I'm a fag who wants to be used abused humiliated.

FOOTBALL TEAM’S BITCH

It had been a filthy, bone-breaking practice, and our white practice pants were caked with mud, our jerseys soaked through by the cold, spitting rain. But I didn’t complain. Junior varsity freshmen don’t complain, not if they want a chance to ever play in a real game. I wasn’t a big guy, not by a long shot. I still looked like a teenager - but then again, I was. I was slight and had to look up to most of the other guys on the team, but I was fast and wiry and surprisingly hard to plant in the turf once I got my feet under me, so I had a thought that I might be a pretty good running back. I had been, back in high school, but I was quickly learning that college is a whole other story. As the smallest guy on the junior varsity team, I was just about invisible to the larger, first-string players. I kept it that way, figuring the best way to show myself was on the field, by taking the pain of practice and never complaining, and the coaches at least had started, I hoped, to see something in me. It was early in the year, the other students hadn’t even arrived on campus, and classes hadn’t started. That’s how early we began football practice.

I had just begun to lift the pads from my shoulders, trailing wet nylon over my face, when a loud hoot echoed off the locker-room walls. I didn’t think much of it. There was always a lot of noise in the lockers, howling and bragging and yelling. But this shout was a signal. I’m hard to plant, but only on the field and only if I know what’s coming. Plus, they didn’t even try to plant me. Hands - one pair still wearing a pair of sticky wide receiver gloves - grabbed at me, two pair on my arms, two on my legs, and they lifted me from the ground as easily as pulling a weed. I flailed, but I still had my pads half-off, half-on, and the clammy nylon practice jersey clung to my face. A storm of laughing voices drowned out my own cries. The quality of the sound changed, and they yanked my pads off, baring my chest with its wet, clinging under layer of tight Lycra.

They’d carried me into the storage closet, a room filled with various bits of gear, uniforms, pads, elastic bands and other workout gear. It was a room we mostly stayed out of, on coach’s orders. Jeering faces looked down at me, smeared with mud, a couple with helmets still on. Jarrett was a wide-bodied fullback who probably had a good eighty pounds on me. He had my legs, both of them, and while I tried to twist and kick at him with my muddy cleats, I got nowhere. He just grinned up at me, a shaved-headed ape with a vicious glint in his eye. Nate had one of my arms, the first-string quarterback, a blond stud who never had trouble getting his dick wet on the weekends - at least, judging from his locker room talk. And the Chad pinned my other arm, a tight end that could bench-press me. A grinning second-string running back, Keith, was digging at the laces of my pants. I gulped air, considered screaming. But Nate must have seen it in my eyes. He pinned my arm between his thighs and clamped a hand over my mouth. I tasted mud and rain and sweat on his skin. I tried to pull my hand free, pressed between the smooth, wet fabric of his practice pants, but I couldn’t get it out. His legs were too strong. They were all too strong. And I didn’t want them to get my pants off, because once they did, they'd see my dirty little secret. I flailed and blushed and twisted and got nowhere, and the running back yanked down my practice pants. Jarrett got my cleats off, one at a time, holding both ankles tight in one massive, meaty hand while he worked the laces with the other. Then they raked my pants off, and with them my wet football girdle, the lycra sliding smoothly down my hairless thighs and that was it… my little caged cock was now exposed to all of the football team. “wooow look, what the fuck is that!” said Jarrett, and the others mainly laughed and repeated the same sentence even louder. “I was sure he was a fag, look at his tiny little locked numb, how pathetic!”. They continued laughing for quite some time and I was completely red of shame. Keith flicked my locked cock. It was bobbing in the cool air. I flinched from his touch, but my cock didn’t shrivel. Their laughter was almost a solid thing, holding me down as firmly as the hands.

Duct tape ripped behind me, and they looped it around my wrists, then around my ankles, all the way up to my knees. I did have some hair on my calves, but I figured I wouldn’t once I got out of this tape. Nate leaned down, neatly sculpted blond eyebrows drawn together. “You a faggot?” he asked. I grunted negation into his palm. But he didn’t look convinced. “I think it’s pretty obvious now that you’re a faggot” he said. “Don’t know if we have any use for a faggot on the team. Huh, what do you think, guys?” They howled and barked, more animal than human. Someone looped more duct tape around me, binding my upper arms to my chest, my lower arms to my abs - I was helpless, completely mummified in it. I even felt more layer being added to my already mummified body. Soon all of my skin disappeared under layers and layers of thick duct tape, making me completely powerless and at the mercy of my team; there was absolutely nothing I could do except breathing.

I tried to struggle, but that just made my cock harder in my cage. Keith kept flicking my dick and balls. He was a sneering little punk with knuckle tattoos that said LOVE and HATE and a slicked-back high and tight that was almost a mohawk. No one really liked him; even the coaches didn’t care much for him. But he was a hell of a running back and one of the hottest guy on the team. They laid me down on a lifting bench, then flipped me. My drooling cock rubbed the torn plastic surface of the bench, and fingers rubbed and probed at my ass. “You can always tell if they’re fags” Keith said, “’Cause they’ll have loose, soggy assholes like a girl’s pussy.” “Don’t know what girls’ pussies you been playing with” Jarrett grumbled. “Just your mom’s” he said. A finger - I have no idea whose - brushed my hole, and a warm spasm flickered over me, uncomfortably close to orgasm. I didn’t know why this was turning me on, if that’s what was happening, or if this was just a reaction to fear. I struggled, but could barely move, and each wiggle or twist just rubbed my cock against the bench, bringing me closer to a humiliating caged orgasm. “Seems pretty tight to me” was the verdict, and the finger withdrew. They flipped me back over.

Someone had taken off their sweaty, very smelly, and dirty football sock, wadded it into a thick ball, and they shoved that into my mouth, well Keith violently shoved it into my mouth looking at me with the same little smirk “can’t have you making too much noise right faggot”. A thick strip of duct-tape went over that, and nearly five times around my head. “enjoy your little faggot meal” said Keith. Then the team decided to tape me to the bench to make me even more immobile and powerless. They started to put layers and layers of duct tape efficiently taping me to the bench and making me even more immobile than before. Even my taped mouth and head was strapped to the bench with more tape, then I saw Nate’s beautiful face again “that should keep you in place haha, in your faggot bitch place!”.

About half the team was either in the room or watching from the locker room, and almost all of them had their phones in hand, recording this, maybe putting it on the internet. But then Nate leaned over my face. “You got a little dirty during practice huh bitch” he said. “Time for your shower” He gathered a big wad of spit in his mouth, rumbled in his throat to augment it with snot, and launched it to splat right against the side of my nose. It trickled down my face slowly, tickling, but I couldn’t wipe it away. They followed the leader, then, each of them adding a gob of slimy spit to my face, until I had to hold my breath to keep from inhaling it up my nose and drowning in the team’s saliva. It seemed everyone on the team contributed a wad of spit to my face. Spattering me, jeering at me, laughing at me. I was no longer invisible to them, that was for sure. I thought it would never end, spit and insults and occasional slaps at my treacherously caged cock and taped face.

But then they left, and on the way out, Nate flicked off the light. “Sleep tight little faggot bitch and enjoy your homemade facemask!” he said. I figured that’d be the end, that it’d be over. I figured they’d leave me there for a while, until either I was rescued by the cleaning people or, more likely, Nate would come back and untape me and let me go and we’d all have a laugh about it. But it was barely the beginning. Because while they still shouted and howled and cranked the music in the locker room, they hadn’t forgotten me.

In fact, a few minutes later, the door opened and the lights came back on. Jarrett stood over me, still caked in mud. Didn’t these fuckers have classes to get to? I had bio of cells in a half an hour, and if I didn’t get out of this duct tape and shit I’d miss it. Jarrett smiled big, broad face and square jaw, like a politician seeking votes. “Hey, little bitch.” He’d taken off all his clothes except his football girdle, tight white fabric stretched over his broad thighs and ass, a substantial bulge in the front. They did nothing to hide the line of his penis against his soft, thick balls. His body was hard with muscle, but a soft layer of fat covered them, smoothed them out “like what you see huh?”. I grunted in the tape. Something like “let me go” but it came out all in vowels. The sock against my tongue and teeth was gritty and salty. Someone’s foot sweat. I didn’t even know whose.

Jarrett stood over me, turned around and started straddling my face “now you’re gonna love this as much as I do fag”. Then he lowered his fat, muscled and magnificent ass. Sweat had soaked through the spandex, making it translucent, and the dark line of his ass crack descended over my face, my nose and covered mouth. I tossed my head, but he rested some of his weight on me, trapping me with my nose in his crack. “Sniff it,” he said. “Come on bitch, do a buddy a favour and sniff my ass.” I couldn’t do anything but obey.

The tape and sock in my mouth prevented me from breathing other than through my nose, and now I smelled the dank, rich stink of his ass after a long and grueling practice. He wiggled, grinding himself against me. Then he put more weight on me. I tried to draw breath, couldn’t - only a thin thread of air slid between his clenching ass and my face. And that air was dank with sweat. I thrashed, helplessly, uselessly. I was going to suffocate here, I thought. He was going to kill me in the storage closet in the back of the football locker room. It’d be in the news. But just as my lungs burned and my breath began to slide into panic, he stood up. “You got spit all over my butt,” he said. Not my own, of course. The team’s. “Nasty.” I sucked sweet air through my nose, refilling my lungs. My heart thudded, but began to calm.

“you’re a pretty good ass sniffer, right little bitch” he said, turning around facing me again a casually slapping my duct taped face, “better ass sniffer than player should I say, glad I found you a way to be useful for us men right” he added before pinching my nose, effectively preventing me from breathing at all. He was still smiling, enjoying having me in this predicament. Then, when I thought I was about to pass out, he released my nostrils, and I was able to draw laborious breathing… but not for long… soon after, he turned around again and positioned his marvellous ass right above my face. “Ready for round two fag?” I tried shouting again, I really wanted out, but it was pointless as the sock was transforming everything into muffled cries. Then it happened again, and Jarrett lowered his big ass right onto my face. His positioned his crack right on my nose and put some weight on it, effectively forcing it closer to his asshole.

This time the smell was even stronger. It nearly made me wanna puke to think that I had my nose buried into Jarrett ass, nearly touching his dirty hole. My beautiful captor on the other hand seemed to enjoy what was going on and moaned. “nice and deep breath right bitch, must make you hard in your little faggot cage, enjoy the funkiness!”.

Because some people have been asking for it, here's the second part to my little cuckold ABDL story.

The plastic crinkled beneath him as Ethan shifted his weight in the crib, the sound echoing in his ears. His fingers trembled against the crib rails—he could climb out right now, rip this stupid onesie off, and storm out. But something kept him rooted in place, his thighs pressing together against the thick padding between them. Curiosity? Desire? Jared’s words looped in his head: "Soaked. Messy. However you wanna get there." The humiliation burned, but deeper still, a traitorous heat coiled low in his stomach and in the spreading blush across his face.

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth around the pacifier. It shouldn’t feel this good—the way the diaper bunched between his legs, the way Jared’s hands had lingered on his hips like he was something precious. He wasn’t supposed to like this. But the thought of Jared’s approval—his deep, rumbling praise—sent a jolt through him. What would it look like, to be a good boy for another man?

A tear slid down his cheek, and he hated himself for it. He was crying—actually crying—like some over-tired toddler. He sucked harder on the pacifier, the rhythmic motion steadying him against the storm in his chest. The crib smelled faintly of baby powder, and god, why did that make his throat tighten?

The diaper rustled as he pressed his thighs together, testing the sensation. Thick and undeniable. He could almost hear Jared’s voice again, that teasing lilt: "You’re being such a good boy." Ethan bit down on the pacifier, a whimper escaping him. He hated how much he wanted to hear that again.

His stomach twisted. Was he really considering this? He could feel himself teetering on the edge—one moment away from giving in or bolting. Fine. Fine. He’d do it—just to see. Just to know. His stomach clenched as he let go, the warmth spreading between his legs slowly. The scent hit him immediately—earthy and his—and he buried his face in the crib mattress with a choked noise. He was a baby. A baby with a messy diaper.

The diaper sagged heavier now, clinging to him in ways he couldn’t ignore. He shuddered, pressing his thighs tight together as the humiliation—and something darker, hotter—settled deep in his belly. His pacifier bobbed as he swallowed hard. Jared would know, immediately. He’d come back and see—and god, Ethan didn’t know if he wanted to die or melt into the crib.

Footsteps echoed down the hall—heavy, deliberate. Ethan’s breath caught. The doorknob turned with a soft click. Jared alone filled the doorway, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat before his lips curled into a slow, approving smile. "Well, well," he murmured, stepping inside. "Look who chose right." His fingers brushed Ethan’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Good boy." The praise sent a jolt through Ethan’s spine, his toes curling against the crib bars.

Jared’s hands slid under Ethan’s armpits, lifting him from the crib with effortless strength. The diaper felt heavy between his thighs, the scent of powder doing little to mask the sharper, more intimate smell beneath. Ethan squirmed, but Jared just chuckled, adjusting his grip like Ethan’s resistance was nothing more than a kitten’s fussing. "Shh, shh," Jared murmured, his breath warm against Ethan’s ear as he carried him to the oversized rocking chair in the corner. "Daddy’s got you."

The chair creaked under their combined weight as Jared settled in, pulling Ethan onto his lap with a firm hand on the small of his back. Then—deliberately, inexorably—Jared pressed down, forcing Ethan’s weight fully into the filled diaper. The squish was immediate, the mess pressing back against Ethan’s skin in a way that made his stomach flip. He gasped around the pacifier, his face burning. Jared’s arm curled around his waist, holding him close. "There we go," Jared rumbled, his voice vibrating through Ethan’s chest. "Feel that? That’s what happens when Daddy’s little boy... just... let's... go."

The words shouldn’t have sent a jolt of heat through him—shouldn’t have made his fingers curl into Jared’s shirt. But they did. Jared’s thumb brushed over Ethan’s lower lip, nudging the pacifier aside just enough to see his mouth. "You’re blushing," Jared observed, amused. "Cute." He tapped the front of Ethan’s diaper, making the plastic crinkle. "But this? This is proof. Proof you’re just a baby. My baby." His hand slid up Ethan’s spine, possessive and warm. "And babies need their daddies to clean up their messes. Don't they?"

The rocking chair swayed gently, the rhythm almost soothing despite the humiliation simmering under Ethan’s skin. Jared’s fingers trailed down to the waistband of the onesie, popping the snaps open one by one with agonizing slowness. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, but Jared tutted, tilting his chin up. "No. Look at me." Ethan’s eyelids fluttered open, meeting Jared’s dark, knowing gaze. "Good boy," Jared murmured, and the praise settled in Ethan’s chest like a brand.

Jared’s fingers traced idle circles over the soaked padding, pressing just enough to make Ethan squirm. The rocking chair creaked beneath them, a slow, rhythmic sound that somehow made everything feel more intimate. Jared leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Feel that mess in there?" he murmured, his voice thick with something between amusement and tenderness. "That’s because you belong in diapers, little one. Your body knows it, even if your big boy brain hasn’t caught up yet."

The mess between his legs was impossible to ignore now—every shift in Jared’s lap sent a fresh wave of humiliation through him. Jared chuckled, low and rich, as if he could hear the frantic pulse of Ethan’s thoughts. "Oh, sweetheart," he sighed, palming the front of the diaper with deliberate pressure. "You’re so embarrassed, aren’t you? But you’re also hard as a rock."

The observation landed like a slap. Ethan’s hips jerked involuntarily, and Jared’s grin widened. "There it is," he crooned, fingers dipping under the waistband just enough to tease. "That’s the part of you that gets it. The part that knows you’re mine."

Ethan whimpered as Jared’s hands settled on his hips, guiding him forward until he straddled Jared’s thick thigh. Jared’s grip tightened, fingers digging into the softness of Ethan’s onesie-covered hips. "Giddy-up, little cowboy," Jared murmured, his voice a dark rumble that sent shivers down Ethan’s spine.

Jared shifted, lifting his knee just enough to press it firmly against the soaked padding between Ethan’s thighs. Ethan gasped, his hands flying to Jared’s shoulders for balance as the motion forced him to rock forward, the friction sending a jolt of heat through him. Jared’s grin was wolfish, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched Ethan squirm. "That’s it," he coaxed, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "Ride Daddy’s leg like a good little buckaroo."

Ethan’s face burned, his breath coming in short bursts as Jared’s knee nudged him into a slow, rhythmic grind. The diaper bunched with every movement, the mess inside pressing against him in ways that made his stomach turn with humiliation—and something else, something hotter and far more shameful. Jared’s hands slid up his sides, thumbs brushing the underside of his ribs. "You’re gonna love your new life, baby boy," he purred, his breath warm against Ethan’s ear. "Huggies, bottles for bedtime, and Daddy’s lap for whenever you need a little… attention."

The words sent a fresh wavethrough Ethan, his hips stuttering forward despite himself. Jared chuckled again as he pressed his knee up harder, the pressure just shy of unbearable. "See?" Jared murmured, his lips grazing Ethan’s temple. "You’re made for this. Made to be small and helpless and mine. And Daddy’s gonna take such good care of you."

Ethan's thighs trembled as Jared's knee nudged insistently against his padded crotch, forcing him into a slow, rhythmic rock. His onesie hung open now, the snaps undone, exposing the swollen front of his diaper. Jared's thumb traced the wet plastic "You're gonna wake up like this every morning," Jared continued, his voice a dark purr. "Diaper soaked and full, cock aching for Daddy's attention." He tilted Ethan's chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze. "And you know what happens then?"

Ethan shook his head, his pulse hammering in his throat. Jared grinned. "Daddy changes you," he said, punctuating each word with a sharp upward thrust of his knee. "Cleans you up nice and gentle. Then…" His fingers trailed down to the waistband of the diaper, hooking under the elastic. "Maybe rubs a little lotion on that pretty little cock of yours. Just to take the edge off."

Ethan’s breath hitched as Jared’s fingers teased the waistband of his diaper, the plastic crinkling with every slight tug. The mess between his legs was warm and inescapable, but worse—so much worse—was the way his body arched into Jared’s touch, betraying him completely.

Ethan’s hips stuttered forward helplessly, his fingers clawing at Jared’s shoulders as the pressure built. Jared’s smile was all teeth. "Go on, baby boy. Ride it out." His hands slid down to grip Ethan’s waist, guiding him into a relentless rhythm.

Ethan's vision blurred at the edges, his body moving on autopilot as Jared's hands steered him through each humiliating rock of his hips. The pacifier muffled his whimpers, but nothing could hide the way his thighs trembled or how his cock twitched against the wet padding with every grind. The smell—warm and intimate—filled the space between them.

"Almost there," Jared murmured, his palm pressing flat against Ethan's stomach as if he could feel the tension coiling inside him. His other hand slid down to cup the swollen front of the diaper, fingers kneading the plastic just enough to make Ethan's breath hitch. "Daddy knows. Daddy always knows."

The words shouldn't have unraveled him. But when Jared's thumb pressed down in one firm circle, Ethan's back arched violently, his toes curling as pleasure ripped through him. The diaper grew damp in a whole new way, warmth spreading in sticky pulses as Ethan shuddered, his fingers gripping Jared's shirt like a lifeline. "DADDY!! OH!!"

Jared rocked Ethan through the aftershocks, his touch gentling but never stopping. "There's my good boy," he crooned. "Daddy's perfect little mess."

The rocking chair stilled as Jared cradled Ethan against his chest, his heartbeat steady and slow beneath Ethan’s ear. The pacifier slipped from Ethan’s slack mouth, landing with a soft plop. Jared didn’t seem to mind—just pressed a kiss to Ethan’s sweat-damp forehead and murmured, "Daddy’s got you."

Ethan’s limbs felt boneless, his thoughts syrupy and slow. He should’ve been scrambling away, should’ve been furious, but all he could manage was a weak fist against Jared’s shoulder. Jared caught his wrist effortlessly, bringing Ethan’s fingers to his lips for a teasing nibble. "Uh-uh," he chided. "No hitting. Babies use their words."

Ethan’s cheeks burned. Words. Right. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a hoarse, "Why?"

Jared’s smile was indulgent, like Ethan had asked why the sky was blue. "Because you need this," he said simply, his thumb tracing the waistband of Ethan’s ruined diaper. "Because deep down, you’ve always needed someone to take care of you. To own you." His fingers tightened possessively around Ethan’s hip. "Lucky for you, Daddy loves taking care of his playthings."

The diaper sagged between Ethan’s thighs, warm and heavy, as Jared lifted him effortlessly from the rocking chair. Ethan’s legs dangled, toes brushing the carpet, his onesie hanging open where Jared had unsnapped it earlier. Jared’s hands spanned his waist like he was something delicate—something precious. "Time for a change, baby boy," Jared murmured, his breath hot against Ethan’s temple.

Ethan’s stomach flipped as Jared carried him to the changing table, the vinyl crinkling beneath him as he was laid out like an offering. The overhead light was too bright, too clinical, casting Jared’s shadow over Ethan’s body in a way that made him feel impossibly small. Jared’s fingers hooked under the waistband of the ruined diaper, peeling it back with a slow, deliberate drag that sent a shiver up Ethan’s spine. The cool air hit his damp skin, and he twitched, his cock lying half-hard against his stomach.

Jared hummed, running a thumb along the inside of Ethan’s thigh. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval. "All messy for Daddy." His fingers trailed higher, brushing the crease of Ethan’s hip, and Ethan’s breath hitched. Jared’s smile was slow, predatory. "First time a man’s touched you like this, isn’t it?"

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, but Jared’s fingers caught his chin, forcing his gaze up. "Uh-uh. Eyes on Daddy." Jared’s thumb pressed against Ethan’s lower lip, dragging it down just enough to expose the pink beneath. "You’re gonna watch. Gonna learn." His other hand slid down Ethan’s stomach, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with feather-light touches that made Ethan’s hips jerk involuntarily.

Jared chuckled, wrapping his fingers around Ethan’s shaft in a firm grip. "There it is," he murmured, his thumb swiping over the head, smearing pre-come in slow circles. "Daddy’s gonna teach you how good it feels." His strokes were steady, relentless, each one sending jolts of pleasure.

Jared leaned in, his lips brushing Ethan’s ear. "You’re gonna come a second time for Daddy," he whispered, his voice rough with promise. "Gonna let Daddy see how pretty you look when you fall apart in your mess." His thumb pressed against the slit of Ethan’s cock, twisting on the upstroke, and Ethan gasped, his back arching off the table.

Ethan’s vision blurred as the tension snapped, his body shuddering as he came with a broken cry, stripes of white painting his stomach. Jared’s hand didn’t stop, milking him through it until Ethan whimpered, oversensitive and trembling.

Jared peeled the useddiaper away, tossing it into the waiting pail with a wet plop. He didn’t seem to mind the explosion of poop against Ethan's skin—just grabbed a wipe and began cleaning with slow, methodical strokes. "There we go," he murmured, his fingers lingering in the crease of Ethan’s hip. "Daddy’s got baby all nice and fresh."

Ethan shivered, his skin pebbling under Jared’s touch. The cool air bit at his damp flesh, but worse was the way Jared’s gaze lingered—like he was memorizing every twitch, every flush of Ethan’s skin. Jared reached for a fresh diaper, unfolding it with a practiced flick. Ethan’s stomach dropped when he saw the print: Lion King characters frolicking across the padding, Simba’s cartoon face grinning up at him like this was some adorable joke. HUGGIES.

“UHHH?!? UHHH!! UHH!?!”

…his cock straining…as these men seal him up…

Bryan searched for the the contest and rules. When he found it, I saw that all he had to do was write one verse in song form about him. The verse that he liked the most would be the selected winner. He didn't waste time. He wrote his verse about Justin and submitted it with his name and phone number. The winner would recieve notification a day before the concert. He really hoped his would be liked the most.

A day before the concert, Bryan recieved a text from a representative of Justin Bieber, informing him that his was the most favorite. He also recieved instructions on coming to the concert back stage about an hour before the show was to start to know what his part was going to be.

Bryan arrived the next day for the concert just as he was instructed. He was escorted backstage to meet with Justin himself. He was so excited about this experience. To meet him in person one on one was exciting enough, but to go on stage with him at some point during the concert was beyond what he ever could have imagined.

"You must be Bryan." Justin extended his hand to shake his.

"Oh yes, this is such an honor, Mr. Bieber. I never thought this would ever happen to me." Bryan showed his excitement over meeting him.

"Call me Justin, especially since you will be on stage with me." Justin said as he gestured for him to sit down.

Bryan sat down in the chair. Yet, he was curious as to when he would go on stage with the singer. "I am wondering when I will be on the stage." The excitement of the moment was building within him.

"Actually, the entire time for the concert." Justin informed him as he pulled out his phone and took off his shirt. He opened up his special TF app. He had been wanting to use a new feature that was recently added to it.

Bryan was confused. How can he be on stage the entire concert, he wondered. He thought maybe for just one song, but not for all of them. "I don't understand." He said being a little confused.

"Stand up. I will show you how." Justin instructed Bryan.

Bryan stood up as Justin stood beside him. He saw him wrap his arm around his shoulder and hold up his phone as though he was doing a selfie with him. He saw Justin hit the flash option. Instantly after the flash, he felt different.

Justin saw a new tattoo appear on his arm just as Bryan vanished with the flash. "Wow, the new feature really worked. A new tattoo just like that without the use of a needle. I definitely will have to try this again." He smirked.

Bryan couldn't move or speak, but he heard Justin talking about a new tattoo. He thought to himself that he couldn't have referred to him as a tattoo. Try as he might, there was no movement or speech coming from him. It was a little disconcerting.

"Sorry about this, but this is permanent. I can't undo your new form." Justin said with no remorse in his voice in reference to what he did to the super fan. "You get to be on stage with me for the entire concert and every concert from now on. You are permanently a part of me from now on. Best get used to it, my little tattoo slave." He finished with a laugh as he finished getting ready for the concert.

Bryan at first wanted to object to being a permanent tattoo, but the longer he remained a living decoration on the singer's body, his mind began to be warped by the same body. He started to feel like he belonged to the singer. He thought no better fate than to spend the rest of his life as his tattoo. By the time of the start of the concert, all resistance was gone. He was just dumb tattoo on the body of his master and nothing more.

Mike's three roommates were lounging on the couch, their feet up on the coffee table. They looked me over, grinning knowingly. One of them, a dark-haired guy with a chiseled jaw, spoke up. "So, this is the little toe-kisser, huh?"

Mike sailed over to the couch and plopped down, propping his own sock-covered feet up next to theirs. "Yep, he's all mine," he announced, gesturing to the lineup of male feet. "But while he's here, he's going to worship all of us. Right, fag?"

The room filled with laughter, and I felt my stomach drop. This was not what I had signed up for. I glanced around, desperate for an escape, but the door was locked, and their eyes bore into me like lasers.