The cock shelter

by Cockatrice   

Not everyone gets to live happily ever after, even dicked men. But where do they go if their owners do not want them anymore? Answer: The Cock Shelter.

I heard the street noise fade away as my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend I guess—stepped through a door. I had reached my destination, for the time being at least, but it felt so final, it might as well have been my last resting place.

There was a muffled conversation. I could barely make out the words, but I didn’t have to. I knew what they were talking about, even without paying attention. I was too lost in my own head, or however you’d call it in my current state, reminiscing about the last couple months. It had been the best time of my life, and I suppose also the worst? It still felt so surreal, which I guess says a ton, given my current predicament.

The previous summer I had met who I thought would be the man of my life. We clicked from the start, hard to explain. We met, we dated, we moved in together, we planned our future. Of course, our future was very different from what people normally understand by it. We were both kinky bastards and I’ve always had this fantasy to become the most prized possession of my man.

So we made the decision to get me dicked. It wasn’t a rushed decision, far from it. Of course some people might disagree, with us only being together for a couple months. But as I said, we were the perfect fit. I knew this was the man I wanted to be a part of forever. I wanted the dicking to be permanent, with no way to chicken out, the ultimate proof of trust and commitment.

Well, turns out you need that on both sides, but I am getting ahead of myself.

The time right after my dicking was the most amazing time of my life. I didn’t want to turn back. Not that I could, of course. I was locked in. There was nothing that could be done to restore me to human form again, but why would I ever have wanted that? Feeling my boyfriend’s blood flow through me, his hands pumping me when he masturbated, an orgasm gushing through my entire body as he climaxed. Even the pissing was great, not gonna lie.

The first few days—weeks, probably—we were almost constantly hard. It started early in the morning, when I would rise up from my boyfriend’s crotch, throbbing vehemently before he was even awake. He had trouble going outside, as well. I would get too aroused from just being packed in his jeans, rubbing against skin and fabric. I was a pleasure organ and I lived every second of it.

Of course, after some time a bit of the novelty wore off, but not by much. I knew I wanted to be a cock and not once did I regret my dicking, not even now. Sure, I was not as hard anymore in the morning after the third week and routine started to rein me in, so to speak.

And yet, from my point of view, everything was perfect. But… There are two people in a relationship.

I don’t know when exactly it happened, or why. I was a little bit too lost in my own crotch-sized world to really notice the shift in my boyfriend’s behaviour, but in retrospect the signs were there. He started talking to me less, stopped treating me like a person eventually. At the beginning he would always let me out when we were at home, probably also because I was hard almost all the time. Later on however, I was kept inside his pants more often than not. I didn’t really mind back then. I was a cock, and being treated like one seemed fair. I didn’t treat my own cock any different when I was still human. Plus, I was still a part of my boyfriend, tucked away or not. Looking back on it though, those were the first signs.

He started seeing other people, which we had agreed upon before my transformation was fair game. I couldn’t expect my boyfriend to turn to a life of celibacy and, truth be told, I was looking forward to fucking some holes. Most of those flings were one-night stands, but then he met this one guy.

Can’t even say much about the new guy. Most of what I’ve seen from him was his ass, and sometimes his mouth, I guess. He was hot for my man, something that did not really worry me. No matter how intimate their relationship, the one between me and my boyfriend was closer. Or so I thought.

Even so, even if my boyfriend started ignoring me and was spending more and more attention to his new fling, I at least still got all the benefits from being a dick. I reasoned that at least that could not be taken away from me. Life may have been okay despite all the new developments if it weren’t for a strange and bizarre draw of luck.

Turns out his new boyfriend had the same fantasy as I did. He wanted to get dicked too. Now this was a situation neither of us were prepared for. When they first talked about it, I felt powerless. I wanted to chime in, as this was something I was a part of. I tried to get my boyfriend’s attention but all my throbbing simply made him adjust me in his pants.

I rejected the thought that the man of my life would be so heartless as to just forget me like that, so I like to think the decision was not at all easy for him.

In any case, with each new time they talked about it, the more the plans took shape. There was just one small problem: Me.

My boyfriend did not ask me about my opinion once the decision was made. And why would he? I had no right over his body, and I had given away all authority over my own.

So there we were: The cock shelter where people can drop off dicked exes or whatever to give them a chance to be adopted by a new owner.

After some talking, and a little walking, I felt my boyfriend fumble at his zipper. Then his hand wormed its way through the fly in his briefs, grabbing and pulling me out into the light.

Thankfully the surface below me was covered in carpet-like fabric, so I wasn’t put on cold metal. As I looked around, I saw that it was only the spot around me, with the rest being white plastic. I guessed it was a small table used for removing dicks, and maybe even attaching them too. In front of me sat a person, who was seemingly examining me. I figured it was a member of the staff at the cock shelter. Next to him were a clipboard and a couple tools I had never seen before, as well as my ID, which my boyfriend must have given him. The three of us were located in a small room, separate from the main area.

As I was weakly laying there on my balls, the staff member asked my boyfriend a couple more questions before picking up the card. He then introduced himself to me and told me where I was. He established the rule of one throb meaning yes and two throbs meaning no, while three throbs would be used when I wanted to say something other than the two options. He proceeded asking me information from my ID, such as my name, age, that sort of stuff. He even threw in a curveball, asking me purposefully wrong information to check if I am actually paying attention.

At any rate, once finished, he handed my boyfriend a clipboard for his signature. After that was done, the process could begin. I have to admit I was a bit terrified. One of the tools he used made a sound not unlike that of a dentist, you know the one I mean. I am fairly sure I retracted a little upon hearing that, as the staff member asked my boyfriend to hold open his fly a little more to be able to apply his separator tool.

The actual separation was absolutely painless. I expected at least some stinging, but I came off before I even realized he had done the full circumference.

There I was, lying on the table all by myself. For the very first time as a dick I was not attached to my boyfriend, who took some seconds to zip up his fly. Maybe he was a little overwhelmed by the finality of it himself.

Whatever the case may be though, the staff member and my boyfriend shook hands and my former owner left the room.

After my now ex was gone, the man waited for a few more moments, before asking me if there was anyone among friends and family I want them to contact to pick me up. I was thinking. Family was out of the question, but I went through my friends. I remember some of them telling me my decision was a little rushed, not understanding for how long I had mulled over it before finally coming to a decision. Still, I had enough closure with all of them at my dicking party. If I was going to get a new owner, I wanted it to be a fresh start.

I throbbed twice and he continued, telling me he would now register me and take my measurements. I watched him scribble something down on his clipboard, before he turned to me again. He told me he would stroke me for some “erect” measurements and a sample.

I got to say the guy got a nice touch. The jokester in me would say he had some experience, but truth be told, he likely did. He knew which buttons to push to get me hard as quickly as possible. The edging when he stopped to take my measurements was the best I had in a while, since lately my boyfriend seemed more interested in pleasing his new fling than me.

Then he picked me up and walked over to a countertop on the wall where he held me over an empty plastic cup. With for the position surprisingly gentle movements, he finished jerking me off, making me unload myself into the cup. After he milked the last drops out of my body, he placed me in a small container with transparent walls. A bit like a hamster cage, but designed for cocks. The floor was an elevated net of soft plastic with broad threads to prevent them from digging into the skin. The mesh would let cum pool to the bottom, which was a small removable drawer allowing for easy cleaning.

As I lay there, lost in the afterglow, the staff member explained to me the purpose of the sample as he labeled it. I would be put in quarantine, away from the other cocks for a day, until my cum had been tested for any sort of pathogens. Tomorrow, he assured me, I would get to join the others.

When he had finished labeling the cup, he put it inside a machine and started it, producing a slight humming sound. Then he picked up my container and walked over to another room, which looked like a storage. There he put me somewhere on a top shelf and asked me if I needed or wanted anything. Being spent, it was difficult to answer, but I managed two throbs. Satisfied, he left, leaving the light on.

The next hours were as uneventful as one would expect. Occasionally a staff member would come into the storage to grab something and leave again. I counted two women and the guy who I already knew. None of them would stop by me. The best I got was a quick glance, possibly to check if I was trying to get their attention.

Being all by myself, I figured I’d practise moving around by myself a little. Having been attached to my boyfriend ever since I was dicked, I never really had to learn how to get around. It took about half an hour to an hour to get the coordination right, how to pull in the balls and more importantly how to do it alternately. Eventually I was pacing along the sides of my container rather confidently.

Eventually, evening came. Before turning off the light, the guy peeked into the storage and let me know they would close now, before wishing me a good night.

Being all by myself in the darkness was a strange feeling. Sure, the whole day felt weird, but now that it was time to sleep, I felt the absence behind me. I was missing the warm body I used to be attached to and the air behind me was distracting me from falling asleep. Not wanting to touch the cold plastic walls of the container, I propped myself up on my balls, ‘sitting’ on the net. That felt better and I fell asleep after a while.

I woke up to the sensation of falling. In fact, as I became my own morning wood, my weight shifted as I curve upwards when I get hard. Eventually, my center of gravity lay behind me and I tipped over. For a split second, I was struck with panic, before I realized what had happened. I must have looked hilarious as I was lying there on my back, with both balls frantically wiggling around. The mental image still fills me with joy.

Once I had calmed down, I realized I was still horny. My first instinct was to throb until my boyfriend would notice, but then I remembered. Seemed like I had to get myself off.

Which was easier said than done. Having nothing but cold plastic and some weird net to rub against makes masturbation a lot harder. I managed to cum by imagining fucking some tight wet hole as I was rubbing back and forth over the net, repeatedly pulling my foreskin over my glans.

Spent after the ordeal I watched the narrow windows until I heard movement outside. Someone unlocked the front door. A minute later, one of the women came into the storage but took no notice of me. She simply grabbed some things from a shelf and returned to the main area again. This happened twice more.

An hour later or so, the guy returned. I only heard his voice for some time, until he entered the storage and came right for me. He told me the sample had been analyzed and I’m ready to join the others.

He gently picked me up and walked me over into the main area. I had not seen this room before, as I was tucked away in my boyfriend’s pants when we arrived, so this was the first time I saw my new, hopefully temporary, home. The interior was nothing truly remarkable. Most of it was shelves full of sextoys for dicks as well as related articles. Condoms, sounding rods, cockrings, you name it. Some hygienic articles as well.

In the front of the shop window, however, I saw other dicks wiggling around in a relatively large tank. I counted around 10 or so. The tank was built similarly to my containment box, complete with plastic net and bottom drawer, except of course much bigger.

As I was approaching, I saw some of them turning to look at me. It was a genuinely strange feeling. Obviously I knew that there were other people who underwent a dicking, but I had not met a single one in my life before that moment. And then there were almost a dozen all in one place going to keep me company for the time coming.

The staff member lowered me down into the middle of the tank, told me to have fun and left to join the woman at the cash register.

I do not know if it was weeks or months, but I spent some considerable time inside the tank with the other dicks. There was a bit of a rotation, but not as much as one might imagine. I would say about one or two new dicks per week and roughly an equal amount removed. For some reason our numbers remained nearly constant.

The time in the tank was surreal. We were all male sex organs yet at the same time we were people and acted like it. Each cock had a habit, preferences and friends. It felt like some shared flat in many aspects.

The personnel took good care of us, what little care there was required at least. We didn’t need to eat and we managed to get ourselves off without outside help, but all that cum needed to be washed away. Once per day, usually in the morning to make us look good for potential new owners, the staff would wash us off with a little shower head, including our undersides. I always preferred if the guy cleaned us, because the women had such a rough grip. I felt like they didn’t know how uncomfortable it felt to a dick to be grabbed a certain way. I can’t really blame them, I guess, but it made me appreciate the times the guy cleaned the tank all the more.

The staff never gave us names, not even the long-term residents. In fact, I heard one of the women quip about the guy talking to us so much. Apparently most people who underwent a dicking also wanted to be treated like a cock rather than a human being. Not having names, or at least being unable to communicate them between us, I made up my own in my head.

There was Speedy, who always appeared to me as somewhat hyperactive. He was constantly circling the tank and often tried to engage with the other cocks. While he was somewhat annoying, he never overdid it and understood quickly when someone was not interested in a frotting session. Interestingly he was always at least semi-hard, which makes his quick movement even more impressive. I had a lot of trouble getting anywhere when I was erect. I think he was just horny all the time.

One of his regular frotting partners was Leaky. He was a bit of a ‘silent’ type, but his most noteworthy feature was that as soon as he got hard he would leak precum like crazy. I have never seen anyone leak that much.

There was one dick that stayed only for a short time. I called him Napoleon, because, well, he wasn’t the biggest. However, when he came he would always shoot quite a distance. At the beginning he often enough shot outside the tank, which annoyed the personnel, so they would tell him to stop that. He seemed embarrassed enough and he refrained from doing it as well as he could. He would still sometimes hit the upper portion of the tank though. Napoleon was quickly acquired by someone, possibly because the staff advertised him as a distance shooter.

The biggest dick among us was Grumpy. It wasn’t even a competition. Ever since my dicking everything felt bigger, but that guy was enormous. At least nine inches, if not more. Interestingly he never really moved much, or at all. He just laid in the corner of the tank. Occasionally he would adjust himself, especially after being cleaned by the staff, but otherwise he remained immobile. I don’t even think I ever saw him stiff. Nevertheless, he commanded respect. When he moved, most cocks in the tank went still to watch him, but that was rare, because there was little that would upset him, and some of the other cocks frequently slept cuddled next to his frame or even on top. One time, however, Speedy got on his nerves. I didn’t see what led up to it, but Grumpy rose up and slammed down, making the net wobble across the entire tank. Apparently that got the message across and Speedy never bothered him again. I am honestly not sure what Grumpy’s deal was, or if he was indeed grumpy. How would a guy who never got hard end up agreeing to become someone’s dick? Or did something happen that would make him not enjoy being a dick anymore? Grumpy felt so out of place and was by far the most mysterious of us.

My favourite cock was Phil. I named him after my high school crush. I can’t really tell why, since we never talked, but somehow we both just got along well from the start. I think it was just the right combination of behaviours and preferences. Phil and I started out as frotting partners, but eventually we moved to cuddling a lot as well. Not only was Phil a nice cock to be around, he was also really handsome. He was cut, unlike me, had the right shape—not too thin, not too fat—and had nice-looking balls. He was slightly bigger than me too, but it was hard to tell without putting us next to each other to compare. We grew near-inseparable over time and soon I started to consider him my best friend.

There were also a bunch of other cocks, but I never bothered to give them names because they did nothing noteworthy. There was the Corner Gang, which I named so because they always stayed in the same corner of the tank. They were four cocks, but occasionally they would let another dick into their group for a day and have some fun with him, before he would be nudged out of the corner the next day.

There were also the Performers, but they were a very loose grouping of whatever cock deliberately moved to the front of the tank, facing the street, and would put on a show for passers-by. They tended to be the ones who got new owners the quickest, but I was less interested in getting a new owner as soon as possible than in finding the right one. I was more passively watching people stopping by the window, rather than actively trying to get their attention.

One time however, I saw the most handsome man ever peek through the shop window into our tank. He had the absolute perfect everything. Any description I could give would not do him justice. The moment I saw him, I knew he had to be my owner. I decided to get his attention. I sat up on my balls and started to flex until I got hard. As soon as he saw me, I felt like I grew another inch. I thought about all the things he would do to me as his dick. Of our life together, me being tucked away in his briefs or swinging freely in his boxers as he would go about his day. I thought up bedroom scenarios where he fucked some hot guy with me, or let me be sucked off. As my mind was swirling with erotic thoughts, I had to balance myself so I wouldn’t fall over. I must have been the biggest I ever was and I started throbbing as the veins pulsed beneath my skin. His eyes roamed the tank but kept coming back to me. He smiled and I almost lost it. Precum was oozing out of my slit and I wondered whether cumming now would be a good or bad idea.

Before I had a chance to decide, he turned away from the glass and continued walking. I expected him to enter the shop, to pick me up and make me his tool, but I just helplessly watched him walk off into the distance.

“It’s fine.” I said to myself. “He will come back.” He might have to set up some things first, or talk to his partner. Clearly this is not a decision you want to rush. I knew that too well.

Nevertheless, my libido plummeted. I deflated more quickly that I went hard. The air felt cold on my skin and the precum was not helping either. At last, I slumped back on the net. There was Phil, who was seemingly watching me. He crawled over and started cuddling with me. At first, I did not get why he thought I would be in need of some contact at that point, but I was grateful for his warmth.

I began to understand gradually in the following days. The man of my dreams did not come back. I began more closely watching the other men who check us out through the window and started to sense a pattern. People rarely saw a dick they liked and decided to acquire it later. Either they picked up their cock the first time they see it, or they would be regulars who would show up frequently, but only to look, never to set a foot into the shop. The only people who came back again did so within a couple hours or a day. I never saw anyone show up after a week, having had a change of mind.

As time went on I realized the man I had seen, my Mr. Perfect—at least looks-wise—was not going to come back. Even worse: If he did, it would not be for me.

The following weeks went by largely uneventfully. Cocks came, cocks went. Phil and I grew closer over time as well. Ever since I realized that he tried to comfort me after that one guy left, I knew Phil was a friend for life. I began to wonder what would happen if any of us were acquired. I honestly didn’t know if I wanted to get a new owner, if it meant being separated from Phil.

I had plenty of time to think and I also thought about my ex. How were they doing right now? Were they happy? Was my ex riddled with guilt? Did they actually go through with the dicking? Every time I heard the doorbell chime, I looked over to see if it was my ex. It would have been such an ironic twist of fate if my former boyfriend’s new lover would end up at the same cockshelter as me.

Alas, I was denied such petty delights. Whatever happened to them, it would not affect me anymore.

The weeks passed until one day a couple entered the shop and took a look at our tank. It was unusual for people to enter the shop first, unless they were buying sextoys or other dick-related supplies. Later I would learn that one of them was insecure about his penis size and they decided he would adopt a dicked person to serve as his new improved meat. In hindsight, it also makes his red-faced reaction to Grumpy all the funnier.

As they were looking through the tank and pointing out individual dicks, I saw Phil putting on a show, quickly rising into an erection. I do not know what exactly made me do it, but I followed suit. I think I was just joining in on what my best friend was doing. The couple’s attention quickly fell on both of us. The guy who was looking for a new dick, who was interestingly also the more masculine of the two, asked his boyfriend what he thought. After some short exchange, they looked at the guy of the staff who came over. They told him they wanted Phil, who was picked up and carried away into the back room.

At that moment I felt heartbroken all over again. Memories of the break-up talk with my ex came flooding back. I was given a second chance and managed to find a new soulmate and now he was removed from my life once more.

I was sitting there on my balls as my body was deflating. They stayed in the room for an unusually long time. Eventually, the door opened and only the staff guy walked out, toward my tank and picked me up. He made a remark about me being lucky and returned to the room. There was Phil, sitting on the table. On the wall they had projected a sheet with letters and numbers. It was a communication table used when a cock wanted to say something that was more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’. One would simply throb the number of columns and then the number of rows to make a letter. Rinse and repeat to form words and sentences. I had not pieced together at that moment what Phil had asked of them. I was put down on the table, facing the sheet on the wall. The couple was standing next to the table on my right, while the staff guy was standing on the left.

The guy then told me that Phil had asked them to acquire me as well, which the couple had agreed to. If I said yes, I would be attached to the other partner’s crotch.

I looked from the couple to the guy and then to Phil. I expected there to be a catch, but there was none, apparently. I throbbed once and saw Phil lift his shaft up in the air as if to cheer. The couple laughed at the display and the staff guy went to work to prepare the documents and fetch his tools.

I felt movement on the body I was attached to. My owner was waking up. It was early in the morning and I was poking a tent in the blanket. A couple minutes later I heard some whispering. Soon after the blanket was pulled off and I saw the faces of the couple looking at me and Phil, who was also hard. We were greeted with a ‘Good morning’, to which we replied with a single throb. This had become our morning ritual.

I knew what was coming next. Our owners liked having sex after waking up and our sex life was amazing. It felt like we were having a foursome despite there only being two bodies.

As the couple started making out, they moved their hips towards each other, letting us touch. They always made sure we were getting some time between us as well, even if we were just their genitals. Moving around when being hard and attached to a body is not easy, but we managed still. As Phil and I rubbed our frenula together I wanted to tell him how much I loved him.

But I was just a cock.—And I loved every second of it.

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