Slob Control - If I Could Do It Again...

This was becoming a habit, Winston thought to himself as he finished his drink at the bar. Every Friday night, he seemed to end up here, at The Alley, always with the thought that maybe he’d find someone to take home with him, someone that would make him feel less lonely, but he was beginning to suspect that the problem might just be him. He’d lost it; missed the boat; past over the hill, he was rolling and tumbling into a gulch. These were the thoughts haunting him at forty-eight, he loathed to think what the next decade would look like. More weight, more receding hairline, another promotion at work and no life to show for it. He waved at the bartender, asked for another, and sighed. This was just as pointless as sitting at home in front of the TV until he passed out, but doing that required admitting that he was beyond desperate, that he was hopeless. He wasn’t there yet. Close, but not yet.

The bartender set down his next beer and cleared away the last glass. He could almost pretend it was his first, a clean slate. He looked around at the bar, and noted that the vibe in here seemed different that usual. He made a comment about it to the bartender, who gave a little shrug. “New owner, wants the place feeling a little more lively.”

If by “lively”, you meant “guys giving each other blowjobs in the booths” then Winston supposed he’d succeeded. It was the 2020’s, he’d imagined that they were all beyond that sort of behavior. He’d like The Alley mostly because while seeming like a dive from the outside, most of the regulars were just your run-of-the-mill office workers from downtown—the gay ones, of course—coming to enjoy each other’s company. There were still a few of them around, but they seemed more and more out of place. Instead, there was much more leather, denim, skin, and more than one guy smoking cigars inside, which hadn’t been legal in the state for decades either.

“What’s up bud, you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” a voice said beside him. He looked over and saw a rather dirty looking bear, wearing jeans, suspenders and not much else, showing off a big hairy gut. “Name’s Bill, I’m the new owner. Heard my bartender mention me, my ears were burnin’, figured I’d say hello.”

“Oh, uh, hey. Name’s Winston,” he took Bill’s extended hand and shook it while the man smiled at him. He was unnerved at first at the man’s sudden entrance, and he certainly didn’t look like someone that Winston wanted to have a conversation with, but as soon as he took his hand, a wave of calm and delight washed over him. Bill was familiar. Bill was nearly a friend. He didn’t need to hide anything from Bill. “It’s good to meet you,” he added, surprised that he believed it when he said it.

“I couldn’t help but notice you sitting over here like a sad sack of potatoes earlier,” Bill said, taking the barstool beside him, “Everyone’s having a good time out there, you should join in.”

Winston shrank back, embarrassed that Bill had even noticed him. “Yeah, it’s not really my scene I guess.”

“Hey, it’s just dudes being dudes is all, no harm in it.”

“Not…that,” Winston said, figuring that Bill was talking about the increasing amount of casual sex happening around them. He sighed, not really sure how to find the words to describe his ennui to a relative stranger.

“You…feel like you missed out.”

Winston looked over at him.

“You know, earlier in life. You missed a chance somewhere, and now it’s too late. You keep showing up, hoping there will be, like, an extra train that can catch you up. You’re not that alone you know, and you’re certainly not that unique.”

“I’m that easy to read, huh?”

“‘Fraid so.”

Of course, Bill had had his eye on this lonely patron for a more than a few minutes, sitting here at the bar, bringing down the atmosphere. The ambient magic he’d pumped into the place was generally enough to slowly corrupt the average patron, but Winston’s depression was rendering him rather resistant. No matter, Bill had a particular spell he’d been researching that he’d been wanted to test out, and Winston seemed like a prime candidate. 

“Tell me,” Bill said, “If you could go back and do it differently, would you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, change your past. Do things differently. Be someone different. Avoid being this sad sack sitting all alone at the bar, feeling sorry for yourself. Would you?”

“You don’t have to be an asshole about it,” Winston said.

“I’m not being an asshole, I just want to know. Where did it go wrong, bud? When’s the last time you felt like you still had potential?”

Winston wanted to be mad, but the sense of ease he felt around Bill tamped it back down. When had things gone so awry, anyway? It was hard to pin down, he supposed, but probably college. He’d been so focused on his studies, on getting a good job, that he’d become a loner, even back then. He’d had a few friends, sure, but what held them together was a shared sense of ostracization, that no one else was at their level, and once they’d graduated, he hadn’t spoken to any of them again. He’d landed a good engineering job, put his head down, and focused on ‘building his future’, and now here he was, fairly wealthy and secure, but boring, alone, and miserable.

“There we are, that’s enough.”

Winston realized he’d closed his eyes as he’d been thinking about his past, opened them, looked over at Bill, and saw that he had some strange, glowing orb in his hands. It didn’t look material, but like a pulsing ball of blue energy. “What…what is that?”

“The doorway to the past—to your past, to be precise. Why don’t we go back, and see if we can’t do things a little differently, eh?”

Before Winston could react, Bill pushed the small orb against Winston’s chest, and he felt a pulse of energy grab hold of him, and then pull him in a direction that shouldn’t have existed. It was dragging him through time and space, everything around him was a blur, and he could see fragments of his life flashing by him—but backward. The entire experience was rather stomach churning, and when he came to a rather sudden stop, he had to grab hold of the railing of his dorm room bedframe and steady himself, to try and not be sick.

Wait…dorm room?

It took a second for Winston’s vision to settle, and sure enough…it shouldn’t have been possible, but there he was, standing in his freshman dorm room. He spun to where the mirror hung on the wall, and was shocked to see his eighteen year old self staring back at him. “What…what the fuck just happened?” he said.

“I brought you back,” Bill’s voice said, and a moment later, the bar owner appeared beside him, wreathed in the same blue glow that the orb had been. He didn’t look younger, he looked exactly the same, actually, but not quite material. Winston waved a hand out, and watched as it passed right through Bill’s form, like a ghost.

“Wait, so…so I have to do it…all again?”

“Oh, I figured we’d speed run it this time. It would take a massive amount of energy to run you through your whole damn life again. I figured we could hit some new highlights, try a different path on for size.”

“This…isn’t possible,” Winston said, looking at himself. “How…how does this work, do…do I just go…do stuff?”

“I’m afraid not—it’s my spell after all, I’m gonna be in the driver’s seat,” Bill said, and the grin that crossed his face was no longer quite as friendly as it had been before, “and I think I know just where to start you off.”

What happened next was a bit difficult to explain. It was similar the the sensation that had flung him back in time, but while hard to describe, this time he was going in the other direction. He was moving forward. The pace was also a bit slower than before, not quite slow enough that he could distinguish minutes, hours, or even days, really, but he could see what he was doing—and it wasn’t the past he could remember.

Before, as a freshman, he’d been so worried about failing his classes that he’d spent almost the whole first year in his room, the computer lab, or the library studying. What happened instead, as he rushed through the first few months of his freshman year, was a lot of time spent in the gym lifting weights, and when he wasn’t lifting weights, he was in his room, masturbating. He was horrified, he tried to slow it down, redirect it, put himself back on track, but the steering wheel had been ripped from his hands, until time slowed back down, and he landed on his bed, reeking of cum, moaning as he shot another load all over his grungy gym clothes that he hadn’t bothered to wash in months.

“See, isn’t that better?” Bill said, hovering nearby.

Winston came down from his orgasm, pushed himself up from the bed, feeling his whole body ache from the workout he’d put himself through hours ago, and in the mirror, he saw himself—mostly. But more muscular. A patchy beard filling in, where he hadn’t bothered to shave. “What the fuck is this?” he said, “This isn’t me!”

“Well, not yet it isn’t,” Bill said. 

“My classes, did I even go to them?”

“You dropped out of those engineering ones, I enrolled you in easier shit. You needed time to work on yourself.”

Winston moaned. There had to be time to fix it. Looking out the window, it was just winter—he had time, he could get back on track still.

“Now that we’ve broken the seal, you might say, why don’t we talk fraternities?”

“What?” Winston said, “I never joined a frat.”

“Of course you didn’t, because you were a fucking bore before. But we’re fixing that right now, aren’t we? We missed rush this year of course, but that’s alright, there’s always your sophomore year, right?”

Time swept forward again, Spring semester wasted just like the fall, day after day spent working out, building muscle, stinking up his room with his loads of cum. Then came summer. He’d gotten a research grant before, but he didn’t have a chance at that now. Instead, he found himself working for a construction company that summer—and Bill slowed down time enough to let him lose his virginity in person, to one of the older workers at the company, a brute named Jed. 

Jed was in his late twenties and built like a brick wall. Furry, stinking, tattooed, a few inches over six feet tall and he knew he was fucking hot. He worked construction, and spent a good chunk of his free time riding his motorcycle around the backwoods and rural highways with an assortment of fellows that it would be a stretch to call a gang. He looked and smelled like freedom to Winston, and he wanted him desperately.

Since he’d been hired, he and Jed had flirted back and forth, until one hot July evening, Jed invited Winston back to his double wide, plied with with cheap beer, and then spent an hour opening up Winston’s hole with his beer can thick cock. He hadn’t been a particularly gentle lover, but the beer had dulled the worst of it, and the best of it—well, time sped up again, and Winston found himself spending quite a few more nights at Jed’s place, riding his burly co-worker’s cock.

Then it was back to school, sexually awakened in ways Winston had never been before, and he was rushing a frat—the jock frat of course. There was the hazing, and during pledge week, he’d gotten much too drunk, and ended up sucking off two of the members of the house in their room. He’d thought that would get him marked as a faggot and have his reputation ruined—but he was surprised to find he got it all the same. Of course, as far as the house was concerned, he was their collective cumdump, not that this new Winston minded one bit.

It was an assault. Bill would slow down time for every sex act, stretch it out, even slow it down, Winston drowning in sweat, cum, beer and lust. It felt like his old self was rotting away as the foundations were apart. Whoever he’d been before couldn’t exist now—this new Winston was taking his place, and he panicked. He fought as hard as he could, but Bill would just laugh and find some new humiliation to subject him to. Winter break he hitchhiked, ended up riding with a fat, ugly trucker with a foot long cock for a week, kept in the sleeper as his personal bitch, renting him out to other truckers at various chilly rest areas, as a warm place to park their cocks for a while.

He was drinking more, working out less. Packing on pounds, growing a gut. Classes were barely managed, and he sucked off a few professors just to get a passing grade. Summer came, and he went back to work for the construction firm—and back to Jed. Jed though, was rougher, meaner. Knocked Winston around a few times, enough for him to lose a tooth, and here, he fought hard. He wasn’t going to put up with this, but each time, Bill dragged him back, back to apologize, back to the sex, back to worshiping Jed, whatever humiliating act he might want from his little college slut for the summer.

Jed told him not to bother with school. There was no point. He was a fucking idiot, a stupid little slut. They had a big fight, and Jed tossed him out on his ass. Winston, tail tucked, returned to college, hoping to make things better for himself, but everything unraveled.

He didn’t even make it through that whole semester. He didn’t know what the point was anymore. The frat was different, the newer members not quite as keen on the arrangement he’d had the year before, and the sexiest seniors had all graduated and were moving on with their lives. On a drunken whim, Winston dropped out—and time caught up with him in his room in the frat house, packing up his shit, and he nearly collapsed to the floor in shock.

“Having fun Winston? Sure don’t think you’re on track to becoming that old sad sack you were before at this rate,” Bill said.

Winston managed to straighten himself back upright, but the room was still spinning around him. He felt drunk—no, he was drunk. He was pretty much always drunk, wasn’t he? “What…the fuck did ya do tah me?” he said, looking over at himself in the mirror. Two and a half years at record speed, and he didn’t even recognize himself. He was thick all over, a good chunk of it muscle, but more of it was fat. His beard had finally grown in properly, his hair was styled as a sleazy looking mullet (a choice Jed had made for him over the summer that he’d kept) and he was wearing some rank gym clothes covered with beer, cum and food stains. “This—ya can’t do this. You need tah put things back the way they were, I’m not droppin’ out!” he said to Bill.

“Sorry Winston, this ride is only going in one direction from now on,” Bill said with a laugh, “We’re gonna give you a brand new life. A filthy, perverted, nasty fuckin’ ride of a life, much better than that boring existence you had before. When I’m done with you, you won’t even remember that old you—why would you even want to?”

“You can’t—this isn’t possible!”

“Sure it is. Now, how about you go back to Jed, eh? I’m sure he’ll take you back if you beg for it.”

“No—fuck no, that fucker—forget it!” Winston said.

Bill laughed. “You sure? He does care about you, you know. And you do like it, the way he treats you, or else why would you keep going back every single time?”

“No—no, not that…please…”

Bill laughed, then looked a bit thoughtful. “Well, alright. I give you a chance at love, at companionship, that thing you said you wanted more than anything, and you throw it in my face. Fine. You seemed to enjoy that stint trucking a year ago, didn’t you?”

“Wait, hold on,”

“Getting fucked by all those guys, all those loads. Seems like a good alternative to me,” Bill said, and before Winston could respond, time jumped forward, he was behind the wheel of a truck, earning his CDL. Then, he was in front of his instructor in the office, getting plowed up the ass. Sucking cock in rest area bathrooms, sucking off his fellow students, and then, a year had passed, and he was in front of the wheel, certified, a newly minted long haul trucker.

“F-Fuck!” Winston said, nearly swerving into a sedan, his reflexes catching up to him a moment later.

“What do you think, Winston?” Bill said, his bluish form settling into the passenger seat. “New career, lots of freedom, see the country. Much better than that boring office shit you were dealing with. Couple of years, get your own truck, owner/operator, be your own boss. No one’s gonna tell you what to do—well, other than me, that is.”

“I don’t wanna be a fuckin’ trucker, I wanna go back to college!” Winston shouted at him.

“That ship’s sailed, Winston. Best to make do with that ya got. I know what will make ya feel better—one of yer favorite cock suckin’ stops is up ahead, ain’t it?”

Before Winston could say anything, or try to object, he found himself on his knees in a toilet stall, mouth full of cock pushed through a gloryhole, sucking on it, hungry for another load of cum. Then, another skip, and another cock, and then another, and another. Some he sucked, some he took up his ass, but it didn’t matter, he needed it, he needed it bad, and then he was in the sleeper section of his truck, alone in the dark, hard and horny, with Bill looming over him.

“Feeling better?”

Winston was jacking off, feeling all of those loads in his gut and his ass, but…no, no, he wasn’t happy, not really. He felt embarrassed, and humiliated, and most of all, he felt lonely. Unable to help himself, he thought of Jed, thought of their rough, angry, frustrating times together, and shot his load all over his hairy gut. “Why the fuck do I miss him so much?”

“Aww,” Bill said, “You could have gone back to him if you’d wanted, you know. You made that choice.”

“I don’t miss him, he treated me like shit!”

Bill just laughed, and time skipped forward, faster now. A constant stream of cock to service, coupled with long stretches of highway, and lonely nights consumed with thoughts of Jed that he couldn’t seem to avoid. He found himself watching years pass, occasionally seeing himself in the filthy mirrors of dirty truck stops, watching his figure morph from his relatively fit, if chunky, college years, into simply fat, and then obese. He stopped caring about his hygiene, about his looks, growing out his hair and his beard, showering rarely, and picking up a few more bad habits—drinking himself to sleep, and chain smoking cigars on the road. Before he knew it, he was in his early thirties, but already looked older than he had when Bill dragged him back in time. 

All through this, he could see and hear Bill taunting him. Telling him that none of these anonymous men would ever love him, would ever care about him. Wearing him down, crushing his ego, his sense of self, his self-worth. He deserved this. He’d had a chance at a relationship, he’d had someone who’d cared about him so much, even if he could only express that through rough sex, jealously, and control, but that had been love too, hadn’t it? And he’d spit on it. He’d thrown it away without a second thought. Winston knew it was Bill fucking with him, warping and twisting his thoughts and memories. He tried to resist it, tried to fight back, but his memories of his old life were fading faster now. 

As he grew older and fatter, and less and less confident, he found that the number of guys even willing to use him at all began to dwindle. He found himself parked in front of gloryholes more and more often, knowing that the men on the other side of the partition would be disgusted at the sight of the hairy, smelly, obese trucker sucking them off. It only made the loneliness worse. In a desperate need to be seen and acknowledged by anyone, he found himself more and more willing to debase himself for any man willing to use him, willing to do pretty much anything they demanded, just to feel wanted. He found himself drinking down a biker’s piss one night while the rest of the gang just watched and laughed at him, gathering around and pissing all over him as he finished, leaving him there, soaked and stinking, and as humiliated as he was, he still slept better that night. At least, he found himself reasoning, he’d been useful, and desired, in the moment, right?

The sense of whiplash he got when time finally slammed back into place, left him reeling, and trying to figure out where, and when, he was. The when—a few months after his fortieth birthday, which he’d celebrated alone, eating an entire birthday cake by himself on the road he’d bought at a grocery store. He’d tried not to cry over it, and almost succeeded. They where—a bar, a somewhat familiar bar, now that he was looking around, but it was a bit difficult to place. He’d been here before, surely. He named the city in his mind, the same town where he’d gone to college, and then it clicked. The bar had changed ownership a couple of times, but he knew it now—it was the same gay dive bearish bar he’d gone to with Jed during those college summers almost twenty years ago now.

The nostalgia washed over him, and even though a lingering part of him told him it was fake, that whole past was fake, it was much more real to him than the dim recollection of another life, a boring life spent alone in a dead end job…and he realized then, that while Bill had changed the set pieces, he’d done the same thing to himself. He was alone. He was miserable. He hated his life, but inertia kept him here, on his knees, sucking cock, growing older and lonelier and sadder by the day. Even now, he was sitting here alone at the bar, not a single person even bothering to look his way, and why would they? He wasn’t worth looking at. He was worthless. He ordered another double from the bartender and knocked it back.

“So, how’s the life, Winston? Enjoying your divergent path?” Bill said, the glowing figment appearing on the empty barstool beside him.

“Fuck you,” Winston said, the words slurred a bit. How much had be drank already tonight? He didn’t even know. “Fuck you, you piece of shit, fuck…fuck you…”

“I offered. I told you that you could go back to Jed. You didn’t want to. You were better than that, better than him. What do you think now, Winston? Would you do it all again, just the same, no regrets?”

Winston held back tears. He wouldn’t do it here, not in the bar. Later, in his truck, he’d cry, but not here. He was at least stronger than that. He tried to think back to that summer, when he’d left Jed, tried to reconstruct what had happened, what had convinced him to leave. He’d been such a controlling son of a bitch, but Winston had liked that about him too. He’d felt cared for, in the good times. Loved, a crazy, often violent love, sure, but it had terrified him, perhaps for good reason. Or maybe he was just scared. Maybe, it didn’t matter what path he took through life, maybe his terror was just that powerful, maybe it would always hold him back, no matter what. Maybe, one way or another, he was always just going to end up as a sadsack at some bar, getting drunk to pass the time until he was gone. Nothing had changed, really. Well, he was completely different, and yet, right back where he’d been before.

“There’s a reason I gave us a little pause here, and now,” Bill said. “Try not to be too obvious, but why don’t you go ahead and take a look at your eight o’ clock, behind and to your left. Go on.”

Winston didn’t know why the prospect filled him with dread, but it did. He turned around, trying not to be too obvious, and took a look in the direction Bill had indicated. There were a few guys around a table there, having a spirited conversation. It took Winston a moment to figure out why Bill had told him to look over there, when he finally recognized the older fellow, probably close to fifty, sitting there with a big beard, a thick build, and…and it was Jed. Fuck, it was fucking Jed, sitting right there at a table, not twenty feet away from him. He spun around, feeling a panic attack coming on, and the next thing he knew, time skipped forward, and Winston was on his knees in front of one of the toilets in the bars, having just lost the contents of his big gut.

“Feel better now?” Bill said. 

Winston wiped the remnants from his beard and got up to splash some water on his face. He was still shaking, he wasn’t nearly drunk enough, he needed a cigar in the worst fucking way.

“You need to go talk to him, you’re never going to get another chance. Do you know how many strings of fate I had to pull to get the two of you into this bar together?”

“No—fuck no…I…I don’t need him.”

“All you’ve done for years now is pine over the guy, and now that I’ve tried to set you up with him, you’re going to say no?” Bill said. There was a smirk on his face. He knew something, knew something that he wasn’t telling him, and Winston hated that. He walked back out into the bar, eager for another drink, but he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the table where Jed was sitting. Jed laughed, leaned over, and gave the young man next to him at the table a kiss. A long kiss. An intimate, deep, hungry kiss. Jed had never kissed him like that when they were together. The man was probably about Winston’s age, but in much better shape. Judging by what he was wearing, if Jed was still in construction, this fellow likely worked with him. Lived with him. Fuck, fuck, that could have been him, that could have fucking been him if he hadn’t been such a fucking coward.

“There we go, you see it now, don’t you?” Bill said, “The whole picture.”

Winston ordered another drink. Time skipped again, and now, now he was drunk. Very drunk, more drunk than he’d been much in his life. He was staring at Jed now, staring at Jed and his boy. They were getting up to leave.

“Well, it’s now or never, go on then, go talk to him.”

Jed and his partner went out the back of the bar, and Winston stumbled after them, horrified at what he was doing, ashamed at himself, but Bill was right. This was his chance, his one chance, he couldn’t miss it. “Jed!” He called out as he followed them out the back door, “Fuck, Jed, it’s…I…” his words were all slurring together. Winston slumped against the door frame as Jed spun around and stared at the fat, slobbering drunk calling out his name. It was a moment, and then Winston saw the recognition. He knew him! He remembered him, he thought about him, but the look that followed was one of disgust. 

“Fuck, Winston? Is that fucking you?” he said.

“Yeah Jed, long…long time no see, eh? Feels like yesterday tah me though, I…I missed ya Jed, I…”

“Who the fuck is this?” the younger man with Jed asked.

“Fucking ex. Dumped his ass years ago.”

“I was wrong, Jed, I was so fucking wrong, if I could go back and do it again, I’d do it so fucking different, I would,” Winston said, “Let’s…let’s grab a drink, let’s talk…it’s been ages.”

Jed was walking towards him. He was coming closer, and in Winston’s mind, he would kiss him, kiss him like he’d kissed his boy, because of course Jed had missed him too, of course he had. It left him unprepared for Jed’s fist that landed in the middle of his gut, knocking the wind from Winston’s lungs and sending him to the asphalt ground.

“I never want to see your fucking face again, you fucking piece of shit,” Jed said, and spat on Winston’s face. “Come near me or my boy again, and I’ll fucking kill you and dump you in a ditch.”

Winston managed to roll up in time to see their truck drive away from the parking lot behind the bar, and his head was spinning. He ended up sitting with his back against the wall, trying to catch his breath, trying not to puke again, trying not to cry. 

“Well, guess he hasn’t been thinking about you like you’ve been thinking about him,” Bill said, squatting down beside him, “Too bad.” 

“Fuck you,” Winston said.

“Hey, I’m proud of you for trying at least. You didn’t really think he’d be into you now, did you? Some fat, gross, loser trucker?”

“You made me like this! You fucking did this to me,” Winston shouted, “I didn’t ask for any of this fuckin’ shit.”

“No Winston, you did this. You sabotage yourself at every turn. You did it before, and you’re doing it all over again. You push people away. You think you want a relationship, but no one seems to be good enough for you. I guess we might as well fast forward the next few years. I can see you now, sitting on that same fucking barstool in my bar, lonely, thinking about where you’re going to get your next load of cum before your next drive, even fatter and older and smellier than you are now…”

“No!” Winston said, clawing at Bill’s leg, trying to grip it, trying to brace himself, but forgetting that he couldn’t touch him, and falling flat on the ground again. “No, I don’t want to be alone anymore, I’m so fuckin’ lonely…”

“You’ll get used to it. You’ll accept it. You’ll see, you were always meant to be alone. It’s better really, for everyone else, don’t you think? Who would want to put up with a redneck loser like you anyway?”

“Please, don’t…I’ll do anything, I can’t take this, I can’t.”

He looked up, and saw Bill sneering down at him, making Winston’s gut knot up. “Alright, fine. But I’m gonna have to do some searching to find someone who’d put up with a pig like you.”

Before Winston could stop it, time leapt forward again. He was spiraling after that encounter with Jed, losing himself in anonymous sex with anyone who would have him, which was becoming harder and harder to find without degrading himself further. Time skidded to a stop six months later, in a grassy area of a rest area. Winston found himself on his hands and knees, naked, surrounded by a gang of grizzled bikers in their denim and leathers. He’d sucked one of them off through the gloryhole an hour ago, and things had escalated from there, until now, finding himself humiliated in public while they laughed and jeered. He was drunk—not just from the beers he’d had earlier. He could feel the bottle still in his ass, his guts full of beer, the alcohol being absorbed even faster through his hole. 

“Come on pig, crawl on over, don’t ya want my boot?” one of the bikers said, and the other’s laughed. Winston crawled over and licked the man’s boots clean, while another biker came up, hauled the bottle out, and started fucking him right there in the open, plowing Winston’s beer filled hole. “Damn, you’re one nasty fucker, aren’t you?” the same biker said, pulled out his cock, and pissed all over Winston while his friend fucked him, the other bikers gathering around to add their own loads of piss and cum.

Time skipped again, but not as far. Winston, soaked with piss, feeling lower than he’d ever felt before, looking at his phone where the biker had put in his number, and told him to call him. He wasn’t going to do that though. Sure, it had been years since anyone had given him a number, much less implied that he’d wanted to see him again, but he wouldn’t stoop that low, he wouldn’t.

Another skip. Drunk off his ass the next night, his phone on speaker, dildo in his ass in his truck while the biker on the other end of the line tells him the filthiest shit he wants to do to him, how he’s going to turn Winston into the gang’s perverted little pig whore, and Winston shoots one of the biggest loads of his life, before hanging up. Bill is there, watching all of this, just smiling at him. “Don’t…I don’t want this, not like this…”

“You said you’d do anything, Winston.”

“I didn’t mean—I—”

It was too late. Time leapt forward again, and Winston found himself with some time off, and spent a whole week with Rick and his gang. The sex was depraved, but the deeper Winston sank into the humiliation, the more he found himself desiring it. The way they all looked at him like a piece of meat, it wasn’t flattering, but it was the best he could expect. He wanted to be a pig for them, he wanted to be useful to them, to be desired for a moment, even if it was just as a whore, a cumdump, a urinal, an object. Rick though, was rougher. Rough like Jed had been at first, but there was a difference. Jed had been rough and abusive out of jealousy. Rick was just a sadist. He enjoyed causing Winston pain, relished it, cherished him for it. It was the closest Winston had felt to love in years, and he couldn’t help but respond to him in kind. Yes, it hurt, but the delight in Rick’s eyes, the delight was so much more important.

At the end of the week, he got back in his truck, battered and brusied, with a heavy metal collar padlocked around his neck, a chastity cage on his cock, and a new tattoo on his ass, marking him as not just the gang’s property, but Rick’s pig. Winston sat there, horrified at what he’d done, at what he’d allowed those men to do to him, horrified that he didn’t want it to stop.

“At least now, you won’t be alone, right?” Bill whispered in his ear, “As long as you do everything Rick says, he’ll keep you around. You like it, don’t you? The control?”

Winston moaned, feeling his cock strain against the cage.

“You need to be controlled. Look at what you do, when you’re left to your own devices? You just fuck everything up. This is for the best, really. It’s what you need, isn’t it?”

“Y—Yeah…” Winston said.

“It’s what you want.”

He nodded, feeling a little cum leak out of his locked cock.

“Good—not much further to go now. I think we can finish you off now, right?”

The next years passed by as little more than a blur. Winston would truck still, would suck plenty of cock along the way, but whenever he could, he was with Rick and his gang. It wasn’t long before he had a bike of his own so he could ride with them, The ass of his jeans always ripped open so the gang could have easy access to his holes whenever they wanted them. Rick did managed to have some good influence on him. He encouraged Winston to workout more while out on the road, and he traded in some fat for muscle. Rick also began modifying his pig’s body as he saw fit, adding a riot of tattoos and piercings all over his body, determined to make his pig look like a proper freak. The pain play escalated, and Winston found himself a willing, and eager, masochist. It was only a matter of time before he was trained as a full service toilet for the gang as well, willingly eating the shit from their holes at every opportunity.

The next thing Winston—or Swine, as Rick called him—knew, time slammed back into place, and he looked around, feeling confused. He was on his knees in a bar—a familiar bar, a place called the Alley, which the gang swung through on occasion. They were outside, drinking and smoking their cigars, Winston crawling around to serve as ashtray and urinal as necessary. He thought there was something else though, something he should be able to remember, but everything seemed so jumbled up. He could almost see himself, a version of himself, sitting on a barstool inside, but that wasn’t right. He belonged out here, with his Master, with his gang.

“Everything going alright out here fellas?” 

Swine looked up, and saw it was Bill, the bar’s owner, making his rounds and checking in. He chatted with the gang for a bit, looking down at Swine on occasion with an odd, knowing look on his face that made the pig feel a bit uneasy. As he walked away, he threw him a wink, and Swine couldn’t help but feel like he’d lost something, something important, but he couldn’t remember what.

“Hey! Swine! Get yer ass over here.”

Duty called. He crawled over, wrapped his lips around the biker’s sweaty cock, and drank down all the beer piss he had to offer, and when he finished, Swine felt better, his concerns already vanishing, thinking about the fuck he’d get from his master tonight, bent over the back of his bike, and knowing that his life was the best it could possibly be. If he could go back, he wouldn’t change a thing.