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Hank was proud of his dick
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Hank was proud of his dick. He had gone into the adult bookstore the first
time as a curious man, and bored by the magazines in the front, saw the
curtained doorway with the sign, MOVIES, overhead and passed through. At
the display, the only other man he had seen had walked up beside him, and
tried to appear as if he too were deciding which movie to watch.
Hank knew, of course; he could smell dickhunger a mile away. Not knowing
how to get his dick sucked back there, though, he went into a booth and
dropped a quarter. Barely a minute after, he heard the door to the next
booth squeak and he saw the tongue sticking through the hole.
One day when he went into the bookstore, he had run into Jake. Hank had
left with Jake, but they had not gone home. Jim was at the house, Jake had
said, and as they passed the new truck stop on the edge of the city, Jake
exited onto the old highway.
They had built the new four-lane three years ago, almost right on top of
the old highway. There was a six-mile stretch of the old road left, which
exited on both ends onto the new highway. Along the stretch of road there
were three dirt roads that went off into the country, and there was the old
rest stop.
At the one end of the old road there was the new truck stop, and at the
other, less than a mile after it joined with the new highway, there was a
new, big rest stop. As they pulled into the stop, Hank was surprised to
see two rigs and a pickup.
The old john was dirty, smelling of stale piss and cum and cigars. Hank
had to piss, and walked up to the old, yellow-stained trough urinal, and
as he undid his pants, he looked down and saw that there was an inch-deep
pool of piss standing in the trough, from one end to the other.
Hank pulled his dick out, but before he had softened enough to piss, Jake
was on his knees next to him, begging, and Hank laid his cock on Jake's
tongue and used his first human toilet. After that first time, Hank knew
he was never going to use a toilet again while either Jake or Jack's mouth
was around.
Hank made Jake and Jack his toilets, and began to take Jack out to the stop
and would watch him get on his knees and lap the stale piss from the trough
or Hank would piss on the floor while Jack was on his hands and knees, then
make him beg for it as they both watched the dirt from men's boots that was
caked onto the cement dissolve slowly into the yellow pool. Eventually
Hank would put his boot between Jack's shoulder blades and push his face
down into the pool and watch him slurp the muddy piss up like a dog.
Bruce hesitated. Hank looked down at the pussy on her hands and knees,
and knew any resistance had to be nipped in the bud. Like he had Jack, he
put his boot on Bruce's back, inbetween the shoulder blades, and shoved.
Before Bruce could lift her face from the piss on the floor, the boot
pinned her neck down, and the order came again: "Clean the floor, faggot!"
It was Jake, though, who worshipped not only Hank's big dick, but his long,
loose foreskin. Hank could let him lick and chew at his overhang for hours
at a time, and he taught Jack how to pay proper respect to a man's skin.
And that made him even prouder of his skin than his dick.
Hank was more than curious about what happened when his Daddy took Jake
down into the basement. There had always been a locked room down there,
a room he had never been allowed to see, around the corner from the stairs.
One day after he and Jack had been whipped, and after he had worked Jack's
ass with his belt and dick, he quietly snuck down the basement stairs.
The basement was dark, save for some flickering light coming from around
the corner. Jack slowly moved to the corner and cautiously looked around.
And even though he had shot his wad twice within the last two hours, what
he saw made his big dick stiffen and drip sticky juice into his jeans.
Jake was totally naked, suspended from a beam above his head by his wrists
with his legs held apart by a long bar. The candle light glittered on the
sweat that rolled off his body as Jim, seated on a stool in front of him.
Jim released Jake's ankles from the bar, then pulled his belt from his
jeans and released Jake's wrists. Jake crumpled to the floor on his hands
and knees and offered his ass. As Jim brought his belt down hard across
Jake's butt, Jake began to lick his boots in fervent gratitude.
After thirty solid strokes, Jim said something Hank did not understand.
Jake rose to his feet and walked over to the other side of the room, and
climbed into the first sling Hank had ever seen. Jim locked the restraints
around Jake's wrists and ankles, and gave Jake's bruised ass twenty more
before he dropped the belt and disappeared for a moment.
He returned with a can of Crisco.
Hank almost shot his wad in his jeans as Jim greased his huge arm and then
began to insert his fingers into Jake's asshole. Jim stopped long enough
to put a small metal cylinder into Jake's nostril, and slowly, his big hand
disappeared inside Jake's hole.
As Jim's wrist moved ever so slowly in and out, Jake writhed and groaned,
and as Jim reached with his free hand, Hank saw the box. Jim clipped the
leads on the box to the two wires hanging free from the board Jake's cock
and balls were pinned onto, and then turned a dial on the box.
And slid his arm further in, halfway up to his elbow. And as Jim's arm
slid all the way in to his elbow, Hank's balls boiled over into his pants.
Hank was not satisfied with his life. Hank didn't want a bottom, he didn't
want restricted domination. Hank wanted a slave, and he knew that he could
never own Jack's body and soul while they lived on the farm.
When they were seventeen, Hank and Jack moved to the city. Hank was making
good money as a mechanic, and he took complete control of Jack's life. He
did not allow Jack to work, but kept him as his slave in the house, a slave
whose life revolved around Hank's pleasure and nothing else. Hank kept his
slave shaved and collared, as his Daddy had Jake. Hank didn't want just a
slave, however; Jack was a pussy, and Hank wanted to push Jack down, to
train her to be what she was deep inside, and nothing more.
Jack had, ever since he first fell to his knees to suck Hank's dick, been
fascinated by the pictures of panties in the Sears catalogue. Hank didn't
understand this at first, but after living away from the farm with Jack as
his very own property, he saw how he could use it.
If Jack thrived on humiliation, the one thing that tore his soul apart and
left him a mindless, shuddering mass of worshipful flesh was not an action
on either Jack's or Hank's part, but merely one word. Calling Jack a pussy
was Hank's most powerful weapon, and one that he wielded frequently.
Hank took Jack to the mall and marched him into the women's lingerie store.
He crossed his arms across his massive chest and watched while Jack asked
the woman who was working there where he could find the panties. She told
him and he looked imploringly at Hank, who narrowed his eyes, then back to
the woman. Jack blushed purple as he gave her his waist size and asked her
what size panties he would wear, loudly enough for every head in the store
to turn and stare ... and both Jack's and Hank's dicks were rock hard from
Jack's public humiliation.
Bruce woke in the middle of the night, his little dick
hard. He walked into the hall, saw that the light in the TV room was on,
and remembering why he had been sent to bed, stopped to listen. Nothing.
Hesitantly, he tiptoed into the room on his way to the bathroom on the
other side.
His uncle, big, brawny and hairy, slept sprawled in the armchair. Bruce
felt his knees wobble as he looked at the massive body and the long, thick
outline of a half-hard dick in the old, worn-out boxers, and as he remem-
bered the woman coming over, being sent to bed and listening to the noises
from the room, his tiny pecker got stiff again. Bruce was frightened, and
wanted to move, but could not, and as he gazed at his uncle, he moved in
the chair, flinging one arm above his head and his other hand pulled at the
big dick in his sleep.
Bruce was often shipped to his uncle's, everytime his father went on the
road. The big man did something, struck some powerful chord within Bruce
that he did not understand, and both fascinated and scared him. And now,
looking at the sweaty, bushy armpit and the hardening dick, Bruce was
losing control. And the long, thick dick drew his eyes, making him hungry
making him painfully conscious of how tiny, how inadequate, how worthless
his own peter was, making him feel that dick-dripping shame, and knowing
that his little dick would never grow, would always be useless.
Like his brother, Bruce's uncle used the word "pussy" liberally, but if
hearing his father say it had always made Bruce feel limp and shaken with-
in, hearing his uncle say that word tore Bruce's soul apart and left him
gasping. And Bruce found himself drawn to things he did not understand.
His uncle worked on a construction crew, and often he would come home
from work, change clothes, eat and go out (as Bruce found later, to get
his hard-on taken care of.) Bruce rapidly discovered that the workboots,
caked with dirt and filth from work, and the sweaty-stiff socks, made his
mouth water. If his uncle noticed that everytime he went out at night his
boots were spotless when he returned, he gave no sign.
Bruce tore his eyes away and began tiptoeing toward the bathroom again,
then stopped, his heart pounding in his throat. There, on the knob of
the bathroom door, hung a pair of pink satin panties, the little blue
hearts covering them, matched by the blue lace trim on the waist and legs.
They pulled at his guts like nothing, not even the grimy boots, had ever
done before, and for what seemed like forever, he fingered them, enjoyed
their sheer smooth coolness.
Bruce tossed in his bed for another hour, unable to push the panties out
of his mind. The longer he lay there, the more powerful their call became,
until he collapsed inside, and tiptoed back out into the TV room.
His uncle had not moved, his hand still on his dick. Softly, Bruce walked
across the room to the bathroom door. Slowly, he pulled his own white
jockeys off, and almost reverently, pulled on the panties. Immediately
he was awash with a feeling of rightness that he had never felt before,
for the first time feeling somehow that something belonged to his nature,
feeling the hot shame rush through him more deeply than ever before ...
and as he looked at himself in the panties, turning in front of the full-
length mirror on the bathroom door, he saw his uncle standing behind him,
his hand pulling on his dick, then heard him say "pussy" ...
Jack wore nothing in the house but the collar and prissy silk panties. The
panties made Hank hot, hot to beat ass, and hot to fuck the hole underneath
them, and Jack's ass got Hank's belt every day. There was only one problem
as far as Hank was concerned: Jack's dick was too big. Hank saw several
boys in town on a regular basis, pussyboys like Jack, but pussyboys with
little dicks who loved to be humiliated because they had no dicks.
Hank decided that he would take what dick from Jack he could, though. Hank
took his razor and clipped Jack. And as a further mark of ownership, Hank
branded Jack's ass. Hank wanted Jack's balls, though, and he was waiting
until the right time to take them.
And then they were both drafted.
Bruce was just like Jack, even more so. They were both starving, both knew
they were pussies, both disgusted with having to deny what they were. But
Bruce did not have that one fatal flaw that Jack had had, a man's dick:
Bruce had just about the tiniest excuse for a cock Hank had ever seen, no,
not a dick, but a little boy's pee-pee that did not grow during puberty, a
pussydick so small that it was completely hidden by the hair around it, a
peter smaller now than Hank's had been when he was a child.
And nothing made Bruce's dick grow to a skinny two-inch hard-on like being
humiliated because of his little pussydick, just like Hank's CO at the
stockade.
The big dick throbbed in front of Bruce's face, his Uncle's dick; and as
Bruce felt the saliva drip from his chin, his Uncle beat him in the face
with the rockhard mandick. When his Uncle had directed that word at him,
there in front of the mirror with those prissy panties on, Bruce had been
unable to prevent his knees from collapsing. Now he was being fed for the
first time, and his Uncle held his head in an iron grip as the hot piss
flooded his throat ...
Jack had been given active duty. Hank, on the other hand, was an MP in a
stockade, a position that fit him well. He got a lot of blow jobs, as well
as ass, from the prisoners. Two, however, got most of his attention: a hot
little dicksucker who more than appreciated Hank's belt, and the CO.
The CO was one big motherfucker, tough as a sonofabitch outside, but a real
pussy inside. And his dick, no more than four inches hard and one soft,
was his weakest point. Hank drove his knife deep into that point, and
twisted the blade. He got hot as an oven watching the CO on his hands and
knees eating dogfood from the bowl on the floor and when he was finished,
Hank would fill the clean bowl with his piss and watch the CO lap it up,
often taking the CO's razor strop to his candy-ass while he drank.
And the CO would lick his boots in gratitude.
Even though Hank had plenty to keep his dick hard, he and Jack wrote to
each other. Hank felt a much closer bond to Jack than the owner does to
his prize horse; there was a fraternal emotional tie that could not be
broken.
And when Hank heard that Jack had been blown up into a thousand bits, he
took out his frustration and pain on the CO, and put him in the hospital.
That got Hank a quiet discharge, and he found himself alone again, and
wanting a slave. He found living at home too empty to deal with, and moved
to Georgia.
Hank drowned Jack from his mind with beer and whiskey.
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