Scally Curse

Kind of a follow-up on the octuscle story about a rude trust fund dude getting turned into a sex-craved scally.

"Turn me back immediately you fucking prick!"

The voice and the accent on the phone was clearly Daz's, but the way he spoke made it obvious Dave was back. I had expected about two years, but this was a bit quicker. I checked the calendar. 577 days. That would make it... uh, the math strained my brain. More than 4 times a day on average.

"Oi, Daz. What are you talking about?"
"It's David! You fucking know what I'm talking about. I remember you doing it. You changed me into... this. Some dimwit-looking muscle chav. Then you made me blow you before you dumped me to sleep on the couch of Fen's council flat. I remember it all. And his only interests are collecting gym clothes and ASBOs. That's probably your doing as well."

I didn't change Fen in any way, but I did look for the right nurturing environment for David so he would get the support he needed to develop. Not only keeping him housed, clothed, and fed, but also giving him a rich social life.

"Nah, it's definitely Daz. You don't look like a David, do you? And the way I remember it you were the one to offer to 'beej your knob', in your words."
"You set me up!"
"That I did. You don't exist in any database, so I asked Fen if you could sleep in his flat for free. Saves you rent so all this time you've got all your earnings to yourself. It's still £5 for a blowjob, £10 for a fuck?"

I had found Fen through a contact in the police. He had been very hesitant at first when I asked if he could house someone in his flat. That was expected and something I actually wanted. He was culturally strongly a scally, which meant strong internal bonds and strong suspicion of everyone else. It was a perfect place to have Daz acclimate. After I suggested to Fen that Daz would be open to pay him in nature he agreed to at least see him. It took him just a glance of Daz's muscular body to decide. I obviously had done my research before settling on Fen.

"Fuck you! I had millions. Is that what this is about? You stole my money and turned me into a whore?"
"I just would have kept you as is then. Don't worry. Your trust fund is safely outpacing inflation. No, this is part of your redemption."
"Redemption?!"
"Technically it's a curse. You were such an arsehole that something had to be done. You got back your mind after lads cum in you 2,500 times. Another 2,500 and you'll get your body back as well."

The line fell silent as what I just said sunk in, no doubt thinking through the past 19 months of non-stop sex in dingy places.

"What if I don't?"
"You don't what?"
"What if I don't have sex? No more blow jobs. No more fucking."
"Well, nothing really happens. Quirks of the curse, you won't age. Not this body, not your real body. But we both know you can't go more than a few days before the urge gets too strong. And Fen is playing footie tonight, isn't he? He'll want to have his post-loss, pre-shower fuck to alleviate his frustrations."
"How do you know he'll lose?"
"I read the odds. Well, he'll probably lose and then you'll only have 2,499 left."
"Fuck you!"

It probably couldn't have gone any better. He's surrounded by people he sucked and fucked for more than a year that all care for him. He might make a run for it, but he has no money and nowhere to go. In 2-3 weeks he'd be back into the same groove he was before, making this life part of his own. The exciting thing is what happens when the curse has run its course and he is back as himself.