Claiming of Caleb

Part 1: Devotion in Silence

David and Caleb had been best friends since they were five years old. Now, after twenty years, they were still close but the nature of their bond was something the world couldn't define in conventional terms.

David was tall, masculine, and dominant. His lineage could be traced back to Africa strong genes, strong presence. Caleb, on the other hand, was clumsy, submissive, and a little strange. Where David commanded respect by simply existing, Caleb faded into the background.

One night, after getting high, David turned to Caleb and asked what many had likely wondered.

"Why haven't you had sex yet? You've had so many chances."

Caleb hesitated before answering. "I don't feel worthy," he mumbled. "It's not about being gay or not... I just... I don't feel like I deserve it."

Caleb wasn't completely unsuccessful in life. His academic record was average. But school had been hell. The teasing. The humiliation. The endless reminders that he didn't measure up. Over time, his confidence dissolved into self-loathing. He clung to those bad memories like they were ornaments.

Through it all, David had been the only one who protected him. Fought for him. Spoke for him. Supported him. In return, Caleb gave him everything he had though not in words. Instead, it showed in how he watched David. How he followed him. How he thought of him.

It wasn't love in the traditional sense. Caleb called it a "male crush." A desperate, confusing urge to belong to be near, to serve, to be used by David. Especially after one moment in their youth.

Back when they were teenagers, they'd once jokingly decided to compare the size of their cocks. Caleb had hesitated, ashamed. But curiosity won, and they dropped their pants.

David's was... impressive. Thick, long, and powerful even in rest.

When David lowered his boxers, Caleb's eyes had frozen. He stared not just because it was big but because it looked like it meant something.

Even now, Caleb hadn't reached that kind of size. And that moment had imprinted itself in his memory forever.

One evening, high on weed, lounging in David's room, they began talking about girls, fetishes, porn casual banter. But things shifted when Caleb confessed a few of his more unusual fantasies.

David listened closely, then paused.

"I've always wanted to ask you something," he said. "Remember when we compared size back then? I saw your face. You looked at mine like... like you wanted it. Like, wanted it."

Caleb froze.

David continued, "I might've been wrong. But you opened your mouth. You stared like it was calling you. Been thinking about that ever since."

Caleb, half high and flustered, tried to change the subject.

But David didn't let go.

Eventually, Caleb broke.

"That day," he began softly, "when you pulled down your pants, I was shocked. It wasn't just a piece of meat. It was something more. A monument. A memory."

He swallowed hard, voice cracking with reverence.

"That cock... it stood for something. Not just flesh it pulsed with presence. Veins winding like rivers, its weight like a force of nature. Even flaccid, it looked alive. It smelled like musk, salt, and power."

David raised his eyebrows, then smirked.

"Wow," he said with a slow, amused grin. "That's quite the tribute."

He leaned closer, eyes sharp. "Didn't expect a poem about my cock."

David's tone shifted into something darker.

"Why do you feel this way?" he asked. "Is it desperation? Worship? Addiction?"

Caleb knelt, eyes filled with shame and longing. His lips parted, trembling.

"I... I'm not even gay," he stammered. "I swear. I never looked at men that way. Never wanted anyone that way."

He paused. Then looked up at David.

"But your cock ruined me."

His hands trembled.

"I wake up hard. I go to sleep aching. It's all I think about. I see it when I close my eyes."

He leaned forward, forehead pressing near David's thigh, tears running down his face.

"I don't want to be a man anymore. I don't want to be me. I just want to be... your Cock."

"Use me. Move me. Fill me. I don't care what I lose. I want to be part of you. Just hanging between your legs. Forgotten until needed."

"I don't care about my name. My soul. My pride. Take it all. Just make me your phallus. Your slut."

David exhaled.

"Look at you," he whispered, tilting Caleb's chin up.

"Crying over a dick you don't even own."

He chuckled not cruelly, but with quiet pleasure.

"You really mean it?" he said, voice deep. "You don't want to be touched or even seen. You just want to hang. Useless. Just meat."

"You're not gay, huh? But here you are, begging for my cock like it's your god."

David leaned close, his grip firm.

"Say it. Say it out loud. What are you?"

Caleb's voice cracked. "I'm nothing but your phallus."

David stepped back, crossing his arms.

"Crawl."

He pointed to the floor. "Show me what my cock looks like when it's begging to serve."

Part 2: Ritual of Becoming

Caleb fell forward with a sob. No grace. No pride. Just a broken thing, crawling on his hands and knees like an animal.

"I... I'm nothing but your cock" he gasped, voice cracked like an offering.

"Not a man... not a person... just a thing that hangs between your legs... waiting to be used..."

He pressed his cheek to the floor, dragging himself forward inch by inch. His arms shook under the weight of his humiliation.

"I want to feel you move and know it's me. I want to get hard only when you command it. I want to throb when you're turned on, drip when you're cruel, and release only when you allow it."

He looked up, eyes red and swollen, but filled with unwavering devotion.

"Please make me yours completely. Take my name, my voice, my body everything. Let me live as your penis, hard or soft, useful or ignored, whatever you want."

He collapsed again and pressed his lips to the toe of David's boot, kissing and licking it like it was a holy object.

"I'm ready. I'm already gone. There's nothing left but cock. Your cock."

Then, softer dreamlike

"Please use me... I was made for you. I am you."

David stood over him, calm and unmoved, like a god watching a worshipper break. A pause. Then a sharp breath through the nose.

"You really are gone, aren't you?" he murmured. "Begging to give up your whole self just to feel what I feel."

David lifted one boot and planted it in front of Caleb's mouth.

"Lick my boots."

A beat passed.

He moved the sole forward, nudging Caleb's face.

"Show me what my cock does when it's forgotten. When it's desperate just to be noticed."

"Make it shine. Tongue to leather. Every inch."

He stepped back just enough to let Caleb crawl after him, head lowered in utter submission.

David crossed his arms and watched, voice cold but laced with heat.

"While you're down there, I'll think about it. Whether to keep you. Whether to let you disappear into my body forever."

"First earn the right."

He leaned down, whispering.

"Lick, slut. And don't stop until I feel worshipped."

No one ever questioned David's presence. He walked through the world like it belonged to him. And behind him, always a few paces away, was Caleb.

Thin. Pale. Soft-spoken. Not physically weak just inwardly faded.

People whispered. Laughed. Called it obsession.

They were wrong.

It was worship.

David watched Caleb drag his tongue along scuffed leather. The boy's eyes were glassy, his breath shaky. He was humiliated. Filthy. Eager.

Then David spoke again. Quietly. Introspectively.

"You know..." he began, voice almost distant, "My grandfather once told me a story. From the old lands. The old ways."

He stepped away. Caleb instinctively crawled forward, but David stopped him with a hand.

"There was a ritual. A spell. Ancient. Sacred."

He began circling Caleb, his boots clicking softly.

"Warriors would use it to strip enemies of pride. To turn them into objects. Not slaves. Not animals. Tools."

"But to turn someone into a personal tool... that was rare. Special."

He paused, looking down at the toe of his boot.

"There's something on my sole."

He lifted the boot, showing a small smudge of dirt or gum.

"You missed a spot, whore."

"Lick it. Now."

His voice cracked like a whip.

"No hesitation. No thought. Just tongue to filth like the Cock-in-training you are."

Caleb dropped even lower, dragging his tongue under the sole, tasting bitterness, dust, grime. He whimpered.

David smiled.

"Good," he said. "That's the kind of devotion this spell demands."

"To become part of me isn't about pleasure. It's about erasure."

"You'll be forgotten. You'll never speak again. Just hang. Twitch. Drip. Serve."

He planted the boot softly on the back of Caleb's bowed head.

David never cared for magic. But curiosity, or maybe boredom, led him to dig up that ritual.

He found it.

A transformation. Not just ownership absorption.

He showed Caleb the ancient script.

"Do you want to belong to me?"

Caleb didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

"Fully?"

"Yes."

"Even if it means you'll never walk again. Never speak. Never be seen."

Caleb shivered. "If I can feel you... serve you... I don't need anything else."

They prepared the space in secret. Alone. Under moonlight.

David stood tall, naked under the sky.

Caleb knelt before him--not in shame, but devotion.

David spoke in an ancient tongue neither understood, but both felt deep in their bones.

Caleb began to shake.

His skin burned.

His body convulsed.

Bones compressed, twisted inward. Flesh warped. The pain was unbearable.

He screamed. A scream that no one would ever hear again.

His limbs folded. Mouth forced into a permanent O, stretching forward. Nerves twisted into hypersensitive lines that led not to hands, but to flesh.

David's flesh.

Caleb's mind remained.

His identity did not.

He could taste piss during the shift, nerves routing taste through a long, rubbery tongue that would never speak again. His lips fused into the glans. His voice dissolved into a slit.

He was pulled inward not up. Not out.

Into David.

And then...

Darkness.

Caleb no longer existed.

There was no voice.

No arms. No legs. No face.

Just heat.

Weight.

Flesh.

Still conscious but buried deep inside muscle and skin. Trapped in the heavy shaft that swung between David's thighs.

His body had been molded, absorbed.

Now just a piece of another man.

Every heartbeat came from David.

Every throb. Every ache.

He was David's cock

No more.

No less.

Part 3: Flesh, Forgotten

David stood at the bathroom sink, shirtless, staring at his reflection. He gave a satisfied grin, slowly glancing downward.

"Damn. You're heavier than I thought you'd be," he muttered.

He was looking at the thick, dark phallus hanging between his legs--his own now--but Caleb's soul was sealed inside it.

No warning.

No gentle words.

Just a sudden ache that Caleb felt like a hot stone being pushed down through what used to be his body.

It wasn't like arousal. And it wasn't like climax.

It was wrong. Heavy. Unclean.

Then... realization.

David was pissing.

Not beside him.

Through him.

Not as a man.

As a pipe.

A tunnel.

A forgotten conduit.

The stream hit hard.

Hot urine blasted through Caleb's transformed nerves--rushing across his flattened tastebuds, his hollowed-out throat, spilling from his permanently opened slit.

He felt it all.

Tasted it all.

Burned from it all.

It tasted bitter. Salty. Like chemicals. Like human waste.

The humiliation was worse than the flavor. But neither would leave.

His lips now the tip of David's Cock trembled as the last drops of piss dripped from him into the bowl.

He didn't even get a word from David.

No "Good job."

No "Open wide."

Just silence.

David zipped up and walked away.

Didn't glance down once.

And Caleb no, the phallus was sealed again in the warmth of underwear and jeans. Alone. Soaked in a bitter aftertaste. Swallowed in darkness.

But he didn't cry.

He couldn't.

There were no eyes.

No lips.

Just nerves.

And a pulse.

---

But something in him had settled.

You've finally been used like a cock should be.

You've been pissed through. Forgotten. Owned.

And deep inside the shaft, with no voice, no breath, no tears...

Caleb smiled with broken heart in humiliation and arousal

That afternoon, David returned to the mirror. He unzipped himself. Wrapped his strong hand around his thick shaft.

Caleb felt it all.

A thousand nerves lit up at once.

The long, rubbery tongue flattened along the underside of the shaft his new body quivered with every stroke.

David spat into his palm.

Rubbed it in.

Slow. Slippery. Warm.

He teased the slit--the tip--Caleb's lips.

The phallus twitched.

"You feel that?" David muttered.

"Of course you do. You're my Cock now. Every stroke is your world."

He stroked faster.

Harder.

Inside, Caleb screamed not in agony, but in something worse:

Sensation.

Pleasure.

Purpose.

He couldn't cry.

He couldn't moan.

All he could do was drip pre-cum oozing slowly like drool from his forever-parted lips.

David grunted. "You're so useful now. Thick. Veiny. Stretched to perfection."

And then he cummed

A burst of hot seed shot through Caleb's hollowed-out form, blasting through his tongue, his once-throat, his sensitive core.

It splashed out of his stretched-open mouth, coating the sink in hot, heavy strands.

And Caleb?

He didn't feel joy.

He felt used.

Which was even better.

David smirked.

"See that?" he said, flicking the tip.

Caleb twitched.

"That's what you're good for now. Spilling. Dripping. Forgotten unless I'm hard."

He tucked the phallus away.

Zipped up.

Didn't look down once.

Inside the fabric dark, hot, sticky Caleb trembled.

Still echoing from sensation.

Still feeling the cum dripping out of him.

Still tasting it.

Still aware.

Time passed.

Caleb no longer heard David speak to him.

Not even crude words during urination.

Not a whisper of "toilet slut."

Not a grunt of approval.

Not even a smirk.

David no longer saw him as Caleb.

Not even as a "you."

Just as it.

Just as a body part.

A thick length of meat, hanging in silence.

The worst part wasn't being used.

It was the time between.

Time didn't move inside the jeans.

Only heat. Only dampness. Only piss-scented air.

Fabric clung to his skin. Lint stuck to his slit.

And he waited.

Begging, silently.

Please use me again...

Please speak...

Please insult me...

Please remember I exist...

He once wished to disappear.

Now, he wished to be seen even for a moment.

And when David had sex?

Caleb felt everything.

The thrusts. The pressure. The heat. The clenching. The climax.

He was never invited.

Never praised.

Never acknowledged.

Only used.

Time blurred.

Seasons changed.

David thrived.

Charming. Successful. Beautiful.

A god among men.

And the cock between his legs?

Once a boy.

Now a tool.

Forgotten.

Not even washed.

Just hanging in darkness.

Still waiting for the next stream of piss.

Still tasting the last.

Still wondering if the world ever knew he existed.

But it didn't matter.

Because to David...

Caleb never existed.

Only a cock.

And it would hang there.

Forever.

[END]