re:inanimate

Becoming Cristiano’s Underwear (inanimate)

In several cities around the world, gay men were suddenly going missing. I was the twenty third. 

I vanished when I met Cristiano Ronaldo at the gay bar downtown. It had taken persuasion from my friend to so much as go, but now we were there, sitting in our booth totally spellbound by the fact that Cristiano himself was standing at the other end of the bar, swarmed by fans and a number of gay men desperately seeking his attention. I had heard rumors, of course, about the football superstar’s sexuality, but it seemed bizarre he would in the public eye make an appearance in a place like this. Everyone would know he’s gay in the second if press got out. But he was grinning as if nothing like that mattered, letting the desperate queens squeeze his biceps and run their hands along his huge thighs. 

It was then he looked at me from across the room. Right into me. His grin widened and he began to push through the crowd right towards me. It seemed impossible, but in a matter of seconds, there he was at the end of our booth.

He pointed to me, speaking in his deep Portuguese accent, “You, why don’t you come with me?”

Cristiano grabbed me by the wrist and practically dragged me to a vacant bathroom. He locked the door. We were completely alone.  

“Take off my shorts,” he instructed.

I pulled down the athletic apparel from his waist and was immediately greeted with the masculine scent of sweat. His dick, long and full and totally erect, bucked against the material of his white boxer briefs and I immediately began eyeing him with supreme lust.

“Do you want to be like this?” he asked, patting the briefs wrapped around his tremendous legs. I figured he must’ve been misspeaking, distracted by the language barrier, and staring into his massive dick and smelling its musk all I could do was nod furiously. He grinned once more. 

With one hand, he slid the underwear down to his ankles, and with the other, he pressed my face against the surface of his ten inch cock. I moaned and accepted it into my mouth, blowing him with everything I could muster. 

“Good boy,” he said. “You are going to like it this way.”

This way? It was just as I was wondering what he could mean when I realized my arms, gripping the globe of his ass, would not pull apart from one another. Instinctively, I tried to reel away but I found my face and my mouth could move only closer to his crotch, riddled with sweat. I grunted in fear and tried to push away, but I seemed to be lacking all my strength. Helplessly looking up at his cocky smile, I tried to scream for help. Nothing.

“Don’t worry,” he laughed as he pushed me closer to him, “you will like this.”

It was like his dick had become a part of my throat, filling it entirely and swelling into my body… my body? Something felt wrong, like my skin wasn’t skin. It felt better in a way, as if the sexual pleasure formerly stirring in my own dick had spread throughout my entire self. My anxiety was numbing, superseded with the extreme horniness suddenly possessing me. My screams grew back into moans before fading away entirely. 

I was sucking in around his body, my waist and legs curling up to meet my hands like I was molding together. I pulled this way and that but as if elastic, I would snap right back into place. It felt good to cling so closely to this human statue, this divine specimen of man. It felt right, like I was finally fulfilling my purpose. 

My ‘skin,’ if you were still to call it that, was taking on a ghostly white hue. My skull was shrinking in to surround his cock. My whole being was pressed right into his body. I barely felt the words ‘CRISTIANO RONALDO CR7′ become etched around my northmost portion, my… band. He snuck a thumb under it and pulled it out so it smacked back into his hips. 

“You will like serving me this way,” he said through his accent. “As soon as I saw your eyes… I knew you would prefer life serving me as my underwear.”

My whole being pulsed with pleasure at the thought of it. I could not speak but I could somehow will the thoughts, “Yes! Yes, sir! I want to give my life to you!”

He snickered but said nothing, pulling his shorts back up and removing the old undies strung around his ankles. He crumbled them in one hand and departed back for the bar, tossing them off to some lowly gay who immediately began sniffing them desperately. I knew he’d be jerking off into them as soon as he could, and it was then I realized that must’ve been someone too, now sentenced to become the jerk off rag for some fag getting off on Ronaldo’s scent.

We were back in his hotel in no time. I felt him strip himself of his shirt, his socks, his shorts, his shoes, until all there was was me, strapped to his body. I knew what I had to do. With my entire being, I began to grind into his hard dick, squeezing into it with all my energy and rubbing, pulsing, sliding up and down it as I felt him thrust into the air. The perspiration accumulating on his hefty balls leaked into me, inside me, my form absorbing like water.

“Yes…” he moaned, “that’s right… give yourself to me…”

“Fuck yeah,” I thought to him, “this is all there is, this is all i want to be!”

Permanently becoming something to service one of the hottest studs alive, a footballer renowned for his masculine beauty… any trace of terror inside me had long turned into complete relish. The depraved desires I’d suppressed for so long became my only thoughts as I absorbed his hot pre-cum into myself, the stench of his dick filling every fiber of my being. I could only begin to imagine what it would be like during practice with his sweaty cock bouncing into me forever. 

My identity was all but gone by this point, but fully immersing myself in infinite sexual pleasure and satisfying the man who owned me certainly sufficed. “I’m… close…” he said in a pant. I more furiously rubbed my whole existence into his dick as he gasped, clenched and then exploded gobs of thick cum into me. 

And so this is my new life, among the dozens of other gay men he’s transformed into his willing, servant, living underwear: fabric made only and exclusively to serve him and his desires. Turns out Cristiano is bent on getting off as much as possible, and his dumb, constantly horny mindset has manifested in him transforming as many gays as possible. He comes home with new underwear practically every week, but he never forgets about the rest of us and makes sure to wear us for our fair share. I anticipate him filling me up with his tight body every moment he’s not wearing me, but when Ronaldo finally pulls me over his thighs again, letting his fat, sweaty junk push into what used to be my face, I feel complete. This is how it should be.

2

You want to serve a man, do you? You want to devote your entire existence to a man more masculine and more muscular than you could ever dream to be? Become a tool for him, transform into something he exclusively uses only for his own benefit and pleasure? I understand that. Being a fag means giving up your whole life purpose for a man far superior to you - just know it comes at a price, it’s not going to be a comfortable transformation.

Oh, I see it’s already taking effect. You were that ready, huh? I barely had to do anything, you were just so ready to become a literal accessory for someone all I had to do was manifest your will, and now your skin is stiffening. I see your eyes fill up with a sort of terror, realizing what you’ve sentenced yourself to, but don’t worry, you won’t be scared for long. Watching the very material of your body become coated with a gold, glossy complexion is kind of unsettling, I mean, there’s no way that can be easy, but the slight smile on your fading face seems to indicate you’re beginning to enjoy yourself. The ecstasy of realizing your whole life is going to belong to a ripped stud with huge muscles and an even huger cock is surely making it easier. Not that there’s much of a face left, all that’s there is covered with glass and morphing into the face of a clock. Your nose extends to a minute hand, your eyes warp into numbers, your skin is all but replaced with bright shimmering metal and gold. Damn, even your arms are stuck together now - you’re really not human anymore. You’re getting smaller, too, and all your clothes have slipped to the floor, and as your scrawny limbs become the firm link of that rolex, all that’s left is for your dick to merge with the whole thing. Whenever someone wears you, it’s gonna feel like your entire existence is brought to orgasm. 

Well, looks like you’re about done. Not that you can hear me since your entire being is just a watch for a better man than you were ever going to be. Don’t worry, though, I’ll pick a good master to own you. I think Chad from The Bachelorette will be a good wearer for you - after all, he’s a fucking douchebag. Like the worst of the worst. So over confident and a massive manwhore, all he does is bang chicks all day and jack off between his workouts. All that testosterone makes a man like him constantly horny, you know, and you’re gonna get a front row seat strapped to his wrist. It’ll get a little sweaty since you’re so tight on those giant wrists, so much bigger than you, but I think you’re gonna like it. Just imagine pressing into his bulging, tight flesh as it sweats and stinks into your band while he jerks off that giant cock. You can hear him moan and grunt as he beats harder and harder, swinging your transformed body with every jerk until he cums and some of it lands on you. Whoops. All you can do is keep ticking on, almost feverishly as you embrace the disgusting lust for service you’ve always craved. You’ve got what you wanted now, and it’s going to be like this forever, just ticking on in constant orgasms as he goes about his life as a real fucking man. And it’ll all be worth it when he looks directly into your soul, just to check the time. He’ll look right into you and laugh, knowing some fag sacrificed his life just to provide him some service. Well, tick tock, tick tock…

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NAGA
“Worm”
(Album: Inanimate, 2017)