#minionization

Magma Makeover! (Commission)

“Who the fuck are you!” You stared at the half naked man lying on your sofa, playing GTA V, the room reeking of weed and… some unidentified scent. “Get the hell out of my house!” You were shrieking like a banshee, yet this studly stranger took no notice of your rage.

“Yo, bruh. Why you screamin’? Calm down.” As if a Valium hit you like a brick, waves of relief washed over you.

“I… I don’t know.” You stood there, dumbfounded. Wondering why it was you were so surprised this dude was in your apartment. You calmly place your stuff down at the door, kicking off your uncomfortable work shoes.

“Man, that fuckin’ job has got you stressed out as fuck.” He sits upright, patting the leather cushion next to him. Your head still fuzzy, you idly find yourself waddling over to him, and plopping down next to him on the couch. He tosses his arm around your shoulder, and hands you the second controller, which you gladly accept. There is nothing like Grand Theft Auto to let out all that aggression that builds up after a bullshit shift. “Sit back, and just let it out bro. I’ll roll us a blunt.”

Marco bends over, opening the pot box. Wait. Marco. Yeah, that’s his name. But, why do you know him? How do you know him? Have you seen him before? It’s as you stumble over the little holes in your memory, your nose is bombarded once again by that strange smell. Sweet. Salty. Sour… It’s rank! Yet, addictive. Your mind occupied on the game, your nose focused on the smell… It’s a sensual overload when Marco finally has the blunt in his mouth, lighting it up and letting out his typical massive cloud.

“Aight, here.” You take the blunt from his fingers, and he tosses his arm around your shoulders once again. You bring the blunt to your lips, and light it. You inhale, taking in that oh so familiar spicy taste of ganja. You sigh as you let out the smoke, settling into Marco’s comfortable hold. You try and pass it back to him, but he quietly refuses. “Nah, man. You need it way more than I do.”

You two shout and laugh together, high as kites as your outrageous shenanigans on GTA coincide perfectly with the absurdist humour the weed brings out. It’s at this point once again that your drawn again to that smell. It tickles the hairs in your nose, giving you shivers down your spine. Marco looks over to you, noticing your obvious goosebumps down your arms.

“Ahh. I know what you need.” You feel a hand grab the back of your head, and within seconds, your face is buried in a dark, dank little space. The smell is pulsating into your nostrils, clearly it is coming from here. “Yeah, I know how you like it. Breathe it in, babe.” You grasp Marco’s meaty pecs and back, pulling your face deeper into the sweaty armpit. He always knows how to treat you when you’ve had a rough day. Marco plays on, smiling, yet nonchalantly unperturbed. You lap up the beads of trapped sweat from his damp pits, savouring each and every ounce of his salty taste.

You pull away from your boyfriend’s musky pits for only a moment; just enough time to slowly and seductively pull down his beat up sweatpants. His gorgeous cock springs to attention, smacking you in the cheek. The familiar sour stench of his musky balls and cock welcomes you back to your favourite place on earth.

Marco grabs the base of it, smirking that familiar, cocky sidegrin. You know exactly what to do. You gently kiss and caress his tip, fondling those melons he calls his balls. Your insatiable lust takes over, as you go down on your boyfriend, deepthroating as if you’ve done it every single day. Each time your nostrils hit his bush, you take in that incredible stench, a product of his lackadaisical stance on showering.

He grabs the back of your head, thrusting his cock into your mouth, throatfucking you like he loves to do. He growls, moans, and grunts as he furiously fucks your face. Each slap of his balls on your chin, you are reminded of the amazing streams of seed that will flow down your throat- your drink of choice. No sooner as you think it, Marco roars out his animalistic grunt as he shoots his massive load down your throat. Stream after stream, neverending. You can feel the cum get caught in the back of your throat, heading up to your sinuses, and trickling down your nose. Each throbbing thrust of cum fills you in ways you cannot explain. As if it flowed from your mouth to your toes, filling you up with every single burst. You found yourself pulsating, your muscles stretching and contracting with every load barreled into your powerful gut.

Marco dismounts your cum-soaked face, and passionately kisses you. His little alpha persona is such a mock up, as you know that he’d rather just light a blunt than boss you around! You look down at the tattered remains of boring square work clothes on your lean, muscled body. What the fuck had happened? Who the fuck wears that shit? Thank god you sell out of your place, so you don’t even have to put pants on! Slipping on your favourite trash shirt, and rancid, cumsoaked undies, you plop back into your seat, while Marco begins to repay the favour you paid him. He’s in for a surprise. You didn’t wash up this morning, so there might be a little… Build up down there. You take a puff of your blunt as your boyfriend goes down on your cheesy cock. Damn. Doesn’t get better than this.

He was a foot pig. Anyone around him would easily be able to tell you that: Zeke Tyler was a creepy smelly foot fetishist. If he were honest with himself, he'd perhaps be a bit more self aware about his... questionable tactics in obtaining his collection of ripe sneakers, but Zeke was too enveloped in his own sense of lust and objectification that he didn't even stop to think about the minute fact that he was stealing from these random dudes. In his mind, he was just... reappropriating their shoes. That muscle daddy from the gym wouldn't miss his rank Adidas, he'd needed to buy new ones anyway! Those ripe harness boots from the biker jock were better off in his adoring hands, the dude left them all alone at the rest stop while he aired his feet out. The frat bro that would leave his Sperries on the front porch would leave them out there every night, he was basically asking for them to be taken! Those Checkerboard Vans from that skater punk, the smelliest of the bunch, they just deserved to be worshiped and adored by someone who knew their value.

It was unquestionable to nearly everyone else who had committed these swipings, even the victims themselves; but being the sneaky little thief he was, Zeke was quick, quiet, and knew how to cover his tracks. There was never any proof, so there were never any consequences. Thus, as he planned his most important heist yet, he was even more confident than normal. He'd seen Dane for the past few months in the lobby of his building, having moved in at the beginning of the year, and he'd become absolutely fixated on the aloof bad boy. More importantly, he'd become absolutely fixated on those white Air Jordans, scuffed and well worn that were always fastened onto his massive feet. It didn't matter if he was riding down the road on his crotch rocket, or doing some photoshoot with his other sexy Instagram model friends: those trashed J's were always tightly laced.

It wasn't until that Sunday evening, just as the sun had begun to set, that an idea had begun to form in his sick mind. He'd call Dane from the front desk, between shift change between the day and night guard, and tell the stoic stud that his motorcycle was being vandalized. Of course, he wasn't going to do anything to the pristine Ducati, but it would most certainly be enough to draw him to the parking garage at warp speed. God willing, that would give him JUST enough time to get into his apartment, snag the sneaks and bolt back to his apartment. Risky? Absolutely. Rewarding? Undeniably. What had begun as a fantasy soon became a realistic plan, as Dane strode through the front door of the lobby, those sexy, mouthwatering Jordans squeaking against the tile floor as he walked toward the elevator.

Zeke had a problem with staring, so the inked hunk simply nodded his head in acknowledgement at Zeke's creeping across the room. The model was unbothered, he got plenty of stares all day long, just another thirsty person who wanted his dick. He pressed the button, waited for the elevator, and stepped into the little box while the doors closed behind him. Perfect. He waited just about fifteen minutes, long enough for Dane to get to the 17th floor, get to his apartment, kick his shoes off, and start to hit the bong that stunk up the whole floor each night. Then, just as the tired desk attendant put up the "back in five minutes" sign onto the counter, Zeke made his move.

He scampered behind the desk, looking for the intercom button for Apartment 17D. He breathlessly searched across the desk until he found the system,and pressed the button for 17D.

"What's up?" Dane's voice came crawling out of the intercom, as monotonous and uninterested as ever.

"Sir, the silver Ducati in the garage under your parking space has just been keyed. We will have someone enroute to collect evidence, but we will need you there as soon as possible to give a statement." The intercom was silent, no response. The panic started to set in- had he called his bluff? Could he tell? What was he going to do if he did?

"Aight. I'll be there in a sec." Dane was completely unaffected, devoid of any concern in his voice. The intercom clicked and Zeke rushed back to the couch across the lobby just as the night guard arrived for her shift. Moments later, the elevator doors opened, and a clearly stoned Zeke walked toward the parking garage door... wearing his Adidas slides. Everything was going according to plan. As he pushed the door open and walked up the ramp, Zeke made a quick exit to the elevator, rapidly slamming the 17th floor button. The doors closed, the elevator made it's typical quick ascent to the middle floor of the highrise and as the doors opened, he was met with the unmistakable smell of weed hanging low over the hallway.

Trying to balance a fine line between casually strolling down the hall, and frantically trying to get in and out in time, Zeke made his way to apartment 17D. Looking both ways down the hall as if he were crossing the street, he turned the doorknob, praying that Dane had left it open. A quick twist and... success. The door swung open and he quickly stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

The apartment was dirty and sparsely furnished, par for the course for the everyday Instagram influencer, but there, right by the front door was the most beautiful sight Zeke had ever seen. The Jordans, unlaced and cast aside right there on the hardwood floor.

There was no time to admire, or revel in his success- the heist was not over. He bent over and picked up the sneakers, still warm and damp from Dane's heavy daily usage. For good measure, he snatched a pair of considerably wet socks from the arm of the beat up leather sofa, and bolted out the door. Running as if he were a track and field sprinter, he weaved through the winding halls until he reached 17F- his own apartment. He opened the door, slammed it shut, and slid the chain lock into place. He threw his arms into the air, he basked in the glory of his successful snatch. Now breathing heavily and excitedly looking up at the prize which he held above his head, it was time to reap his reward.

He brought one of the sneakers down to eye level, peeling back the tongue, and peering inside. The insole was almost black, completely worn and even imprinted with Dane's huge, heavy footprint. He peeked quickly at the size tag as he brought it close to his nose, seeing the beautiful size 13.5 printed onto the worn piece of woven fabric. Zeke closed his eyes, the heat emanating from the shoe tickling his face, and inhaled.

Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. It was a stench unparalleled by anything he'd collected before. Sour, yet buttery. Wet and musty. Not quite cheesy, though it came considerably close to the fresh smell of Roquefort out of it's wrapping. Though over all, it was entirely the stench of masculinity. The sheer power of the scent was enough to take his breath away, knocking him to his ass right there on the floor. It was unbelievable. The crown jewel of his collection. He took another indulgent whiff, letting the heavy musk drown him as it flowed like water down into his lungs. Even exhaling his breath had him catching the subtle remnants of the smell lingering within him. They were perfect. Though, as if out of nowhere, he had the sudden urge to slide them on.

This particular urge was not typical for Zeke. Sure, he collected the sneakers, he would sniff and jack his little dick off until he piddled his load onto the sole of the shoe. However he hadn't ever had the desire to wear any of them. It simply wasn't even something that came across his mind, and yet as he held those ripe sneakers in his hands, peering to the wet socks that sat next to him, it was as if they were beckoning him. Calling him. Ordering him. Commanding him.

He grabbed the socks and slipped them on, feeling the warm wet sweat built up for days of hot summer wear slick the soles of his feet as his smaller feet sported the drooping Nike Dri-Fits. He turned to the dank Jordans, salivating at the mere sight of them.

"Put them on." As if the command had manifested deep within the dark recesses of his mind, the quiet but stern voice repeated itself as more and more of the same phrase began to layer atop eachother. "Put them on. Put them on. Put them on." He could only obey as he slid his sweaty feet into the humid confines of the gigantic sneakers one at a time, feeling his toes fall into the little depressions made by Dane's huge fetid feet.

A shockwave of goosebumps emanated from his feet all the way to the top of his skull. Peering down at the clunkers gracing his feet, he watched in abject shock and terror as the laces began to pull themselves tightly and tie themselves. Had Dane pranked him? Surely this was a joke somehow.

"No joke. It's happening, Zayn." Zeke turned quickly to the side, seeing a young man, scantily clothed in a black tee shirt, old black briefs, and VERY well worn socks leaning against his wall. "I was hoping that my next host would come soon. I'd gotten so comfy inside of Dane, but I've been craving a new form for a bit now. And then you came along." Zeke panicked, yanking on the Jordans with all of his might, only for them to be suctioned even tighter onto him. The malicious laughter bellowing from this stranger brought horror to the thief, completely in the dark of what his own situation truly was. "And you're a foot bitch too, huh? You huffed those nasty ass sneaks for a solid minute, and I've been tied to those for years. Jumping from host to host, life to life. They're ripe with the stink of, what, almost twelve dudes? And you're about to be number thirteen."

Zeke tried to get up and run, hoping for as quick an exit as possible. Maybe a doctor could pry them off. Maybe a priest could exorcise them. Anything. Though as he tried to push himself up, his feet stayed planted firmly in place on the floor. He wasn't going anywhere.

"C'mon Zayn. Don't you wanna take a whiff of this big puppies?" The man stretched his lean legs out, putting his huge socked feet mere millimeters from his prey. "Take a whiff, Zayn. You're gonna be smelling these for a while."

The smell of the man's rank feet were more powerful than anything he'd experienced. They wafted the smell of an almost venomous musk, piercing his nostrils as if they were sharp knives sinking into his head. Irresistible. Unmatched. Flawless. Ripe. They were... perfect. Zeke could not contain himself, the unquenching, relentless addiction to that stink was simply too much for him. He bent over, letting his face press against the smelly socks.

The man laughed as he pressed his huge dogs against Zeke's face as his body began to slowly turn translucent and a light shade of green. Zeke felt the matted, cottony texture of the man's feet slowly shifting into a plasmic, almost rubbery quality, though maintaining that sharp scent that kept him so hooked. Though as he looked up at the man once more, he could almost see right through him. Pulling him up by the neck, the ghostly man began to rise, floating above the ground until Zeke was hovering nearly a foot in the air.

"Open up, Zayn." The ghost thrust it's head forward into Zeke's choking mouth, quickly slipping himself inside. The rubbery ghost squeaked and stretched, moaning as he squirmed his way down his host's throat. Zeke felt the pressure building as more and more of the ghost wriggled deeper and deeper into his body, squeezing the entirety of his mass into his bulging gut. His bulge, his legs, his ankles, all effortlessly compressed into him, sounding like a deflating balloon until all that was left were the very feet which had caused this entire thing sticking out of his wide open mouth. Zeke felt the ghost try to squeeze the very last of himself into his body, which finally slipped into him with a loud schlorp.

Still floating mid air, Zeke looked down at his inflated gut, watching the outline of the ghost squirming beneath his skin, squeaking and creaking within him until he finally began to slip him on like the meat suit he was going to be. He looked down as he felt the larger feet sinking down his legs, stretching them farther and farther until they slipped into his own, engorging them with the ghost's viscous and bulbous form. The tattoos of the ghost began to manifest from beneath his skin, as he continued to slip him on, thrusting his muscled arms into Zeke's as if they were a pair of tight gloves.

The ghost laughed from within him, as Zeke convulsed and flung his extremities all over the place, floating in the air like a balloon. Zeke could feel himself being worn, feeling the sensation of this ghost man's entire body stretching himself out within him, flinging him across the room and gurgling squeaking slippery noises as the last of him began to slide up his throat. The last thing Zeke would sense was the scent he loved so much which now wafted from his own ripe size 13.5 feet, tattooed, sweaty and sharp. His hands pressing on the top of his scalp, the ghost thrust his head into Zeke, letting his spirit envelope and absorb the former tenant of this body- tucking him safely away to be reprogrammed into the stoic bad boy minion that all his previous hosts would become.

Zayn opened his eyes, glowing a bright green before slowly tapering back to a chestnut brown. Slowly, the tattooed hunk floated back down to the floor, until he stood firmly on the ground. Cracking his neck and lifting his arms into the air, he took a deep whiff of his pungent pits and sighed in satisfaction. This one fit like a glove.

"Awww, yeah. Thanks, man. I needed the new digs."

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Dane walked back to his apartment, only moderately annoyed that he'd had to wait for his master to infiltrate his new body. Turning the knob to his apartment, he saw the lean, inked, tan man leaning against the railing of his balcony. Looking down at his huge feet, he could see the pair of Jordans perfectly fitted and suctioned onto his feet.

"Welcome, sir." Zayn turned to Dane, flashing him that tell tale unaffected glance and letting that monotonous, nonchalant voice flow from his lips.

"It's good to finally meet you, boy. I hope you like your... Improvements." Dane looked down at himself, proud of the man his master created, but even more preoccupied by the crushing need to worship the ripe body of the new host. "Oh I see, you want to worship. Get over here, boy. Suck this fucking cock, and I'll give you your meal." The evil spirit smirked as his minion got down on his knees and began to suckle on his huge, musky cock. This would be a nice place to stay for quite some time, and when the time comes, he'll make a great minion himself.

Pulled unpublished story from the archives somewhere back in 2019… Second time uploading it, keeps getting flagged. Fingers crossed.

So imagine my surprise walking into the gym one day, thinking I'd get in a mundane treadmill workout and go home winded and 300 calories less, and see AJ teaching powerlifting in the freeweights section. Not wasting a single solitary moment, I rushed to the locker room, tossed my street clothes into the vacant locker, and burst out of the doorway to take my perch in the corner stairmaster machine. For the next thirty minutes, I climbed the tedious, neverending stairs and stared at an Adonis in the flesh.

He was a lot taller than I'd expected. The pictures of course gave a subtle glimpse into his true stature, but my expectations were blown seeing this 6'5 giant Russian Deadlift in front of me. With every strain and lift, the bulging of his veins exuded a sense of vanity and pride that did not go unnoticed by the comparatively amateur gymgoers observing. His grey tank top clung to his body like a second skin, drenched in a thick monsoon of sweat and testosterone. A grey pair of boxer-briefs peeked out of his white shorts, clearly a peacocking move perfected over years of practice and achievement. The barbell dropped to the ground with a cavernous crash, and even the passersby glancing in the floor length windows stopped to snatch a peek of this peak human form. I stared at him for what seemed like ages, until an unintended glance allowed our eyes to meet.

Pathetically, I tried to play it off, but couldn't escape the perturbing sensation his bedroom eyes left in me. Climbing each step, I prayed to whatever God floated above my head he wouldn't come my way. Yet, deep down... I craved it. My face buried in his crotch, smelling that hard-fought musk. Alas, God had heard this carnal desire instead of my pitiful pleas- a damp, sticky hand landed on my left shoulder.

"C'mon dude. Stairmasters aren't gonna get you where you need to be." I turned to him, transfixed not on his piercing gaze, but the more than apparent bulge and sweaty treasure trail hiding behind their cotton prison. "Free training session. Let's go bud." He reset the machine with a forceful thump of the cancel button. For a split second, I caught a tiny whiff of the unrestricted odor of non-deodorant pit stink. The tang of his scent was irresistible. He knew just as well as I that despite everything, he had me.

Leading me to the benchpress, we began our session. Patiently, he walked me through each rep and every set. Slowly increasing the weight as we progressed. Incline Bench. Cable Crunches. Deadlifts. Pec Fly. Lat Pulldowns. Back Extensions. You name it, he taught me masterfully how to attack it as if it were nothing. Don't get me wrong- I was in visceral pain unlike anything I'd experienced before; but it was a satisfying rush of endorphins going unparalleled. It was addicting. The sensation of pulsating muscles felt like a homecoming to me. To no small extent, it was owed to the constant barrage of testosterone-laden musk flowing from AJ. His groin, his pits, even his concealed feet emanated a strong, dirty odor that singed my nostrils and mind. It soothed my discomfort and energized me like no other preworkout could ever achieve. By the end of the free training session, I didn't know whether to collapse or to run a marathon.

I limped back into the empty locker room. The gym had emptied long prior, and it was just us in the pastel-colored chamber. I inserted my key into my locker, twisting it and intending to pull it open. AJ had different plans. He slammed his arms on either side of me, trapping me in his open grasp. It was alarming and enveloping all at once.

"You've been catching whiffs of me all night long, man." My face flushed and my eyes nearly bulged out of my skull. He'd caught me red-handed? "That's my secret man. I get this massive in the gym every day just so I can get a big lung-full of my scent as a reward." He grabbed my shaking hand, roughly giving me a handful of his dank endowment. "And now, you get your reward." He began to peel the sticky-sweet tank from his chiseled body, tossing it in my face. I tried to grasp it, but his strongarmed grip on my hand held it firmly in mid grope. "Don't you fucking dare. Cup those swollen seedmakers."

As my hands slid deeper I grasped the sausage and sagging golf balls he so proudly housed in his crotch. With one hand he tore my tee shirt in two, the other pushing his sweaty tank onto my face. He smirked devilishly, pulling my shorts and underwear to the ground with an effortless swipe. All the while that musk barreling down my throat, that sweat seeping into the very pores of my face. He pried my hand from his engorging cock only long enough to pull his own shorts and shoes off his body, before allowing me the honor of holding his erect uncut cock and dripping balls in the flesh.

"Yeah, that's right bud. Feels so good doesn't it?" I let out a muffled cry of ecstasy, overwhelmed in sensual overload. My face was pared away from it's sweaty heaven as he motioned for me to raise my arms to the air. He took a gentle sniff of my meek pits, before decisively nodding in approval. "On your way. You're ready." He took his tank, and slid it on my missized frame, kneading the pit stains and pec sweat into my body. He tossed me like a ragdoll onto the bench, raising my legs and slipping his warm, damp boxers and shorts onto me. He groped me, assuring his rank ballsweat would coat my package thoroughly and completely before completing me with his grimy, reeking, never-washed socks onto my immensely smaller feet.

Clothed in his essence-soaked gear, I sat bewildered and irrevocably aroused by the forcefulness of his demeanor. As if pure animal instinct possessed me, I got down on all fours, fondling myself through his sweaty shorts, and began to worship my master's filthy, odorous cock. I milked his dank, dirty cock like a calf to a cow, desperate for his alpha milk- unaware of the bubbling occurring in my growing, ample ass.

He grabbed the back of my head with a near-vice grip, thrusting it deep into my throat, coating my tongue with the tangy, unmistakable taste of unwashed jock cock. As he skull fucked me, it seemed as if his cock not only penetrated my mouth, but somehow my brain itself. I could feel it in my head, thrusting in and out... destroying whatever brain formerly occupied my being. My feet cracked and burst outward, hair trickling up my calves, to my thighs, all the way to my taint.

"Oh fuck yeah, man. Take it. FUCK YEAH, TAKE IT." His propulsions became frantic and animalistic, ravenously obliterating my head with his gigantic cock. I felt my balls drop and cock grow... and grow... and grow... far beyond what I thought was physically possible. Whatever fat still desperately clung to me evaporated into oblivion, as abs popped out of my stomach like popcorn trapped under a fleshtone latex. My pecs ballooned and arms exploded with voracious power. "Ugh... man... I... I'm about to cum..." His breath became labored and agitated, before one last damn powerful thrust which completely annihilated the last droplets of my being. And just like that, the floodgates of salty, sweet, sour spunk flooded my throat and empty head. I suckled that tap like a alcoholic chugging a bottle of gin, freely welcoming him into me: body and soul.

My own seed, foreign and undeterred spilt forth out of my cockhead, coating his already soaked boxers and shorts in my new DNA. He dismounted me, smiling at his handiwork, a person completely altered and unrecognizable from the kid he found plodding along. He pulled me up, burying his nose in my hairy jock pits. Like a proud father to his prodigal son, he embraced me, our jizz covered cocks mixing our seed through the wasted shorts.

"You made it. Now it's your turn to train, brother. Make your master proud." He ruffled my hair with a fatherlike gleam, before sauntering into the sauna to decompress. I stood there in his gear, admiring his craftsmanship in the nearby mirror. Never again would I feel inadequate or insufficient. Just like him, I have become a god among men. I am a benevolent king among plebeians. My footsteps leave bitches to my will in my wake. And it felt... So... Good.

So if you're ever in need of a shine up. A confidence booster. A complete reawakening. You know where to find me. I'll be where you most expect it, and I'll be waiting.

Elliott nervously scribbled on his flashcards, hoping to God that it was enough to pass the exam. Dr. Whitacre was a notoriously tough grader, and she would absolutely kick him from the Senior Expedition if he were to get anything less than a 97. Mycology was Elliott's passion, so missing the trip to the rainforests of Borneo was NOT an option. Luckily, he was fortunate his roommate Guillermo was returning from his class trip to the Amazon, so he could hopefully give some insight into what to expect, if not help him study for the exam.

The doorknob jiggled, and he could hear the insertion of the key into the lock. The door swung open and closed, Elliott completely enveloped in his flashcards.

"Hey man, I'll be with you in a second. I've got like two more here, but I have to hear about the trip!" He was met only with silence, and the loud thunk of a duffel bag hitting the floor. Heavy footsteps began to walk toward the wardrobe to the left of him. Guillermo must have gotten some heavy hiking boots, because those clunks could not have been made by his tiny feet... Guillermo was only 5'2, skinny as a pipecleaner, and pushing 40 years old.

The scribbling finally came to a close as he finished his final card: Pathogenic Fungi. Slamming his pencil against the desk, he leaned back in his chair, ready beyond words for a small respite. Only then did he feel the tingle in his nose. He took a quick sniff. It was faint, but it was sweet, salty, almost sour... and completely intoxicating. He turned toward the point of origin, only to see who was leaning against the old weathered armoire. It was Guillermo, or rather, his face was reminiscent of him. He was young, muscled, and outrageously large, standing a jaw dropping 7'1. His irises were completely black, and seemed to move as if filled with a liquid. A look of cocky intrigue graced his handsome face, one that Elliott could not break contact with.

"See something you like, roomie?" Guillermo's thick Belizean accent remained, albeit several octaves lower. Every inch of him glistened, his skin shiny and coated in a layer of shining sweat. He threw his muscular arms behind his head, the biceps seemingly pulsating as he flexed. The forests of hair in his pits dripped thick droplets of sweat, as they dropped to the floor and splattered like slime.

Before Elliott could even make a single remark, the scent intensified dramatically. What was once subtle was now immensely pungent and carried with it an almost wet weight to it. It felt humid, as if his musk was as wet and hot as the rainforest he'd just returned from. It was thick, soupy, almost slimy and it slithered through the air around him; brushing against his skin, invading his nose, even tickling his tastebuds with overwhelming umami flavor.

"It feels so good, right? Smells so ripe, you can literally taste it." Guillermo was right, he could taste it. In fact, he could feel the plasmic musk seemingly flow like liquid down his throat and into his nose. "We all have our own, El. You could sniff every one of us coming off that plane, and all of us smelled different and so fucking great." Guillermo walked slowly toward the entranced Elliott, letting the heat from his chiseled body radiate throughout the room. "Doc Whitacre found a new kind of fungus, Elliott. Once you take in it's spores, it changes you. Makes you see things you never would see before, feel things you never could. It makes you so fuckin strong, and so fuckin horny... You can hear the others in your head, almost like one mind, and once you let that amazing musk into your body... You're gonna see what it can do for you."

Guillermo was inches from Elliott's face, the heat exuding from his strong pecs was too much. Every inhibition completely obliterated, Elliott buried his face into the ripe, sticky pits, and began to lick. He drank the musk out of the tap, letting Guillermo's savory flavor cloud every thought and judgement. Smirking with his now plush, supple lips, he grabbed Elliott's chin between his two meaty fingers and brought it close to his own before letting his tongue do the rest. The two locked lips, Elliott experiencing the savory, sweet taste of Guillermo's saliva.

The spores had finally built up in Elliott's system, the sheer amount of them released out of Guillermo's pits, groin and feet would have overwhelmed a much larger person in about sixty seconds of exposure. Elliott being lean, short, and lanky meant the transformation stage would happen rapidly. As the microscopic spores in the slimy sweat transferred from Guillermo to Elliott, he could feel the viscous fungi invade his pores. Intense euphoria set in as he felt his muscles spasm and engorge with the slimy fungus flowing into them. Inflating at an alarming rate, he could sense his chest firming up, and his body temperature rising. Everything began to echo in his ears, as if the room had gotten quite a bit bigger. He could hear Guillermo's heart beat, he could hear the sound of the slimy spores slipping into him, and he certainly could hear the sloshing sounds of his arms inflating with fungal slime.

Guillermo pulled away and knocked Elliott to the ground, kicking his dripping black socks and rank yellow trainers off his gigantic boatlike feet. A malicious smile crept onto his face as he lowered his sole onto Elliott's face, letting his slimy toes curl around the nose. Elliott breathed deeply, and lapped his elongating tongue over the slick, reeking foot. With every breath, his torso grew larger, firmer, and more muscular. His legs swelled, and his groin stirred. Thick tufts of body hair began to sprout from his pecs and abs, spreading down his firm quads and calves, down to his rapidly expanding feet.

Snatching a facecloth from the chair, Guillermo pulled down his shorts and jockstrap and began to wipe his pendulous, slimy balls and taint all over the towel. Black precum began to seep slowly from his thick, uncut cock, so why not add a bit of the salty surprise onto the damp towel for his best friend? Pulling his foot from his face, and pressing it on Elliott's throbbing groin, he tossed the towel onto his friend's face, knowing all too well that the last stage of the transformation was the facial region. Listening to the ethereal, dark voices the fungus spoke in his black, slimy brain, Guillermo slid his own filthy socks and ripe trainers onto Elliott's now size 17 feet; letting the spores seep even further into their now muscular, slimy host.

Sliding his slick, smelly foot up and down the massive shaft, Guillermo began to stroke himself as well as the virility became too much to manage. Beneath the slimy towel, Elliott began to see vibrant, dancing colors no human eye had ever seen before, hiding within every glistening spore. They sparkled like a chromatic night sky, creating seas of indescribable constellations and nebulae. Of course, his mind was finally being completely reprogrammed. The sludge had finally made it's way into the brain through the bloodstream.

Flowing through his veins was now his own black slimy spores. Coating his brain, coating his lungs, filling his balls, and most importantly, now wafting from him. Elliott began to smell his own newfound musk, so distinct from Guillermo's, and just as irresistibly potent. He grabbed Guillermo's ankle and began to thrust against his friend's slimy foot, before hearing his moans of pleasure in his mind. He could hear the sounds of Guillermo's mind on the edge of climax, feeling the sensations of mounting tension as his own. In mere seconds, the two blew their black sludge loads in tandem; pints of it. The coated eachother in the other's cum, only stopping after their balls stopped undulating. The sludge, animate, found it's way into their cocks, teasing another round of pleasure as the boys felt the other's cum flow into their balls.

The assimilation process was complete. The fungus had taken complete control of Elliott, and added him to the hive mind. Pulling the towel from his face, an entirely transformed Amazonian man rose to his feet. Elliott's irises flooded quickly with the very last of the mycelium sludge, now filled with the same rippling black liquid as Guillermo. Both boys smiled at eachother, groping and feeling eachother before intently inhaling eachother's addictive musk. They felt the same directive, the same innate need to procreate, to spread. That is, after all, the purpose of all life. The rest of the university was easy pickings for the fungus, it would likely only take a day or two at most... No need to rush. So Elliott, taking in his newfound confidence and swagger, groped Guillermo's musky sac, before falling onto the futon. Bringing his fingers, coated in Guillermo's spores to his nose, taking in every ounce of him... The two were irrisistable, even to eachother, as Guillermo laid atop his new mate for another fuck session.

I looked around the locker room, hoping no one was watching. Luckily, it was empty. No coach, no players. I was free to enjoy my typical Friday night ritual. I’d tried this with Warren’s cleats after a long game, or Chase’s sneakers after basketball practice, but I always wanted to try with Coach Halvorson’s Nike trainers. Turning to my right, I saw them on the bench next to the bench where I was sitting. I smiled as the smell hit me, the smell that only comes from a pair of worn out, sweaty shoes. They were perfect.

I reached down, picking up the sneaker. It had been soaked with sticky sweat for the past few days, the sweat dripping slowly onto the floor. He wore them all the time, on the field, in the halls, in the gym... Looking down at the floor, there was a thick dark streak, running from the shoe on the left to the shoe on the right. The streaks seemingly got wider and wider as I watched. It squirmed and pulsated, but I couldn’t look away.

Looking down at the shoe, the inside had a strange black sludge on it. It wasn't like just a few drops, there were big clumps and pools of it. I looked up, hoping the coach hadn't seen me looking, and it was clear he hadn't. The blinds were still drawn in the coaches office, he wouldn’t come out for another hour or so.

Looking down at his Nikes again, I knew what I had to do. Taking off my own shoes, I started to slip one of his on. Immediately, they felt strange and slimy against my foot, but I figured it was part of the reason why I loved wearing them so much. It was kind of like my body fitting perfectly to the shoes I wanted to wear. I brought one to my nose, as I inhaled his heavy ripe scent deeply into my lungs. It was intoxicating. Just as I’d imagined they’d be.

Looking at the dirty soles of his shoes, I started to feel the need to taste them, the need to smell his sweaty feet on my own. I was so absorbed, so enamoured with the sensation of his grimy sweat on my feet and his stink in my lungs that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.

"So you have a foot thing, huh Collin?" I heard him say, hovering above me.

Of course it was a foot thing. I wanted to run my tongue over the dirty soles, so I could taste him on them. I wanted to taste him, feel his feet, feeling his warmth on my face.

I didn't answer him, instead keeping my face buried in the shoe. The scent was hypnotic, mystifying, unlike anything I’d ever smelled before.

"You wanna be like me, don't you Collin? You wanna be like Coach Halvorson, don't you?” Absentmindedly, I nodded. I was barely in control of myself, marginally cognizant. “Well, you can, boy. But you need to let me in."

Pulling myself away from the shoe, I shook my head, looking up at the man standing in front of me. The sweat was pouring from him, dripping on the floor as he spoke, and it smelt like sweat, of course, it smelt like sweat.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, no, no," I repeated over and over again. But he knew deep down I wanted it so bad, to be like him. He took the shoe from my hands, and slipped it onto my foot. I gasped at the feeling of the strange sludge meeting my cold foot, before he grabbed the back of my head and pulled it towards him.

"Come on, Collin, you know you want it. You have to want it. Let me in. You need this. You know it. It's only the first step, but it's a big step, and it's going to make you feel like a god." I could feel the sludge start to move and squirm in the smelly shoes as he spoke to me. He smirked, I felt the soles of my feet burn as I felt the thick wetness start to move through the soles of his trainers, prodding between my toes.

"You know you want it, don't you?" he asked again, "You're a god. You're an alpha. It's in you. You feel it Collin, don't lie to yourself."

I shook my head, looking down at the sneakers and thinking of what he said. Was it true? Was I a god? He seemed to know so much about me, like he was reading my thoughts. He looked at me, smirking.

"Your body's starting to do things to you, you're just starting to get this feeling, to feel it in you. Just a little bit of it, I'll give you more. I'll take your mind. You'll give it up, because you know you want it."

I looked away from him, unable to look at his eyes. They were so dark, they were deep black, not brown as they were before, but like a midnight black abyss. In mere seconds, the sludge slammed into my foot, and started to seep into my skin between my toes. I felt my body start to react to it, a rush of excitement and euphoria flowing through me. It was making me tingle, all over, starting to spread under my skin.

"Come on Collin," he said to me, smiling, "you want to know how to make the others worship you? How to make them submit to you? How to control them, make them see things as you do? It's not that hard, Collin. We all have our moments when our urges take over, when our lust gets the best of us. And this is your moment."

I shook my head again, but I knew he was right. I could see my reflection in his eyes. I looked back up at him, his eyes seemed so inviting. I was getting aroused at the thought of becoming just like him, as the sludge began to move up into my legs. I could feel the warm liquid spreading up my inner thighs, and my legs started to quiver before inflating with the mysterious warm slime. Coach smiled as the tendrils wriggled around under my skin, and he could see me beginning to grow. I don’t know how, but I knew he could see the black wetness seeping through the soles of his trainers into me.

My feet were now size 13, comfortably fitting the gigantic sneakers, and the wet sludge was now pushing through my veins... No, coursing through my veins, making me feel better than ever, stronger than ever. I hadn’t ever felt it before, that feeling of being a god, that feeling that you are more powerful than everyone else. My muscular legs now pulsated with sludge, as it squirmed up into my groin and belly, and started to spread.

"Come on, Collin, I've waited for this a long time, and I know you want it. Let me in." He laughed. He laughed, because he knew he could get what he wanted, what he had always wanted, and he was going to take it. The sweat poured down my back as I stood there, watching the man proudly smirking and smelling his sweat, making my head spin and tingle. I could hear my stomach begin to growl and slosh as abs bubbled up and tightened.

"Look at me," he said, reaching out to grab my chin. My head was still spinning, as I felt myself falling. "Look at me, Collin, and know that it's only the beginning."

I looked up at him, his eyes burning as he stared down at me and pulled me close. He grabbed my chest as my pecs were filled with the sludge, and slammed me against the wall. His hands massaged my meaty chest while I could smell the wafting scent of his pits tickling my nose.

"I'll be in your head, Collin, inside your thoughts. I'll be in your dreams. I'll be in your fantasies, and I'll be in your dreams. I'll make you my project. I'll control you. You'll become an alpha, you'll be an alpha, and they worship you, Collin. They will worship you."

He laughed at me as the sludge began to move and seep through my body, flooding me. My arms grew, my biceps swelling and tingling, and my triceps felt as though they were inflating balloons as my skin stretched with the sludge. My hands grew to almost twice their size, and the sludge continued to flow, making them thicker and calloused. My muscles became more tense, and my body felt as though it was going to explode.

His words rang in my head, he was going to be in my head, my dreams, my fantasies, I was going to be his project. It was too late for objections. I was going to be his. I was going to be a god, just like him. The world around me became foggy as the slime finally slithered up my throat, and filled my mouth and nose. I could taste it now, and it was so sweet. My head throbbed and felt as though it was going to burst.

The blackness overtook my vision, seeping through my pupils, and into my head. I was going to be a god. It was happening. This was how it was going to be.

The coach turned to me, a huge grin on his face. I could feel my skull cracking and reforming in his hand. My face was swelling, and my skin, hair, and eyes were bulging outwards. I felt myself finally firming up in his hands, as his essence slipped into my brain.

I could hear him talking in my head, whispering who I truly was. I could see myself on the field, playing football, lacrosse, soccer... I was wearing a number fifty one jersey, the crowds adoring me. The years passed by in my mind's eye, a decade in mere moments. Countless games, all four years of university, I had even played Minor League for a few years before meeting Coach Halvorson, and letting him guide me, hire me as his assistant coach.

My eyes shot open, completely black for a moment before becoming a bright, vivid blue. I gasped for breath, beadlets of sweat running down my farmer's tanned skin. The smell of my sweat was strong, as it was always after a game. Halvorson stood before me, offering his hand.

"Coach Braxton, welcome back." I stood up, only fragments of my former self remaining in my deepest subconscious. I was so tall, I was ripped, and I was tough. I was a coach. "Let's go, Collin. We have post-game with the team. They are all waiting."

He tossed me my shirt and my shorts. I put them on as I walked towards the door, and towards my team, ready to meet them.

“Hold up, I’m gonna need those back,” motioning to his shoes on my feet. “Here, take yours.” Tossing me my own trainers, ripe and slick with black sludge. I eagerly put them on, exchanging his back. He threw his arm around me, letting me take in that pit stink I loved to huff after hours, and we left the locker room to the sounds of our rowdy boys.

By 5:30, Ezra was finally off work at the local diner. He'd clocked out, barely finishing his side work as he was bolting toward the old clinker in the parking lot. The announcement was going to be dropped by 6, so he had about thirty minutes to get to Vinnie's house off Lakeshore Drive; that was across town, but if he was lucky enough to make the bridge before the fishing boats came back in, he could make it! He threw the old Saturn into reverse, flooring it enroute back into town. A little ding on his phone signaled Titus had finally texted him back.

"yo you still comin for the oz?" Titus wasn't often a man of many words, especially in text. Ezra sent a thumbs up, speeding down the winding road as the mist began to sweep into the harbor. The pines were waving in the wind, wooden fence gates swung from right to left... The wind was beginning to pick up. Passing over the bridge, he cheered, throwing his fist into the air as he saw the drawbridge rise up behind him to let the parade of fishing boats into the docks.

He'd finally pulled up to the house, 5:57. Like many of the houses in Muskingo Falls, Vinnie and Titus' little two bedroom had paint peeling off it's walls, a few windows were cracked, some of the old craftsman pillars were more termite food than structural. Ezra always took care to step on the front porch steps carefully, lest his foot go through the floorboard. The wind was howling now, and the little frozen droplets of rain were already starting to pelt the landscape. Knocking on the door, the door quickly swung open to Titus' slick but stoned smile.

"What's up man, you made it!" Titus was already three or four blunts in; his shirt was off, his pants were low, he smelled like days old Gucci cologne and ashtrays. But, as usual, his dopey, clownish demeanor brought endless entertainment for Ezra, especially when paired with Vinnie's deadpan, badass silence. Walking into the house, a cloud of smoke hung in the air, music blaring on speakers a few rooms over, the dirty laundry piled on the washing machine wafted the potent scent of sweat, cum, and cigarette smoke. Frankly, it was an average day at the house, and everything was completely as it always was. The two walked into the back den, where the bags of weed were neatly packaged and dated on the coffee table.

"How's it goin' Ezra?" Vinnie's low baritone voice hummed quietly, as his tattooed knuckles met with Ezra's.

"He's here for the special. I got it all bagged up over here." Ezra handed Vinnie the cash, while Titus swiped one of the bags off the counter. Taking it, and sitting down on the couch, he opened the ziploc to smell the bud. It was fragrant, but definitely duller than new. "Yeah, so Vinnie thought anytime the bud's bout to get old or whatever, we sell it for half off and all!" Titus chirped proudly of their scheme, but as usual, it was tuned out completely by Ezra, who was too busy packing a bowl to listen to another four hour 'Titus Tale.' He lit the bowl, letting out the smoke in a thick puff of smoke. The bud was fine, especially for what he paid for it. Satisfied, he turned to his dealers, both staring at him in wait for a review.

"Not bad for the end of the stock." Ezra passed the bowl to Titus before gathering his things to head out. He felt Vinnie's strong hand on his shoulder, and slowly turned his head. Vinnie's typical neutral expression greeted him, as he pointed at the shaking windows out front.

"You're not driving in that." Ezra stared longingly at his car through the front room window, shrouded by the shrieking rain around it. All he wanted was to be home in his bed, smoking his bowl. He hadn't expected them to care if he did or did not drive in the storm, they weren't exactly close friends. Truthfully, it was purely a business relationship, and Ezra wanted to keep it that way. He'd avoided accepting their invitations to parties and raves, knowing all too well what happens when you get friendly with your drug dealer. However, in this case, the assuredness of Vinnie's death grip on his shoulder, and the reality of the storm sinking in had convinced Ezra to stay.

Ezra plopped down on the old couch, Vinnie and Titus taking the seats on either side of him. The two shared what to the naked eye would only be seen as a glance, but to them, was a green light. Titus tossed his arms back behind his head, and Vinnie had kicked his beat up boots off, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"Since you're stuck here, do you wanna do some beta testing?" Ezra turned to Vinnie, and his heart sank into his legs. He couldn't be certain, but it seemed to him as if Vinnie was... Smirking. He could see the very edge of his plump lips purse upward, which Ezra would not have necessarily have noticed had it not been for the fact that not once had he ever seen Vinnie smile. Sure he was always friendly, but he was always stoic. This smirk seemed so uncharacteristic of him, but being high and already paranoid of his own paranoia, he chalked it up to a new strain and kept carrying on.

"Whatcha got?" Titus eagerly pulled the sidetable drawer open, and out came a small tin foil ball. He unraveled it, and inside was a bud of weed unlike anything Ezra had ever seen before. It was unmistakably cannabis, the flower was lumpy and a deep green, he could see the little THC crystals all over it; however, it almost seemed to glow in the tin- a faint minty green aura. Titus threw his arm around Ezra's shoulder, pulling him close.

"This shit's from somewhere down in Louisiana, it's supposed to be legit as fuck. One or two puffs and you're on cloud nine." Ezra felt the heat from Titus' sweaty body leaning over him, the sharp pit stink mixing with the floral funk of the weed. Vinnie handed him a grinder, swinging his feet over to rest on Ezra's lap. Fixated on the ratty, hole-ridden size 13 black socks hovering over his bulge, Ezra ground the bud absentmindedly as the two dealers shared another knowing glance. Titus handed him an empty blunt wrapper, making sure to return his arm around Ezra's neck, and his fingers stroking Vinnie's shoulder. Even from within the paper, ground to a pulp, the weed glowed green. Yet, having denied lust for these two studs for so long, and now being in such close contact... Ezra was too caught up in the moment to care. Vinnie pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open for the flame to burst forth. Ezra nervously ignited the blunt, looking down as to hide his blushing cheeks.

*Cough* *Cough* *Cough* For the first time that he could ever recall, Ezra had coughed at a blunt. The two dealers snickered, knowing all too well that this strain was very, very, very, strong indeed from their first time trying it on their trip to New Orleans. It had also shocked their systems, made them cough like high schoolers smoking cigarettes, and they surely did have one hell of a time. In fact, they weren't quite the same after they'd come back from that trip last month. For instance, Titus wouldn't ever have come to the door shirtless, Vinnie wouldn't ever have kicked off his boots when company was around, the house wouldn't have ever been this much of a disaster, and yet...

Locking eyes for one last time, the two winked at eachother as the completely inebriated Ezra fell under the weed's influence. Vinnie rubbed one foot against Ezra's growing bulge, and the other against his bare feet. The warm, wet sensation of Vinnie's sweaty feet playing with him was turning him on like nothing else ever had. His breathing became huffy as the rubbing became more intentional. Taking the opportunity, Titus grabbed the back of Ezra's head, shoving it into his ripe, rank pits. As if an animal at an oasis, Ezra began to lap at the bushy pits, drinking in the musky stink like water. He loved feeling Vinnie unbuttoning and pulling off his shirt, his calloused hands running up and down his chest. The touch of such strong, confident fingers riding up his chin, slipping into his mouth to suckle.

Suddenly, the sound of creaking, stretching rubber echoed in the room, as Vinnie pried his jaw open, enough to fit his whole hand inside Ezra's malleable throat, which slipped back out without a single gag. Too aroused, too taken by the sensory overload to care, Ezra locked lips with Vinnie, letting his tongue snake down into his throat as he pulled Ezra to his knees. Titus clapped his hands together, eagerly rubbing them together in preparation. This was his first time, as was Vinnie's, and he was very excited to try it himself.

You see, the good kush was not the only thing that the lecherous duo brought back from Louisiana... As Vinnie plunged his whole fist into Ezra's stretching maw, Titus had done the same to his malleable hole. The skin stretched with a rubbery elasticity, accommodating the extra mass beneath it. Titus wriggled his fingers, four small lumps bulged and danced inside of Ezra's lower back. Stretching his mouth even wider, Vinnie was able to get his head into Ezra, and continue squirming his way downward even further into his body. Titus could feel the grasp of Vinnie's hand on his own, and a strong tug; Titus was suctioned into Ezra's ass up to his shoulder, before his head popped into the gaping hole.

The duo's bodies snaked and wormed themselves within their friend's inflated form. Squirming through their orifices, aided by eachother's helping hands pulling more and more of themselves into their tight, slick cavern. Ezra was moaning in unimaginable ecstasy, the feeling of two fully grown men, strong and powerful, slithering around within his body felt as if waves of orgasmic energy washed over him. With a final 'schlorp,' Vinnie's socked foot slurped into Ezra's mouth, and both men were completely intertwined and within the rubbery skin.

Ezra lay on the ground, eagerly watching the forms of his two dealers slipping him on. Every second, he felt as if a hundred snakes were worming their way inside him, while the two adjusted themselves within him. First to finalize the invasion was his arms. Ezra felt the duo's slimy arms force themselves into his own, his skin expanding to accommodate their extra mass. Beneath the skin, the squiggling worms made their way into his fingers, Titus' finger tattoos slightly visible before pushing upward; within seconds, his jacked arms were completely covered a mixture of the two's ink.

His chest bloated outward, seemingly cavernous as ecstatic chuckles bellowed from within. His skin felt tighter than humanly possible, with meaty pecs and slabs of abs bubble out into prominence. Pinpricks wash over him while all the nerves between the three of them become one. Now beyond his control, his hands made their way down to his engorged cock, firmly grasping it as it is filled. Like a condom too small, Ezra felt their dicks thrust into his, finalized with his heavy balls dropping to the floor.

The outline of two massive feet protruded from his lean legs, pushing downward, slippery and slick. His legs ballooned out, completely overtaken with muscle. With the two feet finally shoving into his, a burst of a familiar footmusk poured from the swollen toes, Vinnie's tattoos poignantly visible atop the smooth, sweaty tops. Ezra was nearly stretched to breaking point, every labored breath felt short and constricted. His throat ballooned out, two basketball sized lumps slowly rising up toward his skull. He smiled, ready to be completely possessed by the two studs.

Pressure built against the back of his throat, the two lumps pushing and pushing upward before the barrier finally gave way with a loud snap. The squiggling forms of Vinnie and Titus' heads slithered around inside of his own, before it finally had reformed into a sexy smirking face. Gallons of cum streamed out of his thick cock like a fountain, coating him in a white blanket of three men's slimy seed. Opening his eyes, one brown and one green, Ezra pulled himself to his feet. He could sense Vinnie and Titus inside him, merged into his consciousness as one. He sauntered over to the piles of ripe laundry, picking up a long white tank, a flannel, a crusty jockstrap and a pair of Titus' jeans. He could smell both of them emanating their musk from his pits and feet, and couldn't help taking a deep whiff of Vinnie's rank, cum filled boots before shoving his bare feet in.

Hours passed of drugs, debauchery, masturbation, sniffing, and rubbing. As the morning light peeked in through the windows, Ezra jolted awake. He'd passed out. Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if the night before was some crazy trip on laced weed. But as his vision finally adjusted and the blur of bloodshot passed, he looked down at his body, still clothed in his dealer's outfit. He was still covered in tattoos, his body was still packed with lean muscle, he was exactly as he'd left himself last night. He jumped up, now completely awake as footsteps from behind him alerted him to another presence.

"Mornin' stud." Vinnie's smirking face turned the corner from the front room, Titus not far behind. "Fuckin' damn good night, huh?" Ezra, still filled with a cocky swagger and promiscuity smiled and winked at them. "We got some sausage cookin'. Gotta be ready for the sales today, and it's your first day dealin'." Titus walked by, taking a gentle grope of Ezra's bulge before heading upstairs. Something clicked within him, knowing all too well that what happened last night would happen many, many more times. All it would take was his assistance in moving the product, and accepting his new role as cog number three in the house. And it felt so damn right.