Hey all...
This is my first attempt at a story of this type. (Yeah, haven't you heard it all before?) I would really love some feedback on it. You can mail me at connersmith@hotmail.com.
Hope you enjoy it!
Conner Smith should have been dead. Or would have liked to have been.
Not that he was exactly alive in the traditional sense of the word. Sound of body, yes. Sounder than he'd ever been or imagined himself ever being. Sound of mind? If you called being a disembodied phantom locked inside a dark, lonely corner of your own mind sound, then yes, you could call him sound of mind.
He might as well have been dead, though, for all the living he'd done in the last six months. Ever since one unlucky Friday night...
The club was busy tonight and there had been a line-up to get in. All the cute gay boys wanted to party at Boyz this evening, it seemed. Conner could still see them, lined up like sheep, through the open door. Most of them were walking clothing manufacturer advertisements: Tommy, DKNY, CK, and other brand names warred for supremacy. Each head was adorned with the latest salon products keeping the latest fashionable haircut immaculately in place. Rigidly in place, like so much of the gay community was kept in place by the latest trends in clothing, hair style, activities, and politically correct causes.
Conner sighed as he turned away from the door, pushing past the packed crowd to get nearer the dance floor. He diligently withstood numerous sensory assaults, including the flashing lights, choking cigarette smoke, deafening techno music, and the occasional grope from some of the more lecherous club patrons.
I'm only here to dance, thought the 24-year-old as he wondered, for the millionth time, why he was never groped by someone he wanted to be groped by. Like, for instance, the vision of beauty directly to his left who he was only noticing now as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting standard, it seemed, in every gay club.
The blonde who had caught Conner's eye turned towards him slightly and he felt his insides clench in that familiar, love-hate feeling, the one that lusted and despaired at the same time. Blonde boy was stunning: perfect hair, cut in the undercut Conner couldn't get enough of; perfect skin; perfect, yet simple, clothing, consisting of slightly baggy blue jeans and a tight white top; and perfect, from the look of the shirt clinging to his torso and the bulge of his arms, body.
I bet he even has a decent-sized dick, thought Conner disgustedly as he made sure to avert his gaze and follow the cardinal rule of never staring long enough to give anyone the idea he was interested in them. Probably seven inches, big enough not to have any hang-ups about it but not big enough to scare anyone away. Not that Conner could see anyone kicking the blonde out of their bed. No, the likely effect was probably more along the lines of widened eyes and a dreamy, "Take me. Now. I'm yours."
Tearing himself away from his fantasy, Conner continued to move towards the dance floor. There are only three reasons to come to a place like Boyz, he considered as he waved to an acquaintance on the other side of the club, One: to drink. Two: for sex. Three: to dance. And I am most definitely here for reason number three.
He passed one of the mirrored posts in the club and decided that, despite lacking perfect hair, skin, and body, the faded blue shirt he liked so much was doing its job. The vertically ribbed garment was just tight enough to make his unimpressive chest look slightly impressive. The beige jeans went well with it, as usual. Who would have ever thought I would have good taste in clothes? If only people from high school could see me now! And I don't care what anyone says: these jeans are not too tight.
It was Conner's recurrent dilemma: he was stuck between two extremes. Although he had good taste in clothes, he didn't like to follow trends. The minute he had become used to wearing tight and revealing clothing, he had gone out and bought some, only to be informed that--usually in the most bitchy manner possible--some capricious fashion deity had declared baggy clothing was "in." Even though he knew he shouldn't be ashamed of his body, he was, and then was doubly ashamed of his original self-consciousness. Even though he valued intelligence, he had, since grade school, been attracted to jocks who displayed only rudimentary mental skills-- Stop stop STOP IT! he "yelled" at himself. No psychoanalysing tonight. You're just here to dance and have a good time.
As he silently chided himself, he knew he was lying. Not that he hadn't been to Boyz or any other club with the sole intention of dancing the night away before. And it wasn't that he had to drink to have a good time, like so many guys at the bar. It was the plain and simple fact, as his reaction to the blonde had highlighted, that it had been over two months since he'd broken up with his ex and he hadn't been intimate with anyone since, unless you counted his mattress and his hands. Hadn't held anyone. Hadn't kissed anyone. Hadn't felt their hands on him, touching him, moving up and down his body, swaying against them on the dance floor, up and down. . . down. . . down. . . .
Okay, maybe these jeans are a little tight, thought Conner with annoyance as he shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one had noticed the raging hard-on he'd just given himself with his vague but sensual fantasy about the blonde with the perfect everything. Despite his hang-ups, Conner was a very sexual guy and a low libido had never been a problem of his. He was upset he hadn't noticed the throbbing of the music recede as his heart had started pounding in time to a deeper and more powerful throbbing. If anything, he should have at least noticed how the smoke in the club had stopped bothering him.
I can't wait until they outlaw it in 2000. Latching onto this safe and consuming thought, he turned his attention back to his surroundings, studiously avoiding glancing in the direction he had last seen the blonde. As he started the requisite contortions necessary to join a friend he spotted across the dance floor, he tried to ignore the voice at the back of his mind telling him how badly he wanted to get laid.
Voice at the back of my mind! Ha! No one would ever have gotten me to believe that one day all I'd be was a voice at the back of my mind.
Conner felt his head tilt down and was momentarily startled when he felt hands on his chest. His hands. After six months, it was still disconcerting to have his body move without him wanting it to. He'd always thought it would be erotic not to be in control of his own actions, liberating or freeing somehow, but the truth was it was terrifying. It was worse than claustrophobia, worse than solitary confinement in a tiny cell, because at least in those situations you were still in your body, still got to choose from a limited number of choices. Whether it came to moving or breathing or batting an eye, Conner was helpless to do anything. The only thing he could liken it to was paraplegia but at least then you could shift your eyes. Or say something. Anything.
It was probably a good thing he hadn't had the use of his voice when he'd realised what had happened to him. He could still hear his initial screams echoing through the prison his mind had become that Friday night, getting louder and louder without him being able to make a sound, as he began to realise the horror of what had happened to him.
Conner tried to forget the terror of the first few days of his imprisonment and instead turned his attention to what his evil twin was doing with his body. It would have been funny in circumstances less dark. Evil twin. Conner didn't know what else to call the knot of lust and obedience that was all that was in the driver's seat when it came to his body. On his first being evicted, the evil twin had been like an unpleasant version of Conner himself, nasty where Conner was witty, shallow where Conner had been deep. In essence, a twisted yet pale reflection of who Conner really was. His friends hadn't noticed at first; the evil twin's master had had his devoted slave carry through with Conner's usual routine, with only a few minor adjustments.
Conner was reminded of the most evident change in routine as he felt his hands slide down his chest and around his waist to his butt. Along with not feeling like his body because he wasn't in it, Conner's body didn't even feel like it was his because of the changes.
He could still hear one of the very first commands he'd been given. "You will work out two hours a day, five days a week. Monday/Wednesday/Friday you'll do your upper body. Tuesday/Thursday you'll do your legs. Every rep you do will make you hornier for me." That had been it: six months later, Conner was physically perfect. He weighed forty pounds more than when he'd started and he didn't have an ounce of fat on him. He wasn't just defined-- he was chiselled. His body was better than he'd ever imagined in his wildest fantasies; the only problem was that he was living in something more awful than his worst nightmare.
His evil twin loved feeling himself. Conner had been sexual; the twin was a rutting animal. Conner had jacked off maybe once a day; the evil twin would crank it at least five times in that span. That didn't include the time it spent servicing the master. And his friends. And whoever the master wanted it to please.
Conner shuddered at the memory of some of the indignities he'd been put through. The twin did whatever it was told, with a pleasure that was nearly entirely sexual. It had no shame, no conscience. And it would cum at the thought of sex with any guy. Conner wondered if he'd ever be able to deal with the memory of spreading his legs for whichever guy wanted a piece of him, with eagerly getting down on his knees and begging man after man to let him suck their cocks. Old, young, fat, skinny, clean, dirty... the worst part was remembering how desperately he'd wanted each one, how hungry he'd been for their cum, how he'd wanted to lick their cracks clean...
Stop! It wasn't me! It was it it was it it was it! Conner felt the familiar panic rising, all the more terrible for not having any outlet. Suddenly he was distracted as the twin turned towards the door of the apartment it stood in. Concentrating furiously on this welcome turn of events, Conner finally pulled the sound of a key in the door lock from out of his hazy memory. If he didn't concentrate, it was all too easy to completely lose track of not only time but sensory input that wasn't entirely his own anymore. Just like the first night. . .
Having chatted with his friend and gone to the bar for water, Conner stood leaning against one of the waist-high tables in Boyz, drinking the water and waiting for a good song to inspire him to get himself on the dance floor. The blonde was nowhere to be seen, which from Conner's "I have no self- esteem" perspective was all for the better.
Finally he heard the familiar strains of one of the less bad songs they were playing currently at the clubs. Why do they have to play all this techno crap? What's wrong with EuroDance? The thought passed bitterly through Conner's mind; techno had always seemed repetitive and. . . unhappy was the only word he could come up with. There was no joy in it.
He lowered his glass, now only containing ice cubes, placed it on the table along with the collection of empty beer bottles and half-full ashtrays, and attempted to beat the rush of people on to the dance floor. It figures, he moaned inwardly, the only good song and I'm not going to have any room to dance.
Soon, however, he was losing himself in the music, keeping his eyes shut most of the time as he often did when trying to shut out the world. The bass pounded through him and he spun to the rhythm, entering his favourite mindset, the one where he didn't care what anyone thought he looked like because he was enjoying himself. The out-of-place sensation of someone grabbing his arm woke him from his reverie.
"Wha...?" Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. It's him.
The gorgeous blonde god from earlier that evening was hanging firmly onto Conner's arm. Conner felt the usual "cute boy is touching me" panic begin to rise and desperately tried to figure out what he could have done to attract the attention of the beauty in front of him. Had he hit him while dancing?
As suddenly as the panic had begun, however, Conner felt himself relaxing. If he hadn't been drowning in the deep blue eyes of the blonde, who was still holding his arm, he might have been amazed. As it was, he felt himself smile laconically and heard himself say, "What can I do for you?" As he got the words out, the music died down; the song had reached an interlude.
"Want to dance?" The blonde's voice was like music and it melted over Conner. His whole body relaxed and he nodded his head.
The music started up again and Conner felt it pour through him like a torrent. The blonde was dancing like it was as natural to him as breathing but surprisingly Conner didn't feel self-conscious. He let the music take him over and surrendered himself to the rhythm.
The next thing he knew, the lights were going up, the music had ended, and he was pressed up against his dancing partner, breathing heavily, and feeling giddy at the thrills that passed through him whenever the hard body pressing against his moved even slightly. After what seemed forever, the blonde pulled away slowly. Conner nearly cried out. Don't go!
Fixing him with those deep, dark eyes, the blonde's voice played over Conner's ear again.
"Come home with me."
Conner's heart skipped a beat. His whole body started flushing and somehow the giddiness returned, stronger than ever. "I. . . I don't even know your name. . ."
"Does it matter?"
And strangely, Conner, who despite numerous sexual encounters had never gone home with a stranger, found that he didn't care in the slightest.
The door to the same apartment the blonde had taken Conner back to that fateful night was opening now, and there was the blonde. James. Conner knew his name now. How could he not, after half a year of tending to his every whim? He could still hear himself--the twin, he corrected himself angrily--begging: "Please fuck me, James. Please. I'm yours. I'll do whatever you want."
What seemed a very long time ago, that kind of sexual encounter had been one of Conner's favourite fantasies. Now that it had been his reality for so long, the thrill was definitely gone.
The thrill might have been long gone for Conner but for the twin, the thrill was never-ending. It practically bounded up to James like a puppy, quivering with the need to service its master. As was typical, the gorgeous blonde fixed his eyes on his slave and said, in that same bewitching voice Conner remembered from the club, "I need some attention."
Conner would have gagged at the excitement the twin felt, the honour, at being allowed to suck the master's cock. It felt none of the gagging sensation Conner suffered as it eagerly pulled off James' pants, then his briefs--sliding them down James' powerful legs--and hungrily stuffed its master's entire eight-and-a-half hard, thick inches down its throat. After six months, Conner could deep-throat like a porn star. He had had more practice than most porn stars.
"Oh... yeah!" James' face was screwed up in ecstasy, which Conner was able to note because the twin would occasionally look up to make sure it was being a good boy and pleasing its master. As the twin's ministrations grew faster and faster, James' was reduced to moaning and the occasional grunt. Finally, five minutes of frenetic activity later, his entire body began bucking.
"Uh! Uh! Oh yes yes YESSSSSSS!"
Conner felt James' enormous creamy load slide down his throat as the twin sucked at James' rod furiously. The twin was writhing in ecstasy, although it wouldn't come no matter how excited it got. Not until James said it could.
Conner mentally held his breath, that being the only way he could. James' panting finally died down and no longer thundered in his ears. A dreamy, laconic look came over James' face and Conner's pulse would have quickened. James looked down at Conner.
"You definitely give the best head of all my boys, Conner. Yes indeed. . . you're the hottest little cocksucker I've ever had the pleasure to enslave. Right now, though, I think we have to put some of your other excellently honed talents to work. I have a hole that needs plugging and you are just the boy for the job."
Conner struggled to concentrate over the twin's burst of throbbing passion. It started sweating, twitching, and Conner amazingly felt his dick get harder than it had been. It was painful but the twin loved it. Conner was excited enough himself as it was without having to fight through the twin's artificial feelings.
This has to be it. . . this is my best chance. . . maybe my last chance. In recent weeks, he'd noticed his thoughts getting more and more cloudy. Concentrating had become increasingly difficult. Worst of all, the twin's heightened emotions had begun to spill over into the corner of his mind that was still wholly his. He knew it was only a matter of time before there was no Conner left, only the perpetually horny twin.
As he felt himself being led to the apartment's dining room table, he quickly ran over everything he'd been able to piece together about his long possession. He'd never more than half-believed in telepathy--that is, never more than half-believed until his first night with James.
Conner stumbled into the dark apartment, more concerned with the feel of the blonde's hands down his pants than with a graceful entrance. He slid his own hands up the now-untucked shirt that had previously clung to the blonde's beautiful torso and sure enough, the stud reaching into his pants to squeeze his butt was built. Very built. Conner, who normally would have been intimidated to be making out with someone with such an awesome body, at this point just found it more exciting. He couldn't think enough to be intimidated, which was fine by him.
"Oh yeah. . . you're a frisky one. . . yeah. . . what I think you need is to get fucked. Up the ass. Hard." On "hard," the blonde shoved one of his fingers so far up Conner's ass that he hit his prostate, which nearly made Conner pass out in rapture. He decided then and there that he would do anything to have the blonde's dick reaming his ass.
As if in answer to his prayers, the blonde pushed Conner away, roughly, which Conner decided he liked, and headed into what Conner supposed was the dining room. Conner followed, quick at his heels. The blonde stood, facing away from him, and dropped his pants. Conner felt short of breath as his eyes feasted on the blonde's perfect ass. When he turned around, Conner felt faint.
Oh shit. . . oh shit yes. . . oh yes yes yes! The blonde was better endowed than Conner had previously predicted. Conner couldn't take his eyes off the monstrous, eight-and-a-half inch hard-on the blonde sported. He watched, mesmerised, as his fantasy began stroking the shaft slowly. Up and down. . . up and down. . .
"You want this, don't you? Want it in you, up your ass?" The blonde smiled knowingly at Conner's obvious desire. Conner's only reply was to drop his pants as fast as he could.
The blonde's smile widened. "Come here," he beckoned to Conner, who did as he was told.
The blonde pulled him up to the edge of the table. "How do you want it? How bad do you want it?" Conner felt himself swirling in his desire, unable to answer, once again drowning in the blonde's eyes.
The blonde grinned at him hungrily, bent forward, and started licking Conner's lips. At the touch of his tongue, Conner opened his mouth and let the blonde's tongue have its way with his. He felt himself press against that firm, hard body.
"You want it from behind? Like an animal?"
At the word "animal," Conner lost it. He grunted, spun around to face the table, and reached behind him. Taking hold of the blonde's huge cock in both hands, he shoved himself onto it. Before he knew it, his own hard dick was pressed against the table he was bent over and the blonde was thrusting into him wildly. With every thrust, Conner felt ecstasy flood through him. He spared a brief thought to wonder how he had managed to keep himself from coming when suddenly he heard the blonde's words as if they were ringing in his mind.
You're mine, Conner. You're just another of my slaves, another toy. . . you like that, don't you? You want that.
Conner could barely make out his own reply. "Yes. . . uhn. . . yes oh yes. . . please make me yours!" There seemed to be white noise growing in his ears. The ringing was so loud.
You want to obey me, don't you? You want to do anything I say, anything I tell you?
"Yes," he panted. "Yes oh fuck yes oh please oh yes please please. . . ."
Yes what? Yes what, Conner? Say it! Say it for me! Show me you're mine. . .
The white noise was deafening now. Conner's whole body was tingling, and twitching, and he though he heard himself say:
Yes master! Yes master! I'm yours! The white noise crescendoed and suddenly he felt himself come like he'd never come before. He felt his jizz spurt all over the table, felt himself so light-headed he began blacking out, felt a throbbing through his entire body. . . and then everything went dark.
When he had woken up, he hadn't been in control of his body. At all. After the initial terror, James had issued him a few commands and suddenly Conner had found himself the sexual object of any number of James' friends and acquaintances. He'd watched in despair as the twin had alienated all his friends, one by one. He'd sat through hours at the gym while someone else-- something else--sculpted his body just the way he'd always imagined it being, how he'd always wanted it to be. That had been the worse, though, because Conner knew that the perfect physique he now inhabited had had nothing to do with him. He hadn't earned it, he hadn't worked towards it, and he couldn't enjoy it.
He was at that same table again, the dining room table from the first night with James. This time, though, James was against it, facing him. He always said how much he enjoyed fucking face-to-face so he could see Conner's adoration and ecstasy. Unsurprisingly, he was already hard again. The twin had become progressively more a reflection of James' personality and less of Conner's as the months had worn on.
This is it, then, thought Conner as he felt himself enter eagerly into James' tight fuckhole. He didn't have any idea how to do what he wanted to do, or even if it were possible, but he wasn't going to give up on himself. He didn't know how it normally worked with guys James enslaved but he had come to believe that the fact he still existed at all, even as a ghostly "echo" in the back of his former mind, was not how things usually worked. It probably explained why he had become James' favourite: Conner had remained much more lively than the other zombies James had created. That much he knew for sure; James had puzzled about it out loud often enough.
The twin's panting was growing more laboured, which Conner knew was his cue. The familiar buzzing in his mind had begun again, like the first time James had fucked him, and every time since. It was getting louder. Conner didn't know the specifics but he'd come to the conclusion that James cemented his hold over his slaves at the moment of orgasm, after bringing them to such a point of sexual excitement that their mental barriers were all down. As soon as he'd realised this, he had made sure to be as "absent" as possible when servicing James himself, for fear that James would somehow sense he was still "inside" himself.
As the twin gazed deeply into James' eyes, Conner seized his chance. Starting as a small bubble, he imagined himself getting larger and larger within his own mind. He felt constrained, the same constraints that had been with him since day one of this unendurable torture. They were tight around him and didn't seem likely to budge.
No! I refuse to end up like this. You cannot do this to me, you monster! You can't! Conner began feeding all his feelings into his efforts to break free. All the disgust at being made into a sexual puppet, the horror of being completely immobilised, the shame of what the twin had been made to feel, the hurt of seeing his friends turn away from this callous, shallow person they didn't know anymore.
You took away so much from me! he mentally screamed at his captor, oblivious to whether he took notice or not. You took away everything that made me who I am, everything but this shred of me which is left, which is all I've got! You couldn't take this away from me, you bastard! You couldn't then and you won't ever!! Never, do you hear me? NEVER AGAIN! I have had enough! You will hear me, monster, you will! You will hear me, damn you, you bastard: I WILL BE HEARD!!!
And for the first time in half a year, someone heard Conner. James' head jerked back in shock as the bubble that was all that was left of his captive expanded outwards through the mind which rightfully belonged to him. Conner felt the twin's shell of a personality being washed away as he flooded back through his own mind. . . and then out of it.
James' pupils, in eyes already wide with shock, widened until his eyes seemed black. Through these twin hole, Conner felt himself flow into his former captor's mind.
What's happening? James' mental voice boomed through his psyche. What are you?
What?! You don't remember me, James? I'm crushed. It's Conner, your once-and-former slaveboy.
Conner?! But I took you months ago. . . you don't exist anymore! Conner could tell James was agog; the mental landscape he found himself in trembled with uncertainty. He could feel it.
He was worried, though; he hadn't ever planned to face James on his own turf--just reclaim his own. He knew next to nothing about how James did what he did and he certainly didn't know what to do now that he found himself in someone else's mind.
As if in answer to his fears, chains seemed to shoot out of the "ground" and snaked around him, dragging him down. He fought against them desperately but he had no idea how to break them, here in this alien place.
This is amazing. . . you're still you, after all those months? Oh well, I guess I'll just get off on taking you again. . . James' voice regained some of his confidence. Suddenly Conner could "see" himself within the landscape. . . it was his twin's body, hard, big, built, with dyed blonde hair, and his dick was starting to lengthen and harden.
As his "body" grew more aroused and he felt himself begin to twitch in ecstasy, Conner felt his grip on himself loosen, felt the chains bite more keenly. No! he shouted. Not again! Not this time! He pictured himself as he had been, as he still was: not built, not blonde, not callous or shallow or animalistic. He took that image, and expanded it, expanded his sense of himself, and he felt the chain James had placed around him pass through him.
James' entire mind began panicking; strange multi-coloured lightning began to stab through Conner's mental self, and each stab hurt. In response, Conner did the only thing he could think of: he kept expanding his image. Faster and faster, more and more, until he stretched across James' consciousness. James was begging and pleading like the twin had done now but Conner didn't hear him: he just kept expanding himself. When he reached the limits of James' mind, he said one final thing:
Never again!
and made one last effort to expand himself. There was a terrible screaming- tearing-ripping sound and he suddenly found himself being flung back into his own body. The shock of leaving James' mind threw him across the room and into the wall. James' body flopped onto the table, his arms and legs at odd angles with the rest of him.
As Conner got awkwardly to his feet, he knew James was dead. He didn't know how or why and he was sure he would feel guilty about it later but at the moment, all he could feel was relief. And then something dawned on him. . .
Oh my god, I'm me again! I'm me! I got up by myself. I made myself get up. Conner couldn't help himself: he started dancing crazily across the room, trying to get used to a body that hadn't been his in far too long, a body that was very different from the last time he'd known it.
He finally collapsed, exhausted, on a sofa, but he couldn't get the shitfaced grin off his face. He knew he had a lot of work ahead of him-- Shit, what am I going to tell the cops? I fucked a guy to death?--but for the moment, he just wanted to enjoy being him.
One thing's for sure, he thought to himself, looking down at his now-soft cock, I'm not having sex again for a long, long time!
THE END