You were fresh out of college, broke, and with little to no prospects of finding a job in an increasingly competitive and impossible to break-into employment market. All that stress was just exacerbated by a huge mountain of student debt on your shoulders. You’d started out all bright-eyed and optimistic for the future, but as the years waned on, you started realizing why most older people were jaded and cynical.
Now that you’d been thrust out into the real world from a heavily flawed educational system with a debt that you couldn’t even begin to hope to repay, it’d become quite clear to you that the world as you knew it wasn’t fair in the slightest. Of course, most people play along. They don’t have a choice. They have to live, somehow, and sometimes that means taking a dead-end job, clinging to the vain hope that someday they’ll manage to pay off their debt and start moving up in the world.
Some people do, but it’s a tough ask. You, however, on the other hand, didn’t think that was an option. You were intelligent. You were resourceful. But you were also at the end of your rope after trying every little thing that you can think of. You were pretty creative so you tried to make a living off of creating for a little while. It was tough trying to stay afloat from month to month on increasingly demanding commissions.
Finally, you decided that the libido you’d struggled with all your life was going to be your ticket out. And if you had stopped it there, maybe you would have had a chance. You saved up to go to the gym and eat healthier, got a pretty nice body out of the deal, and started putting on cam shows to make money. You made a pretty penny, but it wasn’t going to be enough. You decided that what you needed was a sugar daddy.
And with looks like yours, it wasn’t going to be difficult to get one.
Lo and behold, some three weeks later, you had found someone. He was hot. He was mature. He was a daddy in every sense of the word, and had the sugar that you were looking for to boot. He put you up in his house, and all you had to do was walk around in your underwear whenever you were home, be a nice little slut for him, and you could live in comfortable luxury. And sex with him was pretty sizzling, too. For an older gentleman, he definitely had the virility of a young man like you. For once, you had a partner that could keep up.
There was one aspect of the bargain that you didn’t know what to feel about. He wanted you to get bigger and stronger. He wanted you to grow buffer. You were concerned at first, of course, but given that he was being more gracious to you than he needed to be, you couldn’t very well begrudge him the idea. And besides, you didn’t think it was all that bad to get bigger and sexier, anyway.
In the back of your mind, even though your sugar daddy told you that that wasn’t the case, you knew that your arrangement was going to be a temporary one. You thought that he would one day find someone younger and more attractive and that being hotter yourself would help your chances once you were replaced.
But that wasn’t at all your sugar daddy’s intention. Between the chemicals laced into your food, the supplements that you were taking to get bigger—which your body couldn’t metabolize and which penetrated the blood-brain barrier to collect in your head—and the steroids that your daddy had somehow managed to convince you to take, you didn’t realize that slowly, gradually, you were losing the mental acuity that you had once been so proud of.
More and more, you found yourself flexing in front of the mirror as your body continued to swell, chuckling dumbly as you ran your hands over your increasingly obscene musculature, as you squeezed and played with the man-tits that you had managed to develop. Your head felt fuzzy and cottony, your thoughts moving as though through treacle, but it was a pleasant sensation, as far as you were concerned.
You became bigger, slower, stupider. By the time that the white noise machines and their subliminal messages came into play, you were too far gone, and they were pretty much just there to reinforce what you already willingly did. Well, that and to destroy whatever dregs of resistance might have remained inside you despite everything.
With that came the gradual downgrading of your living quarters. At first you had a big room all to yourself. Then you were moved to a guest bedroom “for renovations” even though you never really did see any construction people around the house. If you had, you would have been fucked by at least one of them as you and your daddy were no longer exclusive and anyone in the household could come by your room and request a fuck.
By the time that you were moved to what were essentially the “servants’ quarters,” you were expected to take any and all requests for sexual satisfaction regardless of what you were doing. Not that you did much more than watch stupid shows, laugh your ass off, flex in front of the mirror chuckling dumbly at your huge body, and work out at that point.
When you were finally installed in the dungeon, your withered cock locked up in a metal cage much like the bars on the door to your “room,” you were thoroughly gone. Most days you just stared blankly, drooling, waiting for someone to come along to use you. Your master fucked you most of the time, leaving your ass leaking and loose for most of the day, but others came by, too, servants that wanted to have a good time, and even just random people who wanted to get their rocks off.
You didn’t complain. This was what your master wanted you to do. This was what your master created you to do. And you were happy. At least, as happy as you could be with your limited mental abilities these days.
Eventually, you were moved to another cell. Smaller, with only a mattress on the floor to be your bed. You slept not on your back but on all fours, your ass sticking out of a hole in the bars in front of your “room,” your wrists and ankles held in place by manacles while you drooled onto your fluffy pillow—the only measure of comfort afforded to you by then.
So, congratulations, dumbfuck. You’ve got your wish. You’ll live in relative comfort for the rest of your life. Nothing but a roided up beast who’s more ass than brain, hole loose and leaking most of the time, brain shriveled up just as much as your locked up cock. But you like it, don’t you? Yeah, you do. Those white noise machines and all those subliminals have made sure to destroy any thoughts other than unerring, unflinching, and unquestioning obedience to your master.
And if you want to follow my captions, shenanigans and such on the journey to becoming the dumbfuck himbo pup I was meant to be, then follow me at @DumPupEcho
le basculement de l’humain stupide vers l’objet
juste un it qui suit son cheminement normal vers sa fonction d’objet
