"Make Me Your B****", Chapter 1.

The bar seemed like a good place to hang out. Ulysses was on the lookout for a new victim. He was seeking to exorcise some desires that had awakened in him in the past weeks. He still remembered the taste of that cock and the sensation of having it inside his tight and virginal ass. And he liked it, more than he could admit. He denied it, wanting to prove to himself how much he enjoyed fucking both girls and boys equally, but always in the role of the penetrator.

Preston had been very cunning. In desperate need of money, he had first convinced him to blow him, and then to give up his ass. The truth was that the Irishman couldn't get the Italian out of his head now. He wanted him as a personal project, one that was fun simply because he wanted to prove a point through him. He was going to turn him into a whore, and he would do it for the pleasure of destroying that active, macho, and sexist boy, and turning him into a complete faggot.

So, he observed him from afar, while trying unsuccessfully to pick up someone at the bar. His attitude was so irreverent that it was often repulsive. This played in Preston's favor. Unless someone wanted to fuck him for his attractiveness, it was unlikely that he would go home with anyone that night.

He let the hours pass and also the drinks, and when he saw him too drunk to stand up properly, he approached him with the invitation of a new beer.

He patted his shoulder and noticed the other's fearful look. "But how are you, mate?" he spoke with total naturalness, Ulysses naively believing that he was going to treat him as an equal. An absolute mistake, that was just a false attitude with which to justify his approach and lower defenses.

He invited him a beer and drank his own, letting him get drunk when he was just a bit tipsy. An advantage to exploit if he was going to take care of destroying the other.

He placed a hand on his thigh without much care when he had finished his beer and squeezed as if it were his property. Ulysses felt slightly uncomfortable, although it is true that the strong touch of the other also felt good. Especially when he was quite drunk. "Why don't I give you a ride like the other night?" he suggested suddenly, making his intentions clear. "Are you sure it's not a problem?" the younger one tried to divert attention, to which Preston simply shook his head, carefree. What he wanted was to have him in his truck. There would be no problem with that.

Slightly fearful and slightly excited, Ulysses agreed and after letting him take care of their drinks, he accompanied him to the truck once again. Once they got in, he made sure to lock the doors and start the vehicle. "Let's drop the appearances, faggot. Let's go to my house and you'll let me have you again. This time I'll only pay you if you do your job well," he said abruptly, changing the playful tone inside and quickly going to squeeze the other's crotch to unsettle him.

Ulysses groaned, between wheezing, and tried to push away the other's hand even though it bulged too quickly. "I'm not a faggot. I accepted the other day because I hadn't even eaten," he confessed. His brother had ended up kicking him out of the house for being an addict, and his friend's apartment was just a roof over his head. One that he wouldn't lose just because the other kept paying the bills from a distance. Too bad you can't live on tap water and paid rent alone. "Do you have anything to eat today?" the other suddenly inquired, but his drunken gaze made the answer clear.

He had nothing in the refrigerator and his stomach growled. The alcohol had been paid thanks to Preston and the bartender he had flirted with, after all. "Well, no. But I'm not a faggot," he reluctantly accepted, reaffirming a masculinity that was unnecessary. And if he complained it was because he was a little scared of the idea of ending up getting used to it. "Well, I'll feed you then. First you blow me and then I'll see what I have at home, okay?" he insisted, and the younger one could only nod, with teary eyes.

They didn't take long to arrive at his house and Preston was quick to lock the door so he wouldn't run away. He lay down on the couch, with his arms behind his head and his legs slightly open, waiting for him to do his job. "On your knees and eat it. Come on, you're hungry," he took the opportunity to tease, clearly excited by the other's suffering.

The dim light in the room, barely lit by the kitchen light, made the space dark enough for Ulysses to feel as much of a whore as the other wanted him to feel.

With his stomach growling from hunger and churned with alcohol, he clumsily got on his knees and took the dick into his mouth, releasing it himself with his hands in desperation that spoke more of his desire to eat than his desire to suck it.

The member seemed stinkier than the last time, almost as if the older man had left it smelly on purpose for him. Almost as if everything was planned.

He had spent several days wearing the same underwear that he had put on that night exclusively for Ulysses. The mix of sweaty ball odor, urine remnants, and a mixture of semen and pre-cum made that cock a true faggot delicacy. The Italian felt like he would vomit from disgust, but he did his best, showing that he knew little and nothing about blowjobs but was willing to learn, as he had improved since the last time. Perhaps the slaps Preston had given him for using his teeth had taught him something.

A strong, intermittent light blinded his eyes for a moment and he didn't know what had happened, although the older man quickly made it clear. "You look good in the photo and everything. I will save it to remember you with it," he mocked, and just as he noticed the other was going to lift his head, he lowered his hand to grab him by the nape and force him to swallow it whole. "No, I won't delete it. You're going to keep eating it and you will let me save your mobile number with the photo that proves how much of a faggot you are," he spoke violently as he choked him with his glans thrust into his throat.

Ulysses searched for air and couldn't find it until he finally let him go, letting him cough and breathe.

"You can't do that. You can't..." A slap silenced him. What, he couldn't? He was a man, of course he could do whatever he wanted. Preston was very clear about that, and it was time for the Italian bitch to understand too. "I can do whatever the hell I want. I can rape you and not even give you a piece of stale bread, throw you back into the street starving or even feed you with my cat's croquettes. Instead, I'm offering you a hot meal in exchange for your complacency. Is it so difficult to understand?" he demanded, and he forced his dick into the other's mouth again.

He might not want to admit it, but Ulysses had to acknowledge that he was losing that battle. At least that night. And if his ego was so big that he couldn't even go to a damn dining hall and ask for food, perhaps it shouldn't be so big as to suck a dick and let that man masturbate with his photos. After all, Preston didn't know anyone in his life to screw him over.

There weren't many people left in his life who wanted him around.

He kept swallowing that member, now in the rough movements with which Preston forced him to suck it, basically letting the older man masturbate with his mouth as if he were that old fleshlight he used to have. The one he had also ended up selling, like most of his belongings, to be able to buy stuff to shoot up and eat something in his moments of greater lucidity.

He was nothing but a hole to satisfy others. Wasn't he the faggot the other said he was? Even sucking it was the least displeasing part of the situation and the taste wasn't as repugnant as before...

The Irishman continued a few more minutes in the same play until he ended up coming without warning in the other's throat. Unlike the last time he had orgasmed using a condom while fucking Ulysses in the ass, the semen in his mouth not only took him by surprise, but it was something he had never experienced before. He ended up getting up without any permission, completely dizzy, and vomited on the kitchen floor.

A strong slap made him startle, and that's when he felt Preston's hand grab him by the nape again. "Did my milk taste so bad?" he mocked, hissing in his ear before laughing. "Your vomit will taste worse. And yes, you'll have to lick it off my floor. And then clean it, because I won't take care of that," he threatened, clearly meaning it. "Please, don't make me lick the vomit off the floor, that's disgusting," he pleaded, with genuine sadness in his voice. With disgust, with fear. "You should have thought about that before vomiting. Now, do it, or you won't eat anything tonight," he demanded.

Tears in his eyes, the younger man got down on all fours on the floor, licking and licking the tiles covered with alcohol residue, with clear bubbles of semen that ended on the floor. He sucked up as much as he could, feeling the acidic burn in his throat and not throwing up again simply because he gathered some energy from somewhere deep inside him.

Meanwhile, Preston proceeded to fulfill his promise and prepared his meal.

Perhaps it wouldn't be what Ulysses expected, of course, but at least the man was a man of his word.

He heated up some fries and a burger that he had left over from his own dinner while the other cleaned, first with his tongue and then with the mop.

Once it was warm, he started chewing on what he had reheated and spitting it out in a bowl. That edible mash looked unpleasant, and who knows how it tasted. When all the food had been processed in that way, he took advantage of still having his dick out to urinate a bit in the bowl, soaking the "purée" in his piss. It was steaming even in the winter cold.

He had delivered on his promise of a hot meal, right?

"Here you go," he placed the bowl on the table, allowing him to sit down and eat. It wouldn't be a privilege he would always have, but he would give it to him that night. Maybe he was being tough, but he didn't want to go too far. He knew he could scare him off completely, to a level where not even the lack of food could keep him close and obedient. "Is this some kind of joke?" he complained, although the aroma reaching his nose wasn't that bad at all.

Even the steaming urine felt relatively appetizing when his stomach begged for food. "Be thankful that I'm giving you something, right? If you don't like it, there's the door, you can go out on the street and try your luck," he shot back with a defiant look, trying to see how far the other could play the tough guy. Something told him it wouldn't last long. The grumbling stomach made it clear. "That's what I thought," he insisted with a smile, handing him a spoon.

Ulysses began to eat, and the truth is that bite by bite it tasted less bad. His hunger was evident, as he ate quickly and desperately. It was clear that he was going through a terrible time, and Preston could only revel in knowing that he had that power over the other. That he could exploit that weakness.

And he was going to.

"Good boy, that's how I like my faggots, obedient," he whispered in his ear once again, provoking him. "You can sleep here tonight, I'm sure you'll enjoy it in my bed, warm and accompanied," he suggested, and to Ulysses it all seemed like a good idea. Suddenly the older man seemed considerate, after so much rejection and mistreatment in his life. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him.

He nodded, still eating eagerly. He couldn't even talk until he finished the meal and left it clean with his tongue. "Wash the dish afterwards, I'll wait for you in bed," he warned, leaving, and Ulysses did the same when he finished eating. When he reached the bed, he wasn't surprised to find the other man only in boxers and a t-shirt, and to be honest, he even saw an undeniable attraction in him.

"Thank you for everything," he ended up saying, genuine. In a twisted way, he understood that the other man was just being kind to him. It was his way, maybe he would get used to it. "Sorry if I'm a bit unbearable sometimes. Nobody has really taken care of me before."

Preston could at least acknowledge that he saw himself in the other. Of course, he would never let himself be treated like a bitch, but he knew well how to exploit that.

They would end up sleeping embraced, mutual warmth for that cold night. Ulysses would be surprised the next morning when he woke up, feeling his crotch curiously swollen and tight. A chastity device imprisoned his cock and marked his heavy balls. The next step had been taken.