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Born a Leather Musclegod


DaddyCraig

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Born a Leather Musclegod

by DC


I've known since childhood that I was destined to be a man whom other
men serve, both sexually and in everyday life. Like many men, at an
early age I had learned about my penis, and how it was designed by
nature to control others while bringing me intense pleasure.  Unlike
other men, I was born with additional, enhanced talents, abilities and
physical traits that predestined me to a position of uncontested
superiority.  The source of these differences isn't clear to me.
Mutation? Metaphysical changes through reincarnation? Dumb luck?

I think that I'm an "old soul" - the outcome of a combined effect of
reincarnation and mutation, rather than just some hot leather muscle
daddy who has found his way from societal repression into fulfillment
of true manhood.  It's no joke: I've lived before, many times, and in
my most recent lives (as in this one) I was an incredible specimen of
a man, loved and feared by many, worshipped, adored, served and
serviced, and damn well deserving of everything I had and/or took.
With each incarnation, I improve myself.  Tribal leader? A war hero,
perhaps?  Perhaps that soul, having been released from a previous
life, chooses the next body carefully, even influences its genetic
composition at conception, to further evolve not just the spirit, but
the vessel it inhabits in the next cycle. These are just guesses,
although they "feel" very right to me. Even so, I'm less interested in
the cause than the effect.

It would be natural on your part to think me self-delusional at this
point.  Descriptions of this kind are more of a fantasy than reality.
I assure you it is the truth. If you meet me in person, you will
understand.  The best way I can explain it is that I am more than the
physical man you see, and that I've existed much longer than the scant
50 years he has lived on this earth.  I've earned my place as a god
among men, and I don't abuse the privilege. Instead, I seek to elevate
and further evolve the men I choose.  I physically alter them and
train them not just to service me as their master, but to love me as
they would a strict and caring father who is raising them to become
something more than they would have been without my influence.

Looking at me today, you would see a 6-foot 3-inch, bearded, muscled
bear-of-a-man dressed in worn denim and leather, from boots to chaps
to vest to cap.  I'm confident, commanding, in control, and never
lacking men to do my domestic and sexual bidding.  I believe in
understated clothing and accessories: simple and never flashy, but
clearly and carefully chosen as a statement of who I am, not a fashion
statement.  My body is massively muscular, but not the ripped
bodybuilder you see at a pose-down.  Instead, you see a big bull with
a salt-and-pepper full beard, imposing physique, and intense yet
reassuring blue eyes.
 
My chest is broad and deep, dusted with soft brown fur and accented
with large, beefy nipples - spigots of raw male power that naturally
draw men to them for nourishment, then rest in the cleft between them.
My arms are thick and roped, endowed with great strength to keep a boy
in line, or to protect him when needed.  My neck is thick, traps
rising from bunched deltoids to the base of my skull, as if I am
wearing a fantastically sculpted, high collar one can throw his arms
around and hold on to. My legs are like concrete pylons, massive and
thick, that can stand up to the most brutal assault of any enemy who
may try to knock me down, or tantrum a boy may stupidly decide to
throw.  My abdomen is a huge slab of muscles covered by a soft layer
of belly fat and more fur, making it a warm, safe place to curl up and
sleep.  But my cock... my cock is what makes me a god.
 
Among the many things I have developed through improving myself
physically over many lives is the ability to control penis size at
will.  Most men are subject to the whims of their dicks as to when
they will get hard, how hard they will become, and when the will reach
climax.  I can will my cock to be any size and shape within reason.
When I am ready to use a man, I assess his limits and capabilities,
then adapt my cock to the situation.  As I train him repetitively, and
as he physically changes from exposure to me, he may eventually take
me at my full size.

My ejaculate is sweet and addictive.  More than just the taste, it
induces several changes, both physical and emotional, in any man who
ingests it. I will revel in my ownership for an hour or more before
releasing my essence into him. The sheer power that flows through my
cock when it is in his mouth or ass, and the transformative effects of
my seed once inside him, create an unbreakable affinity between us.
Almost immediately upon absorbing it, he develops a very deep devotion
to me. He never forgets the overwhelming sensation of pure male energy
entering and changing his body as I extract my pleasure from him.  He
becomes my "son" in a very real way.  The more often I cum inside him,
the more devoted, solicitous, and like me he will become.

My semen is like a benign virus - protein molecules that change and
replicate inside a man's cells, modifying his genetic code to include
sequences from my own, superior genes. Over time, and depending on the
amount consumed, he becomes more muscular, confident, sexually
competent, and able to conquer other men as a daddy in his own right,
further spreading a moderated, less powerful derivative of my seed to
other boys.

All of this I now know as an adult. Looking in retrospect upon my
formative years, I only knew then that I had needs, desires,
expectations of how they should be met, and the destiny of which I
spoke.  In my youth, I could only attribute this knowledge to a wildly
active fantasy life.  I was masturbating at an early age, looking at
adult men with lust and longing.  Bearded. Muscular. Cigar
smoking. Ideal images of rugged manhood. Although many of them brought
out a boyish response in me - to be close to them, to feel and touch -
the overriding drive was to conquer and use them.

But fantasy was all it was for many, many years. I was born and raised
in an ultra-conservative region, and religious injunctions that had
been foisted upon me sexual thoughts of any but the most puritanical
origin.  (They say you can't choose your parents, and apparently, this
also applies to masters reincarnate.) My fantasies were so far-flung
from the accepted norm that I buried my true nature deeply.  As I
matured through adolescence and into adulthood, I battled constantly
to keep my real self at bay, constrained.

I must say that growing up in such an environment was not without its
advantages.  For in battling 24x7 to contain that self, I developed
strengths of character in perseverance and patience.  I learned
compassion for others, seeing them as caged animals often kept from
what they wanted and desired by the artificial limits of a fearful
society.  Not only did I see myself in a trap, being denied my real
identify, but I also saw other men similarly shackled.  The difference
was that the man I held in prison was destined to a superior station
in life.  The others wanted desperately to submit and be ruled.

As I grew older, keeping that man in chains became increasingly
difficult.  He was not accustomed to confinement, as clearly in my
past life I had been uncontested in dominion of myself and my
chattel.  He incessantly nagged me to grow and change physically into
the bullish brute that would bend other men to his desires.  Although
I had what would be an insatiable appetite for the male form, I was
very careful not to feed it.  Men who had developed their bodies into
those of muscular gods were a particular hazard that I avoided.  I
also worked especially hard to avoid any physical development of my
own body, knowing that to begin catering to that desire would be to
empower the man inside to break free.  I was convinced I must go the
grave with him inside that closet.  Otherwise, I would disappoint
everyone whom I thought really cared about me.

But the man inside proved too strong. My true nature would not be
constrained.  As I entered early adulthood, a change began that could
not be stopped - only delayed.  I focused on academic endeavors during
my 20s, only briefly giving thought to the problem of the bound titan
god inside me who was slowly loosening his bonds.

By my 30s, I had a career on steroids, but my life was miserable and
my health a mess.  Still, the once-all-powerful master wrapped within
me was breaking through the barriers I had set before him, one by one.
By age 40, it was too much.  I realized that my reasons for living a
chaste life and denying the man inside were not worthy of my efforts.
Through many events, I learned that the people I held in high esteem -
those whom I wished to impress and not disappoint - didn't really care
about me.  This was the last chain to break, and my alter-ego was free
to emerge.

Things happened quickly after that. By age 42 I had been working out
constantly for two years, and my body had undergone changes nothing
short of miraculous.  At first, I felt regret that I had not figured
this out sooner so that I would have the supposed advantage of youth
to further fuel my transformation.  But I was wrong.

As I observed other, much younger men, laboring daily with weights and
machines to add a few millimeters to their dimensions, I was rapidly
passing them in how much work I performed, as well as sheer size.  I
was already tall, but I had been either skinny or obese my entire
life, on purpose.  Now, the muscles practically blossomed
overnight. My chest quickly grew to an astounding 54". My biceps, 22".
My triceps stood out in huge, bulky mounds on either arm.  My pecs
were deep, with insanely large nipples resting atop each one, just
slightly turned at a 45-degree angle towards to floor. And although I
still had a good bit of belly, there was no doubt to anyone that huge
slabs of hard abdominals dwelt just below that superficial layer.

As I grew into my full manhood, I learned how to bring a man to heel,
press him into service, and use him as I saw fit - all of it with his
willing and enthusiastic support.  I say "learned" but it was really
just a matter of exercising old knowledge.  I knew exactly what to do,
and did it instinctively once I took my skeptical self out of the
picture - all I had to do was mentally step back from the situation,
then watch as the old-soul part of me deftly orchestrated the scene
and the man in expert fashion.

*****

My first attempt to let go and "see what happens" was also when I
discovered the latent abilities I had inherited from previous lives,
now that the man inside was free.  I had been chatting with a hot
little muscle man online.  (Well, he was little compared to me.)
Initially he had been cocky in his interactions, using informal
language and typing shortcuts that I disdain, referring to me as "man"
and typing things like "how u doin?" and, in general, taking a very
familiar attitude with me.  This was disrespectful and required
correction if I were to continue in our chats.

I soon established myself as an authority figure through using only
the power of my written words.  Then, I quickly taught him basic
protocols that I supposed I had heard or read about, but now I
realize, were bits of the old knowledge already seeping through to my
conscious mind. The first lessons were that he referred to me as "Sir"
and that he remember he had (I assumed) learned to write proper
English at school, and I expected him to use it.

Slowly, he fell into line.  Over time, his real desires started coming
to the forefront. For weeks he had begged to come serve me.  Although
I had been experimenting with man-to-man sex for many months, I was
still being very skittish about meeting men like this cocky asshole.
I had enjoyed what I had done so far, but it was too tame.  I had
decided to become much more assertive and dominating in my sexual
relations, and I wasn't sure I could put him and keep him in his
place.  He nagged me to the point that I finally issued orders of when
and where he was to appear, and how I wanted him prepped and dressed.
 
I dressed in a pair of old Levi's, a black wife-beater, utility boots,
and master's cap with a scorpion bracelet around my left wrist,
assuming he knew the importance of that placement choice.  Dominants
flag left. Everyone knew that, didn't they?  Otherwise, how could I
have known it? Again, the unexplained knowledge dribbling through the
chinks separating me from my aggregate past life was beginning to show
itself.

I prepared a space to receive him by placing my black leather chair in
front of a full length mirror.  I placed candles on either side of the
chair and turned out the room lights, then I lit a large cigar just as
he arrived. I had been developing cigars as part of my leather daddy
persona, and I was surprised at how natural it as to me.  It was as if
I had smoked them all my life.  I also had a penchant for strong
bourbon, a large glass of which was on the small table to my left.  I
had noticed in bars how others took so much pride in downing a shot of
it.  I drank it in gulps with no problem, but never bothered to
question how I was able to do that when others couldn't.

The boy arrived on time; I had warned him about being too early or
late. Keeping his eyes down at all times, he removed his clothing, and
took a position between my booted feet at the foot of the chair as I
had previously instructed.  I had told him this was called "First
Position" but I wasn't sure where I got that name. By this time, I had
put my "new self" on the sidelines and given my "old self" complete
control.  (He) I drew heavily on the cigar and took my damn sweet time
before acknowledging the boy.  A few sips of bourbon, then finally I
raised my boots and put them on his back as if he were a stool.  My
new-self was astonished and hugely turned on. My old-self simply
continued smoking and drinking bourbon while admiring his boots and
the candle-lit scene reflected in the mirror.  The boy was shaking,
with little gasps and whimpers escaping from his lowered mouth as he
breathed rapidly.

After many minutes, I removed my boots and placed my hand on his head.
"Lift up, boy. Look at me."

He did, and his eyes went very wide with a look of awe.  "Oh, my god!"
he gasped.

"Yes, boy. I'm your god.  I'm your master.  And I may yet be your
daddy if you please me." I said simply.  He nodded, not taking his
eyes from mine.

"Stand up."  He did.  I walked around him, inspecting him while
continuing to fill the room with cigar smoke.  He was shorter than I,
his head coming up to my nose. About 28 years old, he was muscular,
but with a swimmer's body.  His hair was wavy and unkempt, but clean.
He had no facial hair to speak of.  His chest was well defined, but
not what you would call "overdeveloped" by any stretch.  His ass was
ample, and appeared as if it would be yielding to my touch. He was
soft, naked, and cold standing before a hot, hairy brute who was
intent on using him for all he could deliver.  My cock twitched at the
thought as I slapped his ass, grabbed it, put my mouth next to one of
his ears and said "Mine." My voice was low and brusque, with an almost
imperceptible growl.

The boy made no response other than a violent shiver and whimper that
ran through his body.  I slapped his ass again twice as hard and
grabbed the globe of his left butt cheek viciously between my fingers.
At nearly triple the volume, I barked into his ear, "Mine, boy!  What
do you say?"

He hesitated a moment, then understood he was expected to
respond. "Yes.  Yes, SIR!"

"That's better," I grunted as I violently released the ass cheek,
which would surely bear a bruise the next day.  He stumbled forward,
then regained his balance, though still shivering and not daring to
look behind him, where I stood.

Without warning (to my new-self, or the boy), I quickly moved around
to stand in front of him, took the cigar into my left hand, and with
my right at the base of his skull, tilted it upward to face me.
Within a second of this lightning move, my tongue invaded his mouth
deeply and brutally.  The boy squirmed and whimpered at first, but my
firm grip gave him nowhere to go.  Soon, he settled down and gave
himself up to the reality of his situation.  My tongue fucked his
throat deeply, and the taste and smell of the cigar and bourbon were
overpowering his senses even more, with the roughness of my beard and
moustache against his tender face creating red patches from the
friction. After nearly a minute of this, I gave him one final deep
thrust and roughly pulled his head away.  He gasped for air, breathing
heavily and sobbing, "Oh, Sir... Oh, Sir!" then he looked up at me
again, with that expression of awe mixed with fear and longing.

I smiled down at him. "Good boy, but my cock will be much more
trying."  I returned the cigar to my mouth and used my hands to guide
and position his mouth near my right pec.  Although I didn't set him
on it, he instinctively started straining towards the large,
mesmerizing nipple hidden beneath the stretched fabric of the
wife-beater.  I intensified my hold on his neck, causing him to wince
and yelp. "Not until I say so, son!" I bellowed.  He rolled his eyes
up to look at me again.  I held him in my gaze as I puffed on the
cigar a few times, blowing smoke down and over my massive chest, then
released my hold on him.

I removed my hat and placed it in reverse on his head, whispering "Hat
rack, son," into his ear.  Then, carefully manipulating the cigar from
hand to hand, I pulled the wife-beater over my head to reveal my
chest, threw the shirt to the side, and retrieved the cap, returning
it to my own head.

"Oh, wow!" exclaimed the boy.  The broad expanse of my chest glowed
softly in the candlelight, and the fur gave it a fuzzy, soft texture
with the two nipples rising above the dense layer, bullets of flesh
demanding his attention.  Reapplying a vice-like grip on his neck, I
tilted his head down and redirected his gaze directly at my right pec
and once again covered it with smoke.  He whimpered and let out a
small moan, wracked with the longing to latch on to that source of
masculine power just an inch away, yet helplessly prevented from it.

"How does that make you feel, son, being so close to this chest? A
little weak? Small? Do you want to touch it? To suck it like a little
boy needs to suck so he'll grow up strong? You're just a faggot hoping
to drain a little bit of power from a real man, now that you've
finally met one. You want it, boy?"

I slowly moved the nipple closer to his mouth, and hairs from my chest
surrounding it grazed his lips.  He could feel the heat of my body and
the thick smoke hovering between us, but he still could not suck it.
Quickened puffs of air escaped his nostrils, causing ripples in the
soft fur and disturbing the heavy, murky veil. He was whimpering
again, so I jerked him by the neck to get his attention.  "What? I
didn't hear you, boy! DO YOU WANT TO SUCK IT!?" I shouted. The sound
of my voice was so loud and unexpected it surprised even me. He winced
in pain as the explosion fell upon his ears.
 
Then, through sobs and heavy breathing, with his eyes fixated on my
nipple, he said "Yes, SIR! Oh, god, yes SIR!  Please let me suck your
beautiful chest, SIR!  I want so bad to taste it, and to make you feel
good. Oh, God!  You're so incredibly beautiful and handsome. So
fucking hot!" Here he broke down and tears began to form at the corner
of his eyes.  

The boy was actually crying, he was so overwrought at discovering his
inferiority compared to me. "I wanted to serve you and do anything you
command me, but now I know I'm not good enough.  I'm afraid of what
you said about your cock - I know it must be truly massive, and I
don't think I can suck it. And your chest..." More sobs. "...it's so,
so incredibly huge, it makes me feel so small. I've never felt so
tiny. I've always thought I was such a hot fucker. But I'm nothing.
Not compared to you, SIR. You're such a man.  So perfect.  Why did you
tell me to come to you?  A god like you can have anyone he wants.  Why
me, SIR? Why me?  Oh, god, I feel like such a worthless worm..." He
trailed off, closing his eyes.

His tears dripped off the end of his nose and fell into the jungle of
hair covering my belly. I felt sorry for him. The cocky asshole was
just a subterfuge for an insecure boy. Here was a man faced with the
brutal truth of his inadequacy when confronted with a superior
being. Here also were the beginnings of contrition, and a desire to
take his appropriate place in the order of things, now that that order
was beyond doubt.

I reinforced my grip on his neck and barked "SUCK!" as I drove his
mouth onto my waiting nip.  He instinctively opened his lips and began
sucking, stilly crying, with his whimpering increasing in tempo and
pitch. His tears flowed faster, splashing onto my pec which was also
beginning to glisten with the sweat of my excitement in breaking this
man. But I found myself dissatisfied with his efforts, feeling that I
was not receiving the full benefit of what he should be able to
provide. After a few minutes of very tentative nursing, I said "What
the fuck are you doing, son?  Are you even on that teat?  You'll have
to be a lot less timid to get my attention, little man.  Suck harder,
and chew a little bit and let's see if you can!"

Again some hesitation, then compliance.  I could feel a faint tingling
as he began to apply something more like what I really wanted,
although he still had a long way to go in learning to service me this
way.  "Harder, son!"  He sucked and chewed harder. The pleasure in my
nipple increased, and my cock began to grow in response.  "FUCK YEAH,
BOY!  SUCK THAT MAN NIP!"  It was like turning up a volume knob.  The
boy went into a frenzied overdrive of sucking and chewing, beginning
to sweat.  The pleasure he was creating was something I had not felt
before in this life. It was an intense mix of pleasure and pain that
was further drawing out old-me and getting him plenty aroused.

"AWWWWW.....FUCK!" I heard myself yelling, expelling huge clouds of
cigar smoke with every breath.  Then, without warning, I forcefully
relocated his head to the other side.  "Now the other one, boy.
SUCK!"

By now, he was getting the idea of nipple service, and I was feeling
for the first time the intense pleasure I could experience when I had
a slave to do my bidding.  Clearly, my old-self was used to this,
quite accustomed to this level of stimulation that could only come
from a submissive man rendering service.  (He) I let the sucking
continue for a few minutes, then simply moved the boy's head away from
the nipple and forced it to the cleavage between my mounded pectorals.
"Lick."

By now I had generated rivulets of sweat between the mats of hair that
grew most dense in that valley, and I wanted to feel his tongue clean
it out completely, which he did.  I then raised my right arm and
turned slightly to the left, guiding his head to my right pit.  "LICK!
Clean out that pit, boy!"  He approached hesitantly until he got wind
of the scent coming from there.  Then he moaned softly and practically
fell against me as he buried his face in the pubic hair, devouring the
sweat and salt that had accumulated.  I flexed the biceps of my right
arm above him and commanded "Feel my arm, boy!"  He only slightly
disengaged from his pit diving expedition to raise his hands to feel.
The muscle stood in a massive mound opposite the similarly flexed
triceps beneath it, and the boy moaned as he realized he could never
hope to encircle my arm with both of this hands.

"Lick my biceps. Taste some man muscle."  Dutifully, he began licking
the mountains of muscle, and his whimpering increased. Under his
breath, he began to moan "Oh, SIR! You're such a fucking MAN, sir!
Oh, god, I want to please you so bad, SIR!  I want you to use me.  You
deserve to use me. Please use me, SIR!  Oh, god, use me, SIR! Please!"

"FUCK YEAH, SON! Good boy!" I barked, continuing to smoke the cigar
and blowing smoke over the whole muscle-worshipping affair.  It
intoxicated the boy further and he seemed to be on the verge of
hyperventilating, gasping "...use me... ...so fucking huge... ...oh
daddy...  ...so hot..." between labored breaths.  Rather than moving
him to the other arm as the old-self seemed to think would be the
appropriate next step, I instead caught the boy in my arms and lowered
him to the floor on his knees, before the chair.  I sat down, removed
the cigar from my mouth, took a healthy swig of bourbon, replaced the
cigar and drew heavily on it, then placed my left hand on the boy's
head, guiding it to the crotch of my jeans and pressing his face
there.

"Nuzzle," I said, the smoke rolling from my mouth down my chest and
belly and over the boy's head.  I pressed him again for emphasis.  He
began to rub his nose around the area, and I felt irritation at his
timidity.  "NUZZLE, BOY! Get it wet with your spit!"  Again, I pressed
his face into the rough fabric, eliciting another yelp. But he got the
message, and soon I could see a wet spot develop across the buttoned
fly.

My cock was beginning to take notice, stiffening quickly.  The boy was
getting excited at the growing member just inches from his face,
though hidden still by the denim.  I became concerned I might reach a
climax too soon, he was getting me so hot. "Not yet!" I said to
myself.

My cock instantly stopped growing.

Then, like a childhood memory you've forgotten until you hear a song
you haven't heard since those early years, I had full recollection and
utility of the ability, developed over past lives, to create and alter
erections and ejaculation at will.  "Fuck yeah...." I said out loud,
regarding the import of this revelation.  The boy, of course, thought
I was further complimenting him and mumbled "Thank you, SIR!"  through
the folds of my jeans. I realized there was no danger of
pre-ejaculation, so I willed myself to continue enlarging until there
was a sizeable, constrained lump beneath the fabric.  The boy's state
of arousal grew with my cock, and he was moaning as he covered the
mound of my hidden dick with his spit.

After a few more minutes of smoking and enjoying the boy's nuzzling, I
lifted his head. "Look at me, son.  How are you feeling?  Do you like
what you're doing?"  I was truly interested to hear what he would say.
I knew instinctively that some boys just want to be fucked, and
they'll do anything, including faking the submissive role, to get it.
Although I had little doubt about this boy's sincerity after all that
had happened so far, I wanted to hear it out loud.

"Oh, yes, SIR!  I will do anything you tell me to do!  Just, please
don't send me away.  Even if you let me sit in a cage in the corner to
be in the same room with you, don't make me leave!  I will be your
footstool again, SIR, or clean your house. Anything!  Just tell me,
beautiful and powerful master.  Tell me and I will do it!"

My new-self was flabbergasted at this outburst from the man before me.
Old-me wa not surprised in the least, but seemed to fully expect the
reaction based on a vast experience of similar interactions.  The boy
had totally given himself to me and was mine to do with as I pleased.
The formalism of his speech made it impeccably clear that he now
revered me and saw any service he could render as an act of holy
devotion. These thoughts made my cock jump beneath the saliva-soaked
denim. I knew I wanted to breed him, and make him mine.  His admission
only served to make me crueler and more abusive in my use of him,
because I could, and he craved it.

"Lick my boots, boy!"

"Sir?"

"I SAID FUCKING LICK MY BOOTS, FAGGOT!"

With that, I bent over, placed my firm hand on the back of his head
again, and maneuvered it to the floor and my right boot. "LICK."

He dutifully began to lick.  I thought it was amazing he even had the
courage to lick a dirty boot, but old-me didn't think so, nor was he
satisfied.  "That's piss-poor, boy. Not how you lick a man's boot!
Get that tongue going.  I want to feel the pressure of it on my foot
inside the boot.  And cover every goddamned inch or you'll know what
it means to feel some real disciplinary pain.  I want to see it
shining with your spit in the candlelight."

The boy increased the pressure of his licking, and the feel of his
pathetic tongue trying to reach me through the thick leather of the
boots had me vocally encouraging and degrading him simultaneously.
"Aw, yeah, son!  That's how you lick a man's boots.  You're a fucking
faggot that was born to lick my boots, boy. Don't forget it!"

"Yes, SIR!" he managed to get out in gasps between licks.

"I WANNA HEAR YOU SAY IT, SON: I'M A FUCKING FAGGOT THAT WAS BORN TO
LICK YOUR BOOTS, SIR! SAY IT!"  I was yelling at the top of my lungs.
Even though I live on five acres, I was sure the neighbors had
probably heard that one. Old-me hoped they had.

Immediately, in a high-pitched hurried stream of words he shouted,
"I'm a fucking faggot that was born to lick your boots, most
beautiful, handsome, and all deserving SIR!" The embellishment was
unexpected, but very pleasing and I said so.

"DAMN RIGHT, SON!"  THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR. NOW, OTHER BOOT!"

It took a moment for the command to sink in, and I started to bend
forward to enforce the order when he quickly jumped to the other side.
"Good boy!" I roared, sinking back and puffing on my cigar in
approval. He was learning. I was pleased. This one would be a good,
long term project to train.  And that thought, I knew, came from the
old-me, who was used to identifying and sorting boys based on their
abilities and potentials.

After another few minutes of verbal encouragement mixed with abuse, I
retargeted the boy again.  "Crotch. Nuzzle."

Without hesitation this time, the boy was back to the wet crotch,
lathing it again with more of his spit.  He didn't seem sure what to
do with his hands, though.  He just held them out to the side,
apparently afraid to touch me, and it annoyed me.  "What's wrong with
your arms, boy?"

He responded without removing his face from my crotch, "Nothing, SIR!"

"Then why the hell are you holding them out there like some kind of
rag doll?"  He stopped nuzzling and looked up at me quizzically.

"I don't dare touch you, SIR, without your permission."

"Damn, good boy," I thought. "Learning fast and definitely a keeper."
I was immensely pleased at this response, which further confirmed that
he now regarded me quite appropriately as a godlike figure. I said out
loud, "When nuzzling, you are permitted to reach up and feel my chest,
or to feel my legs or boots.  In fact, when you eventually service my
cock, I'll expect you to damn well worship chest, belly, arms, balls,
legs and boots with your hands while your mouth continuously pleasures
me."  

"Yes, SIR!" he said, clearly excited at the prospect.

"In fact, son, I think it's time for you two to meet," I said as I
placed the cigar in mouth and reached down to unbutton the fly.  I
thought that my cock should be semi-erect and average length for
the introduction.  It responded to the thought in seconds, taking its
new shape just as I exposed it.

"Oh..." the boy gasped.  He was wide-eyed and hypnotized by this
display of pure manhood.

"You like it, son?"

"SIR, it is beautiful!  Oh, Daddy! Let me worship and please you
through it! Please?!"

He had called me "Daddy."  I wasn't going to object.  We had already
established my superiority, my worthiness to demand his worship, and
now we were further establishing my role as mentor and
father-figure. "We'll have to train you, son.  It won't be easy,
and you will be damaged unless I prepare you for it. Do you think
my cock is large?"

He slowly nodded his head, "Oh, yes, SIR! So perfect!"

"It is only half hard, boy. I want you to see the full extent of your
daddy's manhood, and you'll know why training will be important."

With that, I extended my cock to full length, girth, and hardness.
The new-me was as astonished as the boy. I had no idea I could achieve
such dimensions! Until now, I had measured 7-inches in length and just
under 6-inches in circumference.  The fleshy column that now sprung
from my loins was more than formidable.  Without a ruler I couldn't be
sure, but it was at least twice as long and half-again as big around
as normal. Only the most trained of mouths and holes could hope to
satisfy it in that form.  The boy was clearly thinking the same
thing. He turned white as a sheet, his face fell with dismay, but an
expression still mixed with awe.  I thought he would remark at the
unexplained change in size, but any observation or comment was cut
short by the dominating, hypnotic effect of the fully erect 14-inch
monster cock.

"Oh, SIR!  You are a god, SIR! Your cock is a god-cock, SIR!  Oh,
fuck, what am I going to do, SIR? I want to suck it and service it so
badly! I want to show you that I can be a good boy and bring you
incredible pleasure as you deserve and demand, to have it in me, but
it would kill me!"

"Not necessary for you to die, boy.  You'll learn to handle it over
time," said the old-me with assurance.  The new-me was not at all sure
any man could take this phallus in its fully grown form, especially
this boy of a man; but, then I had yet to learn about the
transformative powers of my cum. Clearly, old-me had already taken
this into account.

"Sniff it, boy."  I puffed on the cigar and sent smoke to enwreathe
the pillar of flesh, the mushroom head of which rose as high as my
sternum. The boy dutifully brought his nose closer and inhaled.  "Good
boy. Smell my god-cock!"  He took several more deep breaths before I
further commanded, "Now, kiss it. Up and down the shaft."  Which he
dutifully did.  The feeling of his tender lips on the flesh of my rock
hard fucker was creating tiny explosions of pleasure up and down that
freakishly huge shaft, and I knew that this boy was going to work long
and hard to fully satisfy my needs this evening.  I was damn well
going to make sure he did.

"Now, I know you can't take it all, son, but just put the head of it
into your mouth as far as you can.  You'll gag, and I want that.  It
will help your body to understand just how inferior of a man you are
to me.  You need to feel and experience the physical reality of what
your head and heart already know."  Old-me was really well versed in
how to cow a man quickly. The boy opened his mouth as wide as he
could, but couldn't bring it down over the great domed head of my
cock.  Getting past it was impossible as long as I kept it in the
fully engorged state.  "Here, son. I'll help you." I placed my hand on
the back of his neck, pressing down, while at the same time reducing
the circumference of the shaft and glans until it slid tightly between
his cracking lips.  His eyes closed, he didn't witness the unnatural
diminishment of my girth, but sighed contentedly at having
accommodated me, though he didn't yet understand how he had done it.

Slowly he advanced his painfully stretched lips, having to stand up
and bend over slightly in order to align his mouth and throat with the
near 90-degree angle of my cock. But he could take no more than an
inch of my length before he began to gag and cough, and my cock
twitched with pleasure on every vibration that emanated from his
straining body.  I laughed, hand on his head, pressing his head
further onto my godlike appendage.  I began to experience the distant
desire to achieve a release, but I knew I wouldn't allow myself the
luxury of it for some time yet.  The boy dutifully continued in his
impossible assignment.  In spite of the amusement and sexual enjoyment
his spasms provided, I finally said, "Alright, son. Back off of it."
He pulled his head up and off the imposing fuck tool, leaving a string
of thick spit between his lower lip and the head. "Well, son, how does
it make you feel, trying to suck that cock?"

"Very small. Very unworthy.  Very puny, SIR.  I'm surprised I could
even get the head of it into my mouth."  At this thought, he tilted
his head slightly as if realizing something was amiss. Again with the
formal style, which he clearly was getting off on using to interact
with his new master, he continued: "Since I can't bring you the
pleasure you deserve with my pathetic mouth, I beg you to take
pleasure from my ass, instead, even though I know it will likely kill
me.  I would die very happy knowing you had received the satisfaction
you are due, and that your god-cock had found enjoyment from my body,
even if only for a few moments."

I was moved by his devotion, and decided I would also adopt the
stilted, formal style of communication he had initiated.  It seemed
proper. Old-self clearly found it appropriate to the
situation. "Again, I say 'not necessary,' boy.  I will moderate the
dimensions of my cock to suit the situation, as I have already done
twice and you failed to notice.  Your cock has a mind of its own, but
mine is always under my control.  Over time you will be able to take
the full extent of my godhood."  Again, new-me didn't understand why I
said this, but it felt right.  And, immediately, I willed my cock to a
7-inch by 5-inch slightly larger-than-average dick that the boy could
manage, though still with a great deal of effort. His eyes flew open
in shock as he saw my penis diminish on cue.

"Fuck, SIR!  How did you do that?!!" He was truly awestruck now.

"Because I am, as you have already acknowledged, a FUCKING GOD." Then,
with cigar in mouth, I abruptly stood up from my chair, causing the
boy to topple onto his back, nearly missing the mirror.  As he looked
up at me, I struck my most impressive muscular double-biceps pose,
bringing my cock back to full size and heavily drawing on the cigar to
release thick, billowing clouds for added effect.  Looking down on him
with an imperious expression through the dense smoke, I said loudly
and flatly:

"WORSHIP ME."

I held the pose and produced more smoke, growling deeply at the
pleasure I felt in displaying my superiority and the effect it
produced. The boy recovered to get back on all four knees, head down
between my boots, mumbling, "Yes, my master!  Yes, my god!  Use me, my
master!  I will be and do anything you want me to, master, just let me
worship and serve you!"

I continued to hold my pose and smoke, listening to his words of
worship and praise, and his heartfelt request to take him into my
service, and I was moved to do just that. I would make him mine, and
he would be the first of many, though I didn't understand that at the
time.

Restoring my cock to the size he could manage, I relaxed my pose,
tousled his hair, and sat down. The fabric of my jeans was
constraining to me, even though the fly was open.  I also wanted the
boy to get the full picture of my physical superiority, which included
my massive legs. "Let's get these jeans off, son," I rumbled.  "Remove
my boots, first.  They zip on the inside."

It took a few moments for these words to register, but the boy
dutifully chose a boot and searched for the zipper. Finding it, he
pulled it down to the base and began pulling the boot off.  It was a
more difficult chore than he had surmised.

"Harder than you thought it'd be, huh, son?  I'm a big man, so it
takes a good bit of strength to manage my footwear - especially my
boots.  Just pull straight out and you'll have better success."  He
took my advice and the boot was soon off.  He was about to set it
aside, when I caught him.  "Smell it. Inside.  Deep."  He opened the
top of the boot like a Halloween treat bag to look inside and
tentatively sniffed.  I leaned forward and grabbed the back of his
head in my right hand and the bottom of the boot in my left, forcing
them together.  "DEEP, SON!  Smell me!"

He inhaled deeply and sighed. Then he took several more draughts
before reluctantly setting the boot to the side.  "Not too far away,
son. It goes back on in a minute.  Now the other one."

After repeating the same routine on the other boot and setting it
aside, I stood up briefly to let my jeans slide down to my feet.  I
was wearing no underwear, anticipating having him suck me off tonight.
My cock sprung forward in its limited yet semi-rigid configuration.
My quadriceps and glutes filled his view from his knee-level vantage
point. He looked up at me, now mostly naked in the flickering candle
light except for my hat, leather bracelet and socks, and said
"Oh, fuuuuuuck.... Oh, fuuuuuuck!" I sat back down as he regained his
composure and slid the garment over and off of my feet.

"Fold them. Set them aside."  And he did.

"Now, boots back on."  And he quickly and dutifully replaced them,
albeit with a great deal of effort, and pausing ever so slightly to
let his hands wander up the extent of my calves and thighs.

"Now come closer, son, on your knees."  He took the submissive
position between my naked legs, boots on either side of his shins and
I stiffened my cock. Then, I put my hand on the back of his head and
pulled him down onto it. "Suck, son.  Take your time. There's no
hurry."

As I gently pushed into the confines of his sweet mouth, he began to
suck so tenderly and so purposefully that I was launched into a state
of sheer ecstasy.  Although the dimensions did not change, my cock
achieved rock hard firmness as my sweet boy made love to it.  His
worship, his sacrifice of bodily exertion, and the look of earnest
devotion on his face as he labored to please me made me feel like a
god, indeed.  I luxuriated in the knowledge of my superiority over not
just him, but any man I might choose. Then I heard old-me giving
orders to change the boy's technique.

"Up and down the shaft, boy. You're sucking cock, not just nibbling on
the head."  Dutifully, the boy began moving his lips up and down the
length of my swollen member.  I had thought he was doing a good job,
but now the pleasure more than doubled. Old-me knew how to work a boy
well. "Good, son.  That's it. Just like that for now.  Don't forget
those nips!"

By this time, my cigar was nearly a nub and the glass of bourbon was
empty.  With my cock fully engaged in the boy's care, his eager
fingers tweaking my nips, caressing my big chest and belly, I
unwrapped another cigar, cut the end, and lit it, then poured some
fresh liquor.  Sighing contentedly, I settled back a little in the
chair to resume my reverie as the boy continued his service.

"Fuck yeah, son...." I rumbled lazily, "...that's how you do it.  Just
like that."

And for the next 30 minutes, I was not inclined to change a thing.
The boy sucked.  I smoked and drank.  The pleasure was intense yet
sustainable.  I could have gone for hours, but he was clearly
beginning to tire, so I said, "Ok, son, let's pick up the pace a
little.  Faster, but not much."

And he did as ordered.  The change in tempo again heightened the
pleasure, which I thought wasn't possible, but still wasn't
enough. After a few minutes, I started fucking his face instead of
letting him simply suck. He became a receptacle of pleasure. His teeth
scraped against my mighty cock as I viciously raped his beautiful
orifice.  I was breathing and sweating heavily, and I could tell that
an immense load was building up inside me.  Although I now knew that I
could control my orgasm and have it at any time I chose, it didn't
mean I wanted to defer it indefinitely. Far from it - I wanted to
release my seed into this boy and take ownership of him for good.

That is exactly how the thought entered my mind, and it seemed very
strange: taking ownership, with absolute certainty, forever.  This
certainty that, by feeding the boy cum, I would irreversibly own him
did not make sense to the new-me. Old-me was, of course, quite
comfortable with it.  Then the idea of owning the boy forever scared
me, because of the responsibility it would entail.  But old-me knew
that the boy would rather live owned by me than not, even if it meant
receiving my seed just this one time.

As I mulled these thoughts and ferociously ravaged his mouth, the
image in the mirror drew my attention.  I saw me, the unassailably
impassioned, insanely masculine leather musclegod, cigar aflame, smoke
pouring from his bearded mouth, lustfully using his property for its
intended purpose.  His powerful thrusts were sure and intentional, and
the look of intense bliss on his handsomely mature face as he looked
out of the mirror and back at me showed that he was being served as he
was accustomed, in the manner that was due a god of his magnificence.
In contrast, the boy was harshly used, but hardly a mere accessory.
Submitting to the will of his master, unable to smile due to the
nature of his service, he nonetheless exuded contentment in his
posture and motions as he provided the pleasure he knew his god could
justly demand from him.

I imagined what it would be like to enter the boy's ass and fuck him,
depositing my superior seed directly into his bowels. Cigar clenched
between my teeth, his ass exposed as he bent over my chair, offering
up his warm, wet hole to his god, who had every right to take and
enjoy it. The cock enlarged to its full extent, plunging beyond his
tight sphincter and into depths of the fleshy cavity beyond.  The
drive to pound him, fuck him, use him, teach him, and even love him as
one would a devoted and faithful pet. The moment of release, him
yelling beneath me as he reached his own puny orgasm, followed by my
own roar of satisfaction at breeding him.  

And I saw, too, a vision of how his cells would begin to change, the
process that would rewrite his DNA with my own, to better serve his
god and master. I fully understood who and what I was, and what the
boy was, and how our relationship was good and right. This image was
so hot, so perfect, so exactly what I wanted that I made the decision
to cum at that moment - the fucking would eventually follow, but for
now I wanted to seal the boy's fate as my property. I wanted other
boys. I wanted as many as I could get. I wanted to own them and use
them and teach them to do the same within the limits of what they were
capable.

"CALL IT OUT, BOY!" I suddenly yelled. "CALL OUT MY CUM, SON!"

The boy began to moan and wail while my cock continued to pound his
mouth.  The added vibrations put me over the edge, now that I had
allowed it. With a growing rumble that became a sudden roar, I went
rigid with my hand holding the boy's head down on my cock, and the
cigar lodged firmly between my teeth.  

And then I came.
 
I had never come like this.  The spasms seemed endless. My roar was
sustained and filled with animal lust, and the satisfaction of that
lust.  The boy at first tried to disengage from my cock, but my hand
gave him no options.  Then, as my semen pumped directly down his
throat, he realized he must swallow or drown in it, so he swallowed.
Cum was spitting from his nose as he struggled to keep up with the
flow.  Finally, the stream waned and I sank back into the chair
breathing heavily, to recover from the sudden release of so much
energy.

I still held him down on the cock and he was breathing heavily through
his nose now, with thick white globs of cum still spitting from his
nostrils and dangling from the corners of his mouth.  I released his
head, but he didn't try to disengage. Instead, he resumed sucking my
still hard cock, moaning softly to himself, and working to recover as
much cum as he could.  It was obvious he relished the taste and wanted
more.  I now knew how it would affect him, and why he would relish it
and want more.  The transformation would take many months, and it would
become more profound the more I fed or fucked him.  His chest would
deepen.  His beard, thicken. Voice, deepen. Height, increase.  His mouth
and ass would become more flexible and better adapted to service my
cock at full size.  Parts of me would be reborn in him, my son.

After recovering from the explosion of cum and energy, the boy
instinctively went to the first position I had taught him - face to
the floor kneeling between my boots - and waited.

"Well done, son," I said, tousling his hair while blowing more cigar
smoke over and around him, enveloping him like a tangible cloak.

"I am yours, SIR.  I belong to You. Please use me!"

And I acknowledged him. "Yes, you're mine, son.  And, yes, I will use
you, and teach you to be more suitable for my service." I handed him a
small towel from beneath the table at my side.  "Wipe down, dress up,
and go home.  We'll stay in touch. Dismissed." I went back to smoking
and enjoying my bourbon as if he no longer were in the room.  He
quietly dressed as instructed and left.

*****

That was the first of many similar encounters that saw me quickly grow
into and reclaim the abilities I had acquired in recent lives.  I also
learned that, with every ejaculation, I recharged to be even more
powerful, more strong, more muscular, more in-tune with myself and my
boys than I had been before.  The changes were very subtle and only
noticeable over many months and years, but over time, I was
transformed further into the fully matured musclegod I am today.

But physical size and masculine features aren't the full extent of
what I have become.  Stamina has increased. My endurance seems
endless.  Although I have the face of a brutally handsome older man,
my body doesn't seem to age. Disease and sickness are distant
memories.

And I've learned to love.  It's new this time around, I think.  Until
now, my lives focused on achieving superiority and learning to wield
it without question.  Now I am experiencing the new dimension of
caring for my boys, cultivating them, raising them up from the status
of mere men.  Certainly, the physical transformation brought about by
the peculiar characteristics of my ejaculate is unusual, even
miraculous. But "training" is more than just restructuring genes,
teaching protocol, and drilling skills pertaining to sexual and
domestic service.  It is much more about touching the boy's soul,
evoking a deep and devoted love response, putting me in the center of
his life, and him being thankful for any involvement I may have in
his, even if only a one-time encounter.

In this life, I find that I don't like the idea of forcing someone to
love me - that seems inhumane.  And though I may be superior, the
compassion that has evolved inside me would never coerce a boy to love
me, although none I have ever engaged has failed to do so. The truth
is that any man I claim comes to me willingly and happily.  Once he
experiences me, sees my superiority first hand, and I breed him, he's
mine. His only desire is to satisfy my desires, make me proud perhaps
as a leather daddy himself, or just see me glance down at him as he
serves me and say "Well done, son!"
 

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Unfortunately, domination and cigars do pretty much nothing for me. On the other hand, VERY interesting premise -- Old Soul meets Lamarck, as it were -- and extremely well-written (and that, in itself, is always a pleasure!)

 

Kudos!

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