Blue (Patreon)

Based on a story by nikehypnosneak.

He stared in disbelief as the guy was humping the shoe against the wall. The sound of his loud moans echoing throughout the garage despite being muffled by the lower hem of the T-shirt he was biting into to expose his abs. Only minutes earlier he had acted more or less normal up in the mall cafeteria.

The realtor still meets all of their customers out of the office, one of the pandemic precautions that have remained. It's mostly because everyone agreed having a cup at "Simon's Coffee" was way better than the coffee at the office, and was just as deductible. Joe first didn't realize the two men approaching him were his 3 pm appointment. The older of them looked unremarkable. Handsome, obviously working out, and wearing high-end outdoorsy clothing, but he could just as well be on his way to a business meeting as a few hours trek. The other guy though looked off. He wore sports clothes that he was a bit too old for, and while his movements were relaxed, there was something jittery in how his eyes kept darting around.

"Mr. Stieglitz," the older of then men said, holding out his hand. "I recognize you from the website."
"Oh, Mr. Black. I didn't expect you to have company," Joe replied, shaking his hand.
"Please, call me Peter. This is Blue. I'm his legal guardian for now."
"Sup!" Blue said, completely devoid of any enthusiasm.
"Please, have a seat." Joe motioned towards two empty seats at the table he'd sat at, quickly adjusting to the situation.

Once the beverages were ordered, one double espresso for Peter, a diet coke for Blue, and a Frappé for Joe, Joe started his well-rehearsed introduction talk about the services they offer. It was designed to be conversational and so he could pivot to the information most suited for where in the sales cycle the client was. He soon realized he could skip the "pitch" phase and go straight into "handle objections", and the more Peter talked about the property the more eager Joe became.

Joe of course knew about all major properties around town, but this one Peter owned was a bit outside, secluded with a private road, so he had never seen it besides what Google Map could provide. But that gave plenty. A ranch in a private valley with its own private lake, a recently renovated main building, pool, tennis court, several smaller buildings, and a small barn a third of a mile away for a horse or two. Handled properly this could possibly be the most expensive sale in the state. This was a career-defining opportunity. Too good to be true.

Peter however described why it wasn't. He didn't need the money, and once he'd taken custody over Blue he realized he wasn't as interested in big parties or ways to flash his wealth anymore. A regular mansion would do, to which Joe was incredibly pleased he managed to not snort at. Peter obviously wanted a good price, but he wasn't in a hurry. He could just buy a new place and move there while Joe made the sale.

Blue had immediately checked out of the meeting as soon as he sat down, and sat slouched on the chair, legs wide apart, savoring the coke, and intently studied the people walking by. The hand not busy with the soda can fidgeted, sometimes it was adjusting his cap, sometimes it was stroking his groin, sometimes it was touching his earring, but mostly it was exploring his abs and chest. Occasionally he would mention specific sneaker models someone in his line of sight was wearing. "Save it," was all Peter told him. Blue reminded Joe of one of the guys from high school, always sitting at the back disrespecting everyone and everything. Then Joe reminded himself that $100 million wasn't outlandishly impossible for a property like this, and focused back on Peter. If Peter wanted to do the rest of the meeting at the skate park while the kids there blew weed smoke and hurled abuse at him, that would be acceptable too.

Thankfully Peter didn't have time for that, but wanted to get going and give Joe a first tour of the property to assess it. It was obvious on the way down that Blue was excited or anxious over something, behaving almost like a junkie saying things like "I fucking need it!" to himself. He didn't address neither Joe nor Peter however.

"I'm terribly sorry. This went worse than I hoped," Peter said.
"I'm sorry? What is the issue?" Joe replied, suddenly feeling like he'd swallowed a cube of ice.
"It's Blue. He's been stimulated too much. I'm afraid I have to do something unseemly."
"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing," Joe said. As long as the deal was safe Peter could behead hobos for all he cared.

Peter turned to Blue and cryptically said "Soxboy, think about everything you saved in your mind. All those outfits. All those sneakers. Think about how warm it is in your TN3 as you move your toes inside that worn sock. It makes you hard and horny. Show our friend here how you fuck them."

Without waiting at all Blue ran to the nearest wall, ripped off one of his shoes before quite reaching, almost tripping himself, and placing it against the wall. Peter looked at Joe apologetically.

"You are not in a terrible hurry I hope."
"No. No, not at all. You're my last appointment for the day, given the ride out of town."
"Good, though I don't think this will take that long. He was quite wound up looking at all those people."
"It's... No, never mind." Blue must have dropped the T-shirt from his mouth as his rhythmic moans were more like screams now.
"No, please."
"It's really not my business, but what is his... condition?"
"Oh, where to begin. He's like a dictionary of mental illness."
"Someone else raised him and you took over?"
"No, this is quite recent. He was completely normal about two years ago."
"Really!? How did..."

There is a loud final scream from Blue, and he slumps against the wall for a few seconds. He then gets the posture back, and nimbly slips the sneaker back on.

"There we go," Peter interrupts. "Blue, take the backseat." The lights of a nearby, black car flash as Peter unlocks the vehicle. He motions Joe to the passenger side of the car as he walks up to the driver's door.

Once out of the parking garage Joe raises the question again.
"So how did it happen. Blue's condition I mean. An accident?"
"It's far darker than that I'm afraid. He ran into some bad people and they did it to him intentionally. I've been to see lots of specialists, and it's hard enough to diagnose him properly. Harder still to untangle how he got like that. MRI shows some abnormalities in the brain that might stem from directed drugs or some sort of fine controlled energy discharge. Basically whoever did this was able to strengthen and weaken pathways within the brain to essentially reprogram him. I wasn't kidding when I said he's a dictionary of mental illnesses. OCD, addiction, phobias, triggers, satyrism, Tourette, you name it."
"That's horrible! How is it even possible? And why?"
"Those are not even the only changes. So he has all of these OCD patterns. He gets incredibly turned on by sneakers. Something we've been working on, as you saw. But for some reason the doctors weren't able to determine why his hormone levels are way above normal, so on a good day he'll need an orgasm every four hours or he'll hump anything."

Joe looked back at Blue. He sat with one leg against the B-pillar, staring back at him with a bratty look. "What?" he said, as if he hadn't heard any of the conversation up front.

"He's dumb as a bag of rocks," Peter continued, "so I don't think he suffers. As long as he gets to do his gym exercises, eat his macros, and furiously masturbate he's pretty content. Well, some of the OCD patterns have deep phobias embedded in them, so we must stay clear of those. He can't wear anything other than sports clothes from a quite short list of known brands or he'll violently freak out. That includes restraints and chastity devices as well."
"Why would you need..." Joe stopped his question as he saw Blue starting to rub his groin.
"Yeah, to control that" Peter responded to the unfinished question.

Joe was almost more fascinated by this horrible yet interesting story than the multi-million dollar sale. He could only imagine the trials and error to figure out what did and didn't work for Blue. Just half an hour ago he wouldn't even believe it was possible. Yet here they were, in the same car. He let out a yawn.
"Did all that hot milk make you sleepy?" Peter chuckled.
"Why is he called Blue? Is it his name?"
"No, that's another really sick thing. Just mentioning his real name gives him panic attacks that can last for up to an hour. It's that same for any of his past he tries to remember, I think."
"Wow. That's really twisted. Why Blue though?"
"It just makes them easy to tell apart from a distance. Just have a look at their track pants."
"Them?"
"Yeah, you're getting Green."

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