conversion – Page 2 – Chiboxerboi's Haus o' Hypno

Pods -Part 2 The coach takes one for the team.

It just wasn’t Tony Sawyer’s night. Darlene Body was such a prick tease. The university coach had spent the better part of the day at the alumni luncheon plying her with her drink of choice (chocolate martinis). She returned the favor by placing a hand under the table pretty far up his thigh. At one point, she even quickly twisted his left nipple through his tight fitting white polo. He thought he was on the verge of scoring, so he placed his hand up her skirt for a little caress that had most the the bitches wet and moaning.

Apparently, Coach Sawyer’s signals were crossed. The crazy bitch threw the chocolate martini at him, staining his white shirt and causing a scene in front of the Dean of the school and some of the more wealthy alumni. It was their money that he needed to build the best Division 2 team he could and he couldn’t help but feel that he had lost some of their respect when the chocolate drink hit him.

He wiped as much of the sticky concoction from his face with a cloth table napkin (blue and orange –go wild cats), threw the napkin down and took his leave.

He climbed into silver truck, shut the door and then pounded his fists several times on the steering wheel. “Fucking cunt!”

He looked at his shirt in the rear view mirror. It was ruined. With the heat and the hot summer sun, the shirt was starting to become unbearably sticky. He took it off, throwing it on the passenger side and then pulled out of the University parking lot.

The whole cab of the truck smelled like the drink. He just wanted to get home, jump in the shower and clean himself. He sped through the town towards his townhouse.

He saw the police car too late. The car peeled out after him, sirens and light flashing.

“Fuck my life right now,” Coach Sawyer said as he pulled over.

With a little luck, the patrolman might be a Wildcats fan who would trade a warning to slow down for two tickets to the homecoming game in the fall.

He looked in the rear view mirror as the cop got out and approached his truck. The cop was wearing shades, so Coach Sawyer wasn’t sure if he knew the guy or not.

“Is there a problem, office,” Coach Sawyer said politely.

The patrol officer looked young. Maybe in his late 20s or early 30s. Coach Sawyer looked at his name tag: Donovan.

Fuck. Marty Donovan. Coach Sawyer had to cut Marty from the team five seasons ago after Marty tore his knee.

“Coach Sawyer, you were going 40 in a 25 mile per hour zone,” Donovan said, his words didn’t seem to have any tone or inflection.

“Have you been drinking? Your truck smells like alcohol.”

Coach Sawyer grabbed the shirt from the passenger seat and tried to explain to Marty what had happened, but Marty just seemed to ignore him.

“We cannot have you driving drunk through the streets of the town,” Donovan said, opening the car door. You’re going to need to step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air.”

“Donovan, is this really necessary? It’s me. Coach Sawyer.”

“Sir, please step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air.”

Coach Sawyer complied. There was still a chance he could talk his way out of this one. He had to. An arrest would all but end his coaching career. And all because of that fucking bitch!

“I’m going to need to to walk over to the patrol car,” Marty instructed.

“I’m not drunk, Donovan.”

“Walk over to the patrol car, sir.”

Coach Sawyer walked a perfect straight line to the patrol car. “See, told you I’m not drunk.”

“Please place both hands on the hood of the car, sir.”

“Seriously, Donovan?”

“Both hands. Hood of the car.”

Coach Sawyer complied. Donovan kicked his Sawyer’s legs apart and pushed his back down. It was then that Coach Sawyer noticed something strange. Dutch Taylor –who owned Taylor Towing, was sitting in the passenger side of the cop car, just staring forward in a daze. There was something green and pulsating in his ear. There was a trail of slime from Dutch’s shoulder, across the side of his face and to his ear.

“What the…” he said, turning slightly to look back as Donovan. Donovan had an obscenely large boner, but that wasn’t the worst of it. In his right hand, he was holding a green pod. It started to open. Coach Sawyer tried to pivot, but Donovan wiped up some of the green slime with his left hand and flung it at him. It hit his back and face and its effects were almost immediate. Coach Sawyer couldn’t move.

Coach Sawyer looked at Donovan with both fear and horror. Donovan seemed to be lost in pleasure –a wet spot had begun to form on the patrolman’s uniform. He heard Dutch climb out of the car.

“Coach Sawyer will make a fine addition to our ranks,” Donovan said.

“Enough pleasure, finish the connection,” Dutch said.

It was then that Coach Sawyer felt something warm and slimy get applied to his back. Seconds later, he came in his pants and then passed out from overwhelming pleasure.

Coach Sawyer awoke on the floor of Dutch’s shop. Dutch was standing in his truck bed, masterbating over about 60 pods.

“Got about 10 ready,” Dutch said before coming again. “Now your conversion is complete, you can help me get the rest of them ready for your team.”

Coach Sawyer felt his Master flood his brain with the endorphin-like substance.

It would be so hot to enslave his entire team to the Masters. And so easy, too. He would just need to call some of the key players into his office one by one and the rest would fall in line. He couldn’t wait to get the conversion started. Good thing practice started up the next day.

Dutch jumped down from the cab and spread out 20 pods on the floor around Coach Sawyer.

“Tired of using my hand,” Dutch said, helping Coach Sawyer to his feet. “Time to break in that fine ass of yours.”

Coach Sawyer was about to take a swing at Dutch and tell him that he didn’t swing that way, but his Master released a flood of the drug on his brainstem and it literally changed his mind.

He did have a great ass. Besides, he didn’t want to be like that bitch Darlene. Coach knew his body had made Dutch hard. It was only fair.

Dutch pushed him gently forward and then shoved his 7 inch cock into the Coach’s ass. As if on cue, Coach’s Master released more of the drug into his brain just as Dutch’s dick rammed up against Coach’s prostate.

The Coach shot a truly impressive load, easily fertilizing 10 of the pods. Darlene’s cock teasing had been good for something, after all.

“Damn, Coach. You keep that up and we’ll be done fertilizing these pods in no time,” Dutch said as he pulled out and seeded three of the pods.

“My turn,” Coach Sawyer said, switching places with Dutch and shoving his already hardening cock into the mechanic’s ass.

Thanks to his Master slug, it had turned out to be a pretty good day afterall.

Pods -Part 1

Sheriff Peterson sat patiently in the driver’s side of his police vehicle, as Patrolman Martinez was converted into a pod drone. A half-hour earlier, he had felt a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction as he held Martinez down, pulled up Martinez’s shirt and held the freshly fertilized pod to Martinez’s tanned back until the slug finally emerged and attached itself.

Peterson had tried to calm him while it was happening, but Martinez was thrashing about, cursing and resisting.

“It will be so pleasurable, you’ll see,” Peterson said as he rubbed his hardening dick against Martinez’s slacks and continued to hold him down. “It is a superior life form and your conversion is inevitable.”

“What the fuck are you going on….” Martinez shouted, his words trailing off as the slug secreted copious amounts of slim onto his back. The slim had the effect of both paralyzing him in place and flooding his skin and then bloodstream with an endorphin-like substance.

“There. That’s so much better,” Peterson said. His own Master –which has long since burrowed through his ears and then onto his brainstem– rewarded Peterson with his own endorphin-like high for obeying orders. Peterson was proud that he had pleased his Master.

He helped Martinez up, tucked his shirt back in and placed him in the passenger side of the vehicle. He retrieved Martinez’s sunglasses from the dirt, dusted them off, and then walked over to the car and placed them back on his face.

From there, Peterson had driven to the most secluded place he could think of: the Sunrise Motel. A no-tell motel, the place was a destination for nocturnal hook ups. Seeing as it was morning, the place would be deserted. Nonetheless, Peterson parked in the back. Martinez could not be moved until the final transformation of his own Master had been made.

Peterson had gone into the motel’s office and booked a room. The clerk –who was wearing a suit and tie and therefore oblivious to the motel’s reputation– had eyed Peterson with some suspicion. Peterson had told him they were renting a room for a stakeout. A major meth deal was supposed to go down and Peterson and his partner Martinez would be there for a night or two until the deal actually happened.

“You can either rent me a room and keep your mouth shut or I can get a warrant and close you down.”

Peterson had paid in cash, requesting a receipt.

“So the DA’s office can reimburse me,” he said with a wink.

He had taken the room key and returned to check on Martinez’s progress. The slug had moved from the pod attached to his back to his ears. Martinez has started showing the sweats that came from conversion. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Peterson opened the trunk of the car and grabbed half a dozen of the unfertilized pods. He closed the trunk and then took them into the room he had rented. He laid them gingerly on the bed. He had hoped Martinez’s conversion would soon finish. He would need his assistance in fertilizing the pods to get them ready for human conversion.

His Master had explained that the slugs inside the pods used cum to alter their DNA to ensure a perfect symbiotic melding.

Peterson had learned on his own that it was more fun to fertilize with someone else than it was alone.Peterson masterbated over one of the pods and recalled his own conversion.

Jimmy Babcock –Peterson’s teenaged neighbor had shown him that first hand that it was better to fertilize with someone else. The 18 year-old skater was the one who had initially discovered the husk containing thousand of pods when it had crashed here. Jimmy had thought it might be a meteor that the science center might pay good money for. It had been so much better than that, though. The teen now had a purpose that he served with pleasure. A great deal of pleasure.

Jimmy had looked a bit more disheveled when he knocked on Peterson’s door, rousing the Sheriff from his sleep.

“You just got to see this, Sheriff,” he had pleaded. “My old man is out of town and I don’t have anyone else to show the meteor to. It’s so cool. You have to see it!”

Peterson had relented, if only to quickly indulge the boy and then get back to sleep. He threw a robe over his t-shirt and boxers, put on a pair of slippers and followed the teen out the door and into the nearby woods.

The Sheriff had at least 60 pounds of muscle on Jimmy and so the teen –or rather, the teen’s Master– had to be quite clever. Jimmy had led him to the clearing where the husk was, grabbed a tree limb that had fallen when the husk had crash landed, and knocked Peterson out cold.

He had awaken with his conversion already completed.Jimmy was kneeling not too far from him. He had his pants and boxers pulled down to his ankles and he was masterbating over a pile of pods.

“Good, you’re awake,” Jimmy had said.

“Rise,” Peterson heard his Master command. His Master rewarded him for complying and his dick jumped to full mast.

He walked over to Jimmy, grabbed the boy and kissed him hard. Their tongues darted in and out of each other’s mouths. Jimmy grabbed Peterson’s hand and brought it to his crotch. They stood there jacking each other and making out. Their Masters ensuring a steady flow of the secretion into their blissed out brains until the pair had cum multiple times over more than a dozen pods.

The memory caused Peterson to shoot his load and he immediately felt another addictive high as his Master rewarded him with another dose of the secretion.

He knew the slugs were taking over, but the pleasure was so intense, he was only too happy to play whatever small part he could in their conquest.

His Master had shown him the way in more ways than one. He and Jimmy had been allowed to fuck each other silly the rest of the night after the pair had introduced a fertilized pod to Jimmy’s broth Carl. Carl –who was home on leave from the army– was asleep on a twin bed in the room he still shared with Jimmy. They had rolled him over, attached the slug to his back and then proceeding to fuck on the floor at the foot of the bed while Carl was converted as he slept.

Peterson had never entertained the thought of taking a cock up his ass, but after his Master secreted a few drops, his eyes glazed over and he practically begged the teen to take his cherry.

For his part, the teen had rode him hard, slamming his cut seven inch dick in and out of his hole. Peterson had shuddered when Jimmy had first hit his prostate. After a few more strokes, Peterson had to wonder why he had never thought to get fucked sooner.

Peterson was almost sad when Jimmy pulled out to shoot his load on a nearby stock of pods.

That is, of course, until Jimmy turned around, presented his own ass and told Peterson “My turn, daddy.”

He and the teen had traded several fucks (and fertilized a number of pods) for most of the rest of the night. Carl had awoken after his conversion and at some point joined them.

“It is done,” his Master had informed him, ending the memory.

Peterson looked down as to see that his cum had been completely absorbed by the pod. He picked it up and made good use of it.

He returned to the car. Martinez was dripping with sweat. His dick was tenting in his uniform. And leaking, judging from the silver-dollar sized wet spot on his trousers.

Peterson looked out the window of the squad car, thinking about how he couldn’t wait to break in his partner’s ass and for him to return the favor. After all, they had a whole town to convert –starting with the boys back at the stations –and those pods didn’t fertilize themselves.

“I could kick your ass,” Martinez said, waking Peterson from his reverie.

“How come,” Peterson asked.

You waited a full hour into the shift before converting me,” Martinez said with a smile and then removed his sunglasses to show the conversion was complete. “So, who’s next?”

Peterson motioned to the clerk who had stepped out of the office to retrieve the mail.

“He doesn’t know it yet, but I left him a very special delivery.”