Libertine (Patreon)

This one was really fun. This was done as a collaboration with idesofrevolution, where to talked through one of his old stories and tried to pinpoint what was important, what was actually happening in the overall scheme and what he wanted from the story. It was close that he would write the new version, but I just got a jump start. It is mostly rewritten out of order, as if they were different scenes. The actual body suit part was the hardest for me, and the reason why I wanted to do it in the first place.

In trying to justify all the different parts of the story, I decided that the magic actually starts already in the car. The smell from the foot and shoe in his knee makes him obedient to whatever commands he is given. Then what was real and what was only part of a drug trip is a bit ambiguous, but I wanted to make it clear that permanent changes are happening.

Original Story

You sat, embarrassed in the backseat of the hurdling car. What started out as a simple recon mission became a lot deeper real quick, and now you’re off to some unknown place with this drunk and high punk douchebag making faces and taunting you. He sits there, pulling his lips from side to side, sticking his pierced tongue out, letting it get mere centimeters from the side of your face. The smokey timbre of his breath, and the horrendous stench of age-old marijuana permeated your nose. Irritated, and already anxious in your predicament, you turn to the little shit and shove him back in his place.

“Fuck, man! When am I gonna see Travis? You better be taking me to him!” The punk, in his inebriated stupor laughs, lounging back against the side of the van, kicking his filthy, reeking feet onto your lap; the trashed Vans and ratty socks did little to contain their rank musk.

“You’ll see him… He wants to see you too.” He winks, teasing your cheeks and nose with his footstench. “Besides, I love it when a cute little guy like you takes a whiff of my sexy soles.” His feet wriggle in the well-worn yellow and blue checkerboard slip ons, the formerly white socks playing peekaboo in their many frayed holes. The stench was intoxicating… mesmerizing… sour… and so damn addictive. But you had to focus. Travis was priority. These fucks took Travis, and you gotta bring him back. You reluctantly turn your face away from the punk’s feet and look out the window at the trees and bayouland flying past. This little hideout was way outside of town.

Just as the punk began to rub your growing bulge with the rubbery sole of his thrashed, well loved skate shoes, you approached the clearing and he sat upright- clearly excited.

“Awwwwww yess! We’re here!” The van pulls up to a rusted old chainlink fence, with overgrown vines covering the old barbed wire. An open gate welcomes the van onto the dirt road, past old construction equipment now enveloped by the rising bayou. In the distance, the outline of an old warehouse gets clearer. The sunlight shines onto the old brick facade, windows shattered and the metal roof nearly caving in from decades of neglect. Around the perimeter of the grounds, marijuana plants flourish. As the van comes to a stop, the punk reaches over you to open the door, knowingly teasing you with his sweaty, youthful, rebellious musk.

The sweltering Louisiana heat hits you like a freight train as you exit the raggedy old van. The punk jumps out, tossing his sweat-sticky arm around you: guiding you to the entrance of the hideout. He teases your nipples as you walk, prompting you to shake him off despite his alluring demeanour. You reach the door, and he knocks in a strange pattern before the door opens and a familiar yet off-sounding voice slithers out of the hazy interior:

“Sup muthafuckahs?”

It’s Travis. Or, rather… It was a strange caricature of Travis. The Travis you knew was your timid, boy-next-door best friend of 10 years. He was there when your parents divorced. He was the shoulder to cry on when you broke up with your boyfriend. He was a quiet, good natured kid who was always the sweetest guy. This… This delinquent was certainly not Travis. His tattoos and gauged ears… buzzed faded haircut… silver chain… bulging muscles… and ripe, unwashed stink… Travis would never let himself look like this. And yet, here he was, standing in front of you with some snide smirk and and soul-piercing furrowed brow. You grab him by the shoulder, pulling him to the side, slapping a half-smoked joint from his veiny hands.

“Travis. What the fuck did they do to you? Did the drug you?” He smirks, picking up the joint on the dirty floor, and brings it to his lips. He takes a slow, deep drag of the weed, never once breaking eye contact with you. He blows the smoke in your face defiantly, and brushes past you.

“Sup Ash?” Travis walks over to the punk who borderline kidnapped you, grabbing a handful of his perky ass before bringing him in for a sloppy, tongue-heavy makeout. You knew Travis was gay, and a part of you was happy to see him finally embracing his sexuality, but as he and Ash groped and bit and licked eachother… You were certain, this was not the Travis you left at the hotel last night. Yet, something inside you stirred… Ash’s teasing from earlier… The delinquent vibes… It all seemed filled with rabid euphoria. Travis had never looked this viscerally pleasured. What was going on? Travis pulled away from Ash, rubbing the little pre stain that had slicked the front of his black jeans. “Fuck me later, babe. But why don’t you take my friend here to see Sage?” Your best friend smacked his ass before walking over to you, blowing you a kiss as he walked past.

“C’mon babe, you’re going this way.” Perhaps it was the fact that Travis had gone behind you and locked the heavy metal door, or that the dimly lit warehouse was difficult to navigate an escape… But you felt compelled to follow Ash into the haze. 

As the three of you walked toward the back door, you passed the various living spaces of the warehouse’s occupants. All tattooed. All pierced. All muscled. All fucking… The moans and slapping sounds of groin hitting ass rivaled the blaring noise of heavy metal and punk rock bellowing from the old 1990′s stereo system. You found the origin of the heavy fog in several lounging guys passing bong after bong of different coloured weed, the black liquid being distinctly different from typical bongwater.

Ash lead you up a flight of stairs, with Travis trailing behind. From the landing, your perspective saw the entire warehouse’s debauchery. Sweaty, nasty sex; dirty, rank clothes; questionable bongs; and old pizza boxes. These guys truly lived here, and clearly did little else. This vantage point quickly changed, as you heard the creaky opening of the cracked frosted glass door. You felt a gentle shove on your shoulders from Travis as you stumbled into the room. The door slammed behind you, with Ash and Travis now blocking your only exit.

The room was lit with red tint, and a few dim edison bulbs likely original to the building. Whatever finished that used to adorn the walls and ceilings were stripped to the brick and mortar, exposing the pipes and beams above. The room was furnished much more heavily than the rest of the warehouse, with bookshelves, shiny leather sofas, a desk, and clothes strewn across the floor.

“I was wonderin’ if you’d show up here.” From the corner of the room, the most stunningly sexy man you’ve ever seen sauntered out of the haze. His plump lips and chiseled jawline immediately made your heart skip a beat. He was tossing an old football into the air, catching it each time without breaking his sinister, yet wholly encompassing gaze.

You stutter for words in Sage’s presence, as he oozed a dominant air about him. It was clear from his demeanor that he was the boss. He tossed the football to Travis and nodded, sending both he and Ash out the door, leaving you and Sage alone.

“You know who we are? Who I am?” You still trip over your words at his commanding confidence, but eventually blurt out what he was prodding to hear.

“You’re the Libertines… That cult-like gang that sells weed all across the city…” Sage smirked and leaned against the bookshelf, crossing his arms and ankles. He gestured for you to spill more. “And you’re Sage Ravenswyck… You run the whole thing.” He bowed, bastardizing the gentlemanly gesture to his ominous wit.

“Very nice. And you came to take Travis away from us, right?” You stand there, petrified. Sage Ravenswyck was touted as the single most dangerous pot lord in the country, and his reputation preceded him. Thus, his menacing yet seductive tone halted any speech from escaping your mouth. “He’s not going anywhere, man. And neither are you.” He snapped his fingers, pointing to the couch. Instinctually, you follow his command, walking toward the shiny leather sofa. “Strip.”

How could you refuse? As you began to remove article after article of clothing, you watched as Sage mirrored your every move. By the time you stood there in your underwear only, he did as well in his shiny leather jockstrap. Slowly peeling off your own undergarments, you watched with bated breath as his massive uncut, tattooed cock flop out of it’s tight, leathery prison. His pendulous balls drop out of the jock like a chain mace, dripping with sweat from it’s long confinement. He gestured you forward with his inked fingers.

“C’mere.” You walked over to him, and with each step, you began to smell the intense musk. It was the same sour, salty, dank musk that wafted from Ash and Travis; yet this was stronger and more potent. Inching forward, his tattoos come clearer into view. Old voodoo signs and talismans permanently adhered to his sweat-soaked skin, and motifs that seemingly came to life upon observation; still with each and every step sending that masculine, rank scent into your sinuses, making you dizzy and weak at the knees. You eventually arrived afront him, as he looks you up and down. He nods in a strange approval. “I like you, kid. We’re always taking new recruits.” He grabs you by the jaw, pulling you into an all too familiar tongue-infested kiss- just the same one that Ash and Travis shared… 

His mouth tastes like marijuana ash, cigarettes, and some indescribably savoury flavour which kept you glued to his plump, inviting lips. Before long, he takes hold of your shoulders, pushing you to your knees. You’re eyelevel to his rancid, cheesy, sweaty cock; your lips drooling in anticipation of it’s taste. Yet, Sage has other ideas for you.

“Time for initiation, cunt.” Little did you know that each and every moment of your time with Sage was purposeful. The wafting stench, the ashy taste, the piercing gaze, commanding voice… It was a ritual. It was the initiation. So you knew nothing of what was to come when he brought his sweaty, pungent feet to your lips. Expecting to worship his enticing feet, you open your mouth, preparing to lick the grime from his soles. But as he brings it down into your gaping maw, you realize just how much you have underestimated your situation.

His entire grimy, rancid foot slips into your mouth, your tongue tasting every ounce of built up sweat and dirt captured within. He forces it down your throat, your skin stretching around it to make room for his size 13 foot to slide deeper within you. He smirks and sighs, as it moves further and further down, going as far as his mid thigh before it slips into your cock, finding a resting spot.

“We like to make sure we train our boys. From inside out.” He takes his fingers, prying open your mouth even further to accommodate his second foot, honouring your taste buds with his rank taste once more before slithering it’s way down to your engorged, foot-shaped cock. Though only for the moment, you feel his toes wriggle inside of your stretched member, before continuing downward. The two outlines of his feet slide beneath your skin before popping into your considerably smaller feet. As they do, you feel your toes stretch and become filled with Sage’s, feeling the grime and sweat of his feet within yours. Tattoos begin to prickle up from your toes, and up your calves. Before long, Sage’s entire lower half is within you, contorting your skin like a rubber suit, conforming to his strong, slender build.

“I know you’re enjoying yourself.” Sage taunted, as he pulled your face closer and closer to his massive endowment. The wafting scent of built up cum and smeg, and caked on ballsweat became stronger and stronger, until his cock was at your lips.You felt your mouth and throat give way to the cheesy cock, and slip down your throat, leaving a trail of rancid grime and insatiable lust. The feeling of his cock teasing the base of yours, seconds from thrusting within overwhelms you. Luckily, it lasts but a moment, before you feel it slowly push into yours. He grabs your smaller cock and pushes his further inside, the sides bulging and elastic before it finally fills the space with his. The pleasure is immeasurable, like a state constant edging, never climaxing.

He pulls up your midsection, smiling as his 6 pack subtly bulges beneath your skin. Tattoos sprawl from their roots in your feet across your cock, surrounding your abs and thick pecs, even surrounding your broad back. You feel his fingers once again invade your mouth, as they snake their way into your body. Your mouth struggles to stretch to fit his built arms and broad shoulders, but the sensation of his fingers slipping effortlessly into your own, stretching them like latex gloves makes up for whatever pressure your poor mouth must endure. In seconds, his large hands are now inside of yours, adorned with tattoos of your own now, cracking your knuckles.

 “Alright, cunt. I’ll see you on the inside.” He chastises, as you feel your hands stretch your mouth over his head, and snap into place like a balloon. You are filled with him, completely engorged, and yet to all outside eyes, some transformed version of yourself. He adjusts his head inside of yours, stretching your face to cover his like a halloween mask, before walking your body to his pack of Marlboros, and lighting a cigarette. As he inhales the smoke, you feel the rush of the nicotine, and burn of the smoke as if you had done it yourself. Though you are now only a passenger. 

As you exhale, Travis and Ash reenter the room, smiling at the new you. Sage throws your hands up into the air, spinning you around to show you off to your new brothers. The two approach you, Ash kneeling to take your massive, cheesy cock into his mouth, as you and Travis make out in the typical Libertine fashion. You feel Sage’s sweat and musk seep out of your skin, coating you in his trademark scent, forever marking you as a member of his gang. By the time he is done within you, you won’t remember who you were. You won’t want to remember. You’ll want to smell. And lick. And fuck. And smoke. And admire the cocky, mischevious little drone you are. You will beg Sage to take you over again and again, and each time he will gladly oblige, forcing the last of whatever you thought was a mundane existence out of your mind. Totally and completely mindfucked forever. And it feels great. Shh… Keep it to yourself.