Slob Control - Bill Time-Fucks his Foreman (Part 3)

Loop 26

He deserved this.

Grant looked up at where Sam was sitting in front of him, grimy jeans around his ankles, and ran his tongue up the length of his thick cock, feeling it throb against his tongue. He was a stupid, horny pig. A worthless, filthy fucking piece of shit pig. Part of him told him that wasn’t true still, that he had to fight this, that this wasn’t right, but that piece got quieter every time. He’d done this before, he was sure of it somehow. Not just yesterday, though he had done something like this yesterday. But...before. It made sense, somehow, but not in a way his simple mind could really piece together.

Behind him, Bill was fucking his pighole, nice and slow. This was how all of his morning started at the site these days, worshiping these two filthy gods. Somedays he’d worship and clean their bodies from head to toe, other times they’d beat him senseless, send him out bruised and battered for the crew to gossip about. They’d long ago locked up his cock, or had it only been a short while ago? It didn’t matter--stupid worthless pigs like him didn’t get to have orgasms. Service, obedience, and pain were its own rewards. He knew that should feel like an excuse, like a lie, but more and more, it felt like the only truth that remained.

He felt the flogger in Sam’s hand slide over his back, and he shuddered. He couldn’t find the line between anticipation, dread, and excitement. It came down on his back with a smack, he moaned, and started licking faster at Sam’s cock, his own throbbing inside its tiny cage. “Open up, pig,” Sam said. Grant looked up, mouth open, tongue out, and Sam deposited the ash from his cigar right on his tongue. It burned, but he rolled it around in his mouth, soaking it with spit, until it was wet enough to swallow. Then, he returned to worshiping Sam’s cock while Sam’s flogger kept striking him.

Watching the show, Bill’s thrusts began to speed up. After a few more minutes, with a groan, he pumped his load in deep, and when he was done shooting, he pulled himself free. “Your turn, bud,” he said to Sam.

“Finally, takin’ yer sweet time.”

“I know you like it when it’s good and sloppy,” Bill said, stealing a smoky kiss with Sam for a moment, while Grant looked up at them both, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, or so unlucky.

Sam drove his cock in without ceremony. He was bigger than Bill, which is why he usually went second. Actually, he loved the feeling of a seedy, sloppy hole around his cock--it helped him last longer. Bill came around to Grant’s head, fed him his nice, long ash, but instead of sitting down and letting him lick his cock clean, instead he bent over and shoved his wide, stinking ass into Grant’s face. “Clean me out faggot, forgot to wipe this morning.”

He balked. He didn’t balk often, anymore, but while Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved him into Bill’s dirty crack. “Go on faggot, you know what that nasty tongue is for.”

He did as he was told. He did it because he deserved this, because he was a fat, loser faggot, and this is what his place in the world was. But more and more, he did it because he wanted to. Because he craved the filth, the degradation, the abuse. He pushed back, as hard as he could, but he knew it was a losing battle. Soon enough, that’s all that would be left of him.

Loop 38

Sam’s truck pulled into the parking lot. Bill was waiting over by the trailer, smoking his cigar. They were almost there, he figured. Maybe one or two more loops through, just to make sure everything was good and cemented in with them both. Sam got out--squeezed his way out, really. Six foot seven, nearly four hundred pounds of fat and muscle, furry and rough and tattooed all over. A real rough piece of work, harsh but fair, with no patience for slackers on the crew. He walked around to the bed of the truck, unlocked the cage that filled up a good portion of the bed, and gutter, Sam’s slave, crawled out and eased himself down from the bed.

Gutter was short--around five foot two, and about three hundred pounds of mostly fat. Middle aged, balding, and filthy--Sam didn’t hose him down very often. He was wearing just a hard hat, a grubby orange safety vest, a nasty jockstrap, knee pads, and boots--and a heavy chain collar, with a chain leash in Sam’s hands. Sam tugged him along, and gutter crawled after him, head down, gut dragging through the gravel lot.

“How ya doin’, Bill?” Sam said as they approached, “Yer not usually here this early.”

He took the cigar from his mouth, leaned in, and gave Bill a long, smoky kiss, giving his gut a rub, while Bill felt up Sam’s firm body. Fuck, he’d done good with this one, Sam was one hot fucking piece of meat. “Couldn’t sleep, figured I might as well get here early.”

“You just wanted to use gutter here before the rest of the crew got to him.”

“I mean, that too. I gotta piss like a fuckin’ race horse.”

Sam tugged gutter around, who crawled over, waited for Bill to fish his cock out, and took the head in his mouth. He swallowed all the piss without complaint. It was what he wanted, what he was destined for. Fate had brought him to Sam, and Sam had turned him into the pig he’d always wanted to be. He slept outside in a kennel, came with Sam to work, where he was chained outside the trailer all day long, there to service the entire crew as urinal, toilet paper and cumdump.

Of course, it would take another loop or two before the crew saw it that way. Bill still hadn’t let time move that far forward, to the point that the rest of the crew arrived. It was probably about time though. Clearly, gutter was ready to be put through his paces. Ready, and quite excited. It was certainly a grand improvement over the old Grant, not that anyone would remember him, aside for Bill of course. That, and he’d gotten a chance to test out quite a few other spells, and gotten a good handle on what he was capable of right now. “Could use a good wipe too--you like eating my filthy crack, don’t you pig?”

Gutter nodded, salivating a little. Bill dropped his pants, bent over, and shoved his crack in the pig’s face, who dove right in and started cleaning him up. Fuck, he was never going to get tired of this though--this was the fucking life.