Ezar gets by in life by avoiding attention, and especially by avoiding his bully stepbrother and abusive stepfather. One night in the forest changes that when a meteorite breaks apart nearby when he’s on the run from a gang. His next encounter with his stepbrother Carter leads in a very unexpected direction.
3 parts (2 new) 14k words Added May 2025 Updated 14 Jun 2025 9,193 views 5.0 stars (17 votes)
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Endless cold in burning sunlight surrounded the tiny creature, cast off into the void long before he achieved anything like awareness. The thick carapace around it—stone, yolk, or shell, all applied—was thinning, the hunger of the systems that supported him slowly consuming it even as the relentless radiation and invisible cosmic currents made him ache for the silent-cool-dark of the primordial womb, from his before. He knew things he had never learned, about tacking the shell into solar wind and dancing around the gravity of more massive objects to gain or lose speed. But none of the knowledge readily answered his hunger, or the peril of his weakening corpus.
All he had was the dim awareness of energy, life, and liquid water that might save him—the things that sang to whatever deep memories rested within him, urging him closer. He could feel them, through frail organs already cracking his carapace apart, too close to the burning, hateful star. Gravity was an uncomfortable ally, crushing his increasingly delicate structure even as it hurled him closer, enough to circle the satellite of the wet/warm/dark rock below. There were lights in the night, not enough to deter him. He needed it, and he was desperate. Instructions he didn’t understand nudged him downward, forward, shedding potential energy with a lurch as barely enough of his body and shell remained to protect him from the heat of the approach. It burned, it burned! He was saved, he was doomed! Never-learned knowledge told him he would survive, even as panic suffused him and his senses shriveled and incinerated from the friction of contact with thin oceans of uncomfortable density. He was immersed, but gravity kept pulling him deep.
Far, far, below him, there were lights. Exhausted, he steered what remained of his course towards them, shedding so much burned and shattered bulk that barely anything of him remained, just the barest clumps of critical matter, memories and organs and the padding to survive and then—
Impact.
Ezra was running for his life when he saw the meteorite break apart.
He didn’t know what he’d done to piss of the gang that was chasing him. Minding your own business and keeping to yourself was a way of life, and he was usually pretty good at it—it was the only option, when you were a skinny youth in a bad part of town. But that wasn’t always enough, and in this case being vulnerable and present had been a sufficient for a handful of drunk or high men—all bigger, older, and stronger than him—to give chase.
He was barely aware of the huge streak in the sky, sprinting through the underbrush of the park in hopes of breaking sight from his pursuers and finding a place to hide. It was dark, well after midnight, so there was no way they’d be able to find him if he only got enough time to scramble up a tree or dodge into a bush. Then they’d run past and he’d be safe. If only that damned sun would go away so there wasn’t so much light—
The noise was immense. He was in the air, then he wasn’t, and the world was brightness and chaos until his ears popped and he couldn’t hear anymore. There was something on his face, wet and thick, and for a second Ezra thought it was his brain, popped out of his skull by the force of whatever angry god had struck the ground nearby. He coughed into it and it rippled, and the could breathe again, inhalations fighting against the smoke and chaos. He couldn’t see, temporarily blinded, or perhaps blocked by whatever wet thing was covering him. He sneezed, or coughed, or wheezed—it was sort of a combination of all three—and managed to claw whatever it was off his face to so he could breathe freely. Viscous fluid, thick like tree sap but clear like glycerin, slipped off him as the thickened mass slumped to his side.
Crawling to the side, he managed to turn over and shield his eyes, the ringing in his ears gradually declining to a faint buzz lost in the chaos of sirens and confusion. He’d been blown thirty feet clear of the path he’d been running on. Blinking slowly and letting tears clear his vision, he could see shattered trees and burning foliage, and spinning colored lights in the distance. Fire, medics. Levering himself upright slowly, he confirmed he could feel his legs—and that while he was scraped and bruised, he wasn’t bleeding anywhere he could see.
Stumbling upright, he didn’t notice or feel the tiny creature coiling around his ankle, slowly making its way up his leg. Even when he’d limped to the ambulances and been shrouded in a thermal blanket, the parasite’s slimy coat of numbing chemicals meant he had no idea it was coiling around him, gently probing for entrances. When it found one, he was too busy answering questions and too distracted by lights in his eyes and the chaos of firefighters putting out the blaze to really feel it enter him.
When they pulled up to the housing project and got him inside, he didn’t notice the sensation of his new passenger sliding gently slicing through layers of tissue and sidling around organs to make a new home. It operated on some level below instinct, coiling around nerves rather than cutting them, and sublimating itself into flesh in ways that human medical science wouldn’t be able to detect any more than the organism itself could explain, if one could ask. So when Ezra collapsed, half-dressed, onto his bed in the breaking hours of morning, the parasite was already well-seated, and Ezra was already consigned to his fate.
Blinking in the too-early light, Ezra curled up in his sheets, not really sure why he was awake. Every bone in his body was screaming exhaustion, like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life after running a marathon. His stomach was growling like he hadn’t eaten in days, for that matter, and moving was agony. Every part of him wanted to go back to bed, except, apparently, his brain.
Slowly lifting himself off the mattress, he gingerly put his feet on the floor and took stock. He’d managed to knock his shoes off after the emergency response team had got him home, and his wrecked hoodie and torn T-shirt and been shucked directly into the trash can when he’d unlocked the door. His jeans were singed, cut, and ripped, and there wasn’t much left of his boxers, either. Taking a moment to pick over himself he remarked that he was damned lucky to be alive, much less intact, to the extent that ‘intact’ described a man who felt like death warmed over.
He limped over to the bathroom, shedding the rest of his clothes as he did. The apartment was cramped, shared with his absent step-father and asshole stepbrother, and neither had cleaned up anytime recently. They managed to keep the lights on and food in the fridge off of Ezra’s part-time job working retail. The bathroom was the worst off; Ezra tried to clean up some, but it was an endless task.
So when he blinked at himself through the mirror spattered with shaving cream, toothpaste, and grime, he didn’t notice that his pudgy belly had firmed into muscle, or that the aches in his arms and legs were thickened in bulk that hadn’t been there the day before. He barely looked at himself as he stumbled into the shower, idly scratching his junk while the faucet shuttered and spat to life before whistling and whining to indicate the boiler, ten stories down in the basement, had finally woken up to its job.
The warm spray massaged his sore body, and it was only as he was soaping up and stretching in the cramped stall that he realized something was off.
Specifically, his cock was hard as a rock, and much thicker than it had been the day before.
Blinking runnels of water away from his eyes, he stared at the column of flesh sticking out from his crotch. His cockhead was covered by an unfamiliar cowl of tissue-thin skin, and even as he watched it retracted to show a thicker, bigger version of the dickhead he’d become familiar with since adolescence. Ezra gently touched the fold of foreskin that had peeled back from his glans, a shudder of pleasure hitting him as new sensitivity screamed at the slightest pressure. It felt amazing, like the covert blowjob he’d been given behind the risers in high school, just from the slight touch of finger to skin. Wrapping his hand around the throbbing member made him groan, some gland in his body pumping ecstasy through him as he slowly felt along the new girth—and length!—of his organ.
He could feel his cock sliding in his hand, the slightest tension of his touch making it grow, almost as if he was reeling out more cock just by pulling. Even when it reached some impossible limit—almost twice what he’d woken up with the day before—he could feel some desperate part of him wanting to go further, push harder against straining flesh. His balls churned and twitched, more eager than even his most desperate teenage urges. With the water cascading down his body, he finally followed the line of his cock up and saw for the first time that his body had been reshaped, thickened with muscle and flesh in a way that would have taken years of effort in the kitchen and gym.
And just as he realized that something was terribly, terribly wrong, his stepbrother came home.
Carter was a bully. Even when Ezra’s mom had been alive, he hadn’t treated his little brother well. With her gone and an indifferent father ruling over them, he’d become a nightmare. He didn’t beat Ezra anymore, mostly because the threat of it was just as effective and he was lazy enough to not exert himself. But he had no boundaries at all and no problem inflicting himself on his brother.
So it wasn’t a surprise that he barged into the bathroom, whipped out his cock, and started peeing even though Ezra was in the shower. The stall covered him enough that turning around concealed how much his body had changed, but the intrusion really pissed him off.
“Ez! You didn’t make dinner last night, asshole. I took money from the grocery jar to eat out with my friends. You gotta get your shit together if you’re gonna keep living here, man,” Carter groaned, and a furtive look behind him showed the other man’s head cocked back and totally indifferent to where his stream landed. After all, it’s not like he was going to clean up after himself.
“Fuck off, Carter,” Ezra grumbled, then froze in shock. He never talked back to his stepbrother. It only invited more abuse. Where the hell did that come from?
“What did you say to me, bitch?” Carter’s voice was low and menacing. “Did I hear you tell me to fuck off from my own damned home?”
“Carter, leave me alone,” Ezra answered, panic rising in his chest. He was naked, and his cock was rock-hard, and if Carter found any other excuse to call him queer or make fun of him his life would find new depths of misery.
“I heard you tell me to fuck off, and I’m not going to listen to some asswipe string-along from my dad’s last conquest, you hear me?” Carter was raging, and Ezra didn’t dare turn around to look. He didn’t have to—he’d seen Carter’s reddened, angry sneer before, carved into years of nightmares and flashbacks. He was cringing against the shower wall, braced for the inevitable blow, and he yelped when his stepbrother shoved his arm and threw him against the tile wall so they were face-to-face.
Something lurched in his throat, somewhere between a cough and spasm, and he reflexively opened his mouth to clear it. Time seemed to freeze as his tongue slipped out of his mouth, and for an instant he thought he was going to vomit—then a strange, terrifying pinprick of pain lanced out of the tip of his tongue. A wad of something—viscous, opaque, whitish—shot out and splattered all over Carter’s face.
Ezra stood there, stark naked and dripping wet, and stared at the wad of phlegm or spit or whatever that was that he’d launched at his bully of a stepbrother. For a second, his mind simply couldn’t compute what had happened, but as reality set in, so did panic.
“Carter, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” as he was stumbling into a cringing apology, he locked onto Carter’s face and watched with horror as the other man opened his mouth, strings of the goopy matter stretching across … and licked it up, almost curiously. His stepbrother shivered, and for a second, Ezra faced his own mortality. Carter would beat him into a bloody pulp and there wasn’t anything he could do or say to stop it.
The moment passed because instead of lunging forward to assault Ezra, Carter started frantically licking, sucking, and shoving the wad of phlegm into his own mouth like it was the cure for cancer flavored like his favorite bourbon. As his stepbrother sank to his knees with a look of unforced, almost religious ecstasy on his face, Ezra felt an uncomfortable tightness in his crotch as his cock surged with growth again, reversing whatever his moment of terror had done to shrink it.
“Carter, what are you doing?” Ezra whispered, barely audible over the hiss of the shower. “What the fuck?”
“Ez, it’s so good. It feels so good,” Carter groaned, pawing at himself with one hand while the other felt along his face for more of the phlegm. “Oh god, it feels so good.”
“What—how?” Whatever it was, it had stopped the bully cold and put him into a pliant, almost mindless state of bliss. As his stepbrother moaned, Ezra turned off the shower and reached for a towel frantically wrapping it around his slim—well, trim with muscle now, but still slender—waist. He gently prodded Carter to follow him into the bedroom, and the bigger man stumbled like a drunk, lazily careening into the wall and slumping along as he mumbled about how good it felt.
By the time Ezra had dried off and shoved a shirt and basketball shorts on his enlarged frame—which did nothing to hide his new musculature or endowment—Carter had rolled onto the floor and was stroking along his chest and face, eyes wider than any rave bunny, inanely jabbering about how good he felt. When Ezra reached out to lift him back upright—thinking vaguely that this was something he should take to a medical professional, or the police, or someone who might be able to undo whatever had just happened, Carter gasped and groaned with his whole body at the skin-to-skin contact, squirming on the floor. A sharp, familiar scent filled the air and Ezra looked down in shock at the undeniable wet patch now staining his stepbrother’s underwear. A white glob of it pushed through the cheap cotton and confirmed it—just by clasping hands, Carter had cum all over himself. And judging by the thick mound of flesh now coming to rigid attention under the fabric, he was gearing up for a second round when Ezra broke the grasp and let the other man slump back to the floor.
“Ez, I gotta have more. Please, help, gimme more, I need more,” Carter started to babble, almost crooning as half-lidded eyes drifted across the room. “I can’t see you but I know you’re here, please man, you gotta help me. I’m such a dick and I’m sorry and I love you please help me, give me more.”
He stared down in shock as Carter feebly crawled his way. When his mother had still been alive Carter had been forced to apologize for some outrage or another, maybe a handful of times, but since they’d become adults nothing even resembling ‘I’m sorry’ had ever passed his stepbrother’s lips, at least not meant for Ezra’s feelings. He took an involuntary step back as Carter drew closer, and a whine of physical pain followed as the other man curled up on himself.
“It felt so good, it hurts now, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Carter continued, pulling his legs up into the fetal position. “Please, touch me. Hold me.”
Ezra tentatively stepped forward, lowering himself to his knees and reaching out to put fingertips to his brother’s arm—and at the contact, Carter shuddered with relief, like a man stepping in from the cold. Ezra felt the low groan of satisfaction in his own chest as Carter squirmed under his touch, as if trying to wrap his whole body around his stepbrother’s hand. The other man was whimpering, almost crying as he kissed, licked, stroked and rubbed himself along his stepbrother, sighing with relief and joy as each inch of contact spread across him. After a moment, Ezra was gently cradling the other man in his arms as the larger bully whispered apologies, entreaties, pleas, and moans in an incoherent stream of consciousness, whimpering and crying whenever they shifted and a square inch of skin lost contact between them.
“Carter I’m going to take our shirts off. You messed yourself, too,” Ezra said gently, then let his stepbrother keep hold as he slowly reached down and pulled cloth from skin. Carter started to hyperventilate when the geometric necessities of the removal pulled him out of skin contact for a moment, then moaned in obvious pleasure when his bare back and sides came into contact again. Ezra managed to lift his own shirt off again with one hand pinned in his brother’s grasp, awkwardly angling himself to keep his erection out of the way. Whatever insane high Carter was on now, it was unlikely that it would forgive Ezra’s boner poking him in the ear by accident. When they were spooned up, Carter’s back resting on Ezra’s chest and arms wrapped around his belly, Carter finally seemed to come out of the worst of whatever that had been.
“Ezra?” Carter asked quietly. “Am … am I going to be okay?”
“Yeah, you’re going to be okay buddy. We’ll figure this out,” Ezra sighed. He had no idea how he was going to follow through on that, but he’d said it because it’s clearly what the other man needed to hear. “Just hang in there, calm down a little, and we’ll get sorted.”
“I made a mess.” The bully was looking at the raging erection in his underwear and the thick wads of cum soaking it through. It was an insane amount of ejaculate—more than he’d ever seen in even the most marathon jerkoff sessions or the wildest porn. “Can I take my pants off too? I’ll feel better.”
“Okay, Carter. Just move gently, all right?” Ezra let his stepbrother tenderly move his arms away, almost like the grown bully was afraid of losing the safety of the smaller, younger man’s arms, before they helped him peel out of his sodden briefs. The cloth fell to the floor with an obscene splat noise and Ezra mentally revised the amount of cum his stepbrother had shot out. It was a dangerous, absurd, impossible amount of cum. He tried to stop thinking about it but couldn’t—especially when the only other thing of note in his field of view was the taut, muscular abdomen of his stepbrother and the cum-drenched mess of his genitals.
He’d seen Carter naked once or twice before. But it was another thing entirely to see the brawny bully covered in semen and hard as a rock, with six thick inches of cock jutting out of a messy tangle of pubes. The other man’s breath had settled into an easy, comfortable rhythm now that his panic attack—or whatever that was—had subsided. Ezra tried to gently pull away but every time he did, his stepbrother whimpered and clutched at his arm. Eventually his knees started to complain from the awkward position and he gingerly offered a suggestion:
“Carter, let’s move up to the bed, okay? You’ll be more comfortable.” The bigger man mumbled some sort of begrudging agreement, almost—but not quite—resembling his more usual belligerent attitude. As Ezra maneuvered them towards his threadbare and lumpy mattress, Carter seemed to instinctively move to keep as much of himself in contact as possible, almost propelling them into the comfort of the padding rather than risk losing touch. The entire thing was bizarre—even if Carter had been a cuddly, touchy-feely person, which he absolutely was not, the last person he’d want affection from would be Ezra. As they awkwardly maneuvered themselves into a spooning position, the body heat and skin contact—and the undeniably rigid erections on both men—left Ezra terrified that Carter would just as suddenly flip back to his normal self and try to beat him to death with whatever was closest to hand. He did everything he could to keep his own tented crotch away from Carter’s bare ass, but the other man left him no choice by scooting ever-closer until they were pressed back-to-belly and ass-to-cock. Only the thin liner of the gym shorts separated Ezra’s newly thickened and lengthened cock from the exposed ass of his homophobic, bullying stepbrother, and it was Carter who was doing his damnedest to keep it there.
“Your cock is bigger, Ezra,” Carter mumbled after a few tense, terrifying minutes. “I don’t remember it being so big.”
“Uh, you’ve never seen it hard, that’s all,” Ezra lied, his heart racing. The heat of their bodies was making him sweat, as he was practically wedged between the shitty plasterboard and Carter’s muscled backside. In a moment of panic he realized he’d just admitted that he had an erection, but Carter’s answer stole that fear.
“No, it’s bigger. I remember being so jealous when we were younger, and your cock was longer than mine one night when you were asleep. I measured.” Carter’s voice was full of shame and fear, the sort of things Ezra was used to hearing from himself instead of the terror of his childhood. “I wanted to beat you up because of it, so I did. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, uh. We can talk about it another time. It’s—it’s okay.” Carter trembled in his arms and once again Ezra’s brain stumbled in confusion about the sudden, drastic change in personality his stepbrother had experienced.
“It’s not. But now your cock is even bigger—thicker, longer, I can feel it—” Carter’s ass wriggled and clenched around the cock lodged against it, and Ezra nearly bit his lower lip off to stifle a groan of pleasure as the movement stretched and pulled on his new and unfamiliar foreskin. He could feel a wet patch forming there, and it wasn’t all sweat. “—and then you spat that stuff at me and it felt so good.”
“I’m—I’m sorry, Carter. I don’t know what I did,” Ezra apologized, and he was surprised to discover that he meant it. As much as Carter was a bully—and he undeniably was—it was somehow Ezra’s fault that he was now a shuddering mess afraid to lose skin contact with his former victim. Some part of that felt like justice, though another part of him was pissed that once again, Carter had found a way to make his problems, Ezra’s problem.
“It’s—I was going to hurt you. I don’t want to ever do that again though. I just want to touch you. I want you to like me. I want you to l- I want you to love me, Ezra. I love you now, I’m so sorry, I don’t even—” Carter sobbed, and Ezra poked his head up to confirm that yes, his stepbrother was bawling, face red and eyes washed out with tears streaming down his face. “—I can’t ever be sorry enough, I was so terrible, I just want to die but then I wouldn’t be touching you and that’s even scarier and—and—”
“Shhh, shhh …” Ezra soothed him, and the other man shuddered with some sort of emotional release. Another kind of release, too, Ezra noticed—Carter’s cock had stayed at attention the entire time they’d been awkwardly cuddling like this, and now it was spurting cum lazily over his bedsheets. It was just dribbles compared to the sodden mess on the floor, but Carter had not only had a handsfree orgasm, he’d done so while a sobbing, emotional wreck. When he’d spat slave-bond on the bully’s face he’d really done a number on him.
Ezra froze as he rolled that thought around in his head. What the hell was slave-bond? Why did he know what that whitish mucus was, and what it was called? Panic settled in as he probed around the edges of his ignorance, turning up nothing but more questions. When he pressed his tongue against his clenched teeth in frustration, he could feel something firm but flexible at the tip—something that just barely caught at the edges of his tooth when he probed it. It was an opening, so tiny he doubt he’d be able to see it in a mirror, but he could feel a slender vessel in the spine of his tongue that terminated there. He wanted to panic, but couldn’t—as much as he intellectually knew that something was terribly wrong and that something had happened to him last night in the explosion, his heart wouldn’t race and his breathing stayed slow and even. The feeling that he was fundamentally fine, that nothing was wrong, was an iron wall that his brain couldn’t overcome.
Meanwhile, Carter snuggled into his chest and it was soon impossible to ignore the fact that they were both harder than steel. Every once and a while the larger man would whimper and another spurt of cum would splat out onto the sheets, and when he did, he pushed his ass up against Ezra’s erection. The thin fabric of the gym shorts were soaked through with sweat and precum, and it was all Ezra could to resist the moans that tried desperately to escape his throat. He wasn’t sure how long they were there on the bed, but a painful eon later Carter squirmed around and turned to face him.
The bully’s face was guilelessly open like a child’s, wide-eyed and slack with something like awe. It was unnerving, but he couldn’t look away.
“Please let me make you happy,” Carter asked, his hands clutching the waistband of the gym shorts with trembling, almost clenched fingers. “I need to—to taste you again, to make you happy, to make things right.”
“Carter, you don’t need to—” Ezra started, but was interrupted by tears in his stepbrother’s eyes and a look of truly fierce desperation. “Okay. But you can stop anytime, all right?”
The bully eagerly yanked the shorts down and gasped as Ezra’s cock was exposed. Carter lunged forward, gently kissing and licking across the new panes of muscle on his stepbrother’s chest as his hands groped at the thick, enlongated flesh of his cock. Ezra let out a moan of relief, the clutching, eager touch giving way after years of denial and fear.
Carter was enthusiastic but inexperienced, licking and groping frantically. Every time Ezra winced at a nick of teeth or too-rough touch, however, Carter flinched like he’d been struck and softened his approach. Within moments his eager fumbling transitioned into smoother, more tender and more confident strokes and kisses, sensually rubbing his whole body across and along his stepbrother like a cat in heat. He hadn’t even known how sensitive he was—or perhaps, he was now sensitive in ways he’d never had the chance to explore. His cock had been rock-hard the entire time but in short order he was panting and groaning with pleasure as Carter maneuvered himself between his legs, lapping at his balls and then nervously licking along the long column of his cock. They were both fascinated by the play of his foreskin across the glans, with Carter’s eyes widening every time he gently pulled the skin back to expose the cockhead beneath.
His childhood bully, face red from licking and sniffling all over his crotch, gingerly opened his mouth and accepted Ezra’s cock between his lips like he was receiving some sort of divine blessing. As his tongue rolled along the folds of skin and flesh there, he shuddered with delight, whimpering as his new master reflexively grabbed his hair and locked him in place. Carter moaned like someone had shot heroin directly into his spine, humping mindlessly against Ezra’s legs as the cock sank deeper and deeper into his gullet. His master groaned and let out strings of incoherent profanity, guttural noises coming deep out of his belly like an animal in rut.
He could feel his cock throbbing as it slid down Carter’s throat, the thick muscle seeming to slide with unnatural ease. Aside from an initial choking noise, Carter didn’t seem to have any problem taking the girth of it, making himself a cocksleeve for his stepbrother with wide, delirious eyes. Ezra noticed the rhythmic tremor on his brother’s shoulder and cocked his head around—Carter was stroking himself furiously, his dick a mess of precum, cum, and sweat as his balls slapped back and forth under his fist. Even as he watched, his brother dropped another load on the sheets, a tiny yet impossible splat of cum firing out of the slit.
The sight triggered something deep inside him, like a latch coming loose with force. Something unlimbered in his crotch and he felt a swell of pleasant agony as his cock reflexively impaled Carter’s mouth, shoving deep without any grace or finesse. The base of his cock throbbed, then swelled, a thickening of some sort passing out of his belly and down into the shaft, rounding out slowly as it slid along his cock into Carter. The bully groaned, surprised and momentarily panicked, and their eyes locked as the rounded, oblong bulge slipped into his mouth then down into his gullet, leaving tingles of overstrained flesh as it went.
The egg—it was an egg, or something like it, and it was egg-shaped, but that’s not how Ezra knew what it was—traveled into Carter’s throat and lodged there for a second before a flush of cum lubricated its passage, and with a spasm it locked in at the edge of his glans, the piss-slit straining to open wide enough to admit it. Carter’s shock and panic had faded away, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, and Ezra felt the last crumbs of resistance in his mind, the desperate desire to make sense of what was happening—it all fell away. An alien, fuzzy intelligence settled itself somewhere beneath his mind like a plush blanket.
The egg slid into the thrall-slave beneath him, his glans relaxing as new bands of muscle and tendon connected to his nervous system for the first time. A gentle, insistent release put the wad of viscous material where it belonged, sliding down past Carter’s throat muscles to lodge itself safely above the stomach. Flesh parted and muscle strained out of the way, foreign tissue gently adhering itself in place where it had no business being, until it was as smoothly lodged in the thrall’s abdomen as if it had grown there naturally. A faint bond snapped into being in the back of Ezra’s head—not telepathy, but a sense of connection and contentment that slowly surfaced into him as his cock slowly retracted from Carter’s mouth, leaving bruised and ruined flesh in its wake.
Beneath him, Carter was moaning incoherently, stroking along his taut belly as his cock flopped around weeping cum and precum. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and then he crumbled, folding in on himself. For half a second Ezra felt alarm, afraid that his stepbrother was having a seizure or stroke or heart attack—but then that little tendril of awareness in the back of his head blossomed, and he felt Carter’s satisfied bliss as if it was his own, dimly reported over the radio or reflected in a bent mirror. Their link cohered bit by bit as the little packet of alien tissue integrated itself deeper into the thrall’s body, slowly winding around neurons and slipping between layers of tissue and organ to lock itself in place.
At last, Carter fell into the rhythm of sleep, and Ezra gently separated them. He showered again, then raided the kitchen when his stomach complained that he hadn’t eaten in an unknown amount of time. The entire time, Carter’s presence was like a familiar pet’s, just to hand whenever he thought to reach. He borrowed a pair of the thrall’s sweatpants, because his clothes now fit better than the ones that Ezra had in his closet. Taking the time to explore the changes to his body, he felt boundless energy, firm muscle, and a dangerous overconfidence. He’d survived by being small, fast, and keeping his head down—and it looked like that wasn’t going to work anymore, even if he wanted to go back.
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The next challenge to his authority came two days after he’d enthralled Carter. A lot had changed in a very short amount of time: Ezra went back to work, but for once, Carter did too. The slavish, almost frightened devotion that he’d shown the day of their confrontation remained, and it was eventually obvious that the emotional link between them was one-way. Carter only knew that Ezra was there, that he was watching and feeling him—but not what Ezra felt. He knew when Ezra needed anything, though. That first night after they’d both collapsed with exhaustion in their own beds, Carter had woken up in the middle of the night, crawled under Ezra’s soiled sheets, and taken another orgasm into his mouth, sans the alien stowaway—because he’d woken up with the knowledge that Ezra had a raging erection in his sleep, and felt compelled to solve the problem. The next morning he’d been wide awake before Ezra got up, cleaning anything he could find, and frantically trying to apply for jobs so he could please and support the stepbrother he’d tormented for years.
Ezra let him do it. He wasn’t pleased with Carter, he realized. The man had been a bully for a long time, and even now his reflexes were towards cruelty and humiliation—but they were being turned inwards, crumbling the walls of his self and trampling the remains as his alien rider and the slave-bond whipped him into shape. He had no doubt that if there was anyone below him in the hierarchy of their little clutch—and he thought of it as a clutch, not a family, and pondering the difference left him annoyed rather than confused—Carter would relentlessly bully his subordinates without mercy. Ezra resolved to make sure that didn’t happen to anyone undeserving, at the same time he took almost-desperate measures to ensure that nobody else would join said clutch with as little warning as Carter.
It meant wearing a condom and pinning his magnificent, outrageously grown cock out of the way while in public, and fighting every new instinct that urged him to respond to the slightest inconvenience with venom and a domineering attitude. He very nearly spat a wad of slave-bond on a customer that was asking him when new stock would come in, the first afternoon. Thankfully Carter literally came running to his side afterwards, and they discovered together that a quickie in the store’s “family” restroom served to take the edge off his new attitude.
For two days, it was pretty good. Carter had become a whipped dog, and a lot of Ezra enjoyed seeing it. Far, far more than that, he appreciated that Carter was finally pulling his weight, cleaning and doing chores and even disastrously attempting to feed himself and Ezra by cooking simple, foolproof meals. It turns out “foolproof” did not mean Carter-proof. Unfortunately, that led directly to the next crisis of Ezra’s new life.
“What the fuck is burning?” a bass voice grumbled, the door to their apartment slamming behind him. Ezra froze, animal terror rising in his gorge at the familiar tone.
“Uh—dad, I made dinner.” Carter’s eyes were wide as saucers as he stood at the cramped kitchen counter, wearing an apron and not much else. They’d rapidly stopped bothering to cover up while in the apartment—it just got in the way when another of Ezra’s incessant erections needed to be serviced. Carter could have worn clothes, but when sucking down his stepbrother’s cock he inevitably came at least once or twice himself, and had begun playing with his ass while doing so. It pleased Ezra a little to see him do it, so Carter had frantically taken to it like a man possessed.
Unfortunately it meant they were both naked or nearly naked when Carter’s father stormed around the corner.
Jack was a bull of a man—much of Carter’s muscle and bulk came from him. Sporting a thick beard, a perpetual scowl, and a number of fearsome tattoos, he’d also passed his cruel and demanding nature on to his son as well. Seeing the two of them naked in the kitchen made him freeze for a second, before he barked: “The fuck sort of gay shit is this?”
“Dad I can explain I just wanted to—” Carter started, but his father stepped forward and backhanded him with a thunderclap of muscle and fury. The sound reverberated through the cramped room like a shockwave, and Ezra flinched his chair back enough to make it squeak. Jack turned to face his stepson, glaring with contempt.
“You put him up to this you little queer, didn’t you? You trying to turn my son gay? Seduce the fucker and take advantage of him?” Jack stormed over and grabbed Ezra by the hair, dragging him out of the chair and throwing him on the floor. He curled up instinctively—Jack hadn’t kicked him often, but he’d been bullied long enough that his body’s instinctive reaction was quick to surface.
There were loud noises behind him, and Ezra whimpered and folded over himself to present a smaller target even as the violence miraculously left him spared. Every blow made him flinch, like a gunshot slapping inches from the ear. After a moment, his body registered silence, and he carefully unwound himself and dared a look behind.
Carter was standing over his father, blood staining his knuckles, and Jack was on the ground with a split lip and bloody nose. Ezra’s mind refused to compute what was happening, not daring or not able to witness his stepbrother asserting himself against the patriarch, much less in defense of their favorite prey. But something else inside him stirred to awareness and understood exactly, commending its thrall on defending its master even as that master stumbled in confusion on the linoleum.
“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Carter was yelling incoherently, still naked except for the apron covering his front. His muscles bunched and twitched with outraged and fury, and Ezra’s cock jumped at the sight. The parasite inside him stirred, feeding the righteous indignation in both men, demanding redress from the insolent creature at Carter’s mercy. He was a passenger in the parasite’s body now, Ezra realized, some alien compulsion dragging him upright behind Carter and stirring his cock to firmness.
“You fucking fag boyfriends now?! My own fucking son skipping pussy for this useless man’s ass?” Jack spat, a wad of blood flying limp in the air rather than finding its target. Carter moved to resume his assault on his father, but froze as Ezra touched his shoulder. Jack looked at him in confusion, eyes narrowing at his stepson’s exposed cock.
“You’re going to regret that,” Ezra’s tongue moved in his mouth without his will, and he felt the thread in the muscular organ trembling with a desire for release. “I made Carter regret it.”
“I’m going to kill you like you fucking deserve, you damned fairy. Your mother should have—”
The wad of mucus flicked through the space between them fast as lightning, landing mostly in Jack’s open mouth. The older man choked and coughed, spasming in surprise, and his eyes bulged in alarm. A second later, he was wheezing on the floor, curled around himself and moaning.
“Take off his clothes.” Carter moved almost before Ezra was done speaking. At first he was lifting and pulling, trying to peel the jeans and boots off his father, then he became more frantic, ripping and yanking until the older man was bare on the floor.
Ezra’s cock had risen to its full, rampant growth, nearly twelve inches in length, crowned by foreskin, and bulging slightly at the base with an eager promise of another parasitic egg ready to be implanted. He’d fought so hard to avoid inflicting it on anyone else, using Carter as a cumdump front and back several times a day, and now his balls were full and the creature inside him wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.
As he settled onto his knees, Jack squirmed with mad desire, not yet aware that the source of his new obsession was within reach. Ezra reached out to touch him, and the older bully groaned, his cock shooting to attention in an instant as his brain rewired itself and flooded his body with pleasure. Just like his son had before him, Jack scrambled to touch his new master, pressing himself into Ezra, trying to bring every inch of his skin in contact with the smaller man. Carter ripped off his apron, revealing a cock dripping with slimy pre-fuck and jutting out of his crotch like a spear.
Ezra gently leaned back, letting his newly enslaved stepfather fumble and groan, feeling the older man’s cock pressing against his belly urgently. Jack came with a grunt that became a low, keening moan as his first load of the day flooded out of him against his will, leaving a thick and sticky residue between them as their hairy bodies rubbed together. He was kissing, stroking, rubbing and nibbling with an overwhelmed need, whimpering with desire he couldn’t control.
“Carter. Open his ass up for me,” Ezra commanded, pulling Jack down to the floor with him. The older man flinched, still-half aware and probably inclined to protest, but a single stroke of Ezra’s hand down his spine left him moaning and squirming like a cat in heat again.
“I can?!” The younger bully looked like he’d been served an entire birthday cake on a bed of strippers. “Yes!”
Carter dived to the floor on both knees, pinning his father in place between him and their master. Ezra felt the heat of his bully’s cock against his thigh as the young man gripped and probed, exposing his father’s ass. Carter scooped up his precum, letting the thick liquid trickle onto the sealed hole before him, and then gently probed with his fingers, working them in to the taut flesh and muscle. Ezra felt the moment of penetration in Jack’s body language, a stutter of paralysis that became tension, then trembling fury as some part of his mind tried to fight the violation.
Then it was gone. Jack was broken, and it was his son that had broken him apart. It only took a minute from there as the thick fingers of the younger man worked their way deeper, spreading the tight hole wider and wider until the older bully was squirming again with new urgency, clamped to Ezra like a lamprey as his cock dribbled cum and precum between their body like a broken faucet.
Carter leaned forward, and Ezra felt him enter his father as if it was his own cock doing it. The tight, warm chamber resisted, then gave way, then clamped and tried to fight back, but he had no defenses against his own need for his master’s touch. Every ripple of tension and urge to fight drowned in pleasure as Ezra stroked it away, or was banished by a gentle kiss or sigh. Soon the son was sawing back and forth into his father’s ass with jackrabbit eagerness, his muscular frame trembling with pleasure taken from the men beneath him. He shuddered, once, letting his load loose, but before he could pull back Ezra stilled him with a touch. Hormones flooded back into the thrall, and deep inside his father, his cock flexed back to ramrod strength, and he groaned with agonized joy as his balls went slack again.
Ezra reached between himself and Jack, gently prying his cock away from the sticky mess there and letting it jut out from under Jack’s crotch. Laying alongside their balls, he could feel every motion as Jack grunted and moaned on top of him, Carter’s pulse beating relentlessly as his testes slapped into the ones that had bred him into being so many years ago. The motion rolled back and forth along Ezra’s cock, rolling his foreskin gently over the crown of his glans and off again with glorious pleasure. He felt the worship flowing from both of his thralls, their desperate need to please him wiring their brains and bodies to his person like iron filings before a magnet.
He let his orgasm explode through him and coat the father and son in slick, viscous cum, and the thralls whined with pleasure as their bodies sang back to him in ecstasy. The parasite was still in control, and it asserted itself: Ezra crawled out from under his stepfather, which made the other man whine piteously in withdrawal. The slimy mess matted Jack’s body as his eyes desperately tracked Ezra. The older bully was panting hungrily as his son resumed fucking him, the younger man’s cock making wet, lewd noises as it thrust deeper and deeper into his father’s muscular ass, lubed by the load his stepbrother had shot all over them.
Ezra climbed up alongside his thrall and forced himself into his Carter’s mouth, reveling in the subsonic whine that the jock gave out from his master’s attention. It made him jackhammer into his father with reckless abandon, his balls slapping obscenely as he squirmed to penetrate deeper and deeper. Ezra ran his hand along the jock’s hairy chest, smeared with sweat and precum and cum already from their earlier escapades. Their bodies were alive with energy, a desperate hormonal rut that defied the normal limits of human stamina.
Carter groaned into his master’s mouth and spasmed, letting out desperate whimpers. Through their connection Ezra could feel an orgasm ravaging the other man’s body, his thrall twitching and flexing to press his cock deeper into Jack. The bully’s spent cock was spurting halfhearted streaks of cum into his own father, and through the nascent connection with Jack Ezra could feel the confusion, fury, and deep satisfaction that was warring in the older man. Some strange compulsion triggered in him, and his body moved as if on autopilot.
Ezra roughly shoved Carter aside, the bully’s cock slipping out with ease, still dribbling the results of his fucking. Carter wasn’t surprised, hurt, or even confused—he was still eager, his body aching in anticipation for something that he didn’t even understand yet, because Ezra didn’t understand what he was about to do. Carter knelt down next to Jack, touching and worshiping his master’s body in light, trembling strokes as Ezra’s cock lined up along his stepfather’s ass.
Beneath him, Jack was mumbling incoherently. There were protests, but also pleas and shuddering moans of pleasure. Sentences fell apart half-formed as Ezra’s cock traced a line through the sweat, cum, and precum smeared all over Jack’s muscular, tattooed back. As his master slowly pressed his cockhead against the new thrall’s ass, Ezra felt Jack’s mind whiting out with pleasure, drowning any remaining resistance and flooding his mind with the desperate need to be impaled on his master’s dick. The sight of his stepfather arching and wiggling to get more and more of his recently enlarged cock inside, and the look of pure lust in a face that had given him nothing but contempt and anger, pierced into Ezra’s mind like a spear. His cock throbbed inside Jack, the gravid egg at its root ready and eager to implant itself deep.
The alien presence inside Ezra swaddled his mind, washing away guilt, confusion, and fear to leave only the warm heat of desire and domination burning inside. He rocked his hips once, letting the bulge of his cock slap into the tight hold of his stepfather’s hole. Jack yelped, then groaned in ecstasy as the egg began to move down Ezra’s stalk like a drop of rain on a window, inexorably pressing against the tense ring of muscle that divided flesh into master and slave. Ezra leaned forward, his cock spurting cum and a slickening agent deep into his stepfather, glands inside his cock pumping compounds he knew but didn’t understand. Beneath him, the older man whimpered with pleasure as his cock spat a load of cum onto the floor, untouched but jumping and twitching with arousal. The bulge in Ezra’s cock pressed once, then twice, then slowly, achingly passed into the squirming bully beneath him, the muscular cheeks of his ass tensing at the expansion and then shuddering with pleasure as the bulge rubbed along his prostate. Beside them, Carter watched with all the wonder and joy of a child being handed a present, fisting his dick in frantic strokes that only paused briefly when spurts of cum heralded another, impossible orgasm.
Ezra felt the egg rest at the tip of his cock, the muscles and tendons there gently sliding it forward—and he consciously flexed them, releasing it into his thrall. Jack moaned piteously beneath him as the wad of alien tissue settled inside, and Ezra could feel the tension of muscle and flesh around it as it sought its new resting place. A flood of pleasure hit his core like a sledgehammer and he came into his stepfather, a gush of cum and other fluids flooding the older man’s guts and urging the little egg on its way. It lodged somewhere deep, sidling through layers of viscera and sidestepping organs to nestle itself perfectly.
Ezra withdrew his cock from the thrall with an obscene, wet noise, and Carter eagerly lunged forward to lick, rub, and sniffle at the mess that resulted. The thrall’s agonizing pleasure radiated through their bond, and then was joined by another—Jack’s parasite, syncing itself into the clutch and wrapping tendrils of command and pleasure around the older man’s mind. Carter renewed his efforts, licking and probing his father’s ass while stroking and milking both their cocks. Ezra stepped back, his long cock dripping with cum and other, alien compounds that he was just beginning to understand.
His dominion was growing. He would have more thralls in time. The fear and confusion of it tried to fight to the top, but with his cock wet and thick from sex and the sight of his two tormentors debasing themselves in lust before him, it had no place in the master’s mind.
|
Ezra sat at the table, looking at the bowl he’d put there. Jack and Carter were out at work, eagerly providing for their clutch in a way that would have been ludicrous to imagine just a week ago. It was also a bit of a necessity to have them out and about earning money and doing chores, at least for now. Ezra had stopped going out on his own; not because it was unsafe for him, but because his parasite’s unpredictable effect on his libido made him a danger to others. Carter and his father had become eager servants of that libido, but he knew that they wouldn’t suffice in the long term.
So he stared at the bowl. He’d filled it with—well, it wasn’t cum, exactly, but it nourished and preserved the eggs he’d painstakingly milked out of his cock over the course of two hours. It had been a pleasant agony—his body hadn’t wanted to release them without a host on the end of his cock. But Ezra was slowly getting more control of his new form. There were a dozen of them now, soft little spheres about the size of his thumbnail, floating in a the milky white substance, brimming with potential. Each one would enthrall someone and turn them into his lust-crazed slave. He’d hoped that disgorging the eggs would give him a break form the insistent urge to implant them, but had never expected it to take so many before he felt emptied out. And worse, he could already feel his body diligently going to work growing more.
Ezra slumped back and sighed. The alien presence inside him was impatient, urging him to put the eggs to use, to grow his clutch, to protect himself and expand his reach. His human intelligence was just as desperate to limit the damage, contain the strange and dangerous thing that was happening to him, and avoid enslaving people, especially innocents who didn’t deserve it.
And he could feel the presence working on that last angle, tempting him and eroding the line between innocent … and people who were loathsome enough that enslaving them would be no great loss. The parasite was becoming more sophisticated, more enmeshed in his psyche, and harder to separate from the scared young man who’d been on the run in the forest when they’d met. He already had trouble summoning the concern and shock he’d felt at enthralling Carter—a bully, who had made his life hell, but who was also just a young man with a shitty dad. He had none left for Jack, who’d been the source of pain and abuse for much of his life, but he knew that he should feel it. Ezra suspected that after the clutch grew a little more, the line between “innocent” and “convenient” might fade away to nothing. As much as he should be terrified by that, he had to fight anticipation instead.
He had half a mind to throw the eggs away, flush them down the toilet, or shred them in the sink’s garbage disposal. Of course, he couldn’t lift a finger to do it, and contemplating it left him nauseous after a moment. But he couldn’t just keep them around, either. There would be more every day.
The other option—turning himself in to some higher authority, submitting to be poked, prodded, and vivisected—provoked a panic response that he could already feel himself being conditioned to avoid. The various angles of risk bubble through his mind instead, prompting him to think of ways to grow his clutch without attracting official attention. There was no hiding the changes to him, but Carter and Jack could go about and keep up the appearance of a normal life to others, if one with vastly different priorities for anyone that knew them personally. And neither of them had terribly close friends—they had coworkers, drinking buddies, and a loose collection of rough types that didn’t ask too many personal questions. They were the sort of people who expected you to drop out of their lives from time to time, and sometimes come back, no questions asked. Now that Jack was a compliant slave, he’d even admitted that many of them were outright criminals.
And that, for whatever reason, thrilled the parasite within him.
Some calculus in his subconscious ticked over the problem endlessly, probing and testing. Something bent, or snapped, and a solution—partial, incomplete, but acceptable—rose to the surface. Ezra reached for his phone, typing a quick message to Jack. It had taken a day or so after inducting the man into his clutch to work out the mechanics of separating the two thralls in his mind consistently, but it had paid dividends.
Ezra didn’t know exactly where Jack was, but he knew that the instant he’d wanted Jack to do something, the man had felt a frantic impulse to please him that overwhelmed whatever other priorities were in his life. The last time he’d tested it, Jack had sprinted buck naked out of the shower, still covered in suds and cum, to fetch Ezra a meal from the microwave no more than ten feet away from where he was sitting. Rather than have them sprint home to find out what he wanted, Ezra had been training the thralls to check their phones first. It had led to Carter nearly wetting himself in a panic the last time he left his phone in his locker at the gym, but overall the solution worked.
Ezra settled his gaze back on the bowl. His next move wasn’t perfect. But it would do, for now.
Ezra waited impatiently in his room as the men in the rest of the apartment caroused. Controlling his own desires was proving to be the hardest part of his new condition, but at least he had his passenger’s assistance this time. He kept a firm handle on his emotions, insisting to his thralls that he did not need or want their attention at this moment. It was a useful skill, projecting not-need, because otherwise Carter or Jack would want to be with him all the time, whether or not he was sleeping, eating, or using the toilet. His passenger didn’t seem to care about that, but Ezra still did, and the symbiosis between them allowed him the grace of introversion. As long as the clutch’s interests were being advanced by it, at least.
In this case, Ezra needed to wait another twenty minutes or so to make his entrance. He could have waited elsewhere but—well, he didn’t want to, and the risk of running into an innocent and taking advantage of opportunity were still to great to his mind. The symbiote wasn’t worried about it, but Ezra wasn’t entertaining suggestions on that front when he was about to serve up new victims for the clutch.
The noise from the thin walls spiked with braying laughter and the sound of beers cracking. The familiar tones of Jack’s voice were easy to separate from those of the other three men. They were the most disposable of his lowlife acquaintances, people who had driven off everyone else in their life in some way or another. It hadn’t been hard to get Jack to produce them; the trouble had been narrowing it down to just three. He didn’t doubt that between Carter, Jack, and his own capabilities they would have been able to handle more, but some latent human caution tempered alien confidence.
They’d pruned the list by removing out those with people who would follow up if they dropped off the grid for a few days. The ones who didn’t have anyone at home, and didn’t have many people who cared in the first place. They were homophobic, brutish men who mostly found their happiness in bringing pain and violence to others.
Bennett was the crueler one of the bunch. Despite a middle-class name and probably a middle-class background, he’d fucked up every job he ever had and burned nearly every bridge behind him. To hear Jack tell it, Bennett’s own mother would spit on him and cross the street if they came face to face, and Bennett liked it that way. He’d been busted down from foreman on three different work crews, each unaware of his past, and was blacklisted from most formal places of employment. So he made a living as a low-rent muscle, sometimes as a bouncer and enforcer at less-than-strictly legal clubs and events, and often as a hired pair of arms to move things around, threaten people, or push drugs—but he wasn’t even reliable enough to be useful to most criminal enterprises, either. He blew most of his money on narcotics, alcohol, and prostitutes, only occasionally paying back people he’d extorted into giving him “loans.” Jack didn’t see it, but as far as Ezra could tell the man probably only had a few years left before he was in jail or in the ground from fucking with the wrong person or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d got a head start on being in the ground, having his nose broken at least twice and a few scars he like to show off from barely surviving some fights that had got a little feisty. Bennett was built like brick wall, and while he wasn’t especially tall Jack said he could fill a space with menace in an instant.
In comparison, Harry should have his life together. He was clever, or at least cunning, and ran con jobs as well as holding down a shitty admin position to pay rent. But he radiated a kind of predatory vibe that Ezra assumed was sociopathy or at least a total indifference to hurting other people in the course of getting what he wanted. He was attractive in that former-athlete way and used it to get into women’s pants and trick strangers into giving him money or letting him into their lives, at which point he tended to take them for all they were worth. Jack was mortified by Ezra’s displeasure at that, because he’d thought Harry was amazing—smart, richer, better—and Ezra’s disdain for such an obvious parasite left him torn apart between the happiness of his master and admiration of his friend.
Randall was the closest to an innocent of the group, not because he’d avoided doing anything bad, but because he was just unbelievably dumb or so naive that it was childishly easy to manipulate him into doing things. He’d held up a liquor store at 15 and spent half of his life since in jail, half-way houses, or on probation. The muscular 25-year-old had apparently been taken under Bennett’s wing, not because he had any particular skills or talents to develop, but because Randall followed him around like a slightly confused puppy. He bullied people Bennett wanted him to bully, played nice with people Bennett told him to be nice to, and generally did what he was told.
Ezra held these histories in front of him, picking over them almost obsessively, trying to qualm his conscience. But the alien presence inside him was growing impatient, and he knew that these were as bad a set as he was going to get in the time he had left before it overwhelmed him. So he sent a mental command to Carter, who’d been lying in his room, obediently waiting for his signal. He could feel the other man stand up and walk to the door through the shitty floorboards, and the creak of the door as it opened into the hallway.
“Hey where you going slugger?” Jack called out. Ezra didn’t think he’d ever heard the man refer to Carter with actual affection like that before, but apparently being enslaved to an alien entity in your stepson brought out hidden talents as an actor. “And what do you have there?”
“It’s for my friends. I saved up for it, it’s not from your stash,” Carter explained, and Ezra felt the thrill of pleasure from his thrall at the successful deception. The young bully was holding up a bottle of whiskey, one that Jack had bought at Ezra’s direction the night before.
“Give it here.” The next few words were muffled, but Ezra could feel the script playing through his mind. Jack co-opted his son’s prize, teasing Carter into a fit and sending him back to his room to impress his buddies. He passed the bottle around, letting them each get a look at it. They were quiet enough, but he heard Jack walking them through it.
It turned out that the eggs handled submersion in alcohol just fine, as long as a little of their cum-like substrate was mixed in as well. He’d had Carter pour out about a cup of the whiskey and replace it with the fluid and eggs, leaving them dancing around in the liquid like tiny pearls before resealing it to the best of his ability with some candle wax. Jack would mention whiskeys with preserved cobras and scorpions in them, or bull testes, and how it made you manlier or made drinks extra potent from excreted venom or testosterone. Ezra’s crop of victims assented to doing a round of shots, and he felt the ecstasy of a job well done flushing through his thrall, bringing him to the edge of release. The symbiote quelled that for him, aware enough from Ezra that his stepfather blasting a load of cum in his jeans might not be beneficial for their goals. It wasn’t the most comfortable working relationship, but it freed Ezra to focus on what he was better at, and let the symbiote take the lead elsewhere.
After about half an hour and another round of shots, Ezra could feel tendrils of new awareness trickling into the back of his mind. They weren’t his thralls yet—some primal process wasn’t complete. They weren’t even under the slave-bond yet, but he knew that they’d tolerate and even desire his presence now, not that they’d be able to explain it to themselves or others. That was his cue, then.
Ezra stepped out, uncomfortably clothed from the waist down for the first time in a few days. Carter’s old sweatpants didn’t leave much to the imagination, and even at half-mast his cock was hard to conceal. He’d stuffed a wad of tissue into his underwear to conceal the inevitable leak of precum until the coast was clearer.
“Fuck, put a shirt on, Ez,” Jack mumbled, gesturing him forward. “C’mon, have a drink with us.”
His stepfather had a predatory gleam in his eyes, which just a few weeks ago would have sent him fleeing in panic. Instead he plucked an open beer off the table and settled in between Bennett and Randall on the beat-up couch Carter had found behind the apartment’s dumpster a year ago. The two men sidled away to give him room, and Ezra took a sip of the beer as he let their conversation flow back to normal.
“I thought you only had one kid, Jack,” Harry said, pouring himself another whiskey. It seemed the mixture was addictive. Handy, that.
“Yeah, Ezra’s my stepson. You remember my wife passed away a couple years back. Anyway, he’s her kid.” Jack accepted another shot as they passed them around, but Ezra demurred.
“I thought you said he was a faggot?” Bennett asked, leaning away a little from Ezra as he did. Randall, on the other hand, was practically looming over him—but the tendril of awareness in the back of Ezra’s mind told him there was interest there, either native or kindled by the new substances hitting his system.
“Nah, he’s all right. Just not a meathead like Carter,” Jack explained, then continued: “Drink up!”
They all downed their shots, and Ezra took another sip of his beer. It was bland, almost tasteless, and slightly bitter, but it was cool and kept his hands and mouth occupied.
“Well shit, chest like that I imagine you clean up with the ladies,” Harry remarked, gesturing to Ezra’s exposed torso. “And here I thought Jack’s boy would be the stud.”
“I do okay. Focusing on myself these days, though,” Ezra commented, gently prodding at the strings of awareness blossoming in the back of his mind. “Been bonding with Jack and Carter some.”
“Well I’m glad you’re not a fa—not gay,” Randall murmured, though Ezra could feel confusion and growing lust boiling over in him. “We don’t drink with gays.”
“Well, except lesbians, right? Those are straight girls who just haven’t had the right dick yet,” Bennett laughed, prompting laughter from the others. Ezra let the coarse, hateful language flow past him, feeling embers of lust and desire growing in each of his victims. Harry was hiding it better than the others but his cock was rock hard against his thigh; Bennett’s crotch had swelled up and he was unconsciously pawing at it while making jokes about raping women straight. One his other side, Randall’s growing confusion and lust had left a wet spot on his jeans.
Yes, he had them now. He sent a mental nudge to Jack and Carter, then made his move.
“Goes both ways though, doesn’t it?” Ezra cut across the laughter, with Jack instantly stopping to pay him rapt attention. “Right? I mean, if a dick can turn a lesbian straight, wouldn’t one be able to turn a guy gay?”
“I wouldn’t ever go gay for dick,” Harry replied, his eyes narrowing. “Not enough money in the world.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Then again you’d have to try, right? There’s that stupid thing gay guys say—how would you know if you haven’t tried it?” Ezra fed them lust across the connection, and it was all Jack could do to avoid squirming with pleasure in his chair. Carter drifted into the corner quietly, naked except for some gym shorts and a workout shirt. The younger bully took a jar they’d hidden in the kitchen and opened it, ready.
“I don’t know. That seems gay.” Bennett sidled away from him on the couch a bit. Every heart in the room began to race.
“Well, let me put it to ease then. I’ll kiss Randall here. If neither of us likes it, then we’re both straight, right?” Ezra played off the nonsense with a casual air. He could feel that Harry wasn’t buying it, but the chance to humiliate Randall and the lurking influence of the egg slowly sliding into place were dulling what would be homophobic alarm. Bennett in contrast was eager—to see his minion humiliated in front of their friends, but also to see them make out, not that he could really separate the two as the alcohol and burgeoning slave-bond muddled them together.
“I—uh.” Randall looked at him with wide, confused eyes clouding over with lust. He was hornier than he’d ever been in his life—it was written all over his face, and the wet spot on his lap spoke for itself. “Yeah. Right. Let’s do it.”
Ezra moved forward and gently kissed the muscular bruiser, giving him just a second of pleasant contact before letting his lips part and sliding his tongue in. Randall opened to him willingly, whimpering with pleasure that made Harry snicker and make a lewd comment. Randall pawed at him a little, holding him closer and eagerly sucking on Ezra’s tongue as the slave-bond milked out of it, sealing him in place as his thrall in an instant. He could feel lust and jealousy radiating off the other men as he prolonged the kiss just a moment and then -
“Holy shit he’s cumming!” Bennett cried, as Randall squirmed and writhed under the effects of Ezra’s kiss and the body contact of chest, arm, face, and hand. The muscular dunce was moaning and whimpering as Ezra withdrew, his eyes going half-lidded from the waves of ecstasy still crashing through him.
“Whoa,” Harry murmured. “What the fuck.”
“Well I can see he enjoyed that. Maybe he’s been drinking with gays more often than you all thought, huh?” Ezra laughed as the confused, lust-crazed jealousy writhed in the men around him. He let his hand idly brush through Randall’s hair, making the new thrall squirm with pleasure. “Or perhaps you all have.”
With that, Carter slipped up next to Bennett and forced a kiss on him, disgorging the load of cum and slave-bond they’d prepared beforehand in handy jars stashed across the room. The bouncer writhed with surprise and shock, then melted into the kiss with a whimper. Across the table Harry had stood up in shock and panic, trying to get away, but Jack intercepted him.
“What the fuck! Was there something in our drinks?! What the fuck!?” Harry jabbered, confused and futilely struggling against the larger man holding him down. Unlike Bennett, Harry wasn’t taken with quite as much surprise, so he did manage to get a jab in that caused Jack to choke and swallow down the load of slave-bond he’d quaffed while Ezra kicked things off. Harry took the opportunity to writhe out of his grasp and bolt for the door, but Ezra lazily extended his tongue, let the slave-bond fill the specialized organ now threaded into it—and let loose.
It slapped into Harry full in the face, the shock of it making him fall down behind the couch, out of sight. Jack moved over, concerned, but Ezra felt the wave of bliss radiate through the nascent bond with Harry and knew that the riskiest part of the endeavor was over. Now, he could have fun. The symbiote within him thrummed with anticipation, and it was infectious.
Next to him Randall was fully in the throws of the slave-bond, his muscular body flushing with heat and a trembling need to be in contact with his master. He was leaning in to Ezra, shivering with pleasure and pulling at his clothes as if they were on suddenly on fire. Ezra helped him, yanking the dumb bouncer’s shirt up and gently letting his hand play across the taunt swell of musclegut there as Randall squirmed and writhed, clawing at his own waistband with hands that couldn’t stop trembling.
Ezra felt Bennett move behind him, an almost gravitational shift in the couch as the larger, broader man came up behind him and started petting, licking, and groping him. There were hungry growling noises, and through the thrall-bond he felt Carter’s delight as a tearing noise indicated the end of Bennett’s pants. The hot, slick slab of flesh sliding along his back told him everything he needed to know: Bennett was humping along his backside eagerly, doing everything he could to wrap his body around his new master.
On the other side of the couch, Jack had resumed his dominance over Harry, and was methodically stripping the lean conman of his clothes. For his part, Harry was totally consumed by trying to get the last smears of the slave-bond into his mouth, frantically licking and sucking at the hand that had scraped most of it off his face. Jack had bothered to strip off before going after his friend’s clothes, and his thick cock wagged over Harry’s face like a dog’s tail, eager and leaking. Ezra could see his eyes widening and following the tip of Jack’s cock like pendulum, every movement seizing his full attention as his tongue searched for more of the slave-bond to ingest.
Ezra let himself settle into the envelope of muscle and flesh formed by Bennett and Randall as they moaned and shuddered at the skin-to-skin contact. Carter had helpfully pulled off his master’s pants and was hungrily licking at the exposed cocks of all three men on the couch, shoving his face into every crevice to nuzzle at the objects of his desire. Randall came again, spattering his chest and Carter’s face with cum as he whined and whimpered with release. Bennett, for his part, was whispering obscenities—oh fuck, oh fuck shit yeah please fuck fuck—as his cock slipped up and down along Ezra’s back, leaking cum and precum in a rolling orgasm that was slowly burning out all hope of higher intelligence in the new thrall.
“Lemme—please give—oh fuck!” Randall groaned, the trail end of his orgasm crashing through him like an ocean wave. Ezra laughed as the muscular brute nuzzled into his chest, licking and trembling. Behind him, Bennett’s cock nuzzled under him, the thick, slick flesh sliding along his thigh and nestling in his balls. The larger man’s penis spurted and came under him as its master reached back and pulled the hulking bully in close, letting him lick and kiss at the nape and shoulder and collarbone.
Jack had mounted his prey, mercilessly thrusting into the insensate, greedy form of Harry underneath him. The tattooed flesh of his stepfather knelt atop his friend, his ass pulsing as it shoved down and in to the upturned, despoiled ass of the conman. Harry was letting out incoherent squeals and moans as the force of Jack’s assault shoved him repeatedly into the floor, but his face was a rictus of ecstasy and there was a wet smear under him indicating he’d already wrung out his first orgasm of the night. Nothing satisfied the thralls quite so much as their master’s cum, but fucking each other was a suitable substitute in a pinch, they’d learned.
Carter moved from the floor and positioned himself behind Bennett, his cock slicked with palmfuls of Randall’s cum, and a grunt and sigh sent a prelude to the blossoming pleasure in both thrall-bonds as he penetrated the larger man. Ezra took the opportunity to maneuver Randall around, letting the muscular dunce whimper at the necessity of being pulled from his master’s touch even as he submissively raised his legs and bit his lip in anticipation of the long, slick pillar now draped across his ass. The nascent thrall-bond radiated need, hunger, and an eager triumph at being chosen, claimed and taken and enslaved into its proper place. So much about that should have unnerved Ezra, but he was incapable of forgoing the sight in front of him.
He let his cock slide down to the join of his new thrall’s ass, the hole there twitching at the contact. His foreskin caught slightly on the sweaty flesh, rolling back slightly as his glans began to press inward, smearing cum and precum and alien compounds onto Randall’s compliant form. The penetration was smooth, the thrall bond shattering apart any lingering resistance like a truck through tissue paper. The thrall was weeping with joy as his master’s cock broke him open, sliding deep and filling him in slow, even pushes that quickly speared him twelve inches deep. Ezra felt the insane organ twitch and settle, his balls churning in anticipation, and leaned down into Randall. The muscular man’s face was overwhelmed with ecstasy, and when Ezra kissed him gently the orgasm that shot through him painted them both in slick, gummy mess that made the new thrall shiver with delight.
Ezra took his pleasure, slowly thrusting in and out of the pliant slave beneath him. Randall was a tense coil of muscle, but yielded to him in an instant, utterly submissive to his master’s body and pleasure. Ezra felt one of the eggs sliding forth from whatever organ grew and held them, and paused to let it slowly slide through his cock to rest within Randall. The thrall-bond was already in full form from the eggs the slave had swallowed more than an hour ago now, but Ezra felt something different, something momentous about implanting more. He came, the rush of pleasure releasing a torrent of cum and other fluids that gently eased the egg out of him and locked it in to its new home. Randall gasped, eyes widening and staring into space as the thrall-bond indicated a whiteout intensity of pleasure momentarily drowning his consciousness. For his part, Ezra took a few more pumps of pleasure before gently withdrawing, laughing with delight as the thrall’s ass tenderly closed up as if shy to let its new contents escape.
Sidling off the couch, Bennett’s cock slipped from between his legs and the bigger man saw his friend splayed out like a prostitute, legs still raised and ass open. Even in the throws of being jackhammered by Carter’s modest cock, the bouncer’s eyes caught the mess below and he lunged, exposing the expanse of his back as he frantically licked, kissed and sucked at the cum-glazed crotch of his friend. The homophobe hungrily dug in, breath catching and heaving as he lunged for a taste of his master’s load. At his ass, Carter groaned and pumped his own climax into his father’s friend, rabbit-fucking his jock body into the larger man with a cocky grin.
He staggered back, his cock still rampant and leaking, to enjoy the tableau in front of him. Jack and Harry were a slick, humping mess of sweat and muscle and wet noises. Bennett was now being spitroasted by Carter and Randall, who was touching and licking and playing with himself like a man stoned out of his mind. Carter, his first thrall, locked eyes with him and gave him a look of endless, satisfied devotion, and Ezra let a burst of pleasure flow from his mind to the thralls. Each popped off, squirming and groaning even if they’d just cum, their bodies writhing against each other as their connections to him thrummed with obedient pleasure.
The clutch grew, and the symbiote was pleased.
(More to come)
3 parts (2 new) 14k words Added May 2025 Updated 14 Jun 2025 9,193 views 5.0 stars (17 votes)
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