best boy I can be. With each of these scenes, I’m stressed physically and mentally and each time, he is there to piece me back together, leaving me stronger and more dedicated to him than before; a muscle that’s torn under stress only to rebuild itself bigger and stronger than before. These thoughts are scattered and incongruous at first, but become more coherent as my higher human faculties return, one by one.
I find him on the couch, reading book and enjoying his evening tea. He pats his lap and I lie on the couch, my head resting on his thigh. He absent-mindedly runs this fingers across my chest while relaxing. I feel valued and at peace and dose off.
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