Brandon Twice
patreon
The Perfect Roommate
🕑 Added 2020-06-13 03:39:12 +0000 UTC[6 word request: Roommate Teaches Me Pets Can't Read]
I knew James wouldn’t be happy with the contract I gave him, but I was beyond caring. He flipped through all three pages, barely skimming its contents, before slapping it down on the counter and hastily scribbling his name at the bottom of each page.
“It’s like you don’t even care that I’ve had financial troubles,” he said as he signed, shaking his head. “It’s like you aren’t at all sensitive that not everyone in the world is as privileged as you are.”
Conor was a 6’5” blonde beauty with big muscles, blue eyes and a jaw chiseled from granite. His college linebacker physique had bloated up with a little bodybuilder-built muscle and a small layer of fat, giving him a super-hero build: massive, wide and bulging in all the right ways. Conor’s comment referred to the fact that I was self-employed, worked from home, and made a living after decades of hard work and sacrifice.
I also owned the condo we lived in. I think the fact that I didn’t scrimp over rent each month was something Conor considered “privileged” as well. I didn’t feel sorry for him. For two months when he had first moved in, he made a few hundred a week flexing to a webcam, but he lost interest in it, never found a job otherwise, and was now two months in the hole with me.
With his signatures on the document I patted the pages into order and slid them under my arm. “Glad to hear you agree to the terms,” I said, shaking his big, brawny hand. He just shrugged his big shoulders.
“What choice do I have?” he said. “I either sign these pages or I’m out on the street today. If anything, I signed them under duress.” His right hand had slid under his v-neck shirt and he was massaging his big pec. Back when he first moved in, I thought that kind of motion was absent-minded, but I had come to learn just how manipulative Conor was in using his body. When he knew I was mad at him, he would exit the shower with a towel on and have a long, ambling conversation with me while he ran his fingers over his abs, maintaining eye contact with a warm smile the whole time.
And I used to eat that shit up. But no longer. Lesson learned.
Conor left immediately after signing, probably to visit his boyfriend James. I had prayed that James would relieve me of the burden of having Conor in my house, but apparently Conor’s aspiring-actor boyfriend still had two more months on his lease with two roommates. The promise was that they would move in together once it was up; I doubted any of it until it came true.
In my room I flipped through the contract and watched the words shimmer. Conor’s signature glowed the brightest. Poor dumb hunk had no idea what he had just signed his name to, nor did he even realize I’d mixed the ink with his stray hair I’d collected from his bathroom to cement the enchantment. He was now bound to my agreements, which were to take effect one at a time.
Any uncertainty that I’d cast the spell wrong was dispelled at 8 PM that night, when I heard frantic pounding at the door. I opened it to see big Conor standing there, both hands covering his big junk as he stood in the hallway, his huge muscular body naked for everyone to see.
“What the fuck!” he said, pushing past me to rush into the apartment. He sprinted to his room, cursing the whole time, before exiting with basketball shorts and a tank top he’d fished out of his dirty clothes hamper.
“Streaking? At your age?” I said with an eyebrow raised.
Conor looked shaken. He paced around the apartment, staring at his hands as he tried to collect himself. Twice he opened the door and inspected the hallway.
“What are you on?” I said, knowing full well what was affecting the big lug. “This can’t just be booze.”
“I’m not fucked up!” he shouted. “I was just… I was just with James, and then… Then I was in the hallway! Like, instantly! All my shit is gone!”
“It’s probably at James’ still,” I offered drolly.
“How the fuck did I get here!” he said grabbing me and shaking me. As much as I resented the oaf, it did feel good to be in the grasp of those big powerful arms.
“You signed a contract,” I reminded him. “You’re to come home no later than 8 PM every night!”
Conor was slow to pick up on what I was saying. “Mike, I just… appeared out there! Like, I teleported! I need to call James. I have no idea what happened to him!”
I just smiled and tapped my foot. It took a bit for his two lonely brain cells to finally rub themselves together hard enough to puzzle through this.
“Wait, you’re saying… that contract… that’s not possible…”
“You agreed to everything in the contract,” I reminded him. “And you also denied a copy of the contract for yourself. I offered, remember, but you said you didn’t want to see it again. All that is binding.”
“It was an agreement,” he said, denying what had happened.
“Fine,” I shrugged. “Try staying out past 8 again. I’m tired of you crashing through the door at 3 AM drunk off your ass! And this is going to change it.”
Conor stormed to his room, slamming the door. Around midnight, I caught him at the front door trying to leave. His hand wouldn’t pass through the door, as if there was an invisible barrier over it.
“You can leave again at 8 in the morning. Until then, you stay here, and quiet the fuck down!”
God, it felt good to finally tell him what to do for once.
The next day he left immediately. I heard his car peel out of the parking lot and rolled my eyes. He was probably headed to James’ to get his things, then the gym. It was too much to hope that he would be out trying to find a new place to live--or even a job! Sadly for him, he was bound to my contract until he paid me back the two months’ rent and security he owed me.
I was taking a break when he finally got home, soaked in sweat with a cloud of stink around him. When his odor was fresh, coming off his big hot glistening body, I quite enjoyed it. It was when it poured in a large fog from his laundry basket later that I was bothered by it. I couldn’t wait for the second stipulation on the contract to kick in!
“I tried to tell James about what was going on,” Conor said, clearly frustrated. I listened intently, knowing that part of the terms of the contract forbid him from discussing it with anyone else, meaning he was physically unable. “It was like I was trying to say the words but they wouldn’t come out! I couldn’t even write it--and neither could he! What the fuck did you do to us?”
“You… signed… a… contract…” I said, gently slapping my hand on my knee cap to punctuate each word. I was delighted when his clothing seemed to melt, liquefying and sliding over his big beautiful body until it had condensed around his big cock. When it solidified again it was a skimpy bright blue posing trunk. Its thin straps looked ready to break with the overstuffed pouch up front.
“What the fuck!” he said, patting down his suddenly naked body. He backed away, staring at the tiny, heavily packed garment in horror as he ducked into his room. It took a few moments for him to discover the extent of the contract’s second rule.
He emerged from his room with handfuls of tiny posing trunks, each of them looking like an eyepatch compared to his bulky proportions. Getting into those flimsy little things would be a delicate procedure for the big man (with his big equipment!) but that’s all he was allowed to wear from now on.
“I’m tired of your dirty laundry all over the house,” I explained. “So from now on, in this house, you have a uniform. I don’t care if I find a sweaty poser on the counter. That’s actually kind of hot, and better than a soaked pair of sweatpants. I can deal with those teensy little man-kinis, and in time you’ll learn to as well.”
“I have no clothes!” he moaned, exasperated and still very freaked out by the fact that his life was being torn from him mystically.
“If you wanted,” I said with a shrug, “you could buy an outfit and keep it in a bag. As long as you put it on outside this apartment, you can wear it. And maybe James has some clothes you left over there? But I’d be careful on the trip over there. Those little straps look like they’re about to pop.” I couldn’t help it; seeing that big clydesdale suffering still tugged at my heartstrings, no matter how much he owed me, so I felt like giving him just a little nudge.
He tried tying a towel around his waist but as he passed through the front door, it was torn off his body. “You can’t take my property with you,” I said with a chuckle. “Nice try though!”
I peered at the window as he hot-stepped across the hot pavement to his car, passersby staring at the enormous barely-clad hunk, each of his huge glutes bouncing as he hustled to the safety and privacy of his car.
If he kept peeling out of the lot like that, his tires were going to be bald in no time.
I was pleased to see he was back at 7:55. As I’d imagined, he was keeping his distance until he had to be within the confines of the apartment, which gave me time to work in peace and quiet. I was relieved that he was learning his lessons quickly, so I wouldn’t have to switch to my backup plans.
He stomped right through the door, forgetting the stipulation about his clothing. The t-shirt and jeans he had procured immediately melted into shiny pink posers. The low-level rage he had entered with intensified. Clearly, I had overestimated his obedience.
“Where is it?” he said, stomping into my room. I knew there was nothing to worry about, but I followed. “Where’s the contract?”
“It vanished,” I explained. “It turned into light and blasted into the sky. That contract is now law--and I’m not talking laws of society, I’m talking laws of the universe. Everything you agreed to is exactly how things are.”
He reached for my desk chair, clearly looking to smash it, but froze when he touched it. He lumbered over to my TV and poised to rip it from the wall, but his body wouldn’t move as soon as he touched it. He turned back to me, grabbing a handful of my shirt and rearing back to punch, but his body suddenly stopped. He stared at me, infuriated by his inability to move.
“You… fucking…” His face contorted as he struggled to throw that punch, but nothing happened.
“You can’t do any harm to me or my property,” I explained. “All in the contract.”
“You can’t do this to me!” he gasped. It was so good to see a gorilla-sized man breaking under pressure--at least, THIS gorilla-sized man.
“I can because you agreed to it.”
“Make it stop!” he said, reaching down to pluck the strap of his posers. With a loud SNAP it burst open and his big cock flopped forth. “Dammit! You can’t do this to me!”
“It stops when you pay me the money you ower me,” I explained. “And the longer this goes on, the more rules will take effect. At some point you’ll relinquish your role as a human being if you hold out long enough. Or you can pay me. Your call.”
“You’re a psycho,” he said. “You’re a fucking pervert. You let me stay here because you wanted to fuck me and then you got mad when I wouldn’t!”
It was time for my backup plan. I left the room silently and made a phone call. Conor went to his room and slammed the door. When the doorbell rang, he emerged from his room but then, realizing that he could only wear posers and it was unlikely the visitor was for him, he ducked back into the safety of his room.
I’m sure he could smell the ten boxes of pizza that arrived, especially when I opened the top box so that it could waft into his room. I knew the dumb lunk had nothing aside from protein powder in the room. Carbs and fat aside, he was going to be hungry. I knocked on his door. When he wouldn’t open, I called to him through the door.
“As I’m sick of you drinking my almond milk, eating my eggs and my chicken, and drinking all of my booze, I included a line in the contract that states, ‘Conor will only eat my food when express permission has been granted by Michael.’ You agreed to it.”
“So fucking what?” Conor said as he threw the door open, now spitting with every word. “I don’t want your fucking food!”
“Don’t you think that wording is unclear? A comma or a simple reordering of that sentence would more effectively convey its meaning. But as it’s written…” Conor couldn’t suss out what I was implying, so I demonstrated: “Conor, I give you permission to eat every one of those pizzas.”
He started walking to the table immediately. “What is this? What’s happening?” he said as his body moved on its own volition. He flipped open the top pizza box and grabbed a slice in each hand.
I just smiled. “You hate mushrooms, don’t you?” I said, nodding at the mushroom-covered pizzas. His right hand folded a slice and shoved it into his mouth. He grunted and snorted as he crammed the piece into his mouth, chomping on it as best he could as the other hand made way for the other piece. He actually snorted as he was trying to swallow! How perfect. And of course, as soon as his hands were empty he had snatched up another slice in each, staring at me in revulsion as he figured out that this would continue until all of the pizza was gone.
I rubbed a hand through his hair like he was a plaything, then lightly patted his cheeks as gorged himself despite every effort to resist. “Oh god,” he moaned, “it’s so fucking good. I’m so fucking hungry and this tastes… so fucking good…”
“I’m going for a walk,” I told him. He shook his head in a panic as I walked away, waving my hands at him as he finished the first pizza, tossing the box aside and ripping into the next. His gut was already distended in a little pooch.
“Wait!” he cried as the door slammed shut behind me. “Don’t leave me!” I could hear him hoggishly stuffing himself even with the door closed.
Out on my walk I got the email I was waiting for: the conference was confirmed; could I be on a plane the next day? With my suddenly-cooperative “roommate,” leaving town on a whim would be a breeze.
I was gone several hours before I returned home. It was nice to get a little fresh air out of the apartment without worrying that Conor was going to fuck his boyfriend in our living room or leave his sweaty gym clothes strewn around the kitchen.
I heard his groaning before I opened the door. Conor had shoved his chair away from the table and slumped back, rubbing his distended belly and groaning. I could hear his gut gurgling from across the room. “Man, heck of a cheat meal, eh Conor?”
He opened his mouth to respond but a 5-second burp escaped instead. He looked shocked to have made the sound. He whimpered and clutched at his full belly, but I crossed the room and put a hand on his gut, gently massaging the bloated bulge. He moaned and sighed as I gave him his bellyrub--until a massive fart escaped. His cheeks blushed with embarrassment.
“I’ll be leaving for two weeks tomorrow,” I informed him. His eyes went wide.
“What am I supposed to do here by myself?” he said, his lower lip curling into a pout.
“You’ll take care of the place every day,” I informed him. “You won’t rest until every chore is completed every day.” I patted his face. He looked so miserable, but seemed to be grasping how out of control his life had become.
“How long will this go on?” he asked, a long squeaker of a fart escaping halfway through his question. I’d never seen him look so forlorn.
“Pay me all you owe me and the terms are negated,” I said. I was tired and had a trip to plan for. He tried to rise to his feet as I walked away, but his crammed-full torso weighed him down.
The next morning, before I left, I heard Conor on the phone with James, begging him for money. I actually started to feel bad for him. The previous night’s stuffing had left him with a layer of softness and he was unable to hide from it in his “in-house uniform,” a thong that barely looked big enough to hold a walnut. James didn’t seem to want to offer the money, and Conor was resistant to being seen. I waved to him as he begged into the phone, assuming I would have a live-in maid every day I was gone.
At first while away at my conference I spent every few hours checking in on the big dope. I don’t know why I lacked confidence that the spell would continue to keep him bound, but every hour my anxieties were relieved as I saw big, bulky Conor dusting, scrubbing and vacuuming. Despite the fact that no one had touched the kitchen floor a day later, he was still helpless to mopping it again. I was relieved to know my house would finally be spotlessly clean when I got home.
Each night I placed a delivery order and texted Conor that he had my permission to eat the meal. First it was 5 Big Mac meals delivered to his door. The next day it was two family-style lasagna plates. The third day he got seventy-five tacos. I couldn’t imagine how badly the bathroom had to smell with him stuffing his burgeoning body like that; but luckily, I knew he was unable to resist the urge to freshen the air, so any stinkiness would be expunged immediately.
When I finally got him, I was grateful to see him on his hands and knees scrubbing out a stain in the carpet just outside my bedroom. As I’d hoped, his herculean physique was padded with a layer of softness that, in my opinion, just made him sexier. His pudginess had also reduced his urge to shave--perhaps he thought the bodyhair would hide the flab?--but that left me with a big, hairy, beefy bear.
I almost came in my pants when I saw him.
I assumed I would need to punish him for failing to greet me at the door as I walked in,but I saw him hanging his head and shame as I walked past.
“Aren’t you going to stand up and say hello to your roommate?” I asked. He struggled to stand but his legs wouldn’t straighten. No matter how much he tried, he kept collapsing down to all fours again.
Part of the contract, of course. “Oh, poor baby,” I said as he whimpered to me, nuzzling my hand with his face.
“You know,” I said as I looked around at my STUNNINGLY clean apartment, “the contract clearly states that you’re only to become my pet if you give in to defaulting on your debt.” I searched his still-human eyes for an answer but he just licked my hand and whimpered.
“Good boy,” I said, and he shook his enormous, now-jiggly ass. God, damn, did he look hot with all this extra chunk.
“Come here boy,” I said, heading to the cabinet to fish out some dog treats I had saved until this moment. “That’s a good boy,” I said, and his tongue popped out of his mouth. The much beefier man’s extra layer of fat just made him look that much more massive, and the fact that he was on all fours reacting to me like a pet greeting his master home was enough to send my libido into the stratosphere.
“If I’m correct, this situation should only happen when you’ve completely given up on being restored to your normal circumstances,” I said as he gently humped my leg. I considered getting him fixed. Despite his efforts to rub up against me and lick my face, he didn’t seem to answer my question.
He instead leapt into my lap and gently nipped at my cheek. I got him on the floor on his back, rubbing his jiggly tummy as he kicked and whined. His body was still so big and muscular but covered with a warm juicy layer of flesh. His gut wiobbled like a jello mold as he kicked and whimpered at my touch.
“Well, it looks like you’ll be stuck as my dog from here on out,” I said, wondering if Conor knew just how deeply the mystical contract had warped his life or if he was just rolling with it now. “What do you say, my big clydesdale-sized friend? Should we go for a walk?”
He couldn’t have been more excited. When I slapped a collar on him and affixed the leash, I knew that whatever Conor had been, the contract had changed him. Despite his very human body, he had no compunctions about being led outside on a leash, clad only in a tiny pair of bright orange posing trunks. “That’s a good boy,” I said, rubbing his hindquarters until his leg kicked.
So I lost a roommate but gained a pet. He had to be potty trained again, which was a difficult week, but once it was over, he made the perfect companion: he never talked, he obeyed me without question and he was built like an NFL lineman, all of which I loved.
I always wondered, as I walked him around the neighborhood, fed him wet dog food in a bowl and allowed him to hump me before bed every night, if there was a part of him deep down that was still fighting all of this.
Usually I was only able to ponder that thought for a few moments before Conor was up on me humping my brains out again.
