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In true Kyle fashion, heâs a big wuss. Heâs known that his whole life, heâs an emo guy who looks hard to approach and then he hits you with anti-social anxiety disorder and before you can recover from that uppercut he hits you with with the gut punch to reveal that heâs a big pussy when it comes to authority.Â
Back when Kyle dicknotized Mason Maysâhis flexing tightey-whitie clad coat rack of now two years, there was an investigation regarding the young manâs disappearance. The case came out unsolved much to the dismay of the Mays family, though that may be mislabeled since he wasnât exactly someone people missed. Mason was homophobic. A short tempered, prejudiced young man who happened to be Kyleâs coworker at Boba and Poke in the Obscura Outlet. This was back when Kyle was still newly moved in to the town of Rat Hill. Kyle had come out to his workplace and to his surprise they were supportive, except for Mason Mays, who Kyle didnât know at the time was plotting.
Later that night, Kyle was in his shower. Nothing unusual until he heard his restroom door open. He knew he was in trouble now, he lives alone. Before he could even think of calling the police, a hand reached thought the end of the shower curtain and pulled them open. Revealing himself to Kyle was Mason Mays, a face full of anger and prejudice. In his hands was a gun which he definitely wouldâve used had he not seen a nude Kyle. His pupils moved to Kyleâs penis without even thinking about it, and then they never left.Â
Masonâs forehead was straining with effort to look away, to complete his job. He growled, âWhat the hell faggot? I canât look away!â He started to tear up. This was the second time Kyleâs dicknosis was used in anger, and in both cases the person who got dicknotized started to cry. Grayson, his first, and now Mason.
Kyle saw the tears and the gun, but also an opportunity. He saw Mason in a state he could only have dreamed of. He had total control, an absolute authority over the man who wanted to kill him just seconds ago. âMason,â Kyle started, âput the gun down.â
Masonâs hand trembled as he lowered the weapon, his face a mask of conflict. His eyes, still locked on Kyleâs crotch, were wide with a terror that was slowly being replaced by something elseâa dawning, placid acceptance.
âFuck,â Kyle said, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the pounding of his own heart. âNow, I want you to strip. Everything off.â
Masonâs fingers fumbled with his belt, his movements clumsy and needy. His clothes fell to the wet bathroom floor with a fwump. He stood there, naked and vulnerable, his body a stark contrast to Kyleâs. Where Kyle was slender and pale, Mason was solid and muscular, a product of hours spent at the gym heâd often bragged about at work.
âNow,â Kyle continued, his mind racing with possibilities, âI want you to go into my bedroom. Stand against the far wall. The one with the window. Donât move from that spot.â
Mason tore his gaze finally and turned and walked out of the bathroom, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. As Mason walked away, Kyle could hear his complaints and questioning growing ever distant until they were emitting from Kyleâs bedroom.
Kyle had to reassure himself it was safe to take a breath to let himself relax. He plopped down into the bathtub, hurting his back slightly with a loud thump. Having his life threatened by someone he knew brought Kyle back traumatic memories with his dad. He sat there in the empty tub, naked and wet, thinking about how his dadâs hateful words had hurt him more than a gun could.
He was a coward. He had always been a coward. He ran away from his problems, from his family, from himself. But here, in this house, in this town, he had found a way to fight back. A way to turn the tables on the people who hurt him. It wasn't heroic. It wasn't noble. It was cruel, and manipulative, and it felt better than anything he had ever felt before.
He stood up, water dripping from his body, and reached for a towel. As he dried himself off, he could hear Mason in the bedroom, a low, guttural sound emanating from the other room. Kyle wasnât as thorough as he was with his ex-boyfriend, Grayson Pike, so Mason was still himself albeit doing whatever Kyle told him in the bathroom. Back then in high school, Kyle had dicknotized the jock in the locker rooms to be so in love with Kyle that heâd break up with his girlfriend later that day and start dating Kyle. It worked for a couple months but then Kyle got caught being gay by his dad and that was a crime worse than murder according to his dad, though it couldâve also been the fact that Kyle attempted to dicknotize his dad after the homophobic storm. Heâd found out that day that his dicknosis doesnât work on his own family, a truly awkward conversation ensued.Â
Kyle wrapped a towel around his waist and trepidatiously walked to his bedroom. He was greeted by the sight of Mason standing with his back to the wall by the window, clad in nothing but his underwear, a pair of tightey-whities, and regret. Kyle could tell the man wasnât regretting his actions, he was regretful because of the paranormal situation he now ended up in.Â
Masonâs face turned red as Kyle entered,. He barked, âWhat are you doing to me, faggot? I swear, youâre dead when I break free of whatever the fuck youâve done to me!â Despite the anger in his voice, Mason was still just a wall ornament for Kyleâs bedroom. Kyle walked over to Mason and put a hand on the manâs muscular chest. Kyle could feel the manâs heart racing, the muscles twitching beneath his skin. It was a strange kind of power, holding a life in his hands, the power to rewrite a man's very being.
âYouâre not going to break free, Mason,â Kyle said, his voice low and steady. âYouâre going to stay right here. Against this wall. Forever.â
Masonâs eyes widened in horror. âForever? You canât be serious.â
âYouâve gotta be fucking with me,â Kyle said. âYou came into my house. You threatened me with a gun. You tried to kill me. Now, youâre going to pay the price. Youâre going to be my coat rack. Youâll stand here, against this wall, and youâll hold my coats. Youâll flex your muscles and youâll keep your dick hard. And youâll like it. Because thatâs all you are now. A coat rack. An object. A thing.â
He felt a surge of something dark and exhilarating. It was the same feeling he'd had with Grayson. The feeling of being in control, of being the one with the power. It was a feeling he knew he could get used to.
Mason yelled back, âTo hell I will. Iâm not part of your gay shit! Let me go!â
Kyle rebutted, âYeah, weâll see about that.â With a shit-eating grin, Kyle dropped his towel. He looked at Mason and said, âYouâll like being a coat rack. Youâll love it. Itâs the only thing that makes you feel whole.â
Masonâs resistance disappeared. The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by a placid, glassy stare. The tension in his shoulders relaxed, his muscles no longer fighting against the invisible force that held him in place. Kyle watched the transformation, a slow, creeping process that was as fascinating as it was terrifying. Masonâs personality, his memories, his sense of selfâit was all being rewritten, overwritten by Kyleâs will. It was a violation, a desecration of everything Mason was, but it was also a work of art, a masterpiece of manipulation.
âGood,â Kyle said, a slow smile spreading across his face. âNow, flex. Show me what youâve got.â
Masonâs muscles tensed, his biceps bulging, his chest puffing out. He was a statue of a man, a perfect, immobile object, forever frozen in a pose of masculine strength.
âYouâll stand there,â Kyle continued, his voice low and hypnotic. âForever. Youâll only think of yourself as a coat rack. You wonât think about your family, or your friends, or your job. You wonât think about anything except being a coat rack. And youâll keep your dick hard. All the time. Because thatâs what coat racks do.â
Masonâs dick, already semi-erect from the initial shock of the dicknosis, grew to its full length, straining against the thin fabric of his tightey-whities. It was a strange, surreal sightâa man, a living, breathing man, turning into a living inanimate object, his body a testament to Kyleâs power.
Kyle stood back and admired his work, watching as Masonâs mind crumbled. Mason was still there, somewhere deep inside, but his personality, his memories, his sense of selfâthey were all being erased, replaced by a single, all-consuming thought: I am a coat rack. The tears in his eyes had stopped, replaced by a vacant, placid stare. He was no longer a threat. He was no longer a person. He was a thing. Kyleâs thing. Masonâs body remained flexed, a monument to Kyleâs will. The tears that had streamed down his face had dried, leaving faint tracks on his cheeks. His eyes, once full of hate and fear, were now empty, glassy pools, reflecting the moonlight from the window.
Kyle walked over to the closet and pulled out a black leather jacket he rarely wore. He draped it over Masonâs outstretched arm, the weight of the leather settling onto Masonâs bicep. The sight of it, the sheer, audacious reality of it, sent a jolt of electricity through Kyle. He had done it. He had turned a man into an object.
He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Mason to his new existence. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, his hand shaking slightly. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, a potent cocktail of fear and triumph. He looked at his reflection in the kitchen window, his face pale and ghostly in the dim light. Who was he? What was he becoming?
The questions hung in the air, unanswered. He didnât have the answers. All he had was the power, the raw, intoxicating power to bend others to his will. And that was enough for now.
He walked back to his bedroom, his steps slow and deliberate. He looked at Mason, at the man who was now a coat rack, and felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. He had created something new, something that was uniquely his.
A couple days later, Kyle received a visit from two police officers, both investigating the unexplained disappearance of a Mason Mays in town. They wanted to look inside and investigate, and Kyle, folding immediately with any form of authority, dicknotized the officers to make sure they wouldnât report their findings. He made them believe Kyle was forgettable and nothing to look into.Â
Mason Mays is a cold case, and thatâs Kyleâs doing. It was self defense, but Kyle wonât deny he got carried away, and now that heâs sat on it for so long, he's become used to the feeling of guilt. What was new was the good feelings he got from dicknotizing others. From dicknotizing Wolf Jacobs, Walter Henderson, and Cole Smith. And soon, heâll get everyone whoâs here at tonightâs guysâ night. Those who remained normal are Chase Adams and Dominic, and they wonât be normal much longer. Kyle controls the majority now, should something go south then thereâs always a plan B now.
Thinking about helping to masturbate a boy into trance. Particularly with how sensitive tcocks are, itâs so easy for repetitive rubbing to become hypnotic, moving fingers round and round. Making spirals around the bottom growth that play on all the sensitive nerves.
Making pleasure the only thing a boy can think about until heâs dumb and drooling and completely hypnotized by his cock. Eyes glazed and empty when heâs ready to nod along and agree with whatever you tell him because it feels too good to question whatâs happening đ”âđ«đ„ș
Chapter 1: Welcome To The Neighborhood of Wolfhornet
Todayâs the day Kyle might actually die. Not because his life is in danger but because heâs finally accepted his invitation to Guysâ Nights. Weeks of his neighbor Wolfâwhom Kyle doesnât know, inviting him to Guysâ Nights to try and be friendly and Kyle finally caved in. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was to finally give it a try, or maybe Kyle was about to tell Wolf in person to stop sending the invitations. Not that Kyle ever would but the thought crossed his mind. At best, heâll go and maybe get some good food or drinks and then come back and never go again. Thatâs what he thinks at least.
After checking himself out in the mirror, he grabs a thin black leather vest from the ever flexing muscular arm of Mason Mays, who was standing in Kyleâs bedroom flexing his arms and wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs slightly worn with age. Kyle puts on the vest. He pulls up black jeans, they hug his slim frame with practiced ease. A silver wallet chain taps against denim as he secures it. He pauses at the shoe rack, selects his beat-up red Converse high tops, tying them with an odd kind of reverence. His long black hair falls into his eyes as he bends down. A wolf cut, the stylist had called it, though to Kyle it just looked like him. The final touch is a plain white tee beneath the vest, the simplicity of it a stark canvas for the complexity underneath.
The walk to Wolf's house takes seven minutes. Seven minutes of evening air, of crickets beginning their nightly chorus, of the subtle hum of a neighborhood settling down. Wolf's house is two blocks away, a suburban ranch-style home with an American flag hanging limply from its porch. The door is already open, spilling light and sound onto the lawn.
Wolf himself stands there, a beacon of forced casualness in cargo shorts and a polo shirt that strains across his broad shoulders. His name is literalâa barrel-chested man with a silver beard and a laugh that could shake rafters. He's been Kyle's most persistent neighbor, always asking about Kyle's day, always offering help with things Kyle doesn't need help with, the man is sociable to a point that was breaching Kyleâs bubble.
âHey,â Wolf said with raised arms. âYou came after all. Finally get to put a face to the name. Come on in, thereâs more of us inside.â Wolf stepped aside to allow Kyle in, forcing the young man in through obligation by putting his hand behind Kyle.
This was the trap and he took the bait. Kyle canât leave now, heâd look like an asshole.
Kyle asked whilst he was being guided in through the front hall. âHow many more?â
Wolf answered, âAbout five. Uh, actually let me think. Me, Walter, Chase, Cole, Dominic, and now you. So thereâs six of us in total counting you.â
Kyle hid his displeasure with a half smile. âGreat,â he mumbled.
Stepping into Wolfâs living room, Kyle saw four other men sitting around a poker table. A man with short, nearly bald buzzed hair raised his brow at Kyle. âWhoâs your shrimp, mate,â the man asked Wolf.
Wolf slapped Kyleâs back and smiled earnestly. âDominic, this is Kyle,â Wolf said. âHeâs new to WolfhornetâWell actually heâs been here for maybe two-ish years but he hasnât come to a Guysâ Night yet.â
Another one of the men around the poker table, who was wearing a black button up polo and had a far less intimidating vibe than Dominic spoke up, âI can attest to that, Iâm a normal at Guysâ Nights. Thanks for hosting by the way, Wolf.â
âYouâre welcome Cole,â Wolf acknowledged. âNow come sit with us, Kyle. We were just about to get a game of poker started.â
The game is a disaster. Kyle knows nothing about poker beyond what movies have taught him and thatâs not much. He fumbles with chips, mismanages his cards, and eventually gets called out for peeking at other peopleâs hands. The laughter from the other men doesn't feel malicious, exactly, but it's the kind of laughter that leaves marks. Each chip he clumsily drops feels like a stone on his chest.
After an hour of this, Wolf claps him on the shoulder. âHey, no worries, man. Maybe cards arenât your thing. Go grab us some drinks from the kitchen?â Wolf suggests. Itâs an out, a gentle dismissal disguised as a helpful task.
In the kitchen, Kyle leans against the counter, the coolness of the granite seeping through the thin fabric of his white tee. The sound of male laughter filters in from the living roomâdeep, easy, the kind that belongs to men who've never had to question their place in the world. He looks at himself in the microwave door: pale, slender, a shadow among giants. A surge of something hot and bitter rises in his throat. Not just embarrassment. Kyle lets out a deep breath.
From behind him, Kyle hears Wolfâs voice, âAre you okay kid?â Kyle turns around to see the man standing right there with his arms crossed.
Kyle nervously chuckled and said, âAm I that obvious?â
âNo, Dominic and Chase wanted to bet real money so theyâre having their own match. I take it you donât like socializing that much?â
âJesus Christ, am I actually that obvious?â
Wolf laughed heartily. âNo kid, itâs just that Iâve had two children a while back so Iâm used to it.â Wolf uncrossed his arms to put a large hand on Kyleâs shoulder. âNo one expects you to be a social butterfly, weâre just happy you showed up.â Wolfâs grip was strong but gentle, a paternal pressure that made Kyleâs shoulders tense.
In that moment, looking at Wolf's earnest face, at the concern etched around his eyes, something in Kyle snaps. Or perhaps it doesn't snap but rather it dissolves. The humiliation of the poker game, the casual dominance of these men, the years of hiding who he is, it all converges into a single, crystalline thought: I can make them understand.
He thinks of his ex boyfriend Grayson, of his coat rack Mason, of the cops whose minds he'd rewritten to ensure Masonâs disappearance wouldnât lead to Kyle. The memory doesn't bring guilt anymore. It brings possibility. Here in Wolf's kitchen, surrounded by the scent of beer and masculinity, Kyle makes a decision.
âHey Wolf,â Kyle says, his voice surprisingly steady. âIâve got something to show you. A, uh, birth defect. Kinda weird, but I trust you.â
Wolf raises an eyebrow but doesn't remove his hand. âBirth defect? You okay, Kyle?â
âIâm fine. Just⊠Come closer and look down.â
Hesitantly, Wolf leans in, expecting maybe Kyleâs phone showing a photo of some sort of his body or something normal. He wasnât expecting for Kyle to unzip his pants and flash his dick to Wolf.
⊠His beautiful dick. Kyle had a dick, but not just any dick Wolf thought. Something about it, though Wolf couldnât quite place his hand on what it was though, but he knew he couldnât stop looking. Not that he wanted to, itâs just something he wanted to stare at, and think about, and listen.
Kyle knew he had Wolf dicknotized, heâs done this before, though this is his first time willingly doing it. Kyle said, âWolf, thank you. Youâve been so nice to me, youâre like a father.â Kyle got an idea. âDo you mind if I call you daddy? In private, obviously.â
Wolf answered honestly, âYes, despite that nice dick of yours. Iâm straight as an arrow, and Iâm not really comfortable with it, I just met you and youâre way younger than me, kid.â
Kyle knew he meant it, but Kyle also knew how hot it would be if he did this, but heâd really have to keep it on the down low so he doesnât get caught. If the police showed up again, Kyleâs not sure if heâd have the instinct to dicknotize them again. Kyle told Wolf, âYou like when I call you daddy.â It wasnât a question like earlier, it was a statement. Because it was a statement that Wolf had heard while staring at Kyleâs dick, it was now fact to Wolf. Pure indisputable fact.
Wolf replied honestly, eyes still glued to Kyleâs dick like he was staring at a million dollars, âYeah, I love it. It doesnât bother me.â Wolf then realized what he said. He looked up at Kyle, still keeping the dick in view though, but now it was like Wolf was watching a documentary about something fascinating. The confusion on Wolf's face was plain as day, yet he couldn't look away. His face returned back to staring point blank at Kyleâs penis.
Wolfâs confusion delighted Kyle. The slight panic in Wolfâs eyes, the way he swallowed hard, the way he tried to reconcile what heâd just said with who he thought he was, that was the sweet spot. That was the power Kyle craved.
âDon't worry about it, daddy,â Kyle said, the word tasting strange but wonderful on his tongue. âYouâll get used to it. Actually, from now on, during Guysâ Nights, youâll dress in a leather harness and other leather daddy clothing, Iâm sure youâll know whatâll look hot. Thatâs your favorite type of stuff to wear for Guysâ Nights.â
Wolf blinked. âA leather harness? I... I don't own one.â
âThen youâll buy one,â Kyle said firmly. âAnd youâll wear it every Friday. Because you love it. It makes you feel powerful, doesnât it? Being the host, being in charge of everyoneâs comfort. You love it. Donât you, Leather Daddy?â Kyleâs dick hardened at the idea. He pressed further, âYeah, thatâs what you are during Guysâ Nights. If you want me to keep coming back then youâll be Leather Daddy during Guysâ Nights. And youâll be such a gay pervert. Fucking me, fucking the other guys, being fucked, being all kinky and sexy like a leather dom. But youâre also a kind and caring daddy for me. Unlike my actual dad who couldnât give a ratâs ass about me, youâre gonna see me like one of your own kids.â
The ideas were taking root in Wolfâs mind as Kyle spoke them. He couldnât deny them, theyâre just fact to him while he stares at what he believes is the worldâs best penis. As the brain reliably does, it adapts. It believes. Kyleâs dick wouldnât lie to him. His boy wouldnât lie to him. Wolf nods and says, âLeather, gay pervert, dominant daddy. Leather Daddy, thatâs me.â
Kyle places his hand on Wolfâs chest and bites his lip. âYeah,â Kyle says while sizing up Wolf, taking a moment to appreciate the manâs gut. âThatâs you. But you know you have to keep that a secret between us. No one else would understand.â Kyle paused. He remembered the other guys here right now. Handsome, all of them Kyle thought. It was so easy making Wolf understand. âActually,â Kyle said, âyou know you can be real around other dicknotized men like yourself. Theyâll understand, theyâre in the same situation you are. Not that you dislike being dicknotized. You love it.â
Wolf wholeheartedly believed it. âI love being dicknotized, especially by you. Iâll keep it a secret from anyone who isnât dicknotized though.â Wolfâs gaze remained fixed on Kyleâs dick, but a slow smile spread across his face, a genuine one, but one that seemed to come from a place deep inside him that he didnât know existed until this moment. His mind was racing, but it wasn't panicking anymore. It was organizing, filing, and cross-referencing. Leather Daddy. Daddy to Kyle. Gay pervert. The words weren't just being accepted; they were becoming part of the architecture of who he was.
âGood,â Kyle said. âNow get your ass back in there and act natural. Iâll join you in a minute. And donât you dare mention what happened here.â
âWouldnât dream of it, kid,â Wolf said, and Kyle detected something new in Wolf's tone. It was playfulness. It was a note of warmth that hadn't been there before, a subtle shift from neighborly obligation to genuine affection.
Wolf turned and walked back into the living room. Kyle watched him go, a thrill running down his spine. He quickly zipped up, the metal teeth catching with a satisfying zip. He took a deep breath. The air, to Kyle suddenly felt clearer, more charged with possibility.