The Legion of Obedient Super-Slaves

Part 6



Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the

legal age to read this, or are offended by the idea of male-male

sex or mind control, DO NOT read further.

This is a continuation of a story that began with files containing

Parts 1-5. You'll have alot more fun if you read those parts first!

[Summary so far: Slade Beatty has been made the partner of alien Znort, who is

supposed to protect the Earth from a potential invasion of powerful barbarians

by creating a league of superheroes, but instead does it for his own perverse



Richie woke up one morning and found he had been transformed into a superhero.

The small, skinny 17-year-old had no idea how it happened, but he just seemed

to suddenly know it had happened, and he was not surprised to find the spandex

superhero costume in his closet. It had the letter F on it, surrounded by curvy

lines denoting a cloud of gas. Above the costume hung a mask not unlike that of

Batman’s sidekick Robin. Somehow Richie knew he was now Fartboy, and he had some

idea of his powers. He could produce an immense quantity of fart gas whenever he

wanted to. He could fly by lighting his farts. And just by concentrating, he

could change the chemical composition of his farts to have amazing effects on


The first type of superfart he could produce was the Fart of Truth. Like Wonder

Woman’s lasso, anyone breathing in the Fart of Truth was compelled to tell the

truth for the following twenty minutes or so. Fulfilling his superhero

responsibility, Fartboy could use this power to help the police solve crimes.

But the most intriguing of his superfarts was the Fart of Lust. It could induce

uncontrollable sexual needs, also for a period of about twenty minutes. Used

over and over on the same person, it could have a lasting effect with no known

way to reverse it. Richie never used this superfart to benefit his own sex life,

since he thought it was wrong. The most he had ever used his superpowers in his

personal life was when he discreetly used a Fart of Truth on his first boyfriend

ever, only to discover that the boyfriend had already found another guy and was

preparing to dump him. After that Richie stopped trusting potential boyfriends,

and kept his sex life in the realm of fantasy.

So he didn’t really understand the full implications of his Fart of Lust, never

having used it on anyone. But there were profound implications when, forgetting

to change his body chemistry after an open-air "experiment", he accidentally

released a gigantic Fart of Lust backwards into the school's locker room as he

was leaving following a phys ed class.

This fart traveled through the poorly-ventilated locker room and enveloped the

football team as they were at their lockers changing. It hit the unsuspecting

team like a bolt of lightning, with all cocks inflating to full strength and

length nearly at once. Suddenly, every member of the team had the insatiable

need to “fill or be filled”, and a free-for-all orgy developed as each player

grabbed the nearest teammate whose ass or mouth was exposed to them. Two beefy

linemen wrestled for dominance until one finally knocked the other one onto his

knees, spun him around and shoved his cock into the loser’s asshole with a grunt

of total satisfaction, at which point the loser’s attitude changed completely,

now NEEDING to be filled, causing him to push his asshole up as far onto the

invading cock he could in order to satisfy those new needs. Nearby, the center

grabbed the quarterback, who happened to be bending over in front of him at the

critical moment, and plunged his average-length but fat cock into the vulnerable

hole, causing a huge wave of gratification in his target.

The nonplayer freshman who functioned as team equipment manager was standing by

the locker room bench laying out fresh towels, while the tall senior tight end

was sitting on the bench right next to the pile. When the fart hit, the short

freshman pulled down his pants, grabbed the tight end’s head by the hair and

forced his long, thin cock into the player’s mouth. The tight end immediately

felt the need to open wide and slide the cock as deeply down his deep throat as

he could, looking up gratefully at the little manager for having “filled” him.

While he was being face-fucked, with one hand the tight end grabbed his own

impressively long cock and began pumping.

Groans, moans, sighs, ball-slapping and slurping sounds were heard as the

group’s needy pushing, pulling, pumping and sucking continued for minute after

minute, until almost simultaneously the whole team reached orgasm. With shrieks

and shouts of satisfaction, cum flew everywhere: down throats and assholes, onto

the bench, the floor, onto piles of previously-clean towels and clothes. As the

effects of the fart reached their conclusion, each player gazed at his erstwhile

partner in a new way. And when the fart wore off completely, the team didn’t

know what to think.

No words were exchanged on the subject. And nobody dared mention it to anyone

outside the team, either. Of course, after the event, the group remained

straight (except for those who weren’t straight in the first place, including

one closeted team member and the freshman equipment manager, who had experienced

the best sex of his life in that incident). But the relationship among the

players had changed subtly. Those who had been “on top” in the orgy retained a

slight psychological edge over those they had fucked or been sucked by. Their

leadership skills increased a bit, at the expense of those they had dominated,

and this lasted far beyond the day of the incident. So the Fart of Lust had

side effects that even Fartboy himself did not know about.

Richie himself was a closeted, submissive gay boy. Short, and with a cute

boyish look, even as a senior he appeared younger than many of the school’s

freshmen. But when he was wearing his Fartboy costume and mask, he felt more

important and powerful, his self-esteem boosted. As Richie the student,

because of school he couldn’t do too much superhero work during the week

without revealing his identity, but he committed time on the weekend to

helping the police solve crimes. While the detectives wore noseplugs, Fartboy

would put his ass up against the suspect handcuffed to the chair and release

a powerful Fart of Truth. Although the detectives knew the resulting confessions

could not be used in a court, the information they got from these interrogations

helped solve many previously puzzling crimes, and exonerated some innocent people.

Fartboy usually worked with two particular detectives. One, Paul Olsen, was fresh

from the police academy, in his early twenties, a very focused, athletic person,

about 6 feet tall, with blond hair buzz-cut military style. The other, Roger

Travis, was the experienced one of the pair, married, late thirties, brown hair,

good-looking and in good shape but nowhere near as athletic as his partner. They

had gotten used to wearing noseplugs and holding their breath for certain periods

of time before going out for fresh air. They had gotten a good reputation within

the department, thanks to the valuable information brought in by their

collaboration with Fartboy.

This Saturday they were interrogating Butch, a large 16-year-old who with his

young group of hoods had been terrorizing a number of neighborhoods. Butch was

very tall and well-muscled for his age, with tattoos on his arms and chest and

a scar above one eye that he had received in a knife fight. He had penetrating

blue eyes, punk-cut brown hair, and a face that always seemed to be smirking.

He easily recruited boys his age and even older into his gang, and dominated

them with the overwhelming force of his personality. Just by looking at them,

he could usually tell what they were up to, and if they were being straight

with him.

When Richie, dressed as Fartboy, came in the room where Butch was handcuffed

to the chair, Butch stared into his eyes, measuring him up. Richie couldn’t

meet the stare directly, and looked down submissively. This told Butch what

he wanted to know, and he smirked even more than usual.

Richie backed up and put his ass into Butch’s face, emitting a Fart of Truth.

He then stepped back and watched Butch’s expression go blank. The two cops

began their interrogation, and soon Butch was providing details of all sorts

of felonies the police had not even been aware of. With the seriousness and

quantity of crimes, Detective Travis was almost sure he could convince a

judge to try Butch as an adult once the proper evidence was gathered.

As the Fart of Truth wore off, the two detectives got up and left the room

to privately discuss where to go from that point, leaving Richie alone in

the room with Butch. Richie faced away from Butch so that Butch wouldn’t

see the bulge in his costume, but Butch had a good idea what was going on.

“So, Fartboy, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just wanting to serve

me?” Richie blushed, but said nothing. “I know your type, I got a bunch of

'em crawlin' to me, beggin' me to tell 'em how they can work for me and the

gang, just so they can hang out with me. Turn around,” commanded Butch, and

Richie could do nothing but obey the dominant teen.

Butch examined Richie’s bulge. “So, is that thing actually harder than steel?

Better watch out, you could put someone’s eye out with that. But you’d have

to get REAL CLOSE!” snorted Butch. He stretched his long legs out and began

rubbing his crotch, causing a much more sizable bulge than Richie’s. “Now,

I wouldn’t have to get NEARLY as close with THIS,” he said as the bulge grew

and grew and Richie helplessly stared.

“Yeah, I know your type for sure. Right this very minute you want to get

your slobbery superfag lips around this piece of meat, and suck on it at

super speed, wouldn’t you?” Richie’s silence and continued staring told

the story. “Well, I might just let you do that. But first you have to do

something for me.

“When those cops get back in here, before they put their noseplugs in, you

know what you can do. I’ll hold my breath and you can hit them with one of

those Farts of Lust. Pretty soon I’ll have that younger blond cop toy on

the floor licking my left boot clean –“ -- he moved his large boot in a

circle – “and the smart older one busily working on my right one. That

leaves this big sausage just for you!" He rubbed his obscenely large bulge

as Richie helplessly stared. "You need it, you know you do. Right now,

there’s nothing you’d like to do but kneel and obey me, and put your

superpowers to work for me.” Richie was mesmerized, and more sexually

aroused than he had ever been in his life, and Butch could see it.

“Come on, join my gang. I could use your powers to help me take over this

town. You could start with these two cops. I heard that if you hit them

again and again with the Fart of Lust, the effect becomes permanent. Is

that true?” Richie said nothing. “I could have two cop puppets working

for me, just for the right to be my boot slaves, to lick off my foot sweat,

to know they have to do whatever I say or I can wreck their lives completely.

I can use your Farts of Truth to find out if anyone is holding out on me,

to hear what they’re really thinking, to see if anyone is about to rat me

out. And I can keep your fag self satisfied, with my incredible bod or with

any of my big-muscled bodyguards, if you agree to become my superslave.

Whaddaya say?”

Richie stood there, frozen. “You… you’re just saying those things so you

can get away.”

Butch produced a smile of evil amusement. “Oh yeah? Go ahead, use one of

those Farts of Truth on me, I don’t mind. You’ll find out what I really

wanna do.”

Richie timidly turned around and farted in Butch’s face. He watched while

Butch intentionally took a deep breath of the Fart of Truth. “Wh… what

would you do with me?” Richie asked the tranced Butch.

Butch intoned, “I would make sure your super throat and super ass were

filled every day. I would use your farts to enslave other people that

could be useful to me. It would be real fun to take decent upstanding

citizens and teens -- eagle scouts and athletes -- and sexually enslave

them to my nastier, uglier, smaller gang members. I would keep you

worshiping me all the time. I would force you to build a titanium cage

to keep you locked up in, and let you fart only on my command. I would

make you fly me and my gang around on your back whenever we wanted. I

would be the all-powerful man that a fag like you needs to control his

life. I might even give you that young blond muscle cop to play with

when I’m gone, so you could dream of me and have someone to dump

supercum into even when I’m out on a job. How’d you like to lead the

blond cop toy around naked on a leash to impress me? Or would you want

it the other way around?”

Richie’s mind reeled as he imagined the fantasy world being described

by Butch. It was true, the Fart of Truth proved it. But could Fartboy

turn evil? Through the glass in the door he could see the two cops

returning from their private discussion. He had only seconds to decide.

What would he do?

Richie thought fast and furiously. And then it came to him. He prepared

the appropriate superfart, one that would change lives all around, and

just as the cops came in the door --

It was now a couple of weeks later. Butch was having discussions with

two leaders of a large Salvadoran gang. As he led them down a hallway

of the boarded-up house used as the headquarters for Butch's gang, he

was saying, "I'm sure we can find a way to work together in this town.

With your muscle and experience, and our local knowledge and contacts,

we could get you into all kinds of things around here."

Carlos, 27, tall, muscular, and heavily tattooed, said, "Well, kid,

it's more like YOU little guys would work FOR us, for a small cut of

the action. I mean, we're big time, we're national, even international.

For you, it'd be a big honor just to be associated with us." His

shorter subordinate, Manuel the enforcer, 25, with a much bigger build

than Carlos, grunted in agreement.

Butch said, "Whatever, we can discuss the details later. Meantime,

we've got a secret weapon locked up back here that lets us practically

run this town." At the word "weapon", the hands of the two Salvadorans

move subtly towards their pockets. Butch noticed this and laughed. "No,

not that kind of weapon. This is a GUY. We use him to control people,

the cops, even the mayor. Take a look." And with that they entered a

room containing a short shirtless young kid of maybe 16 with a slim

smooth chest, wearing baggy pants and no shoes, his feet barely poking

out from under the pants legs. At the entrance of Butch and the

Salvadorans, he flashed a little-kid grin. The Salvadorans didn't

notice that he was wearing noseplugs.

That's because their attention was immediately drawn across the room

to a metal dog-type cage containing a boy of similar age and stature,

except he was wearing some kind of bizarre costume. The boy was on

his hands and knees and staring fixedly forward, as if hypnotized.

And even with him in that crouching position, they could see a solid-

looking bulge in the front of his costume shorts.

The Salvadorans walked over to the cage and grabbed the edge. It was

a metal stronger than steel. "What the hell IS this? Who IS he?"

asked Carlos. At that, Butch said, "You're about to find out." He

stepped out the door they had entered through, and shut it behind

him. At exactly that time, the shirtless kid shouted, "Lust Fart

now!!" and there was the sound of an immense release of fart gas

from the cage. Within seconds, the mind-altering gas filled the

room, unleashing its power on the Salvadorans' brains. The two

gangbangers suddenly noticed that the most powerful, masculine

man in the room was standing there, shirtless and shoeless, whose

incredible feet DEMANDED to be serviced! Manuel, the bulkier

shorter guy, was soon on the floor licking the top of Mikie's foot.

Carlos, Manuel's boss, suddenly felt extremely jealous, and pulled

out a knife to dislodge Manuel. "Hey, hey, don't do that," said

Mikie. "After all, I've got TWO perfect feet for you maricones to

worship!" Carlos immediately dropped the knife and set to work on

Mikie's other foot.

Any previous sexual feelings the two gangbangers might have had

for women were displaced from their minds. And after three or four

more applications of lust farts that day, their sexual desire for

anything other than to perform pleasure service for Master Mikie

would be permanently erased. Mikie planted ideas in their open

little minds as they helplessly slurped at his cute feet, which

to them seemed so commanding. "Yeah... yeah... you'd do anything

to please me, wouldn't you... to get at my feet... you'd betray

your fellow gang members... you'd use your big muscles to work

for me... you'd even scout out new love slaves to please me...

by the way, I like 'em big, powerful, and tough... all the further

they gotta fall to earn their place at my feet..." Mikie's two

newest love slaves were absorbing all this necessary information

into their souls as they tongue-worshipped their angelic young

teenage master.

"But you'd better stay sharp when you work for me. Slaves who

lose leadership of their gangs, or don't bring in enough to

satisfy me, are banished from my feet. That would be the WORST

thing that could happen to you. The worst thing..." And Carlos

and Manuel knew they would do ANYTHING to avoid that fate...

With the lust fart safely dissipated, Butch came back in the room.

"Carlos and Manuel, I see you've gotten to know Mikie, the new

leader of your gang. From now on, you'll be reporting to him

and taking orders from him. Sorry I can't see to your gang

personally, I've got bigger things on my plate than dealing with

some small-time Salvadoran thugs. I've got the local leaders of

the Crips and Bloods crawling to meet me almost every day now,

to see if we can work out some kind of profitable arrangement.

And I'm sure we'll set up something that I like. Just like you

two guys are soon gonna be quite possessive of Mikie's feet,

those gangbangers can be real territorial. Service to my left

foot is reserved for Crips, right for Bloods. If a Blood saw a

Crip licking my right foot, he'd probably knife the guy right

there. Bad for business, so I've had to teach them their proper


"Oh, and word to the wise: any fluids that come out of Mikie's

incredible cock are property of the Latin Kings. I wouldn't

even look at it unless you want to start a gang war..."

Leaving Mikie to continue the enslavement and training of his

new gang toys, Butch went back to his "office", just as

Officers Olsen and Travis arrived. "So, is the raid arranged

on the drug dealers on Maple Street?" He noticed both were

eyeing his boots hungrily. "Hey, no boot licking until I get

the 411!"

The young blond cop spoke up. "Yes, Master Butch. The mayor

himself ordered the raid. Of course, I had to give him another

one of your unwashed jockstraps to encourage him to do it. He

was VERY appreciative. You know, these days he wanders around

his quarters naked and erect, wearing nothing but one of your

smelly old jockstraps over his face. But after awhile your

crotch odor wears off 'em, and he's begging me for a 'fresh'

one. I'm just glad he got divorced last year, or others might

notice. And of course, his security detail outside can't stop

jerking off for long, so they're too busy, and embarrassed,

to see anything."

"Good. You two have earned my boots. But I have MUCH better,

filthier ones over there in the corner. I think one of them

might even have some puke I stepped in." Butch could see his

cop slaves were getting hard just thinking about this. "So

why don't you give them one of your cum-and-tongue shines?"

They didn't need to be asked twice. Racing to the corner and

stripping, each cop grabbed a boot, and began alternately

licking it lovingly and rubbing his distended cock against it.

Soon they would shoot over the boots, covering the protein of

the leather with the protein of their cop cum. And earning the

right to do that kept them loyal to Butch, controlling the

mayor and other key members of the force and city council.

Butch returned to the cage room, where Mikie was now sitting

in a comfortable chair listening to an iPod, while the

Salvadorans continued their foot worship of him.

"Hey, I gotta borrow Fartgeek for a few moments. It's dark

enough that he can fly me to a meeting in the park. I'll have

him back in about 30 minutes for the next fart programming

session for your nasty friends there." Mikie just waved a

hand and continued to sway to the music and twist his feet

in the faces of his adoring slaves.

Butch opened the cage, and said, "Flight mode." Without

changing his forward stare, Fartboy moved stiffly out of the

cage and waited on his hands and knees to be mounted by

Master Butch. His cock surged when he felt Butch's solid

legs surround his little (but superstrong) body. When Butch

said, "To the park," Fartboy went out the back door, forced

open the chained fence with one punch of his superpowerful

little fist, and took off into the evening sky. As Butch and

Fartboy flew off, Mikie briefly looked towards the open door.

Although he enjoyed his personal collection of tough gangbangers,

he couldn't help thinking what fun it would be to control a

mindfucked slave with superpowers...

Fartboy arrived unseen in the wooded corner of the park, and

landed on hands and knees, so Butch could dismount. There was

no one there, just as Butch had hoped. During the flight,

Butch's cock had become hard as steel in anticipation of this

moment. Butch said to Fartboy, "OK, I've done everything you

told me to do today. Please, PLEASE let me at your ass. That

all-powerful ass that produces the superfarts that control

this city. It's been days since I've been at it, and I'm going

crazy. I've GOT to worship that ass!!!" In response, Fartboy

graciously stretched his buns of steel, thus forcing open the

fartflap on the pants of his superhero costume, allowing Butch's

face access to the inner sanctum. At the mere sound of the

velcro fartflap peeling itself open, Butch nearly came in his

pants. As of course he had been programmed to do, by Fartboy


Richie was living his submissive fantasy, acting the part of

Butch's caged superslave, but at the same time using Butch to

run the city, both its official and criminal elements. He tried

to run things as best he could, with as little violence as

possible, gathering information on everyone involved and

gradually reducing their independence. He knew that someday the

time would come for him to put an end to the local gangs, maybe

by making them so horny for each other that they would have no

time to commit crimes.

He felt kind of bad about the two reprogrammed cops. There was

no way to change them back, they were by now so totally enslaved

in service to Butch's filthy boots. This seemed cruel, but after

all, the younger cop had never been married, and the older one

was divorced, so no one else was really hurt. When the time came

for Richie to end Butch's whole scene, he would have to do

something for them. Richie figured he would "refart" them into

being a loving couple, the young blond becoming the "wife" of

the older cop.

The divorced mayor's Butch-used-jockstrap fetish was also

relatively victimless, athough Richie might have to make a slight

adjustment so that any smelly old jock from the high school locker

room would do. The mayor's son, a rangy junior track star at the

school, could easily be programmed to steal a few every couple of

days and deliver them to his dad, in return for the right to chew

on one himself. Maybe the two could enjoy a fun father-son bonding

activity, crawling around the apartment, naked and on leashes, long

erect cocks pointing at the floor, rancid jocks on their faces,

being led around by a cruel hypnotized master, like Mikie...

[Should I continue this? Feedback and suggestions appreciated.]