#thuggification

All Gary could remember is walking through the front door, and then boom: instant pain and then nothing. Now, he groggily groaned as he slowly came to. The young, wealthy investment banker felt a throbbing bump on the back of his head, but discovered quite quickly his hands were bound at the wrist, the rope tightly twisting and wrapping around his wrists like handcuffs. Trying to push through the pain, he desperately tried to scream, but the bandana gagging him prevented much of his voice from being more than just a muffled whisper. Panic started to set in, just as the spinning room began to slow and come into focus. He was slumped across the foot of his bed, struggling to sit up on his own, bare ass naked.

"Yeah, that's a good one." A foreign voice rang in his ears like bomb blasts in a cave. "Gotta post that shit." Finally sitting upright on the edge of his bed, he could see the origin of the voice. Sitting on HIS vanity chair, taking selfies with HIS phone was the masked burglar himself, absolutely huge in stature in all his nude glory.

Gary cried out in a desperate, muffled plea, only for the intruder to spin around and stare at him. The deep brown eyes bore holes into his skull from behind the black ski mask, before the plump lips snickered with a nearly sadistic malice.

"Shut the FUCK up, bitch. We gon do this the easy way tonight, you hear me? You gon tell me where your money at, and where the good shit is, and you can walk outta here just fine. Got it?" Gary nodded, nervously nodding his head toward his closet door. The burglar stood up, sauntering over to the closet and began ruffling through the various designer clothes that had accumulated over the past year of Gary's thriving career. "Heh heh heh. Got some Gucci, some Balmain, fuck bruh you got some fuckin Versace." The man gleefully put on the pristine clothes, flexing and posing his thick, sweaty muscles in the mirror every chance he could get. Dressed in black couture from head to toe, he turned to Gary, yanking his gagged head inches from his face. The dirty scent of sweat and the streets themselves bled through the immaculate fabrics, the smell would never come out- he'd marked them. "Where the jewelry at?" Gary nodded to the bedside table, where he kept the Rolex and the 24 carat gold cuban link necklace.

The burglar was pleased with his finds, donning the watch and chain as if it were his own. Well, perhaps it was his now, Gary was in disbelief and still more than a little confused. The burglar found his wallet, nonchalantly flipping through the cards and grabbing the cash; both of which ending up in his pockets. Now looking as if he were a model right off Rodeo Drive, the lug stood in front of his captured prey. The energy was off, Gary could tell. The guy wasn't gonna honor his word, or he was gonna kidnap him and hold him for ransom, or a well placed bullet between his eyes could end everything.

"That's a good bitch. I look fuckin good, right?" He flexed, taunting his captive, as if he knew just how gay Gary was. His body betrayed him, as his cock stirred ever so slightly- a detail which did not escape the thief. "Oh you fuckin like it, don'tcha? Your lil dick squirmin' like a fuckin worm." Gary looked down, repeating in his head the lie of denial. Of course he wasn't liking it. Of course he wasn't into it. Of course he wasn't... But if he wasn't, then why couldn't he stop looking at his bulging muscles, or his thick cock, or his massive feet, or those sweaty, wet pits... "You a fuckin' dick pig, ain't ya?" The burglar groped his massive bulge, inching closer and closer to Gary's thirsty peering until the very fabric of the black Versace shorts touched the tip of his nose, that musty dick smell making droplets of drool rain from the corners of his mouth.

"You know what? You've been a good lil dick pig. Imma keep you around." Pulling a switchblade from his pocket, the captor pushed Gary to the ground and let the knife slowly scrape along the back of his neck. His hairs stood on end, and let out a stifled moan. The cool feel of the blade against his skin was simply to exhilarating to ignore. He couldn't push this one down, he liked it. "You're gonna suck this musty dick whenever the fuck I want. You gon be my foot rest, clean my feet with your fuckin tongue. Do whatever the fuck I tell you to, and you're gon thank me for it. You gon WANT to do it." The new master walked over to the corner of the room, picking up something just out of sight, before throwing the small pile against his bitch's quivering side. Looking gingerly to the left, Gary could see what it was that had been whipped at him: the stinking pile of what the burglar had worn to the break in.

"Fuckin' put em on bitch." Gary looked to the pile with confused glee, a cognitive dissonance of disgust and lust. As if looking for approval from a parent, he peered up at his masked assailant. "I said put the fuckin' clothes on, bitch. I know you want those nasty fuckin' clothes on your thirsty ass self. Your master's fuckin' ripe ass smell rubbin' all over you. Fuckin' dick pig." The master spit onto Gary's begging face before pushing him back down onto the ground with his massive booted foot. In front of his face was the rank, sticky boxers wafting eye watering musk from their threads.

His still bound hands grasped the silky shorts, the rope burn searing into his wrists with every movement. Desperate to please his captor, he put his feet through the holes, quivering at the feeling of the cold wet stickiness of the boxers slowly sliding up his legs. The master pulled the chair over, sitting down with the same energy of a spectator watching a stripper. The malevolent unblinking gaze behind the black mask would not break. Gary could feel the physical sensation of that gaze in his very spirit, slowly burning it away to ash. The boxers finally settled loosely on his hips like a wet bathing suit against his skin.

"You like that, pig. You like daddy's fuckin nasty ass grime all over your dick and ass." The burglar reached over, grasping Gary's nether tightly in his hands, lathering it in his stinking slime. "Yeah, bitch. Feel that musty cock and ball sweat sink into your lil dicklet." And he could.

Gary could palpably feel that slimy grime start to slither into every pore, every orifice. He moaned in pleasure as his dick began to soak up the sweat like a sponge, slowly inflating as his balls started to swell and sag. His ass plumped up, and his slick hole had all but become a sloppy wet man pussy, a perfect fit for his master's needy cock. As his master pulled his hands away, Gary looked down to see his thick, dripping cockhead slowly peek out of the bottom of the now tight boxers, easily 9 inches of tan, smelly cock. The master wasted no time pelting him with the old cumstained sweatpants.

He strained yet again against his bindings, writhing on the floor to slip them on. They were heavy and hot, a thick woven material that that had all but swallowed his legs whole, not even his toes poked out the long pant legs. The master laughed at what he likened to a wriggling worm, nearly drowning in the girth of his dirty joggers.

"Get up." Gary looked at his kingly tormentor once more, daring to meet his sharp gaze again. "Get the FUCK up lil bitch." Every shout made him shudder with nausea, as if each second of his displeasure would poison him. He rolled himself to his knees, and with all of his might began to push upward. Gary could feel his legs straining to rise, quivering under the sheer weight of the pants until the radiating heat began to thrust into his thighs and calves. His knees buckled only for a moment before the pants began to feel lighter. He pushed and pushed, letting his engorging quads do the work, and in no time he'd made it to a crouch on the balls of his feet. Standing up felt effortless now, a sweltering heat of alien strength slowly building within him. A full two feet taller, he stood eye to eye with the master, who looked less like a king and more of a God by the moment. His magnanimous aura which had seeped into him was a gift, and like a devoted faithful zealot, he would worship the God that gave it to him.

The master sauntered over to his pet with a evil playfulness, brandishing his mirrorlike knife against Gary's skin and slowly letting it slide down his scrawny chest to the rope. With a swipe of the blade, he commanded his servant.

"Next."

Pointing to the table next to the mirror, the final component of the outfit sat like a temptress beckoning him with a siren's song: his God's dusty, thrashed, beat up Jordans. Two fetid socks were draped out of the almost steaming maw of the sneakers. He was hypnotized, being drawn to the ripest scent of all growing with every step. Picking up the socks, the cotton was damp and slick, almost waxy to the touch on the grey soles. He felt no hesitation, he felt no concern, no thoughts, only obedience and ecstasy as he slid his foot into the first sock. His heel slid into place, and he let his stinking foot back down to the ground with a wet slap against the floor. Slipping on the second, the sheer heat emanating from the socks had left steam impressions on the floor. His feet felt like liquid, sloshing in waves of pins and needles before being abruptly interrupted by his God shoving his surprised face into the sneaker.

"Better get used to this smell. Breath it in, bitch. This is gonna be your fuckin poppers, your heroin, your fix. SNIFF IT, FUCKER." Gary did as instructed, taking in the heavy cloud of wafting stink pouring from the dark pit of the Jordan. He was drowning, coughing from the powerful stench that felt like manna filling his lungs. Dropping the second sneaker to the ground, the master guided his servant's foot into the wet hot cave, a squelching sound bellowing from the waxy sock pressing against the sweat saturated insole. Gary gasped in awe, letting another deep breath of the stink into him, letting more of the God's gift into him. Peeled away, the sneaker left a film of evaporated footsweat on his face, the smell lingering as it was forced onto his own sole. His feet swelled with stink and sweat, inflating and stretching to fit the size 16 Jordans. His toes reached the end of the socks, perfectly aligning with the dank, sweaty footprint that had been embedded in the shoes for years. His master pleased, he finally removed the black ski mask, blessing his pet with the honor of seeing his face.

“I own your ass.” He smirked, gripping Gary by his hair with one hand, flipping him off with the other. Letting out the last cry he would make as himself, as Gary Howard, the God hocked one final mouthful of spit into his servants open maw before clamping it shut, and slamming his sweaty black mask over his head.

The effect was instantaneous. The damp mask squeezed Gary’s skull, his bones giving no resistance to the force of the squelching wool. As it compressed and stretched, black tendrils slithered out of the mask, sprawling downward against his exploding muscles and plunging down his throat. Gary surrendered and faded into the background, his body gurgling and undulating as the invading tendrils expanded into every nook and crevice. Everywhere the black sludge touched, his muscles would bulge.

His biceps grew to the size of cantaloupes, hands large and strong enough to crush a skull. Pecs so juicy and thick they sat like slabs of marble atop his chiseled abs. After a long and arduous fight, his head slumped down in defeat. The master plopped back into his chair, pulling out his new phone, kicking his feet up onto the bed. The tendrils began to retreat back into the black mask, leaving intricate marks all across his body, enough to tell the story of a dedicated and subservient underling to a ruthless criminal God. With one final gulp of the sludge down his throat, the nameless thug opened his new eyes to gaze upon the supreme God he worshipped.

The God unzipped his pants with completely flat affect, his drone knowing full well what needed to be done. Falling to his knees, he gently pried the God’s musky dick from his pants, and sloppily started blowing him. The God sighed in satisfaction with his pigs expert mouth, blowing his flawless seed down his throat like he would do so every day since. Unmounting, he slipped his cum-dripping cock back into his pants as his drone awaited his instructions. And the plan was simple: recruit.

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.

Okay: Bad Boy Musky Transformation it is. Enjoy!

I knew, of course, that Marco sold whatever the degenerates in the neighborhood needed. Weed, Acid, Ecstasy, Shrooms, Coke... take out the hard ones and you have his menu. He always seemed to afford the good things in life with his dark money. Two weeks ago he’d bought a Ducati; a week prior it was a 60 inch TV! God knows it wasn’t from dutiful employment, but I knew damn well just what it was that afforded him these luxuries: whatever could be inhaled, snorted, or smoked. And yet, here I was, working two jobs at McDonalds & Popeyes just trying to afford my garbage studio apartment. 

He’d only ever been kind to me, I’ll admit. He’d bring by a pizza he said he couldn’t finish, or his old speakers he’d upgraded. Nice guy, if a bit dim. Always out in the courtyard, laying by the pool with his shirt off. Always surrounded by other guys who’d slip him a hundred. It’s not fair! Four years of college and what did I have to show for it? Student loans and no job prospects. Yet there he was: no trade, no job, no future really; but living like a king. So it was one day where I’ll fully admit that my jealousy overwhelmed me. 

I was short that month, for the first time mind you. Short only by a hundred dollars for rent, but I had already gotten a notice on my door. Pay tomorrow or get lost. It was this desperation that made me remember every deal that thug made, every 8-ball, every eighth, every pill... Would he really notice a hundred missing from his pile? I knew for a fact that every Wednesday night, precisely at 10, Marco would leave for the hookah club and not return until 4 or 5 at the earliest. I knew he locked his door, a few locks actually, but I also knew that the moron left his window cracked nearly every night. It just so happened that on that particular evening, he did just that. 

In that fleeting moment of curiosity, a plan built up in my head. I watched him loudly slam his door, lock his several locks, and saunter out down the stairs. I waited about five minutes before creeping out of my apartment, careful to watch for other prying eyes. I had to be quick. I made a run for it, bolting to his open window on the balcony. It slid open quite easily, and I heaved myself over the ledge and into Marco’s dark apartment. I landed on the ratty old carpet and quickly shut the window. Looking around the apartment, it was a three bedroom for sure. In the same state of disrepair as mine, but furnished with some of the most expensive, gaudy things I’ve ever seen. Brand new leather couches, a coffee table made completely of glass, a massive stereo system next to his 60 inch TV... An absolute manchild lived here.

However, I wasn’t there for the TV or the oversized sectional. I had a sneaking suspicion that he, like many of us, kept his extra money somewhere in the bedroom. Ensuring that no noise would come from my steps, I snuck quietly down the hall, covered in paintings of scantily clad men toward the bedroom. Interesting, he swung that way, huh? Opening the door, a wafting stink hit me in the face. The room was covered in dirty laundry, used condoms, half rolled  blunts, and lines of coke on nearly every surface. This is what I was expecting, and I was surely right. Holding my nose shut, I crept toward his dresser, and began to ruffle through his belongings. Damp socks, damp underwear, damp lycra, everything in there was damp and reeking. I slammed each of the drawers shut, and opened the closet. There, on the tile floor behind rows of pristine sneakers were a pair of destroyed old Vans; and inside each were rolls of hundred dollar bills. Jackpot. I knelt down and grabbed one of the rolls, momentarily unclamping my nose to remove the rubber band. The smell was unbelievable. It took me aback, just how strong it was. I’m sure each of the pairs of Huaraches, AF1′s, and the like had strong scents of their own, but from this single pair of beat up old Vans was the most salty, sweet, almost cheesy footmusk that I’d ever encountered.

For a mere second, I contemplated bringing one of the shoes to my face, letting the dirty, wet insole touch the tip of my nose. However, it was in that second that I should have just left well enough alone. The lightswitch flipped on, and looming over me was the hulking, shirtless Marco. In my right hand was his wad of cash, in the left was his grody sneaker. My face flushed, and my stomach dropped to my toes. He crossed his arms and smiled.

“If you wanted a loan you could have just asked...” Words were caught in the back of my throat. I wanted so terribly to make up some fantastic excuse as to my presence in his closet, but the frog in my throat had other ideas. The growing grin of Marco, paired with him beginning to kneel down to my level made my heart nearly stop beating. “And if you wanted a sniff I’d have given it to you.” He smirked and slowly pulled the shoe from my hand, taking a quick whiff of it’s stench. He turned quickly and laughed, waving the wafting scent away from his face before grabbing the back of my head and plunging it right into the shoe. “Okay, deep breath now.”

I tried to struggle, to fight back, but the man was nearly twice my size and pure muscle. There was no chance of me weaseling my way out of this. I had to just play along with this weird fetish that he seemed to have. I inhaled a quick breath, barely getting any stink. 

“No, no. I said deep breath.” I felt a strong hand shoot to my crotch, grabbing my junk within my jeans. The shock of this invasive gesture broke my concentration, and a gasp of breath escaped from my mouth. Into my nose, my mouth, my sinuses, my brain did the musk penetrate. I moaned loudly, the confusion of a powerful grope and a powerful scent submerged me into a strange state of consciousness. Or rather, a lack thereof. I was inhaling the footsmell like air, and I couldn’t get enough. My cock began to tent in my pants, and I felt my right hand drop the roll of cash I thought I so desperately needed. “Ahh, haha. That’s right, let it in. Let me in.” 

His voice seemed distorted, as if we were in a deep cavern, it echoed in my skull. He removed the shoe from my face, pulling me to my feet by my bulging groin. Guiding me toward his bed, I sat down on the smelly sheets, no longer in complete control of my faculties.

“Take your clothes off.” His words entered my ears like soft velvet, it felt wrong to disobey. In fact, I wanted to obey. For the first time, I wanted to listen to whatever this man told me to do. His bulging muscles, his plump lips, the way his crooked smile felt so dangerously mischievous, the way his smell took my breath away like a vacuum. For the first time, this man was everything I wanted. I ripped my clothes off and lay there on his bed wearing nothing but my bare, cold skin. Smiling, he took hold of my throbbing, upright cock in his rough hand. Ripples of goosebumps ran up and down my body as he slowly ran his calloused hand up and down my shaft. Each stroke allowed a groan or a moan to sneak out of my lips, before he leaned down atop me and planted a soft kiss onto my lips. He tasted like an ashtray and as his tongue slipped into my mouth, rolling atop my own, I could feel some of his taste transfer to me. I can’t explain it, as we kissed I could feel that taste of cigarettes and blunts seep into my tongue. I pulled his pants down, his thick, uncut cock tumbling out of his compression shorts onto my stomach. He smiled as he pulled away from the kiss. I stuck my finger under his foreskin, swiping it around, and brought it to my lips. It tasted like ripe, sweaty cock, and I began to crave it. “Oh yeah, babe you’re a keeper.”

He jumped up, and pulled me toward the edge of the bed. I got a perfect frontal view of his gorgeous cock and saggy balls, his virile and manly smell kept pouring into my nose and into the depths of my mind. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and pulled my eager mouth forward, engulfing his slick, smelly cock. I suckled, my loud slurping seeming making him even hornier. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him fiddling with something just out of view. As he thrust down my throat, I realized just what it was that he had. His used condom, I presume from whatever sexy fuck occurred the night prior, was in his hands. I closed my eyes as I felt its rubbery walls close tightly around the tip of my cock, slickly sliding down my shaft until his cold, creamy load touched my slit. With a loud snap, I looked down and saw his thick white cum completely enveloping my cockhead. I only got a quick glance before he’d pulled out of my mouth, replacing his succulent cock with my now favorite smelly shoe. I licked the sole, letting the thick toejam season my ashy tongue as the musk thrust into my nose once more. 

I knew what was coming, and I was prepared when I felt that slippery cock slip like butter into my tight hole. He’d grabbed my cock, covered in his seed, and jerked in tandem with his thrusts into my ass. Sensory overload. His smell, his seed, his cock, his taste, the very sight of him... It was all him. He was marking me. I was his property, and I was glad to oblige. Every single hard smack against my ass cheeks, every stinking waft into my brain, every breath of his smoky breath coming out of my mouth... It was too much! He fucked like a madman, stroking my cock into his slime until I felt a strange tingling in my cockhead. It was a slick, penetrating sensation of his seed... slurping into my slit! I was nearly screaming as I felt it sink deep down my shaft, into my engorging balls. It was stewing, brewing inside my growing sack! I heard him howl as he unloaded his fresher load into me. 

I felt his cock within me shooting spurt after spurt... going from ounces to gallons very quickly. His cum spread throughout my body like water into a balloon. I could feel the silky liquid beneath my skin, creeping, inflating every part of my body. It seeped up my throat, into my mouth, behind my very eyes into my brain. The pressure grew as I felt growth, I felt strength, I felt different. My body was gelatinous beneath my skin, before slowly firming into a much larger form. An improved form. I pulled Marco’s shoe from my face, and looked at my changing body. The cum kept flowing as I saw my muscled arms, my bulging abs, a grotesquely inflated ballsack... He leaned down and kissed me again, giving me another much needed taste of his addictive taste. My brain was melting, reforming, changing... Things were fuzzy and blurred before it was my turn to blow my load. In it, was who I used to be, my failures, my strife, my worries and obligations... Flowed like a jet out of my cock into his condom. Cum flowed out of the top of the condom, before Marco ripped it from me, letting the hot juices pool between us. 

“Lookin’ good, babe.” He smiled at me, and I looked at the man I loved with a smirk. Yeah, I sure fuckin’ do look good. We laid there all night long, fucking and kissing and sniffing and tasting... By the time the sun came up, I was in his clothes, I reeked of his sweaty manly musk, I was wearing my favorite pair of red Vans, and I was readying an 8-ball for pickup later that morning (after a few lines for me and the boyfriend). I kicked back and lit a cigarette, enjoying the laid back life I’d come to love with my man.