Wesley Bracken
patreon
CYOC Social Camouflage - Compelled to Fit In
🕑 Added 2023-04-27 21:58:46 +0000 UTCNot sure how many folks follow what happens over on Choose Your Own Change, but I post the occasional story/chapter over there when something sparks my interest. Figured I might as well post new chapters for there over here as well.
I started a little Social Camouflage storyline a while back that you can read in full here. This new chapter below continues from the last chapter in the link. I'll post it over on the site in a few days. If you have requests for where to go next, you can drop them in the comments, and I'll take them under consideration!
***
Part of you wanted to stay. A lot of Hutch wanted to stay, wanted to muscle his way into his nephew’s party and get as many loads of young roughneck cum as he could, but you wrenched control away. This wasn’t right. You didn’t want to fit in here, not like this.
Hutch got up from his knees, aching a bit, and gave a frothy belch. “Thanks for your first payment nephew, but I know I’d just cramp your style if I hung around. You don’t want those hot friends of yours seeing what a dirty perv your uncle is I bet.
“Thanks Unc,” Blake said, “and definitely, thanks for the kegs. Why don’t you come by tomorrow, while my dad’s gone, and we can settle up?” Blake said with a big grin on his face, “Maybe I’ll make a backdoor deposit too.”
Hutch threw his sexy nephew a wink, hiked up his grubby jeans, and gave the young man a kiss before making his way out of the trailer and back to his beater pickup that was waiting out front. Inside, you were relieved. Sure, you wanted Blake, badly. But not like this. Not…as this, and you didn’t want to spend any more time as ‘Hutch’ if you could help it. Hutch went around to the driver’s side, but before he could climb in, you managed to take enough control to say, “I want to be ignored.”
It almost worked. You could feel the magic beginning to peel away from you, unwarping reality and returning you to your proper self. But something wouldn’t come unstuck, and like a rubber band pulled tight, the magic slammed back into place with a surprising amount of force, enough to send your mind reeling a bit inside Hutch’s skull, and enough to make Hutch stumble and nearly fall over, only saving himself by clutching onto the side mirror of his truck.
Don’t you want to fit in?
Was it a voice? It didn’t sound like your own thought, or like one of Hutch’s thoughts. It sounded like it was coming from all around you, and it also didn’t sound like anything at all. If anything, it felt like an intrusive thought, a little worm sliding it’s way inside you, filling you with an odd longing.
You don’t really want to be ignored, do you?
There it was again, that same sound, or voice, or thought, or sensation. It resonated through you and Hutch both, feeling like a sudden loneliness, a longing. Hutch was alone, but he shouldn’t be alone. He should fit it somewhere—but this just wasn’t the right place. There was somewhere else though, someone else he could fit it with, surely. Hutch pushed himself back upright from the odd sense of nausea that he’d felt, and decided what he wanted to do. If his nephew and his friends were too good for him, well, he’d just have to go hang out somewhere an old pig like him would definitely be welcome, and it just so happened that he knew just the place.
Inside of Hutch, you were still reeling a bit. You tried to push back and regain control, tried to utter the command line with more force and will than before, but the force of the magic from before had scrambled everything. You were back to passive observer, as Hutch popped in the key and started up his truck. Memories were forming again, memories and intentions to go along with them. Hutch knew just the sort of place where a washed up old pig like him would be normal, and where he’d probably be able to find some more cocks to suck as well. There was an old tavern off the highway, tucked between two rest stops, where a motley assortment of men tended to congregate in the evening. It wasn’t gay by any means, but put enough men together, especially a few who haven’t shot a load in a few days, and a pig like Hutch could usually scrounge a load or two out of them after a beer or five.
“No—No!” you thought, trying to get control back, but there was something blocking you now, some part of that same sensation and voice from before. Was it the suit itself? That seemed impossible, but in a way, it made sense you supposed. The suit wanted Hutch to fit in—that was its job, in a sense. Blake hadn’t been the right match. Turning into Hutch had been what Blake needed in the moment, but too much else had rebuffed Hutch, and kept him from fitting in properly. It seemed that, unless you mustered up much more will than before, the suit wasn’t about to let you change back, until Hutch fit in somewhere, like he was supposed to. Hutch pulled out of the trailer park and sped off down the road, turning up the country music on the radio, already feeling better about his evening’s plans, even as you, inside, were screaming and pounding away with all your might, trying to get your control back. But one way or another, Hutch was going to fit in, and you were along for the ride, whether you liked it or not.
The bar was only about a fifteen minute drive away, and Hutch pulled his way into the parking lot, already feeling more at home. Here—this is more like it. This was the sort of place where and old, fat roughneck pig like him belonged, where he would fit in properly. The sun had set while he was driving over, and while the evening was young, there were already a good number of trucks and motorcycles parked around, to tell him things were already heating up inside, which made Hutch even more excited. He stepped inside the tavern, and heaved a sigh. You could feel it, the magic beginning to loosen up, control beginning to return to you, but not enough to say the command line and change back. Hutch passed the hostess with a nod, and ducked into the attached lounge, smelling the stale cigar and cigarette smoke inside. Hopefully, after a drink, Hutch would be fitting in well enough that you’d be able to get back to yourself. Hutch looked around at the room, and saw a few groups of men clustered around the tables. One had a group of bikers, already looking a bit drunk and rowdy. Another had a group of construction workers fresh from the job site. There were a few truckers as well, mostly sitting by themselves, but occasionally chatting between themselves. Hutch bellied up to the bar, and the magic filled in the gaps—the bartender smiled at him, and Hutch found a name—Jake.
“Evenin’ Jake,” Hutch said, “the usual if you would.”
“Sure thing Hutch,” Jake said, pouring him a beer and passing it to him with a wink. More memories, mostly of Jake’s thick cock sliding in and out of Hutch’s mouth on the rare occasion he didn’t find someone else to please before the bar shut down for the night. Hutch just grinned at him, told him to put in on his tab, and looked out at the bar, beer in hand, trying to decide where to sit.
