Betcha Can't Eat Just One 4 (hypno)
by webb025
Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the legal age to read this, or are offended by the idea of male-male sex or mind control, DO NOT read further.
We got our weekly call from Uncle Mark in Michigan, the guy who had provided us with our supply of the addiction formula and its antidote, and completely changed our lives. Seems that once we had told Mark how we used it, word filtered down to his 16-year-old nephew Larry, who lived with his 26-year-old prison guard brother Butch in a small town not far from Mark’s lab. Larry had been a bit of a surprise, a “mistake”, when he was born to his somewhat elderly parents, who have since retired to Florida.
Larry grew up a “wild child”, way too much for the old folks to handle, so Butch had taken on the task of Larry’s discipline. Butch was big and strong and worked out all the time, since in his line of work he needed to be able to intimidate and control large, violence-prone prison inmates. His constant lifting and exercise paid off; photos I’d seen of him in a bathing suit showed a rugged-looking 6’ guy with a finely-muscled upper body tapering to a small waist, with strong legs running down to the big feet characteristic of our family.
Young Larry also had nice pecs and abs, but his build was more like a swimmer’s than a bodybuilder’s. Overall, Larry was more lean and lanky compared to Butch’s built bulk. Where Butch had a fairly hairy chest, Larry’s was smooth. They were both about the same height, and their feet were about the same size. But where Larry weighed maybe 130, Butch certainly tipped the scales at around 190 or more.
Recently, when Butch found out that Larry was getting involved in distributing drugs at his high school, Butch had grabbed Larry, torn off his clothes, pulled him over his knee, and gave him the waling of his life. Larry’s ass stung for days after that, and he really resented Butch doing that to him, feeling he was way too old to be spanked.
It didn’t take long from when he heard the story about how we used the addiction formula for him to decide to steal some for his own use. He figured that Mark must have some around the house, skipped school one day and, when Mark was at work, scoured his home until he found what he was looking for. He knew it was the right stuff from the warning label on the bottle.
Soon afterwards Larry was preparing a sweet delicious cum-treat for Butch. Since there didn’t tend to be much in the way of sweet snacks around their home, Butch took the bait when he found the cumdrop in an otherwise-empty bag of regular gumdrops that Larry had purposely left in the kitchen.
Within a day, Butch found himself at Larry’s oversized feet, begging for cum. Larry laughed at the sight of his tough big brother on his knees in front of him, desperately trying to learn the best way to suck his little brother off to get the needed fix. Taking a page from Benji’s treatment of Lonnie Edwards, Larry punished Butch before cumming down his throat. In the first days, it started with a series of painful spankings accompanied by constant degradation, then escalated to even more painful and humiliating canings and whippings, and it had the desired effect: like Lonnie, Butch came to crave the punishment that preceded the cum high, and was actually grateful to Larry for administering it. He had come to admire Larry for his strength and power over him, rather than hate him for his cruelty, or scorn him for his wild ways.
But Larry felt that their home activity wasn’t humiliating enough for Butch, so he raised the stakes. To earn his cum, Larry was now forcing Butch to beg at least two rough inmates at the prison where he worked as a guard to fuck him each day, and to be able to prove it with cellphone photos. The inmates enjoyed their new power over the previously super-tough guard, mocking him and stomping on him as he submitted meekly to his latest no-good inmate fuckmaster. Soon they also realized they could blackmail Butch into doing them other favors of a personal nature, as well as bringing them contraband from the outside, in return for doing him the great favor of fucking him.
When Butch got home from work, his asshole still stinging from his most recent unlubricated inmate-fuck, he would strip— Larry insisted that Butch wear nothing but a bright pink jockstrap around the house—and crawl to Larry’s feet on the recliner’s footrest, and worship them with his hands and mouth for a while, until ordered away by Larry. Then he would have to clean the place and prepare dinner, which he would serve to Larry on the dining room table, after which he would slink off into a corner with the leftovers—often already chewed and spit back out by Larry—and lick them directly off Larry’s old plate with no silverware. Larry briefly considered buying Butch a doggy bowl, but why spend money on him?
The rest of Butch’s evening was always spent working out in their home gym. Sometimes Larry would torture him while he exercised, slapping his balls while he was lifting weights, or grinding his Nikes into Butch’s cock while he did sit-ups.
Larry enjoyed becoming the man of the house and transforming Butch into his foot-worshiping slave. But he wanted more for himself. He had always resented the jock types at his school. Although he had a natural athletic build, he was too lazy and undisciplined to invest the effort it took to succeed at a sport.
He had a thing for a few members of the baseball team. He would have loved to enslave the entire team to his cum, but of course he realized he could never produce enough cum to keep them all going. A guy can only produce so much cum in a day. But then it came to him: he could produce a LOT more piss than he could cum! What if he addicted the baseball team to his piss? He then had a fantasy where he would take a long hard piss into a toilet in the locker room, watched anxiously by piss-addicted members of the team, and when he was done they would rush to the toilet and fight each other for access to his precious piss, lapping it out of the bowl like dogs until they fell back, their addiction satisfied, their high beginning.
Or he could piss ON one of them forced to lie on the floor, and his teammates would rush to lick it off him and suck the rest from the cracks between the floor tiles around him. Or Larry could grab one of them by the hair on his head, push him down to his crotch and hold him with his face directly in front of Larry’s long slim cock, “turn on the piss hose” pointed at his face and watch him try to catch every last drop of golden goodness without having it splatter onto the floor. Larry could even sell the team bottles of his piss for big bucks!
To begin his experiment, one day at school, Larry managed to slip his favorite baseball player his first “pissdrop”. The next day, the gorgeous blond 17-year-old pitcher was on his knees pleading to be used as Larry’s urinal. Hands on his hips, Larry grinned at the desperate pitcher who was looking up at him with both fear and addiction-fueled desire in his eyes. Larry figured it wouldn’t be long before he had the pitcher pleading to be fucked in his own bed, in order to earn Larry’s piss gushing over him and soaking into his blankets and mattress.
But it turned out that piss is chemically quite different from cum; its makeup is more a function of what the pissing person has eaten, and what health condition he’s in, rather than just who he is. It didn’t take long for the pitcher to discover he could get almost as high on his OWN piss as on Larry’s. And not much later he learned he could get even higher by carefully choosing what he ate before pissing. Larry wondered why the pitcher never came to him again for more of his piss, and in fact avoided him everywhere at school. Larry just figured that a piss addiction didn’t last like a cum addiction.
Anyway, the baseball player was too humiliated to come forward with the story publicly, since he was particularly worried about the video Larry took with his cellphone of him begging to be used as Larry’s toilet. But he did go over to Larry’s home to confront him directly. He soon found himself being lifted by the scruff of his neck and ejected from the place by an angry, pink-jock-wearing Slave Butch, defending the honor of his Master Larry.
After that, every evening the poor blond pitcher was forced to get high drinking his own piss, or suffer the consequences. But Larry’s dream of a team of athletic toilet slaves was clearly dead. Of course, Mark was relieved that everyone had reasons to keep the story quiet, or it might have been traced back to his lab. But the story showed we had been on the right track with the way we had used the precious liquid.
In the meantime, Greg and I were increasing the intensity of our master-slave relationship every day. However much I dominated him, humiliated him, punished him, he seemed to want more. He almost never looked above my feet when we were together. His need to please me seemed to grow, so I could tell that he was sometimes torn between total mindless obedience to my demands, and wanting to screw up a bit in order to earn the punishment he desperately desired and that he knew I loved giving him. In the meantime, his zealous work on his own body was paying off. Knowing what I liked, he had nicely increased his chest size and biceps and built up his abs, although that wasn’t the best thing for the running events among his competitive track activities.
I offered him release from his cum-forced servitude, giving him access to an unlimited supply of the addiction antidote. But he refused to accept his freedom. After comparing his previous unsatisfying life as a free man to his current situation as my groveling slave, he knew he greatly preferred the latter, even without the cum addiction. He had worked to reprogram himself, eliminating the “straight” parts of his nature and building on the submissive side to form himself voluntarily into a total gay slave to me, his cave god. He worshipped my muscular body, and seemed grateful for whatever orders I gave him, and even to whatever humiliation my little brother Benjy had in store for him whenever Benjy got bored or cranky. (Although that wasn’t happening very often lately since Benjy had his new former-enemy teacher-toy to plan for.)
Greg spent every free hour either serving me when I wanted him, improving his body (that he considered my property), or buying me gifts suited to his lord and master. He built a pedestal on which he placed an expensive, elaborate antique chair, covered in gold with red upholstery, that he told me would be my throne whenever it pleased me to use it. He also bought me a four foot long ebony rod made in Africa, carved like a giant cock, and told me it was my scepter. He got off on obeying my commands while I pointed the scepter at him. Sometimes while he would be kneeling on the floor worshipping my giant feet with his mouth, I would rub the business end of the rod around the outside of his asshole, which would cause him to squirm, twitch his ass excitedly, and double up his foot-worshipping speed.
And I would look down at his tall, handsome body and feel the joy of the total control of another human being, one formerly better then myself and now my total inferior. But I was also a teenage male, always horny and hungry for more. And since Greg made it his business to do whatever it took to please me, he sensed this hunger, and knew it was his duty to satisfy it.
As my birthday approached, he seemed to bring extra joy to his groveling, if you can imagine that, although he tried hard to hide it. His butt seemed to glow more after each spanking or whipping, and his tongue seemed even longer as it whisked clean my foully-scented body areas. I could sense that SOMETHING good was going on. Greg had promised me a big surprise birthday gift, but asked me as a favor to command him not to tell me what it was, no matter how much I ranted. In fact, this made for several good days worth of really hot punishment scenes, where I spanked him over my lap mercilessly, applied tit clamps, ball weights, dildoes, and other devices, demanding that he tell me, while he refused because of my earlier command. I even chained him to the wall of our new dungeon room and deprived him of cum for hours, just to test his endurance and dedication. He sweated alot, but didn’t break. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the new level of debasement and pain the situation brought him.
When the big day arrived, Greg came home from his last class and, as usual, stripped naked, entered what was now my throne room, and crawled to submit himself at my feet. Sniffing and licking lovingly at my ankles, he told me it was time to present his gift. “So what is it, finally?” I asked. “A golden crown for me to wear while I wield my scepter of cave power?” As I said this, I stroked his long back with the scepter.
“No, Cavemaster, although that IS a hot idea. But for a while now I have sensed that you are not completely satisfied with just me as your slave. Of course, I love worshiping you and being your love toy. But I think I have found a way to increase your power and excitement. I hope you like it.
“I looked at the porn you keep around, so I could get some idea of your preferred type. I know you like tall guys, around college age. And of course I remember the method you used to enslave my family, which was the best thing that ever happened to me. I considered using the same method on some members of my track team, but I’m just about the tallest one on the team, and I wasn’t sure if any of them would be up to your standards.
“But I am also friends with a few members of the college’s basketball team. I invited three of them over for a party, and gave them each an addictive ‘cumdrop’ made with cum of yours I saved from one of my worship sessions. I watched those guys as the high hit them. I had secretly turned up the heat in the room and told them they could strip and get comfortable, and they didn’t seem to have the least inhibition about it. I guess it’s because they see each other naked every day, and they didn’t seem to notice me checking out the ‘merchandise’.
“I casually started a conversation about dick size versus foot size, and in their high state they thought this was a really fun topic. They all got themselves hard and compared feet and cocks, since they’d never seen each other hard before. They thought it was perfectly natural for me to feel them, for, you know, scientific purposes of course. It was an incredible evening, and it was all I could do to save my cum for you that night, and not to lose it right then and there.
“At the university the next day, when they were beginning to feel the need to feed their addiction, I gave them their second dose, and then I told them what they needed to do to get their high back, and avoid withdrawal. They realize their situation, and they’re waiting outside the throne room for your permission to enter.
“I informed them there was ONE position open for an elite college athlete as sex slave to a horny high-school dropout, and that they would have to compete for it. I explained that there was only one slave position available because there is only so much cum a cavegod like you is willing to produce just for feeding slaves. I told them that whoever crawled to your feet and best explained why he should be selected as your cumslave would get the job, and the other two would go hungry in a most painful way. By now, they must be feeling the full effects of cum withdrawal. I’m sure that all three of those big, formerly proud straight boys will be truly motivated to compete for the slave position. If you wanted, you could probably get them to fight each other for it.”
All this excited me greatly. “Let’s see what they’re willing to offer me to earn the enslavement they’re probably craving right now. Man, this is a fabulous gift! I love the idea of tall muscular college jocks desperately COMPETING for the right to become my personal sex slave!
“And you know, you’re right, even though you’ve been very loyal and obedient, and I do really enjoy using and abusing your body as I would a blow-up doll, my mind HAS wandered in other directions, and I’ve looked at some of the other college guys that go by, particularly the tall ones.
“But won’t you feel bad if I use someone else to get off? Won’t you be jealous, after all the work you’ve done on yourself for me?”
Greg replied, “My job as your slave is to serve and please you, not myself. I am satisfied only if I have done my best to cause you happiness.
“Anyway, if you accept one of these basketball slaves, you might choose to have me help in controlling him. Or you might take him as your god-consort, in which case I would have to serve and obey both of you. It’s up to you, Cavemaster.”
“Hmmm. OK, let’s see what you’ve brought me. Send them in!”
Greg shouted at the door, “You may now enter the throne room of the teen cave god!” The door opened, and three very tall, scared and stressed-looking college students entered, wearing nothing but jockstraps. They had clearly been through a rough period of withdrawal, and were desperate for a cum “fix”. And they all knew that my cock was the only possible source of that fix. All three pairs of eyes were soon riveted on my oversized, blood-filled organ. Two of them involuntarily licked their lips at the sight. The thought of such an outlandishly-sized cock being shoved down their throats didn’t worry them as much as the possibility of a juicy reward excited them.
Greg’s research on my personal taste in guys had paid off. These were the college studs of my dreams. The shortest one was about 6’6”, the middle one about 6’8” or 6’9”, and the tallest one must have been nearly seven feet tall. So even the smallest of the three was nearly a foot taller than me. But because of my “troglodyte” proportions, despite the height difference, their hands and feet were not much bigger than mine, and because of my ridiculously solid build it didn’t seem that they weighed much more than I did, either. As for cock size, it was hard to tell, since the three of them were more frightened than anything else.
Suddenly Greg thundered, “Slaves, on your hands and knees in the presence of the cave god!” He surprised me almost more than he did them, since I had never heard him so assertive before. Yes, he might make a useful slave trainer. At the sound of his voice, the three dropped onto their stomachs, faces to the floor. Their long, well-developed back muscles rippled nicely as they assumed a position of total submission.
I began, in my best, rumbling “cave-god” voice: “As you know, you are in a competition among you for the holy position of cum-bucket to the cave god. The winner will have the joy of receiving enough of my cum to keep him fit and happy for as long as I choose to provide him with it. The losers will suffer by having their throats parched of my life-giving cum. So becoming my slave is important to all three of you worthless cum junkies.
“To earn the position, you must throw out all of your straight-boy attitudes when you are with me, discard any thought that you have any personal value outside of my presence, and give up any idea that you have any purpose higher than causing me pleasure. In fact, you will be required to transfer all of your personal will to me. You will need to demonstrate that you appreciate any personal physical attention I may choose to show you, and let my slave training assistant here (I noticed a definite firming of Greg’s cock when I said this) hypno-train you out of any leftover heterosexual tendencies. It will take time and effort, but it can be done. He himself did it just recently, and is now completely focused on his service to my body.
“So now, approach my throne so the competition may begin.”
Uncertainly, the three of them began to crawl along the floor towards me. “Faster!” shouted Greg. “Don’t keep the cave-god waiting!” And to make his point, he lightly applied a riding crop —where did THAT come from?—to the upturned luscious butts of the long-limbed players. This changed their gait into a sort of “run-crawl” that was just hilarious. Although they were on their stomachs, I could tell that the increased friction of their jockstraps rubbing on the floor was causing some stiffening which was making their run-crawl a bit more awkward. The fact that they were getting physically closer to their hoped-for “fix” probably helped them to move more quickly.
Greg swatted at the one in the lead. “Keep your head down out of respect and admiration! Don’t look any higher than the cave-god’s feet!” I understood why Greg demanded this of the candidate slaves. For one thing, it gave them a better understanding of their lowly position in this room. For another, it drew their attention to the fact that although they were older and much taller than me, my big powerful feet looked pretty much equal to or even superior to theirs. Plus, whoever won the slave position was going to get to know those feet really well!
As they crawled to me, I couldn’t help but admire how their long, sleek bodies contrasted with my tightly-muscled squat bod. I felt like a lion among giraffes. Since they were face down, I couldn’t see their built chests, but as they moved, muscle cords rippled in their magnificent arms and legs. All three had a sheen of sweat on their entire bodies, whether from fear or excited anticipation I couldn’t tell. As they got close, I used my cock-scepter to stroke their hair. Two of them had thick straight hair, while one kept his hair in more of a military crew-cut style.
I started the game by putting one big, sweaty foot on the head of the tallest one, who had long black hair. “Let’s start with you. Who are you, and what would you do for me if I granted you the coveted position of slave?” I took my foot off his head, wiping a trail of foot sweat onto his otherwise immaculate hair.
He looked up. He had a really mature-looking face with some stubble on his chin, but his eyes were pure puppy-dog. He gazed first at my face—it’s not my best feature, but he sure seemed to be in awe of it—and began: “Cavemaster, my name is Chester. I’m the tallest member of the basketball team, and Greg tells me you like tall guys. As your slave, I would buy a dog collar with a leash, and you could take the leash and lead me through the mall wearing just a Speedo. You could hook the leash onto the collar or tie it to anything else you wanted to, and tug on it when I don’t follow fast enough.”
I grunted, “That’s it? That’s your big sacrifice, a little embarrassment at the mall? It sounds like nothing more than a frat initiation thing to me.”
His expression turned to one of panic. “Aahh, umm, I’ll get a tattoo that says ‘Property of Cavemaster Travis’ on my back...”
“Where no one can see it? How about getting that tattooed around your neck?”
His sweating increased, but his immediate need outweighed his fear of permanent public humiliation. “Yes, Cavemaster, around my neck, I’ll do it! Please! Please...” It was a rush having a muscular seven foot tall guy whimpering at my feet.
“Crawl back and await my judgement.” I pushed his head back with my foot, and enjoyed watching his muscles ripple as he rapidly crawled backwards away from me.
“You next.” I wiped my foot on the crew-cut head of the second-tallest one. His face was that of a typical “jarhead”, and as I saw when he entered, he had the best upper-body build of the three of them, with astonishing bulging biceps and pecs. His leg muscles were also bigger than his companions’, which made for a daunting physique on someone close to six-nine in height.
“Cavemaster, my name is Brent. I just inherited some money from a rich uncle. If you pick me, it’s all yours. You won’t have a problem getting whatever you want for awhile. I was going to use it for pay for tuition, but I can get a job for that.”
“I already have all the money I need, as it happens. So THAT’s all you’re offering me? Where’s the real life-changing sacrifice?”
Realizing he was losing fast, “jarhead” knew he had to raise the stakes considerably if he was to have a chance. “I have two brothers, Keith who just got out of the marines, and Lucas a senior in high school. They’re both better looking than me, and even with the age difference, we’re all around the same height and work out like bodybuilders. Keith has a fiancee, and Lucas has a long-time girlfriend he’s about to propose to. If you pick me, I’ll enslave both of them to you, I’ll force them to turn their whole futures over to you. They’ll drop their girls, move in with you, and you’ll have the most mind-blowing sex with three horny and motivated tall guys you could ever imagine. We don’t know gay sex but we’ll learn! We’ve always been fast learners!”
I have to admit that the scene that formed in my mind, with THREE of these muscled giants living to please me, almost caused my balls to explode untouched. But with an intense exertion of willpower I managed to avoid such an undisciplined display.
I cleared my throat. “Sounds good, but how do you expect me to make enough cum on an ongoing basis to keep THREE of you huge guys fed, plus Slave Trainer Greg here? Even with my cave superpowers I can’t do that! Back!” As I pushed him back with my foot on his face, he went into reverse quickly, crestfallen.
“Okay, finally you. What do you offer the teen cave god in return for your enslavement?” The shortest of the guys at 6’6”, he looked so cute that instead of just wiping my foot on his medium-length blond hair, I used my foot to push aside the hair that had fallen in his eyes. Although I knew he was a varsity college basketball player, his face made him look about 16. Normally, I wouldn’t go for that, since I prefer a more mature look like the seven-footer’s. This guy looked as if a 15-year-old teen singing idol’s face had been fastened onto a smooth tall muscled college-athlete body. But when he looked up at me, instead of fear or desperation, I was sure I saw lust. And someone who had caught the scent of an opportunity.
“I’m Clint. Cavemaster, if you pick me, I think I can give it ALL to you, everything you’ve heard from all these guys, without stressing your amazing super cave balls too far.” As he said this, he looked down directly at my almost-bursting balls— clearly the biggest set in the room, and on the smallest guy— and I swear I saw him briefly flick his tongue over his lips. It might have just been the addiction, or maybe it was something more.
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Enslave just me to your cum, then enslave these two to MY cum! As part of my duties to you, I’ll make sure they give you everything they promised. We can use Brent’s big slave cock and cum to feed and command his brothers. But for my two teammates here, I’ll be the one to feed them from MY balls. Which, of course, will belong to you...” he concluded with a sweet smile.
At that, I DID explode straight onto his cute face, seven or eight intense, full shots, which he lapped up as quickly as his tongue could move. As he rolled onto his side, I could see that he was fully hard at a shade over 8”, which doesn’t look that large on a 6’6” guy. I also saw that the other two cum-starved potential slaves were struggling to restrain themselves from racing up to him on their hands and knees and slurping my sticky life-giving fluid directly off his face and the floor under him. There certainly seemed to be enough to go around, but they guessed what the consequences of doing that without permission might be. Meanwhile, the suggestion of this last slave candidate offered them hope that even if they lost the competition, which now seemed certain, they would not be condemned to the intense pain of an endless and unfulfilled need for my cum. In fact, it would be as if they both WON, except they would be sating their desperate cum-lust and getting their highs by drinking teammate Clint’s cum instead of my own.
The choice of slave seemed obvious, but I felt the need to ask a few questions anyway. “What if they tell their friends or other teammates? There could be real trouble.”
“I don’t think either of them is going to say a thing, do you? If they do, they’ll be physically miserable, wasted for the rest of their lives, or in hospitals for years. If they go along, though, they’ll be fine, their lives will continue, their basketball will continue, their careers will continue, and they’ll feel very satisfied. Of course, they won’t have kids unless you want them to, but if as you say Slave Trainer Greg here can successfully eliminate most or all of their heterosexuality, they’ll have really satisfying sex lives, never going without. As long as they cooperate, of course.” The sweating would-be slaves shook their heads to indicate to me their eagerness to accept the deal.
It sounded as if Clint had quickly worked out a very similar solution to the one that Benjy had manipulated Mr. Edwards into accepting. To the outside world, life would go on as before. The “incurable” cum-lust would be satisfied as needed. Of course, the SLIGHT devilish difference involved the part about “curing” their heterosexuality. The thought of the three new basketball slaves, plus the two equally tall brothers of jarhead slave Brent, undergoing an intensive sexuality reprogramming course involving drugs, isolation, sensory deprivation, repeated punishments followed by perverted rewards, and who knew what else, designed and supervised by a world-class psychology professor with the assistance of loyal Slave Trainer Greg, excited me as nothing before had.
I imagined being able to reprogram these slaves’ personalities to my own specifications, once I gained control of their very wills. I could change the way these basketball players and close friends interacted with each other, and how they interacted with the outside world. I could make any of them more aggressive or more docile, adjust his level of horniness, have him suddenly want to modify his personal appearance, his grooming, the way he dressed. I could even let him continue to fuck girls, but only be able to if he imagined himself worshiping me as he did it. It meant a whole new world of experiments in stud control!
I shook myself out of the daydream. “Very well,” I said. “Slave Trainer Greg, get a sample of my new slave Clint’s cum so we can retrain slaves Chester and Brent onto that. Slave Clint, remember that feeding cum to your teammates will be your responsibility from now on.”
To my surprise, Clint was way ahead of me. Mr. Straight College Athlete was not so straight after all. The thought of the whole scene had brought him to the verge of shooting! He grabbed his cock for a few finishing strokes.
I shouted, “Clint! Your cum! Don’t spray it everywhere! We need it! Greg has a flask with him, fill it!”
“Yes, Cavemaster!” he panted. “And Trainer Greg... please hurry with that flask! I don’t know how long I can hold it in...”
It turned out that the amount of cum produced by Clint in the throes of his excitement at becoming my slave, plus the prospect of transforming his long lusted-after teammates into slaves of his own, was enough to produce the two full cumdrops we needed to “re-addict” the super-hunky “losers” of the slave competition. It seems Clint had always been closeted-gay, and had always had to strain to suppress obvious erections in the locker room caused by the sight of his naked teammates. He never imagined he would have a chance with any of those straight giants, and he was afraid they were becoming a bit suspicious of him in the locker room. Now, he would have two of them totally dependent on him for life itself, plus he would control the action as one of them drugged, tortured, and reprogrammed his glassy-eyed super-brothers into cum-craving slave toys. And all Clint had to do in return for all this was to serve as a slave himself to a short but intensely powerful teen “cave-god” whose feet and hands were bigger than his, who was hung bigger, and who was stronger than him as well. In his previously sex-starved situation, he might have accepted that slave position anyway, cum addiction or not.
Operation Superjock Harem had begun!
END