Hello, My name is Ricky rousing and I write bdsm authoritarian stories about the downfall of straight men usually using magic or fantasy.
If you'd like to read more please look at my kindle stories:
Amazon.co.uk
Jason had always been the undisputed king of his world in Dublin. At thirty years old, he stood sixfootthree with the broad, sculpted build of a former rugby flanker who still trained five days a week. His chest was wide and powerful, his shoulders thick, his jaw square and masculine, framed by short dark hair and piercing green eyes. Women and more than a few men turned their heads when he walked into a room.
He knew it, and he loved it.He had married Louise five years earlier in a lavish ceremony in Wicklow. She was beautiful, ambitious, and came from a wellconnected family. Their life together looked perfect from the outside: a handsome Victorian terrace in Rathmines with a sleek black BMW in the driveway, weekend barbecues, and holidays to Ibiza or the Amalfi Coast.
Jason was the loud, cocky alpha of their friend group the one who told the dirtiest jokes, slapped his mates on the back, and never missed a chance to take the piss out of anyone who showed even a hint of “softness.” In bed, he was always the top, pounding louise with his thick eightinch cock until she screamed his name. He wore his masculinity like armour, especially his favourite tight grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs that hugged his muscular arse and heavy bulge with perfect, cocky confidence.His job as senior estate agent at Edgar Properties suited him. The firm specialised in highend Dublin homes Georgian townhouses in Ballsbridge, modern penthouses in the Docklands.
His boss, Clive Edgar, was a silverfox in his late forties: sharp suits, colder blue eyes, and a quiet, commanding presence that made even the most arrogant developers nervous. Jason had always respected Clive’s success but felt untouchable himself. He was the top closer, the face of the company.Everything changed on a rainy Thursday evening in late spring.
Week 1: The First TasteThe office was quiet after seven. Clive had called Jason in for a “debrief” on a big sale. He poured two glasses of singlemalt whiskey from a heavy crystal decanter.“To your continued success,” Clive said, clinking glasses.The whiskey tasted richer than usual, with a faint metallicsweet aftertaste. Jason downed it and felt warmth bloom in his stomach almost immediately. By the time he reached home, a strange heat had settled low in his groin and deeper, behind his balls, pulsing gently against his hole.That night he fucked Sarah with extra aggression, gripping her hips hard, trying to drown the odd sensations. His thick cock slammed into her, but for the first time he found himself imagining something else being filled, stretched, owned. He came harder than he had in months, groaning into her neck. Sarah laughed breathlessly, calling him an animal. Jason smiled in the dark, but inside, unease stirred.
The next morning he noticed the first small wet spot in his grey Calvin Kleins. Just a little precum leakage. Nothing serious, he told himself.At work, Clive’s touches lingered. A hand on the small of Jason’s back during a meeting. A low “Well done, lad” that made Jason’s hole twitch unexpectedly. By Friday, the heat had become a constant, lowlevel ache. His cock stayed halfhard in his trousers, and his arse felt… empty. Sensitive. He jerked off twice in the office toilets, ashamed of how quickly he came.Clive watched it all with quiet satisfaction.
Week 2: The Body Begins to ChangeThe physical transformation started subtly but accelerated. Jason’s oncetight, muscular glutes began to swell. What had been hard rugbyplayer muscle softened and plumped outward, rounding into two fuller, heavier cheeks that strained the seat of his suit trousers. His cock, once a proud eight inches, measured barely six and a half when he checked secretly in the bathroom mirror, thinner at the base. The potion was reshaping him, turning the alpha into the perfect submissive vessel.Clive struck on Tuesday night. After the last client left, he locked the office door.“Strip,” he ordered quietly.Jason’s mouth went dry. “Clive, what the fuck ”But his hands obeyed before his brain could catch up. He stood there in just his grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs, the soft cotton now tented obscenely and already damp at the front. His fattening arse filled the briefs more than ever, the leg holes cutting into the new plushness.Clive ran his hands over the swelling cheeks, squeezing possessively. “Beautiful. Growing exactly as it should.” He produced a small steel chastity cage and a medium black silicone plug. Jason protested, voice shaking, but the potion made his hole clench with need at the sight of the toys.Clive worked the plug in slowly, slick with lube, twisting it until Jason moaned despite himself. The fullness was overwhelming erotic, humiliating, addictive. Then the cage clicked shut around his shrinking cock, trapping the pathetic length in cold steel. The pink nub looked ridiculous.“These stay on,” Clive murmured, kissing Jason’s neck. He fucked him that night for the first time bent over the big oak desk, the plug removed only at the last moment. Jason’s fat new arse rippled with every deep thrust. He came handsfree, whimpering, his caged cock leaking uselessly while Clive filled him.
Afterwards, Clive made him pull the grey Calvins back up. The fabric soaked up the cum immediately, turning cold and sticky against his skin. Jason drove home plugged, caged, and wearing the evidence.Sarah noticed something was off. Jason claimed he was tired from work. That weekend he barely touched her, too ashamed of the cage and the constant plug.
Week 3: Underwear Becomes CurrencyClive began changing Jason’s underwear every day, turning it into a ritual of control and erotic humiliation.Monday: Tight white Tommy Hilfiger trunks. The contoured pouch barely contained the cage, creating a sad little bulge, while the highcut legs rode up between Jason’s plump cheeks, framing the base of the plug beautifully. The waistband sat low on his widening hips. After a morning client meeting, Clive bent him over in the storeroom, fucked him senseless, then peeled the cumsoaked trunks off. He sealed them in a clear bag and sold them that afternoon to a wealthy German developer for €350. “Worn by my former star alpha,” Clive told the client while Jason knelt nearby, blushing furiously in a fresh pair.Tuesday: Soft black Calvin Klein hip briefs, lowrise and silky. The material clung like a second skin to his fattening arse, the back seam disappearing between the jiggling globes. Every step made the plug shift sensually inside him.By midweek, Jason’s resistance was crumbling. His cock had shrunk to just over four inches. The constant fullness in his arse made him leak almost continuously. He still muttered “I’m straight… I’m a man…” under his breath, but the words sounded hollow even to him.Thursday evening, Clive took him out in the matteblack GWagon. They parked in a quiet spot near the Dublin Mountains. Jason’s need had become unbearable.“Clive… please,” he whispered, voice cracking with shame. Tears of humiliation pricked his eyes. “I can’t hold on anymore. Finger me. Put your fingers in my fat arse. I need it.”Clive made him beg for long minutes making the onceproud married hunk describe exactly what he wanted, calling himself a “cockhungry slut” and a “failed alpha.” Only then did Clive reach over, pull the current pair skyblue AussieBum sport briefs aside, remove the plug, and slide three thick fingers deep into Jason’s greedy, silky hole.Jason moaned like a whore, pushing back, his fat cheeks rippling. The sensations were electric: the stretch, the pressure against his prostate, the humiliating squelch of lube and cum. He came weakly in the cage, a pathetic dribble soaking the front of the AussieBums while still chanting broken denials of his new nature.Clive sold those cumdrenched AussieBums the next day for €400.
Week 4: Marriage in Ruins
Louise confronted him on a Sunday morning. She had found one of the stained pairs Jason had tried to hide. Arguments exploded. Jason tried to explain but couldn’t. That night he slept in the spare room, plugged and caged, wearing a fresh pair of sheer mesh white Calvin Klein trunks that left his plugged hole and locked nub completely visible.Clive moved him into a small locked room in his own luxurious Howth home. The daily underwear rotation continued with sensual precision:
• Wednesday: Red Andrew Christian bikini briefs with extra cheek exposure. The tiny pouch cradled his cage like lingerie while his massive arse spilled out the back.
• Friday: Classic grey Ralph Lauren boxer briefs ironic echoes of his old favourite pair but two sizes larger to accommodate his growing curves. The soft fabric felt luxurious against his sensitive skin until Clive ruined them during a rough client session.
That week Jason was used by four different clients. In empty showhouses he was presented like merchandise: bent over marble islands, on his knees in master bedrooms, always plugged until the client wanted access. One older client spent twenty minutes just groping and slapping Jason’s fat arse, marvelling at how the oncemuscular stud had been transformed into a plush, cockhungry toy. Jason moaned and leaked, hating how much he craved every second.
Week 5: Deeper Surrender
The humiliation deepened. Jason’s arse had ballooned into two heavy, wobbling globes that jiggled noticeably when he walked. His cock was now barely two inches hard, a tiny pink prisoner in its cage. He began craving the scent of real masculinity his old self.He started texting his mates indirectly, fishing for any connection to his former life, but Clive controlled his phone more and more.One evening Clive chose tight black Tom Ford luxury briefs silky, expensive, with a sculpted pouch and a back that perfectly framed Jason’s enormous plugged arse. After two client fucks, those briefs were sold still warm for €600 to a repeat buyer who loved the scent of a broken alpha.Jason’s internal battle raged. In quiet moments he still whispered, “I’m straight. I’m married. I’m a man,” but his hole clenched around the plug with every denial, betraying him.
Week 6: Public Destruction
Saturday afternoon on Grafton Street. The large glassfronted office was busy with foot traffic. Clive had Jason inside after closing, wearing only a fresh pair of tight white CK boxer briefs lowrise, contoured, and obscenely revealing. The pouch cradled his tiny cage. The leg bands cut into his thick thighs while the back stretched taut across his massive, plugged arse.Clive pressed him against the big display window. Passersby could see everything. He removed the plug, lined up his thick cock, and thrust in deep.Jason moaned loudly, forehead against the cool glass, fat cheeks rippling as Clive fucked him with long, sensual strokes. The sensation was exquisite every inch dragging over his prostate, his heavy arse cheeks slapping back against Clive’s hips. Precum dripped steadily from his cage, soaking the white briefs.That was when they appeared on the street: Declan, Mike (Louise's brother), and two other rugby mates. They froze, phones coming out instantly.Jason’s eyes met theirs through the glass as Clive railed him without mercy. His face burned with ultimate shame, but his hole clenched harder. He came violently in the white boxer briefs, the tiny cage pulsing as weak spurts soaked the front. Cum from Clive soon followed, overflowing and running down his thick thighs.The lads banged on the glass, laughing hysterically.“Fucking hell, Jase!” Declan roared. “Look at the fatarsed window whore!”Mike filmed everything. “louise’s going to love this.”Clive pulled out and made Jason turn around, presenting his ruined, cumsoaked white CKs to his old friends. The former alpha’s life ended in that moment exposed, broken, and dripping in public.
Aftermath There was no recovery. Louise filed for divorce within days. His mates turned every interaction into merciless teasing. They made him sniff their rank gym boxers and pissstained jocks while calling him “Panty Boy” and “Window Slut.” Clive continued the underwear rotation like a ritual: every stained pair Versace, Emporio Armani, flashy aussieBum, sheer mesh carefully bagged and sold to a growing list of private clients who paid premium for the story of the ruined married hunk.Jason lived in Clive’s house now, permanently plugged with larger sizes, caged, and dressed daily in whatever humiliating designer underwear his owner chose. His body was soft where it had once been hard, his hole eager, his mind a constant storm of shame and insatiable need.
Every morning he woke leaking into fresh, tight boxer briefs, knowing he would be used, displayed, and sold piece by piece. The potion had won completely. The gorgeous, hunky, married alpha of Dublin was gone replaced by Clive’s plumparsed, cockinsatiable, cumstained submissive toy.And still, deep down in the hottest, most humiliating part of his soul, Jason had never felt more alive.
If you'd like to read more please look at my kindle stories:
Amazon.co.uk
Jason had always been the undisputed king of his world in Dublin. At thirty years old, he stood sixfootthree with the broad, sculpted build of a former rugby flanker who still trained five days a week. His chest was wide and powerful, his shoulders thick, his jaw square and masculine, framed by short dark hair and piercing green eyes. Women and more than a few men turned their heads when he walked into a room.
He knew it, and he loved it.He had married Louise five years earlier in a lavish ceremony in Wicklow. She was beautiful, ambitious, and came from a wellconnected family. Their life together looked perfect from the outside: a handsome Victorian terrace in Rathmines with a sleek black BMW in the driveway, weekend barbecues, and holidays to Ibiza or the Amalfi Coast.
Jason was the loud, cocky alpha of their friend group the one who told the dirtiest jokes, slapped his mates on the back, and never missed a chance to take the piss out of anyone who showed even a hint of “softness.” In bed, he was always the top, pounding louise with his thick eightinch cock until she screamed his name. He wore his masculinity like armour, especially his favourite tight grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs that hugged his muscular arse and heavy bulge with perfect, cocky confidence.His job as senior estate agent at Edgar Properties suited him. The firm specialised in highend Dublin homes Georgian townhouses in Ballsbridge, modern penthouses in the Docklands.
His boss, Clive Edgar, was a silverfox in his late forties: sharp suits, colder blue eyes, and a quiet, commanding presence that made even the most arrogant developers nervous. Jason had always respected Clive’s success but felt untouchable himself. He was the top closer, the face of the company.Everything changed on a rainy Thursday evening in late spring.
Week 1: The First TasteThe office was quiet after seven. Clive had called Jason in for a “debrief” on a big sale. He poured two glasses of singlemalt whiskey from a heavy crystal decanter.“To your continued success,” Clive said, clinking glasses.The whiskey tasted richer than usual, with a faint metallicsweet aftertaste. Jason downed it and felt warmth bloom in his stomach almost immediately. By the time he reached home, a strange heat had settled low in his groin and deeper, behind his balls, pulsing gently against his hole.That night he fucked Sarah with extra aggression, gripping her hips hard, trying to drown the odd sensations. His thick cock slammed into her, but for the first time he found himself imagining something else being filled, stretched, owned. He came harder than he had in months, groaning into her neck. Sarah laughed breathlessly, calling him an animal. Jason smiled in the dark, but inside, unease stirred.
The next morning he noticed the first small wet spot in his grey Calvin Kleins. Just a little precum leakage. Nothing serious, he told himself.At work, Clive’s touches lingered. A hand on the small of Jason’s back during a meeting. A low “Well done, lad” that made Jason’s hole twitch unexpectedly. By Friday, the heat had become a constant, lowlevel ache. His cock stayed halfhard in his trousers, and his arse felt… empty. Sensitive. He jerked off twice in the office toilets, ashamed of how quickly he came.Clive watched it all with quiet satisfaction.
Week 2: The Body Begins to ChangeThe physical transformation started subtly but accelerated. Jason’s oncetight, muscular glutes began to swell. What had been hard rugbyplayer muscle softened and plumped outward, rounding into two fuller, heavier cheeks that strained the seat of his suit trousers. His cock, once a proud eight inches, measured barely six and a half when he checked secretly in the bathroom mirror, thinner at the base. The potion was reshaping him, turning the alpha into the perfect submissive vessel.Clive struck on Tuesday night. After the last client left, he locked the office door.“Strip,” he ordered quietly.Jason’s mouth went dry. “Clive, what the fuck ”But his hands obeyed before his brain could catch up. He stood there in just his grey Calvin Klein boxer briefs, the soft cotton now tented obscenely and already damp at the front. His fattening arse filled the briefs more than ever, the leg holes cutting into the new plushness.Clive ran his hands over the swelling cheeks, squeezing possessively. “Beautiful. Growing exactly as it should.” He produced a small steel chastity cage and a medium black silicone plug. Jason protested, voice shaking, but the potion made his hole clench with need at the sight of the toys.Clive worked the plug in slowly, slick with lube, twisting it until Jason moaned despite himself. The fullness was overwhelming erotic, humiliating, addictive. Then the cage clicked shut around his shrinking cock, trapping the pathetic length in cold steel. The pink nub looked ridiculous.“These stay on,” Clive murmured, kissing Jason’s neck. He fucked him that night for the first time bent over the big oak desk, the plug removed only at the last moment. Jason’s fat new arse rippled with every deep thrust. He came handsfree, whimpering, his caged cock leaking uselessly while Clive filled him.
Afterwards, Clive made him pull the grey Calvins back up. The fabric soaked up the cum immediately, turning cold and sticky against his skin. Jason drove home plugged, caged, and wearing the evidence.Sarah noticed something was off. Jason claimed he was tired from work. That weekend he barely touched her, too ashamed of the cage and the constant plug.
Week 3: Underwear Becomes CurrencyClive began changing Jason’s underwear every day, turning it into a ritual of control and erotic humiliation.Monday: Tight white Tommy Hilfiger trunks. The contoured pouch barely contained the cage, creating a sad little bulge, while the highcut legs rode up between Jason’s plump cheeks, framing the base of the plug beautifully. The waistband sat low on his widening hips. After a morning client meeting, Clive bent him over in the storeroom, fucked him senseless, then peeled the cumsoaked trunks off. He sealed them in a clear bag and sold them that afternoon to a wealthy German developer for €350. “Worn by my former star alpha,” Clive told the client while Jason knelt nearby, blushing furiously in a fresh pair.Tuesday: Soft black Calvin Klein hip briefs, lowrise and silky. The material clung like a second skin to his fattening arse, the back seam disappearing between the jiggling globes. Every step made the plug shift sensually inside him.By midweek, Jason’s resistance was crumbling. His cock had shrunk to just over four inches. The constant fullness in his arse made him leak almost continuously. He still muttered “I’m straight… I’m a man…” under his breath, but the words sounded hollow even to him.Thursday evening, Clive took him out in the matteblack GWagon. They parked in a quiet spot near the Dublin Mountains. Jason’s need had become unbearable.“Clive… please,” he whispered, voice cracking with shame. Tears of humiliation pricked his eyes. “I can’t hold on anymore. Finger me. Put your fingers in my fat arse. I need it.”Clive made him beg for long minutes making the onceproud married hunk describe exactly what he wanted, calling himself a “cockhungry slut” and a “failed alpha.” Only then did Clive reach over, pull the current pair skyblue AussieBum sport briefs aside, remove the plug, and slide three thick fingers deep into Jason’s greedy, silky hole.Jason moaned like a whore, pushing back, his fat cheeks rippling. The sensations were electric: the stretch, the pressure against his prostate, the humiliating squelch of lube and cum. He came weakly in the cage, a pathetic dribble soaking the front of the AussieBums while still chanting broken denials of his new nature.Clive sold those cumdrenched AussieBums the next day for €400.
Week 4: Marriage in Ruins
Louise confronted him on a Sunday morning. She had found one of the stained pairs Jason had tried to hide. Arguments exploded. Jason tried to explain but couldn’t. That night he slept in the spare room, plugged and caged, wearing a fresh pair of sheer mesh white Calvin Klein trunks that left his plugged hole and locked nub completely visible.Clive moved him into a small locked room in his own luxurious Howth home. The daily underwear rotation continued with sensual precision:
• Wednesday: Red Andrew Christian bikini briefs with extra cheek exposure. The tiny pouch cradled his cage like lingerie while his massive arse spilled out the back.
• Friday: Classic grey Ralph Lauren boxer briefs ironic echoes of his old favourite pair but two sizes larger to accommodate his growing curves. The soft fabric felt luxurious against his sensitive skin until Clive ruined them during a rough client session.
That week Jason was used by four different clients. In empty showhouses he was presented like merchandise: bent over marble islands, on his knees in master bedrooms, always plugged until the client wanted access. One older client spent twenty minutes just groping and slapping Jason’s fat arse, marvelling at how the oncemuscular stud had been transformed into a plush, cockhungry toy. Jason moaned and leaked, hating how much he craved every second.
Week 5: Deeper Surrender
The humiliation deepened. Jason’s arse had ballooned into two heavy, wobbling globes that jiggled noticeably when he walked. His cock was now barely two inches hard, a tiny pink prisoner in its cage. He began craving the scent of real masculinity his old self.He started texting his mates indirectly, fishing for any connection to his former life, but Clive controlled his phone more and more.One evening Clive chose tight black Tom Ford luxury briefs silky, expensive, with a sculpted pouch and a back that perfectly framed Jason’s enormous plugged arse. After two client fucks, those briefs were sold still warm for €600 to a repeat buyer who loved the scent of a broken alpha.Jason’s internal battle raged. In quiet moments he still whispered, “I’m straight. I’m married. I’m a man,” but his hole clenched around the plug with every denial, betraying him.
Week 6: Public Destruction
Saturday afternoon on Grafton Street. The large glassfronted office was busy with foot traffic. Clive had Jason inside after closing, wearing only a fresh pair of tight white CK boxer briefs lowrise, contoured, and obscenely revealing. The pouch cradled his tiny cage. The leg bands cut into his thick thighs while the back stretched taut across his massive, plugged arse.Clive pressed him against the big display window. Passersby could see everything. He removed the plug, lined up his thick cock, and thrust in deep.Jason moaned loudly, forehead against the cool glass, fat cheeks rippling as Clive fucked him with long, sensual strokes. The sensation was exquisite every inch dragging over his prostate, his heavy arse cheeks slapping back against Clive’s hips. Precum dripped steadily from his cage, soaking the white briefs.That was when they appeared on the street: Declan, Mike (Louise's brother), and two other rugby mates. They froze, phones coming out instantly.Jason’s eyes met theirs through the glass as Clive railed him without mercy. His face burned with ultimate shame, but his hole clenched harder. He came violently in the white boxer briefs, the tiny cage pulsing as weak spurts soaked the front. Cum from Clive soon followed, overflowing and running down his thick thighs.The lads banged on the glass, laughing hysterically.“Fucking hell, Jase!” Declan roared. “Look at the fatarsed window whore!”Mike filmed everything. “louise’s going to love this.”Clive pulled out and made Jason turn around, presenting his ruined, cumsoaked white CKs to his old friends. The former alpha’s life ended in that moment exposed, broken, and dripping in public.
Aftermath There was no recovery. Louise filed for divorce within days. His mates turned every interaction into merciless teasing. They made him sniff their rank gym boxers and pissstained jocks while calling him “Panty Boy” and “Window Slut.” Clive continued the underwear rotation like a ritual: every stained pair Versace, Emporio Armani, flashy aussieBum, sheer mesh carefully bagged and sold to a growing list of private clients who paid premium for the story of the ruined married hunk.Jason lived in Clive’s house now, permanently plugged with larger sizes, caged, and dressed daily in whatever humiliating designer underwear his owner chose. His body was soft where it had once been hard, his hole eager, his mind a constant storm of shame and insatiable need.
Every morning he woke leaking into fresh, tight boxer briefs, knowing he would be used, displayed, and sold piece by piece. The potion had won completely. The gorgeous, hunky, married alpha of Dublin was gone replaced by Clive’s plumparsed, cockinsatiable, cumstained submissive toy.And still, deep down in the hottest, most humiliating part of his soul, Jason had never felt more alive.
