BMOC: Black Mage on Campus, Chapter 5: Wrath and Greed— “Deal With the Devil”

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When I was 17, I had a therapist tell me that evil was a choice. He also made the mistake of affirming to me that homosexuality was also a choice… and also evil.

I didn’t agree.

I told the good doctor puts on quite the drag show Wednesday and Sunday nights in the East Village. I gave him some advice on choices…

He had told me that each one of us was given the choice to decide what was good and what was right and the choice to ignore it.

When you’re born into a family of witches with a curse on it, that’s a little hard to accept.

I was abandoned by my mother at birth. My father hated the idea of my existence and loathed the sight of me. The only person who loved me was killed by a curse she had nothing to do with.

I was an outcast all my life. Always on the outside looking in. The kids in school feared me and hated me. My own family treated me like a jagged piece of glass, careful to never get to close.

The Old Testament claims that we are all born with sin. From conception we are tainted and tread the earth with the forever reminder of Eve’s betrayal and Adam’s Failure. It is as much a part of us as the blood in our veins… or the color of our eyes…

So I ask you… what choice did I have.

What choice do any of us have…?

God my head hurts.

Am I Dreaming again?

It seems that an unfortunate side effect of never sleeping is that your unconscious mind begins to run like butter in the sun, seeping slowly into your waking life. It’s difficult to discern what is a dream and what is real… but then my life has always been that way.

Christ I need to finish this story before IT happens… There’s so little time left…

I can see it. In the dark of the Mirror, it’s waiting. Every night it gets worse and worse. It’s going to happen soon…I just hope I can get control of things before…

I should stop using the mirror. Stupid. Stupid. Curse me for a fool, thinking I could tame the magic that has brought every witch and queen in fairytales to their poetic end. Fucking mirror.

You wanna know the nasty truth about Snow White? She was the evil queen or eventually becomes her. After Snow White and Prince Charming ride off into the distance and happily ever after scrolls across your mind, extend the story. Extend it to where Prince Charming is suddenly struck down in a hunting expedition or is killed in a senseless border skirmish. For this is truly the fate of all brave men. Knights are made for short brutal lives; their princesses are made for long depressing ones. After years of grief and loneliness, beautiful Snow White comes across a magic mirror hidden deep within the wells of her deserted palace. Solitary and embittered she uses the mirror to make herself happy any way she can. Power, wealth and companionship are hers for the taking. Until one day the mirror speaks to her of a beautiful girl destined for greatness…and suddenly we’re back at once upon a time.

…I don’t know why I just told you that… I guess I’m trying to justify myself, perhaps vindicate. I want you to feel sorry for me when I have to put on my red hot shoes and dance the night away. Whatever. Fuck that.

Where were we in the story?

Oh yes.

Leo was about to get what he deserved.

I intervened.

Now He’s waiting for me on the other side of an office door.

After the unpleasantness at the manner I swept the young bastard and I back to my loft in the city. At least it used to be my loft… now it seems like a utilitarian office space. The kind of modern office one would expect to find overlooking the vast expanse of the city. The strange thing is that up until now it had been a wide, poorly decorated loft space filled with books and junk food wrappers.

That’s how ridiculously powerful I’ve become. This could all be an illusion to suit my needs… or it could be the real thing. Physical reality shaped and molded like Play-Dough at my whim.

Or maybe it’s just a dream…

I can’t tell the difference anymore.

And frankly I’m not sure I fucking care…

Leo didn’t remember getting to the Agent’s office that morning. He had a slight headache and all he could remember was a blinding blue light.

The lobby he was waiting in was austere and sanitized. He couldn’t really tell how long he had been waiting. He did know that he was loosing his patience. He inspected himself in the big Windows that overlooked the city below.

His roguishly handsome boy’s face smiled back. Auburn hair styled gently up into a mock faux hawk. Classic square jaw and wide easy smile statuesquely positioned beneath his confident muddy brown eyes. Yes sports illustrated he was ready for his close up.

He tried to formulate why he was here… memory flooded into him like the lines of a simple child’s storybook. It filled the gaps of his tenuous understanding.

He was in an agent’s office.

He was going to sign a contract.

Yeah that’s right. With Clive out of the way all the scouts wanted him now.

He was going to the pros.

He was going to put his name on the dotted line and make bank.

The door opened and a debonair man in a well tailored charcoal suit assured him into the office. The guy was broad and the seams of the suit stretched tightly across his massive shoulders. Blue eyes regarded him sinisterly.

“Well Leo. It seems like you’ve finally arrived.”

“Sweet man.” Leo barked deciding to let go of all faux professionalism. He just wanted his prize.

“Now this contract states simply. A one year agreement of service at the end of which you will be worth an estimated 2 million dollars.” The large dark haired man crooned.

“I want to make sure I’m going to start.” Leo commanded gruffly. “I don’t want to waste my primetime sitting on a bench.”

The laugh the agent gave as a response made Leo slightly uneasy. “Oh you’ll be a star, probably one of the highest paid ones. A top tier contender.”

There was a hungry groan in the pit of Leo’s stomach. Weariness of the agent gave way to the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his excited veins. He was going to be loaded and a pro! He was practically sporting a chubby as he took the pen from the agent’s hand and signed on the dotted line without reading a word.

The dark haired man smiled triumphantly.

“So what team do you represent?” Leo asked. He was finally able to think after the heady intoxication of the money and accomplishment.

The Agent tilted his head toward Leo with a smirk, revealing a blinding blue glow, “Oh it’s not that kind of a contract… and I’m not that kind of an agent…”

The door behind them burst inward and Leo was vaguely aware of a large hand grappling his neck from behind. A small swath of cloth was jammed against his nose and everything faded to black… except for the glowing blue of two cruel sapphires.


Leo moaned.

His body ached.

He reached for consciousness.

The van rocketed forward.

Leo’s assailants sat well naturedly, talking in the front seat. The fenced partitioned left him isolated in the darkened carriage. He was drugged. That was his only thought. The only thought he could form. His mind fumbled hastily for answers, for help… but all he could focus on in his groggy teetering mind was that yes, in fact, he had been drugged.

He balanced painfully between darkness and drunken cogitation, desperately trying to stay awake.

“I’m told that Ludlum is a very powerful sedative, quite archaic but your host has a… shall we say “appetite” for the Archaic.” The guy from the Agent’s office was suddenly beside him. He wore an expensive waist coat with the collar pulled high, framing his face. The raven haired man gazed at him from flat sapphire eyes that were dull with disinterest.

“hooo…” Leo tried to say something… his head rolled toward the rowdy kidnappers driving him into captivity.

“Don’t bother,” The blue eyed man replied, “They don’t care. For all intents and purposes you’re just a package and I’m just the retailer.”

Leo again tried to speak but he began to drool on his chest instead.

“You see I felt you deserved an answer to your question; however, these gentlemen arrived before I was able to offer you a suitable response. You asked as to what kind of agent I truly am?” The man spoke with a detached and emotionless tone. It was clipped and academic but seemed positively extra terrestrial for its precision and apathy.

“I Leo Am, an Agent of Nemesis.” He said it with all the fervor as if he were declaring himself a grocer or a mail man. “Nemesis, The Greek Goddess appointed by Hera to act as the hand of justice for the gods. When Midas grew too greedy, when Narcissus too vain, when mortals abused the gifts with which they were blessed,” his eyes grew dark and evil, “it was Nemesis that was sent to deal with them.”

Leo felt the blackness close around him again but the voice droned on, “Nemesis was not justice. Nor was she was revenge.” The eyes grew terribly cold and brightened with zealotous fury, “She was retribution. A righteous affliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent… personified in this case by me. I am your punishment, you and your frat brothers, for you squandering your gifts.”

Damien assessed the spoiled frßat boy lulling helplessly beside him, the handsomely boyish face, the powerful shoulders and big chest. “You were given everything from birth. The right family. The right schools. The right trust fund. The right car. The right position on every team. Born handsome. Built strong.”

He gave the boy a flat look, “You could have been the best and brightest of your generation. Instead you are a spoiled, cruel, self involved bully with a good pedigree. I’m an agent to teach you that you are not special. You are not privileged. You are not entitled to anything. Your money, your family’s influence and your good looks are not some divine coronation that makes you better then anyone else.”

“…As for the contract. You truly let your greed get the better of you. You should have read it. You really did make a deal with the devil.”

The man sighed in what seemed like boredom “You’ve signed your freedom away for the promise of a few hundred thousand dollars… the paltry sums you could have made from your trust funds in a few simple months of proper investing. …But then greed knows no logic.”

The van stopped.

“Neither does wrath.” Damien paused for a long time. He watched the limp form of the muscled athlete with something that looked like remorse.

The kidnappers got out and came around to open the back. “You must have really pissed me off Leo.” He said without the slightest inflection or hint of emotion. “I let my wrath get away with me as well….”

The van door opened and the big goons hauled Leo’s slumped form out of it.

“You see…I’ve made somewhat of a deal with the devil myself…” The emotionless voice admitted before he slid out of the van.

One of the goons barked at Leo as they shouldered his weight, “C’mon Quarterback, Dr. Heart’s eager to get his hands on you.”

Leo’s Head lulled forward and he gave in to blessed unconsciousness.

Damien pulled his coat tight to him and followed the large thugs toward Heart’s Night club.

The good doctor’s night club was christened the King of Hearts. In the dim light of the late evening it seemed like any vacant five story warehouse space, except for the huge stained glass window that overlooked its dance floor. The brilliant red stained glass formed a huge multi faceted heart. It marked the club as its moniker.

A giant heart-shaped window seemed inappropriate for this hell hole. Damien mused as they entered. Instead, a sign reading, “abandon all hope ye who enter here”, would be more fitting.

The guards led them up a back stairwell. The goons carried Leo’s loose body like a sack of grain, with Damien ghosting at their heels. They were silent except for Leo’s groggy mumbling. There were a lot of floors to this club. It was more like an office building…

Damien mentally ignored his surroundings and steeled himself for his next challenge. He needed the upper hand tonight, right from the start… and to get that, he had turn to ice.

In the space of the moment, he embraced the cold winter chill of apathy. He smiled at the comfort. If you don’t care what happens, you can’t loose. Damien understood that now… and a part of him shuddered at the danger.

The stairs broke into a long hallway, that eventually led to Hearts’ suite of offices.

A bank.

Damien realized in cold analyses. This had been a Bank, or possibly it’s corporate headquarters… the club below was probably the lobby and vaults… up here… they approached Heart’s door… The CEO’s office.

The man himself was seated behind a fashionable desk. He was reviewing files on a laptop. The room was dark save for the bluish illumination on his handsome and youthful face. He smiled as they entered and flicked on a desk lamp. The soft light made the room seam cheery, and the Doctor’s benevolent smile of welcome was quite disconcerting. “Ah, gentlemen, you’ve arrived.”

“The kid’s sedated.” One of the goons grunted.

“Put him on the couch.” Heart instructed. His voice was gentle like he spoke with an errant child.

The goons grunted. They deposited their burden and left the office.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Rhodry, Rhodry Heart.” The man’s voice was charming and he offered his hand.

Damien kept his hand firmly in the pockets of his knee length black fitted coat. He looked at the hand in front of him and gave Heart’s extended appendage a curious look.

The Doctor retracted his hand and gave Damien an open relaxed grin. Then he waited. There was a very stony silence for about two minutes before Damien… out of sheer boredom said…

“I’m here to negotiate this kid’s contract.”

“I’m sorry?” Heart couldn’t hide his shock at the statement.

So much for the Mr. Rogers routine.

“Never say you’re sorry,” Damien mused, “Just send muffin baskets…”

Heart ignored the comment, and crossed back to his desk. “I’ve never seen you before, so allow me to educate you on how this works. The contract is non-negotiable I bought this young man’s contract from you, a one year agreement for servitude, and ownership. It’s really very simple.”

“Oh I get that.” Damien responded. The ice water in his veins was now arctic electricity. “I just thought I’d warn you. This…” Damien searched for the word, “Slave boy…” he said sarcastically, “is untrained.”


Ah there it was.

Wild fury played across Heart’s suave face. “What the fuck?!” HE spat slamming a hand on his desk and risking a quick glance at Leo’s beefy form, splayed across his leather couch.

There was definitely not going to be a trolley or puppets tonight.

“I spent three months doing recon on this kid and you’re telling me he’s not trained. He’s worth twice what I bought him for. College quarterback… Fucking handsome… virile as shit…” He composed himself and gave Damien a very scary look, “…And you’re telling me this shitbag is untrained. He’s worthless…”

“So train him.” Damien responded flatly, brining his hands out of his pockets. He crossed his big arms and toyed with a silver ring on his finger.

“I don’t train men.” Heart said, all calm and collected again. “I’m a mediary. I just provide my clients with men who are interested in their services.” Very professional and very convincing. The good doctor wasn’t in the slave trade. He wasn’t a human trafficker. He was just an excellent networker who made a tiny profit off of other men’s fantasies…

Damien smiled a wicked smile, “People who lie go to hell.”

Heart’s face twitched in fury.

“It’s true.” The stranger explained sweetly, “It says so in the bible.” He laughed.

“You are talking yourself into a fuck load of trouble son.” The doctor warned. “You’re in way over your head and you’re about to drown.” He threatened.

Damien ignored the Doctor’s tirade and began to inspect the decor of the vacuous office. “”You’re not my daddy. I’m not your son.” There was a warning in his tone. It cut the tension like a knife through warm butter. Then, Damien turned and smiled at him in a friendly way, “You’re very bad at concealing your emotions.” He observed. “You’re not a Doctor of Psychiatry.”

“I was a re-constructive surgeon.” Heart slowly answered.

“Oh…” The man smiled, He toyed with the information for a moment, a cat with a ball of string. “Reconstructive surgery.” He repeated. “Your own practice?”

Heart Nodded. “15 years.”

“Wow.” The stranger exclaimed in honest awe. His smile grew wicked again, “I bet that would give a man one hell of an ego.”

“What’s your point?”

“I don’t have much of an Ego,” Damien shrugged, and then seemed to grow devilish, “But my Id… Now that’s one hell of a thing.”

“Game time is over.” Heart announced in a calm booming voice, that actually made Damien pause. It was the voice of someone who expected to be obeyed. He almost instinctually did.

Damien considered the man in front of him for a moment. He wore a sleek fitted black t-shirt that looked like sleek corporate sex. He wasn’t actually tall. He was maybe 5’11, powerfully built though, which gave the perception of height. His muscles were so bulky, cut and defined that they were obvious in his clothes. A masculine build heightened by the arrogance of muscle bound gym bulk.

His salt and pepper hair didn’t not betray any age. There were only the barest of lines on his smooth handsome face, and if anything they gave him an air of dignity that he wore well. George Clooney on Steroids… was the most appropriate comparison.

His eyes were big, brown and fatherly with concern. However, they gleamed with the sharp razor’s edge that Damien had only previously noticed in predatory animals.

“I’ll offer you a bet.” Damien almost whispered. “You take two months and train the boy. If in two months time, he’s a fully trained and dutiful slave…” Damien dropped his coat from his shoulders showing his bare muscled torso. He exposed the wide rolling muscle of his chest and the dynamic spread of his lats. The coat dropped to the floor revealing the sweeping delts and the huge biceps.

“I’ll provide you with another slave for auction.” The Blue eyes slanted suggestively and Damien clutched his crotch lewdly.

Heart was a statue. No response. No reaction. He whistled under his breath. “You’re one crazy fucker, you know that?”

The man grinned a demon’s toothy grin. “I’m aware.” He was all playful sexuality now. He strutted towards heart provocatively. “Two for the price of one Mr. Slave driver, and only minimal investment.” He flexed his arms in repose in front of him, displaying the two-hundred and fifty lbs of muscled adult male he was. “We’ve established you have an ego… now tell me… are you a betting man?”

“I’m going to enjoy hearing you beg for my dick.” Heart replied.

The man just smiled satisfied. HE bent over giving Heart a full on look at his Herculean back and big masculine glutes. He picked up his coat and shrugged it back on.

“Two months Doctor. I sold you his contract for a song, my client expects his training to make his next contract sell for at least two million.” The stranger explained methodically.

“Two months?” Heart considered. He pulled a cigar from the mahogany humidor on his desk. “That’s enough time.”

“Yes,” The voice was cold and left the feeling of dread lingering in the air. “I’m told you are quite the professional.”

Heart inspected the merchandise dozing on his couch. The young man was in good condition and he was in fact prime real estate. The body was already incredibly fit and powerfully over built. Retooling would have to be done, but it would take immediately. “Why do you care?” Heart asked as he inspected his new acquisition.

“I don’t. Let’s call it an experiment.”

“Fine.” Hear shrugged. “My re-con says he comes from a well established family. His father is apparently the acquisitions director of an Oil Company. Will that be a problem?”

“Not if you’re good at your job.” The Agent Scoffed.


“MY FATHER IS GOING HAVE YOU FUCKING KILLED!!!” Leo roared from his sedated state. He made a halfhearted swing for the doctor. Heart grabbed the athletic arm and held it tight, “Oh ! We got a live one here.” HE laughed. Leo was still drugged but he kicked Heart square in the head. Heart retaliated with a swift brutal punch in Leo’s face. He tried to quickly compose himself, as he walked to his desk and pushed a button.

Two of his goons returned. “Take this to the box.”

Damien watched the men pass in silence. He took one last look at Leo’s handsome bloodied face, “And so Dante you descend into hell.” He whispered.

Damien Vaughn watched as Leo’s athletic and supple body was carried away to his hell. He watched the innocent unconscious face lull between the shoulders of his captors. He had transformed one man into a sexual boy toy. He had twisted time and fate to change another into a cartoonish barbarian… and now he had sold a human being into sexual slavery…

As Leo disappeared, so did whatever humanity was left in Damien. A part of him screamed… the demon he was could do nothing but laugh… “So now we both descend…”

He had courted the dark for so long, stood with his back to it…straining to look into the light. Now he realized how rich and luxurious the shadow he had cast all these years had become. The oblivion of its consuming corruption felt like the arms of an old lover.

No more, fighting.

No more, moralizing.

Just Power.

He was finally free.

And it felt like Hell in all its eternal glory.

The Demon cleared his throat, “Remember Doctor… Two months…”

“You’re a very interesting anomaly.” Heart said as he reached for a match. “I think I’d like to get to know you better.”

The doctor lit his cigar.

“Be careful when you light a match…” Damien warned as he turned to leave. “You never know when you may ignite… an inferno.” The sound of his voice echoed across the room in empty tones.

“Who are you anyway?” The Doctor asked. He chuckled to himself as he poured himself a drink.

“Vaughn… Damien Vaughn.” There was dark rasp of mad glee, “Or at least I used to be.”

The door shut behind him.

Dr. Heart smashed the glass in his hands.


“CARL!!” He Barked at his Head of Security, “I WANT THIS PERIMETER SECURE!!!”

When he was finished screaming into his intercom at his security staff, he flipped open his cell. “Where are you… Okay get up here now… and Gino… PROGRAM ALPHA 7616.”

The guards were loose and on the hunt. Gino was in a trance state and returning to his master. Heart Struggled to maintain his calm breathing. Ifß this punk was who he said he was… no that wasn’t possible… not possible.


Possibility really sucks. Most times the most impossible things are the ones that happen when you least expect them. Take Damien for instance. He was currently riding the elevator down from Heart’s penthouse. He stared at the glowing descent of the buttons and contemplated the utter destruction of his soul. It was a marvelous thing to watch. Sending Leo off to Hell was the final stroke of the ax. He was numb. No remorse. No regret. Not even any real pleasure… just numb. He felt like a shadow trying to exist in a world with no light.

It was as he was mentally trying to define the complete abyss, the obsidian mirror that had become his soul…when possibility intervened and Gino stepped onto the Elevator.

Gino stood silently and began to firmly and repeatedly press the button for the penthouse. The elevator ignored his urgency and continued to descend into the belly of the club. His unfocused eyes never once recognized the other passenger.

They stared at each other, uncomprehendingly. The two former friends looked at each other from behind new eyes.

A Demon’s and a slave’s.

The Demon recognized this man, as one of his victims. The slave felt like he should know this handsome stranger… but his only real thoughts were of obeying his master’s summons.

The Demon advanced on the slave’s robotic form. His body was as large as Gino’s and the scent of sweat and the musk of testosterone permeated the small elevator.

Blue eyes met green and for instant, they saw each other.

But then the Demon smiled.

The doors opened behind the handsome man in black. The loud music of the club erupted towards them, shattering the pristine silence of the moment.

The song in the club blared at them… “Do… Do have a first aid kit handy?”

The man in black gave a mocking flourish of his jacket, revealing his muscled chest and melted into the throngs of shirtless dancing fags.

…The slave struggled with every fiber of his being and whispered… “Damien?” Just as the doors shut again.

“Do…Do…you know how to patch a wound for me…:”

Damien surfed the undulating crowd. The primal rush of freedom and sexuality swept him through the room.

“My heart is damaged!” The girl group sang.

Men openly gazed at him in worship, desire, jealousy, love, hate, curiosity… he feasted on their eyes and felt himself pulse with the power of their adulation.


A hand caressed his ass here, another pressed against his chest their. His smile was the downfall of angels and his blue eyes glinted with the sins of saints…

“Alright pal, I’m here to take you in.” A voice informed him and pulled him gently from the crowd.

The man was about fifty. He was powerfully built, the body of a football coach squeezed into a black swat uniform. Handsome but tired blue eyes regarded him from the wrinkled face of a once breath taking man. Silver streaked hair matched a silver streaked mustache.

Damien regarded him inquisitively, “Now do you really want to do that…” He concentrated for a moment…”Carl?” He asked, plucking the name from thin air.

The older bear whistled under his breath. “So you are what they say you are.” Carl whispered in quiet astonishment.

“And what do they say I am.”

“A witch. Being the head of security in a gay bar you hear a lot of crazy things from drunk queens… tweaked out twinks and plain insane faggots… But I believe the stories I’ve heard about you.” Carl told the muscled stranger.

“Good. Maybe you’ll survive.” Damien offered pleasantly.

“The doctor wants you detained.” The head of security said simply.

The demon laughed, “But the real question is Carl, What do you want.” Damien saddled up close enough so that their square jaws were inches away from each other. He could feel the old man’s mustache and smell his aftershave, “If you believe the stories… Then you know I can give it to you.” He bit the silver haired bear on the ear. “What is it you want?”

Carl felt the pressure of the moment. His dick was ramrod hard with carnal possibility. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his weathered lips worked soundlessly. He felt the weight of his wide sagging shoulders, the exhaustion in his massive thighs and the infirm iron of his abdomen…

“Young…” He whispered in total naked honesty. “Make me young again.”

The Demon laughed contemptuously and pulled away from him. “Why doesn’t anyone want to grow old and die anymore? I’d find it a relief… personally.”

HE gave the head of security a dark, frightening look, “DONE. You’re only as young as you think you are…” He dissolved into the crowd and was gone.

Carl’s head shook like a split melon, his hulking frame doubled over as he pressed his hands to his temples. The world shook. His body trembled… He was going to loose his lunch. He plowed through the crowd and escaped into the men’s room. The swaying universe continued to turn inside his brain. He held onto the sink for dear life. He regained enough strength to turn on the faucet and began lapping water from his hands like an animal. What the fuck had that guy done? What the fuck was wrong with him. His body seemed to be swimming in hormones and insecure thoughts. He felt alone. He felt scared. He felt confused. He felt like a lost child.

Carl put two big hands on the sink and looked in the mirror. He wasn’t younger. He was still the 50-year-old man he had been moments before….only now he was dressed like some silly twink. A blue and white Spiderman t shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of tiny blue board shorts had replaced his black swat security uniform. His mustache was gone and his weathered face was shaved clean as an adolescents. His graying held was gelled high and spiky. A hairstyle for someone half his age.

He was so confused. He was afraid some one would come in and see him. What would he say? He couldn’t form one thought that wasn’t full of anxiety and doubt. His lip began to tremble and it looked ridiculous on the face of the once proud and stoic former military officer. He had been an army sergeant for twenty years. He had been trained in anti-terrorist combat… but now that all seemed like someone else’s story. All he could focus on was how timid and abandoned he felt.

He shook with anxiety. His big shoulders rolled underneath the tiny t-shirt. It was had to concentrate on his situation because his dick was as hard as a teenager' and his thoughts were as chaotic. He was horny. He was confused. He was horny. He was overwhelmed. He was horny.

“Jesus Christ, there you are!” A man exclaimed as he entered the bathroom.

He was tall about 21 with a shaved head and a light blonde goatee he was wearing a plain pair of Dockers and a pretty tame red polo. He was handsome if not slightly thin.

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” The young twink whined exasperated. “You know sometimes it’s like babysitting.”

Carl spontaneously stammered “Sorry.” He was overwhelmed with a rush of recognition for this weaker, younger, gayer man. He knew this kid, even though he had never met him.

The younger man came over to the mirror and began adjusting Carl’s top like he was a child. He smoothed the grey flat top and placed a Dragon ball Z ball cap on his head. “There you go baby, all put together.”

“Thank you, Jason.” Carl burbled. Jason. Jason was his boyfriend. A wave of adolescent lust swept over him washing away all thought. He immaturely began to thrust his big groin at the slim man.

“Oh Christ, There’s enough time for that later, all my friends said they wanted to see you flex later at the apartment, “ the blonde smiled an ironic smile he patted Carl’s thick manhood, “and you know only good boys get their dessert.”

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” Carl sang in a child’s voice and began to clap like a happy toddler at snack time. Jason slipped his hand down the back of the muscle daddy’s shorts and fingers the big ass’s red and shaved rosebud playfully.

Jason took his boyfriend Carl’s hand and led him from the bathroom and into a life where he was nothing more then a giant child trapped in a 50 year old muscleman’s body. Jason loved the fact that his “daddy” was really a naïve childlike bottom who dressed how he told him and obeyed his every whim. Carl was happy that he had a real grown up to take care of him and feed his pubescent sexual appetite.

Damien watched the twink and the ridiculously dressed muscle daddy cross the dance floor and laughed to himself.

“What’s so funny?” A handsomely dark man asked the demon.

Damien turned to the voice. The guy was short… maybe 5’8 but he had thick shoulders and dark hair gelled tight to his head. Damien considered the tight nylon shirt and designer jeans the guy was wearing, “Everything.” He said simply. “Why so serious?”

The short dark and handsome man scanned the crowd until his eyes settled on two big musclemen gyrating together on the dance floor. “You’d be serious too if your boyfriend was over there doing that.”

“Would I?” The demon asked with no emotion.

“He’s going to leave me. The second he doesn’t need me anymore…he’s gonna run off with one of these muscle fucks…”

The room seemed suddenly colder and the demon asked the stranger, “So he’d stay with you if he needed you?”

The littler man scuffed his feet and said angrily, “Yes.”



Across the dance floor one of the muscled dancers lost his balance suddenly and fell backward hitting the hard dance floor with a crash. The darkly handsome shorter man ran towards the fallen goliath.



The fallen man grimaced in pain, “Trevor …” said the injured man from his spot flat against the floor, “Trevor… I can’t feel my legs.”

Trevor turned to the dark haired stranger in horror. The muscled demon only shrugged his massive delts and said, “He’ll need you forever now.” He gave Trevor a blank stare and melted into the reveling dance floor…

Across the room, Calvin watched as the club staff rushed toward one of the muscle queens who must have slipped on her tiara. Calvin rolled his eyes and sipped his beer. He hated these bars. Regular guys like him, guys who worked there job at FedEx, paid their rent and watched porn on the internet didn’t belong in gay bars. Gay bars were for drama queens who needed to be the center of attention.

“Having fun, wallflower?” A voice asked beside him, low and seductive.

A shirtless muscle queen was leaning suggestively toward him. The guy locked him with a blue eyed gaze that sparkled like diamonds. “I was just thinking...” Calvin stammered, trying not to be nervous in front of, most likely. The hottest man who had ever spoken to him.

“You were just thinking about how you would like to be the center of attention for once.” The Demon answered.

“Yeah… I was.” Calvin said in a bewildered voice.

“Then today is your lucky day.”

Calvin hunched over and grabbed his balls in sudden incredible pain. His dick throbbed and swelled inside his plain khaki pants.

“You’re the best of show tonight.” The stranger mused and wandered away.

Calvin felt his body pulse and undulate underneath his sensible clothes. His sears button down ripped away as his chest and arms expanded with long toned muscles. His height shot up as his legs became long muscular and athletic, the khaki’s falling away to reveal his smooth equine thighs. The pain in his crouch soon became a dull throbbing as Calvin stood on shaky long legs. He looked at his once average phallus and was appalled to see a thick flaccid 12 inches of swinging, flopping cock meat waving between the big arc of his groin, “whaaa….” His voice was deeper and almost braying; he looked into one of the mirror lined walls and saw his now naked body. His center of gravity readjusted and he realized he was almost six foot six, with every long stretched muscle of his elongated torso pumped and oily. His teeth were bigger like huge flat white panels, forcing a now aquiline face to contort around their massive size. His light brown hair now seemed coarse, it was short and bristly. Two big droopy ears hung off him like comical shudders.

His giant dick swung as he turned and practically hit him in his taunt distended six pack. He wanted to scream in shock and terror but all he could do was laugh. He began to bray and hee-haw at the horse-hung freak in the mirror, all the while his big teeth grinning like an amused animal.

“C’mon, side show… time to do your act.” Said one of the club’s staff members. He led Calvin to a small raised platform with a spotlight. It was as easy as leading a horse to water.


The entire club turned to watch the tall stripper with the big donkey dick turn and gyrate to the music. No one could take their eyes away from the huge pony cock that dangled like a drain pipe against his thighs. Every eye in the house was on his big thick foot and a half baby-maker. And all the big stud could do was laugh. He bucked back and forth, hee-hawing like a silly mule the entire time.

With everyone watching the donkey show on stage, Damien lost interest in the crowd and drifted toward the bar.

Tim saw him coming. The guy was huge and cut. His upper body was massive with wide Lats and perfectly sculpted Traps that framed a masculine neck. And the Pecs… shit the guy had a weight rack. “You’re pretty big, bud What are you, 240?”

The ahirtless muscle man turned slowly and with a wicked smile of satisfaction, “I dunno somewhere between 250 and 260.” He shrugged his big delts in disinterest.

Tim puffed up his own chest. At 42 he had been lifting heavily for five years and was righteously proud of his 6’ 230 muscled frame. “Damn wish I could put on that kind of size. You mesomorph guys are so lucky.”

Damien assessed the posturing athletic man. He was handsome with a sparse crew cut and a Golds Gym Tank top, desperate to advertise his dedication to the gay man’s ideal of bigger bigger bigger. “What the fuck is a mesomorph.” He asked flatly.

“WOW!” a whiney plaintive voice interrupted him.

A small effeminate queen in a tiny t-shirt and thick glasses was staring, in rhapsody, at them. “You guys are so hot.” The gay boy breathed lustfully.

Damien gave the inferior man a look of supreme disdain.

Tim smiled broadly and said a very appreciative “thank you.”

The geeky guy’s eyes grew wide with reverence, “Are you guys into muscle worship? I’d love to worship you sir.”

Tim felt his pride swell, he loved this kind of attention.

Damien was laughing hysterically.

“Worship me?’ He laughed cruelly. “I’d be alright with you building an altar and sacrificing some live stock in my honor.” He spat. He flexed his arms and got close to the loser. The guy was practically trembling from the contact, “But that’s not what you want is it? You want to oil me up and awkwardly touch my body in some asexual attempt to get near my naked skin.” He gave the guy a look as hard as Diamond, “BEAT IT GEEK.” The guy was fleeing with his insecurities tucked between his legs before the demon could turn around.

“That was pretty rude.” Tim said distastefully.

The Demon gave him a heated glare, “I suppose you found that pathetic display… flattering.”

“You didn’t have to act like a dick.”

“You need wimps like that… don’t you?” The Black haired pin-up inquired. “You need someone to treat you like the big muscle stud… that you wish you were. Because just between me and you Tim… we both know your not that big. Sure you’re big for a queer but up against a real bodybuilder…” The Demon laughed, “You’re just a faggot who works out.”

Tim was taken aback and thrown off guard by the man’s vicious directness. “You don’t know me man…”

More Laughter. “Sure I do Tim.”

Tim had had enough of this cocky kid. “I know you too. You’re just a pricky arrogant bitch covering up his lack of class with his biceps. You’re an attention seeking delinquent. All Muscle, no Soul.” The remonstrating teacher inside Tim Chastised.

The Demon’s laughter grew louder. “Oh Tim…” The blue eyed gaze became murderous. “I’m not one of your students.”

“How did you…”

The muscled brat advanced on him pinning him against the bar and whispered in his ears like the buzzing of a dark wasp.

“You play the nice guy but deep down you want to be the cocky Muscle Queen. The Bodybuilding jock with no apologies. You yearn to have men lick your boots while all you wear is a posing strap and flex your enormous body.” Tim’s cock was twitching. The Demon’s voice grew deliberate. “You want to be a big old careless Brute. So big everyone has to acknowledge it. So big you finally believe it…”


“That’s alright Tim.” The demon smiled. “You don’t have to say it. I know you do. But you came to the table to late. Your thirties isn’t exactly the optimum time to start a career in bodybuilding… You spent too much time working on your soul…” Damien’s lips stroked Tim’s earlobe as their sweaty exposed chests rubbed together. “Too much time teaching Art to Kids… caring about things like politics… being a nice guy… trying to better yourself and your fellow man. Not enough time in a mirror with a barbell…”

“I love my job…” He stammered in defense.

“But you’d love to be 285 lbs of muscle and 8 percent body fat more, right?”

“I …”

“Sure you would,” The silky voice purred. “Lucky for you I have a way with time.”

The music seemed to blur in the backward the world stopped and for a moment all Tim could see and hear was the big muscle kid glowing like an azure firefly.

“No time for college… just a life time spent in a gym… no time for art… just endless reps on a weight bench… 20 years of life culture and love washed away in a river of sweat and vanity…”

Tim felt strange like something inside his mind was being stretched and twanged like a rubber band.

“You didn’t go to college… nope you met your work out partner and that was it. At 18 you traded in your soul for a Training program. That’s how you get to 289. All the people you helped. All the kids you taught… all gone. Never happened.

Protein. Cycles and roid raging to the next ten pound gains. Focused only on your personal selfish need… your bßody dysmorphia so developed and controlling you become completely unable to care about anything. Except of course, your size ambition. Your target weight more important then friends family or ha… love. Just a Soulless ton of male body image dementia.”

Tim considered the demon’s words… “No…”

“Too late.” The Demon’s smirk was devious, “Your lifting partner is looking for you Tim.”

The crowd parted a muscled man in an A&F T shirt was coming toward the bar. He was flanked by two Latin bodybuilders. One looked Mexican and WAS HUGE. The other was fairer probably Puerto Rican.

“Hey Bull Dawg.” Steve Conners greeted his old buddy.

Tim didn’t know this guy.

Yes he did.

He and Steve had started Lifting together. Way back in 85 after he got that job working for the recycling plant. It was 1985 and he was doing manual labor and lifting every day… No he went to Dartmouth in 85…. Yeah Him and Steve pumping the iron… in an old fashioned weight gym that was all cinder block and steel.

“Hey Conners.” Tim drawled. His voice sounded different bovine and shuddering with a deep bass.

“Dr. Heart has his Photographer here tonight he wants to get some pics of you and the boys.”

Tim looked at the boys. The fuck boys. Steve had learned and perfected his muscle building hobby with Tim. After ten years of cycling and training Tim, Steve had gotten bored and moved on to more exotic… things.

But they still hung out and fucked like old friends do. Hell Steve was the first guy to call him Bull Dawg. The only name he responded to.



Bull Dawg…

Tim suddenly felt the weight of his body crash onto him like gravity pulling a meteor to the ground. His chest heaved and he felt it like it was four feet of horizontal muscle flexing.

He could see his enormous reflection in the clubs myriad of mirrors.

The Golds Gym tank top rode up over his muscled brick walled roid gut. The strings strained against his grotesquely distended traps and his colossal shoulders looked more like cannon balls. Veins dissected every layer of stretch mark stained skin.

His pecs hung from his bloated torso, wide and ape like. Two huge crags of rock hard flesh. His stance was askew because his thick overworked quads made him stand akimbo. Tiny workout shorts disappeared beneath the girth of his inflexible thighs. He breathed in utter gratification. He was so wide. His face was swollen with extra weight giving his Jowls the look of an actual bull Dog.

His Biceps were ridiculous. Mammoth arms, that were in practicality totally useless because of their cumbersome size. Every ancillary muscle was pumped and trained making the body look more like an animals then a man’s.

He struggled with the mass that now seemed to be dragging him down. Dragging his thought process down. Pulling him further into the interior of this gargantuan muscled suit of armor. He tried to rest against the bar and found the position uncomfortable because the curve and width of his bizarrely developed back. His huge flagrant Glutes knocked over a bar stool.

Rage flared in his mind.

“Shit… This bar is too fucking small.” He spat.

“C’mon Bull Dawg.” Steve beckoned, motioning toward a back room.

Bull Dawg turned his misshapen bulk and irritably dismissed the other man. “Fuck no man. It’s late I got get my ten hours of sleep before my AM lift. I’m in the middle of my grow cycle…”

Conners gave him a flat look and listened to the meat head drone on self importantly about his workout regime… “Bull Dawg.” He finally commanded in a voice like iron. “I said move.”

The hulk angrily shook his mounds of powerfully over developed muscle, “Don’t play that silly mind trick shit with me…”

Steve leaned in and whispered in Bull Dawg’s ear. The Giant’s eyes glazed over and his tongue lolled out of his thick mouth.

“Good boy.” Steve said pinching his nose tiredly, “Now take your Viagra….” He popped a pill into the simpleton’s mouth. “..And go with the boys.”

The huge muscle god’s shambles into the back room like good dogs for a night of high priced muscle hooking and Steve escaped back to their hotel room for some well deserved rest.

On his way to the room where he would sit with his cock rigid while clients rode his erect dick like a circus ride, some unsuspecting man got in his wave.

Bull Dawg put one massive chubby fingered paw on the guys chest and launched him across the room. “Outta the way pussy.”

He strutted arrogantly through the crowd sneering at the wimps and scum that weren’t man enough to clean his jock.

“Lordy, Lordy, Lordy I can’t help it I like to party…” Damien mused. He pulled back his sweaty bangs and reveled in the stares his expose muscled torso garnered.

“Wind me up and watch me go, where I stop nobody knows…” He sang as he danced onto the floor.

The drumming back beat of techno remix throbbed in his ears. Sweaty men pressed against each other moving their bodies in time to the rhythm.

“S.O.S…” Rhianna sang above the undulating crowd. “la La LA Lalalala oh…”

Damien swam through the sea of male sexuality until his eyes caught a young toned boy writhing with shirtless abandon. The kid was angelically beautiful and his big blue eyes were brimming with blissful abandon. He wore a tight white bandana and white jeans snug against his youthful bubble butt.

“I’m obsessive when just the thought of you comes up… I’m aggressive…”

Damien’s hips moved to meet the pretty boy’s tempo. They moved like animals, their bodies swaying in a primitive mating dance.

The kid’s name was Drew and he was more then happy to let this handsome stranger dance with him.

Drew’s eyes were alight with the joy of his young body moving to the music. He was brimming with the simple pleasure of his uninhibited movement.

Damien’s hand instinctively reached for the kid’s tight waist and rubbed his hands down the taunt six pack. Drew responded by grinding his groin into Damien’s thigh.

“Please someone help me… it’s not healthy for me to feel this way...”

The kid’s smile was broad and genuine as he shook his shoulders in time to the beat. Damien let his larger body twist with the Kid’s energy, all the while watching the joy and twinkle in Drew’s eyes. His whole body was on fire with delight.

“Oh you are making this hard…” The music crooned.

“You’re a really good dancer!” The kid yelled over the booming noise.

“Thanks.” Damien smiled.

They continued to dance and all the while Damien was mesmerized by the happy dancing man in his arms. He was totally apart of the moment. Happy and free. Naïve and uncomplicated, the kid was freer then the Demon could ever hope to be.

“I’m sorry…” Damien whispered.

“Why?” the kid asked with a big unguarded grin.

“Because I’m going to do something terrible to you.”

The kid laughed. “Why would you want to do that?” He asked in amusement.

Damien’s blue eyes grew troubled and his jaw trembled in confusion. His voice cracked when he admitted, “I don’t even know anymore…”

Drew moved to comfort the distraught bigger guy. He was intercepted by several large security officers.

The music grew harsher and the troubled blue eyes turned back to Steel.

“Boy you got me open I don’t know what to do …”

Ten large members of the security force formed a circle around Damien.

“You are making this hard…”

Damien slipped passed their ranks and managed to climb onto the scaffolding of the stage.

“This hard.”

Gino and Dr. Heart made it to the Dance floor just in time to watch their muscled, raven-haired query flip his self onto the stage.


Gino’s breath caught as he watched Damien’s bulky bare torso strain under his own weight. He regained his footing and stood solitary on the stage. The lights overhead strobbed and flashed a thousand colors while the crowd shook below him. Behind the sweating mage, the giant Stained glass window glittered and sparkled, framing him in red.


“FUCKING GET HIM!” Heart screamed beside him.

Gino took an eager step forward.

“Not you, bitch!”

The security team enclosed in on Damien, climbing onto the stage and advancing on their prey.

The music reached a terrible crescendo and the reverberating back-beat seemed to become impossibly louder. It shook the walls of the club as it built farther. The throbbing was like a thundering wave about to break. The guys in the crowd were holding their ears and doubling over in pain. The ceiling began to rain plaster down on the crowd. The lights vibrated insanely.

On the stage Damien seemed to be harnessing all the energy in the room. Soaking it in like a sponge. The veins in his arms strained. His fists clenched.

Things began to spiral radically out of control. The music slammed. The club vibrated. The security force dropped to their knees against the percussion of the reverberating noise.

The pulsing beat had just achieved the level of unbearable. Damien looked up, his eyes a desperate vivid cobalt, he pierced through the dark of the club and the distraught crowd, to look directly at Gino.

His pleading gaze met Gino’s without the slightest hesitation.


Damien’s body convulsed.

The stained glass window behind him pulsed.

Gino threw himself and Dr. Heart to the ground.

The window shattered into a thousand glittering shards of stained glass.

The broken Heart released the music and the club erupted into absolute chaos.

For one brief moment the entire dance floor was covered in what looked like fairy dust.

When Gino regained his feet the Demon was gone.

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