Slither into Ruin

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CONTENT: Three straight hunk get punished for their deeds with ball busting, public nudity, hot lube, asphyxiation, and public anal.

*** SLITHER INTO RUIN ***

*** Chapter 1 ***

*** Ouroboros ***

Marsh was gaming in his sparsely furnished condo when the controller was torn from his hand and hit the plasma TV. The screen went dark, leaving him staring in confusion at his image on the black surface.

The construction worker and classic bodybuilder wore only sweatpants, able to see his thickly muscled v-shaped torso, tense on the tattered sofa.

With a competition scheduled in a month, Marshall `Marsh' Castillo was halfway into a cut, currently at 160 pound (72kg). His body practically guaranteed him a top three placement. His strong, edgy facial features were emphasized by the sharp crew cut of his dark hair.

But even if Marsh hadn't been keenly familiar with his body, he'd have noticed the markings. A thick stretch of painted, black scales ran across his right arm, like a tattoo. The detailed serpent's body ran along his flank, into his pants.

Marsh rose to his 5 foot 9 (175cm), looking down his thick, bounce-able pecs and at his massive arms. Every time his focus shifted, the `tattooed' snake seemed to travel on his skin – winding around the other arm, then the brick-abs, then his neck...

Almost stumbling over a dumbbell, Marsh jogged to his full length mirror. The serpent never moved when he look right at it but clearly changed positions, its thick body ringing the bodybuilder's cut muscles.

"The fuck?"

Marsh grumbled with his voice that often sounded a bit too gentle for his large frame.

This marking reminded him of last night's dream where a bunch of huge ghost snakes had told him and his high school buddies how offended they were at his actions and that he needed to seek atonement.

The hunk took a step toward the mirror, trying to recall the dream's elusive details.

His sweatpants were torn to the ground, exposing his proudly muscular legs, possibly his best asset.

Marsh's flaccid dick swung freely as he stumbled back, tripping on his pants with a grunt. He stepped out of the clothing and gave it a kick.

"Fucking bitch ass cunt."

He turned to look at his backside. The long serpent wrapped all the way around, slightly shifting any time Marsh blinked. Sometimes its head was visible, eating its own tail to complete the loop - an ouroboros.

Marsh almost automatically flexed his wide back, giving his glutes some striation.

He'd calmly figure this out. There was no rush with any of... He had trouble breathing.

The snake had settled around his neck and - despite being just a tattoo - managed to choke him.

"Fuck," Marsh wheezed with his last easy breath and stumbled around the condo. His eyes didn't fall on anything helpful, unless protein powder, supplements and unwashed tank tops could save him.

The magically choking serpent also wound itself around his package, unobstructed by pubes – Marsh had gotten everything removed so he didn't have to deal with shaving for the stage.

The pressure around his crotch worked like a cock ring, making him hard even as he struggled to breathe.

Marsh walked around aimlessly, clutching his neck. Blood rushed inside his ears, his rapid heartbeat underscoring the sound of his pathetic, tiny breaths.

His dick rose to a five inch semi hard-on, while the muscle jock stared wide eyed at his red faced mirror image. He could vaguely see the grip around his neck where the snake squeezed. His package was lightly stretched from his body like a thick cock ring would, but there was only the mysterious tattoo.

The dream! He had to atone... somehow. Go to church? Seek a priest? Post about his sins to his 47,000 followers on Clapper?

Maybe he could tear the snake off. Leaving one hand on his neck, Marsh grabbed his package with the other and tugged.

Just as his ballsack began to hurt, the serpent relented a little. Marsh got in half a decent breath, the blood-rush in his ears calming.

He grabbed a ball in each hand and squeezed. As the pain rose into his abs, the pressure on his neck decreased.

His dick rose to its full six inches, bouncing happily with its owner's frantic motions.

Another hard pull and squeeze, another half breath. It wasn't enough. Still red faced, the jock rolled his eyes in frustration. He had to make his nuts really hurt.

As darkness closed in from the corners of his eyes, Marsh spread his legs and slapped his balls from the sides as if applauding with them.

Each impact made him want to grunt and huff, but his lungs were empty. Hot, dull aches traveled in waves along his lower abs and into his hips.

Marsh had been hit in the crotch before but this was beyond what he had imagined his balls could feel like. It felt as if a one foot sphere of pain was projected around his dick, slowly growing into his torso and legs.

A drop of pre-cum glistened on his bobbing dick head, swinging left and right with the slaps. The pain turned sharper and became a dense contraction in his abs.

Marsh bit his lower lip and drew in a breath. Wait! He was breathing again. The pressure relented.

When he looked at the mirror again, the strange, shifting ouroboros was gone. His lightly tanned body was back to pristine condition. He had atoned.

"Holy shit," Marsh sighed, "The fuck was that?" He looked down on his tattoo-less body and the pulsing erection. "Ugh shit, I'm horny like a brotherfucker."

He gripped his veiny six inches with one hand and fist fucked into the empty room, imagining a hot chick's lips on his cockhead. It took him mere seconds to reach climax. Not willing to clean the floor, Marsh raised his right leg and shoot his load onto his flexed thigh.

He sprayed three and a half thick squirts onto his muscles, imagining to shoot into a tight pussy instead. The weirdest jerk-off in his life concluded with a satisfyingly strong orgasm.

One paper towel clean-up later, he slipped into his sweatpants again. With a cleared head, Marsh pondered the strange encounter. Should he make a Clapper post about it? He'd sound crazy. And it was over and done with, anyway. End of story.

Marsh restarted his game – the TV was fine – and calmed his nerves by headshotting noobs.

When the match was over, Marsh reached for his trusty white `uPhone 9L'. His background pic was one of him on last year's stage.

He checked Clapper. Over 20 new followers. A bunch of messages from thirsty faggots begging for his dick. 1500 likes on yesterday's gym pic, with comments from gym buddies, nice chicks and more thirsty cocksuckers. The usual.

He was scrolling when he got a message in his old `high school buds' chat. They hadn't used it since Bryce had left for college and the trio had drifted apart.

Ken was frantically messaging.

FitKingKen: the fucking snake

FitKingKen: u got it too right???

FitKingKen: u were there in the dream

"Oh fuck"

Marsh's hands shook as he texted.

Marsh_the_Swole: I thought I defeated it

FitKingKen: me 2 but it comes bac HELP

FitKingKen: do we rlly need to die like the dream said???

Marsh_the_Swole: DIE?

There wasn't a response for almost a minute and Marshal kept rubbing his neck, glancing at the TV – now turned off. When Ken didn't respond to a call either, the bodybuilder put his uPhone ear pods in, played some psy-trance and worked off his anxious energy with light cardio.

Finally Ken answered.

FitKingKen: I won again but I think it'll keep coming

Marsh_the_Swole: what was that about dying? I barely remember the dream.

FitKingKen: I wrote it in my dream journal when I woke up. The snakes want a blood sacrifice for our sins. One sacrifice right away, then one for each snake. I'm looking it up right now. There's a local legend about this fucker.

They had to bleed?

Marsh's uPhone was torn from his palm and bounced onto the sofa. His ear pod stayed in but the psy-trance tunes didn't sound as fun anymore – he should have gone for something calming.

The serpent of doom reappeared on his torso, wrapped around him like an x-harness. Marsh got up and stumbled, his pants pulled to his ankles.

"Fuu-" he grunted as he caught himself on the table full of high protein snack wrappings.

This time, there was no grace period. The snake wanted him dead.

Marsh grabbed his neck, tearing at nothing as he choked again. His package got stretched a little from his body with the tattoo wrapping around it on its way down his leg.

The bodybuilder grabbed his balls and squeezed, the dull ache rising faster this time, contractions hitting his lower abs.

Drawing in a breath with all the strength of his massive chest, he stepped over to his phone and checked it without picking it up.

FitKingKen: many cultures use substitution for blood sacrifices. Do you have spiritually significant milk? Or wine? Eggs maybe?

Then Bryce posted in the chat.

Siccunt_Bryce: Guys! I figured out how to keep it away. Post a pic directly to Clapper.

Lightly convulsing from ball-pain, Marsh opened the camera in the app. The serpent vanished from his skin.

No, it had merely fled from sight, now winding around his legs. It didn't want to be seen. As Marsh hesitated, the tattoo encroached on his upper half again with every blink.

He hit single biceps and put the torso pic into his Clapper story, for his 47 thousand followers and all the world to see. He looked pretty messed up but no more than after hard exercise.

It only took a few seconds before the ouroboros returned on his abs, spreading to his neck and package blink by blink.

Marsh_the_Swole: it fucking worked but it's coming back so what do I do???

Siccunt_Bryce: I just kept posting to my story. The final one did it. I think it's cause it got the most attention.

Marsh checked Bryce's page. The college freshman and part-time model still had his lean swimmers build that had won him a few medals in swimming competitions. His blond hair and sparkling teeth had gotten him to 26,000 followers despite not posting selfies often.

Bryce studied kinesiology and nutrition but was on break, having come back to San Ophion today.

Bryce had ten story posts, increasingly risqué, until a final full frontal mirror selfie with an eggplant emoji covering his crotch.

Something about Bryce's proportions made him look even taller than his decent 6 feet (183cm), his long limbs making clear why he had taken to swimming and modeling. At around 185 pounds (84kg) he was reasonably buff for a lean athlete.

Who the fuck had time for an emoji when he was getting choked out, Marsh thought, but Bryce had always been extravagant.

Siccunt_Bryce: Dude, I've already got fags asking for more in my DMs. How do I have so many homos following me?

The serpent was back to pressing down on Marsh's neck. He smacked his balls just enough to keep the pressure bearable and jogged to his mirror.

The uPhone was torn from his hand and landed on the kitchen counter, knocking over a protein powder container.

The muscle hunk grunted and rammed his fist into his crotch. The ball-pain made him grimace but it was enough to satisfy the snake. He grabbed the phone with both hands and waddled to the mirror.

Come on, Marsh though, you're a fucking beast of a man, you can take a hit to the nuts like a real alpha.

Marsh took a video this time. With the next blink, the snake was nowhere to be seen. With a satisfied grin, Marsh turned around and flashed full back nudity at the camera. He flexed his glutes and legs, spreading his lats.

Last time he had shown his ass was a year ago before a competition, to show off his striations. He had enjoyed the attention but it brought all the fags out of the woodwork.

The snake stayed gone long enough that Marsh's breath calmed down.

Marsh_the_Swole: bro, what if the fucker keeps making the rounds? We can't keep taking selfies forever.

FitKingKen: researching rn

Siccunt_Bryce: we're gonna have to show dick, dude.

Marsh_the_Swole: and then fucking what? Gonna livestream your dick all day?

Siccunt_Bryce: you wish, cocksucker

FitKingKen: listen up, assholes. We gotta make a sacrifice right now. And another at every serpent's place of power. Sure as fuck hope this map isn't something a shitstain on the internet just made up.

Marsh didn't even need to look. He could feel the pressure increase on his neck and package. His dick was swelling as he ran out of air.

Did he have any spiritually significant milk? Any sort of egg that fucking meant something to him? His eyes dashed across the room but he was a straight bachelor. There was nothing but dumbbells, vitamin pills and- Of course!

Marsh gave his balls a fist-punch and his knees nearly gave out mid-stride as the pain crawled up his brick-abs. He snatched the container his phone had knocked over and unscrewed it.

The bodybuilder tore open the door to his tiny balcony and stepped outside in the nude.

"This one's for you, asshole," he gasped with his last breath and swung the open container.

Four pound of whey protein rained from the third floor of the Indigo Condo complex into the warm air, sparkling in the sun over San Ophion.

He was free. Marshal inhaled the fresh outdoors, not caring if anyone saw him. This wasn't a busy street anyway.

He messaged his friends.

Marsh_the_Swole: WHEY!

Marsh_the_Swole: protein powder works as a sacrifice.

Siccunt_Bryce: dude, why didn't I think of that

FitKingKen: okay, so we know how to fight and win. But we better go fast as fuck, man. This is spooking me.

The sacrifice worked.

Bryce and Ken had only needed to drop a few scoops of whey to free themselves. Now the three jocks prepared to leave their homes.

Marsh shoved everything he might need into his gym shoulder bag without care. But what clothes wouldn't get torn off by the snake magic?

He opted for compression wear. Thin, tight, black shorts and tank top. Baggy white baseball shorts hid his compressed crotch. With white sneakers on his feet, Marsh left the condo.

He pulled out the keys for his car - a white Sword Siesta, aged but reliable. The second he stepped onto the curb, his keys were torn from his grasp and slipped under the car.

March grunted, knelt on the asphalt and looked underneath. The keys had fallen into a sewer grate with his car's front tire on top.

"Fuck!" Marsh shouted and kept himself from slamming his fist into his car.

He pulled the tight tank top away from his chest and glanced at his beastly pecs where the snake had settled. It was already back.

Ken didn't have a vehicle so Marsh asked Bryce to pick him up.

Siccunt_Bryce: sure you need me?

Marsh_the_Swole: I can't walk for 30 fucking minutes with the snake already back on me. It's a 5 minute drive over to me.

Siccunt_Bryce: okay, start walking, dude. I'm picking you up.

Marsh lightly jogged along Indigo Street, when his basketball shorts were torn down. He went to his knees, but caught himself, noticing the pedestrians staring. He pulled the white shorts up and kept running but the snake was around his neck.

To an onlooker is must have seemed like a daring neck tattoo. Those few eyes weren't enough to scare the ouroboros off. At least it made him look alpha as fuck.

When nobody was looking, Marsh slapped his balls until he could catch a breath, cringing from the slow creeping pain. He put his phone on his selfie stick. The stick had a hand loop so it wouldn't drop if torn from his grip.

As expected, the snake flung the stick from his palm, but it just dangled off his wrist as planned. Despite the horror of asphyxiation, Marsh grinned.

He made a quick video of him flexing a single-side most-muscular in his tank. Enough to drive the serpent underneath his shirt. Outsmarted.

Then his shorts fell off again and he nearly rammed his head into a fence post.

He got up with a sigh, but the sigh died in his throat as the choking set in. Marsh stepped out of the shorts and left them behind, giving his balls a spanking from below until the pain calmed the snake down.

He was getting pretty sick off the ball ache, convulsing lightly as the waves rose into his torso.

Now only in compression gear, his stretched out package was on display like vacuum sealed. He took a selfie that included his crotch. He needed attention and if that meant posting his semi-hardon he couldn't hesitate.

The snake stayed gone for a few breaths, letting Marsh dare to jog around the curve into Emerald Ave.

Finally, Bryce's burgundy sports car came into view. A new `Dorsche Hydra', gifted by his parents as a matter of course.

The blond, tall swimmer had the windows down and waved at his buddy with his trademark smirk. He pulled over.

"Marshmallow, dude, long fucking time no see."

Marsh hopped right in and they slammed their hands together hard, then touched elbows and threw the `sign of the horn' at each other. Not much of a secret handshake.

"Bryce! Been forever, bruh. Took a magic brotherfucker to get the gang back together, huh?"

"Gonna show that snake asshole who's boss, dude. Fuark!"

"Fuark!"

They biceps flexed at each other.

Bryce turned up his instrumental hardstyle playlist and drove off, breaking the speed limit.

He wore a loose, red tank top that hung over his crotch. No pants were visible – probably a speedo.

They made it to palm-lined California Ave - Bryce's neighborhood. The walls here were in crisper colors, the hedges trimmed, the condos nicer, the houses bigger.

"Bruh, how's it looking in Cedar Drive?"

The lean swimmer jock shrugged. "Uh, you know, dude. Parents keep asking why my chick didn't come with me on break but I'm not telling them she broke up when I fucked her roommate, so I dunno what to say, dude."

"Hahaha, you're such an asshole," Marsh said but high fived his bud.

"And now I'm hnggglll-" Bryce grabbed his neck. "F-uck..." He put his hand back on the wheel and steered them into a random driveway.

The hunks got out and Bryce spanked his balls from the sides, bent over with a reddening face and a grimace that spoke of rising nut-pain.

Bryce's version of the mark was more elegant, closer to a sleek fantasy snake tattoo. On the rare occasions the ouroboros tail-eating head was visible for a blink or two, Marsh could have sworn he saw fins and other aquatic features.

The lean part-time model let out a sigh as he convulsed. "Dude, take a vid."

Marsh grabbed Bryce's uPhone 10. The device was a bit bigger than his own, with sharper edges. Bryce had also smartly put it on a selfie stick.

"No dude," Bryce said, whimpering as he rammed his fist into his balls. "You got more followers."

With almost twice the potential audience Marsh had to agree. He grabbed his gym bag and walked over as he opened Clapper's camera.

"Starting now," Marsh said.

Bryce was snake-free, leaned back on his Dorsche Hydra's hood, lifted his tank to expose a ripple of hard, lean abs and smirked, biting his lip. The stereo's hardstyle beats thumping in the background.

Marsh moved the view down the abs toward the crotch, covered by a red speedo. As a swimmer, Bryce kept himself smooth and his pubes were cut into a neat square poking over the speedo, otherwise untrimmed.

The model swallowed hard, eyes wide as the snake reappeared on his neck and squeezed. With his neck out of view, the serpent had returned. March could have moved back and filmed the entire body, but in a split second decision he reached forward and gave Bryce's balls a hard slap.

It worked, the snake relented.

"T-tag...me," Bryce panted, recovering from the surprise choke.

"Huh?"

"Dude, I want your followers. I'll do the same for you."

Marsh posted the video on his timeline, captioning it: <This asshole thought he should show off. @Siccunt_Bryce Was I too hard on him? grinning devil emoji

They took a selfie together on Bryce's brand new uPhone for him to post and warned Ken that the snake was probably going back to him now.

Just as Bryce moved to get into his car, the door slammed shut in front of him.

"Dude! The fuck was that?"

"The snake?"

"Yeah, obviously, asshole. Let's just-" he grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing.

"Fuuuuck," the lean blonde muscle boy sighed. "The keys are inside, dude. And the stereo's running the battery empty. And I'm in some random-ass drive way so I'm getting towed. Fuck!"

"Bruh, that sucks. At least we got our bags out."

"That snake can suck my fat dick."

They jogged off, Marsh in his sneakers, Bryce in beach sandals, toward Pebble Port.

Both hunks put in their ear pods and turned the hardstyle up, jogging like they were running just for fun.

Marsh checked up on their friend Ken Lee, the wannabe fitness influencer.

Ken's Clapper had only 12,000 followers, having never really posted before this year. He had been a renowned gymnast in school, pivoting to physique-building in hopes of sponsorship deals. He wanted to get out of his parents' restaurant.

His 130 pounds (60kg) didn't sound impressive but on his short-ish 5'6'' (167cm) frame it worked to make him the lean-jacked physique model type that the Clapper fitness crowd was crazy for. And that he was Asian apparently helped him stand out – at least to the muscle-worshipping fags.

His current post was from a minute ago. A backside nudity post in his parents' restaurant bathroom mirror, showing glutes and spread lats. The Asian boy's first ass post.

Marsh turned his own backside story-post into a permanent one on his timeline, calling it: <u mirin?>

Then he reclapped Ken's post to his timeline to boost the Asian's follower count with: <twinsies? flame emoji>

The jogging duo entered Pebble Port, a small commercial area at the quay of the White River, so cute and clean it felt fake. There were a few dozen people milling about.

FitKingKen: good news, man. Found a new way to keep the snake off. Meet me round the back.

"Dude, it's on you," Bryce whispered.

Marsh could feel the constriction from his `neck tattoo'. As subtly as possible, he smacked his balls but only a sustained assault would do.

He pulled his bag forward to hide his actions behind it but the strap was torn from his grip and the bag skidded across the plaza's pebble mosaic.

Bryce was filming. In the middle of the loose crowd, the swimmer gave the bodybuilder a camera-once-over, stepped closer and rammed his knee into the compression shorts.

Marsh wheezed as his airways got unblocked at the rate of the rising pain. It got worse than ever before – and then still worse. How much could two little orbs hurt?

Bryce mumbled as he typed the caption. "Pay...back...deli...vered."

"Nice one, bruh," Marsh said, unashamedly rubbing his crotch. His dick stayed semi-hard, tightly packed into the black compression wear.

"Let's hope Ken's new method works better, cause I'd like my nut alive by the end of this fuckery. Come on."

With a sigh, Marsh picked up his gym bag. He could see the ouroboros on his biceps in the shopping windows. He took a deep breath while he still could.

Want more? Next time we're doing anal – kind of...