Prologue – I’m still not completely clear what has happened to me or who is doing this to me. I’m beginning to suspect though. Standing in front of the mirror, I look at the reflection of my tits: how large they’ve become. They’re like the tips of two fingers, protruding from my pecs. I reach up to them and, flattening my hands, fingers together, I strum them with the flat part of my fingers. A shiver runs down my spine and my knees buckle. I know what I’ve become; I am a tit fag; I am a tit slave.
Tit Slave
Chapter 6
“Hank... Hank, are you OK?”
Greg’s face came into focus. He looked concerned, his hand on my arm.
“Wh... what?” I said, shaking my head. “What time is it? I guess I must’ve dozed off there for a second.”
“It’s a quarter to 6:00,” Greg said. “You just sort of blanked out on me.”
My head seemed to be full of gauze and I shook it again. Blanking out was no longer a strange thing to me; it was happening at least once a day, sometimes twice. But I still felt a little disoriented and vulnerable when I came to. What was surprising to me was that the feeling of vulnerability was comforting. But how long had I been out? Maybe 10, 15 minutes? Greg and I had been talking and I seem to recall him reaching up to grab my swollen tits and... Every time I blanked out, it seems that my tits were involved.
“Tit slave”, I thought. “I’ve been, or am being enslaved through my tits.”
“What was that?” Greg asked, looking quizzical. “Enslaved through your tits? Did I hear you right?”
Oh God, I must’ve said that aloud, though I hadn’t intended to.
“I, uh, umm, you see, what I meant was, I, I,” I stammered, flushing from head to toe. How could I have said that aloud?
Greg reached across the table and laid his hand on my arm.
“Don’t worry Hank. Whatever’s going on, I’m not going to tell anyone, believe me. But it sounds like there’s something going on that’s bothering you. Do you want to share it with me? If you don’t, that’s OK. I’m just offering an ear...”
His voice and his words were so reassuring, I couldn’t help myself. I told him that I was having these blackouts and that someone, somehow, was making me become more acutely aware of the erogenous nature of my nipples and that I was being induced to wear suction cups most of the time to make them grow. I told him about the website I’d been directed to and how I kept returning to it and how I thought that, somehow, it was part of what was going on with me. After saying this, I felt profoundly vulnerable and humiliated and I closed my arms across my chest in an effort to cover the points pushing against my shirt. At the same time, my cock was throbbing against my pants. I spread my legs in an attempt to give it more room. I was glad I was seated at a table, so that, at least my hard-on was concealed.
“Hank, Hank,” Greg said softly. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but you don’t have to hide yourself. You don’t need to be ashamed of your tits; look, a lot of men like men with big tits. In fact, I do. But I can tell that you’re upset because you’re not sure who’s doing this and how. I’m your buddy, Hank. Let me help you. OK?”
I felt unsure and finally, looked up at Greg. Something in his eyes and his quiet, compelling voice told me it was OK. I nodded.
“Thanks Greg,” I whispered, suddenly feeling reassured.
I’ve always been a stand-up guy; not intimidated by anyone. I’ve always been sure of myself. But suddenly, I was feeling vulnerable and exposed. Greg’s reassurance and calmness comforted me. It felt good to entrust myself to him. I hadn’t realized how profoundly disquieting and unsettling the last few days had been. Saying “yes” to Greg’s offer to help me and guide me was a great comfort.
“Thanks Greg,” I whispered again.
“It’s not a problem Hank. How’s about we go back to your place and we can talk some more? Sound good?”
“That would be great Greg; thanks. I’m just feeling a bit at loose ends and unsure of myself all of a sudden.”
“I understand Hank. That can happen. That’s what friends are for. C’mon, let’s go.”