Tattoo Ch. 09: Transforming Vance

Inside, a twenty-four-hour coffee shop/bakery was open. The fast-food joint that had been the anchor business was permanently closed; disturbingly, it was sealed off with police tape as a crime scene. There were several men and a few women sitting at the tables and chairs in the dining area nearest to the coffee shop. They were very openly trading drugs and I thought I caught sight of a gun tucked into a man's waistband.

The crowd of us walked right by those customers. Those of us in the Society, wore our hats low on our brows to avoid currently unwanted attention. Daphne was the only woman among us and she was quite beautiful; she was the first person the predatory truckers and salesmen locked eyes on. She didn't flinch under their stare, and within seconds, those eyes found the nearly nude figure of Vance being carried on Marcus' shoulder. It probably didn't escape their notice that he was wearing cuffs and manacles on his hands and feet. In a normal public environment, the sight of an unconscious, restrained, semi-nude man would have been met with human concern and a call to the police; in this unsavoury atmosphere, there was very little worry of that happening: police attention was the last thing these unpleasant people wanted.

As a troop, we entered the male washroom, Daphne included; she may have been confident, but she wasn't fool enough to wait in the sitting area with the carnivores.

The rest room stank of stale humans, excrement, urine and coffee. There were a dozen stalls and as many urinals. The filthy floor was tiled, as were the walls up to about average shoulder height; the grout was falling out between the tiles. Graffiti dominated the walls and the stalls, from spray-painted gang signs to penciled in dirty jokes and phone numbers. A used condom had been discarded in the middle of the floor. But for us, the rest room appeared empty.

The stench of the room was enough to trigger a response in Vance; he was slowly coming to. Marcus set him down on the cold, dirty floor and FAGGOT added an additional restraint, fitting Vance with a collar which was quickly chained to the plumbing pipes of one of the urinals.

When Vance's bare skin touched the cold floor, his eyes snapped open and he recoiled from the tiles in shock, gathering himself up to a half-sitting, half-kneeling position. With his hands cuffed behind his back and his feet linked together by the manacles, Vance had very little range of mobility. His wits gathered slowly but when they did, he was furious.

"What the fuck," Vance shouted at the Society. He saw me and remembered who I was to him, and he quickly deduced the other wool-capped men watching were his other victims. "Where are my clothes? What have you done to me?"

HOT4COCK pointed the rest room mirror out to Vance and the disoriented man turned to face the glass. It was too far away for him to easily read the inscription on his forehead and the image was reversed, but he knew he had a tattoo on his face. He also saw that his beautiful black hair was gone, leaving his head as pale as that friendly ghost, Casper's.

"It says COCKSLAVE," I announced to him and he registered this with unfeigned terror.

"No," he said with distress. Next to that, the shearing of his beautiful hair seemed insignificant.

"It was like I told you this afternoon. We all owe you a debt for the most fulfilling and plentiful sexual experiences of our life. For that, we all feel some kind of gratitude, which is why you've been so lightly treated. Just the same, none of us asked for your little gift, which was more vindictive than kind. Some of us lost wives, families, and jobs, or just self-respect, over your prank. We took our cue from you, and did unto another as he did unto us. Now you will find out what it is like to serve cock."

"No," Vance said, trying to muster his defiance. "I'm a top, not an easy bottom boy like all of you."

"I was a top too," HOT4COCK said, and COCKSUCKER and FAGGOT agreed.

"I was straight," CUMDUMP said, and we were all surprised given his complete immersion in gay servitude.

"I might have been a bisexual bottom at heart," I said. "But that didn't mean I wanted my inner nature plastered all over my forehead. Now you can contend with the same thing and see what it does to you."

As if on cue, the first of the rest stop patrons entered the washroom. He was a blocky, blond man dressed in jeans and flannel and he wore a cowboy hat. He was probably about forty-five or fifty. He took notice of the group huddled around one of the urinals, walked past us and stepped in front of a urinal at the other end of the row. He was unconcerned about whipping his dick out and having a piss, even with Daphne conspicuously present. The man's gaze wandered over to us and he observed that Vance was chained to one of the other urinals. He grinned, and we all heard his hissing stream of piss dry up. The man turned to face us with confident poise indeed, since his dick was hanging out, swinging and swelling. His self-assurance was justified by a nine-inch love rocket. I saw Daphne blush in the face of this arrogant display of masculinity; so did Marcus and Craig. I confess that I felt my own cock stirring in my pants, and I'm sure the rest of the Society members felt the same, but we all knew this dick was not for us. It had an appointment with Vance.

The man walked right up to Vance and looked down at his face.

"Where do you want it?"

"Fuck off," Vance said with weak defiance.

The man used the opportunity Vance's speech gave him; with the restrained man's mouth open, the head of the dominant man's pecker pressed its way straight in.

Vance choked as the man's cock hit his tonsils. Vance had the penis in his mouth and he looked out of the top of his eyes at the man he was expected to service. The man's face was ruthless, wordlessly promising pain should Vance dare to bite him or refuse to serve.

I don't know if Vance ever had a cock in his mouth before or not. Either way, he adapted. He couldn't take all of nine inches; that much was clear, but he let his head sway into motion as the man forcefully fucked his face as deep as Vance could take it. A month ago, I wouldn't have been able to deep-throat a cock like that, I reflected, but since the tattoo, I had taken more than one nine-incher. I thought Vance was doing okay taking in as much cock as much as he did, which was only the first four inches or so. The man didn't necessarily think Vance was doing his very best and looked ready to give him some encouragement. Vance, still watching the man out of the top of his eyes, saw the idea of violence flicker across the man's face and he redoubled his efforts. He began to suck and massage the meat in his mouth and the man relented.

To the Society's delight, and his discomfort, Vance was sporting a hard-on in his black briefs. He was experiencing arousal as a bottom however he might protest that he was a top. We cheered about this to ensure Vance knew we saw what was happening to him.

Another man entered the bathroom. He was a black-haired, heavy-set man with a five o'clock shadow. He didn't even pretend he was in the bathroom to use the ordinary facilities. He saw us congregated around the tableau of a nearly nude man sucking a giant cock.

"Hell, this is where all the dicks come to hang out," he said.

He was as shameless as the other man, taking a position behind a very nervous Vance and dropping his pants to show off his own seven-inch cock. He bent over and took hold of Vance's underwear from each side and tore the black cloth off of him in two pieces. The man spat in his palm, wetted his dick and shoved it roughly up Vance's ass. Vance's closed eyes suddenly widened like saucers and all at once he screamed and groaned, and from the sound, which was muffled by the other man's cock in his mouth, it was easy to imagine that he was feeling either agony or pleasure, perhaps both.

"Oh, yeah," the first man said. "Keep up that stuff with your tongue a little longer and I will fill you up with that cream you like."

"It's like fucking a fist in a silk glove," the other man observed. "He's a tight son of a bitch."

As the voices of Vance and his ravishers rose in growing excitement, six or eight others came in from the dining area, including some of the women, one of whom took out her cellphone and began recording the proceedings. Vance saw the woman recording him and, even with a cock in his mouth, his terror was plain in his wide eyes. It was hard to guess what scared him more: someone possessing a permanent record of his subjection or of the fact that he was about to have a hands-free orgasm.

Vance convulsed and his cock shivered as he blew his load all over the dirty tiles beneath him. He groaned with relief and shame. Everyone cheered. COCKSLAVE was a hit on his first night out in the world.

The Society and the tattooists watched as their plan to punish the renegade tattoo artist came to fruition. Vance was fully opened now, fucked simultaneously in ass and mouth, and there was a growing line of lovers both before and behind him. He had experienced an orgasm and there was every reason to believe that Vance was beginning to enjoy his work; if so, they hoped that Vance too would be turned into a helplessly enthusiastic bottom like the members of the Society.

Indeed, the membership of the Society was very affected by the scene before them, not only in triumph over Vance, but also in arousal. As horny bottoms and cocksuckers one and all, their natural desire was to remove their toques and service the other strangers in the room. HOT4COCK maintained enough self-control to master the situation before it got out of hand. He chaperoned his tattooist allies and his fellow Society members toward the bathroom door. CUMDUMP had to be almost forcibly pulled from the room. I left unwillingly myself.

HOT4COCK gave the key to COCKSLAVE's shackles to the last man in line to take the new bottom's ass, asking him to free him when they were done with him. He also left a raincoat for COCKSLAVE to cover his nakedness after the long session ended. The Society wasn't cruel enough to leave him to make his way home in the buff.

"I'll unlock him," he said. He was a burly red-headed man wearing a wrinkled suit. He smelled of coffee and sweat. "I might just take him on the road with me."

As I overheard the conversation, I realized this man was openly discussing the possibility of abducting Vance and subjecting him to actual slavery. I thought of what Vance had done, what his actions had cost his victims... and I found that I was alright with it.

When we all met in the parking lot, we were all pretty horny, even Daphne. We drove our vehicles back to the tattooists' studio, where we unloaded the portable tattoo kits they had used to illustrate Vance, putting them back in their place. Once we were all inside the storefront tattoo parlour, it took only seconds before Craig and Marcus drew all the blinds and Daphne and CUMDUMP led the rest of us into action.

We shed our clothes clumsily in our haste. The first one naked, CUMDUMP knelt on a rug and began to blow Craig, inhaling his cock with an expertise born of vast experience.

I wasted no time joining CUMDUMP on the floor so that Marcus could mount my ass. As he began fucking me, the other members of the Society formed a daisy chain, each man connected to the other cock-to-mouth, serving each other in the way with which they were familiar.

The room was filling with moans and sighs, a highly erotic sound to hear, and not least for Daphne, who was also naked and flicking her bean furiously. I looked up at her with lust in my eye and a moment later her pale body was lying before me and my tongue was in her pussy, its rhythm over her clit keeping time with Marcus' ass-fucking pace. I delighted in her labia piercings. I hadn't tasted a woman in quite some time, and while she was exquisite in her own way, and I enjoyed the taste of her fiercely, I accepted that my preferences had permanently leaned toward the male.

As we all fucked and sucked, I thought about Vance. He knew who we really were, our legal names, and where some of us lived, including me. Would he attempt his own revenge on us? If he went to the police to prosecute us for tattooing and forcibly confining him, he was likely to face a serious grilling over his own part in tattooing all of us; to the last man, we'd press charges if it came to that. I also knew what was in store for him if COCKSLAVE met Detective Masters and Constable Mayhew.

Somehow, I was sure that Vance would not go to the police or seek revenge against us; I recognized a familiar look in Vance's eyes while the men of the rest stop fucked his ass and mouth: submission to his fate. It was the same look that we of the Society each shared. We would all be easy ass and eager cocksuckers for the rest of our lives, Vance included.

The Society continued to meet on a regular basis, but the meetings became less about overcoming the trauma of our branding and rehashing all that we subsequently lost; frankly, they became bragging sessions.

HOT4COCK was a construction tradesman who took selective lovers in his sphere of influence, exposing his tattoo only to the most discreet, horny bastards on the worksite; he told stories of turning his ass over to a lover in places where he was in danger of being caught, like the time he and the housepainter humped in the upstairs bathroom of a model home, while a realtor walked a couple through the main floor layout.

CUMDUMP could never return to that profession as long as he wore the label on his forehead, but he had made his peace and seemed happy to be a full-time gloryhole attendant in a seedy club downtown. He was surprisingly well-paid as his skill and stamina in giving blowjobs became legendary and attracted new customers to the establishment. He kept his own tips, a pretty penny a day. He did more than suck cock at the holes; he gave handjobs and rimjobs and he let them use his ass too. He told stories of the threesomes he had in the back of the club with the manager and supervisor. It was an impressive gay resume for a man who just a couple of years ago thought of himself as completely straight.

COCKSUCKER, the former Chief Financial Officer of a Fortune 500 corporation, had fallen from higher than the rest of us when he was tattooed by Vance. He lost his job; his wife divorced him and took half his fortune and assets; he had lost his very dignity. That had weighed heavily on him in previous group meetings, but after Vance was given his own back, COCKSUCKER seemed to make peace with his new place in life. He told tales of his favourite seductions: COCKSUCKER liked to seduce men older than his forty-five years.

FAGGOT, the fifty-year-old ex-con man who had the connections to obtain the chemical that anaesthetized Vance, told stories that were the opposite of COCKSUCKER's in that he like to conquer the inhibitions of young men. Eighteen-year-old nerds and twenty-two-year-old jocks kept him fed at both ends practically daily. Over time, FAGGOT and COCKSUCKER, despite their differences in tastes and past occupations, became linked together romantically, though they by no means became sexually exclusive, each enjoying foursomes and moresomes with gay men everywhere. Together, they were looking for opportunities to exploit our condition for money.

COCKS4ME was a talented artist in his own right, and he began apprenticing under our tattooist friends, Daphne, Marcus and Craig. In our meetings, he described how Marcus and Craig, both strong, young men in their twenties, would bang him every day at work to everyone's satisfaction. (From previous experience, I knew Daphne got off on watching gay sex.) Having enjoyed those cocks myself, I knew he was on to a good thing.

MANEATER had a harder time adapting to his tattoo than any of us. Before Vance marked him, MANEATER was a straight boy who just became curious. He happened to fall into Vance's cross-hairs on his first night of bi experimentation. When MANEATER went home with Vance, he became nervous and tried to back out of an encounter, but he was already drugged; Vance violated his ass anyway and tattooed him in revenge for leading him on to a rejection. His subsequent first conscious encounters turned him out completely. The young man had neither job nor spouse and his maintenance in an apartment was partly funded by the kindness of other Society members. He never had any clear direction in life, and he drifted from day-to-day through one sexual encounter after another. Eventually, he went pro under COCKSUCKER's financial supervision and soon he was self-sufficient. COCKSUCKER was not pimping MANEATER out, as he was taking no percentage, but he invested most of MANEATER's money in safe investments to help him save money for a new home or retirement. MANEATER always had plenty of stories to tell at our meetings about the wide variety of men he met.

Of course, the Society meetings continued to serve their other purpose: sex. As we were all basically bottoms, we linked ourselves together cock to mouth in a circle and blew one another at least once, sometimes twice per session.

But most of all, the meetings gave us a sense of shared purpose: we were all born or molded into the roles of cocksucker, ass-eater and bottom. When we're together, we share intimate details from our oversexed lives without fear of judgement. We have become more than victims by meeting each other and taking ownership of who and what we are, embracing our destiny. We have become friends.

Time went on and nothing was heard of Vance but rumour. Like CUMDUMP before him, COCKSLAVE found work and joy in the city's gloryhole dives, giving his mouth and ass to dozens a day. He had completely bottomed out. He was so accustomed to being filled, often end-to-end, that he felt empty when he was not being used. I remembered his old vindictiveness and his disdain for us who became the Society; I recalled the unhappy black woman leaving his apartment and the sharp words he had for her when he thought she had returned. I wondered if his new submissiveness softened those sharp edges and if his recent transformation into a bottom boy taught him humility. Having not seen him myself, I don't know.

As for me, life continues on its merry way. I suck a dick or take a cock up the arse at least once every couple of days. I have regular lovers like Curtis, the pizza delivery man; Constable Mayhew of the local police force; my boss, Mr. Flax, and my human resources representative, Jason Big Sky, and a few others. I've completely adapted to my role in sex; this is not a humiliation but a pleasure.

I continue in my job, working from home and performing well by all measuring. Even though all was going quite well, I didn't forget my obligations to my work: I promised to attend laser therapy to remove my forehead tattoo.

The choice was surprisingly difficult: give up the label that kept me in constant sexual arousal or lose my job.

In the end, I chose to proceed with the laser removal treatments. After a few months and many, many appointments, the brand on my forehead was barely visible, its marks only visible on very close inspection.

Both my manager and my HR rep confirmed I was able to attend work in the office whenever I chose to; my previous exposed tattoo misadventure there was largely eclipsed by later, greater scandals.

The Society respected my choice to remove the tattoo and kept me as an honorary member. I continued to play in their daisy chains.

I feared the loss of my tattoo would sever me from the sexual escapades to which I had grown accustomed, but my regulars persisted. Additionally, my regular appointments with the hypnotist somehow bolstered my sexual aggressiveness. They say you don't do anything under hypnosis that you wouldn't be willing to do when conscious, but where before I was content to take the cocks that came to me, now I found myself constantly seeking out new dicks. I was sure the hypnotist I had seen to recover my lost memories of Vance had placed me under a post-hypnotic suggestion to push me to live up to my CUMSLUT label.