Acid of the Male by Downing Street and NCMC readers

[omelissokomos]

Acid of the Male (ncmc wiki 2007-04-07)
by Downing Street and NCMC readers

"Is there no end to this infernal rain!?!"

The young man behind the reception desk jumped. "How was lunch, Dr. Sondgaard?" he asked.

His employer stepped into the reception area of the office, shaking out his umbrella. "Lunch was wet," the doctor replied. "The streets are wet, the cab was wet, and I'm wet." He folded his umbrella and ran his fingers through his short brown hair. "My hair is a mess," he supplied. Sondgaard started unbuttoning his raincoat. He stopped when he saw his receptionist was about to say something.

"Kerry, please tell me nothing has come up while I was out."

Kerry was a good six inches shorter than the other man. He was a cute young thing, a scene twink trapped in a day job, almost girlish in his powder blue t-shirt and neatly gelled hair. "I'm sorry, Dr. Sondgaard," he said respectfully. "You have a walk-in. His name is Damien. He seemed very upset, so I let him wait inside."

Dr. Sondgaard looked at his watch. "All right. I have a free hour before Mr. Albright gets here. I can review those files some other day."

For a moment he regarded his receptionist quizzically. Kerry's t-shirt skimmed well above his navel and snugged fetchingly around his tight twink body. It was basically a tank top. Although not unusual by Castro quarters, it was positively daring by Kerry's conservative standards. Was that the same t-shirt he had been wearing earlier? And had he always seemed so ... twinky?

Dr. Sondgaard frowned, scolding himself for his momentary envy of Kerry's out-and-proud lifestyle. Funny he had never noticed it about his young receptionist before though.

He stepped into his private office, raincoat over one arm. He locked the door for privacy. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said to the man who looked up from the couch. "I almost drowned waiting for a cab." He hung up the raincoat and umbrella, then smoothed out his modest brown suit.

"Well now," he said, settling into his professional demeanour, "Damien, is it? I'm Dr. Matthew Sondgaard." He extended a hand. The other man shook it but said nothing.

Matthew sat down in the big chair beside his desk. He pulled out his notebook. He studied the distraught young man sitting in front of him. He was under thirty, of no unusual size or character, with a bland, forgettable face. A rather plain man himself, Matthew had a lot of sympathy for the ordinary.

The man hadn't shaved for a couple of days. His clothing was clean but rumpled. His eyes were haunted, shifting nervously this way and that. He avoided looking at Sondgaard.

Anyone could see that the man was in distress; it didn't take a psychologist to figure that out. The first thing was to get him calmed down a little, Matthew decided, work through the crisis, then look at the long-term situation. It didn't help that he had hardly said a word since he came in.

"OK, Damien," Dr. Sondgaard began, deliberately using his first name to establish rapport, "calm yourself down if you can. I'm here to help you. Nothing is going to hurt you in this office. Try taking three deep breaths."

The man did as he instructed, breathing in deeply three times, then letting it out slowly. He seemed a little calmer when he was done.

Matthew encouraged him gently. "Good. Now just lean back and relax. Tell me what is troubling you. Begin anywhere. We'll straighten out the details as we go."

"Doctor," the man said, "You have got to help me. I can't handle this any more. I read in the paper that you know something about the paranormal. Maybe you can understand. I have this -- this thing inside me, this power or ability or something -- and it's driving me crazy."

Matthew groaned inwardly. Not another one. Eight months earlier he had written a paper for a psychological journal about paranormal experiences such as hauntings and alien abductions. Even though his paper showed how all these traumas could be explained and treated by conventional therapy, it had led to a parade of oddballs through his office.

He kept his continence even. "What kind of power, Damien?" he asked gently.

"I have no idea," he replied. "I don't understand it. It's just that I think -- no, I know that somehow I can change things. With my mind, I mean. I can manipulate things and events around me. It's frightening."

The handsome doctor flicked a speck of dust off his designer suit. He wrote "delusional?" in his notebook. "I see," he said, although he didn't. "You have some special mental ability. Where did this, uhm, "power" come from?"

He waved a hand. "I performed a ritual. It's a very old, pre- Druidic rite. It was part of my research for my degree in anthropology. I did it during the planetary alignment a few weeks ago, when the ancients believed cosmic forces were strongest. Did you know an alignment like that only happens every thousand years? I won't tell you the details of the ritual, but it involves sacrificing small animals and dancing naked around a stone circle under a full moon."

Actually, that was quite enough detail, Matthew thought, wincing. "I see," he said again, trying to keep the revulsion out of his voice. "This ritual conferred some sort of magical ability on you, is that right? How do you know you have it?" He leaned back in his high leather chair, exuding calm authority. For a moment his patient's glance fell to the doctor's bulge.

Damien ran a hand through uncombed hair. "I knew it the instant it happened. I don't know how to explain it. Lying there on that moonlit rock, covered with mud and blood, I felt, sensed, a change in the natural order of things, a shift in the force or cosmic energy, call it what you will. Something flowed into me, into my mind, into my soul. Something ancient, timeless, and very powerful."

Matthew could already see the outline of the man's problem. Some sort of quasi-religious experience had caused a delusional break, clouding the lines between fantasy and reality. Could be evidence of a serious psychosis. Could be just working too hard. He decided to probe a little deeper.

"So you believe you now have an exceptional mental ability. You can change things around you, I think you said? So what exactly is the problem?"

He drew a breath. "Doctor, are you familiar with the folk wisdom that a man has a sexual thought about every fifteen minutes? Especially gay men, who scientists have found think about it twice as much."

"Well, I don't know about that, but yes, I know of those sorts of studies."

"Those thoughts are mostly pretty harmless, right? They're momentary fantasies. A gay guy sees someone handsome on the street and he thinks, 'wow, nice body. I wonder what his torso is like under that shirt.' A moment later he has forgotten all about it."

"But what if he could fulfil these fantasies, however fleeting? What if he could make the guy stop and strip and start flexing so he could admire his body? What if he could make a sexy college jock come up to him on the bus and make out with him until his stop? Better yet, what if he could transform any ordinary schoolboy into a teenage sexpot and fuck him on the bus in front of everybody. What if he could instantly fulfil all the selfish, base, lustful desires that float around in the bilgewater of everybody's unconscious mind? What would become of him then?"

Matthew was struck by the intensity of his speech. Whatever was at the root of Damien's problem, it was torturing him. He wrote "sex obsessed?" in his notebook. He brushed back his long hair, noting with approval that it had already dried. "But in reality such things don't happen," he said reasonably. "So any question of wish fulfilment is entirely hypothetical. Damien, why are you bringing this up?"

"Because that is my whole problem! This power of mine, it doesn't just reside in my conscious mind, it's in my unconscious mind too. It's become an integral part of my being. Look, how do you raise your arm? You don't think about it, you just do it. You want your arm to be raised, and your unconscious mind takes care of the details."

He was becoming increasingly agitated. He got up from the couch and began to pace back and forth, gesticulating as he spoke. "This power of mine, this thing in my head, it works just like that. I don't have to do anything. I just have to want something to change, and it changes."

"Do you have any idea what a burden that is? The world as we know it would collapse if we could all indulge our selfish whims. I have to guard my thoughts every minute, lest one of my subconscious desires suddenly come true. Every time I see a handsome guy I have to concentrate on not thinking about him. I can't go into a bank because I'm afraid I'll have a stray thought and someone will start giving me money. It's the curse of the Midas touch, to the second power."

"I must not give in to the temptation. Because once I start using it, I know I won't be able to stop. The steps are so obvious. First, I'll start indulging my idle whims, then satisfying my baser appetites, and finally, acting out my most perverse fantasies."

"I know this is all true. Yet the effort of not using the power is getting to be more than I can bear. I can feel the power inside me: tempting me, eroding my willpower, wearing away at my moral convictions."

He sat down heavily. "It's like acid," he said softly. "An acid of the mind. It eats away at my humanity, bit by bit. Corroding. Corrupting. Eventually it will leak out, and my soul will be indelibly stained."

He wound down, looking at Matthew expectantly, hoping for understanding. Matthew arched an eyebrow. Most of his patients didn't present such unusual symptoms. He shook off the clinging image of a college jock having public sex on a bus long enough to realize that he had concocted an elaborate delusion.

He said: "If your new power is too corruptive to use, then how do you know it really exists?" It was time to challenge his contorted perception.

"Because I already have," he said quietly.

"Oh? How did you use it?"

"I'd rather not say," he countered, looking at the floor again. "It was -- with my graduate supervisor. He was the one who suggested I perform the ritual, for the experience. We, uh, did a few experiments. He didn't believe me either."

Something about the way he said that troubled Matthew. He decided to press on.

"I can't say I blame him," he said, trying not to sound accusatory. "Why should he, or I?" You insist you have this supernatural ability, but you refuse to demonstrate it. Surely you can do something, some small thing to prove you're not fabricating all this." It was necessary to force him to confront his delusion.

The man thought about it for a moment. "Do you have a coin?" he asked.

Matthew opened his desk drawer and pulled out a 500 lira coin, a memento from a trip to Italy. "Flip it," Damien said, "it will come down heads."

He flipped the coin, let it land on his desk. It did come down heads. "That's not very impressive," he said. "Fifty-fifty chance."

"Do it again."

Matthew shrugged and flipped again. It came up heads.

"Again." Heads once more.

He flipped it five more times. It landed heads every time. He tried catching the coin in the air. Still heads. He caught it and slapped it on his wrist, reversing the orientation in which he caught it.

Heads.

Matthew sat down again. He noticed Damien's eyes on his inner thigh but decided not to pull down his shorts. Let him look. Better men should admire his legs than ignore his rather out-of-shape upper body. Why had he decided to wear shorts and short-sleeved shirt to work today anyway? It was pouring with rain!

The trick with the coin was impressive. Did he know in advance the coin was not fair? Had he switched coins somehow? There were any number of ways he could be fooling his. The question was, why? Some people liked to visit therapists for the attention, toying with them without any interest in treatment, but this man did not seem like that type.

He tossed the coin on the desk. It landed heads up. For a moment it looked like the figure embossed on the coin was laughing.

Dr. Sondgaard smiled indulgently. "OK, Damien. Let's allow that you can influence how this coin comes down. That's hardly a demonstration of supernatural power. Can't you do a little better?"

"Yes," he replied. "I don't want to. That's my whole point. It's too easy to use the power. It's seductive. Sure, just try one little thing. One small change. Make your life a little easier. Let a bit of the acid out." He shook his head.

Oh boy, Matthew thought privately. This was getting weird. "OK, Damien. We'll work this out together. So far though, your conviction has not matched the evidence. All I've seen you do is a coin trick. You will have to do better than that to convince me."

Damien seemed to shrink, to draw into himself. "Please, don't force me," he said.

"I must, Damien," Matthew insisted. "You have to show me the power, or face up to the fact that it may not exist." This was harsh, but a breakthrough in the first session was a real possibility. He prepared himself for Damien's collapse when the "power" did not work. Then they could get at his real problem.

"Please," he said again. "I don't want to do this!"

"Show me, Damien." He spoke commandingly.

Something in his tone roused him. He looked at his, considering. "The, the weather, what's it like?"

"Damien you're trying to avoid the issue. I don't want to talk about --"

"Tell me about the weather!" he shouted with sudden fury.

Matthew watched him, taken aback. He thought about the button on his desk, the one that summoned security. You never knew.

"It's been raining all day."

"Go to the window. Look outside." He was calm again.

Matthew got to his feet. He felt the pleasant movement of his tight shorts rubbing over his jock strap as he made his way over to the windows along one side of the office. He could hear the beat of the rain pelting against the glass.

He pulled back the curtains. The day was sunny, bright with sunshine. A few high clouds drifted along on a summer breeze. Astonished, he looked down at the city street. The pavement was dry. There were no puddles. A man was idly watering a potted tree on the sidewalk.

Matthew dropped the curtain. He stepped back so fast he almost fell over. He turned toward the door, where he had hung up his raincoat and umbrella when he came in. There was no umbrella. In fact, there was no umbrella stand. On the coat rack was a designer jacket. It exactly matched the trendy street clothes he was wearing.

What was going on? For a brief moment, Matthew just stood there, dumbfounded. It had been pouring rain. He remembered distinctly. There was no umbrella stand. "What.... how...?" he stammered.

Damien was leaning over, his hands clasped in his lap. "I asked you not to make me do that. Oh god, it's so damned easy!"

Matthew pulled himself together. Whatever was going on here, he still had a patient that needed help. He knelt down in front of him. "Damien, listen to me," he said gently, lifting Damien's head in one hand.

Damien looked at him, his expression blank. It occurred to Matthew that in this position he was below Damien, with his head closer to his patient's crotch than face. Well, what's wrong with that? He asked himself. Maybe a little tease would help bring him out of his withdrawal. He took a deep breath, running his tongue over his lips as he let his eyes linger on Matthew's bulge.

"I'm as confused about this as you are. Nevertheless we are going to work this out together. Understand? Whether your power is real is hardly the point. It's real to you and that's what matters."

When Damein guiltily shifted his eyes Matthew realized his patient had been thinking about the same thing as Matthew. Now Matthew's attention shifted to his own cock, which he could feel was semi-hard for some reason. He felt a familiar thrill run through him. Their eyes connected for a second.

"Oh my word, you're an attractive man," Damien said irrelevantly, "I should never have come here."

Maythew smiled. "Well, you're here now, so let's see if I can help you." He stayed on his knees a tad longer than he needed to. It was fun to be on his knees in front of a hot guy.

After a moment he got to his feet and sat down in his big chair beside the desk. He let one hand sit behind his head and another casually laying across a thigh of his spread legs. He knew he looked good and masculine.

"Let's consider, for the sake of argument, that you really have some sort of extraordinary power. What makes you so certain that it will harm you? Can't you learn to use it, test it out a little at a time, tame the beast before it devours you?"

"What do you mean?" He sounded interested.

"Suppose you set rules for yourself. Decide beforehand that you will never use the power unless it does demonstrable good. Lay out a few ground rules. Then try some test runs. Something really small. Go to a hospital and improve somebody's diagnosis. Help a little old lady across the street."

"Yes, but the temptation, the temptation will always be there."

"As it is for all of us. Remember Damien, you had your moral values established before you received this gift, or whatever it is. You still have that beacon to guide you. The very fact that you are so distraught about what you have not even done yet proves that you are a man of strong moral character. Use that strength to steer your use of the power."

For the first time his face looked hopeful. "You -- you think that could work?"

"Frankly, I have no idea. I don't really know what I'm dealing with here. But I am certain that nothing is to be gained, in your life in general or your therapy with me, from you blaming yourself for all humanity's frailties."

He sat up a little straighter. "Say, you know what, Doctor, I never thought of it that way. I mean, we're all just ordinary people doing the best that we can, right?

"Right."

"So, as long as I'm trying to make the correct decisions, as long as I'm doing my best, I shouldn't feel bad if temptation gets to me or I make a mistake now and again."

"That's the spirit," Matthew encouraged him. "You see, you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, regardless of how strange your situation may be."

Mathew grinned, knowing his sexy dimples would show. He wanted to impress Damien and was grateful that he had at last been able to do something for the poor man. There was still a great mystery here, this so-called power, and what it was really doing (hypnotism? complex self-deception?) but that could wait until another session. Damien had made great progress.

Matthew felt one of those rare moments of satisfaction that came from knowing he had used his skills to genuinely help somebody. It was a good feeling, like the contented buzz he got from sucking cock.

He noticed his gaze was lingering on Damien's cock again. He loved thinking about men's cocks, trapped inside underpants, straining to get out ... That was why he never wore underpants --

Wait a minute. Something was wrong. Damien was still smiling at him, but there was something different in his gaze. Something he didn't like. Wordlessly he got to his feet and went to stand before the full-length mirror along one wall. He used it sometimes, to get patients to "look at themselves." Matthew was looking at himself now. What he saw amazed his.

The man in the mirror was his, but it was not his. It was like an erotic caricature of himself, a cartoon drawn by a horny teenager with a vivid imagination. Huge muscled arms but with a tiny v-shaped waiste. His hair was long, thick and wavy, like a male model, and his lips full and ready to suck cock. Big hazel eyes smouldered back at him from underneath long lashes, set on a face that was chiselled like it was made from granite. Darkly masculine. A grotesque over-developed body builder action man, with huge shoulders sitting on top of an impossible narrow waist.

What had been a drab brown suit was now a shamelessly tight pair of shorts, and a tight camouflage tank top that barely contained his bulging muscles and giant pecs. His nips strained the fabric, and Matthew could see two huge nipple rings visible against the shirt. He looked ridiculous! A huge muscle stud stuffed in clothes way too small. His cock, suddenly thicker and longer was clearly visible barely stashed in his shorts.

Matthew whirled to face Damien. "What -- what have you done!" he bellowed, his voice deep.

"I want to thank you, Doctor," his patient replied. "You have done so much for me, in just one visit! You are one hell of a good shrink. I feel completely liberated from all that guilt I was feeling!"

Matthew fought down a wave of hysteria. "Stop this! Stop -- Change me back!" he demanded. His voice was deep and gravelly. "I'm a doctor, not a bodybuilder ... not a freak like this ..."

He looked offended. "But Doc, come on, you were so bland. Now you're a total dish. I'm getting a woody just looking at you."

Unexpectedly, the image of Damien's hard-on sent a thrill of excitement through his. He set his jaw. He marched over to the desk, his huge thighs chafing each other as he walked - he was so muscled now that his legs and arms were forced to jut out from his body. He jabbed the emergency button on the intercom - pressing the invididual button was impossible now his fingers were like slabs of steak.

After a long moment a breathless voice responded: "S-Security."

"This is Dr. Sucksgood, I mean Sondgaard, in 319. I need a security detail, on the double!" Damn, his voice sounded so sexy.

Another long pause. "Uh, (huff), yeah, right, umh, oh god stud, just like that, yeah, sure uh, doc, but uh, me and Aaron and umh, what's your name slut? uh, Mark, we're kinda busy right now, oh shit that's so good. Can we (huff, huff), make it in, about (gasp), twenty minutes. No, don't stop, please, keep it up, make that uh, half an hour, watch it guys I'm gonna blow again!"

The line went dead.

Matthew straightened slowly. His heavy gold chain tinkling as he moved. He turned to face Damien. He was still smiling. It had an edge of pure evil now. "What have you done to them?" he whispered.

"Nothing harmful," he said easily. "The security staff are just getting to know one another. I think they'll be busy for quite a while."

Matthew felt his stability slipping. The whole situation was too unreal, too impossible to grasp. He couldn't stop thinking about sex.

"Look, Damien," he said urgently, "You can fight this. You don't have to give in to the temptation. These -- what you've done to me is just childishness. It's a selfish indulgence, like masturbation. It's like when I whip out my cock in public and try to get myself off without anybody noticing." Dammit!

He tried again. "The point is, just because you have slipped once, given into temptation, doesn't mean your cause is lost. You can admit a mistake, fix it and carry on. That's what we all do. Remember a few minutes ago we talked about ordinary people doing the best that we can? That's what you need to remember."

He was still grinning. "Ah, but Doc, I'm not ordinary people any more, am I? I'm something more. Besides, it's too late for me.

"You see, I told you the temptation would be too much. My graduate supervisor was curious. He wanted to see how the power worked. He let the acid out. Once I started using the power, once I realized just how much fucking fun it is, I simply couldn't stop."

A new chill went down Matthew's spine. "What -- what did you do to your supervisor?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Ah, don't worry Doc, he's right here. I brought him with me. He flipped a hand lazily and the locked door to Matthew's office swung open. "Hey, sweetmeat, wiggle your tail in here," he said offhandedly.

Matthew looked out to his outer office. Kerry, would be at his desk. He could get help! "Kerry!" he shouted, as loud as he could.

"He's busy, Doc," Damien said.

There was a large, plush sofa on the far side of the outer office that Matthew had never seen before. Yet he knew it had always been there. Kerry had arranged the low couch to be right in front of the glass-topped table that served as his desk, so that male patients could see him playing with his meat while they waited. That explained why so many patients walked in with a hard-on. Matthew shook his head. How did he know this?

At the moment, the sofa was occupied. Kerry was on the bottom, or at least a hot calvin klein model that looked like Kerry, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that said "Fuck me hard". He had his legs in the air. He was panting loudly as he was vigorously fucked by a musclebound man that Matthew vaguely recognized.

"That's Mr. Albright, your two-o'clock," Damien supplied. "I helped him a little with his shyness and agoraphobia. Of course, a nine-inch cock and sheer animal magnetism that few men can resist will help a lot too."

Matthew felt his dick start to leak precum. The sight of the two lovers bucking and pumping in his office instantly turned him on as virtually anything sexual always did. No, wait, he had changed that too. He grimaced, struggling to remember what was real and what was Damien's artifice.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Sondgaard," said a soft voice. Matthew looked up to see another fantasy standing in the doorway. His blonde hair styled immaculately casually against his dark tanned skin. His body was stunning. He was dressed in a fishnet t-shirt that showed off every fine toned sinew of Latino twinkiness. A pair of speedos contained his obviously enlarged dick.

"I'm Professor Alex Cummins. Damien's graduate supervisor." Matthew stared at the young man, way too young to be a professor, in shock. Yummy body, but not as big as me, he thought smugly.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," the professor said. "I thought you might be able to help him, I really did. He was struggling so with his conscience, I thought there might be some hope of redemption. But it was already too late. I'm so sorry Doctor. There was nothing you could do. Now you're a muscled bound meat head and I'm a dumb little Latino boy."

"Au contraire, my little fucktoy," said Damien casually. "The good doctor has done so much for me. He found the key to free me from my guilt. It's like being let out of prison. For the first time in my life I'm truly free."

Holding on to his sanity with a slender thread, Matthew considered his options. Damien was clearly insane. The conflict between his conscience and his ability had driven him mad. The acid had indeed stained his soul.

He considered jumping him, maybe catching him by surprise, but he was certain he could not do that. He didn't know why. All he knew for certain was that Damien's power, whatever it was, was immense and real, and that he dearly loved to fuck.

"Dr. Cummins, please," Matthew said, a catch in his masculine voice, "You've got to help me. Maybe together we can do something. Run, get help!" He thumped the desk in frustration.

The blonde was shaking his head sadly. "I'm sorry Dr. Sondgaard, I can't do that," he explained. He walked into the room, his body displayed a natural sexiness as he walked. Just watching those latino hips move made Matthew tingle.

"You see, he can change anything he wants. This power of his -- it's irresistible! Eventually he even changed me. I adore him, Dr. Sondgaard. I'm utterly devoted now." The fishnet clad professor, reduced to twinkhood, looked down on his seated student with a worshipful gaze, tussling his hair absently. Damien made a little clucking sound and patted his knee. Matthew expected Alex to sit in his lap, but instead he sank to his knees beside him and laid his head in his lap like a dog.

Out in the outer office, Kerry began to scream in ecstasy as Mr. Albright brought him to yet another orgasm. The man caught Matthew's eye and winked at him. The door began to swing closed slowly.

"You should not feel like you have failed, Doctor," Damien said consolingly. He stroked Alex's spiked hair affectionately. The look on his face was pure bliss. "You have shown me the way to free myself from my conscience, even if I have rather succumbed to temptation. I'm trying to do good things. Alex has never been so happy. Neither has your secretary."

Even in his nearly hysterical state, Matthew recognized rationalization. "No, Damien, no," he pleaded. "That's the oldest trick in the book. To convince yourself that whatever you want to do just happens to be the best choice. You're only deceiving yourself." He spoke in a thick voice that made him sound stupid, yet he couldn't seem to do anything about. He brushed long hair back from one meaty ear.

For a moment he seemed to consider it. "Well, perhaps so," he said thoughtfully, "but if I bring a little more beauty and happiness into the world that can't be all bad. Besides, you are hardly one to complain about bending the rules, the way you have been manipulating men all your life."

The office smelled faintly of varnish and leather-bound books. The desk was old and wooden, but as clean and polished as the hardwood floor beneath his feet. A half-finished letter curled through the typewriter. He could see chrysanthemums blooming in the garden outside the window.

"Young man pay attention when I speak to you!"

Matthew jumped, and turned back to what the headmaster was saying. "S-sorry sir," he said nervously.

"These accusations are very serious. Very serious indeed. I will not tolerate such indecent behaviour in this school. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Matthew said contritely. He was standing in front of his desk in his school uniform, a starched white shirt and grey pants, knee-socks and brown school vest. At seventeen he was tall for his age and exceptionally well developed. His shirt strained over bursting biceps and defined chest that were already the envy of every guy in the school.

The headmaster leaned forward urgently. "Tell me the truth now, boy. Is it true that you have been giving -- no, selling! -- selling handjobs to the boys in your class?"

Matthew looked down at his shoes for a moment. The polish was so keen he could see his reflection. He gave him his best apologetic look, the one that worked so well on all his teachers. "Wellll, not all of them, sir. Only... the ones I caught looking at my cock in the gym showers."

"Oh dear Lord," the headmaster said. He was a strong-looking man with brown hair greying at the temples. "You have actually been selling handjobs. Here in the school! Why, what kind of... Where do you ... where do you do the deed?"

Matthew shuffled one dainty foot back and forth. "Uhm, well, sir I don't actually do it. I just uh, let the boys who want to do it so bad." He tossed him a cheeky grin and fixed him with his big hazel eyes while idly toying with the collar of his shirt, he always had the top two buttons undone.

It took a moment for this information to sink in. "You mean you... boys pay you to let them jerk ... you off... Good Lord. In my school. And you always wearing your uniform... like that...." He swallowed.

Matthew noticed the headmaster's eyes following his hand as he rubbed his crotch gently. His wore his pants tight so that his bulge and the curve of his asscheeks were on show at the best of times. It produced gratifying effects whereever he went.

The headmaster took a deep breath. "All right," he said at last. "Ordinarily, this would be grounds for expulsion." His eyes roamed over Mathew's flexing arms as Matthew gave him his best puppy-dog look. "But," he amended quickly, "I don't want to be harsh; especially to a student that seems otherwise so... promising. His gaze lingered on Mathew's lightly-haired chest. Another button had come undone.

"Thank you, sir," Matthew said sweetly.

"But this... outrageous behaviour has got to stop. At once. Do you understand me, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Matthew said. He shifted position a little and the headmaster's attention came back to Matthew's bulge.

"Tell me, so I can understand the extent of this indecency, how many boys were... buying handjobs?"

"Uhm, three or four," Matthew said. The real number was more like twice that, not even counting the teachers.

"Good lord," he said again. "And, how much did you usually get?"

Matthew twirled a strand of lustrous brown hair around one finger. "Uhm, usually two pounds or so, but five pounds if I'd just come back from gym class."

The headmaster groaned. He shifted position in his seat, looking uncomfortable. "All right," he said at last. "I see what we will have to do. You are not to let anyone jerk you off while you are on the school grounds. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And to ensure your compliance, you will report to my office once each day for inspection."

"Inspection? Sir?"

"Precisely. It is the only way to ensure that you do not continue with this preposterous lewdness. We will begin today. Undo your pants and let me check for cum stains."

Matthew's prentended to look chastened, but he complied with the headmaster's command. He got to his feet and stepped around behind him. Looking up at him from between his legs, he could see the insistent bulge tenting the front of his dress slacks. He smiled inwardly. He wondered briefly if he was as big as Mr. Hill, the geography teacher.

The headmaster studied his precocious student's behind for a long time. Matthew's skimpy blue briefs were much smaller than the regulation white ones he was supposed to wear. But he had given those all away. He liked the way the new ones slipped up into his crack and tickled him while he walked.

The headmaster let out his breath. "Very well, Matthew," he said officiously. "That, that is all for today. I expect to see you tomorrow at the same time." He turned away from his and looked out the window, perhaps trying to hide his erection.

Matthew slipped out into the empty hallway. His boyfriend Damien was there, his real boyfriend, the only one who really knew how to satisfy him. He slipped into his arms. "How did it go, baby?" he asked.

Matthew giggled. "I own him," he whispered, nibbling on his ear. "He's probably in there stroking himself right now." He kissed him deeply. "I'm so turned on," he whispered, many seconds later.

"Let's go to the storeroom."

"You might lose your briefs," Damien sniggered. He already had both hands down Matthew's pants.

"That's OK," he replied, "I've had my inspection."

"You see?" Damien said easily, still at ease in his chair with Alex's head in his lap. He began sniffing his way toward his zipper. "You aren't the paragon of moral rectitude you pretend to be."

"That, that never happened," Matthew stammered, "You made that all up." It was impossible that his teen years could have been like that, or that Damien could have been his boyfriend. The memory was like a scene from a dirty movie, not real life.

Yet at the same time he remembered every detail as well as anything that ever happened to his. Within a week the headmaster had been openly masturbating while he "inspected" his underpants, and by the end of the term he had been wearing them. It was all there, as clear as a bell. But...

A chilling thought passed through him. Damien likened his power to an unstoppable acid, eating away at his mind. Leaking out. Corroding everything it encountered. He gripped the back of his chair for support.

Damien said: "Don't your see, Doctor? We are all fundamentally selfish, always taking advantage of others for our own benefit. Even you. I'm a little better at beating the system, that's all."

"Bullshit!" exclaimed Matthew, all pretence of calmness abandoned. He resisted the urge to scream. "Don't try to pretend that I'm like you, you monster. I do have moral values and I live by them. I can't sweet-talk my way through life and I wouldn't if I could." He could almost feel the acid assaulting him, dribbling into his brain.

"But you have, Doctor," Damien insisted. Abruptly he grabbed Alex by the shoulders and pushed him onto the carpet, the way a man would toss a cat off his lap. Immediately he crawled back and wrapped himself serenely around one leg. "You have been using your masculine charms to satisfy your own desires your whole life. Don't you remember?"

The room was semi-dark and smelled of antiseptic. "Please, please Matthew, my darling, I can't wait any longer." He was in the arms of a much older man. He was eagerly planting kisses all over his lips, his face, his hair. "You make me so hot. I want you now."

"Ooooh, George, you randy man," Matthew chided, letting him press his body against his own muscled torso. "Are you walking around with a big hard on for me again?" He was in his football gear, sweary from practice, his hot dick (prepared before the show) poked wildly out the top. "What about your wife?"

The man was still kissing him wildly. "She's... not here," he replied, desperate. "It's just you and me. Please, Matthew, darling, let me love you. I'm going insane!" His groping hands found their way inside Mathew's tight costume.

"Why, George, I'm surprised at you. Just because I accepted your gifts and sucked you off a couple of times doesn't mean I'll hop into bed with you." He nibbled on his ear saucily. "Even though I find you very handsome, and I'm sure your big cock would feel sooo good deep inside my ass."

George groaned in helpless lust. He began to paw and grope hungrily, while Matthew encouraged him with more kisses. There was a patient on the other side of the curtain but he was heavily sedated and Matthew didn't care. Mathew had called George up from the lockerroom and offered to come around in his sweaty post-match costume. George, wrapped around Matthew's finger, could hardly say no and willingly smuggled Matthew past the security in the hospital foyer.

"Georgy," Matthew whispered a few minutes later, "remember what we talked about the other day?"

"What? Please, man, I told you there's nothing I can do. It's the best psychiatric school in the country. We get thousands of applicants. There's a waiting list..."

One delicate hand slipped down into his scrubs. "But you're the head of the whole school, Georgy," Matthew purred. "You can let in whoever you want, can't you? Couldn't you make one little exception, just for me?"

The older man was gasping for breath. "Matthew, darling... please... It, it's not that uh! oh god, not that easy. You need uhn, transcripts and, and r-references..."

Matthew flipped open a couple of buttons. "I've got a couple of great references," he husked, still stroking expertly. "Maybe you should look them over." He used his free hand snake down into George's pants.

"There, you see," Matthew said as George began to moan out loud, "it's really simple. I want in. And I know you want in, don't you tiger. So why can't we both get what we want?"

George made an incoherent sound as Matthew's hand worked its magic. His scrubs slipped down around his ankles.

"Oh sweet heaven how could I have forgotten that," Matthew gasped, his face flushed with heat. He collapsed into his chair, breathing hard. He ran one hand over his stupendous chest, groping his own pecs, feeling the hard, sensitive nipples with their huge rings. Acid. There was acid everywhere now, flooding his mind, eating away at his resolve, dissolving his conscience into smoke.

"I admit some of my behaviour might be construed as immoral," Damien observed thoughtfully, "but your life-long manipulations of others in pursuit of wealth and pleasure are immoral to a similar degree. By comparison, my faults are minor. You see that now, don't you Doctor?"

Through the flood of wicked memories coming back to his, Matthew tried to fathom what Damien was saying. It sort of made sense, he conceded. He had been screwing and seducing his way to the top since the day he sucked off the paper boy for his delivery money. He only went into psychiatry for the money and the chance to fuck with his patients' heads. Oh god, the acid!

"Damien, I...uh, yes, I believe you may be right, after all. You have as much right to use your ability to find happiness as anyone else and... and... oh screw it I'm so fucking horny!" Throwing decorum to the wind, the eye-popping psychologist jammed one hand down into his pants while the other started feeling up his own huge bicep. "Damien, you superhuman monster, please, let's fuck. God I need your cock so bad."

His patient got to his feet, idly kicking Alex aside. He giggled like a foolish girl. Damien said: "Sorry Doctor, I think it's time for me to go. You have a lot of reminiscing to do."

Matthew groaned lustfully, his hand pumping his cock furiously. Damien paused at the door while his graduate supervisor struggled to his feet and joined him. "Bye Dr. Sondgaard!" he said. "Thanks for everything. I'm so glad you could help him!"

They opened the door to the outer office. Kerry was now being happily ploughed face-down on his desk by the indefatigable Mr. Albright. His tight bubble butt was red from the constant pounding it was receiving. Files and papers littered the floor, covered in semen.

"Oh, one more thing," Damien said, turning. "I don't know what you normally charge, but you have done me a great service, Doctor. So I've left you a gift. Two gifts, really. You'll find one in the bottom drawer of your desk. The other is right outside."

He turned and walked away, just as Kerry screamed in delight as he was swept into his umpteenth explosion of cum. Matthew groaned in unison as his own peak consumed him. Ropes of hot meat-head cum flew across the desk, covering the polished wood. He felt the acid filter down into the bottom of his soul.

Matthew leaned back in his plush leather chair and plopped his boots up on the desk. Fuck that felt good. With his own hot muscled body, no man could satisfy him like he could himself.

Lazily, he picked up the trade magazine that was lying on his desk. It carried a centre-spread article entitled "Dr. Matthew Sucksgood: Therapist to the Rich and Famous." Matthew's movie-star face gazed back from the photograph accompanying the article with a look hot enough to set the paper on fire.

The article was shameless boosterism about Matthew and his lavish success. It didn't spend a lot of time on technical matters like psychological techniques or success rates. It did not mention that Matthew's satisfied, madly devoted patients left his services more screwed up than when they arrived.

There was no mention at all of the two calls before the discipline committee for allegedly fucking with his clients' minds and bodies. Both hearings had found in his favour. His colleagues had been so understanding. Especially the married ones.

Matthew knew what the article said because he had pretty much written it herself. The young journalist that came to interview his had been unprepared either for Matthew's looks or his sexual manipulations. With a little help from some pills he slipped into his drink, Matthew soon had the boy so dazed and entranced he hardly knew his own name. Lolling like an idiot, he opened his laptop and typed up the article right there, as Matthew whispered the sentences into his ear.

At times, Matthew's whole life seemed slightly unreal. His success, his awesome muscled body, his uncanny ability to seduce and enamour men and women with ease, all seemed to defy the laws of nature. Even the little things, like these custom-made t-shirts that fit so incredibly well, or the fact that his huge pecs never sagged in spite of their size, had a kind of impossible air to them. He sometimes felt like he was living inside somebody else's erotic daydream. He dismissed these thoughts, of course. Reality wasn't something that could be arbitrarily modified. He had just been very lucky.

The intercom buzzed. Matthew flicked the talk button with one meaty finger. "Doctor," came Kerry's voice. "Your one o'clock just cancelled."

"Thanks, Kerry," Matthew replied. His appointment at one was a man named Damien. He hadn't said much when he booked the appointment, except that his problem was unusual.

Matthew was glad he had backed out. It gave his a few moments to relax. He remembered a boyfriend in high school named Damien. Best damned lover he'd ever had. He wondered what ever happened to him.

Something about Damien got him thinking about a gift. Not quite knowing why, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out the gleaming rosewood box and flipped open the lid.

The dildo inside was exquisitely beautiful. Huge and elaborately sculpted with smooth bulbs and ridges that promised all manner of delightful sensations, it was finished in pure gold. Matthew gently lifted it out of the padded box. It came alive at his touch. It's soft hum sounded eager.

"Fuuuuck," he breathed, turning the gleaming device over in his hands. "This is special." There was an inscription along one side. Engraved in elegant script, it read, "To Dr. Sucksgood, one swell shrink."

This was the perfect time to take this baby out for a test drive, Matthew decided. He pulled down his pants and moved forward on his chair. He put both his feet on the desk. His hole exposed, Matthew turned the gold vibrator up a notch and slowly pushed it into his waiting asshole.

Uuuuh fffuck! He lay his head back, groaning, and played the dildo in and out, as deeply as he could bear. It fit so perfectly, it was almost as if it had been custom-designed to stuff his ass. Could such a thing be done? As his breathing became laboured and his arm motions more rapid, further thought on the question became impossible.

There was another gift. How did he know that? Feeling orgasm approaching like a runaway freight-train he grappled groggily with a half-memory. Another gift. It was... just outside the door. Matthew screamed outright as his gold companion brought him to a splendid peak. Cum sprayed across the desk again. It really got a soaking these days, and for some reason Matthew could never bring himself to clean it off. Sure it was embarressing to have cum stains (and even fresh puddles of cum) on his desk when clients came, but he did it anyway.

The door burst open. "Dr. Sucksgood! Are you all right?" Kerry exclaimed. "I heard you -- oh my god." The naive receptionist had not expected to see his employer, boot-wrapped legs spread wide on his desk, shamelessly fucking himself with a huge dildo. His eyes locked on Matthew's ass, where the oversexed and oversized psychologist was still ramming the dildo in and out, enjoying the warm afterglow of his adventure.

"Don't leave, Kerry," he said. Kerry gulped but did not move. His eyes had moved to Matthew's huge cock, which was already hardening again.

"Doctor," Kerry said in a small, respectful voice, "would you like me to... ?" His eyes were bright with hope and yearning. The second gift.

Matthew waggled a finger at his. "Come here," he said. Instantly the young man trotted around and knelt between Matthew's skin- smooth black boots. He leaned forward, and began to suck on Matthew's cock. He made a little mewling sound deep in his throat.

"Oh, very good, my dear," Matthew sighed. "You are a natural. Yes, use your tongue like that." He leaned back in the chair again and wallowed in Kerry's artful ministrations. What a wonderful gift.

He started planning some changes for his little receptionist. First thing was to get him into some properly revealing clothes. Something to distract the patients, to make Matthew's job of separating them from their money a little easier. Then some tattoos, and a lot of piercings. Kerry was living with his boyfriend, but Matthew would tell him to dump him. He wasn't about to share that tongue with anybody.

Matthew felt a twinge of guilt about what he had planned for poor Kerry. It passed quickly. After all, everybody was basically selfish, trying to get ahead of the system a little, gain some personal advantage. He was just a little better at beating the system than most people.

He grabbed his receoptionst's head and pushed it down harder on his huge, throbbing cock, as the acid seeped deeper into his soul.

The End

NOTE: This is a copyrighted group-created derivative work based on an earlier story. The opinions, intent and morals expressed in this new work are not necessarily those of the original author and they can in no way be held responsible for this new derivative.

The original MF version of this story was authored by Downing Street and remains copyrighted. This version was created by readers of the gay fiction website, the Narcissus Cursed Men Collection (the NCMC) (with 8 edits). This new version of the story is distributed under the Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Creative Commons License. You must follow the conditions laid down in that license, or else you are forbidden by copyright law to duplicate this story in any form. This message is considered part of this work.

[greedycigarson]

Hot. Ty's Power, but better-focused. Hot.

[dan25]

Just great--congrats to all who contributed--really HOT HOT HOT---

[Ender]

No! Not Ty... It's the origins of "The Damien" from all the "Hexed Files" stories by Onix...

It is also very reminicent of "The Lathe of Heaven" by Ursula K.Le Guin... In that George Orr is the patient that can bend reality and his shrink is the the one that decides to reshape the world to his liking....

Ender

[will88nh]

WOW! This story was hot! Interesting comments about the origins. I actually remember "The Lathe of Heaven" (in movie form).

Where can I find a more complete collection of Onyx's "The Hexed Files" stories? Liked those alot also and thought I had read them all.

Will :-)

[omelissokomos]

Originally Posted by will88nh

Where can I find a more complete collection of Onyx's "The Hexed Files" stories?

They're at MCStories.