Warning: Hard Kink (BDSM, Hyperscent, Gay Skinhead)
You try to call out to your friend, who is slumped over and breathing shallowly, but merely inhaling to moan fills your lungs and sinuses with the disgusting smell from the sock. You can't cough, you can't moan, you can't scream. All you can do is try to wriggle your hands out of the tight ropes which bind you. Though just as he starts to raise his head and look at you, blood streaming down from the small wound on his forehead, the sound of clanking metal and a creaking hinge from behind you makes your blood run cold. Heavy footfalls atop crackling glass and dirt draw near to you, before a warm, wet tongue runs down the back of your neck. You whip your head around to reveal the culprit himself.
He was tall, maybe 6'3, in bleached skin tight black jeans and massive leather boots. Tattoos adorn his sculpted but grody body, slick with sweat and soot. His head is shaved, a thick and clearly very heavy chain and padlock hangs around his muscular neck, and a maniacal grin is plastered on his twistedly handsome visage.
"Well, well. Looks like I found myself two little good boys, eh?" He chuckles to himself, before slapping the back of your head as he walks to the center of the room. He kneels down in front of your friend, who is still reeling from the likely concussion he sustained. "Fuck, mate, I really walloped ya, didn't I?" His thick accent insinuated he wasn't from around here. He bends down grabbing your friend's cheeks, and lifts his head up to meet his gaze. "You're a right posh fucker aren't ya? Makes this all the more fun, yeah?" Another slap on the cheek, and he rises again to full stature.
Even though he stands perhaps four or five feet in front of you, the scent emanating from him certainly travels: stale cum, cigarettes, wafting sweat, and fresh lager. The cavalcade of musky smells do a number on your mind, and you're stuck with either breathing in the fetid sock lodged in your maw, or the mustiness of your captor through your nose. You struggle against your bindings once more, before he takes notice of you. Grinning from ear to ear, he strides over you, crouching down to meet you. The liquor wafts from his slackjawed grin.
"How's my sock taste, mate?" Your eyes shoot daggers at him, though he seems entirely unperturbed. "It's right tasty, innit? Haven't taken it off in weeks, posh boy. Sittin' in these boots marinating just for you. Cheesy, filthy stink just like my pouch." He grabs ahold of his grotesque bulge, straining against the denim as if it were a baseball hidden in his jeans. The button snaps open, and the browned, stinking jockstrap wafts forward out of its prison, bulging out as if to stretch after a long sleep.
Shoving his hand down into the crevice, he gropes himself for a moment before slipping it back out dripping in precum. He brings it to his own face, taking a sharp breath of it before groaning in ecstasy. Now mirroring yours, his eyes dagger back at you, before his grips his hand over your nose. You take in that overwhelming stench of cum and piss, little flecks of white cheese being pressed firmly against your face. "Yeah, you love that shit. I can tell a mate when I see one." You try not to breathe, but that shame which you would feel for partaking in his degeneracy loses strength for just a moment. You take it in. It's sharp, stinging scent penetrates your mind, and you can barely contain yourself. Huff after huff you take it in, and to your own horror, had his stinking sock not been lodged in your mouth, you would have licked every last drop. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean before walking back into the shadows behind you.
You hear him rustling around in what sounds like a thick duffel bag, and you take the opportunity to desperately try and kick at your friend. In this moment, you just hoped to GOD that he would stir awake and at the bare minimum you wouldn't suffer alone. Selfish? Of course. But caught in situations like this, instinct is all that dictates what you can do. Each sad little swing of your foot misses his stirring head by mere inches, while the captor's laughter bellows out from the shadows. Futile. Entirely futile.
"You got spirit, posh boy! I'm glad you get to see what's to come for you, maybe it'll take a load off your shoulders." The captor walks back into view, dragging the massive leather duffel bag to the center of the room. Anticipating the absolute worst, you clamp your eyes shut and wait to hear the clinking of knives, the hollow slide of a baseball bat, the sound of a locked and loaded gun... Though all you hear as he shuffles through the bag is soft ruffling then the gentle clanking of a chain. You open one eye back up, and the captor is holding a short chain with padlock on the end. "Yeah, mate. Now, you watch closely, you hear?" He points at you, still maniacally grinning from ear to ear, before walking behind your friend. Your muffled cries for him to wake up are entirely stifled by the grime imbued sock, so by the time he bends down beside him you can do nothing as he wraps the chain around your friend's neck and clamps the lock shut with a sharp click.
Immediately, your friend jolts up straight and begins to moan. You watch in horror as his skin begins to flush, turning paler and paler. Struggling against the ropes digging into your flesh, you scream against the sock for him. Beneath the porcelain skin his body begins to bubble and contort, his bones cracking and bending in impossible angles before they stretch outward like rubber snakes. Through your tears it looks as if he's being filled with some sort of liquid; his muscles begin to inflate and squirm as the liquid began to worm its way down his pecs and arms.
"Heheh, yeaaaaaah, grow for me boy." Your captor laughs as hocks a thick spit onto his dirty hand. He drools as you both watch the fluid reach your friend's cock, quickly growing amast and squirming left to right as it lengthens and thickens. The captor balls his slimy hand onto the growing monster now slowly retracting it's dripping head into a long smelly hood. Pumping it with an animalistic strength, quite literally beating it, black lines grow from the base up the shaft as he bates it. The lines shift and fade rapidly, eventually finding their resting place and darkening into intricate tattoos all the way to the leaking, now cheesy foreskin. "Big boy, yeah? Lookin' a right fit fucker now!" Turning away from your friend's inflating thighs and calves, your captor turns to you, insane with lust. "You watchin' over there, boy? You wanna have this musty cock all up in your mouth, don't ya bruv? Clean it all out for him, yeah? Taste your bruv's essence while he shoots his dirty cum down your throat?"
Just as his feet had begun to stretch, contort and crack, increasing size by size in mere seconds and beginning to grow shiny with stinking sweat, the duffel in the center of the room begins to shudder. Your gaze shoots immediately to the open bag, waiting for some horrific creature to squirm out of it. Though, your brain straining at it's final threads of sanity could not handle nor comprehend the sight of a yellowed, piss stained jockstrap plop out and slowly slide across the floor toward your friend, leaving a trail of musky cummy sweat as it drags itself over his feet, up his legs and up to his bubbling ballsac beneath the captor's pumping hand drenched in precum. The room begins to spin as your mind fractures, blurring your sight, and having only the echoing sounds of bleachers, filthy socks, and ripe combat boots slipping themselves onto the body of your former friend keeping you grounded. Your sight darkens with black specks clouding your vision, you hear his moans grow louder and louder before one final loud snap & crack, and the sound of a gushing, gloopy geyser shooting into the air and landing in a puddle with a loud splat. The room goes black as night for what seemed like seconds, and as your vision slowly starts to come back, your eyes fixate on the captor and who used to be your friend suckling on eachother's faces. You scream, and the captor pulls away to smirk at you before laughing.
"Locked in, mate!" He snatches ahold of the chain around the new skinhead's neck, jingling the links against the padlock. "Can't get it off if he wanted to. He's locked into being this sexy, manly skin." They grab eachother's faces, and continue to aggressively make out, their hands wandering from pinching nipples and groping ass to chokeholds and cock massages. Your friend is now filth, abrasive, crass, stinking, depraved, but watching their heads pull apart only to slowly turn to you with psychotic lusty grins, you know your time has come.
You scream bloody murder, only for muffled shrieks to barely escape your lips, as the captor struts over to the duffel bag and your former best friend, now worn by some corrupted energy, walks over to you slowly unzipping his fly. He pulls his bleachers down, revealing the stinking jock you saw weasel it's way onto his crotch. He grabs you roughly by the hair, forcing you to look him in the eye. There is no glimmer of who he was in there, not even suppressed in some nightmarish state of voyeurism, it's him. Corrupted, twisted, and perfected. He stares at you with wild eyes, slowly drawing your closer and closer to his pouch. Something within you finally snaps, and the truth finally washes over you: it's hot as fuck. Perhaps it's a twinkle in your eye, or a lowering of your eyebrow, but he catches on quickly. Sadistically smirking before plunging your nose directly into his crotch. Your inhibitions completely annihilated, you give into the rauch and libido, taking deep whiffs of his stinking meat with euphoric frenzy.
"Ah hahah. Yeah, thought so, mate. Can't resist, yeah? Never will, ever again. Time to let go, bruv. Embrace the filth, embrace the sex, embrace the attitude, embrace the masculinity!" The click of the lock around your collarbone is the seal of your fate. Your bruv rips the tape off your face, releasing the sock gag from your mouth, only to whip out his monstrous, grimy cock and plunge it into your gullet. The taste as he thrusts forcefully into your throat is like the sweetest mana from heaven: slimy, sour, savory... primal... alpha.
You're so entirely encompassed by the pleasure and worship, you only revel in the pain as your bones snap and break. The tips of your toes sense a warm lugubrious force press against them, enveloping them, before something tears and it begins to rush into your body. Your feet swell with the rushing fluid, stretching outward with creaks and groans, growing slick to touch and fragrant to smell. Your bruv pulls his cock out your begging mouth, huffing and dripping sweat from his shaved head. Smirking, a switchblade is pulled out of his pocket, while you moan and squeal from the fluid inundating your now hairless legs. Slicing the rope open, you fall to hands and knees, for mere moments before his thick, calloused hands have dug into your plump, inflating ass. Peering up with drool and fetid precum streaming from your lips, you see the two of them on either side of you and can only smile with a lewd mania in your eyes.
"Gotta learn to give if you're gonna take, bruv." The leader of your gang smiles wildly before pulling his bleachers down, slapping his firm, smooth ass. Finding a strength never before felt within you, you pick yourself up off the ground, the sound of your massive, wet feet splotching on the dirty concrete floor echoes in your ears. Your cock is quickly flooded, and it snakes out, contorting and squeaking as it stretches as if it were searching for a hole. Your hunger sets in, and you grip onto his cheeks, grinning with ferocious lust before you plunge your face and tongue into his crack. You lap at his sweaty ass, savoring his funky, tangy taste while your best bruv lines his polluted cock with your own tight hole. Eager beyond all reason, you push backwards, letting his slimy pre lubricate his entrance into you. He growls, grabbing your waist and thrusting hard into you.
Your waist slims down, as if your belly had melted away, seeping into your dripping cock now hooded, leaking, and ripe. You relish the pain as he takes your new self's virginity, before he allows you to stand as he fucks you from behind. A need, deep from within to breed takes over your mind and you grab the leader yourself and impale him on your own monster cock. A human centipede of fucking skinheads, no hotter image in your mind can you conjure. The incomparable feeling of your guts being rearranged while being balls deep in a tight, slimy ass: you allow it to engrain itself into your psyche. You peer down, watching your chest and arms slim and firm up, your own bad ass ink bubbling up onto your pecs and hands, while the grotesque outline of your bruv's cock protrudes from beneath the skin of your abs; in and out.
You huff as the leader milks your churning balls, and the liquid rises up your throat, into your mouth. Sounds of slapping, squeaking, grunting, sloshing, glorping only bring out a long locked fever within you, prepared and aching to fulfill your destiny. The sludge breaches into your head, and you scream as you shoot your load deep inside of the leader, emptying gallon after gallon into him. You feel your nose crack, your skull warp, completely being swallowed by the force as your bruv unloads his own tub's worth of his seed inside of you, and with one final cacophonous crack, you're one of them.
Your bruv dismounts you, and your leader pulls himself off your rod, while your ripe, stinking jockstrap snakes its way up your powerful, lean legs, hammocking your slimy tool into it's acrid pouch. The leader turns to you, grabbing you by the back of your firm neck and yanking you into a disgusting, sloppy kiss. Your stained yellow bleachers and latex suspenders slide up your legs as you make out, your bruv burying his nose into your ripe pit.
"Yeah, pig boy." The leader coos at you wide eyed and wild, the hot, youy wet socks slurping onto your rank size 14 foot. "Welcome to the family, boys!" He spits in your open mouth, and you let his loogie roll over your smoke-stained tongue as you slide your foot into your stinking, shining boot. "Time to have a bit of fun on the town, don't you think?" Your second boot laces itself tight onto your shin, only to be removed to enjoy and to be worshipped. The leader flicks your thick nose ring, letting his finger slip into your mouth for you to suckle.
---
You stand outside on the street, surveying the mid-evening crowd as they pass by you. Looks of disgust, fear, and unsurprisingly lust meet you with each person that walks past. Soon, you'd have a whole city full of filthy, depraved fuckers that would deserve to experience the full unbridled pleasure that you are. Bringing your cigarette to your lips, you take a nice drag, blowing a large cloud of smoke into the ocean of people. Your leader expects new brethren, new apostles in his debauchery, and it's your job- no, your entire existence to stick your potent dick into whatever begging hole comes across you. To ordain in your church of filth, sadomasochism, and hedonism.
That's when you spot him. A weasly little fucker across the street, almost drooling over the very sight of you from his bus stop bench. He's hiding his hardon under his little laptop bag. You lock eyes with him, extinguishing your used cigarette on your pierced tongue before strutting over to him. He realizes quickly where you're headed, and scrambles to gather his things. It's no use for him. You plop down next to him, tossing your arm around his shoulder and drawing him close. Others waiting for the bus to arrive can't help but stare and gawk in disapproval, but it makes no difference. He looks up at you, mere inches from your sweaty, radiating pit, and all you need to do is wink and a little wet patch forms on his jeans. Sneering, you let your free hand slide down your slim abs, beneath your waistband and into your jock, cupping your precum-slimed balls and unwashed cock before bringing it to your face and taking a deep breath. Gasps and shock washes over the crowd, who angrily disperse with little more than rageful groans. You look at the little fuck, peering up at your face with hungry, needing eyes before you cover his nose and face with your grimy hand.
He squirms in ecstasy, letting your corruptive essence enter him as he laps up your smelly slime as if he's never eaten before. Yeah. This one is a good one. You can't wait to bring him home, rough him up, and see just what kind of a bruv comes out.
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