Chapter 2: Taking on the Big Bull
Spit arrived in front of the Fuck-o-Drome, looking his best tonight.
His sky blue mohawk was in a tight braid, flat on his skull. He had switched out his loincloth for a thick belt with integrated dick pouch, leaving his asshole exposed. He wore a matching, thinner belt around his chest. Sapphires dangled from his pierced earlobes.
He wasn't going in yet, still trying to spot Crisp.
Spit hadn't seen his old friend in over half a decade, but surely he'd recognize the stud's trademark thick lips and broad face.
They chief's son let his eyes glide over the more muscly guy in the crowd. Wait... was that possible?
In sheer disbelieve, Spit walked up to a man shorter than himself but at least two – if not three - times his weight. The massive chunk of a person moved with extreme swagger, having to maneuver his insanely big muscles as if he were a clunky vehicle.
Nobody Spit knew came this close to being an actual hourglass-shaped creature. If not for the arms as big as Spit's chest, the man would have just been two triangles with a head.
Crisp wore a huge nose ring and a bright red dick pouch, covering a tiny package. On his chest – each pec as big as Spit's ass cheeks – was a stylized bull head. He had intricate designs covering both forearms.
"C-crisp?"
The mass of muscles turned his way and smiled. "Spit! Yo, what the fuck? It's been ages. Come here!"
Spit hugged the old friend, getting fully enveloped in soft, buff man meat and rapidly growing hard.
Crisp brought their faces together, drew up all his saliva and shot it right into Spit's waiting mouth.
"Wow," Spit managed to say after swallowing, enchanted by the musky smell. "You were always a big kid but just... wow! I can't believe... You actually did it. You finished your pilgrimage to the Big Bull Den and joined their cult."
Crisp nodded sagely as he loosened the hug. "I was right to go there. Worshipping the Pump is how we experience transcendence."
"Sure is."
The muscle mountain sighed. "I wish I hadn't hesitated for a whole year. I could have spent that time already bathing in the glory of the Pump, but it seemed like a big price to pay back then. Silly in hindsight."
"Wait," Spit said and grabbed the red dick pouch to feel the chastity cage. "You really went chaste – voluntarily, for life."
Crisp chuckled. "You make it sound like a bad thing. There is so much freedom in abandoning the easy path to orgasm. Once you make yourself put in the work, once you are filled with the spirit of the Pump..."
Instead of continuing to preach, Crisp simply flexed his biceps. It was a miracle he could still bend his arm at a right angle with all the muscles in the way.
Spit swallowed hard. "We have a lot to catch up on. Are you going to stay?"
"We'll see. If I can win a few boys for the cult of the Pump I'll consider my time here a success."
"I may have a fairly prestigious job for you. It could help convert kids. But first, let's have some fun. In the Fuck-o-Drome."
"I dunno," Crisp said. "The queue looks pretty long over there."
Spit laughed. "Did you forget who I am? Come on, let's join the party."
Fuck One waved them past the entrance.
The inside was obviously packed. There was no way to talk over the thumping beat. The Big Bull Crisp had a hard time making his way through the crowd, so Spit moved first to create a path.
On the main stage were five boys he had seen a few times already. They did a coordinated choreography, outlined in screaming colors by the newly installed holo-projectors that drew effects into the air.
Other dancers grinded on poles or each other, distributed across the cavernous space.
All around the place were glowing, moving screens with Bubble & Butt models in the latest fashion – headbands, thongs, boots, harnesses.
The dense crowd dancing the night away showed off their own best attire, from a simple animal tooth on a string to excessive gold jewelry on every pierce-able spot, everybody secretly hoped to be `discovered'. There was no dress code besides keeping dick and balls covered.
Spit made it to the bar where Fuck Two and Three mixed drinks. Spit waited for his turn, at which point Crisp had caught up, and pointed at the menu.
He picked Mix 7, a blend of a slow aphrodisiac with a little something that would keep his dick from fully hardening and making him last a long time, plus a weak stupefier and an upper.
The Big Bull behind him ordered Mix 12, which Spit rarely ever saw anyone drink. It was a strong stupefier – basically turning the drinker into a drooling idiot - mixed with a sort of downer that slowed down the brain without making sleepy.
Spit already thought Mix 12 was going to leave his friend slack-jawed, wobbling back and forth in the corner. Then he saw that Crisp had actually ordered two of the things.
While Fuck Three mixed the substances into their cans, Fuck Two leaned forward across the low bar and stuck his tongue out.
On that tongue was a flat piercing with the scanner symbol.
Spit turned around and poked his ass out. Fuck Two flicked his tongue across Spit's taint and hole. The transaction was complete after scanning the taint code. Tongue scanners – a neat gimmick Zee had come up with.
It was obvious that Fuck Two spent unnecessarily long licking Crisp's crack. The Big Bull's ass cheeks were way too big to tell for sure but it seemed that the slave was properly rimming the hole.
Spit conjured his ghost in such a way that the unseen twin dropped right across the bar. It moved in on Fuck Two and quickly, brutally crushed the kid's balls.
The chief's son grinned happily as the slave backed off. He'd still have to report Fuck Two for unprofessionalism and get the kid punished – and Fuck Three as well for not stepping in.
With their first few sips from the cans, the reunited friends moved along the side of the dance floor.
On the left wall were long sofas where guys deeply rimmed each other's ass holes. As long as the dicks stayed covered, everything was fine. People were allowed to kiss in public after all.
Crisp downed one of his drinks in one go. "Can't wait till it sets in," he screamed over a slightly less loud part in the song.
"Why that one?" Spit shouted back.
The Big Bull scratched his arm pit. "Just easier to unwind that way. Making my moves slow and deliberate. And I'm afraid of hitting someone accidentally. But by now I think two isn't enough. I'll need a third-"
The music picked up again and talking became impossible.
Spit felt the upper kick in first, although the stupefier was supposed to be the fastest component. It wasn't as if he could notice becoming dumber. He didn't have much to think about beyond exploring his old friend's body.
The hunk dragged the hourglass of a man along, Crisp's shoulders and legs pushing people aside as they passed.
On stage, the choreography ended and the boys left to make room for the next group, holographic dicks filling the space in the meantime.
The friend duo made it past the rimming sofas and onto the sling station where three guys hung in slings and got fisted by a friend, partner, hookup or random stranger.
Spit rolled his eyes.
As long as all dicks were covered, fisting was perfectly legal to do anywhere outside. Why did people have to take up precious space at the club for those activities?
The aphrodisiac kicked in.
As always Spit briefly regretted having taken the mix that wouldn't let him cum for quite a while – but he knew he'd regret it even more if he blew his load right now. He wasn't a teen anymore. These days he only had it in him to cum five or six times in one night.
They moved onto the dance floor and Spit started grinding his ass on his huge friend. If Crisp had chosen lifelong chastity for the Pump, Spit could tease him all night.
The ghost twin stepped out of the hunk's body and followed its orders, slipping behind the dancing couple.
Crisp grunted loud enough to be heard over the music when he was penetrated – his mind was probably running in zeroth gear by now.
The Big Bull had consumed four cans of Mix 12. Most people would have spent at least the whole next day braindead but Crisp was chipper.
Spit found him at Apex' park – a patch of grass and concrete where all public training equipment was on display.
Usually kids hogged the monkey bars in the morning but this time they feasted their eyes on a nose ringed stud, who was doing deadlifts with half the available weight plates.
Crisp let the bar down gently and controlled when he saw Spit.
"Yo, good morning," Crisp said.
Spit stepped closer and took a deep breath of the hot, sweaty scent. He was back to his usual black loincloth and it was already tenting.
"Did you get any sleep?" Spit asked.
"Not much. I'll have a nap later," Crisp said, pursed his lips and spat into Spit's eager mouth.
"Yo Crisp, sir," asked a 15 year old. "Can we nap with you?"
"Nope," Spit said. "Your dad'll get mad if you skip work. Get back to the farm."
The boy looked at Spit like he was an idiot. "But we haven't finished morning routine yet."
"You were just standing there, bitch. Go, finish it then."
Spit also hadn't done his routine yet, too eager to see Crisp again. Usually he used his own weights at home, but today there was something to look at.
He grabbed dumbbells and did squats, his eyes on Crisp who had not changed clothes since yesterday, the red pouch stained with eternally dripping pre-cum.
"Tell you what," said Crisp to the present boys. "We all do our routine and tonight I tell you how I got this buff – and how those of you dedicated enough can do the same."
Spit and Crisp finished their routine with a slow jog around the entire inside of the town walls.
"So what have you been up to?" asked Crisp, his pecs bouncing like pudding with every step.
"Still trying to leave and go trash punking. I'm getting a bit old for it, but with my power I'm basically two men in one, so I'd be super useful to anyone I join."
"Ha! Still chasing the same old dream then?"
"Actually... I was hoping that's where you'd come in."
"Me?" Crisp slowed down a bit.
"Dad won't let me go unless someone else can to my job. And he's right, I can't just abandon Apex."
Crisp was silent until they were almost at the depot.
"I think," said the Big Bull, "that's just what I need. What exactly is your job?"
"We can go over it today. Shadow me."
"Sure, but let's make a detour to my slot. I brought a lot of my special meals."
"You can get that powder here, too, you know?"
Crisp shrugged. "Yeah, but I wasn't going to let food stay behind."
Showing Crisp the duties of the chief's right hand was mostly a matter of introducing him to everybody in town who had a say.
Fittingly, they finished the tour at the Fuck-o-Drome. Zee was happy to see Crisp again, not having forgotten the former Apex resident.
Zee wore nothing – the club was technically his home so that was fine – and had Fuck One's leash in his hand. The slave knelt in front of his owner and went up and down Zee's dick with his throat.
"Yo Zee," Spit said after introductions were over. "I just remembered. I caught Three and Four misbehaving. No, Three and Two. Sorry, it's a bit hazy."
"No problem," Zee said. "I'll discipline all three. I have some new stress position equipment I'd like to try. I'll put it up over there for the next party."
"Ah," Spit said. "That reminds me of yet another thing. Not telling you how to run the place but... can't the slings be outside? They take up a lot of space."
"Well..." Zee frowned. "Actually, that's genius. It'll give people in the queue something to look at which will draw their eyes right to the Bubble & Butt posters. By the way, crazy story... one second."
Zee took a moment to enjoy his orgasm, keeping Fuck One pressed into his crotch despite the strong gagging sounds.
The club owner raised his foot, put it on the slave's face and pushed him down. Fuck One slipped off the dick and diligently licked the foot sole.
"Recall the two boys in white jocks?" Zee said. "The ones who signed up when you brought in the projector."
"Yeah. What about them?"
"They were scouted. Absolutely crazy. I mean, they are ridiculously cute, sure, but on their first shift? What are the chances? At least now there won't be an agent around for a good month. Any boy who signs up is as good as mine."
Crisp frowned. "Shouldn't you be happy they got what they wanted?"
Zee kicked the slave away and put his arm around Crisp's absurdly broad shoulders. "My good man, you have a few things to learn. But if you come recommended by Spit, I'm sure we'll get along perfectly. Can I offer you a slave for a blowjob or... oh, right."
The club owner glanced at the pouch, which hid the dick cage. "Sorry," Zee said. "I didn't want to make fun of your beliefs."
Crisp chuckled. "It's fine. We can learn from each other."
Spit knew his friend would do an excellent job but there was still his father's blessing he had to get.
The duo walked up the stairs on the outside of a three level house to get to the apartment of steel plated walls on top.
Chief K was in the first of two rooms, staring at diagrams on a screen while absentmindedly doing lateral raises.
The chief of Apex had his name – the letter K – tattooed on his left pec, and an equally big tattoo of the town's name on his lower back.
His hip scarf and the tattoo on the back of his head both showed the Apex emblem – a twisting upward arrow.
"Yo dad, looks who's here," Spit said.
K turned, his eyes widening. He dropped the weights and pulled his long, olive mohawk into a ponytail, held in place with a wide band.
"Crisp? Is it really you?"
"Sure is me, K. Good to see you're still chief."
K stepped up to the muscle mountain and took a deep breath. Then he pursed his lips, turned to his son and let Spit receive a load of saliva, their lips nearly touching.
Spit swallowed and grinned. "Good old Crisp is back in town and looking for work. I showed him around and he gets along with everybody wonderfully."
"I bet," K said with a laugh.
"So... Crisp could take over for me. If anything is unclear, Oh can help out."
"Right," K said. "Then... you found a substitute."
"So I can go join trash punks?" Spit asked with a shrill, excited voice.
"I guess so." K took Crisp by the hand. "Anything I can do for you, my boy?"
"No thanks," Crisp said. "I just need a nap before midday exercise."
"Oh you can use our bedroom," K said and was already pulling the Big Bull into the other room. "You get Spit's mattress. Actually, I think you need both mattresses, haha."
Spit watched than man who had taken him in as a child completely forget he existed. Fine by him, really.
K dragged Crisp into the bedroom, with one hand already pulling down his hip scarf. And just like that, Spit was free.
Now he needed a team of trash punks to join. Maybe Rockhard was still in town.
We're ready to move onto the trash punk part of this trash punk story. It'll be all smooth sailing from here on. Maybe...
Chapter 3: All Roads Lead to Orgasm