Slob Control – Gear Night at The Alley

Bill had gone out to the gay bars around town a time or two, but had generally always been dissatisfied with them. They certainly weren’t like the bars from decades past, seedy little joints where you could get up to a little trouble in the dark, and no one batted an eye. These days they were so bright and clean and…judgemental. Bill had long since given up on trying to go out, but now that he had his spellbook, he had a feeling he could make the bars around town a little more fun. He decided to start that week with The Alley–what might have been closest to the bear and leather bar around town, but it wasn’t really much of either. However, after having a little chat with the owner, and then the bartenders, and then the bouncers one night–along with a little bit of magic pushed into the place itself, he had a feeling it would have a much nicer reputation soon enough.

Kenneth and Evan got out of the uber as it idled in front of the bar, thanked their driver, and hustled over to the sidewalk outside The Alley. Kenneth and Evan were regulars here, usually coming out on Friday nights after work to have drinks with a few other couples, before heading home. Both of them were in their usual dress–khakis and button down shirts. They didn’t usually bother changing after work to go out. After all, they were in their mid forties, it’s not like they were going clubbing. They walked up to the door to the bar, opened it up, and found themselves facing an unfamiliar bouncer sitting on a stool, dressed in leather booty shorts, vest, cap and boots. It was a bit more…kinky than the usual atmosphere, but it didn’t faze them that much. They got out their IDs, and then the bouncer told them it would be a five dollar cover charge.

“What?” Evan said, “Why? There’s never a cover on Fridays.”

“It’s gear night. You’re not in gear. It’s either five dollars each, or you can grab somethin’ off the wall behind you.”

They turned around, and saw a bunch of pegs had been hung there on the wall, with a variety of gear hanging from them. Flannel, leather, hi viz, camo–it was a bearish assortment, but not anything that the two of them would usually wear. Evan sighed, “Fine,” and fished out his wallet.

“Hold on, let’s just put something on,” Kenneth said, grabbing a hi viz vest off the wall and pulling it on.

“Kenneth, you look ridiculous.”

“Come on, it saves us ten bucks.”

“We can afford ten bucks.”

“Here,” Kenneth said, holding out a leather bracelet with a snap, “Even you can pull this off.”

Evan glared at his husband, but took the leather band from him and put it on, then turned to the bouncer, who was just smirking. “That good enough?”

“Sure is,” he said, “Come on in, fellas.”

The bar was a bit more boisterous than it usually was on Fridays, and the crowd seemed a little older, a little gruffer. Kenneth spotted a few other regulars, some of them also sporting gear off the wall, as well as quite a few guys he hadn’t seen before, who looked like they’d brought plenty of gear from home. “Do you see Jamie or Kaleb?” he said.

“No, they might not be here yet.”

“Or they’re out back.”

They settled on a plan, since the line for the bar was fairly long. Evan would wait in line and get them a couple of drinks, while Kenneth scoped out the bar and looked for their friends, to see if they were there yet. Evan agreed, got in line, and Kenneth pushed his way through the crowded space towards the hall that led out onto the patio behind. He quickly got a bit turned around. The place seemed bigger than he remembered it being, the hallway a bit more twisty and windy than before–that, and quite a bit darker, with quite a few guys cruising from the corners. Kenneth eventually found his way through and out onto the back patio, feeling a bit relieved to be out of there. He scoped out the place, but it too was rather thick with guys. He was going to have to push around a bit to see if their friends were there or not. He found himself pushed around the edges of the main mass of guys, checking tables as he went, but there was no sign of the other couples. 

“Hey bud, lookin’ good tonight!”

Kenneth spun around, and saw he’d ended up near a table on the edge of the patio, next to the fence. A group of fellows who looked like they’d either just stepped off a construction site, or off a trailer park, were sitting around, smoking cigars, with about a pitcher of beer for each of them. “Huh?” he said, looked down at his own hi-viz vest, and looked a little sheepish, “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Come on, love a guy in gear, and you don’t have a drink! Need a beer?”

“No, my husband’s buying some inside.”

The fellow hadn’t waited for Kenneth’s response, he’d just poured a glass, and shoved it into Kenneth’s hand. “Guess ya better drink up quick then, go on!”

Kenneth looked down at the beer. He wasn’t much of a beer guy–he preferred a nice, sweet cocktail, but he also didn’t want to be rude. He drank some of the beer, and the next thing he knew, it was all gone. Had he just chugged that? He let off a belch, making the rest of the guys all start laughing.

“There ya go fella, have another,” the man said, and pushed another beer into Kenneth’s hand.

“No, I really should go find my husband.”

“Take a seat, he’ll find you out here faster with those drinks. Come on. Name’s Brett, by the way.”

Brett scooched over over the bench, crowding another chubby fellow down the line, and left a bit of bench beside him. Kenneth looked around, desperate for someone to rescue him from this awkward encounter, but as much as he knew he should walk away, a little voice told him to sit, have a drink. Maybe even have a cigar. They seemed nice and fun. It wouldn’t hurt to hang out with them for a bit. Just until Evan found him–that’s all. He took a seat, thigh pushed up against Brett’s, and the big fellow dropped his hand right on Kenneth’s knee. He could feel the blush all over his face, and he downed the second beer as a distraction.

“Man after my own heart, gonna try tah drink me under the table, eh?”

Kenneth looked down at the glass–somehow it had been refilled, but he hadn’t seen anyone pour it. He felt bloated, and gassy. He let off another belch, and found himself laughing along with the rest of the guys. For a while, he kept looking out at the crowd, hoping to spot Evan, but there was no sign of him. It wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. They’d probably found each other inside. He’d go join them in a bit. Just one more beer–and maybe another after that too.

It took longer than he’d expected it to, but Evan finally got a hold of two drinks–one of the sweet cocktails that Kenneth liked, and a whiskey coke for himself–and then set about trying to figure out where his husband had gotten off to. He poked around the main bar, but he was nowhere to be found, and neither were his friends. He managed to find a ledge he could set the glasses down on, checked his phone, but there weren’t any messages from anyone either. Maybe they had ended up out on the patio. He picked up the drinks and began weaving his way in between the bears of the bar, trying to find a path without spilling anything.

The clientele tonight seemed a lot more burly and crude than usual. The Alley was a bear bar, but it was a bar for middle class bears. Professional bears, with jobs downtown and adopted kids, and carefully managed open relationships. The guys he was pushing past seemed quite a bit more lower class than what he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he quite liked it very much. He narrowly avoided some chubby fellow that came barrelling through the doorway, and as he lurched, he stumbled into a wall and ended up dumping both drinks down the front of his clothes. Pissed off that he’d not only wasted a good chunk of cash, but also ruined a good work shirt, he figured he’d find the bathroom and see if he could clean himself up a bit.

The only problem is that the bathroom wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The Alley, like a lot of gay bars, wasn’t particularly large. It wasn’t even a very good cruise bar–there was no circuit, no hallways, no particularly dark corners. There had been two hallways–one that went out to the patio, and another that bent around to the bathrooms. Only the hall to the bathrooms kept going, and got darker. The lights were red, and the men he passed were looking a little more hungry than he liked. He tried to backtrack to the main room and the bar to reorient himself, but found himself turned around entirely. In his panic and frustration, he came around a corner too fast, and ran right into another fellow. He was built wide and muscular–Evan bounced right off him, and would have fallen to the ground, if the man hadn’t reached out, grabbed hold of his wrist, and kept him balanced.

“Easy there bud, what’s got you all in a rush?” the man said.

Evan sized him up–and there was a lot to size. He was tall, broad, muscular, and his whole body was decked out in full leather. Pants, shirt, jacket, gloves, boots. The only bit of skin he could see was the bit above his beard. The fellow’s muir cap was pulled down so low, he couldn’t even catch his eyes. Evan realized he was still holding onto him by the wrist. The grip was just a little too tight to be comfortable. He tugged his wrist free, and in the process lost the leather wrist band he’d put on at the door. It clattered to the floor, but before he could bend to retrieve it, the man’s cap lifted up slightly, and he caught the man’s gaze for a moment, and froze. His eyes, even in the darkness, were like steel. Hard and unyielding. He could have sworn they were metallic. He almost wanted to get a closer look, see if he could find himself in the iris, reflected–

“Careful there cub, don’t want you walking around naked now, do we?”

Evan blinked. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed in that glimpse. It might have been seconds, or it could have been hours. The man bent down and picked up the bracelet from the floor, turning it over and over in his gloved hands. It wasn’t quite a bracelet, in the light. It was too long, and was growing thinner. The snap became a buckle–it was a collar, but Evan was certain it hadn’t been a collar before.

“Here, let me put it on ya,” the man said, stepping close. Evan could smell the leather, felt it on his arms. He found himself cursing the shirt he had on, he wanted to know what it felt like against his skin. The man buckled the collar around his neck, and Evan felt a wave of ease flow over him. That was so much better. No wonder he’d been such a nervous wreck earlier, he hadn’t had his collar on right at all.

“There, that’s better, right cub?”

“Yes…Sir,” Evan said. 

“You’re all wet,” he said, tugging at his shirt.

“I…spilled a drink on myself. I was trying to get to the bathroom to clean up, and…”

“Shush,” the man said, “None of that matters.”

Evan’s lips shut tight, and he nodded up at the man.

“The most important thing, cub, is that you thank me for putting your collar back on.”

That didn’t seem quite right, to Evan. In fact, all of this seemed a bit strange. What was he doing here, with this strange man, with a collar on of all things. “I…I need to find my husband, I–”

The brim of the man’s cap slipped up, and Evan could see just a bit of silver there, and his eyes couldn’t look away. “Silly little cub. Walking in here in your leather harness, showing off those muscles you’re working on, that hot, furry little gut. Wearing those hot little chap shorts, that grungy looking jock. You didn’t come here lookin’ for a husband. You came in here looking for a Daddy. Looking for a Sir.”

Evan tore his eyes away and stumbled back. Looking down at himself in the dark, everything seemed wrong. He could remember Kenneth, remember the drinks, but he was wearing a harness, and those hot fucking chap shorts, and his dirtiest jock, because he’s a dirty little cub, fuck yeah, and fuck, if this isn’t the hottest fucking leather daddy he’s ever laid eyes on, and he has his collar on. He put his collar on him, on his neck. Fuck, this leather god collared him, the least he could do is thank him, thank him like a good little cub.Get down on his knees, shove his face in his Sir’s leather crotch, then get down and lick his boots clean, lick them good and clean. Maybe Sir will walk on him, crush him, crush his cub cock under those boots, make him squeal before he fucks him, maybe–

Evan pushed the thoughts away, and he ran. He ignored the voice that called after him, ordered him to come back. His booted feet almost ground to a halt, but Evan knew the truth, and it wasn’t that. He had to find Kenneth, he had to get the two of them out of this fucked up bar, before it was too late.

Kenneth was drunk. Kenneth couldn’t remember the last time he was drunk like this–maybe college, but even that was doubtful. He wasn’t a heavy drinker by any measure. Sure, they liked to uber to the bar together so they could both have their fill, but neither of them was an alcoholic, not like some of the other guys at the bar they could point out, or even a couple of guys in the friend group they usually hung out with. Tonight, hanging with Brett and his buddies though, every time he looked, his glass was brimming with their cheap beer, and every time he took a drink, he somehow ended up chugging the whole thing back. 

Brett’s hand was sliding over further and further, and was now openly groping Kenneth’s crotch. When he tried to scooch away, Brett’s arm ended up around his shoulder, his stinking pit inches from his face. When he tried to push away, he found his own hand in Brett’s crotch, groping his cock–his sizable cock, from the feel of it. He was losing control of the situation. He wouldn’t be able to say no, if he wanted to say no, but of course he wanted to say no. These guys weren’t his type at all, as much fun as it was hanging out with them. Besides, he needed to piss real bad after all of that beer, and try as he might, he couldn’t seem to excuse himself. “Fuck guys, I gotta go to the bathroom,” he said, or thought he said. Tried to say, at least, he might have slurred out some of that. He stumbled up from the bench, but couldn’t quite get his foot over it. He would have fallen on his face if Brett hadn’t gotten up first and been there to catch him, pull him close into his warm gut. 

He wasn’t sure how exactly his mouth ended up on Brett’s. One second he was trying to apologize, the next his mouth was full of Brett’s tongue, tasting of beer and cigar smoke, and fuck, it felt so good to just let go, and relax, and just stop worrying so much about everything, and just have this one kiss for a moment.

“Holy fuck, Kenny’s fuckin’ pissin’ himself!”

Brett pulled away from the kiss, looked down, and started laughing, along with the rest of the guys at the bench. It took Kenneth a moment to realize that the name Kenny had been referring to him, and that the kiss had apparently broken his focus so much, he’d let his bladder loose down the front of his khakis. He could feel it, the warmth running down his legs. He tried to stop it, but couldn’t seem to manage. It was running down both legs, even down into his socks and shoes. He just stood there, horrified, not at all certain what to do, as the rest of the guys just laughed.

“I…I should go, I need to find my husband and–”

“Hold on, hold on,” Brett said, “You can’t go out there looking like that, here, we’ll take care of you, don’t you worry, right fellas?”

The guys were still chuckling, but they all nodded in agreement. 

“Here, first, let’s get you out of that soaked shit.”

Brett started pulling at his shirt, unbuttoning it. Another guy came around and started unlacing his shoes. Kenneth tried to get them to stop, but he was having a hard enough time just standing upright. He ended up sitting back on the bench, totally naked, Brett balling up his piss soaked clothes and chucking them behind the bench. “Now, between all a us, we got enough to make an outfit, don’t we guys?”

It didn’t make any sense to Kenneth, how it happened. None of the guys looked any less dressed than they had been before, but now, on the table in front of him, was a total outfit of grungy looking workwear. None of it was his size of course, since all of them were substantially fatter than he was, but it was there. “I…I can’t, just give me back my clothes.”

“You don’t want those, just put these on already,” Brett said, “Or you’ll be going home naked.”

“He pulled on the stiff, cum stained briefs with a sizable brown stripe up the back, and tried to suppress a gag. Then came the mud crusted hi viz shirt, and the tattered jeans held up by a camo suspenders that were well on their way to losing their elasticity. Two mismatched, but equally grimy boot socks, and a pair of work boots much too big for his feet. Lastly, the hi-viz vest he’d gotten from the bar, and to top it off, a camo baseball cap.

“There, don’t that feel better?” Brett said, and pulled him close, “Have another beer.”

“I shouldn’t, I’m so drunk,”

“Drink Kenny, we know how much ya can handle.”

He took the glass from Brett, and chugged the beer back, but something was off about this one. It was flat, it was warm. The color was a bit too pale, and the taste a bit too bitter. Kenneth drank it all down though, and when he was through, he licked his lips. It was weird, but he liked it. He liked it a whole lot. 

“Like that one Kenny?”

“Yeah Brett, that one was different, what was that?”

“Right from the tap, Kenny,” Brett said, took the glass from him, put it under his cock, which he’d pulled out of his jeans, and he pissed into it, filling it up to the brim.

Kenneth looked on in horror at the realization of what he’d just drank–and that he’d liked it. He’d really liked it. He liked it so much that, despite his disgust, he took the glass from Brett and guzzled that one right down too, only for Brett to kiss him right after. This time, Kenneth kissed him right back, the taste of beer, smoke and piss on their breath making him hornier than he could ever recall being in his life.

Evan found his way out of the darkness, and burst out into the main bar. He was relieved, looking down at himself, that his body hadn’t changed–but his clothing had. Just like Sir had said, his work clothes had disappeared, replaced entirely by a leather harness, chaps, a filthy looking jock, and some leather boots. He reached up, tried to undo the clasp of the collar, but his hands couldn’t seem to free it.

Whatever, it would come off later, at home. He looked around, but Kenneth was nowhere to be seen here, so that left the patio. He managed to find his way there this time, and the place was packed with men, many of them smoking cigars. The smell of smoke and musk was making his cub cock throb–no, what the fuck was wrong with him? He pushed through, ignoring the cat calls and the occasional smack on his bare ass, calling out for Kenneth, and finally he found him, sitting at a bench with a bunch of roughnecks, laughing and belching like a heathen.

Then, he doubted himself. It couldn’t be Kenneth. The beard was too long. He was too fat. He wasn’t wearing the right clothes either, or at least, not the clothes he’d arrived in. Then again, neither was he. He was certain it was him though, somehow. It was the eyes, the mouth, and that stupid hi-viz vest that he’d gotten when they’d come into the bar. Something about the stuff they’d been given, it’s like it was changing them! He hurried over, grabbed hold of Kenneth by the shoulder and shook him enough that his husband looked up at him, clearly more than a little drunk. He could smell the alcohol on his breath, and something else, something acrid, something that Evan didn’t want to know about. 

“Kenneth, we have to get out of here, come on, this place is fucked up.”

Kenneth just blinked a couple of times at him, his eyes narrowed, and looked a bit confused.

“Friend of yours, Kenny?” the man beside him asked.

“I…Evan?” Kenneth asked. “What are ya doin’ wearin’ all that leather shit?”

“Kenneth, you have to listen to me. Something about the bar, it’s changing us, ok? These roughneck fucks next to you are turning you into some beer swilling idiot. You have to trust me, and come with me, right now, alright?”

“Bud, why don’t you go ahead and fuck off,” the roughneck said, throwing one arm around Kenneth and leaning over him. His pit ended up right in Kenneth’s face, and he let off a moan, before leaning in and licking it. “Kenny here is perfectly happy right here with us, ain’t that right, Kenny?”

“Oh, fuck yeah Brett, fuck ya smell so fuckin’ good.”

“Kenneth!” Evan yelled, and pulled him back. “You have to believe me, we have to get out of here.”

Kenneth just blinked at him, “Do…do I know you?”

“You don’t know him Kenny. You want some more beer, man?”

“Fuck, only if it’s from yer special tap,” Kenneth said.

Evan just watched in disgust as Brett pissed in a glass, passed it to Kenneth, and his husband drank it all down. As he did, Evan swore he saw him grow a bit fatter, and hairier in the process. He licked his lips, belched, and groped his cock in front of all the roughnecks, laughing along with them.

“There you are,” a voice said behind him. 

Evan turned around, and found the leatherman from the dark standing right behind him. Before he could run off, the man hooked a leash to the collar around Evan’s neck, and as soon as the latch closed, Evan felt that same pleasurable calm sweep over him.

“Sorry guys, my cub here ran off on me. I hope he wasn’t giving you any trouble,” the leatherman said.

“Nah, nothin’ we couldn’t handle, right Kenny?”

“Yeah…sure Brett…” Kenneth said.

“Come on, cub, let’s go finish what we’d started earlier.”

Evan tried to push back on the dreamy haze enveloping him, but couldn’t seem to fight it. It just felt so good to let go, and let Sir walk him through the bar, show him where to go, back into the darkness. 

“That was a very naughty thing, running off like that cub,” the man said, pulling the leash tight when they returned to the spot where they’d met. “Still, I’ll take some of the responsibility–I should have leashed you sooner, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so willful. We’ll take care of that though, don’t worry.”

“Please…I…I have to get out of here,” Evan managed to say, but couldn’t even manage to pull away.

“Now why would you want to do that? Hot little muscle cub like you, walking in here looking like this. You knew what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Evan tried to resist, but he could feel the memories twisting and warping in the dark, just like the wristband had earlier. He thought he’d come with someone, but he’d come alone. Dressed in his leather gear, hot young cub, dirty jock and boots. Yeah, he was hot, but…but he wanted something. He was looking for something. “I found…I…”

“You found a Master, cub. You found a man to collar you. A man who’s going to own you.”

“No…” Evan mouthed, looked up, perhaps to plead, and found himself staring directly into the man’s silvery eyes. He’d been right. They were bright enough to reflect. He could see himself in them. Twenty eight years old, shorter than he’d like to be, but broad and muscular, with a bit of a belly. His harness pulled tight across his hairy chest, pits stinking. He can finally grow a full beard, and he never wants to have anything else, ever again. He looks tough, sure, but there’s something inside him, something he’s always known. He wants to be dominated. He wants to be owned, and controlled, and enslaved. Evan knew that there should be something else there, someone older and wiser, but that was all there was. That was the truth, whether he liked it or not. 

The leash tugged him down, he fell to his knees, where he belonged. He pressed his face against Master’s leather crotch, smelled it, felt the warmth, and shuddered. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you for choosing me, for making me your slave,” he said.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Master said. “Now clean my boots, cub.”

Evan knelt lower, pressed his tongue to the leather of Master’s boots, and felt his cock shudder, leaking into his filthy jockstrap. He could feel Master’s gaze resting on him, judging his work. Master let out a quiet little groan, almost like the act of Evan licking his boots was like licking his cock. Knowing that even this could pleasure his Master, Evan dug in, licking up the length, feeling the boot…shudder under his tongue.

“Fuck, that’s good cub, you know how to make a leatherman happy,” Master said.

Evan beamed with pride from the compliment. He’d wanted a Master like this all his life–he wasn’t about to disappoint him now.

“Come on Keggy, wakey, wakey…”

The warm stream hit Keggy’s face, and he let out a moan. His head was pounding, but that didn’t stop him from opening up his mouth, almost by instinct, so he could swallow the piss that was hitting him in the face. He managed to crack open his eyes once the stream stopped, and looked up at Brett looming over him. He was lying somewhere cramped and uncomfortable, with a crick in his neck, and his back. He rolled up, sliding a bit, and realized he’d fallen asleep in a stand up shower. “Fuck, did I sleep here last night?”

“You know the rules, Keggy. You stay over, you sleep in here. I don’t care how many ‘accidents’ you have at home, I don’t need my trailer smelling like a urinal.”

Keggy looked down at himself, at his clothes, which were drenched and stinking. The crotch of his pants were exceptionally wet, like they’d been soaked recently. It all stank of piss, and fuck if that didn’t get his cock hardening against the wet denim. “What…happened last night?”

“Same thing that happens every gear night. You got drunk off your ass, and drank loads of piss and cum from half the guys at the bar. You had a lot of fun.”

That sounded right, but there were no actual memories to go with it. “Think I blacked out.”

“Not surprising. We were both wasted when we got home. You were begging me to get you off, but that dick of yours wouldn’t get hard for shit–mine either. Workin’ just fine now, though. Wanna fuck?”

Keggy wasn’t quite sure if he did or not, but Brett rolled him up onto all fours, his head in the shower and his knees outside it, tugged down his soaking wet jeans, and pushed the head of his cock against his hole. It slipped right in, and Keggy moaned. Brett fucked him slow, reached around, under Keggy’s big gut, and gripped his cock too, fucking and jacking him at the same time. Keggy bent down and started licking the floor of the shower, tasting Brett’s morning piss on it, humping into Brett’s fist at the same time.

“Nasty fuckin’ piss pig, lickin’ it up from the floor of my fuckin’ shower, yer fuckin’ nasty.”

Keggy couldn’t hold it much longer, once Brett started berating him, and he came, blowing a huge load all over the floor of the bathroom. Brett backed him up, keeping him on his cock, so Keggy could lick up his mess, and then focused on fucking his hole, harder and rougher now that they were both warmed up, until Brett came inside him. He pulled out and stood up, catching his breath, while Keggy got up the last bits of his cum, and managed to push himself up after, right in front of Brett’s filthy mirror. He looked at himself, at the long graying beard, the piss soaked clothes, his thick hairy forearms and massive ball gut. It didn’t…seem familiar, but his memory was a blank. There was something he should remember, wasn’t there? Something, or someone, important?

“Alright, get outta here Keggy. I got shit to do today.”


“Go on, get home.”

“I…” Keggy said, “I kinda…don’t remember…don’t I live here?”

“Man, you did get drunk last night. We live in the same goddamn trailer park, but hell if I’m gonna live with you man. I don’t mind playing with a urinal on occasion, but ain’t no one wanna live with one–I guess, except you.”

“Ya don’t gotta be an asshole,” Keggy said, and Brett chuckled. 

Brett stepped close, like he was gonna kiss him, and then spit in his face. “Ya wouldn’t have nearly as much fun if I fuckin’ respected you. Yer a filthy fuckin’ piss pig. Now get the fuck out before my place starts stinkin’ like yours.”

Fuck, he was hard again. He stumbled his way out of Brett’s trailer and out onto the gravel, looked around, and saw he was in a mobile home park. Now that he was out, he did…almost remember, a place. He shuffled off, and found a trailer he imagined he recognized a few lots down. The key fit, he opened the door, and the stink of the place assaulted him. He took a deep breath, cock even harder, and sighed. Fuck, nothing smelled quite like home.

Something told him this was wrong. He stepped inside, looked around at the filthy space, walls and carpet stained with all the times he’d pissed on them–sometimes even on purpose, and felt that this couldn’t be right. He remembered living somewhere else. Somewhere clean. A house. A suburb. There was another hole, person shaped. He ran his tongue around his mouth, trying to feel for a name, but all he came up with was the taste of piss and old beer.

Beer–yeah, he could go for a beer. That would help the hangover. Might even help him remember whatever it was that was missing. Beer always helped, and fuck was he thirsty. He went to his fridge, opened it up, and found it packed full of cheap beer. He didn’t remember buying it. It was just always there, somehow. He thought he should be hungry too, but that didn’t seem right. He couldn’t really remember eating anything. He was too thirsty all the time to eat, after all. Beer, piss, and cum. What more could a urinal like him need, really? He popped open a can, chugged it down, grabbed another, and chugged that one too, letting off a long belch. He thought again about what was missing, but the beer had just clouded it over again. No matter–that was easier anyway. He sat down in his recliner, feeling the seat squelch under him, the stink of old piss wafting up around him. He hauled his cock free, aimed up, and pissed all over himself there in the chair, thinking about what Brett had said, how he’d treated him.

“Stupid, worthless fuckin’ urinal, fuck…” he muttered to himself, as the stream stopped, his cock hardening again in his hand. “Fuck, I’m disgustin’…nasty…sittin’ in my own fuckin’ piss…”

He stroked himself off again, and felt better. Once he got a few more beers in his belly, he got a good idea. He had the rest of the day free, after all. Didn’t have to go back to work until Monday. Plenty of truckers at the truckstop down the road. He could camp out in the bathroom, plenty of ‘em loved a hot mouth to piss in, and Keggy loved gettin’ treated like a urinal, like a fuckin’ object. Maybe that night, he’d head back to The Alley with Brett, but he’d see. Mostly, he was thirsty, and beer only sated him so much. He grabbed his keys, climbed in his truck, which was just as piss soaked as everything else Keggy owned, and drove off down the road to the truck stop to slake his thirst properly.

Evan didn’t know where he was when he woke up, at first. He was on something rather hard, for one thing. He pushed himself up, and saw that he’d fallen asleep on a carpeted floor, with a sheet of leather thrown over him for warmth. His whole body ached, but whether that was from sleeping on the floor, or from the punishments his Master had put him through, both at the bar in the dark, and at his home, once they’d left. That’s where he was, he supposed. He looked next to him, and saw a sizable bed beside him, covered in leather sheets. He needed to take a piss, but when he went to try and find the bathroom, he was stuck–his collar was chained to a hook on the wall, keeping him right next to the bed whether he wanted to or not.

“Sorry for the extra security,” a voice said, “but I didn’t want you running off again.” 

Evan looked up, and saw the leatherman was looking down at him from where he was lying on his bed, still in full leather regalia–boots, hat and all. Had he slept in it? That seemed like a curious level of commitment. “I…I just need to pee, Sir.”

“Ah, right. Forget about that sometimes,” he said, reached down and unclipped the lead from the collar. “That doorway over there.”

Evan got to his feet, still in his own leather gear, much to his surprise. At some point though, his jock had disappeared. He went to the doorway, and found the bathroom. He took a piss in the toilet and then went back out into the bedroom, where Master was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Evan was feeling a little nervous now, in the light of day, in a strange home. “I…I think…I’d like to go home now, Sir,” he said.

“The man smiled, and beckoned him over to where he was sitting. “And where would home be, little cub?”

Evan knew that there had to be an answer to that question, but there wasn’t one. He couldn’t remember where he lived. There was a hole there, shaped like a house, like a job, like a person. “I’m not sure…but–”

“Did you like how I made you feel last night?” he said, running a gloved hand down Evan’s chest and belly. 

Evan shuddered, and felt his cock rising, pushing against his jock. “I…I did, but…sorry, Sir, but…did you sleep in your gear last night? I…I could have undressed you, you know…”

The leatherman looked down at himself, and chuckled again. “I think you’re misunderstanding, cub. This isn’t gear–this is me,” he said, took Evan’s hand in his own gloved fingers and tugged it over, so it could rub across his jacket. “This is my skin now. I don’t really remember when it happened, or how. I love it though. Feeling you lick my boots last night, fuck, you have a real hot tongue, cub.”

“You…could feel that? I thought, but I didn’t…”

“I could. I can. I’d like to feel it again, even.”

“Wait, how is that even possible?”

Master shrugged.

“Is…do you have…a cock then? Is that why you, uh, said what you did about the bathroom?”

“Yeah–haven’t pissed in a few days. Kinda weird, but also convenient. I do have a cock though. I didn’t want to pull it out last night, I was worried it might…scare you off, but here,” he said, and with his gloved hands, he dropped the fly of his leather pants. Something pushed out, something pulsing and leathery. It was a cock, but it too, looked more like an extension of his clothing, than something that came from underneath. It was thick, and long, and drooling something off the end that wasn’t quite cum. “Go on cub, have a taste.”

Evan stared down at the strange cock, disturbed. “I…I don’t…” he looked up, and found himself caught in the man’s silvery eyes again, and he sighed.

“You love leather, don’t you cub? The feel of it on your skin,” he said, running his gloved hands down Evan’s body, watching the cub shudder at his touch. “You loved worshiping it last night, didn’t you?”

“I did, I…but…”

He got up, maintaining eye contact, and pushed Evan back, so he was lying on the bed, belly up, and then climbed on top of him, pressing his leathered body down on him, giving him as much contact as he could. It was so warm. He could feel it pulsing, it was his skin, it was alive, even if it didn’t make sense. Master’s cock was pressed against his own, his hardon throbbing. “I am leather, cub. If you want to worship leather, then worship me. Be mine. Give yourself to me. Doesn’t it feel good, just submitting? Giving in?” 

He ground his leather crotch against Evan’s own cock, feeling how excited the cub was. “I…Sir…I don’t think I can hold…”

“Don’t hold back. Cum. Release all that fear, all that reluctance. Cum, and accept that your only desire is to worship me–to worship leathermen.”

Evan’s cock exploded, pumping cum between his flesh and his Master’s leather cock. He fell back, mind reeling from the sensation, from the desires coursing through him. Master worked his way up, until he was straddling Evan’s neck with his thighs. “Clean up your mess, cub, and then service me.”

“Yes Master,” Evan said, and licked his cum off his master’s leather skin, relishing how it made him shudder, and then took his cock in his mouth. The taste was leathery, but also musky, still recognizable as human. His reluctance was forgotten, his cock already hard again. Master rolled him over after a couple of minutes, and then fucked his hole with his big cock. He expected it to be a rough, uncomfortable fuck, but it wasn’t. It was heavenly, unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Eventually, Master came, flooding his guts with his strange seed, but Evan no longer cared. This was the most phenomenal experience of his life, and he wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Thank you Sir, that was amazing,” he said, when the leatherman rolled off him. 

He grabbed hold of Evan and pulled him close. “It sure fucking was. Can you feel it inside you boy?”

There was an odd heat that he could sense. Evan reached around with his hand, touched his hole with one hand, and gasped. It wasn’t skin, not really. It was leather. Supple, soft leather, warm to the touch, and so, so hungry. “What…what did you do to me?”

“You’re a cute cub, but I think you’ll look better as a leatherboy, don’t you think? Gonna take a few more loads to make that happen, and you’ll need some more gear, but what do you say? Wanna go all the way? Be a leather freak like me?”

Evan nodded. “Yes Master–fuck, yes…Yes…”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the leatherman said, “Now, let’s get you properly dressed, boy.”

That night at The Alley, the leatherman and his leatherboy were quite a sight, in their full leather regalia. There were a few differences of course. The boy had a thick leather collar around his neck, and a simple leather ball cap on his head. He hadn’t yet earned the right to wear a muir cap like his Master, after all. That, and his pants. There was no fly on the front–Master decided to keep his boy in a codpiece for now–he didn’t need his cock slipping out and causing problems. That, and a zipper down the ass of his leather pants, so Master could get at his hot boy’s leather hole whenever he wanted–and he wanted it, a lot, from then on.

Slob Control – The Devil’s Work

Looking back on it, Bill realized he probably overdid it a bit. After forty-three loops, he figured he finally had Sam, gutter and the rest of the crew in a good position. He’d been ignoring the headache that had been nagging him since the thirtieth loop or so, but once he allowed time to continue onward, it only came on stronger. He barely managed to drive himself home after work, crawl his way into bed, and when Peter arrived for his evening service, Bill yelled at him to get out and leave him alone.

He slept almost twenty-four hours. When he woke up, he had a voicemail from Sam asking if he was ok, and when he called him to confirm he was still alive, Sam chewed his ass out for not showing up. He probably deserved that, he supposed. He told Sam he’d come down with something and wouldn’t be in for a few days. Sam sounded annoyed, but told him to feel better. Peter arrived a few hours later, after Bill had managed to get to the bathroom and down to the kitchen to eat something. Peter showed up a couple hours later, looking a little sheepish, but today, Bill was more than happy to have the company. Bill apologized for being so gruff the day before, had Peter service him, and rewarded his slave with a few loads humped out across his gut.

Even the day after that, he still felt like garbage. Clearly, magic took a bit more out of him than he’d expected. He spent the day flipping through the book, and decided he might as well work on something in his downtime. With Peter’s assistance that evening, he set up a scrying station–basically a bowl of water with a spell cast on it–that would allow him to spy on the rest of the neighborhood. Bill had never really bothered being very social, and so he didn’t even know anyone else’s names. At least this way, he could start narrowing down who his next targets would be.

He was frustrated by what had happened after his time warp spell earlier that week, though. If that had been enough to sap his energy for days, it was going to take him forever to work his magic on the neighborhood, without even beginning his plans beyond that. Spying on the mundane lives of the men, women and children in the neighborhood around him only made it worse. Boring, they were all so damn boring! He could imagine so many more interesting things for them, but he was exhausted. Caught between desire and limitation, he wanted to strangle someone. He strangled Peter, for fun. It helped a bit, and Peter rather enjoyed it, though not as much as he enjoyed having the air crushed out of him by his big gut on top of him. Then, on Thursday, he saw something interesting at last.

It was an argument in a house a couple blocks over, between a father and son. The son was in high school, probably seventeen or eighteen. He wanted to get a tattoo, but his rather conservative father was dead set against it. The son looked to be a bit of a rebel–or at least imagined himself as one. Watching the fight play out, Bill couldn’t help but imagine them both tattooed all over in the most perverse ways, forever showing the world exactly what kind of dirty minded perverts they both were. Then, a second idea came to him. He grabbed the spell book, flipped through it, almost willing his idea into existence, and sure enough, there it was. There was no way he was going to be able to corrupt the world all on his own, one or two people at a time. However, there was no reason why he couldn’t enlist a little help, and the rebellious youth would be an excellent trial for what he had in mind. He wove a little spell of fate, suggesting that the young man feel compelled to pay him a little visit the next day–Friday.

As expected, while he was out on the porch smoking a cigar, the young man came wandering down the sidewalk. He was looking rather punk–as punk as a suburban kid shopping mostly at Hot Topic could look. It had no real grit, not actual risk. That’s all right. His heart was in the right place, or it would be, soon enough. “Hey Jason, come on up here a second, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Jason looked around, confused at who was speaking to him, and then over at Bill on the porch. He had no idea who this fat slob was–or how he knew his name. Curiosity, or compulsion, he walked up the driveway and onto the porch where Bill was smoking.

“I heard you had an argument with your father yesterday,” Bill said.

“Who–who the fuck are you?” Jason asked, “How do you know that, and my name?”

Bill just smiled, muttered a little incantation, and saw Jason visibly relax where he was standing. This wasn’t as strong a spell as the suggestion trance he’d been using. Just enough to put Jason at ease. He wanted his…cooperation here. It would be way hotter, and much more beneficial in the long run. “Why don’t we step inside? I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.”

“A-Alright,” Jason said. Bill hefted himself up, and led the young man into his house for what would prove to be a very fruitful discussion.

There was no reason to panic. Jason had probably just stayed over with a friend or something. They’d had that big fight, and he’d seemed alright the next day, but Mark struggled every day to understand what went through the brain of his teenage son. He didn’t understand where this rebellious streak came from. He’d been such a good kid, and then one day, he’d just done a heel turn, and he’d been a headache for Will and his wife every day since. His newest obsession was getting tattooed, and as long as he lived under this roof, he wasn’t going to let his son defile his body like that. If he did end up getting a tattoo, it had better be somewhere that Mark couldn’t see it, or there would be hell to pay, one way or another.

Emma wanted to call the police and report him missing, but there was no actual evidence that he was abducted or anything like that. Instead, he’d called Luke, the pastor at his church for advice, and he’d said the same thing. Jason would come home eventually, and they’d figure out the next steps together. Mark calmed her down, told her they might as well just wait and see. Sure enough, a little before noon, Mark got a text. Jason had been out all night, he wouldn’t say where, and he was stranded. He texted him an address, and told him to come meet him there. He loaded up the address on his phone, and was surprised to see it was some dirty looking strip mall in a rundown part of town. He had no idea how Jason had ended up there, but he was going to pick him up, and they would have a long chat about his recent rebellious behavior.

The drive took about twenty minutes. Mark pulled into the small parking lot, climbed out of his car, looked up at the address, which hadn’t been tied to a business on his phone, and his gut dropped out from under him.The name of the business upset him enough–who would call their shop, ‘The Devil’s Work’! Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was a tattoo and piercing parlor, to make matters worse. If his dumb son had gotten himself a tattoo, at a place like this no less, and then told him to come pick him up–he was going to be walking home. He stormed up onto the walk, yanked open the door, ready to give Jason a piece of his mind, but what he saw inside the shop was so outrageous, that he couldn’t even really process it for a moment.

Right in front of him, bent over the short counter, was one fellow, quite fat and hairy and old, with his grubby work pants down around his ankles. Behind him was a younger man, wearing some tattered black jeans, boots and a leather vest, covered all over with tattoos, busy fucking him–so busy, that it took him a moment to realize that they weren’t alone in the room anymore. The younger tattooed fellow looked up at where Mark was, jaw on the floor, and just smiled at him. “Oh, hey daddy. Thought you might be a little longer. Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll be with you when I’m finished.”

He absolutely wasn’t going to do that, Mark thought to himself. Yet, his feet dragged him into the shop, towards the small waiting area surrounded by sample tattoo artwork. He didn’t know where to look. He didn’t want to look at the men fucking in front of him, and yet, the one who had spoken to him, he knew that voice, he…


“Jason!” Mark shouted, “Jason, what–what in God’s green earth has happened to you?”

“Fuck, was wondering how long it would take him,” Bill said.

“He’s an idiot,” Jason said, “Fuckin’ hell, your hole is somethin’ else. Gonna bust deep in here, you want it?”

“Fuckin’ hell yeah I do, load me up, freak!”

Jason thrust in hard, and with a loud moan, pumped his seed deep into Bill’s hole, making eye contact with his father the entire time. Mark tried to deny it. It couldn’t be his son, it just couldn’t. For one thing, he was older–not that much older, probably in his mid-twenties, but older all the same. His frame was packed with muscle like he’d been going to the gym for years. Then, of course, the tattoos and piercings. There was no way all of that could have appeared overnight.

Jason’s cock finished pumping, and he slowly allowed his cock to fall from Bill’s loose hole, and Mark’s face flushed. The cock looked almost inhuman, what had Jason, what had this other freak done to it? It was studded with metal, and covered with black ink like the rest of Jason’s body, but it was the shape that seemed most strange. It looked almost engorged somehow, and even though he’d just cum, it didn’t seem like it was getting any smaller. He’d heard of some sex freaks injecting silicone into their cocks in order to make them larger, and he prayed to God that Jason hadn’t done something like that.

“You doing alright, Dad?” Jason said, “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

“Jason–Jason, what happened? What did this…this faggot do to you? Please, you have to come with me, we have to get you help!”

Jason just laughed. Bill pushed himself upright, pulled up his pants, and put the suspenders back over his shoulders, but left his cock hanging out as well. “I assure you, Mark, that Jason accepted the terms of my little business proposition all on his own. His very own body mod shop, and a good amount of magical power to boot! Now, why don’t you show how supportive you are of your son’s new venture, hop in the chair here, and become his first customer? Seems like that would be the fatherly thing to do, right Jason? Besides, your son here is gonna need some practice with his new skills before we open to the public.”

“No, I don’t know what demon has infiltrated my son, but you cannot have him! Jason, please, come with me, we’ll fix you, please…”

“I don’t need ‘fixing’,” Jason spat at his father, “You, on the other hand, are a piece of work that could use some adjustments. Take off your fucking clothes and get on the table.”

Mark tried to resist, but his body disobeyed him, and began undressing. “How…how are you doing this?”

“This is my shop,” Jason said, “And with Bill’s help here, anything I say in my shop, goes. It’s my own personal kingdom, and you wandered right in. You’re mine now, dad, until I’m through with you.”

“You can’t do this, I’ll call the fucking police!”

“No one can help you dad. If you were smart, you’d just get on your knees and beg me for mercy, but even that probably wouldn’t help. Watching you do that would just make me too horny to stop myself.”

Mark’s underwear and socks hit the floor, and he shuffled over to the table, obviously still struggling, but it was hopeless. He got on it, lying on his back, and his son came around to his side, looking him over.

“Fuck, you’re a sorry looking fucker. So dang hairy too! I can’t have that obstructing my work,” Jason said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up here with a whole new look, a whole new attitude too. First things first, we aren’t going to need any of this hair of yours…”

It was the strangest sensation. It was like Mark could feel all of the individual strands of hair all over his body, from his feet to his armpits to his head to even his eyebrows, just pull themselves back into his skin and disappear. In less than a minute, he went from moderately hairy to not a single hair on his skin, anywhere. “How…”

“It’s magic Daddy, are you still playing dumb?”

“This is devil work, son, you have to resist it!”

Bill just laughed. “There are no gods, and no devils. There’s just power–and your son has lots of it.”

“Wanna see daddy? Here, let me show you. No needles–at least, unless you want them.”

Jason laid his hands on Mark’s chest, and as he did, he watched the ink on his son’s hands and forearms wriggle to life, and begin sliding down to his palms–and from his palms, out onto Mark’s chest. He screamed then, tried to force himself out from under his son’s grip, but he couldn’t seem to move. He could feel it, the ink permeating his skin, but something else as well. It was leaking into his mind, he could feel the corruption trying to push into his soul. He did his best to resist, but it was no use. It was changing him, Jason was changing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop him.

After about a minute, Jason pulled his hands away from his father’s chest, where he was lying on the table. Mark could feel the ink that his son had pumped into him still squirming and settling under his skin. He looked up, and saw that there was a mirror hanging on the ceiling, giving him a full view of his hairless body. The lettering was reversed in the mirror, but he could read the letters that now sprawled across his chest. He didn’t have to read them. He knew what it said, in his heart, before even looking up.


It couldn’t be possible. Tattoos didn’t work like that, they weren’t alive, they didn’t just appear on your skin, but it was there. Before Mark could say anything else, Jason grabbed hold of both his tits, one in each hand, and squeezed–hard. The moan of delight that slipped out of Mark’s mouth surprised him. The pain was there, yes, the exquisite, beautiful pain, but within, there was pleasure, more pleasure than he could understand. 

“Goodness dad, I didn’t know you were such a masochist,” Jason said, rolling and tugging the tits in his fingers. His nails felt so sharp. Mark managed to raise his head and look down, noticing that Jason’s nails weren’t normal. They were metallic, and came to sharp, claw like points. He also noticed that the more Jason worked his tits, the bigger and puffier and fuller they seemed to become, the more sensitive too. “This next part might hurt, dad, but I don’t think you’ll mind, somehow,” Jason said, and caught each nipple between the nails on his thumbs and index fingers. 

Mark screamed as the metal sank into his flesh, piercing him, slowly driving deeper into him. It hurt, it hurt so much, and his cock was so hard, aching, drooling cum. The points of each nail pushed into his flesh until they met inside his tits, then Jason pulled his fingers back, the metal still embedded in Mark’s body, completing a thick, metal ring, before coming free. The metal squirmed a bit, evened out and eventually froze as two massive stainless steel rings through each pumped tit, tugging down hard on his chest. The pain eased, became a new baseline. As horrible as the experience was, Mark found himself wanting it back, wanting more, and hating himself for it.

Jason ran one sharp nail down his father’s belly, watching him shudder, down to his aching, drooling cock. “”You’re making quite the mess, Daddy,” he said, “Guess that means you like it. Shall we continue then? Make you a proper freak?”

Jason climbed up on the table so he was straddling Mark at the waist, their cock and balls pressed against each other. Jason’s were massive, and heavy. He grabbed hold of his dad’s cock, positioned the head so it was pressed against the oddly deformed head of Jason’s cock, and he felt the head of his own sucked inside of Jason’s, and then, felt something begin to pump into him, something slick, yet firm.

He could feel his cock and balls begin to inflate with the magical silicone Jason’s cock was feeding him. Jason moaned and sighed, bucking slightly like he was in the midst of an orgasm, and Mark could feel it, the pleasure seeping into him, the strange fullness as his skin stretched. Jason eventually pulled free, heaving and gasping a bit, his own cock looking somewhat deflated now. “Fuck, wasn’t planning on giving you quite that much, but it felt so fucking good…”

Mark could see what he meant. His cock and balls were no longer even recognizable as such. His cock was just a lumpen, misshapen mass, resting on top of a scrotum as large as a summer watermelon. “No…no, it…it can’t…”

“Don’t worry dad, regular silicone causes all sorts of dangers, and can reduce sensitivity, but mine comes with none of those drawbacks,” Jason said, running his claws down the girthy length of Mark’s new cock, making him shudder in pleasure. “See? Still, we’d better put a warning on this junk…” He ran his hands across the top of Mark’s groin, and he felt more ink slide under his skin:


Yeah, his freakmeat, that’s what he called it. Mark shook his head, it wasn’t true, but there it was, in his head. He couldn’t think around it, it was everywhere. 

“Better lock it down, too. We don’t want your freakmeat getting free now, do we?”

Jason put a massive ring through the misshaped shaft of Mark’s cock, behind the head, even larger than the ones in his tits–large enough to almost be a bracelet. Then, a second massive ring in the front of his scrotum, running up and down. The two rings joined, seamlessly, ensuring that his freakmeat would always be locked up tight–not that it could get hard anyway. He dug his nails into the tender, distended flesh of Mark’s groin, watching his father writhe, caught somewhere between delight and terror. Mark could feel the metal leeching into his flesh, only to reemerge as studs and rings all over his flesh. More tattoos slid down onto his skin there as well, demands for punishment written all over his freakmeat. It was no longer meant for pleasure, after all. No–it was meant to be punished. A freak like him deserved, no, needed punishment, pain, agony!

Jason pulled his nails free, admiring the studded, tattooed flesh between his father’s legs, watching him panting, heaving for breath, a drool of precum leaking from the maw of his siliconed cock. 

“God,” Mark said, “God please, deliver me, have mercy on my son, please, release him from the demon that has possessed him–”

“God isn’t real, Daddy, don’t you know that by now?” Jason said, climbing down off the table, coming around to his father’s head, and running his sharp nails along his bare face. Mark shuddered and cried as more metal sprang up, rings and studs in his ears, lips and tongue. “There’s just me. There’s just power. Why don’t we find you something more useful to worship? We already know the name of your first God, don’t we?”

Jason laid his hands on his father’s right arm, the ink spreading down from his hands and across his bare skin. Barbed wire, spotted with blood. Knives, blades, needles–instruments of his God, instruments of Agony. The corruption slipped deeper into Mark’s soul, curdling his faith, warping it. Ecstasy, prayer, devotion, he had never truly understood the enlightened state, not until he had experienced Agony, true pain. The end of the self, floating, empty, adrift, nothing but sensation to guide him. The more he hurt, the more he could see it, true divinity.

When Jason released him, he saw that his entire arm was covered in a sleeve, from his knuckles–PAIN across them–all the way up onto his shoulder and chest, around the block letters Jason had already given him. He cried. He cried because he had fallen. He cried because he understood, because he knew. 

“Now, why don’t we roll you over, and I show you who your other God is, daddy?” Jason said into his ear.

Mark tried to resist, with what little willpower he had left, but did as his son ordered him to, and rolled over, his ass up on the table now.

“Hands and knees, come on,” Jason said.

“Please, don’t do this…” Mark said, but moved into position. He could feel, for the first time, how heavy his freakmeat was now, how the silicone and flesh and metal tugged away from his body in the most divine way. He swung it, feeling the tug and pull, and shuddered, only for Jason to bat it with one hand roughly. Mark moaned, bit his tongue before he caught himself begging for more, begging him to hit him harder. 

“Like a speed bag,” Bill said, one of the first things he’d said, while watching Jason work his father over.

“I bet he’d like that,” Jason said, “but we have a little more work to do first, don’t we Daddy? One more God to introduce you to, one more thing for you to worship with the rest of your agonizing life.” He pressed his father’s ass cheeks apart, and more ink slid down his hands, covering them, sliding around, forming two words, one on each cheek:


Like before, Mark could feel the ink etching itself not just across his body, but over his mind, over his desires. He knew what was written there without even needing to see it, knew what it meant. Jason took a bottle of lube and squeezed it, let it run down his father’s ass crack, one hand gathering it up and probing his father’s hole, more ink marking him in his most intimate area, a series of black, concentric rings like a bullseye. He pushed two fingers in, and Mark shuddered, moaned.

“You’re nothing but a hole,” Jason said, roughly driving his fingers into him, his sharp nails now retracted and smoothed over, “A gaping void longing to be filled. This hole, this hole is your second God. A hungry, aching, greedy God, that needs constant satisfaction.”

“Please…Please, I…”

“What, what do you need? Tell me.”

Mark tried to keep the words from his lips, tried to knot them, keep them secret in his heart, but he couldn’t, the desire was raging through him too quickly to deny it. “Deeper, fucking…shove that fucking fist in me already, fuck, I need it, I need it…”

Mark’s hole swallowed Jason’s hand with almost no resistance. He gasped and moaned, but even as full as he felt, he wasn’t enough. Jason slid back out, and that moment of emptiness was torture, before he plunged his hand back in, deeper than before. Then out, then in, pushing in, Mark’s hole almost sucking at his son’s forearm, clinging to him, willing him to never leave. The ink was still sliding from Jason’s arm, faster now, spreading down both of Mark’s legs, up the sides of his body, and down his other arm. Cocks and dildos sliding in and out of mouths and assholes, an obscene sleeve all the way to his wrist, and on his knuckles, the word HOLE.

Mark felt his mind slip away, at some point. The bliss was impossible to describe. He had thought, before, that the pinnacle of human satisfaction, the moment of clarity at his baptism, was impossible to surpass, but this, dancing the line between pleasure and pain, fullness and the void, it was indescribable. At some point, while Jason had both his hands inside Mark’s hole, Bill wandered around to his face and began slapping him, choking him, picked up a belt and began beating his back, ass, and fuckmeat. He lost track of how many orgasms ripped their way through his asshole, as Jason pummeled him. He had no idea how much time passed, but at some point, the three of them collapsed–Mark on the table, hole gaping and twitching, bruised and aching. Off to the side were Jason and Bill still going strong, though this time it was Jason riding Bill’s cock to completion.

While they fucked, Mark managed to slide his way off the table and make his way to the full length mirror not far from the table. He looked at himself, but nothing was a surprise, somehow. He knew what he looked like, after all. He knew he was a freak. He tried to recall who he’d been when he arrived that morning, his body, his life, but there was nothing. It had been blacked over so thoroughly by his son that barely anything remained. Some names, the notion of a job, God. 

God–a farce. He could see it so clearly. A religion that called self-denial the pinnacle of human experience, but after what had happened to him, he knew it was a lie. Pain and fucking, those had both given him pleasure and insight beyond anything he’d received from a good book. His life, he supposed, was over now. Even if Jason reversed everything, even if he returned him to his pristine body, he couldn’t change the truth that he had found in his heart. He started to cry, but much to his surprise, it wasn’t from terror, or shame. He was relieved. He was joyful. 

Jason came over, got down behind where his father was crouching, and held him close, held him tenderly. It shocked him, appalled him, somehow, that after everything he’d done, there was still softness here. 

“You understand, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“I’d always known, kind of, even before I met Bill, I think. He showed me the rest. I hoped you’d see it too.”

“What…what now? Who even am I?”

Jason pulled him close, “I have a plan, don’t you worry. You just do everything I tell you to do, alright? Everything is going to be just fine, I promise.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know. I didn’t understand how…how good…”

“It’s alright,” Jason said, as his father broke down again, “You’ll be alright, I promise.”

Jason held him until he stopped shuddering, and then left his dad to explore his new body on his own. He stood up, shaking a bit from the exertion of the transformation. In the mirror, Jason could see that his own ink and metal had diminished substantially–much of it transferred to his father. “You said I’d recharge, right? Do you know how long it will take?”

Bill shook his head. “No idea, honestly. Never did a spell like this before. Looks like everything worked perfectly though.”

“I’m just exhausted.”

“I’m not surprised. You should rest for a few days, let your ink and metal fill back up.”

“I will, but there’s one more thing I have to do. Tomorrow. I have enough for that.”

Bill nodded. “You want support?”

“No, I can do this on my own,” Jason walked over, and gave Bill a deep kiss. “Thank you, for everything. It feels like a dream, it’s everything I’d ever wanted.”

“Trust me, you’re helping me out,” Bill said. “Can’t warp this world all on my own, now can I? You just keep making freaks, and we’re even.”

“Fuck–you got it, boss.”

Bill gave him another kiss, and then went on his way. He was exhausted too, but the spell had worked like a charm. He turned around, muttered an incantation around the seedy looking shop, making sure it would draw folks in, like moths to a light. Jason would never be lacking for customers, and the city would have plenty of hot freaks roaming around soon enough.

Luke was concerned when Bill didn’t show up to service that Sunday morning. Considering the conversation they’d had the night before about Jason being missing, it didn’t bode well that he was absent. Bill was never absent, church was something he had built into his life, a cornerstone, a rock. But over the last few years, Luke had also come to think of Bill as more than just a parishioner, he was a friend as well. He’d been hosted by Bill and his wife many times for dinner, and he’d gotten to know Jason fairly well too. Jason–he’d always been troubled. Luke had prayed for him many times, for God to help the young man back onto the path of righteousness. Prayer, and God, at times, could only do so much, and he feared that Jason had turned away fully from the light, towards the darkness, for quite some time now. It was a darkness he was familiar with, one he had defeated, but one that he knew he would struggle with for the rest of his life. Watching someone succumb to it only made it worse, but Luke was strong. God was strong, and Luke knew he was on the right side of morality.

After coffee hour, as the church was finally emptying, Luke was in his office packing up his things, when he got the text from Bill. He’d found Jason! That alone was good news. He was asking Luke to come counsel him, but not at home, which seemed odd. Bill texted him an address, begging Luke to come help. It was odd, but Luke trusted Bill, and Bill needed his help. He dropped his wife off at home, and then headed for the address he’d been given. It was…a tattoo parlor, of all places. He had no idea why Bill would tell him to come here. Again, his sense that something was amiss increased. He should leave, he knew he should leave, and yet, he felt drawn to it all the same. He stepped inside the narrow shop, dimly lit, and blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

“Ah, Pastor Luke, so good of you to join us.”

He knew that voice, almost. It sounded like Jason, but deeper, firmer. “Jason?”

“Yes pastor, come on in, you haven’t missed your appointment. I’ve just been entertaining my father while we wait for you to arrive.”

What Luke saw in the darkness there made his gasp. There, sitting on a couch–yes, it was Jason, but not the Jason he knew. Thickly muscled, covered with tattoos and piercings, wearing nothing other than a filthy, tattered jockstrap hiding an obscene, inhuman bulge, and two combat boots on his large feet. That was bad enough. It was the man before Jason, if you could call it a man, that was more terrifying. Covered with tattoos, with genitals that swollen into something gargantuan, he was bouncing up and down on a massive dildo on the ground in front of Jason. He could see as well that two carabiners had been attached to the massive rings in his nipples and his junk, and then suspended from the ceiling by a number of bungee cords. The man was oblivious to the world, lost in some filthy, degrading stupor. 

No, it couldn’t be. It…It was Mark. It was Jason’s father, what on Earth had happened to him, to both of them? “Jason, what…what happened to you?”

“I’ve been set free, Luke,” Jason said, standing up. “You told me once, in your office during one of our counseling sessions, about the darkness, do you remember? I think I was…fifteen?”

“We…we shouldn’t talk about that here, Jason,” Luke said, “You need help, we need…we need to get you to a hospital, your…your body…”

Jason flexed, showing off his muscular form, watching the ink ripple across his skin. “You like it, don’t you?” he said, “You can admit it. This is a safe place. I know what’s inside you, what you’ve hidden away, Luke. Don’t worry, I’m here to set you free.”

Jason came closer, and Luke tried to run, but his feet refused. He was frozen, still, as Jason came within inches. He could smell him, the musk rolling off him, see the glint of metal, the swirl of ink. Jason’s hand, tenderly, reached down and cupped the crotch of Luke’s khakis. He was so hard, he hadn’t even realized it. Luke stifled a sob, as Jason pulled him close. “Don’t, I can’t…”

“Look what your false God’s done to you. You should be furious.”

“Don’t…don’t say that,” Luke said, pushing him away, “It’s…it’s all I have.”

“Then we should give you something else. Something better,” Jason said. “Take off your clothes, show me who you are.”

“This isn’t right,” Luke said, “God help me,” he muttered as he began stripping his clothes off. He couldn’t tell if he was compelled, or if something inside him was urging him, pushing him onward. 

“God has never helped you,” Jason said, “All he’s done is trap you. Let me give you the release you’ve always needed.”

Jason leaned in, and gave Luke a kiss. He could feel the rings and studs in his lips and tongue, warm steel against the soft flesh of his mouth. It had been so long since he’d dared, over a decade since the last time he’d given in and indulged. He was so hungry, and Jason, the taboo, the confidence, the scent, all of it only served to drive Luke even more wild. There was something wrong with him, something was possessing him, making him do these things. It wasn’t right, but it felt so good all the same. 

Jason pulled away, leaving Luke panting, cock still hard in Jason’s hand. “Why does it always feel so good?” Luke said, ending with a bit of a whimper.

“Time to let the darkness out,” he said, “If the world wants us to hide in the darkness, we might as well become their nightmares, right?”

“I don’t understand,” Luke said, as he looked at Jason, then over at his father, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can. Because I want to,” Jason said, “Because the world has told men like us that we’re fucked, that we’re worthless for too long. They roped you in, made them do your dirty work for them. You wanted me to do the same, but instead, you’re going to work for me–you’re going to be my horny demon…”

“No–no, I–” Luke said, and then dissolved into moans as Jason pressed his hand to his belly. Luke could feel his flesh shudder under Jason’s touch, the ink sliding down his hands through his fingers as they traced their way across his stomach. Luke had always kept himself in reasonable shape. It was vanity, he knew that. The only man he could openly admire was himself, after all. He could feel something happening though, his stomach inflating with a slight layer of fat as the ink spread out in a series of decorative lines. He stepped back, looked down, and saw an inverted pentagram across his belly with arcane symbols littered through it, a ram’s head leering in the center. “No…I won’t let you corrupt me, I won’t…”

“It’ll feel so good though,” Jason said, stepping closer, laying his hands on Luke’s shoulders, more ink flowing down into his skin. “You’re gonna feel so strong, so powerful. So many men telling you what you can’t do. You don’t have to care about that anymore. From now on, they’re gonna fear you.”

Luke could feel it, his body expanding with muscle, bones lengthening. He’d started out a bit shorter than Jason where they were standing, but suddenly he was a couple inches taller, thicker, hotter. He felt the ink sliding down his arms, bulking up his biceps, his forearms. He’d never felt like this before, this strength. More than that though, he realized an absence. There was no fear. The fear he’d felt in his heart, a fear he’d lived with so long, a fear that he had grown around, that had confined him in every way, was suddenly gone. He’d never imagined that could be possible. He swelled, physically, spiritually. He leaned down and kissed Jason again, this time feeling the metal sting him, bite into him, but he didn’t mind. He could feel the runes appearing on his arms, the images of demons and devils. The marks down his forearms in inches, so he can know just how far his hand is buried in a man’s hole. The backpiece forming, two devil wings across his wide, muscular back, and a tail too, of course, winding around his ass. 

“Look at you,” Jason said. “A sadistic, satanic, hedonistic, dominant, gay-as-hell nightmare.” He reached up to Luke’s metal studded face, watched the short, black beard fill in around his cheeks and chin, swirls of ink around his eyes, down his neck, over his bald crown. Lastly, his metal nails dug into his scalp near his temples, and two steel horns sprouted up from his skull, three inches with a slight curve to catch the light. The ink even slid into his eyes, coloring the whites entirely black. He kissed him, Caught Luke’s tongue in his teeth, and he moaned, feeling it split down the middle, now forked. Jason pulled away, admiring his work. “Now, there’s just a matter of your demonic tool, eh?” Jason said, one hand sliding down and caressing Luke’s cock and balls. “You’re a little…small, sadly, for what I’m going to need. Silicone won’t quite do either. I have just the thing though, hold on.”

Jason slipped away into the back of the shop, leaving Luke standing there, reeling from what just happened to him. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. He knew he should be ashamed at the visage looking back at him, at the hulking, tattooed, metal studded, demonic freak, but there was no shame. There was, instead, pride. Fuck, he looked hot, he looked mean. He looked like someone no one would mess with, who wouldn’t have to take shit from anyone, especially not God. He ran one finger along the curved steel horn attached to his skull, and shuddered. He thought about all the men he could gore on the end of them, the painful things he could do to their bodies to pay them back for the misery they’d inflicted on his soul. The rage he felt wasn’t new, but it was no longer contained. He wanted to hurt something–someone. 

Before he could quite follow that thought to any conclusion, Jason returned, holding something that Luke first mistook for a black dildo. “Here, let’s get this on you,” Jason said, and Luke realized it wasn’t a dildo, but a cock sheath. Jason got down on his knees, maneuvered Luke’s nuts into the hollow cavity below the rubber cock, and then, after lubing up his shaft with a little spit, then he worked Luke’s cock into the hollow part of the sheath. Luke Once it was on, Jason traced a little sigil on the rubber sheath with a metal nail, muttering something under his breath, and Luke moaned. It was heating up around his cock, almost uncomfortably hot. He went to tug the rubber free, as Jason pulled away, but discovered he couldn’t. The rubber had sealed itself to his body, the rubber melding seamlessly with his own flesh, spreading into his skin, almost like an infection. 

“What is this? What did you do?”

“You don’t like it?” Jason said, grabbing hold of Jason’s rubber cock with both hands, stroking it, watching Luke almost melt with the sensations assaulting him, “It is still a bit small, but now we have more to work with, don’t we?”

With the sheath, Luke’s cock was nearly a foot long, but as Jason’s hands kept working the shaft, he could see it was growing, both longer and thicker. The surface grew smooth and became wet and slick, almost like the rubber flesh was perspiring lube. The head grew wide and flat, almost like a spade, and when Jason released it, it was nearly three feet long, thicker than a two liter bottle at the root, where it joined his body, and he…he could control it. He knew how, instinctively, watching it twist and writhe in the air, prehensile and slick and filthy. Wrapped it around Jason’s waist, dragging him closer, and kissed him, finding Jason’s hole with the thick head, pressing against it.

“You’ve turned me into a monster,” Luke muttered.

“You were always a monster. We were monsters.”

“I should beat the living shit out of you for this. Fuck, I’d beat the shit out of it and enjoy it.”

“I would too–but not as much as he would.”

Jason motioned over towards Mark, still fucking himself on the dildo, who had watched Luke’s entire transformation with a hungry look. 

“He needed a master, someone who would care for him the only way a painhole like him can be cared for. A master like you.”

Jason walked over, unhooked Mark’s tits from the bungees hanging from the ceiling, then shoved him forward onto his hands and knees, the massive dildo sliding out of his loose hole with a slurping sound. “This, of course, was my father, once. I don’t think he remembers much of that anymore. The pleasure of his gods has been eroding his mind. Took me a while to set that little scene up for him just so he’d leave me the fuck alone for a while. His name is painhole now.”

There was a creeping feeling in Luke’s chest at the sight of the grown man moaning on his hands and knees there on the cement floor, hand reaching back, whining about how empty he was. It was pitiful. It was horrifying, too. He looked back at himself in the mirror again, and clung to that horror as some sort of moral compass, and he turned to Jason. “Jason, please…this isn’t…right,” he said. Even then, he knew how false the words sounded in his mouth. It didn’t matter what was right, and what was wrong. There was only power, authority, and dominance. 

“He made my life a living hell, I feel it’s only fair that I do the same,” Jason said.

“I won’t. You can’t make me.”

Jason laughed. “I felt sorry for you, Luke. I knew what you are, I could see how it warped you, but you still allowed it to happen. You warped yourself to please them, and then did their bidding, doing your best to warp me too. We had the same darkness inside us, the same faggotry. You still did wrong by me, by who knows how many others. This is your hell too, Luke. I’m just giving you the honor of becoming a guard. Now, both of you, follow me.”

Jason led them to the back of the shop, where a heavy steel door was set in the side of the building. He unlocked it, then opened it, and revealed a staircase let red, that spiraled down beneath them. They walked. It felt too deep to simply be a basement. At last, they landed, and the space opened up into a massive sex dungeon, much larger than the small shop above. “Welcome to your hell,” Jason said, and turned to Luke, “On your knees before your God,” he said.

Luke tried to resist, but found himself forced to kneel before him. Jason laid his hands on the sides of Luke’s bare scalp, and this time, he could feel the ink sliding down, deeper, etching itself on the very surface of his mind. It blacked out his humility and kindness. Blacked out his empathy, his tenderness. It blacked out his name. He did not need a name. He was not a person, he was a demon, and demon’s had a single purpose, here in hell. They were here to punish the sinners.

Jason stepped back, and watched his first demon turn to look at painhole, where it was cowering by the foot of the stairs. He snarled at the slave, and then leapt, pinning it to the floor, his thick, slimy, prehensile cock snaking around the slave’s neck, making it gasp and heave for breath. 

“I left something for you too, demon,” Jason said, walking closer, “I left his back unmarked. Feel free to decorate it as you see fit.”

The demon looked around the dungeon, at the whips, the needles, the knives, the floggers, the paddles. Yes, it would mark this sinner, it would punish it well, and the thing would beg for more.

Painhole, of course, would come to no real harm here. Thanks to Bill’s magic, whatever injury the demon might inflict on him would heal in a matter of minutes, though not without leaving behind a scar. Deprived of air, painhole went a bit limp, still heaving, and the demon allowed it’s cock to relax, dropping the slave to the floor. It crawled on top of him, cock slipping easily into its wrecked ass, worming in deep, the slave moaning in its stupor as all three feet of the demon’s cock writhed inside him, rearranging his guts as it saw fit.

Pleased with himself, Jason watched the demon fuck his father for a moment, and then ascended the stairs. He locked the door behind him, smiling. His own personal hell, one he would be happy to fill to the brim with sinners of all stripes. He could already think of so many at the church his father had forced him to attend. So many old, conservative men, pleased with their bigotry and confident in their safety and security. He will take them, and mark them, and throw them into his hell where they belong, and he will make more demons, so many demons who will tend to them and their painful delights. 

Fuck, he was horny. He should have fucked one of them before locking them down there, but he didn’t want to interrupt them now. As he was mulling over just jacking off, he heard the bell over the door ring. Peeking through the curtain, he saw a young man, probably college aged, step into the shop a little tentatively. Perfect–a brand new customer. He concentrated, and clothes appeared on his body, more than the dirty jock he’d had on earlier, stepped out and made the young man feel comfortable.

An hour later, he had the old biker bent over the side of his table, howling as Jason drove his massive cock deeper into his ass. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, fuckin’ pig?”

“Fuck man, ain’t no one fucked mah hole with a cock that big in years, fuck, feels so fuckin’ good…” the biker drawled back at him.

“It fuckin’ does, fuck it does…” Jason said. He took it slow. He wanted this to last a while after all. And when he sent the biker on his way, covered with tattoos and metal, he told him to recommend his shop to all his buddies. He’d hook them up with whatever mods they needed–even if they didn’t know they needed them yet.

Slob Control – Timefucking the Foreman

Loop One

It had been the best weekend of Bill’s life, by far. Finally taking his asshole neighbor down a peg or ten with the help of his new spellbook had been the most satisfying moment in his life by far. Sunday at around eleven, Pete had made his way over to where Bill was smoking on the porch, waiting for him to arrive for his daily service, and he’d spent a few hours putting his new neighborhood slave through his paces, making sure Pete properly appreciated Bill for the opportunity he was giving him. Seeing the lingering resentment give way to sheer bliss was an erotic thrill he’d never expected, and seeing how happy Pete was when he left, two loads of cum drooling down the inside of his thighs, stinking of cum and musk and sex, before climbing into his jeep to go suck even more anonymous cock like he did every night–Bill couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen in just a couple of days–and he still had so many plans to put into motion.

Now, though, it was Monday. While he supposed there was no real reason why he needed to keep going to work–the spellbook could provide him most everything he needed, after all–he had some other reason to go. Mostly, to settle a few scores, and put a particular fellow in his proper place. That fellow happened to be Grant, his current foreman. Grant was relatively new to the crew, and from rumors going around the crew, it sounded like he only really got the job because he was the son of a friend of the construction company’s owner. He was young, had an attitude problem, and was real bossy but didn’t know shit for the most part. He and Bill had not gotten along from the very start. 

He spent part of Sunday evening going through the book, looking through some of the spells, and found one that looked rather intriguing–in part because it would allow him to be a little more creative with his boss. Bill wasn’t one to get to work early–if anything, he was usually late, but come Monday, he roused himself ahead of schedule, got into his truck and hustled to the worksite, getting there half an hour before their scheduled start time, and before anyone else had arrived. He got the book, headed over to the trailer that served as the foreman’s office, opened it up to the page he’d marked, and uttered the spell.

He felt an odd sensation at the back of his neck, almost like the moment he finished the incantation, the world felt a bit sticky. The spell involved time–basically, he’d created a save point. He could force reality to return to this moment as many times as he wanted. Even better, he’d be able to keep any changes he made to people during each loop intact. He’d be able to fuck with Grant as many times as he wanted, in as many ways as he wanted, until he was properly satisfied.

Right on time, as he finished the spell, he saw a familiar truck arrive in the lot–it was Grant. The young, slender fellow got out of his car and headed for the trailer, slowing up a bit when he saw Bill there waiting for him. Before he could say anything, Bill uttered the same incantation he’d first used on Peter, sending Grant into a highly suggestible trance. “Come on over here, Grant,” he said, and watched his young foreman stumble his way over, slack-jawed. “That’s it, there’s some things I think we should discuss this morning, before we get to work, what do you say?”

Grant didn’t say anything of course, his mind had left the premises. Bill was about to lead him into the trailer, when he heard another vehicle approach. He looked out and saw Sam’s truck pull into the site lot as well. Sam had been with the company longer than pretty much anyone, and was one of the reasons that, even with Grant’s shitty leadership, the project hadn’t fallen too far behind schedule. Pretty much everyone, including Bill, figured he’d make a better foreman–so why not give him the opportunity, Bill wondered. Sam got out of his truck, a burly fellow in his mid forties or so, and Bill didn’t waste time uttering the same incantation and putting Sam under as well. Together, the three of them went into the trailer to have a little chat before the rest of the crew arrived. Of course, Bill was certain he’d have plenty of time to work them both over, soon enough.

Loop Three

Grant couldn’t shake the sensation that something was off this morning. There was just a nagging sense of deja vu he couldn’t seem to shake. He pulled into the lot outside the construction site, and was surprised to see he wasn’t the first one there. He was pretty much always the first to arrive, he figured it set a good example for the rest of the crew. Even more surprising was who was there waiting for him–it was Bill of all people. 

There was an odd sense that Grant should detest Bill, but something else welled up instead. Something rather surprising. Looking at him there, fuck, was he getting turned on? Something about him, standing there in his filthy hi viz, smoking one of his stinking cigars, fuck, but then again, Grant had gotten into this work because he’d always thought construction workers were hot as fuck. That thought–something about it seemed off, but it was impossible to sort out how exactly. Grant got out of his truck, adjusting the front of his jeans, got his bag and tried to maintain his composure as he walked up to where Bill was standing. “Mornin’ Bill, good to see you here early for once,” he said.

Bill just smirked at him, and said nothing. Fuck, that cocky as shit attitude only made him seem so much hotter somehow. Grant hustled past him into the trailer, dropped his bag, and sat down at his desk with the window behind him. He peeked through the shades and could see Bill right there–fuck, was he really thinking about doing this? He groped himself–yeah, fuck, what was the harm just real quick. He pulled his cock out and started stroking, as Sam rounded the corner and started talking to Bill, smoking a cigar himself.

Then, fuck, and then Grant could hardly believe his eyes. Bill wrapped one hand around the back of Sam’s head, pulled him close, and the two of them shared a long, smoky kiss. Fuck! It was something out of Grant’s wildest fucking fantasies, and he’d seen it right with his bare eyes. They kept kissing, Sam kneading and massaging Bill’s big gut, almost grinding up against him even. Bill pushed him up against the side of the trailer, still kissing him, pinning him there with his big body, and fuck, Grant couldn’t help imagining himself between both of them, and, and…

He exploded, all over his hands, all over the floor, all over the wall of the trailer under the window. He opened his eyes, and was horrified to find Bill staring right at him through the window. Fuck! Did he know? He…He had to get rid of the evidence, before anyone found out. He got on his hands and knees, licking up the cum from the wall, sucking it out of the dirty carpet, cock still rock hard somehow. Embarrassed, horrified, and yet still hornier than he’s ever been in his life.

Loop Nine

Something about this morning was definitely off. Everything seemed familiar, and yet different. Grant pulled into the lot again, and took another drag off his cigar–it was the only thing that could seem to calm his nerves this morning, but even as he did, he found it difficult to believe he was even smoking. Part of him, a part of him that was something between an echo and a memory, told him that he hated smokers, that he’d always considered it a filthy habit. It was a filthy habit of course, but wasn’t that why he liked it? Why it turned him on so much? He turned off the engine and just sat there for a moment, one hand on his gut, a gut that he’d been struggling with all morning, another thing that seemed out of place, and took another drag on his morning cigar. No use trying to figure it out. He popped open the door and climbed out.

He headed for the trailer with his bag in tow, and pulled up a bit short when he saw Bill was already on the site. That…almost never happened. Bill was usually late, if anything. Fuck, just seeing him there made his half hard cock stand right up to full mast. He’d had a fucking crush on Bill since the day he’d met him, but he was too deep in the closet, too young, too nervous to say anything, though he was pretty sure Bill would be amenable. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure, but it felt right. “Hey Bill,” he said, trying his best to sound casual, and keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. “How’s the morning? You’re not usually here this early.”

“Eh, couldn’t sleep,” Bill said, taking a drag off his own cigar. 

Grant came around him, and up the steps to the trailer. He unlocked the door, then hesitated. “It’s, uh, a cold mornin’ wanna come in and warm up? I’ll get the coffee on.”

“Sure,” Bill said, and followed him up into the trailer.

It smelled like smoke–not surprising, since Grant had a cigar fired up pretty much all day long. Bill just stood there, a smirk on his face, while Grant busied himself with the coffee maker, trying to keep himself from glancing over at his crush too many times, but fuck, he was right there, and he’s too chickenshit to make a move, fucking hell, just say something, anything!

But nothing came. He poured himself a cup of coffee, when he felt something warm press against his back. He turned around, and found Bill there, blocking him in against the counter, leering down at him. Fuck, it seemed like they should be the same height, somehow, but no, Bill had several inches on him, which only made it hotter somehow. “I know what you want boy,” Bill said, “Go on, all you have to do is ask for it.”

He called him boy, fuck. Grant was leaking, he was so fucking hard, this couldn’t really be happening, could it?

Then, Bill had his lips around Grant’s, feeding him his smoke, and the next thing he knew, Bill had him bent over his desk, his jeans pulled down, and he was driving his cock into his hole. Fuck, it hurt, but he didn’t care, he needed this, he needed it so bad, fuck! “Fuck me, fuck! Fuckin’ hell, god, I need you so fuckin’ bad…” he moaned, finally finding his voice.

“I know boy, I know,” Bill said, chuckling.

Loop Seventeen

He was running late again. Grant didn’t know when everything had gotten so out of control with him. There was something wrong, it felt like he’d done this already, but different. It was getting worse, somehow, he was getting worse. Every time he woke up, he seemed different. A little shorter, a little hairier, a little older, a little fatter. Well, a lot fatter, really. That wasn’t true of course. He was just as fat and short as he’d been yesterday. His beard was still a mess. He still had all this fucking body hair, he still stank. Something else though, told him it hadn’t always been like this, it had been different. Then, of course, there was the issue with Sam, his foreman.

Fooling around with Bill was one thing. Bill was just another member of the crew like he was. Sure, Grant liked sucking dick and getting fucked, and he especially liked it from big fat roughnecks like Bill, but this stuff that was happening with Sam, it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy being treated like this, he wasn’t supposed to drag his feet getting to work, and pull into the lot with butterflies in his stomach. It was abuse, wasn’t it? But then why was he putting up with it? Why was he already hard from just thinking about it? He should turn around and drive away. It was the thing he’d do if he had any fucking backbone. He could find another job, hell, he could report Sam and probably get him fired. He wasn’t going to do that though. He couldn’t do that.

It felt like he was on a track. He got out of his truck, sucking on his morning cigar, wearing his grungy hi viz as always. He walked towards the site, hoping that, just maybe, Sam would be preoccupied, and wouldn’t see him this morning, but knowing he would. Knowing it had already happened, knowing it was going to happen again. He came around the corner, and there Sam was, in the door of the trainer. Fuck, he was so fucking big, bigger than he even remembered him being, or maybe that’s just because he was short. 

“You’re late, faggot,” Sam said, sucking on his own cigar.

Say no. Say you’re done. Say you’re not going to take it anymore. 

“Get your fat ass in here pig, now.”

Grant said nothing, climbed the steps, and squeezed past Sam to get inside, getting a good whiff of his strong musk as he did, and wishing that didn’t make him even more excited.


Grant shucked off his dirty clothes, and stood there, shaking a bit. Five foot six, nearly three hundred pounds, hairy and balding. He felt like a worthless pig in front of the six foot four heavily muscled foreman leering down at him. 

“Bend over the desk.”

He did as he was told. He heard Sam tug his belt free of his pants, double it up. He picked up Grant’s nasty old jock from the floor and stuffed it in his mouth, then started beating his ass with the belt, pinning him down with one hand on his back. 

“Fuck faggot,” he said, “I’m starting to think you’re showin’ up late on purpose. I’m starting to think you actually like it when I beat your fuckin’ ass. Is that it? You like it when I beat your faggot ass red?” He grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled Grant upright again, spun him around, and sure enough, there was his four inch hard cock, jutting out under his flabby gut, clear as day. “Dick’s don’t lie faggot. You like being my punching bag, don’t ya?” he said, and slapped him across his face, then pulled the dirty underwear from his mouth. “Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you, Sir.”

“Ask me to hit you again.”

“P-Please…” he wanted to say don’t. He wanted to beg for mercy, but his lips and tongue, they had other ideas. “Please beat me, fuck, I wanna be your fuckin’ worthless faggot Sir, beat the shit out of me.”

Sam beat his ass and nuts, making him scream through his grimy jock. Then he threw him on the ground and fucked him, with just a little spit as lube, and somehow the pain of that only made the whole thing hotter. Sam stood up, finished with his fuck, and Grant managed to push himself up to his knees, only to find himself facing Sam’s cock. “Clean it. Then, I’ve got your reward, pig.”

He did as he was told, then Sam held him down, and pissed down his throat, before telling him to get dressed, and get to work. Only he didn’t make it that far. Something dragged him back again, back to the beginning, and he screamed, and he begged, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t done. He wasn’t done by a long shot.

Loop Twenty-Six

He deserved this.

Grant looked up at where Sam was sitting in front of him, grimy jeans around his ankles, and ran his tongue up the length of his thick cock, feeling it throb against his tongue. He was a stupid, horny pig. A worthless, filthy fucking piece of shit pig. Part of him told him that wasn’t true still, that he had to fight this, that this wasn’t right, but that piece got quieter every time. He’d done this before, he was sure of it somehow. Not just yesterday, though he had done something like this yesterday. But…before. It made sense, somehow, but not in a way his simple mind could really piece together.

Behind him, Bill was fucking his pighole, nice and slow. This was how all of his morning started at the site these days, worshiping these two filthy gods. Somedays he’d worship and clean their bodies from head to toe, other times they’d beat him senseless, send him out bruised and battered for the crew to gossip about. They’d long ago locked up his cock, or had it only been a short while ago? It didn’t matter–stupid worthless pigs like him didn’t get to have orgasms. Service, obedience, and pain were its own rewards. He knew that should feel like an excuse, like a lie, but more and more, it felt like the only truth that remained.

He felt the flogger in Sam’s hand slide over his back, and he shuddered. He couldn’t find the line between anticipation, dread, and excitement. It came down on his back with a smack, he moaned, and started licking faster at Sam’s cock, his own throbbing inside its tiny cage. “Open up, pig,” Sam said. Grant looked up, mouth open, tongue out, and Sam deposited the ash from his cigar right on his tongue. It burned, but he rolled it around in his mouth, soaking it with spit, until it was wet enough to swallow. Then, he returned to worshiping Sam’s cock while Sam’s flogger kept striking him. 

Watching the show, Bill’s thrusts began to speed up. After a few more minutes, with a groan, he pumped his load in deep, and when he was done shooting, he pulled himself free. “Your turn, bud,” he said to Sam.

“Finally, takin’ yer sweet time.”

“I know you like it when it’s good and sloppy,” Bill said, stealing a smoky kiss with Sam for a moment, while Grant looked up at them both, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, or so unlucky.

Sam drove his cock in without ceremony. He was bigger than Bill, which is why he usually went second. Actually, he loved the feeling of a seedy, sloppy hole around his cock–it helped him last longer. Bill came around to Grant’s head, fed him his nice, long ash, but instead of sitting down and letting him lick his cock clean, instead he bent over and shoved his wide, stinking ass into Grant’s face. “Clean me out faggot, forgot to wipe this morning.”

He balked. He didn’t balk often, anymore, but while Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved him into Bill’s dirty crack. “Go on faggot, you know what that nasty tongue is for.”

He did as he was told. He did it because he deserved this, because he was a fat, loser faggot, and this is what his place in the world was. But more and more, he did it because he wanted to. Because he craved the filth, the degradation, the abuse. He pushed back, as hard as he could, but he knew it was a losing battle. Soon enough, that’s all that would be left of him.

Loop Thirty-Eight

Sam’s truck pulled into the parking lot. Bill was waiting over by the trailer, smoking his cigar. They were almost there, he figured. Maybe one or two more loops through, just to make sure everything was good and cemented in with them both. Sam got out–squeezed his way out, really. Six foot seven, nearly four hundred pounds of fat and muscle, furry and rough and tattooed all over. A real rough piece of work, harsh but fair, with no patience for slackers on the crew. He walked around to the bed of the truck, unlocked the cage that filled up a good portion of the bed, and gutter, Sam’s slave, crawled out and eased himself down from the bed. 

Gutter was short–around five foot two, and about three hundred pounds of mostly fat. Middle aged, balding, and filthy–Sam didn’t hose him down very often. He was wearing just a hard hat, a grubby orange safety vest, a nasty jockstrap, knee pads, and boots–and a heavy chain collar, with a chain leash in Sam’s hands. Sam tugged him along, and gutter crawled after him, head down, gut dragging through the gravel lot.

“How ya doin’, Bill?” Sam said as they approached, “Yer not usually here this early.”

He took the cigar from his mouth, leaned in, and gave Bill a long, smoky kiss, giving his gut a rub, while Bill felt up Sam’s firm body. Fuck, he’d done good with this one, Sam was one hot fucking piece of meat. “Couldn’t sleep, figured I might as well get here early.”

“You just wanted to use Gutter here before the rest of the crew got to him.”

“I mean, that too. I gotta piss like a fuckin’ race horse.”

Sam tugged gutter around, who crawled over, waited for Bill to fish his cock out, and took the head in his mouth. He swallowed all the piss without complaint. It was what he wanted, what he was destined for. Fate had brought him to Sam, and Sam had turned him into the pig he’d always wanted to be. He slept outside in a kennel, came with Sam to work, where he was chained outside the trailer all day long, there to service the entire crew as urinal, toilet paper and cumdump.

Of course, it would take another loop or two before the crew saw it that way. Bill still hadn’t let time move that far forward, to the point that the rest of the crew arrived. It was probably about time though. Clearly, Gutter was ready to be put through his paces. Ready, and quite excited. It was certainly a grand improvement over the old Grant, not that anyone would remember him, aside for Bill of course. That, and he’d gotten a chance to test out quite a few other spells, and gotten a good handle on what he was capable of right now. “Could use a good wipe too–you like eating my filthy crack, don’t you pig?”

Gutter nodded, salivating a little. Bill dropped his pants, bent over, and shoved his crack in the pig’s face, who dove right in and started cleaning him up. Fuck, he was never going to get tired of this though–this was the fucking life.

Slob Control – Bill’s First Slave

Peter had never gotten along well with his neighbor, Bill, ever since he’d moved in next door around a year ago. They lived in an old neighborhood without an HOA or any real neighborhood association, and while Peter liked keeping his lawn tidy and his house looking good, he soon realized that Bill had no such intention. The yard went to weed, and Bill would just spend his weekends out on the porch, wearing nothing more than some boxers and a filthy looking undershirt while he drank cheap beer and smoked his cigars. Judging from the dirty pickup he drove and the grubby workwear he’d tromp around in occasionally, Peter figured his neighbor was in construction, but had never asked for details. Peter, in the end, did his best to just ignore him and focus on his own life instead. Peter was in his mid 50’s, still happily married to his high school sweetheart, and their only son was currently away for his junior year in college. It was nice having him out of the house, and striking out on his own, finally. It was a late Spring day when everything changed for Peter.

He’d been planning on a normal Saturday–sleep in a bit with Michelle, play a round of golf, mow the lawn in the afternoon. When it came time to mow, he saw that Bill was on his porch, as usual, but with something he’d never seen him with before–Bill was reading a book. Not a normal looking book either, it seemed to be, well, it was big, and leather bound, and stood out quite a bit. He seemed rather absorbed in it, and Peter didn’t exactly want details, but as he mowed, he kept a curious eye on him anyway, and saw that Bill kept looking over at him as well. Then, he noticed that Bill had set his cigar down, and was reading something aloud out of the book–and Peter felt a bit strange. Woozy, his vision beginning to tunnel, like he was going to faint. He tried to call out to Michelle for help, but couldn’t. There was something else he had to do, something important–but that was the last thing he recalled clearly.

When he was next properly aware of himself, he found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. He looked around, confused, and found that he was standing in front of Bill, who was sitting in a recliner in front of him, a big grin plastered across his face. “What…what happened?” Peter said.

“Relax, Pete, everything’s fine,” Bill said. Despite Peter knowing that everything was very much not normal, he found himself relaxing all the same, his heart rate slowing from the panic it had been racing at. “You’ll feel better if you take your clothes off. Go ahead and undress for me, Pete.”

There was, of course, no way that Peter would undress here, in front of Bill, and yet, without wanting to, he discovered his hands were already obeying Bill’s command. In a matter of moments, he was completely naked in front of his fat, slobby neighbor. “What–why is this happening?”

“I figured it was bogus, honestly,” Bill said, patting his hand on the large book beside him, “I found it at an estate sale last weekend. It came in a lot with some other stuff I wanted. Turns out, it’s a spell book, looking for a new owner, and that owner is me, now. It’s not just any book of spells either–it somehow knows exactly what kind of magic I want, and makes the spells for me, personally. The spell I cast on you, is an obedience spell. One that will make you my perfect little slave. That trance you were in is way more powerful than hypnosis–but don’t worry, I didn’t do anything too extreme today. But tell me, Pete, what do you think of my body?”

“Fuck, I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Pete said, horrified at the words falling out of his mouth. Worse, he realized that he was hard, that looking at Bill’s fat, hairy, dirty body there was, in fact, turning him on more than his wife’s body ever had.

“Oh my, are you gay, Pete? You never told me that.”

“I am gay. I’m gay, and I love servicing fat, old, hairy men like you, Bill.”

“Does your wife know that?”

“N-No…no, please, you can’t…how are you doing this? This isn’t right!”

“This isn’t right?” Bill said, hefted up his heavy apron of fat, revealing his thick, precum drooling cock below. “I’ll give you a choice, Pete. You can pick up your clothes and leave, and I’ll put your mind back the way it was. Or, you can come over here, get on your knees, worship my fat body and suck my cock off. If you do that, though, you’re agreeing to by my slave, my little whore neighbor from now on, and you’ll be my guinea pig for whatever spells I want to cast on you. What do you want to do, Pete? What do you really want?”

“Fuck, I want to worship you so fucking bad,” Peter said, and stumbled closer to the recliner, a bit of him trying to hold back.

“You want my dirty, fat body more than you love that wife of yours? Your son?” Bill said.

Pete fell to his knees, crawled over, and pressed his tongue against Bill’s hairy belly, moaning as he did. “Fuck, oh fuck…” he moaned, dragging his tongue across the surface, one hand drifting to his cock and stroking himself as he licked.

“Get your hand off that cock of yours, slave, you don’t touch yourself without permission,” Bill said, and Pete yanked his hand away, “give me a good belly rub, satisfying me is more important than satisfying you. You’ll get your pleasure if you serve me well, slave.”

Peter did as he was told, kneading Bill’s soft belly with his hands while he kept licking it, until Bill’s hand grabbed the top of his head and pushed him lower, underneath, to his cock. Peter had never so much as touched another man’s cock before, but as soon as he tasted Bill’s sweaty, musky cock, he knew without a doubt he would never want to be with a woman, ever again. He struggled all the same with the substantial length and girth of Bill’s cock, and his neighbor eventually just grabbed hold of his head and started fucking his face, barely giving Peter time to breathe, before he finally came down his throat.

“Good job slave, you’ve made the right choice, becoming my little whore, don’t you think?” Bill said, a little out of breath from the exertion. “Come on, let’s give you a little reward, eh? You want to cum, don’t you slave?”

“Please, yes, please Master,” Peter said, not even noticing what he called Bill, his face wet with tears, spit and cum.

“And how do slaves like you get to cum?”

“By…By fucking my little slave cock up against your big, beautiful belly, Master.”

Peter climbed up on top of Bill in his chair, who shoved his face into one rank armpit, and the stench alone made Pete shudder and moan in delight. He started humping against Bill’s belly, licking and snorting at the stinky pit, and in less than a minute, he was horrified to realize he was actually going to do it. He was going to cum, just from humping himself against Bill’s massive gut. It was too late to stop himself, much too late to try and wrestle any kind of control back, and he came, spraying a massive load of cum all over Bill’s belly, which his Master made him lick up afterwards.

“You made the right choice, slave,” Bill said, “Now, why don’t we take care of a few additional details, slave? There’s some spells in here I’ve been wanting to try out, and I think you’ll be the perfect test subject. First of all, Pete, we’re gonna have to do something about this body of yours. No slave of mine is going to look like, well, this–I can tell you that. Go stand back where you were, so I can get a good look at you.”

Peter did as he was told, and went back to stand a few feet in front of Bill’s recliner. He’d always taken decent care of his body, and even in his mid fifties, he was still relatively slender–though he’d picked up a small belly over the last decade or so. He’d never been particularly hairy, and Michelle didn’t like facial hair, so he kept his face smooth. He had a decent sized cock, not as large as Bill’s was, but perfectly average.

Bill picked up the spellbook, laid it open on his belly, and started flipping through the pages. Peter was confused–all of the pages looked blank to him, from where he was standing. Pete looked up, noticed where Peter was looking, and grinned, “The book, apparently, is bound to me until death, or I choose to relinquish it. No one else can use it until then, so don’t think about anything clever, like trying to steal it, slave.”

“Why are you doing this, Master? Just…please, let me go.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Bill said, “All these filthy things I’ve always wanted to do, and never had much chance, well, there’s no time like the present, is there? Now, where was that spell again…ah! Here it is.”

Bill arrived at the page he’d been seeking, and read out an incantation in a language that Peter didn’t understand at all. He felt something though, a strange tingle through his entire body, almost like there was a small electric shock running through him, from his feet up to the top of his head. “What…was that, Sir?”

“I’ll show you, come on, let’s go to the bedroom.”

Bill’s house was a small, ranch style house with no upstairs. A little hallway off the living room, past the front door, led down to a bathroom and a couple of bedrooms. Bill led the way into the larger, master bedroom, where the room was littered with dirty work gear, and stank of sheets that hadn’t been laundered in months, if ever. He flipped the lights on, and the sliding doors of the closet were mirrored. He had Peter stand in front of them, looking at himself, still confused.

“Let’s see–all I should have to do is concentrate, and…”

The electric tingle returned, but this time, it was centered on Peter’s chest and his belly. He gasped, as he watched those parts of his body inflate in the mirror, his chest growing more muscular, while his small gut rapidly expanded into a firm, taut, gut. It wasn’t nearly as big as Bill’s, but it was substantial enough that Peter found himself needing to shift his stance slightly to accommodate it. The tingle affected his arms and legs, beefing him out considerably, just like his chest, and then his skin started to itch as a thick pelt of hair grew in–enough hair that he started to sweat as he stood there, a thick, inch long beard appearing on his face as the hair on his head disappeared entirely, leaving him with a bald dome. Peter had been slow to gray, but he watched as his new hair faded from his previous dark brown to mostly salt. He looked older even, though the various aches and pains he’d felt over the last few years seemed to disappear at the same time.

He looked at himself, at his new self, his hairy, chubby, muscled bearded self, and was horrified. He felt the tingle affect one last area, his groin, hefted up his gut and saw his cock shrinking up until it was just an inch long, while his nuts doubled in size. He felt Bill come up behind him, wrap his arms around his chest, and push his belly against the small of his back, and just that touch made Peter shudder and moan. His huge sack throbbed, and he felt a wad of precum drool from the head of his tiny cock. “There we go,” Bill said, “Now this is the kind of dirty, old, muscle-bound, pigslave I can get behind.”

Bill pushed Peter over to the bed, and bent him over it, and with one hand, reached between his legs, got his fingers and hands slick with Peter’s copious precum, and slid two thick fingers into his hole. Peter had never been touched back there, and he expected his body to put up at least some resistance, but all he felt was pleasure as his hole opened to his Master’s touch. “Oh–Oh fuck, Sir!”

“Yeah, just a filthy, slutty old pig bottom, that’s what you are, slave,” Bill said, “I’m not a cruel master. I want you to want the things I do to you. I want you to beg me for it, to beg me for more. You want me to fuck you, pig? You want your Master’s cock in that hole, now that I got it all lubed up with your precum?”

“Please, please fuck me Master, fuck me…” Peter moaned, horrified at how deep his voice was, at how pleading he sounded, at how true it was.

Bill hefted up his big belly and let it flop down on the small of Peter’s back, making him shudder. Bill’s cock was already hard again, and he slipped into Peter’s hole with no resistance, running his hands over Peter’s furry back, kneading his muscles there while he fucked him. Peter could smell him as himself as he sweat more and more, the pungent musk rising up from his pits. It was rank, and yet, he couldn’t get enough of it. He could feel sweat dripping off Bill’s face as he fucked him roughly, panting and huffing from the exertion, could smell him in the sheets underneath him, in the room. His cock was spewing precum, massive amounts of it, but an orgasm felt impossible. Bill’s thrusting quickened, and he came with a roar, driving deep and emptying his own load into Peter’s hungry hole, before collapsing on top of him, driving the air out of Peter’s lungs, the sensation of being crushed under his Master’s weight making Peter even hornier.

Finally, Bill pulled himself free, climbed up on the bed, and collapsed in a sweaty, stinking heap. “Go on, slave, I know you’re horny after that. Worship my belly, hump a few loads out, use me like a fuckin’ cumrag, I wanna stink of you when you’re done.”

Peter didn’t need any further direction. He crawled across the mattress, grabbed hold of Bill’s soft gut, and after just two thrusts against the soft mass, he came with a roar of his own, thick cum drooling down the side of Bill’s gut from Peter’s massive load. His Master was right though, he was still so horny. He straddled him, bellies pressed together, and kept humping, licking and sucking at Bill’s sweaty belly, already feeling another orgasm building, Bill just watching his lust crazed neighbor lose himself in his own lust and belly worship, right where they both belonged.

Half an hour later, they laid on the bed together, their hairy bellies sticky with sweat and several loads of Peter’s cum that he’d shot between them before finally collapsing beside his Master. “That was good, slave,” Bill said, rolling over and running his hand through Peter’s new beard, “You’ve made me very, very pleased, this afternoon.”

“I…Thank…Sir…” Peter said, not quite certain how to respond. He’d enjoyed it, but only because he’d been compelled to do so. The pleasure, though, was undeniable. He’d never felt this kind of lust, this kind of sheer, hedonistic delight before in his life. “I…we can’t…please, I can’t stay like this, you have to change me back, Sir.”

Bill just smirked at him. “Why? You didn’t enjoy yourself immensely?”

“I…I did. But Michelle, and…I can’t just show up to work looking like this, and…and this, we can’t, just, live like this, it’s not…it’s not…right.”

Bill just laughed. “Who says it’s not right, or good? Last time I checked, I get to make those rules now, pig.”

“This is crazy, you can’t just…make me…like this.”

“I can, and I did, and I have no intention of changing you back, either. You’re my pig slave now, and that hole of yours is way too good to let go of now.”

“But my life, I can’t–”

“Here, first things first,” Bill said, as he hefted himself out of his bed, muttered a little incantation, and the spellbook appeared in his hands from nowhere. “Damn that’s handy. Let’s see, first, let’s finalize that body shifting spell…”

Bill flipped the pages, muttered a spell under his breath, and Peter felt that odd tingle again all over his body–but this time, it was almost in…reverse. There was something else happening, like all of this potential he’d been imbued with was evaporating, his body growing solid, and real in ways he couldn’t quite explain. “Tell me slave, what did you look like when you came into my house today. Do you remember?”

“I…I was…” Peter said, but while he knew that Bill had changed him, as far as his memory could tell, he’d always looked like this. It wasn’t true, and yet, his memories, all of it. “I…I don’t remember. But I was different, I know I was!”

“Go check your wallet then.”

They went back out into the living room, he dug his wallet out of his pant’s pocket, and sure enough, it was his new face, his new weight–all of it. It was real. This was real now, like it had always been him.

“I own you slave. I own your fucking reality,” Bill said, “You think I’m going to let something like society, or laws, or rules stop me? You should feel honored that I chose you to be my first. I’m tired of being an outcast, a freak. From now on, everyone is going to bow to me. This is my world now, and you’re going to love it, trust me.”

“You…you can’t just…” Peter said, but realized it wasn’t true. He could. Bill could, and clearly, he wasn’t going to stop here.

Bill flipped through the book again, landed on a page, and said a different incantation. As he did, Peter felt his head begin to ache, but not like before, when he’d been put into that trance. This felt like someone was digging into his head, into his memories, into his very reality. The divorce. How he’d come to the realization, a decade ago, that he was gay. That he’d always been gay, and miserable with Michelle. She hadn’t taken it well. He hadn’t seen her in ages, and she’d gotten near total custody of Sean, their son in the process. He’d lived here, alone, all that time, now, single and gay and…and something else. There was more coming, too.

How he’d started making up for lost time. How he’d quickly realized he preferred quantity over quality. That with his tiny cock, he could only real be a bottom, so he better be a good one. He didn’t play golf anymore–no, he spent his free time sucking cock, preferably anonymous ones, usually at the adult video store a couple miles down the road, in the gloryholes, where he could just be a mouth, or an ass. That, and the gym. He went to the gym everyday, keeping his muscular build up, even as he got older, and fatter by the year. That, and work–he still worked at the same place, still had the same job.

The ache in his mind started to subside, leaving him exhausted. He fell to his knees, trying to cling to the reality, the history that was already vanishing from his mind, from his thoughts. Just a shadow was left, a hole, enough to know that something he’d treasured was gone forever. “You…what did you…do to me?”

“I ruined you, slave,” Bill said, getting down beside him on the floor, and pulling him close. “The only thing you have, now, is me. That’s the way it should be, right? A good slave can’t have other distractions from your service. Besides, that blowjob you gave me before was terrible, I needed to make sure you got your skills up, and got rid of that gag reflex. I can’t shift too much at once–even that was pushing it a bit, but I didn’t want you having anything to regret. I just want my old muscle slave to be happy–and nothing makes you happier than going to the gym, sucking tons of cock, and servicing your master every day, of course. That’s all you have left now. It could, I suppose, be worse, couldn’t it? Why don’t you thank me for giving you the life you deserve, slave.”

“Th-Thank you Master.”

“You’re welcome, slave. Now get home. Your service is done for today.”

Peter got dressed in his clothes–his filthier, much larger clothes than what he’d had on before, kissed his Master’s gut goodbye, and left. Evening was falling. He stepped down the porch, still feeling a bit unsteady in his new body. He saw his house next door, now it just as much disrepair as his Master’s was. Inside, the floor was littered with pizza boxes and old take out. He didn’t want to be here though. He could feel everything that Master had taken from him still, little ghosts of old feelings that he couldn’t recall, but that still lingered at the back of his mind. Besides, he was starving–and not for food. He got in his dirty jeep and drove to the sex shop, where the guy behind the counter knew him by first name. He went right to the gloryholes, got on his knees, and soon was sucking cock. It felt good, being wanted, being needed, even if it was just his mouth, and the cum tasted so good, and filled him up in ways that he’d grown to crave over the years. When he was satisfied, the front of his jeans was soaked with precum, like usual, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to cum until he was back with his Master. Back where he belonged. The only place where a dirty old pig could possibly be needed. It was all he had now–he could see that. As much as he wanted to hate Bill for it, he couldn’t. He loved him. He loved him in ways he could barely fathom. He’d do anything for him, now. He was Bill’s slave now, in body, mind, and soul.

The Doppelganger Conspiracy

This is my contribution to the Secret Santa Story Exchange over on Gay Spiral Stories this month! The two tags I received were…not my usual sort of thing, “teachers” and “robots”, but I’m honestly pretty pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy it!

“Coach, can I…talk to you about something?” Evan said as he stepped into Coach Harrison’s office. Football practice had ended half an hour ago, and Evan had dragged his feet getting undressed and showering while the rest of the team had left already, leaving him and the coach alone for the moment. 

“Sure Evan, what’s up?” Harrison said, looking up from his computer. The coach was in his mid forties, and kept himself in good athletic shape. He was well liked by the whole team, and in Evan’s opinion, was a good listener. Now, Evan just had to hope that the coach wouldn’t think he’s crazy.

Evan hesitated a moment, looking down at his sneakers, then up again. “Have you noticed something…off, about Rick and Phillip? Joshua too?”

Harrison cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t think so, you’re all playing great out on the field,” Harrison said, “I think we have a real shot at going to state this year, honestly.”

It was true. When the team had started practicing in late summer, they’d been good. Good, not great. But after about a month, some of the players had improved remarkably–specifically Rick, Phillip and Joshua, who were all seniors like Evan. They were almost too good to be high school players, but none of them would admit something had changed. “I just, something’s off about…how good they’ve gotten.”

Harrison sighed, “Look, Evan, if you’re worried that they’re upstaging you, don’t stress about it! You’re just as crucial to this team’s success as they are.”

“It’s not–I’m not jealous! It’s more than just…how good they got all of a sudden. Have…you met the new computer science teacher? Mr. Klein?” 

“Sure, what about him?”

“Does he seem normal to you?”

“Evan, what is this about exactly?”

This was the moment. How could Evan put to words the unease that had been building up in his gut over the last few months about his three friends? All of them all enrolled in Mr. Klein’s intro course to get an easy good grade in their senior year and immediately complained about how creepy the fellow was. How he was always sneaking looks at them, ogling them in class, making these lewd comments. Then, one by one, they’d gotten sick, were gone from school for three or four days, and when they came back, they were fine. Except none of them could recall complaining about Mr. Klein before. All of them were remarkably better at football, enough that their midtier school was expected to dominate the state championship. Little things, their eyes, their smell, their mannerisms, the way they only hung out with each other now, and no one else. It wasn’t right, something must have happened to them, but what? “I just, I think they’re…different, all of a sudden. I don’t know how I know, just…and I think Mr. Klein has something to do with it. Have any of them talked to you about anything? They don’t…talk to me really at all anymore, and they won’t even say why.”

Harrison leaned back in his chair, wearing the scowl he always had on when he was thinking deep about something. “Have…you told anyone else about this?”

A bit of hope flared in Evan’s chest. He believed him! “No, I haven’t, I…didn’t know who I could trust, and you know them, so I thought if anyone would have noticed something like me, it would be you. There is something off, isn’t there? What’s going on? It’s like they’ve all been replaced by clones, or robots!”

“I…have some suspicions. I’ve been taking some notes. Tell me what you think of these?” the coach said, and opened up a word document on the screen. Evan went over to look, only to find himself looking at a blank page. Before he could ask his coach what he meant, the older man leapt up from this chair, wrapped an arm around Evan’s neck, and had him in a choke hold from behind. Evan tried to fight him off, but all he succeeded in doing was kicking over the coach’s chair, his vision tunnelling and going black. He came to after a few moments, lying on the floor, and saw coach Harrison looming over him, drawing something from a vial into a syringe. Evan struggled weakly, but the coach plunged the needle into his neck, and after a few moments, darkness overwhelmed Evan again–a deep well of darkness, complete and total.



Evan woke up. It wasn’t quite like waking up, but that was what his head told him it was, and he had no way to contest it, so that’s what he called it. Waking up. But it wasn’t the gradual move from unconsciousness to awareness, it was like a switch. Everything wasn’t, then everything just was. He was awake, lying on a mattress naked, and there was Coach Harrison at the foot of the bed, staring at him, completely naked. “C-Coach? What’s going on? Where am I?” Evan said, trying to remember what had happened, but he couldn’t seem to recall anything from beyond the end of practice. He’d talked to him about something, hadn’t he? But what?

“Fuck, he said you’d smell better than the other models, let’s see, eh?” Harrison said, and the burly, hairy man climbed onto the bed with Evan. He tried to move, tried to do anything, but his limbs refused to respond. They felt heavy, like bricks attached to him, not like flesh. In fact, his whole body felt off, cold and hard and immobile, but that didn’t make any sense, none of this made any sense at all. Coach Harrison pushed up one of his arms, shoved his nose into Evan’s pit, took a long sniff, and then released the breath with a shuddering sigh. “Fuck, fuck! You’re fucking perfect, fucking…” he snorted up more of Evan’s smell, and he could smell it too now. It didn’t smell like his body usually did. It was deeper, earthier, thicker somehow. It didn’t smell entirely human. “Fuck boy, you’re gonna get coach so fucking hard, I hope you’re fucking ready,” Harrison said, pulling away from Evan’s pit and leering down at him.

“Coach, what’s going on? I don’t understand what’s wrong, why can’t I move.”

“Shut up, you stupid hunk of junk. Enter bottom mode, plus nullification.”

Something inside Evan’s body, something unfamiliar, whirled to life in his guts, or what should have been his guts. He could feel it churning though, like gears, like screws. It made him nauseous at first, and he kept expecting there to be pain, but there was only discomfort. Looking down, he saw something happening to his cock, the flesh separating into panels with metal visible inside. It telescoped, and proceeded to retract down into his groin until it was flush with his crotch, and then the flesh smoothed back over, leaving him with just a hairy patch, his nuts sucked back up inside his body as well. Coach reached down and grabbed hold of the blank patch–Evan felt nothing, not a mote of pleasure from the touch. Harrison gripped him tighter, making Evan wince–there was the pain, a familiar sense of pain, but somehow not entirely familiar to him, like it was tracing new paths through his body to his mind to be understood. The coach’s hand slid lower, between his thighs, parting them, to his hole. One finger grazed Evan’s ass, and he let loose a moan of surprise. His body–he could move now, but he didn’t seem to have full control. His asshole twitched, his legs spread wider, and he could feel, and hear, something wet down there as the coach slid a finger into Evan’s ass. “Coach, please…don’t…” he muttered, but he couldn’t get anything else intelligible out through the moans.

“Shut up. Good to know the lube pump is working up in there, good and slick already,” Harrison said, and forcefully rolled Evan over. “Get into position B.”

Evan didn’t know what that meant, but his body knew, somehow. His limbs moved him onto hands and knees, ass high, back arched, hole flexing. The sensation of gears and hydraulics inside his limbs made the nausea return, but there was no sense of organs inside him. What on earth was wrong with him? What was he? Harrison’s cock slid up and down his ass crack, and each time it caught on his hole, Evan shuddered and gasped, until the coach finally slid inside him. His ass gave no resistance at all, and there was no pain, only a deep pleasure, a satisfaction at being used and penetrated that sprang right to the forefront of his mind, told him how much he liked being fucked, how much he wanted to coach to use him. Harrison pulled him tight, and shoved his nose into one of Evan’s pits from behind. He could feel his coach’s cock throb and harden further. 

“Make that ass pulse for me, milk my cum out.”

Evan’s hole started throbbing and sucking at the coach’s cock. He couldn’t control it, he couldn’t even understand how he was doing it, the mechanics completely alien to him. His body, what was wrong with his body? He tried to sob, tried to scream, tried to crawl away, tried to beg, but all he could do was moan as his coach slid in and out of his pulsating asshole.

One side of the room was mirrored. Behind that mirror, looking on, was Evan. In horror, he watched as his coach fucked the android copy of himself that Mr. Klein had made of him over the last few days while he was unconscious, the android that had all of Evan’s memories and personality copied into it, the android that had no clear idea that it was in fact just a machine. A machine that Mr. Klein had crafted to pleasure other himself and his accomplices, like Coach Harrison. 

Of course, Harrison hadn’t been thrilled at the idea when Klein had mentioned it to him, but after a few brainwashing sessions, as after getting him addicted to the unique pheromone he could only get from the androids’ pits–from Rick, Phillip, Joshua, and now Evan–he’d been more than happy to help Mr. Klein execute his master plan. Knowing that the androids were sure to help the school’s team win the state championship didn’t hurt either. 

The real Evan, the Evan made of meat, he struggled in the bondage chair Mr. Klein had him strapped into, but it was no use. All he could do was look away as the coach roared and came deep in his doppelganger’s hole, only to lean in, snort up more of that artificial musk, and feel his still leaking cock return to full hardness in a matter of moments.

“It’s quite the powerful aphrodisiac,” Mr. Klein said, from where he was standing beside Evan, “I’ve seen him get eight or nine orgasms in during a single session. His nuts run dry around the sixth ejaculation, but your coach is a persistent fellow. He knows what he wants.”

“Is this what you fucking did to my friends, you fucking freak?” Evan said, “You fuck–god damn it, let me fucking go! You think no one will notice?”

“No one will notice. Even if they do, trust me, I’ll make sure they become just as committed to helping me with my plans as Coach Harrison there is,” Mr. Klein said, “This is just a beta test, after all. It won’t be long before I can replace important people. Business leaders. Congressman. Before long, I’ll have everything I ever wanted. No one will care about some high school that went to state this year–you won’t matter at all. You’re just my seed funding.”

“What?” Evan asked.

“You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to let you keep your mind, do you?” Mr. Klein said with a chuckle. “I have your memories and personality backed up, just in case the bot in there gets corrupted somehow. I don’t need you anymore, for anything. Of course, a body like yours,” the teacher said, running his hands over Evan’s toned body, down to his youthful cock and down his thighs, “Bodies like this are worth quite a lot. Some people still value flesh over artifice, for now at least. And since I can give you whatever mind I want…well, let’s just say you’re going to be a high value commodity, once I customize you. Of course, I wasn’t planning on converting another so soon–I don’t have a buyer for you yet. That doesn’t mean we can’t return you to factory settings, of course.”

Evan struggled as Mr. Klein lowered the helmet down onto his head, the same helmet that had copied and digitized his entire mind over the last few days. Erasing a mind, though, was much easier, and would be complete in a matter of hours. All that would remain of Evan, the original Evan at least, was a new basic protocol of a cock hungry slave, eager to obey and service any man–the perfect foundation for whatever his new owner would desire him to be. Evan begged  and pleaded for mercy, as they always did, then there was a bright flash inside the helmet, and the young man slumped over in the chair where he was strapped, his mind being wiped clean of anything troublesome. 

Mr. Klein walked over, put a hand under his limp chin, lifted him up and used his thumb to wipe a little drool from the corner of his new slave’s mouth. He looked over at the coach, about to unload into the android for the second time. He really should wait for the processing to complete before using his new toy, but watching the coach rough up at slutty robot, and listening to Evan’s pleading had gotten him plenty horny. He dropped his pants, pushed his cock into Evan’s slack mouth, and fucked his face roughly, feeling the mouth start to suck on him instinctually.

Maybe this one, Mr. Klein would keep for himself, as a personal pet. It had been a long time since he’d had one for himself. He’d gathered plenty of seed money at this point, and he had to admit, Evan was handsome. He could picture the young man now, shaved completely, crawling around on all fours, cock forgotten and locked away within a steel chastity cage, perhaps his nuts removed entirely. There were a few more extreme programs that Mr. Klein had been working on that he needed a guinea pig for–he could envision making Evan a complete masochist, only able to receive pleasure from painful stimuli. Making him beg his new master to tattoo him all over his body, pierce him, destroy him–and when he’d been all used up, he could always sell him off cheap to some biker gang that needed a gimp and fuckdoll to abuse.

Mr. Klein was so excited by the thought that he drove his cock in deep to the young throat and exploded, feeding his new slave the first load of many more to come. He pulled free, and smiled. For Mr. Klein, it seemed that Christmas had come a few months early.

Halloween At the Barnyard – Alternate Ending

This is an alternate ending I wrote to the last story I posted. The original ending was requested by the original commissioner, but I kind of wanted something with a bit more turnabout. That, and a lot of guys have been asking for submissive top stories lately, and this fits the bill. Hope you enjoy! The new content starts about halfway through chapter 4, but I reposted the whole chapter here for context, along with a brand new chapter 5.

Chapter 4 (Alternate Version)

“J-Jimmy?…Jimmy!” Matt shouted through the crowd, forcing his way over to where the large man was chatting with a couple of goats, “I need tah talk tah ya.”

Jimmy did his best to suppress an eye roll when he saw the pig stumbling towards him–this was a tough nut to keep happy, obviously. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to the others, and turned to the pig. On a second look, however, it was clear that the pig was in actual distress, and he didn’t see Carl with him. “You look like a bit of a mess, Matt. What happened?” The words that fell out of Matt’s mouth came in no easily discernible order, and his panic was only ratcheting higher. Jimmy twirled one hand, a large glass brimming with a dark ale appearing in his hand, and thrust it under Matt’s snout. “Drink this down first–you’ve obviously had some shock.”  

Matt was suspicious–and for good reason, but even smelling the ale was making him feel a bit better. He took the glass in his awkward hands and drank it back in a few glugs, feeling a bit run down the sides of his mouth. When he finished, he gave off a great big belch–and he expected to feel a bit hazy from the alcohol, but if anything he felt more clear-headed than he had all night. Jimmy pulled a cigar from his pocket–Matt was happy to see it, and let Jimmy giving him a light–feeling immediately better with it in his snout again.

“Bit better?”

Matt nodded, sighing out a cloud of smoke.

“Good. Now, what’s going on? Where’s Carl?”

“That’s, Ah mean…” Matt took a deep breath, and he went back to the start, how he’d been eating for…well, he couldn’t quite be sure how long he’d been eating, but at some point he’d felt someone working him over, and he’d assumed it must have been Carl. He glossed over some of the details–Jimmy had no trouble filling them in–the pig was still soaked to the skin with piss–and skipped to the part where he’d looked back and found himself staring up at some massive minotaur, or bull, or something. He’d freaked out and gotten away, but it was only after that he’d realized the bull had been wearing the same costume as Carl had. He’d gone back to the trough to look for him, but he’d disappeared, and he’d spent the last…who knew how long looking for him all over the room. He’d heard the bell go off twice at some point–he assumed for two in the morning, and he’d spotted Jimmy here, and hoped he might be able to help him find Carl.

Jimmy listened attentively, and when Matt ran out of story, he frowned. “Well, it sounds like Carl ended up getting…something at the bar, but I gave very clear instruction as to who should receive what…this is a rather embarrassing mix up, I must say. Follow me, let’s see if we can find out what happened.”

He moved through the crowd towards the bar, Matt struggling to keep up with him. Even though he was taller, with a longer gait, Jimmy could somehow flow through everyone, leaving Matt to stumble and push his way through, muttering apologies in every direction. He caught up in time to see Jimmy talking in a rather stern tone of voice to a dog behind the bar, who had his head down and ears back. He tried to ask what he’d learned, but Jimmy was no longer paying attention to him, just striding off towards one wall of the bar where a curtain was hung over a doorway, and Matt hustled off after him, sweat pouring from his body, the fat working its way off his body little by little, thankfully, as he walked, leaving him with a more manageable, if still very hefty, body. He reached the curtain after Jimmy had already gone through, and ducked behind it, finding himself in a rather dull looking locker room, with a hounddog manning a desk next to another door. 

“Interested in a room for an hour?” the hound asked, “you’re welcome to pay by the hour, and…are you alone? I’d be happy to match you up with someone, if you give me your preference.”

“No…what? I mean, did Jimmy just come through here?”

“Boss? I mean, he did–hey, wait! You have to pay first,” he said, trying to stop Matt from going through the door, but he steamrolled by him and into a long hallway lined with doors. Some were standing open. Behind the closed doors, he could hear all manner of squeals, groans, howls and grunts coming from them, but it was about halfway down that he saw Jimmy pounding on a door and fiddling with a large keychain full of keys, shouting at whoever was on the other side. Matt was exhausted from trying to keep up with him, and he walked down the hallway, heaving for breath around the cigar still clamped in his teeth. Jimmy found the right key, apparently, worked it into the lock and threw open the door, storming into the room. A few seconds after him, Matt reached the doorway and was able to see what was happening inside.

The entire room was filthy, the floor slick with mud and covered with straw, and it stank like a barn. On one large heap of straw to the side was the bull Matt had seen earlier…was Carl, actually. Matt could…recognize him now. He was lying on his back in the straw, and mounting him was a massive boar, shorter than Matt was now, but quite a bit thicker, and a bit more feral–large tusks sticking up from his fully formed snout, bristly hair covering his rough hide. He had a leash wrapped up in one trotter, connected to a collar around Carl’s thick, muscular neck, pulled taut, forcing him to keep his neck raised, even as he tried as hard as he could to thrust deeper into the pig’s hole, his own hooved hands bound up in front of him with chain manacles, both of them snorting and grunting and heaving, covered with sweat, neither of them paying any attention to Jimmy in the middle of the room shouting at them–or rather, shouting at the boar, who was apparently named Stu.

“Fucking get off him Stu! Don’t even try and tell me you don’t remember what happened last time you pulled this shit with me.”

The pig slipped down further onto Carl’s cock, making him blurt out a long, loud moo of lust, “I don’t know, Jimmy, he doesn’t seem to want me to get off him very much, and he is a customer. Isn’t the customer always right? I can’t help it that I’m a better fuck than his stupid boyfriend,” Stu said, throwing a quick glance over to Matt in the doorway, and tightening his hold on the leash with a snorting laugh.

“I said get off of him!” Jimmy shouted, and some strange force picked Stu up into the air, the leash unwinding from his trotters. He was still laughing and grunting, as he was thrown him up against the opposite wall on his back, pinning him there, Jimmy stalking over, the two of them trying to shout their way over each other. His cock no longer inside anyone, Carl gave a snort and looked up, trying to figure out where he was, his balls aching with unfulfilled desire and started jacking his cock with his bound wrists as best he could, snorting and mooing.

It was a mess, and Matt found himself unsure of whether he should walk away and try to pretend that he’d never been a part of any of this, and…and a second desire to…to walk over there and help that big bull take care of his needs. Because he was horny too–in fact, he’d been horny for months. In all the time Carl had been slipping away here, Matt had been the one to stay true. Not because he didn’t have a choice–he’d always had more than a few fuckbuddies who’d been willing to play with him in the past. No, he’d stayed loyal because he’d wanted to, for Carl, and all those months of jacking off, they just weren’t enough. That sex earlier in the day, that fuck at the trough…rough but…much too brief. He’d been terrified, but he’d also…he’d also enjoyed it. He didn’t know if that was him. He didn’t know if that was the costume, or the the potion. He didn’t know if there was really a difference anymore.

Carl rolled his head around, getting closer, and finally noticed Matt in the doorway. He stopped what he was doing, his hands frozen, his eyes wide. “M-Matt? Oh fuck, Matt, I…I mean, I don’t…it was, I mean…All I wanted was–”

That was it. That was all of it that he could take, and Matt turned around and started off back down the hallway. Because he didn’t care what Carl wanted; what he cared about was that Carl didn’t seem at all interested in what Matt wanted, in what Matt might be able to give him.

Carl struggled up from the straw, rolling off onto his knees, struggling to pull his jeans back up and get them up over his cock. He ended up getting the button done up, his massive cock hanging out the front–his jockstrap had already been torn off by Stu earlier. “Matt–Matt!” he shouted after him, “Wait–wait just a fuckin’ minute, I’m so fuckin’ tired of ya just walking away from me.”

Matt walked faster, but his legs couldn’t match Carl’s massive stride. The bull caught up to him in the locker room, grabbed him by the back of his overalls, and threw him into a corner of the room, blocking him in. “Will ya jus’ talk tah me? I’m sorry alright? I don’t–”

“Ah’m fuckin’ tired a listenin’ tah yer bullshit, Carl! Jus’ let me fuckin’ go. It’s obi–ovius ya don’t wanna be wit’ me.”

“Don’t wanna–Fuck Matt, why the fuck do ya think I did all a this, if I didn’ wanna be wit ya?”

“Ah don’ fuckin’ know! Ya drag me all the way ‘ere, ‘n ya still end up fuckin’ that pig!”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. 

“Have…Have ya got a cigar I can have? I could use one bad…” Carl finally asked. Matt sighed, but rummaged in his pocket, finding one with a lighter, sticking it in Carl’s snout and lighting it for him, since his hands were still bound up. “Thanks,” he said, “Look, Matt, I’m sorry. I don’…know wha’ happened.”

“Ya don’ know wha’ happened? What the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yeah! I was trying tah git down wit’ ya, and ya freaked the fuck out! Ya say all this ‘bout wantin’ tah be wit’ me, and yer the one who went ‘n ran off first. Face it–ya can’t fuckin’ handle me! You can’ handle this, but this is me too! If ya wanna be wit’ me, then…then sometimes, I jus’…fuck.”

Would ya fuckin’ look at yerself?” Matt shouted, “If ya saw that fuckin’ yer hole, you’d a flipped out too!”

Carl’s snout curled up in confusion, “What?”

“Ya mean…oh fuck, a course,” Matt said, grabbed Carl’s bound hands and pulled him over to a bank of mirrors in the locker room, where he figured out how to unhook Carl’s hands from each other, “Have a fuckin’ look at yerself, ‘n ya’ll see what Ah mean.”

Carl knew he’d been feeling strange ever since those drinks at the bar, but he still hadn’t quite been able to articulate what was wrong with him. Hell, he hadn’t seen himself since he’d put on the costume, and even that had been odd, walking around, feeling “bigger”, but not really able to tell what had changed, exactly. For the last while, all he’d really been able to focus on was how horny he’d been, how sensitive his cock had been, and how…eager Stu had been to make him feel good. He looked in the mirror, and just like Matt earlier that day in in his kitchen, his jaw dropped when he saw himself, the veil of magic peeling away from his eyes.

No wonder he felt massive–he was massive. Next to him, in the mirror, Matt had to be close to six foot four–a big, hulking piece of boar–and Carl was easily a foot taller, his head a bit too close to the ceiling to make him feel comfortable, the two…horns pushing their way out of his temples coming dangerously close to scraping it. They grew out a few inches and then arced up, around the sides of the hard hat he still had on. His face had grown out similar to Matt’s, but his mouth was wider, his teeth broad and flat behind his lips, his wide nose pierced with a thick, silver ring–though he couldn’t remember when that might have happened to him. He still had on the collar and lead Stu had put on him. His entire body was coated with a thick layer of brown hair, but he could still see his skin underneath, and the tattoos coating his body, much like he’d seen on Carl earlier. He no longer had hands–much like Matt–it looked like a hoof split into three black, solid fingers–he also could see why his boots had felt so uncomfortable–his feet had become actual hooves. The rest of him had bulked up–he was packed with muscle, his arms bulging out of the tank, which was riding up, no longer able to contain his big gut. The cock hanging out of his jeans had to be at least a foot long, and his balls were equally sizable and covered with the same brown hair all over the rest of him. He looked like…like a brute. Like the brute he’d…always kind of felt like, especially when he was with Stu. No wonder Matt had been so terrified of him–if that had walked up behind him and started fucking him, he would have had a few questions too.

“Fuck, is this why Ah sound like such a fuckin’ hick? Ah look like I jus’ rolled in from the trailer park,” Matt said beside him, looking at his own reflection too.

Carl looked over at him, smelled him. He still reeked of their piss from earlier, and he…he couldn’t help but want him. Not just because he was there, like with Stu, but because…because it was Matt. “I think ya look pretty hot,” he said, stepping closer to him, pushing their bellies together. “Kinda makes me wanna finish what Ah started back by that trough.”

“We…we were tryin’ tah have a ser–surios talk, Carl…Ah wanna know what ya have tah say fer yerself…” he trailed off, sudddenly more interested in how good he smelled–how good they both smelled, actually, and how hard the bull cock pressing against him was, under his gut. 

“No, Ah don’t…I don’ got anythin’ tah say,” Carl said, “Ah can’ make this better. All Ah know, is that this…this is me. This is me too, this is maybe me more‘n anythin’ else. Now ya know, Ah shoulda told ya before all a this, Ah know. Ah spent…so much time tryin’ tah hide it from ya…but Ah think ya’ve been hidin’ somethin’ from me, too.”

“Ah don’–”

Carl pressed his hoof to his lips, quieting him, “No–let’s…let’s not be that us, fer a bit. Hell, I’d be happy never bein’ that us ever again. That old us. Let’s try…somethin’ different.”

Three bells rung out in the still air. Matt stepped back, and shook his head. “No, I don’…I can’t do do this with ya anymore, Matt. This is too fuckin’ much. This whole fuckin’ day–changin’ me, fuckin’ around behind mah back. Yer just sayin’ this shit cause yer horny, but tomorrow we’ll wake up, back in our old bodies in our old lives, and then what? Ya’ll just go out ‘n do it again. Well I’m fuckin’ done, Carl.”

Matt turned around to leave, only for Carl to grab hold of one of his forearms with his hooved hands and tug him back around. “Wait! Wait, yer right. Yer so fuckin’ right, I know. All of this was about me, and what I wanted, but let…let me make it up to ya, please let me at least try. There’s still a few hours a the party left, ya…ya can do what ya want tah me, alright? Anythin’ ya want. Show me what ya want. I’m just a stupid stud thinkin’ with mah dick, it’s always got me intah trouble, but I did all this ‘cause….’cause I wanted tah make it work. I wanted tah show ya this side a mahself, and here I am. Now…now show me what ya are. If ya wanna just ditch me here, fine. I get it, but…but I’m askin’–no, I’m beggin’ Matt, I’ll do whatever ya say.”

Carl got down on his knees, and he was so large, his horns still came to the base of Matt’s fat chest. Matt’s first instinct was to just tell him to fuck off, and go sit in a corner until dawn came, but two things stopped him. First, he was horny. Whether it was him, or the food, or the costume, or whatever it might be, he wanted to get off one way or another. Second, looking at this massive beast, smelling him there, on his knees in front of him, head raised–something else inside him clicked, something that Matt didn’t quite understand himself. He liked it. He liked seeing Carl kneeling in front of him, humbled slightly. That, perhaps, might have been why things had stopped clicking for him in their relationship, why he’d felt himself growing so distant. He felt like they were competing, two strong personalities trying to wrestle control away from one another. Carl had been in control long enough, this evening–it was time Matt had a turn at the reins. He reached down, grabbed hold of the chain lead connected to the collar, and yanked it up, making Carl snort in surprise, eyes a bit wide.

“One fuckin’ condition. Ya do everythin’ I fuckin’ say for the rest of the night. And then, when we’re back to normal tomorrow, ya do everythin’ I say then too. One fuck up, ‘n I’m gone, for good, no warnings. No more a this behind mah back shit. If ya wanna love me, if ya wanna be with me, then yer gonna be mine, understand?”


“That’s, ‘Yes Boss,’ from now on. Let’s hear it.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Fuck, that sounded hot. Matt pushed his big gut against Carl’s snout. “So what do ya think? Am I big enough fer ya yet? Think I gained another hundred pounds or so at the trough.”

Carl gave a little snort, clearly not used to being in this sort of position, but the huge gut pushing into his face was turning him on. “Yeah Boss, yer real fuckin’ big, I love it.” Carl reached down to give his massive cock a tug, only for Matt to shove him hard by the shoulders, hard enough to send him back on his ass and into a bank of lockers behind him. 

Matt came up quick, shoving his gut in Carl’s face, pinning him there with his weight.

“Were ya thinkin’ ‘bout touchin’ that cock, stud?”

“I…I mean–”

“I think that cock a yers has gotten ya intah plenty a trouble this evenin’. From now on, ya don’t touch that big fuckin’ piece a meat unless I give ya permission, is that fuckin’ clear? As far as yer concerned, that’s mah cock now–ya use it how I want ya to, ‘n ya only put it where I tell ya to. Is that fuckin’ clear, stud?”

“Y-yeah…” Carl said, only for Matt to apply more pressure, the vents of the lockers digging into the back of his head, “Yes Boss, it’s clear!”

“I know yer just a stupid stud bull, only thing yer really ever thinkin’ ‘bout is where tah stick that cock a yers next. Ya want that cock in mah piggy hole, don’t ya? That’s what ya were just thinkin’ about, plowin’ mah fat ass?”

“Oh fuck Boss, yeah…”

“Well too fuckin’ bad, stud. Ya want this hole tahnight, yer gonna have tah earn it. Now come on, I got’s an idea…”

Matt kept a firm hold on the chain connected to the collar he had on, as he led Carl back down the hallway they’d come from. Carl felt more than a bit humiliated by how Matt was treating him now, but in all honesty, he did deserve it. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also enjoying it, just a little bit. Stu had always liked this little dynamic with him, though he’d never taken it as far as he had tonight, chaining him up and riding him. To say Stu had him dommed from the bottom was certainly accurate. Matt kept the chain a bit too low, so Carl had to stoop a bit as they walked, only emphasizing their new difference in size. Carl again reached for his cock, which was mostly hard again already, and Carl batted his hand away. 

“What the fuck did I just fuckin’ say!” Carl said.

“Sorry Boss, I’m just so fuckin’ horny, ‘n–”

“Well too fuckin’ bad,” Matt said, and looked down an intersection, trying to recall where Stu’s room was. The answer came when Jimmy stomped his way out of the room, his fancy suit and tie all disheveled. “There you are!” Matt said, and dragged Carl along with him towards Jimmy.

“I was wondering where the two of you got off to,” Jimmy said, realized that Matt had Carl by the collar, a somewhat humiliated bullman dragged along my a squat, chubby pig. “I want to apologize profusely for what happened tonight, absolutely none of this was my intention when I suggested to Carl he bring you along to the party.”

“Look, I don’t fuckin’ care,” Matt said, “But if you want to make it up to me, then I have a costume change I’d like to request.”

“I don’t usually allow anyone to…wait, did he see himself too?” Jimmy said, noticing that Carl seemed especially quiet. “Fucking…look, the most important thing is that the two of you focus on forgetting as much of what you can. You’re both in a rather precarious position tonight, and as the night gets later, it’s only going to get worse. I have some drinks I can mix for you, now if you’ll come along–”

“No, I’m done being told what to do by you, by Carl, by who the fuck ever it is,” Matt said, “This stud is going to be mine for the rest of the evening, I don’ fuckin’ want him fergettin what the fuck he did. So no–no drinks, I want some costume changes.”

Jimmy sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and said, “Alright, what do you have in mind?”

Matt described what he had in mind. Carl tried to interject once with a moo of dismay, only for Matt to quiet him with a sharp tug on the collar, reminding him of their deal. Jimmy’s face started out a little sour, but even he had to admit, it sounded hot–and after the stunt Carl pulled in all of this, he did deserve it.

“If I do this…there’s a risk that this will have some strong repercussions on your reality, I want you to realize this. When you wake up tomorrow, both of you will probably not be the same men you where when you arrived here. There’s even a chance that you won’t leave at all–and if that happens, the only job opportunities left are either as waitstaff, or as whores. Are you sure you won’t just take the drink?”

“Matt, I–”

“Stud, I said shut the fuck up,” Matt said when Carl tried to interject.

“No, I want to do it, Boss. I’ll risk it.”

“Oh. Guess the stud has some balls after all,” Matt said, then looked back at Jimmy, “So that’s two votes. Now do what you need to do.”

“Alright,” Jimmy said, cracking his knuckles, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Both of you strip down. I can do what you want with what we have on hand, mostly–and I don’t want the two of you to miss any more of the party than you already have.

Chapter 5 (Alternate Version)

The bell rang four times, but not many people in the party even noticed. The magic was still near its peak, and everyone was fully immersed in their personal, or collective, fantasy. The air was heavy and thick, humid and musky, men of all sorts grinding up against one another all over the room, falling into piles of hay with one another if they didn’t mind a public showing, while more than a few opted for a quieter, more private experience in a room rented in the back. Not long after the bells ceased, Matt emerged from behind the curtain, tugging on the heavy chain in his hand, and Carl lumbered out after him, butterflies in his gut.

The first thing Jimmy had done was switch their basic costumes. Matt had ended up in the grubby hi viz that Carl had been wearing, Jimmy shrinking it to fit better on his smaller frame, and making a few other changes in the process. Matt was still plenty obese after his numerous stuffings throughout the day, but he’d packed on a good amount of muscle as well. Thick boar bristle was filling in thicker across his body, and a couple of thick tusks pushed their way out of his lower jaw. The hi viz was plenty grungy, but across the vest was now a full jacket, and across the back of it was the word “BOSS” in full capitals, large enough to be read across the room. He was smoking a massive cigar clamped in his mouth, took a long inhale and pushed two twin jets out of his nose as he stepped out.

Carl, on the other hand, had ended up in Matt’s filthy overalls. They had grown to fit him a little better, but not that much, the muddy denim stretched tight across his powerful thighs and calves. The crotch had ripped out completely, letting his massive bull cock flop out the front–a cock that seemed even a few inches longer than it had been earlier. Beyond that, Carl was sporting a few new body modifications, to Matt’s specifications. He had a massive padlock through the head of his cock, too wide to get into even a well trained hole without coming out, and heavy enough that even at full arousal, it pulled his cock down vertically. The padlock was also connected to two chains, each leading to a shackle around Matt’s ankles. There was enough slack that he could almost get a full stride, but if he moved too quickly, or carelessly, he would get a painful tug on the head of his cock. He had a few other additional piercings, thick gauge rings in both of his tits, which were the size of a small cock themselves, as well as a massive doorknocker hanging from his snout. Thick chains were connected to the tits and his nose, tight enough to force Matt to keep his head slightly bowed, or else get a painful tug on his tits, and his wrists were also shackled to the chain, forcing him to keep them close to his chest.

Matt gave a tug on the lead connected to both sets of chain, and Carl lumbered after him, wincing as the chains tugged on all of his sensitive parts. He walked a respectful distance behind his Boss, noticing that Matt was walking with a newfound confidence, even as he felt himself deservedly shrinking. Now that they were out in the room, the brands on his back were visible, where the thick fur of his hide had been burnt away. Across his broad shoulders, the words “STUD SLAVE” could be read just as clearly as “BOSS” on the back of Matt’s jacket. One cheek of the overalls had been torn away, allowing his long tail to escape, and revealing one muscular haunch with a smaller brand on it, a pig silhouette with the word’s “property of” inside it–signalling to everyone that this big bull was owned, and broken. 

Everyone was staring at them, a few in envy, many in lust, a few in confusion. No one could recall them from earlier in the party, but all of the attendees should have already been here. Matt ordered a beer at the bar–a normal one, not designed to make any further changes–sat down at a table, and ordered Carl onto his knees beside him while he kept smoking. His big bull spent the next while happily worshiping his Boss, sucking on his tits, worshiping his gut, before eventually working his way lower to lick the pig’s balls clean and suck on his cock. Matt’s scent was intoxicating to him, Carl kept getting lost in it. It had taken on a shift from earlier that day–more pungent, more commanding. Carl found himself sliding deeper and deeper into his burgeoning subservience, while Matt, emboldened by the public display, worked on humiliating his stud further, reminding him what a stupid stud he was, no good at thinking. If he did well, he’d get the occasional hit off Matt’s cigar, sucking down the smoke, and also served as the pig’s ashtray. This, in particular, was deeply humiliating, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He deserved it, after all. Whenever he tried to do something smart, he just ended up ruining everything, like he almost ruined this. Better to just let Matt take control, better to let Matt be the Boss, and focus on being a good stud slave like he wanted to be. 

Matt finished his beer, and felt a growing pressure on his bladder. On a whim, he shoved Carl off his cock, stood up, and hosed him down with his piss. “How’s that feel, stud slave? Like gettin’ soaked down in yer Boss’s rank beer piss? Might as well make ya mah urinal too, since all yer good fer is breedin’, ‘n ya ain’t gonna be doin’ that all the damn time.”

Carl’s massive cock pulsed, hefted up the massive padlock in the head for a moment, then dropped back down onto the floor with a clang. The horniness he was feeling was so intense, he just wanted to fuck, but he knew he needed to be a good bull for his Boss, and wait. He’d get his chance, he just knew it, if he was a good dumb bull. He gave a snort, smelling Matt’s piss soaking into his fur, and saw Boss’s cock was hard and drooling precum. “What the fuck are you lookin’ at, stud?”

“At you, Boss, fuck, yer handsome can…please, I…can I fuck ya now?”

“Ya think you’ve earned it after the shit ya’ve put me through?”

Carl gave a restless, deep low, “Please Boss, I know I’m just a stupid bull, I fucked up real bad, I knows, but I can fuck, ya know I’m good at that.”

“I know yer good at fuckin’ ‘round behind mah back.”

Carl danced a bit on his knees, cheeks burning red. “I’m sorry, I fucked up, Boss.”

“Who owns that big fuckin’ cock a yers from now on?”

“Ya do, Boss.”

“Who gets tah decide what holes it goes in?”

“You, Boss.”

“If I order ya tah fuck me all fuckin’ day, ya gonna do it?”

“Fuck yeah, Boss!”

“How ‘bout if I lock it up, fer good, in a big fuckin’ cage, say yer never gonna get tah fuck again?” Matt said, running one trotter under Carl’s massive cock, applying some pressure to his nuts, “Seems like this cock’s only gettin’ ya intah trouble, might be better tah keep it good ‘n safe…”

Carl let out a moo of dismay, but kept his head bowed. 

“Maybe I’ll rent ya out. Turn ya into a fuckin’ whore, men payin’ me tah let ya fuck ‘em.”

Carl gave a snort, not sure whether he felt more humiliated or more horny from the thought.

“Beg. Beg tah fuck mah hole.”

“Please Boss, please,” Carl said, “I know I fucked up. Yer right! I’m stupid, ‘n dumb, ‘n shouldn’t make decissions now more. Ya can decide everythin’ from now on, I’ll do whatever ya say, please jus’ don’t lock up mah cock, I’m so horny Boss, I’ll do anythin’…”

“Clean up mah trotters, they got some piss on ‘em, while I think about it,” Matt said. He sat back down, took a long draw on the cigar and put his feet out, Carl squatting lower to lick the rough feet clean of the dirt and piss sticking to them. Matt just watched him do it, amazed at how eager his once strong willed boyfriend was to obey him now. Maybe this sort of treatment was what he’d needed. Maybe it was what they’d both needed. He wasn’t really planning on locking up his cock, of course. Watching that huge dick swing around with that weight on it, Matt’s hole was hungry as ever for it–but not here. He’d gotten enough of the spectacle, and taught Carl his place around here. He stubbed out the cigar on one of Carl’s tit rings, close enough for him to feel the heat without burning him, and stood up. Jimmy had given them a room for free for the rest of the night–they might as well retire for a while. He tugged Carl up by the chain, and led his big stud away from the rest of the party and back past the curtain.

A friendly doberman showed them the way to their already prepared room, but they weren’t alone–there, chained to the wall, was Stu, gagged and clearly a little roughed up, scowling at them both. “Don’t mind him, Jimmy wanted him tah watch,” Matt said, and Carl’s snout and face turned a bit red under his fur. “Now, let’s git ya situated. How did he have ya? Like this, I think.”

Matt unhooked Carl’s wrists from the chain, and secured them to some bolts on the wall, leaving his tits and nose ring chained up. Happy with the bull’s placement, he lit two cigars, handing the first to Carl, shoving it in the bull’s mouth, and then a second for himself. Then Matt took his time, using his hands and hot cigar to tease Carl’s cock, still padlocked to his ankles, while he enjoyed the bull’s own powerful musk, mixed with his own piss and the smell of their smoke. Carl was getting impatient, but the more he tried to hurry Matt up, the slower the pig took, leaving him as a snorting, groaning, smoky mess. 

“Alright stud–you want that big cock of yours in my ass, then ya’d better give it some good lovin’ with that snout a yers first,” Matt said, backed up and shoved his ass in the bull’s face. Carl was more than happy to service his Boss’s hole, slurping and pushing his tongue in, feeling the pig’s hole begin to loosen up. Matt pulled away, bit by bit, Carl forced to push his head more and more forward, tugging his tits up and his arms away from the wall, fighting to get to Matt’s hole, to lick it, and taste it, and worship it. Finally, when Matt was safistied, he pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the padlock from the head of Carl’s cock, and the massive shaft sprang right up, ready to be mounted.

“Ya don’t fuckin’ cum until I fuckin’ tell ya to, stud,” Matt said, as he lined himself up. “Cum too quick, ‘n ya can ferget about ever gettin’ in this hole ever again. This ain’t about makin’ ya feel good, this is about servicin’ mah horny hole, ya understand?”

“Yeah Boss, please, please, I won’t, I fuckin’ swear,” Carl moaned, but he was so excited, he thought he might explode as soon as Matt sat down on his cock and worked the first six inches in. He took a few deep breaths, trying to keep calm, tugging on his tits with his nose to keep himself from losing focus. Matt just watched his big bull squirm underneath him as he slid more and more of the cock into him, deeper than anything he’d ever taken before, but that beer–Jimmy might had had the bartender slip a little something in, to help his relaxation. Matt moaned, his own piggy cock rock hard and jutting out from under his belly, drooling precum onto Carl’s own gut. About halfway down, he pulled up a bit, then down a little further, and up, working his way deeper and deeper onto the shaft, snorting and oinking in delight, happy to finally be getting some good deep satisfaction out of this whole ordeal. He was getting excited from the cock, he decided he might as well milk a load out himself. He reached under his gut and started stroking off, dragging harder on the cigar, aiming for Carl’s addled face, and dropped a few more inches onto the bull’s huge cock. It was enough to push his own cock over the edge, and he exploded, spraying a massive load of pig cum all over Carl’s body and face to go with the piss from earlier. He could see Matt’s eyes filled with desire and jealousy–he was holding off well enough, but Carl wanted him to suffer a while longer. He wanted to see how much he wanted to please him, see how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. He kept sliding up and down on Carl’s cock for a few more minutes, until he was sure he was good and loose, and then he pulled all the way off–Carl letting off a long moo of frustration. “No Boss, don’t stop, don’t…”

“Shut up stud, ya’ll git what ya want, hold the fuck on,” Matt said, and unhooked his wrists from the wall. “Show me what ya got, stud–fuck mah piggy hole, good ‘n rough–but remember,” he said, giving a tug on the lead with one hand, and the chain connecting nose and tits with the other, “No fuckin’ cummin’ til I fuckin’ say so, got it?”

“Yes Boss!”

Carl scrambled up while Matt laid down on the ground, legs up. Carl shoved his legs back, enough to get his massive cock lined up with his Boss’s loose hole, and slid inside with a long moo of delight. Matt reached out and grabbed hold of the lead, keeping it tight, reminding Carl who was in charge here, as Carl started fucking–a little slow at first, but then harder, slamming in and out of Matt’s wrecked hole, snorting and grunting in delight, nose and tits stinging with pain, but he didn’t care, he liked it. He liked all of it, he wanted to make Matt happy, and Matt was right. He was stupid. He let his dick control him. It was better if he wasn’t in control, if Matt just…was the Boss. Matt came again after a couple of minutes without even touching his cock, shooting a load hard enough to spray his own face this time.

The sight of making his Boss cum made Carl lose a bit of control–and Matt figured his stud had been teased enough tonight. He rammed in deep, and Matt said, “Come on you fuckin’ stud, I wanna feel you blast that big fuckin’ load deep in mah guts!”

Carl gave a long, roaring low, and came, cum pouring from his massive balls into Matt’s hole. His cock refused to soften for another five minutes, and he just kept fucking and churning the cum deep into Matt’s hole, the pig groaning and grunting, telling Carl what a good bull he is, what a hot stud, what an obedient stupid slave breeder he’s gonna be from now on.

Five bells had chimed at some point while they were fucking, bringing them closer and closer to dawn. Carl pulled his cock out, and laid down with Matt, who unhooked the chain from his nose and tits so he could properly kiss his big stud. “That was a real good job, slave, ya treated mah horny hole just how I like it,” he said.

“Thanks Boss, I love fuckin’ ya,” Carl said, licking Matt’s load up from his belly with his long tongue. Matt pulled him close, and the snuggled up together, not minding Stu behind them, rattling his own chains. 

“So, who’s a better fuck? Me, or that pig back there?”

“You are, Boss, of course ya are!”

“Yer not just sayin’ that? I’m not gonna find ya here again, am I?”

Carl shook his head side to side. “I…I fucked up, I mean that. I…I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. I never knew I even wanted tah feel like this with someone. Are…What’s even gonna happen next?”

Matt pulled him close. “Don’t know. Jimmy didn’t sound like he was too sure himself. Guess we’ll find out, won’t we, stud?”

Six bells chimed out, and both of them felt a heavy drowsiness clouding their minds. In a few seconds, they were both asleep, snoring loudly, while Stu grunted and objected through his gag–but even he knew he’d lost. Jimmy had warned him before about getting too attached to clients, and Stu knew that whatever punishment Jimmy came up with–it wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.

Out in the bar, the rest of the revellers had fallen into the same slumber, all of them except Jimmy and his various employees, who were standing in the midst of them all, pleased that yet another Halloween party had gone so well, even better than last year’s. As they all slept, he saw everyone around him start to revert back to their usual selves. Some had a few…lasting changes, but you couldn’t do magic without a few consequences. Still, as long as you didn’t think about it too hard and take too well to the change, you could usually get away relatively unscathed. 

Some, of course, had never planned on getting away without a few changes, some more extreme than others. The older man in the cop costume was slumbering in a booth, a german shepard curled up under his feet–he’d be having an interesting life for a year–or longer, if he ended up preferring life as man’s best friend. With a wave, those normal enough to go back to their lives disappeared–all of them would wake up in their own beds. Sure, maybe not the exact same beds–a few of them might have taken to their costumes, and find themselves in a…new walk of life. The magic usually managed to sort it out well enough, at least, though he’d never really been able to figure out why it affected some people more than others. Just a handful remained, those looking stuck in the middle. He’d have to have some awkward conversations with them when they woke up in a few hours. They’d probably be stuck working with him for the next year–still, there were worse fates, he supposed. He realized that he had never actually checked in on Carl and Matt after fixing their costumes–he stepped over the remaining bodies in the bar and slipped behind the curtain, hoping he wouldn’t be stuck with either of them for the next year–one night had been plenty exhausting. He unlocked the door to the room he’d reserved for them, peeked inside, and it was empty aside from Stu fussing on the wall, thank goodness. Of course, just because they’d left, didn’t mean they wouldn’t have some changes to deal with. He had a feeling they would be in for a rough morning, in any case.


Carl moaned, rolled over and nearly fell off the bed, where Matt was still snoring beside him. What a hangover–he hadn’t felt this sick in years. He needed to piss, in any case. Doing his best not to open his eyes beyond a squint, since the sun was well risen at this time of morning, he pushed his way into the bathroom, smaller and much more cramped than he could recall it being, stood in front of the toilet, grabbed for his cock, and felt his hand wrap its way around a massive snake. 

He opened his eyes and looked down, vision blurry, and started pissing–it wasn’t a stream so much as a fan, thanks to the massive holes in the head of his cock, where Matt kept his padlock when he wasn’t using his stud’s cock. The toilet and the seat were dripping with piss when he was through, leaving Carl standing there, ogling the foot long, inhuman dick in his hands, trying to figure out why everything felt so strange. The mirror, he thought. Something about…a mirror. He went to the sink, but the glass above it was coated with grime. He did his best to wipe what he could away, well enough to get a decent look at himself, and he stared at himself with something between horror and arousal.

That wasn’t him. That wasn’t his face, that wasn’t his body. His once handsome face was deformed now, not quite the minotaur mug he’d had at the end of the party, but with the broad nostrils, the bock head, the heavy jaw and big teeth, he didn’t make for an attractive man by general standards, especially not with the massive gold ring hanging from his septum, big enough to drop below his top lip. He could see above his temples a couple bony points, little tiny horns that were pushing through from his skull. No one would notice them under the hardhat he usually wore, or unless they looked close, but it made him self-conscious anyway. He still had on the collar Matt had put on him the night before…or had it been years ago? Things seemed slippery in his mind, like he was trying to keep track of two very different stories at the same time. 

He was much larger than he’d been before, easily six foot three, and packed with muscle, with a healthy, firm gut above his massive cock. His pecs in particular were plump and thick, with two rings through his meaty tits. He had hair all over, some of it brown, some of it silvery grey, but rather than being distributed symmetrically, the two colors intermingled like patches across his body. Then, there was his cock, his massive, freakish cock, and heavy balls below. He turned around, nervous at what he’d find, and there, sure enough across his back, was a the brand from the night before turned into a tattoo–STUD SLAVE. There on his ass was the little pig brand tattoo as well. 

“Fuck it reeks in here, I thought I told ya tah piss sittin’ down, ya stupid fuckin’ bull.”

Carl looked over, and there was Matt–or at least, a man he knew was Matt, but his mind stubbornly corrected him, and thought of him as Boss more than anything else. He was a squat, five and a half foot, rotund man with a barrel chest, big gut and wide ass. His face was just as messed up as Carl’s was, though in a different way–a flat, upturned nose, small eyes, ears that seemed a little too big, and a bit floppy. He wasn’t as hairy as Carl was, but the hair he did have on his body was long and bristly, mostly down his back and legs. “M-Boss, I…we didn’t change back, look at yourself…”

Matt looked at him, a little confused, then there was a little spark of realization as he put the story together, squeezed in beside him and looked in the mirror, letting out a squeal of surprise when he saw himself. “Fuck–that…that fucker.”

Matt looked at Carl again, then back at himself. Carl said. “What…what are we gonna do, Boss? Are…we stuck like this?”

Matt looked away from the mirror and shook his head, the little recognition fading slightly. “I…Fuck, you…Fuck this, I gotta piss, and ya made a damn mess–get down there and lick it up you stupid fuck.”

“But Boss, what–”

Matt wrapped one thick hand around the shaft of Carl’s huge cock and squeezed it hard, enough to make the massive fellow let out a loud moo-like sound. “I can’t think this fuckin’ hungover, we’ll figure it out later. Get down, clean it up, or I’ll lock ya up fer a month, make ya fuck me with the strap on–that what ya want?”

Carl did not want that. He didn’t know what Matt meant, really, but he could almost remember times, earlier times, when he’d been a bad bull, and Boss had kept him from fucking and cumming for a month, or more. After a week, he was just a stupid wreck, could barely think straight, willing to do anything for his piggy master, no matter how humiliating. He got down on his knees in front of the toilet and started licking up the piss where it had sprayed. Matt walked up beside him, pulled out his short, thick cock, and pissed onto the back of Carl’s head, where it dribbled down into the bowl, mostly. The smell was enough to get him even hornier–Carl had to resist the urge to touch his cock–if Boss caught him doing that, he’d get locked up for sure. When Matt finished, he spanked his bull’s butt while he licked around the rest of the toilet, and the floor, getting every drop, and then, feeling better and much more awake, they left the bathroom, and found themselves in a double wide trailer that had seen much better days.

“Light us some cigars while I get that cock of mine locked back up,” Matt said, rummaging around for the massive padlock he kept through the head of Carl’s dick when it wasn’t in use. Carl gave a little snort of frustration, but lit a cigar, handing it to Matt, before lighting another for himself. 

“Someone sounds a little annoyed,” Matt said as he clicked the padlock into place, “Is my stupid stud bull already horny? You fucked my piggy hole not even eight hours ago.”

“I…Yeah, I know Boss.”

“Go make us breakfast.”

“But…what about all of…this ain’t where we lived, Boss! Don’ we gotta try ‘n fix this?”

“I can’t think on an empty stomach, and we both know the hornier ya are, the stupider ya git. Go cook, we’ll figure it out once I’m full.”

Carl gave a snort, but did as he was told. This wasn’t like him, he told himself. He didn’t cook, he didn’t follow orders, he certainly didn’t like being bossed around, but he felt lost. Matt was the one thing that felt certain to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to screw that up anymore, if he could help it. So he cooked, and while he thought he would struggle in the tight, messy kitchen, he found that his body and mind, if he relaxed and trusted them, started to churn out a massive breakfast all on their own, without him having to worry about it. He delivered plate after plate to Matt, sitting at the table, grabbing some bites for himself as he went, but making sure his Boss had enough to satisfy his massive appetite. When he could tell Matt was starting to slow down, he ate his own breakfast, but Matt called him over, and had him get under the table. Matt worshiped his Boss’s gut for a while, sucked on his cock and balls, cleaned his hooves, while Matt finished and smoked his cigar down to a nub. 

Matt pushed back from the table, looked down at the big bull, red in the face, nostrils flared, cock hard but dragged to the floor by the heavy padlock. “What…what now, Boss? You…uh…fuck…”

“What’s wrong, stud? Thought there was something you wanted–I’m too full to remember really.”

“I…this…it ain’t supposed tah be like this, don’t play with me Boss, I know ya know it.”

“What, ya ain’t supposed tah be my big, burly stud slave with a locked up cock, desperate and eager for permission tah ram that whole beast deep in mah hole? Just a stupid brute who let’s me do whatever the fuck I want tah ya, cause without me, ya know ya’d be ankle deep in shit a yer own stupid ideas? Stand up.”

Carl did as he was told, crawled out from under the table, and stood up. He towered over where Matt was still sitting. He reached out and ran a rough finger down the length of Carl’s huge cock, making the massive brute shudder. “Tell me ya don’t like it.”


“If ya really don’ like it, tell me. Be honest,” Matt said, “If ya think that fuckin’ shit we were up to, with the gym and the office and all that fuckin’ bullshit is better than this, me teasin’ that big fuckin’ cock a yers until ya ferget how tah even speak, tell me. We’ll go tah Jimmy, see if he can fix it. Bet he can’t, but we’ll try. If ya say so, honestly.”

“I…Well, what do ya think, Boss?”

Matt smirked, “That’s the right answer, right there. Come on.”

Matt led the big brute into their spare bedroom in the doublewide, which had been outfitted into a makeshift playroom, and secured Carl’s wrists to the ceiling with some schackles, and put a spreader bar between his ankles. For the next few hours, the pig toyed with him, teasing his cock with everything from paddles to feathers, clipping and weighing down his nipples, beating his ass and flogging his back, Carl taking it all effortlessly. Every hit, every touch, every word seemed to channel through him and right to his cock. He was hornier than he could recall being, even last night, Matt occasionally asking him questions, Carl’s answers becoming simpler and simpler until he couldn’t manage it anymore. He was just a dumb stud, aching to fuck, which is exactly what Matt wanted. He unhooked him from the ceiling, took the padlock off his cock, and Carl knew what to do from there–the only thing he could do reliably, anymore. He fucked. He fucked his Boss just how the pig liked to get fucked, like he’d fucked him for years–slow and deep, fast and rough, always keeping himself right on the edge of orgasm, as the pig pumped load after load out onto the floor under them. At last, when Matt was satisfied, he gave Carl the order to cum, and the bull unleashed a massive load into the pig’s sloppy hole, and collapsed onto him, sending them both to the ground.

“Git off me, ya fuckin’ lug,” Matt growled at him, and Carl rolled to one side, his cock popping free of his Boss’s hole. The room stank of musk and cum and piss and smoke. It stank like home. It stank like them. Matt rolled over after him, pushed his way under one of his breeder bull’s arms, and took a deep sniff from his pit, “Fuck, nothin’ better ‘n the way ya stink after ya give me a good plowin’, slave.”

“Thanks Boss, It’s my pleasure.”

They laid there a while longer, until Matt got up, replaced the padlock in the head of Carl’s cock–more out of habit than anything else, and then paused. “Come on, let’s go.”

“We got work in the mornin’ don’t we?” Carl said, vaguely recalling that Matt was a foreman for a construction company, and he worked under him, mostly as a grunt laborer. “I don’t…”

“I wanna go talk tah Jimmy.”

Carl just stared at him, “Ya…don’t like this? Ya wanna go back tah how we were? Did…I not fuck ya good ‘nough?” The panic caught him off guard. He’d told himself he hadn’t wanted this, but realized it had been a lie. He did like this. He’d thought Matt had liked it too, but now worried he was wrong.

“Didn’t say that, dumbass. I jus’ wanna talk is all. Git dressed.”

So the two of them got dressed in the sort of gear they usually wore to the barnyard–Carl in a set of well worn overalls, and Matt in a leather kilt and vest, showing off his substantial gut. Before they left, Matt took a chain and strung it between Carl’s tit rings and the padlock in his cock, pulling it tight enough that his hard cock was dragged up against his body, though still hidden from view by the front of the overalls. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was rendered useless.

They climbed into Matt’s truck, left the little trailer park where their double wide sat, and drove off down the highway. They lived a good hour out of town, but it was easy enough to pass the time. Carl spent much of the ride sniffing Matt’s pits, licking and worshiping his belly hanging out of the front of the vest, and served as Boss’s urinal on the highway for good measure. They arrived at around nine in the evening, descended the steps into the bar–no hallway and mysterious corridors tonight–and found themselves in the usual dive bar form The Barnyard took. Walking in, they bumped into one of the clients on their way out, obviously looking a little ashamed, and certainly intimidated by them both. Carl realized he was never going to have to feel that way again himself–that alone made all of this seem more worth it.

Matt led them up to the bar, where Jimmy was pouring. “There you two are–didn’t see you take off last night, wasn’t sure what condition you’d ended up in. I…hope the morning wasn’t too much of a shock.”

Matt sat down on a barstool, and motioned for Carl to sit beside him. “Jimmy–as far as my memory goes, I’ve been coming here for years with mah stud, but I know last night the two of ya fucked me over royally, and I don’t feel like I quite got a proper apology fer that, especially given the way we’ve ended up here.”

“Now, I told you the risks, but you’re the one who wanted the costume shift.”

“I know what I wanted. I got what I wanted–but ya owe me, Jimmy. Well, this fucker here owes me, ‘n I have a little suggestion that I think might make all a this a bit easier.”

“Look, if you’re going to ask me to change you back, I can’t. My powers are at their peak on Halloween–next year, maybe I can do something to help, but as of now, you’re both…well, stuck.”

“I think ya misunderstood, Jimmy,” Matt said, “Carl ‘n I are plenty happy with how things turned out, ain’t that right stud?”

“Yes Boss, sure am,” Carl said.

“What I want, Jimmy, is a little business venture, just between the three of us.”

Carl tuned to Boss, wondering what scheme the pig had come up with that day. Jimmy looked exhausted, but didn’t say anything to oppose at least hearing him out. 

“I got a real nice stud here. Ya got clients that I know would pay top dollar for this bull’s cock. How about…three nights a week, a 60/40 split on the revenue?”

Jimmy just started laughing, and Carl went completely red in the face, realizing what his Boss had just suggested. He really was going to start renting him out as a stud! His cock throbbed at the thought, making him grunt from the sudden tug on his tits in the process.

“He likes pain, loves humiliation, I think he’d be a great part time addition to your stable here,” Matt said, grinning right along with Jimmy.

“Ya know what?” Jimmy said, “That doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea, honestly. Didn’t get as many new whores from the party as I usually do, and had a couple retire and move on. He can fill in–provided he wants to. What do you say, stud? Wanna let this pig rent that big bull dick of yours out?”

Carl gulped. They all knew what the answer was, but both Matt and Jimmy wanted to hear him say it, after the trouble he’d caused both of them. “Yeah Boss, sounds…real damn hot, honestly.”

“Didn’t think this was where we were going to end up, when I suggested you come to the party, but I’ll take it,” Jimmy said, poured a brew and slid it across the bar to Carl. “Drink up, stud–you gotta look the part if you’re gonna be working here, and then we’ll find you a room.”

“Oh, and I get first fuck each night,” Matt added, “Gotta make sure my stud’s quantity is good before letting other guys use him.”

“Naturally,” Jimmy said. Carl downed the beer in a few gulps, and Matt pulled him back behind the curtain, his feet changing, horns growing and pelt filling in as he went. Jimmy was right–it wasn’t the outcome he’d planned on, but both Carl and Matt were plenty happy with the reality they’d ended up with.

Halloween At The Barnyard

Happy Halloween! Since my patreon got a little compromised, I’ve been digging though and trying to sort out what I had posted on there that might have been deleted. This was a sizable furry commission that wasn’t posted anywhere else, but since it is the season, I thought I’d go ahead and repost it here. It’s from 2015 I think, and there’s also a sequel already written I’ll be posting to Sponsus, as well as a third entry in the series currently in the works! Hope you all enjoy it.

– Chapter 1 – 

“I know it’s the third time this week…yes, I know I promised I’d be there for dinner…I know you have to plan these things, but my inbox is just slammed right now, you know how it is…I know, but I have to get this done tonight.” 

Carl had the phone caught in the crick of his neck while he zipped up his backpack quietly, trying to keep the noise away from the speaker as best he could. Matt, on the other end was disappointed, but trying to be understanding.

“Look, I’ll be over in a few hours, just keep it warm for me, and I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Yes…Yes of course, I…I love you too.”

He hung up the phone and slung his pack over his shoulder. It was a little after six–he really had stayed late at the office, so he hadn’t completely lied, right? The thought didn’t make him feel better, even if it was the truth. He got in the elevator and headed down to the lobby, taking off his tie and stuffing it in his pack as he rode. He’d always hated wearing suits–he was a burly guy, and he’d never been able to find shirts that fit him very well in any store, and hiring a tailor was too damn expensive for him, but working out was one of the only things that kept him sane, where he could zone out and unwind. The gym was also where he’d met Matt. The two of them were both corporate types, working in the city, happy with their lives and happy with each other…sort of. Matt seemed happy at least. Carl had been happy–or, he thought he’d been happy, until that day a few months ago when he’d stumbled into what he’d thought was just a bar–a run down place in the next district likely to get gentrified–the only thing that marked it as anything at all was a cut steel sign hanging over the cracked sidewalk with a name on it–“The Barnyard.” He still couldn’t remember how he’d even found the place, and now he wished he never had.

He waited at the bus stop for a few minutes, got on and rode it for about twenty minutes, before getting off a few blocks away from the bar, but he knew that where he should be going was the gym, and then to Matt’s, but he hadn’t been going either place much recently. Actually, he’d pretty much stopped going to the gym entirely. He’d used to go after work, almost religiously–he and Matt would meet for a workout before heading over to one of their apartments for dinner and fucking. But he’d been staying “late at work” so much lately he’d nearly stopped going entirely…and it was beginning to show in his paunch and his chest. Matt had noticed, of course, and didn’t appreciate it. Carl blamed it on work stress and a new snack bar HR was providing in the break room. What he couldn’t bear to tell him was anything close to the truth, but he just couldn’t stop. He’d never felt this before, this sort of addiction. He’d never been a smoker, he’d never been a heavy drinker, but every night he skipped going to The Barnyard, it…it was all he could think about. He knew he had a problem, but he also thought he could keep a handle on it. He’d…get bored of him, eventually right? The worst part was that he didn’t feel bored at all. In fact, the reason he’d stopped going to the gym was because going to The Barnyard was better. More…satisfying. And as much as he hated to admit it, the reason he kept blowing Matt off was because it was better than anything he could give him, too. 

It had started out as a once a week thing. Matt usually had plans on Thursdays, and so Carl would just…go to The Barnyard instead. It wasn’t hurting anyone, right? Besides, Matt had mentioned that open relationships could work, so he’d be ok with this, Carl told himself, even though they had never talked…explicitly about being open themselves. But before long he’d needed to go twice a week, and now he was going almost everyday after work and on the weekends. Already, just walking down the street, his hands were shaking, his cock was hard, his mouth was dry. This couldn’t be normal–he felt like he was under some fucking spell. He just had to stop doing this, he had to. This wasn’t…normal. But he just kept walking in the crisp mid-October evening, the sun already setting behind the buildings making it even chillier, and he picked up his pace, ducking into the unmarked door that he never wanted to see again in his life, and where he couldn’t wait to get inside. 

The problem was that The Barnyard was more than a bar–it was also a front for a brothel specializing in…a particular kind of whore. Not that Carl had known that when he’d gone in the first time, but when the proprietor–a man he’d at first only known as Mr. Crice, but who had eventually insisted that Carl just call him Jimmy–had struck up conversation with him that first evening over a few too many beers, he had sown the idea in his mind. After all, there was no harm in a little fun, right? Besides, Jimmy insisted that his men he kept could provide experiences Carl could hardly imagine. He’d been drunk–he tried to tell himself, even now, that he was too drunk to know what he’d been doing, but he’d known better. There was just…something about Jimmy that had made the entire venture seem so much more…enticing than it should have been.

Inside the door was a narrow flight of stairs down into a basement, but then the hallway opened up into a surprisingly spacious bar–decorated accordingly, of course. The floor was covered with straw, the tables were perched on barrels with the chairs mismatched but equally worn, picnic benches and booths were scattered around the perimeter –like they’d been pulled collectively from a midwest flea market. A damp, musty smell lingered in the air, something which might just be laughed off as poor ventilation. It was still early but the bar already had a sizable crowd, though the crowd seemed divided into two camps. The first group, the bar regulars, was made up of working men and burly guys laughing and joking and having a grand drunk time having just gotten off of work. The other group was scattered about, each sitting alone at a table or the bar, casting glances at a curtain strung up in the back blocking a hallway from view–that’s what they were all really there for, after all, including Carl. Along one wall ran a thick walnut bar lined with stools, and there, wiping out glasses with his towel, was Jimmy. He was wearing his customary flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his thick, hairy forearms, a few too many buttons unbuttoned exposing his mass of chest hair. From a distance, it was difficult to see where the man’s light brown beard ended and the forest below began. He turned to the door, saw Carl, and beamed a smile. “Well hey, Carl! Stu’s just finishing up with someone else in the back–why not join me for a beer while you wait?”

Did Jimmy have to seem so genuinely happy to see him? It would be so much easier if the guy at least admitted that he was trying to destroy Carl’s life. Still, he took a seat at the bar, but didn’t say anything. Without asking what he wanted, Jimmy pulled a pint of one of his house brews and set it down in front of Carl, who just stared at it dejectedly, running one finger through the condensation on the side of the glass.

“Alright, what’s the matter?”

“You know what the fucking matter is,” Carl snapped at him. Jimmy’s brow furrowed, and Carl immediately felt bad, even though he knew this was all Jimmy’s fault…somehow. He drank some of the beer to try and calm himself down–a bit more than he’d been planning. Just…all his beers were so damn satisfying. That was the real problem–this was satisfying. It shouldn’t be, but it was. He should already be satisfied, he should be satisfied with his job, with the gym, with work, with Matt, but he…but he wasn’t. None of that had been satisfying, not really, but he’d been able to pretend, until he’d found…this place. He took another, longer drink, leaving just a few swallows in the glass.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“This is ruining my life.”

“All I do is provide a service, Carl. You’re more than welcome to refuse it.”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“But it’s true, you know. If anyone is ruining your life here, it’s you. But if you really thought that, then you wouldn’t be here, drinking my beer, and waiting for Stu to finish up, now would you? So why don’t you be honest, and tell me what the real problem is.”

Carl drank the rest of the beer, and while Jimmy pulled him another one from the tap, he started talking, or confessing really. How he and Matt weren’t having sex much at all, and how it was because…because Matt wasn’t who he wanted to have sex with anymore. Sure he was handsome and muscular, but…

“But you want Stu, I get it.”

Carl hadn’t wanted to say it in so many words, but that was the truth, as much as it disgusted him.

“Look, I get it. I provide sex that most people never even dream about. It’s only natural that you might prefer this to real life. But if Matt can’t make you happy, then–”

“Matt does make me happy though! I just…I just wish that…I could have both…Fuck, that makes me sound like a selfish asshole…”

“Yeah…” Jimmy said, “Have you tried talking to Matt about this?”

“Oh yeah, that would go well. What the hell would I even say? ‘Hey Honey, see, there’s this whore house I go to, I hope you don’t mind.’”

“The word ‘brothel’ is a bit more polite.”

Carl rolled his eyes, “Because Matt would care about word choice.”

Jimmy sighed, “Look, all I’m really saying is that I don’t think you can go on like this, but you’re going to have to explain it to him eventually. Look, maybe…I throw a big Halloween party here at the Barnyard every year. You were already going to get an invite, of course, but…why don’t you bring Matt along with you? Who knows, he might actually enjoy himself too.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t bring him here, what would he think of me?”

“Now calm down,” Jimmy said, “This is…a rather special party. We provide the costumes, you see…and you’d be surprised by how realistic they are. Some even call them life changing. See, here’s something you haven’t considered–maybe all Matt needs is to experience you here, in your element. Maybe he just needs to see how much you could love him if…you know, if he was more…”

He didn’t finish, he saw Carl knew what he was going to say, and Jimmy let that sink it for a moment. “That’s not even…possible,” Carl said, shaking his head.

“Look, I pride myself on my establishment and the services I provide, but I also don’t think anyone should have to choose between their desires and their love. This would be a great opportunity for you to get out, have some fun, and introduce Matt to every side of you, you know? Because I know one thing–you can’t just keep bottling this up. I think he might come around, if he really loves you. At the very least he’d understand what’s going on, because I guarantee you, that he knows something is wrong already. More than anything, I know how much fun you’d have at this party, so with or without him, I’m going to insist that you come, and have a good time. But if he does come, I think it can only make your relationship stronger in the end.”

“But…what…” Carl didn’t know what to say. He really liked the idea…but he hated himself for liking it so much. “I can’t just tell him where we’re going–he’d freak out.”

“Leave that to me. You won’t be the only person bringing along someone…unfamiliar with my services to my party. I’ll give you some stuff to help you warm them to the idea during the day, and by the time they get here in the evening they’ll fit right in–trust me, I know what I’m doing–you’re not the first guy with this sort of problem I’ve helped out before.”

The curtain flipped to the side, and the second group of patrons turned to look at the man who slipped through, eyes down, and he waved meekly to Jimmy as he left. “You’re up Carl,” Jimmy said, “Same price as always.”

Carl set the five hundred dollars cash on the bar, walked over to the curtain and ducked behind it, the smell growing stronger as he did. Now it was more than just poor ventilation–it had pangs of sweat and musk, of mud, manure and wet straw.Hall led right into a locker room with a few open showers. Carl undressed and stashed his clothes, wrapped a towel around his waist, running one hand over his furry gut. He should leave, leave and ask for his money back, go home to Matt, eat dinner and pretend none of this even existed. None of this should exist. None of this should be possible. But it was possible, and there was no retreating from the facts. He put on a pair of rubber boots set next to the doorway on the opposite side of the room, and trudged down the hallway beyond it, lined with doors on either end, until he reached a door with a wooden sign hanging from it that read “Stu’s Sty.” He pushed open the door, his cock achingly hard, but paused in the doorway.

“Oh Carl, back again? Weren’t you here just yesterday? I’m so excited… *snort* You’re becoming quite the regular customer…”

Carl stood in the door, just…staring at him, there in the…mud and the straw. The smell was even more pungent here, and while weeks ago it had been a turn off, now it had him even harder. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t keep doing this, he couldn’t.

What are you waiting for, big boy? Get over here and let’s have some fun. I wanna get dirty with you…”

Fuck. Fuck it, just…seeing him, smelling him , hearing him. “Fuck, you’re so damn…sexy,” he whispered.

“Oh stop it. *grunt* Get in here, my ass needs a good stuffing.”


An hour and a half later–after a long fuck and a shower to get the sweat, muck and straw off him, Carl got dressed and left through the curtained hallway. The first group of burly men had grown, some of them making out at tables around the room, the air smoky with cigars and pipes, and a different set the second group were waiting impatiently–Jimmy waved at one, and he got up from his seat and went behind the curtain as Carl left. It was late, and he needed to get back to Matt’s apartment quickly, but Jimmy stepped out from the bar as he tried to make a quick escape and stopped him.

“I was serious, you know, about the Halloween party. You should come–both of you.”

“I…I can’t bring him. I can’t involve him in this.”

“I really think it would be good for your both, Carl,” Jimmy said, and handed him a small bottle stoppered with a cork. “Look, on Halloween eve, make sure he drinks this. It tastes a bit funky, but you can add it to a drink, or to food, and he doesn’t have to drink it all at once either–just make sure he gets all of it in him before midnight. On Halloween, he’s going to be hungry–really hungry, but you’ll be able to take care of that I’m sure. Just make sure you have plenty of food on hand–the more fattening the better…but  maybe stay away from bacon, that might be a bit weird. But this is the most important part–make sure he doesn’t get a good look at himself though–it might spoil things a bit. No mirrors, reflective surfaces, that stuff. The party starts at midnight–make sure you’re here before that, or you…well, just don’t be late. Just bring yourselves, it doesn’t matter how you dress–I’ll provide the costumes and plenty of entertainment. I promise your relationship will improve–no, I guarantee it.”

He pushed the bottle into Carl’s hand, and he looked at it. He wasn’t…actually considering this, was he? “But…what does it do?”

“Oh, he’ll be your perfect date for the evening, of course. Everything you said you wanted–Matt and Stu together in one package…you know what I mean?”

“This can…make him…”

Jimmy nodded. Carl’s eyes went wide. “It’ll just be for Halloween, Carl. Anything is possible on Halloween. Now get going, and have a good night.”

Carl told himself he’d take the vial and throw it out in a trashcan outside, but there wasn’t one between The Barnyard and the bus stop, so he ended up keeping it in his pocket. He couldn’t use it, there was no way he’d do something like that. It probably wouldn’t even do anything. I mean, who heard of people just…changing? Stu…Stu was just a freak, you couldn’t just, make someone like that, right? He transferred buses, and found a growing part of himself thinking about using it, groping his cock in his tight khakis, thinking about what it might be like, for Matt and Stu to be…the same person. How happy he would be. Didn’t Matt always say, that he just wanted Carl to be happy? Well, wouldn’t this make him happy? Would it? 

He was still asking himself that same question, two weeks later, as he was mixing another “experimental” cocktail for Carl on Halloween eve, adding the last third of the vial to his boyfriend’s next drink, following it up with ginger vodka, orange bitters and apple cider. The horror movie was still on, but neither of them had been having a very good evening. It was rather apparent to them both that the spark had gone out of their relationship, and Matt was trying to figure out how to end it, since Carl seemed focused on trying to cling to whatever might have been for a bit longer. Maybe next week, he thought to himself. He could break the news then. Besides, Carl seemed really excited about this Halloween party tomorrow, and he didn’t want to spoil the holiday after all. The third drink was the best of the night, though it still had that odd tang, which Carl had blamed on the ice and the bitters. Still, he drank it, but when he was finished with it, and midnight struck, he suddenly felt a bit sick, and Carl hurried to put him to bed, telling him that everything would be better in the morning.


– Chapter 2 –

Matt decided, as he laid in Carl’s bed, that this was the strangest hangover of his life. There was the headache, the sensitivity to light, the lethargy, the screaming need to piss (and possibly puke), but on top of all of that, Matt woke up feeling like some massive creature was sitting on his chest and stomach. He’d heard tales of sleep paralysis, and after flailing for a moment, half awake, he finally managed to break through and sit up on the side of the bed, panting hard, trying to remember what it the hell he’d been dreaming about. Carl had been there, and…and they’d had sex? If they’d had sex, it must have been a dream–Carl hadn’t touched him in at least a month or more, and every time Matt tried to get the juices flowing, he would…cringe as soon as Matt reached for his cock. He’d tried to shrug it off as Carl being upset over his recent weight gain–Matt didn’t care, and tried to talk to him about it, but Carl would just shut down everytime. No one kept their peak form forever after all, and both of them were pushing forty. Still, he was starting to think it was more than that. That…something about Matt simply repulsed him, but his boyfriend refused to talk about it. 

This wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about right now. He pushed those worries away and focused on something more immediate–pissing in a toilet instead of the bed. The sensation of something pressing down, or maybe hanging off of him, lingered, and when he pushed himself up from the bed, he felt off balance and dizzy, teetering a bit, hobbling towards Carl’s master bathroom, clutching the doorway for a moment to keep balance, and then stumbled onto the floor, nearly losing himself on the slick tile. Why was he having a hard time balancing? He felt like he was walking on tiptoe for some strange reason. With his legs spread a bit wider to keep himself upright, he stood in front of the toilet and finally let loose his bladder, but he couldn’t get a good grip on his cock. He ended up fumbling with it too much, soaking the rim and even the floor around the toilet. The piss smelled vile. He scrunched up his nose and snorted, shaking his still leaking cock a bit, looked around for something to wipe the piss up with, and then noticed that the bathroom mirror was missing.

This was no small mirror. It was clear from the outline in the paint on the wall that it had been there for a while, and from the screw holes in the drywall, it had been no easy task to remove. The real question, was why? Had it been there the night before? He’d used the other bathroom, and that one had still had a mirror, so why in the world had Carl taken down this one? Maybe…maybe he felt worse about his body than Matt had thought, if he was taking down mirrors so he didn’t have to look at himself. Still, if he felt that bad, then why hadn’t he been going to the gym as much? Sure, work was hard, but…it felt like he was missing some key piece of a puzzle, or maybe he was just too tired to figure it out. The headache was only getting worse, now that he was standing, and the dizziness wasn’t going away either. If this kept up, he didn’t think he’d be able to go to any party, no matter how much he wanted to please Carl.

He got a towel off the rod, bent over and tried to wipe up his piss, but for some reason he couldn’t get a good grip on the fabric. He finally took a long hard look at his hands…part of him was convinced that something was amiss, and yet he couldn’t figure out what could be wrong with them. They…seemed normal enough, to his eyes. And yet, they couldn’t do things he knew they should be able to do. He gave up, after the towel landed in the toilet bowl and he failed to fish it out; he’d just have to go find Carl and get help, to deal with his…surprising ineptitude this morning. 

Careful to keep his footing and balance, he maneuvered himself out of the bathroom, and tried to call out Carl’s name, but all the words came out garbled. His teeth felt too big, his mouth oddly shaped, his tongue too long–he must be sick, there must be getting sick with something, there was no other explanation for any of this. He tried again, and managed to get out something resembling “Carl” to fall off his lips, and he kept stumbling, out the bedroom door, propping himself up down the hallway, where he smelled the food, even before he heard Carl working in the kitchen, and the smell! His mouth began drooling uncontrollably, saliva welling up in his mouth in greater quantities than he could even imagine swallowing, feeling it run out both sides of his mouth, down his chin and onto his chest and stomach. His belly growled, nose leading him to the kitchen, his mind struggling to keep up with what was happening through the haze shrouding his mind. 

He turned the corner, and found himself faced with a table already laden with all sorts of breakfast fare–everything from a tower of pancakes and a heap of waffles to heaping bowls of oatmeal and a huge bowl of scrambled eggs–however, his mind noticed that there was no little meat, just some chicken sausages on a plate, which was odd because Carl had always been a devout meat eater. He wiped one forearm across his mouth, but it didn’t feel quite right to him, like he’d somehow managed to punch himself in the nose at the same time. It didn’t help much anyway–the slobber had only grown more intense, as he licked his tongue up around his lips and teeth. Carl had heard him in the hallway and turned to look, and frozen in front of the stove, his eyes wide and jaw gaping. In the back of his mind that seemed…strange, but without even really asking if this was all for him, his belly took command. Before he could even sit down, he started grabbing at the fork next to him, growling when his fingers again refused to work, and he instead started pulling food to him with his hands, clumsily shovelling it into his mouth as best he could.

Carl couldn’t stop staring…and he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face either. Already…already his boyfriend was looking so much…more appealing, and it seemed like Matt hadn’t noticed anything amiss at all–or at least not enough to really stop and worry. Still, he could see the distress forming in his eyes, as he realized he couldn’t stop eating, no matter how hard he tried. He kept trying to talk through his food, but he couldn’t get anything out–which wasn’t at all surprising to Carl, but Matt was getting flustered. Carl walked over and stroked his hair, calming him down, urging him to just keep eating. For whatever reason, it worked–Matt’s eyes grew more relaxed, and he started eating with more focus and commitment, and Carl went back to cooking.

He checked over his shoulder every few minutes, still unable to believe what he was seeing. Sure, it wasn’t nearly as…complete as Stu, but…but still. It was working! It was really…really working. He could see the snout pushing out from Matt’s face, the tusks starting to extend past his lips. His hands were worthless as hands now–his fingers had merged together and were hardening, even as he watched–he’d given up on using his hands at all, in fact, and was simply shoving his face into the food, eating and snorting and grunting, standing up to get at the food closer to the middle of the table, and his gut…fuck. He was…getting fatter. The food was going right to his belly, and as Carl watched, it was beginning to expand out, turning…flabby, and…and soft… 

More food. He had to make even more food. Carl found himself in a bit of a race. Matt became more adept at eating with his changing mouth, and Carl struggled to find more food in the kitchen for his boyfriend to eat. He managed to hold out for several hours, but finally Matt cleaned him out, and after licking the plates clean with his longer tongue, he groaned, sat back in the chair behind him, and after a moment of trying to support him, the wood cracked and collapsed underneath his massive bulk, plopping Matt down on his ass with a loud smack. Carl rushed over to make sure he was alright–Matt gave a groan, and tried to speak for the first time since entering the kitchen. The words were garbled, but understandable. “Fuck, was so hungry…” he groaned, and looked around. “Did I…break the chair?”

“It was…just old is all,” Carl said quickly, “Here let me help you up.”

The first couple times were nearly impossible. Without fingers, and with hard half-trotters coated with butter and grease, neither of them could get a good enough grip on each other for Matt to get up. On the floor, Matt was simply…confused. He felt heavy, heavier than he could really understand. Looking down at himself, there on the floor, none of this really made sense, and he let off a massive belch, feeling his stomach rumble–Carl watching Matt’s gut suddenly heave outward again with the blast of gas, sagging down over his waist. “I don’t…feel…” Matt belched again, his body expanding once more, and Carl suddenly didn’t think he’d even be able to pick him up.  He went around behind him, crouched down and got his arms under Matt’s armpits, and strained up, Matt scrambling to get his slick, awkward feet underneath his body. His balance was all off; he managed to get upright, but could only stay there by clinging to the doorway into the kitchen. Carl could see that part of the reason it had been so difficult wasn’t just that he was fatter, he was also quite a bit taller. Neither of them had been short, by any means, but now Matt loomed over him by about a half a foot, close to six and half feet tall.

Matt scanned the mess in the kitchen. Empty plates were scattered everywhere, even on the floor, where several had broken. Food, too, was everywhere, and all over him. He wiped his face with one hand, still confused by the feeling not matching what he was seeing, and felt his jaw, neck and chest covered with drool and food. “There we go,” Carl said. He couldn’t help it, he slapped Matt’s overhanging gut, watching it jiggle in response, his cock hard as a rock. “Got you back upright, at least.”

“I don’t…know, don’t feel good at all…” Matt said, “I can’t…go to that party…I don’t–”

“No!” Carl said, “No, you have to go with me, you’re just…just a bit woozy is all, from eating too much. Look, why don’t we, uh, get you in the shower. That’ll make you feel a bit better, and then we can go out and have some fun tonight, alright? You’ll love it, trust me.”

“I just don’t…something’s wrong, Carl…” Matt said, “I don’t…” he turned to his boyfriend, and he…smelled…he could smell him. Not like a usual smell, he could smell…arousal. That was the only way he could describe it. Like cum, and sweat and musk…and it smelled good. As good as the food had smelled earlier. He managed to stand up on his feet, wobbling a bit, snorting a bit, “You’re…horny…” he groaned, “Smell…fuckin’ good. Still…kinda hungry too.”

Before Carl could react, Matt was back down on his knees in front of him, scrapping trotters against the front of his pants, making frustrated noises, snorting and grunting and licking his lips. Carl was more than happy to give him what he was asking for. He popped open his fly, and Matt slurped down his cock, sucking and nibbling and licking at his shaft and head. It was…awkward. Matt obviously wasn’t quite sure how to work his new snout and tongue, or how to keep his growing tusks away from Carl’s sensitive areas, but looking down at his boyfriend, Carl didn’t care, and he grabbed hold of Matt’s larger, floppier ears and started thrusting into his snout and down his throat, and he shot in less than a minute. Matt, however, kept licking even after drinking down all the cum, his tongue slathering across Carl’s balls, until his boyfriend took a step back away from him, breathing fast and trying to get his pants back up. Matt focused all his energy and heaved himself back up to his feet, stumbled a bit, and found himself facing a direction in the kitchen he hadn’t yet, looking right at the shiny, stainless steel refrigerator. It was so shiny, in fact, that it had always functioned as a decent enough mirror, and even though his image was distorted by the curve, for the first time this morning he saw himself. And what he saw…

The enchantment over his eyes fell away in the face of his own reflection, and he could finally look down at himself. At his solid, trotter hands, at his massive apron of fat and heavy moobs hanging from his chest where his lean muscle had been just the day before. At the snout sticking out into the middle of his vision, the tusks popping up from his bottom jaw. He screamed, but through his new mouth it came out as a high pitched squeal, which only terrified him more, and he fled the kitchen, pushing past Carl and towards the door of the apartment…but he couldn’t go out there like this! He flipped around and found himself facing Carl, and realized that he must have known. Why else would he have pretended like nothing was wrong all morning? “You! You…what did you do to me?”

Carl froze, not sure whether to spill the truth or try to lie. What had gone wrong? Hadn’t he taken down all the mirrors, like Jimmy had told him to do? He looked back at the fridge door and realized what must have happened, and he turned and ran away from Matt at the door towards the bedroom.

“Hey!” Matt shouted and charged after him, the floor shaking under his massive weight. Carl threw the bedroom door shut behind him, but Matt charged right into it, throwing him forward and tumbling to the floor. Before he could get up, Matt dropped down on him, pinning him to the floor. Carl tried to get something out, but looking up at the pig face glaring down at him, he was certain he was about to be ripped limb from limb and…well, he had to admit that he did kind of deserve it. But Matt snorted, and took a deep breath; Carl could feel…something hard pushing between them, and realized it must be Matt’s cock. “Carl, you…you had better have a…damn good explanation for why this shit is turning me on…so damn much. And fuck, why do you smell so fucking good…”

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry, I don’t…It’s a long story, and I…I know, but…but the way he said it, it just made so much…sense…at the time, when Jimmy gave it to me.”

“Who the fuck is Jimmy?”

Carl knew he’d said too much–there was no backing out now.

“Is he the fucker you’ve been cheating on me with? Is he the fucker you’ve been ‘staying late at the office for,’ you lying son of a bitch?”

“No! Not him–It’s…more complicated than that.”

Matt glowered at him, his smaller eyes looking like mean, dark dots on his face, “Then you’d better start talking, Carl, cause I want a fucking explanation.”

So he started explaining. He started at the beginning, as best he could remember it, how he’d discovered The Barnyard, and his first visits with Stu. Stu, the short, round boarman he’d been sleeping with for months now. How he’d tried to stop, but couldn’t. How Jimmy had offered him a possible solution to his guilty conscience. That, however, was about how far he got. Matt was doing his best to pay attention, but the smell of Carl’s arousal, now that his anger was ebbing, kept pulling at his attention. About the time Carl got to the vial, he had given in, rubbing his face into Carl’s chest, licking up his sweat, grinding their cock’s together. Something in him was still changing. His body might have stopped, but his head–it felt so thick all of a sudden. He was so angry, but so much hornier, that it just made sense to give Carl another blowjob. This one was a bit better than the last, now that he could properly understand what he was working with, and Carl managed to last a bit longer, before blowing his load into Matt’s snout.

“Don’t think, just cause I keep blowin’ you that…I’m not pissed off…” Matt slurred around his tusks, “You just smell so…fuckin’ good all of a sudden, and I’m not…thinkin’ too good.”

“Look, try not to worry about it, Matt–we’ll just go to the party tonight, and Jimmy will change you back. I just wanted…I wanted you to be happy with me.”

“Fuck you, you just wanted me to be your fuckpig, don’t fuckin’ sugarcoat it.”

“No, no, that’s not just it, I love you Matt. I’m just…I’m not attracted to normal guys anymore, I guess, but I do love you, I do!”

“You’re fuckin’ sick, you know that?”

Carl slid down, so he was face to snout with Matt, and gave him a deep kiss on the snout, and then pushed him over onto his back, his fat body resting around him, and Carl got his first look at Matt’s new cock, slick from his sheath, head twisted just…just like Stu’s, but even bigger, and he dove on it, sucking it hard, feeling Matt buck up into his throat, squealing with pleasure. He hadn’t expected it to feel so good, and he orgasmed, the pleasure blossoming and billowing inside him. He kept expecting it to subside, but it didn’t, not even after he’d finished pumping cum into Carl’s mouth–so much he couldn’t hope to swallow it all. “I didn’t do this because I wanted a fuckpig, I did this so you could at least…know how much I want to be with you, Matt.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” Matt muttered, but kept snorting, “How…fucking how long does this last?”

“About half an hour.”

“You’re fucking…seriously?”

Carl nodded, but inside he wondered–was he lying? Did he really love Matt? Was that why he’d done this? He couldn’t help but admit that…part of the thrill he was feeling was being in control, in how much Matt wanted him suddenly. How much he needed him. It was something he’d had to pay Stu for, but Matt…it made him even hornier, how vulnerable he was, suddenly. And he wasn’t sure he really wanted that feeling to end.

“You know, you fuckin’ forgot something. How the fuck am I supposed to get all the way across town, on the bus, without everyone seeing me? Without anyone calling the fucking cops? We aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

“What, did that thick head of yours forget already? It’s Halloween, Matt. No one’s gonna look at you twice.” Matt rolled his eyes. “Ok, so they’ll look twice, but only because of how cool you look.”

“Cool? Shut up.”


“I’m not going.”

“If you don’t go, then I have no idea how to turn you back, and then you really will have to be my fuckpig. I thought that’s what you didn’t want?”

Matt scowled at Carl on top of him, orgasm still pulsing through him, and snorted. He was right, as much as he hated to admit it. “Fine, I’ll go, but we’re breaking up–you do realize that, right? We’re fucking through, after tonight. I never want to see you again.”

Carl nodded, but he had a feeling that he might still be able to turn things around, maybe with a little help from Jimmy. Maybe Matt would see that Carl had done all of this for him–no, for them. He could see that, couldn’t he? “If that’s what you want, I understand. But we’d better get you dressed–we don’t want to be late now, do we?”


Matt first demanded that Carl at least let him take a shower first, and even Carl had to admit that he needed one. His face was coated with food, as was his flabby chest. However, he quickly discovered that working the shower was going to be nearly impossible with his new hands. They were still…somewhat functionable–especially now that he was able to see what exactly he had to work with. His four fingers had fused into two hard trotters, and his thumb had grown larger, becoming the same size as the others. He could grip with them, but doing anything remotely delicate–say, grabbing and holding onto a bar of soap and using it on his body–proved impossible. Still, he was too stubborn, angry, and embarrassed to consider asking Carl to help him wash off; he ended up simply letting the water run over his body, getting himself as clean as he could, exploring his body as the heady orgasm finally began subsiding. He’d certainly gained a substantial amount of weight–compared to his previous body he was outright obese–and yet, he did enjoy it somewhat. His fat didn’t sag–it was firm, much of it pushing out in a heavy gut and firm moobs on top of them that wobbled slightly as he moved. His arms had beefed up, and his legs had grown much thicker and longer, though with a pronounced bow, forcing his stance to be quite a bit wider than before. 

He got out of the shower and dried himself off as best as he could, and then went out into the bedroom. His phone was still on the bedside table; he carefully picked it up with one hand and tried to work it, but the screen refused to respond to his trotters. He’d been hoping to get a better look at his face with the camera–not that he really wanted to see what he looked like, but at least then he’d know how best to…try and disguise all of this. He couldn’t believe that he had to cross town looking like this–that Carl had been planning on dragging him over there without even knowing what was happening. The anger that he’d managed to keep at bay unravelled slightly, his heart pounding in his chest. He caught himself snorting loudly as he breathed, and managed to reel his emotions back in, but it was difficult. Everything felt…closer to the surface, like there was less he could do to control his head and emotions. While the veil might have been lifted, he still didn’t feel normal…or think normally either.

Carl had laid out some clothes for him–it was a joke. It was a sweatsuit Carl had obviously bought recently, since he’d been gaining weight steadily for months. It served him right, Matt thought. He was the one who deserved to be a fucking pig right now, not him. Still, even though the sweats were double extra large, the sweatshirt left a significant slab of belly exposed, and his thick thighs could barely fit in the snug material, meaning they not only showed off every bulge, but that his morphed cock and balls were displayed obscenely in the front. Carl came in to see how things were going, and Matt turned to him, “What the fuck? You don’t really expect me to wear this, do you?”

Carl’s jaw dropped at the sight of Matt’s hefty package well outlined in the front of the sweats, and missed his chance to respond. 

“Oh fuck you, you fully intended this, didn’t you?”

“No! I mean, I didn’t…I didn’t know what that stuff would do to you, I mean, not really. I hadn’t…really thought this all the way through.”

“No fucking shit!”

“Look, that’s the best I can do, alright?”

“The fuckin’…best?” Matt said, trying to sound angry, but he felt…strange all of a sudden. He tried to think harder, to catch the rest of what he’d been planning on saying, but his head started pounding painfully, “Fuck…headache…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’ know…” Matt said. Carl came closer to help him, and the smell of him–of their sex earlier, it overwhelmed Matt’s mind for a moment, lost in Carl’s musk, his cock hardening, pushing out over the waistband of the sweats. “You smell…good still…”

“Matt, can we focus here?” Carl asked, but looking at his boyfriend’s eyes, it looked like focusing was going to be a bit difficult for him. His head had changed from earlier in the day. Where it had been still recognizably human, with rather piggish features, that was now reversed. His snout was highly pronounced, his eyes slightly beady and a little glazed. “Look, you’re still changing. Just try to stay calm until we get to the bar, and Jimmy will sort this all out, alright?”

Matt tried to stay angry, tried to argue, but everything seemed to just…melt away from him, and all he really wanted was…to keep smelling him. “Sure Carl,” he said, “Smell fuckin’ sexy though.” He grinned–or tried to–and Carl took a step back. “I…think somethin’s wrong in my head.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, “Hold on–stay put, I’ll get that.”

Carl left him in the bedroom, and Matt could hear him talking to someone, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. After a couple of minutes the door closed, and Carl shouted, “All clear, you can come on out.”

Matt’s nose told him everything he needed to know–that had been a pizza delivery guy, and even though he’d already gorged himself all morning, his gut growled at the mere mention of food, drool already cascading down onto the sweatshirt. “Really?” Matt said, snorting, “More food? I’m already…having a hard time fittin’…”

Carl was waiting for him with a n open box of pizza, and Matt didn’t bother objecting twice. Carl set him down on the couch and fed him pizza after pizza, rubbing his full gut, and doing his best to keep the grease and slobber off his clothes. This time, Carl at least managed to get something to eat as well–he was starving, especially after he’d spent the night taking down every mirror in the house, and all morning cooking. Matt begrudgingly enjoyed himself, especially when Carl slipped his hand down his pants and started working his cock as he ate himself silly yet again, though he could feel the clothes he had on constricting him a bit tighter, the sweatshirt riding up over his gut. It was also hot, and he was sweating more…which only made him smell better, Carl licking the sweat and grease from his snout as he finished off the sixth, and last, extra large pizza he’d ordered for them.

Matt let off a great belch, his gut expanding out as he did, the sweat shirt riding all the way up his gut. “Was that…fuck, really necessary?”

“I didn’t want you to go hungry,” Carl said, “Besides, I hadn’t eaten all day. I thought it would be rude to not get some for you too.”

“But I’d already taken a shower…”

“You look fine–besides, we needed to kill a bit of time, right? You’ll be less conspicuous in the dark, and the party doesn’t start until midnight anyway.”

Matt looked out the window, and realized time had really gotten away from him. The sub had already set, and there was just a dim twilight outside. “I…I don’t know Carl, will people really…not notice?”

“Everything will be ok in a bit, alright? Just, you know, play the part,” Carl pulled a coat for him out of the closet by the door, and an overcoat for Matt, “ This will help keep you under wraps too–now come on, we need to get going, or we’ll miss the buses.”

Matt pushed against the fog that had settled over his mind. It was similar to what had afflicted him earlier, when he’d been under whatever spell “Jimmy” had cast on him. But before, when he’d felt addled, he hadn’t felt in control of himself. More like a dream than anything else. This though–it was like his brain had shifted down into first gear. Getting anything beyond a simple thought through was so difficult, and he he tried too hard, a headache would sear through his temples. He didn’t want to go out there. He didn’t want people to see him like this, even at night. He didn’t want to get arrested, or worse. But he…he couldn’t just stay here. It was obviously getting worse, and as much as he hated to admit it, going to the stupid party was the best choice–not that he could formulate any other option, if one existed. So he let Carl help him into the overcoat, which barely fit him at all, and wouldn’t even close all the way in the front, and followed him out, self-consciously trying to tug down the sweatshirt and pull the over coat around him at the same time, but he stopped when he heard a ripping sound come from the armpit. 

They got out onto the sidewalk, and everyone looked at him. No, they didn’t just look at him, they stared at him–hard. Eyes popped from heads, but thankfully (perhaps) most people were so obsessed with his strange face that they didn’t even notice his massive bulge that he couldn’t cover with the coat at all. He’d grown quite a bit taller indeed, and it was even easier to notice now, with everyone looking up at him as they walked, and Matt pulled closer to Carl, wishing he could have at least had a hat or something to try and cover his face a bit. He felt like a freak, but being with Carl made him feel a bit better. Just…just something about the way he smelled, made him feel a bit calmer, a bit…horny. His cock threatened to pop free from his sweats, and he focused as best he could, trying to keep his needs under control, and pushed himself away from Carl, trying to get away from whatever smell that was. This was not the time to lose control, especially not in public. 

Aside from a few minor incidents, the journey across town was without catastrophe. A young boy demanded that Matt let him feel his “mask,” and the parents seemed rather expectant. It terrified the kid, because of how warm it felt, and the parents tried to urge him to take it off, so he could show the boy it was fake; instead, Carl muttered an apology for them both, and hurried away. Later, on the bus, a group of teenagers in partial costume spent much of the ride pointing and snickering at him a few seats away. One of the boys pulled an apple from his backpack and lobbed it at him, telling him to “Eat up, Piggy!” The group dissolved into laughter, and Matt very nearly let the anger get the best of him, but Carl pulled him back into the seat. The group got off after another stop…and as humiliated as he was by the whole thing, his gut gave a growl, and Matt ended up eating the apple down–core, stem and seeds included. He also ended up giving an old woman a scare as they exited the bus, sending her screaming in the opposite direction down the street–but beyond that, perfectly normal–aside from the fact that he was some strange pigman wandering the streets of the city. Carl led him on for a few more blocks, until they arrived at The Barnyard. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was about to make an even worse mistake, but what choice did he have, really? He followed Carl down the steps, through the door, and into the club.

– Chapter 3 –

Carl started down the hallway, but was caught off guard by a sudden right turn. The hallway had always just been a straight shot, and then he was in the bar, but the hallway continued, the lighting growing dimmer, odd sounds coming from the dark around them as they walked. The sounds were…they didn’t sound like recordings, but they also didn’t sound particularly human. Pleasure? Pain? Carl found himself going a bit slower, Matt pressing closer to him, his boyfriend’s musk muddling his brain again in the tight space. He leaned in and licked the back of Carl’s sweaty neck–he screamed and jumped around.

“What the fuck, Matt?”

“Sorry, you just…smell really good.”

“You don’t have to fucking freak me out like that.”

“Where are we even? This isn’t a bar, this is some weird tunnel.”

“Look, I…I’m not sure, alright?” Carl said, “Now come on, let’s figure this out.”

Matt wanted to press the subject, but ended up just following him. Thankfully, after another couple of turns Carl couldn’t remember, they emerged into a large room–it wasn’t the bar, however–if anything it looked like a massive storeroom, filled with piles and piles of clothes and equipment. There, in the dim, flickering light of several lanterns hung from the ceiling, was Jimmy. He had traded in his customary flannel and jeans for a suit that seemed better suited for a carnival barker, his face covered by a small mask over his eyes, though he was still perfectly recognizable by his bushy beard and hairy chest.

“Carl!” he said, “So glad you could make it. I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show! The party’s already in full swing.” He spied Matt behind him and grinned, “Oh ho, and you did end up bringing your guest, I see.”

Matt gave a snort of disapproval. Jimmy didn’t seem to notice, and stepped forward, immediately trying to put his hands on Matt’s physique, only to be batted away by Matt’s trotters. “Hey! What the fuckin’ hell?”

Jimmy’s grin turned to a frown. “He saw himself? I told you no mirrors.”

“It was an accident.”

Jimmy sighed, “Well that does make things a bit more difficult then.”

“Well let me sili–I mean…simple it fer you,” Matt said, “Just change me back. I wanna be normal again, and then I’m gettin’ the hell outta here.”

“Well, the good thing is,” Jimmy said, “Everything will be back to normal in the morning, all on it’s own! But only if you stay. See, the spell is tied to the party here–if you aren’t here all night, then you’ll be stuck like this. So I suppose you might as well just make the best of it and stay, right?”

“Bullshit!” Matt said, stepping close to him so their chests touched, looming over him by several inches, but Jimmy was unfazed. “You did this, and you can change me back.”

“It really isn’t that easy, trust me.”

Matt huffed up, but before he could just start shouting up at him, Jimmy reached up pressed two fingers to the taller boar’s lips, and the breath sighed out of him, his eyelids drooping, his shoulders releasing all of their tension. 

“Is he always like this?” Jimmy asked, turning to Carl.

“Well, I mean…it was a bit of a shock.”

“Well, if you’d made sure he hadn’t seen himself, then he wouldn’t be being difficult at all.”

“If I had known what was going to happen, maybe I would have been able to prepare a bit better! You were more than a little vague…” Carl said, sighed, and continued, “Fuck, what the fuck am I even doing? Why in the fuck did I think this was even going to work? It’s hopeless. He hates me, and I don’t blame him. He should leave me, after all of this.”

“Oh shush,” Jimmy said, “He’s just scared.”

“Of course he’s scared! Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Well, he’d be having more fun if he wasn’t, that’s all I mean.” Jimmy looked to the still sagging Matt. His finger’s hadn’t left his lips, and he seemed to be sizing up a cut of meat, and that gave Carl a shiver.

“Look, just give him what he wants. Change him back, and let him leave.”

“I already said that it isn’t that simple.”

“Wait…seriously? I thought you were lying to get him to stay! You really can’t change him back?”

“Look, things will be just fine, mostly…probably…as long as you both stay for the party. Like I said, I’ve done this plenty of times, but usually, the less you know about the magic involved, the less opportunity you have to screw it up–not that you haven’t screwed it up already. I mean, the self-awareness alone, who knows what that might leave behind, but as long as we keep him fairly well addled for the rest of the night, he should be fine…ish…” Jimmy said, stroking Matt’s fat cheek with his other hand.

“You don’t sound very confident. What might go wrong?”

“Look, you were almost late for the party, and we don’t even have costumes for the two of you yet,” Jimmy said, “We’ll sort all of this out later, I promise, but why don’t the two of you focus on having some fun tonight? How about you Matt, you wanna have some fun, don’t you?” 

Matt’s snout turned into a drooling grin, and he nodded slowly.

“And since your boyfriend there already got to choose most of your costume, it’s only fair that you get to pick out the rest, right?”

Through all this, he hadn’t removed his fingers from Matt’s snout, and Carl could see a strange, greenish wisp wafting up from those fingers and into Matt’s piggish nose. He gave a great snort suddenly, and shook his head, trying to piece together what had been happening, “Were…you guys sayin’…something?”

“Nothing important, Matt–now, why don’t you pick out your costume?”

Something about that didn’t seem quite right–he hadn’t been planning on staying. “No I was gonna leave, I thought. Besides, I already…have clothes…”

“Do you?” Jimmy asked, and Matt felt the sweatshirt, sweatpants and overcoat he had on constrict around his burly figure, and he started clawing at the fabric around his neck, where it had cut off his breath. In a matter of seconds it had begun ripping, and Matt tore it the rest of the way off his frame, the shreds of cloth disappearing in the air before they could even hit the ground, leaving him heaving his big gut for breath, Carl amazed at the amount of changes that had happened while they’d been crossing the city. He was a few inches taller, and his body had solidified–even after his substantial second feeding. The fat he’d packed on earlier had been turning to muscle as they travelled, giving him a beefier physique with a solid, barrel chest and belly…and a massive cock hanging from his sheath, with two orange sized balls swinging below…and a short, curly tail above his ass. 

“I…I mean, I guess not…”

“Those weren’t really good clothes for a Halloween party, anyway. Why don’t you go digging for something a bit more…appropriate for a dirty pig like you?”

There was something wrong here, he’d been wanting to leave, but…but maybe he did want to stay. He couldn’t leave without clothes either way…and he could smell…something, in there, in the piles of those clothes out in front of him. His nose was suddenly so much more sensitive, and more than that, the dirtier something was…it was turning him on, the nasty clothes heaped around them. They all smelled so…filthy, his trotters taking a few uneven steps forward, until he tumbled down onto his hands and knees, and started rooting through the piles of dirty laundry with his face, hurling shirts, pants and underwear to the side with his tusks, snorting and huffing as he sought out the source of the nastiest, filthiest stench he could find, coming up, first, with a brown and yellow, crusty jockstrap in his mouth, and he grabbed it in his trotters, and did his best to get it over his legs–Carl rushing over to help him get it on. The pouch was well stretched, but even then it could barely contain his massive equipment. Matt rolled back over and crawled to a different pile, eventually surfacing with a pair of muddy and stained overalls, the fabric frayed and torn, and Carl again walked over to help him–though it was a struggle. He managed to get the overalls on him, but the smells around them had gotten Matt rather excited; he ended up on top of Carl and started grinding his crotch into him, grunting and kissing him until Jimmy walked over and pulled him off by the back of the overalls.

“Slow down now, after all, your boyfriend isn’t even in his costume yet. Since you did such a good job finding one for yourself, why don’t you find one for him too? One that’ll match your…tastes.”

Matt squealed with excitement, and Carl turned to Jimmy, “I don’t know if that’s really the best–”

“Oh hush–as if you haven’t gotten your way enough tonight already. It’s just for the party anyway–Stu’s told me a few tales of what you enjoy–let loose, have some fun for once!”

Carl watched Matt root about for a moment, and then a stomach churning thought occurred to him, “Wait…Stu isn’t…at the party, is he?”

“Well of course he is! Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I mean, what if…you know, we meet?”

Jimmy patted him on the shoulder, “I understand your concerns, but Stu is a professional. I’ve known him to get a bit attached to clients in the past, but we already talked about it, and you have nothing to worry about it. If you do see him, he swore to be that he’ll be on his best, behavior.”

“What do you mean, ‘attached to clients’?”

“It’s really nothing to worry about. Now go put on your costume, Matt’s almost done finding it.”

Matt had collected a small pile from the surrounding clothing, and was kneeling next to it, looking around in case he had missed something. A bit nervous at what he might have in mind, Carl still stripped off his clothes and handed them to Jimmy for safe keeping, and then walked over to see what his pig had found. First came a jockstrap as equally filthy as Matt’s, though a bit smaller, since he was now quite outclassed in that department. Then a nasty, well stained tanktop, a pair of muddy jeans, two crusty wool socks, some boots crusted with mud, a hi-fiz vest which had lost it’s luster quite a while earlier, and lastly a muddy yellow hard hat which stank of someone else’s head sweat. Once it was all on, he felt a bit ridiculous…and more than a little dirty. It didn’t help that nothing fit him very well–the jeans were too tight, the tank and vest too big, the hard hat sitting so low he had to tilt it back to keep it out of his eyes, the boots threatening to pull off his feet with each step. 

Jimmy walked over, obviously pleased from the smile, “A very good choice. Now, for a few finishing touches…”

Jimmy gave a flourish in the air…they waited a few moments but nothing seemed to happen. Carl turned to Matt, and realized his boyfriend had most certainly changed. Even though Matt had showered earlier and gotten himself reasonably clean, his appearance was looking similar to the clothes he’d picked out–mud caked on his elbows and wrists, and all up his arms and across his chest, where Carl could see them, were a series of tattoos–most of them rather redneck in subject and sloppily done. He also had thick, long beard sprouting across his face under and around his snout, even as his hair had shrunk back into his head, leaving him shaved bald…and a cigar. How had he missed the cigar? Matt had always been an adamant anti-smoker, but here he was, with a thick, long stogie clamped in his snout, puffing smoke…it was so…damn sexy. Along with the smell of the smoke, he also just plain stank–sweaty and musky, cum and piss and muck. Carl stepped closer, and realized that he was…looking down at Matt, even though the boar had been taller than him a second before. Something was in his mouth too–he took it out and found himself staring at a cigar of his own, equally massive…and his fucking hand. His very…very large hand. A very large, calloused, grimy hand…

Jimmy put a hand on his shoulder, “Try not to think about it too much–like I said before, the less you understand what’s going on, the better, alright big guy?”

That…that was smarter, probably. He didn’t really feel like thinking much anyway–it was giving him a headache. Matt leaned in, and they kissed, tasting each other’s smoky, dirty mouths for a few moments before pulling away, a bridge of droll connected their chins for a moment before breaking. He felt…different. Sizable. The gear that had felt so odd before now felt made for his body…or maybe a body slightly smaller than his. It…smelled like him too, like it was his–which for the night, he supposed it was. The kiss was interrupted by a very loud and resonant chime–a bell deep enough for the sound to resonate in their chests.

“What…what was that?” Carl asked.

“That’s the first bell–midnight already–it’s amazing how quickly time can fly down here.”

“Midnight? But it was eleven when we got here…”

“Yes, well…magic can bend…things, sometimes. It’s all very complicated, trust me. The bell helps us all keep on track. It will ring each hour from now on, until just before six o’clock–that’s dawn, at which point the party is over, and everything will be back to normal.” Carl wanted to ask more, but Jimmy spun around and walked off, still talking, “Now, how about we get to the party, lovebirds? I’ve been neglecting my duties as host long enough!”

“I…I ain’t sure ‘bout this, Carl,” Matt said under his breath, his voice suddenly coming out slower, with a long southern drawl, “I mean, I…I kinda like it, but…”

“Look, it’s just for a night, right?” Carl said, and grabbed his trotter hand in his, pulling him after Jimmy, “Try not tah think about it too hard.”

“I’m…kinda havin’ trouble thinkin’ at all, tah be honest,” Matt said, “Jus’ makin’ sent–sentaces is hard.” He exhaled a pair of smoke jets from his nose, “Uh…was I smokin’ before? I don’t…quite remember. Taste’s good, anyway.”

Carl took a drag off his cigar, and had to agree. It felt…natural enough, but that only scared him more. For the first time in this whole exercise, he was beginning to have his own doubts that this was completely safe–and those worries only escalated when Jimmy showed them through the next hallway and out into the bar proper.

It was a zoo, or to be more literal, it was a barn. The room was quite packed–Carl was surprised that enough people in the city shared his interests for the bar to be this full. All of the attendees were men, that he could see, although a few were…questionably so. In particular, they passed a cowman who still had a cock, although his balls had become an udder which was leaking something like milk onto the floor as he staggered past, mooing. Flannel, denim and leather abounded, aside from a few exceptions. One older fellow, still human like him, was in a police uniform (if he imagined him without the uniform, he looked awfully similar to a man he saw on the bus regularly during his commute) and crouched in front of him was a police dog–or someone who was mostly a police dog–licking the man’s cock openly in a booth. Pigs, horses, donkeys, bulls, goats–it was quite a menagerie, and Carl no longer felt entirely comfortable being there. He’d always regarded this place as some seedy, secret place–but to see it erupting out into the open made him feel…ashamed? Terrified? There was no easy word that came to his head, but the air stank of musk, and he was rock hard in his gritty jeans. Matt pulled closer to him, equally unsettled; Carl put his arm around the his pig’s shoulders, pulling him closer still, smelling their smoke, happy that he was there with him–or maybe he was simply happy that he hadn’t come alone.

The rumble was audible over the dull roar of the crowd, and more than a few patrons around them turned and looked right at Matt’s belly. “Sorry…guess I’m hungry again…” he muttered.

“Well we can fix that,” Jimmy said, and pointed towards one wall. They pushed through the crowd and came to a huge trough, laid out over about twenty feet along the wall, and all along the length were any number of pigs–and men, and man-pigs–with their faces shoved deep in the slop. “How about that? Eat all you like–it refills all night long. Eat yourself immobile if you want, I doubt Carl will mind one bit,” Jimmy said with a wink.

Matt wasn’t paying attention. He’d caught one whiff of the food and stomped over, eyes unfocused, drool flowing from his chops. He fell to his knees and shoved his face in, snorting and devouring as much as he could, leaving Jimmy and Carl to watch. 

“Satisfied?” Jimmy asked.

“I…I don’ know,” Carl replied, “Guess I didn’ really know what tah expect, but it wasn’t this.”

“It’s not about meeting expectations, Carl. It’s about experiencing pleasure, fleeting though it may be. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Carl got halfway through his reply before he realized Jimmy wasn’t standing beside him anymore. He looked around and the man had either disappeared, or made an amazing slip into the crowd around them. He looked at Matt stuffing himself, his cigar burnt out and forgotten on the ground beside him, and felt some mix of guilt and desire that he didn’t really feel like sorting out. He took a breath of smoke, and felt better for a moment, until a too familiar voice squealed his name, and the balance of his feelings shifted completely into guilt.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you tonight so much! You haven’t been coming around as often, ya know. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Stu came waddling up and pulled Carl into a big hug, his fat encompassing him in such a…familiar way, that Carl let himself sink in for a few moments–though the pig was smaller than he remembered. When he let him go, he was able to get a better look at him. The boar had always been on the short side, very chubby with stubby legs, and bristly hair all over his body. Tonight, however, he was in a silvery gown, with blush on his cheeks above his bearded snout, and a long blond wig on his head. “Hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t recognize you in costume, but I can’t say the get up surprises me much–you’ve always had a filthy streak, haven’t you? Do you know who I’m going as tonight? Come on, guess…” 

He leaned in close, batting some long, false eyelashes in his direction. Carl pushed him away, and looked to Matt. Stu followed his eyes, frowning.

“Who’s that? You looking at other pigs?” he laughed, but when Carl didn’t laugh with him, he stopped. “No seriously, who’s that?”

“That…that’s Matt…my boyfriend.”

Stu was less than pleased, “Jimmy’s said something about trying to play matchmaker again. He always tries to kill my fucking business.”

“Look, I didn’t know you’d be here, I just–”

“You didn’t think I’d be here? You really think I’d miss the best party of the year?”

“I didn’t know that! I didn’t–I mean–it was complicated.”

“Well, he’s busy anyway–why don’t we nip off and have some fun, big boy? I like how you’re looking, for sure. He won’t even know you’ve been gone.”

Carl shook his head.

“What, seriously? You think he can give you what I do? There’s no fucking way. I didn’t get this good at what I do through one of Jimmy’s fucking spells, this took years of work. I’m all pig and he’s just playing. I’ll show you what you really want, fucker,” he said, and slipped one trotter hand down the front of Carl’s pants, making him shiver, “I’m the only one who can handle you. The real you. I know what you like. You’re a beast–he can’t take it. After all, if he could take you, then your relationship wouldn’t be on the rocks, now would it?”

Carl took a step back, forcing Stu’s hand from his pants. This, he figured, must have been what Jimmy meant, when he said Stu could get too attached to his clients. “Look, I’m sorry…but I love him. I want to try and make it work.”

“Please, you didn’t bring him here because you love him, you brought him here because you want ass like mine without having to pay for it!” Stu said, pointing at Matt gorging himself in the trough, “You want a pig, but you don’t want me. Well fuck you–and when you two fall apart, which always happens whenever Jimmy tries to muddle with this shit, then I’ll be a shoulder you can cry on…at twice the price. Because once he sees the real you, he’s not gonna want you anyway, no matter how much of a pig you try and make him.”

Before Carl could object, Stu had spun around and stormed off into the crowd. Carl didn’t follow him. He looked over at Matt, but suddenly he didn’t feel very…sexy. What he wanted, he realized, was a drink. A strong drink. Matt seemed…content, for the moment at least. He probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped away for a moment, right? It took him a few minutes to work his way through the throng to the bar. Jimmy wasn’t tending tonight–it was an all-too-cheerful sheep dog. He ordered a whisky and coke, drank it straight away, and ordered a second. He was halfway through that glass when the realized the drink tasted a bit strange…like it had a tinge of grass to it. He asked the bartender what brand of whisky he’d used, and all the dog said was it was one of Jimmy’s specialties. For obvious reasons, that didn’t help him feel better. Still, it was just a drink, right? And if something happened, it was still just for the night, so what could it really hurt? In fact…why…why not order another one?

A barstool opened up next to him, and he settled onto it, the bartender bringing him a third round. He took this one a bit slower, relishing the flavor a bit more along with his second cigar, which he pulled from the pocket of his jeans. Sure, it was strange, but kind of nice. Like a fresh field, clover, wildflowers–maybe a tinge of manure. It didn’t help him feel less strange, however. He was too hot, even though he was just in a tank top. His boots were suddenly hurting his feet, and he ended up kicking them off–which felt much better. A headache struck at his temples, making his vision go a bit blurry. He swore, for instance, that if he crossed his eyes he could see his face…growing. But that…that didn’t make sense, did it? In the midst of it, he still noticed the bell tolling–one hour into the party, and things were already going terribly for him. The rest of the night wasn’t exactly shaping up to be much better. Still, he figured he’d disappeared for too long at this point–Matt was bound to be wondering where he’d been gone. 

He got up from the barstool, a bit unstable–then again, he’d just downed three surprisingly powerful drinks, so that much didn’t surprise him. What did feel odd, was that as the pain faded, he was left feeling…powerful. That was a bit too simple, but that was the only word he could seem to think of. The drinks had only slowed his head down further, and to be honest, the only thing he really wanted right now was a fuck. A good fuck, a rough fuck, the kind of fuck he’d only gotten from Stu, because if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t the fact that Stu was a pig which kept him coming back–well, it was part of it, for sure. But Stu…he could give him something. Something Matt had never been able to do, maybe something Matt couldn’t do. He walked back towards the trough, dimly aware that the crowd seemed to be parting easier for him this time. People seemed to be noticing him more, and they seemed a bit…scared? Awed? A bit of both? They all seemed smaller, that was for sure. He found Matt rather easily by the smell of him…somehow. He was scarfing down slop on his hands and knees, though he was quite a bit heavier, his gut nearly grazing the hay strewn floor around them. Seeing him, fuck–

Carl got down beside him, beside his pig, running his hands over his fat body, feeling Matt shiver as he did. Did it really matter that Matt couldn’t give him everything he needed? At least like this, he could…his thoughts trailed off, and he nuzzled Matt’s back, licking the spot between the straps of his overalls, tasting his sweat, snorting. Matt could sense that something was strange, but he…he really didn’t want to stop eating long enough to figure out what it was. Carl’s hands–he knew they were Carl’s, he could smell him (though he smelled much, much stronger than he had earlier…however much earlier that had been) but they didn’t feel quite like hands. They were hard and rough, and yet that felt amazingly good against his skin and the bristly hair filling in across his body. It surprised him when he felt, and heard the seat of his overalls rip open, the sudden draft as his ass was exposed to the air, but when Carl got down and started licking his hole, probing deep with his tongue, and something in Matt, that last bit of him frayed a bit more. He was just feeling so…so dirty, but also so free. He only noticed it too late to stop it, the piss flowing from his cock, soaking through his jock and right into his overalls, the front sopping wet, leaking piss to the floor, but he didn’t stop himself. He didn’t stop because it smelled amazing, because it felt amazing, because he’d secretly always wanted to, or maybe not, but he did now, and suddenly that was reason enough.

Carl’s tongue retracted, one rough hand smacking his fat ass, “Dirty fuckin’ pig, pissin’ all o’er yourself,” even his voice was gruffer than before, more gutteral. He hefted himself back up, snorting, hauled out his cock, and started pissing all over Matt, soaking him down with his stink, Matt feeling it run down all over his body, into his crevices and folds, making him even muskier. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be enjoying this, wanting this. He felt something pressing against his ass, shoving its way in. It hurt and he squealed, but Carl no longer found himself caring. His big cock was still leaking piss, but he wanted in. He wanted to fuck, he didn’t really care how much it might hurt the hole. 

“S-Slow down, ya fucker!” Matt managed to yell into his slop, “That ain’t yer fuckin’ pinky!” He got no reply, and finally pulled himself out of the trough long enough to look back over his shoulder, his chubby neck barely able to bend enough to see, and he let out something between a squeal and a scream. 

That wasn’t Carl. That was…that was some fucking, massive minotaur, horns and everything, with his foot long cock buried halfway in his asshole. He wrenched his way from the trough, now in a panic–the thing behind him clamped down on his thighs, hard enough to bruise, trying to drag him further back onto his cock. However, a well placed back kick to the bull’s large sack made him let go, and Matt was able to scramble up as best he could, lugging much more fat than before along with him, and he fled into the crowd, not stopping until he was certain he wasn’t being followed. Only after panting for a few minutes, trying to not vomit everything he’d just eaten, did he put together something he hadn’t noticed in his terror. That minotaur–it had been wearing Carl’s costume. 

Back at the trough, Carl was cursing under his breath, his sack throbbing in pain from Matt’s well placed trotter. Furious, he yanked his pants back up and looked around, but couldn’t see Matt among the crowd. However, he did see someone staring right at him, a few yards away–Stu. The pig had discarded the dress and wig and was now completely naked, though he hadn’t bothered to take off the blush or the eyelashes. The boar waddled up to him with a smug grin on his face. “See? I told you he wouldn’t be able to handle the real you.”

Carl tried to focus through the pain, through his lust. “Ya…ya did somethin’, I’m…”

“You know, as Jimmy loves to say, the less you think about it the better, big boy. Let’s just say the bartender is…a friend,” He bent down and licked Carl’s huge cock from head to root where it was still sticking out of the his sheath and the fly of his jeans, feeling him shiver. “You don’t scare me, you know. I know how to make big bulls like you happy. Come on, let’s go have some real fun–I might not even charge you, if you’re good.”

Stu walked off towards the back curtain and slipped behind it, heading for his sty. Carl ached for too many things, all at once, but everything came down to his aching cock. He glanced about for Matt one last time, and then stomped after Stu, huffing thick plumes of smoke, unable to think of a good reason why he didn’t want to.

– Chapter 4 –

“J-Jimmy?…Jimmy!” Matt shouted through the crowd, forcing his way over to where the large man was chatting with a couple of goats, “I need tah talk tah ya.”

Jimmy did his best to suppress an eye roll when he saw the pig stumbling towards him–this was a tough nut to keep happy, obviously. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to the others, and turned to the pig. On a second look, however, it was clear that the pig was in actual distress, and he didn’t see Carl with him. “You look like a bit of a mess, Matt. What happened?” The words that fell out of Matt’s mouth came in no easily discernible order, and his panic was only ratcheting higher. Jimmy twirled one hand, a large glass brimming with a dark ale appearing in his hand, and thrust it under Matt’s snout. “Drink this down first–you’ve obviously had some shock.”  

Matt was suspicious–and for good reason, but even smelling the ale was making him feel a bit better. He took the glass in his awkward hands and drank it back in a few glugs, feeling a bit run down the sides of his mouth. When he finished, he gave off a great big belch–and he expected to feel a bit hazy from the alcohol, but if anything he felt more clear-headed than he had all night. Jimmy pulled a cigar from his pocket–Matt was happy to see it, and let Jimmy giving him a light–feeling immediately better with it in his snout again.

“Bit better?”

Matt nodded, sighing out a cloud of smoke.

“Good. Now, what’s going on? Where’s Carl?”

“That’s, Ah mean…” Matt took a deep breath, and he went back to the start, how he’d been eating for…well, he couldn’t quite be sure how long he’d been eating, but at some point he’d felt someone working him over, and he’d assumed it must have been Carl. He glossed over some of the details–Jimmy had no trouble filling them in–the pig was still soaked to the skin with piss–and skipped to the part where he’d looked back and found himself staring up at some massive minotaur, or bull, or something. He’d freaked out and gotten away, but it was only after that he’d realized the bull had been wearing the same costume as Carl had. He’d gone back to the trough to look for him, but he’d disappeared, and he’d spent the last…who knew how long looking for him all over the room. He’d heard the bell go off twice at some point–he assumed for two in the morning, and he’d spotted Jimmy here, and hoped he might be able to help him find Carl.

Jimmy listened attentively, and when Matt ran out of story, he frowned. “Well, it sounds like Carl ended up getting…something at the bar, but I gave very clear instruction as to who should receive what…this is a rather embarrassing mix up, I must say. Follow me, let’s see if we can find out what happened.”

He moved through the crowd towards the bar, Matt struggling to keep up with him. Even though he was taller, with a longer gait, Jimmy could somehow flow through everyone, leaving Matt to stumble and push his way through, muttering apologies in every direction. He caught up in time to see Jimmy talking in a rather stern tone of voice to a dog behind the bar, who had his head down and ears back. He tried to ask what he’d learned, but Jimmy was no longer paying attention to him, just striding off towards one wall of the bar where a curtain was hung over a doorway, and Matt hustled off after him, sweat pouring from his body, the fat working its way off his body little by little, thankfully, as he walked, leaving him with a more manageable, if still very hefty, body. He reached the curtain after Jimmy had already gone through, and ducked behind it, finding himself in a rather dull looking locker room, with a hounddog manning a desk next to another door. 

“Interested in a room for an hour?” the hound asked, “you’re welcome to pay by the hour, and…are you alone? I’d be happy to match you up with someone, if you give me your preference.”

“No…what? I mean, did Jimmy just come through here?”

“Boss? I mean, he did–hey, wait! You have to pay first,” he said, trying to stop Matt from going through the door, but he steamrolled by him and into a long hallway lined with doors. Some were standing open. Behind the closed doors, he could hear all manner of squeals, groans, howls and grunts coming from them, but it was about halfway down that he saw Jimmy pounding on a door and fiddling with a large keychain full of keys, shouting at whoever was on the other side. Matt was exhausted from trying to keep up with him, and he walked down the hallway, heaving for breath around the cigar still clamped in his teeth. Jimmy found the right key, apparently, worked it into the lock and threw open the door, storming into the room. A few seconds after him, Matt reached the doorway and was able to see what was happening inside.

The entire room was filthy, the floor slick with mud and covered with straw, and it stank like a barn. On one large heap of straw to the side was the bull Matt had seen earlier…was Carl, actually. Matt could…recognize him now. He was lying on his back in the straw, and mounting him was a massive boar, shorter than Matt was now, but quite a bit thicker, and a bit more feral–large tusks sticking up from his fully formed snout, bristly hair covering his rough hide. He had a leash wrapped up in one trotter, connected to a collar around Carl’s thick, muscular neck, pulled taut, forcing him to keep his neck raised, even as he tried as hard as he could to thrust deeper into the pig’s hole, his own hooved hands bound up in front of him with chain manacles, both of them snorting and grunting and heaving, covered with sweat, neither of them paying any attention to Jimmy in the middle of the room shouting at them–or rather, shouting at the boar, who was apparently named Stu.

“Fucking get off him Stu! Don’t even try and tell me you don’t remember what happened last time you pulled this shit with me.”

The pig slipped down further onto Carl’s cock, making him blurt out a long, loud moo of lust, “I don’t know, Jimmy, he doesn’t seem to want me to get off him very much, and he is a customer. Isn’t the customer always right? I can’t help it that I’m a better fuck than his stupid boyfriend,” Stu said, throwing a quick glance over to Matt in the doorway, and tightening his hold on the leash with a snorting laugh.

“I said get off of him!” Jimmy shouted, and some strange force picked Stu up into the air, the leash unwinding from his trotters. He was still laughing and grunting, as he was thrown him up against the opposite wall on his back, pinning him there, Jimmy stalking over, the two of them trying to shout their way over each other. His cock no longer inside anyone, Carl gave a snort and looked up, trying to figure out where he was, his balls aching with unfulfilled desire and started jacking his cock with his bound wrists as best he could, snorting and mooing.

It was a mess, and Matt found himself unsure of whether he should walk away and try to pretend that he’d never been a part of any of this, and…and a second desire to…to walk over there and help that big bull take care of his needs. Because he was horny too–in fact, he’d been horny for months. In all the time Carl had been slipping away here, Matt had been the one to stay true. Not because he didn’t have a choice–he’d always had more than a few fuckbuddies who’d been willing to play with him in the past. No, he’d stayed loyal because he’d wanted to, for Carl, and all those months of jacking off, they just weren’t enough. That sex earlier in the day, that fuck at the trough…rough but…much too brief. He’d been terrified, but he’d also…he’d also enjoyed it. He didn’t know if that was him. He didn’t know if that was the costume, or the the potion. He didn’t know if there was really a difference anymore.

Carl rolled his head around, getting closer, and finally noticed Matt in the doorway. He stopped what he was doing, his hands frozen, his eyes wide. “M-Matt? Oh fuck, Matt, I…I mean, I don’t…it was, I mean…All I wanted was–”

That was it. That was all of it that he could take, and Matt turned around and started off back down the hallway. Because he didn’t care what Carl wanted; what he cared about was that Carl didn’t seem at all interested in what Matt wanted, in what Matt might be able to give him.

Carl struggled up from the straw, rolling off onto his knees, struggling to pull his jeans back up and get them up over his cock. He ended up getting the button done up, his massive cock hanging out the front–his jockstrap had already been torn off by Stu earlier. “Matt–Matt!” he shouted after him, “Wait–wait just a fuckin’ minute, I’m so fuckin’ tired of ya just walking away from me.”

Matt walked faster, but his legs couldn’t match Carl’s massive stride. The bull caught up to him in the locker room, grabbed him by the back of his overalls, and threw him into a corner of the room, blocking him in. “Will ya jus’ talk tah me? I’m sorry alright? I don’t–”

“Ah’m fuckin’ tired a listenin’ tah yer bullshit, Carl! Jus’ let me fuckin’ go. It’s obi–ovius ya don’t wanna be wit’ me.”

“Don’t wanna–Fuck Matt, why the fuck do ya think I did all a this, if I didn’ wanna be wit ya?”

“Ah don’ fuckin’ know! Ya drag me all the way ‘ere, ‘n ya still end up fuckin’ that pig!”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. 

“Have…Have ya got a cigar I can have? I could use one bad…” Carl finally asked. Matt sighed, but rummaged in his pocket, finding one with a lighter, sticking it in Carl’s snout and lighting it for him, since his hands were still bound up. “Thanks,” he said, “Look, Matt, I’m sorry. I don’…know wha’ happened.”

“Ya don’ know wha’ happened? What the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yeah! I was trying tah git down wit’ ya, and ya freaked the fuck out! Ya say all this ‘bout wantin’ tah be wit’ me, and yer the one who went ‘n ran off first. Face it–ya can’t fuckin’ handle me! You can’ handle this, but this is me too! If ya wanna be wit’ me, then…then sometimes, I jus’…fuck.”

Would ya fuckin’ look at yerself?” Matt shouted, “If ya saw that fuckin’ yer hole, you’d a flipped out too!”

Carl’s snout curled up in confusion, “What?”

“Ya mean…oh fuck, a course,” Matt said, grabbed Carl’s bound hands and pulled him over to a bank of mirrors in the locker room, where he figured out how to unhook Carl’s hands from each other, “Have a fuckin’ look at yerself, ‘n ya’ll see what Ah mean.”

Carl knew he’d been feeling strange ever since those drinks at the bar, but he still hadn’t quite been able to articulate what was wrong with him. Hell, he hadn’t seen himself since he’d put on the costume, and even that had been odd, walking around, feeling “bigger”, but not really able to tell what had changed, exactly. For the last while, all he’d really been able to focus on was how horny he’d been, how sensitive his cock had been, and how…eager Stu had been to make him feel good. He looked in the mirror, and just like Matt earlier that day in in his kitchen, his jaw dropped when he saw himself, the veil of magic peeling away from his eyes.

No wonder he felt massive–he was massive. Next to him, in the mirror, Matt had to be close to six foot four–a big, hulking piece of boar–and Carl was easily a foot taller, his head a bit too close to the ceiling to make him feel comfortable, the two…horns pushing their way out of his temples coming dangerously close to scraping it. They grew out a few inches and then arced up, around the sides of the hard hat he still had on. His face had grown out similar to Matt’s, but his mouth was wider, his teeth broad and flat behind his lips, his wide nose pierced with a thick, silver ring–though he couldn’t remember when that might have happened to him. He still had on the collar Stu had put on him. He reached up and unhooked it with a bit of fumbling–it had to be at least a foot and a half long to reach around his massive neck. His entire body was coated with a thick layer of brown hair, but he could still see his skin underneath, and the tattoos coating his body, much like he’d seen on Carl earlier. He no longer had hands–much like Matt–it looked like a hoof split into three black, solid fingers–he also could see why his boots had felt so uncomfortable–his feet had become actual hooves. The rest of him had bulked up–he was packed with muscle, his arms bulging out of the tank, which was riding up, no longer able to contain his big gut. The cock hanging out of his jeans had to be at least a foot long, and his balls were equally sizable and covered with the same brown hair all over the rest of him. He looked like…like a brute. Like the brute he’d…always kind of felt like, especially when he was with Stu. No wonder Matt had been so terrified of him–if that had walked up behind him and started fucking him, he would have had a few questions too.

“Fuck, is this why Ah sound like such a fuckin’ hick? Ah look like I jus’ rolled in from the trailer park,” Matt said beside him, looking at his own reflection too.

Carl looked over at him, smelled him. He still reeked of their piss from earlier, and he…he couldn’t help but want him. Not just because he was there, like with Stu, but because…because it was Matt. “I think ya look pretty hot,” he said, stepping closer to him, pushing their bellies together. “Kinda makes me wanna finish what Ah started back by that trough.”

“We…we were tryin’ tah have a ser–surios talk, Carl…Ah wanna know what ya have tah say fer yerself…” he trailed off, sudddenly more interested in how good he smelled–how good they both smelled, actually, and how hard the bull cock pressing against him was, under his gut. 

“No, Ah don’t…I don’ got anythin’ tah say,” Carl said, “Ah can’ make this better. All Ah know, is that this…this is me. This is me too, this is maybe me more‘n anythin’ else. Now ya know, Ah shoulda told ya before all a this, Ah know. Ah spent…so much time tryin’ tah hide it from ya…but Ah think ya’ve been hidin’ somethin’ from me, too.”

“Ah don’–”

Carl pressed his hoof to his lips, quieting him, “No–let’s…let’s not be that us, fer a bit. Hell, I’d be happy never bein’ that us ever again. That old us. Let’s try…somethin’ different.”

The bell rang out three times, as Carl took the collar and wrapped it around Matt’s neck, pulling it tight, and Matt’s mind raced. What…what was he doing? Was he gonna just…let him do this to him? He kind of wanted to, he kind of wanted…wanted all of this. Maybe…maybe this was part of him, as much as he hated admitting it. Carl wrapped the leash up in his hoof, pulling it tight, bent down and kissed him, his long tongue pushing it’s way into Matt’s snout, exhaling smoke into him, feeling the pig suck it from his lungs. 

“This is…hot and all,” the hound behind them said, “But are you two gonna get a room, or just fuck right there?”

“Don’t know–ya got somethin’ a bit…muddy, for me ‘n my hog to play in?”

“A mudroom? Sure thing,” the goat said, and took a key from under the desk, “That’ll be fifty bucks an hour…hey!” 

Thanks, we’ll take it,” Carl said as he walked past, picking the key up from the desk with a snort, and marched off down the hallway, pulling Matt snorting and grunting behind him, amazed at how much this was turning him on. 

“Fine, I’ll…I’ll just put it on your tab then!” the goat shouted behind them. Carl found the room and pushed it open, shoving Matt into it, watching him fall in the pit of mud in the middle of the room and start rolling around in it, grunting, and Carl snorted, his cock rock hard, and followed, shutting the door behind him.

Quite a while later, Jimmy finally emerged from Stu’s room, his tuxedo rather muddied and dirty. He focused and cleaned himself up again before walking off, already dreading having to try and sort out the mess Stu had made of all of this, and cursed himself for always trying to play matchmaker! Why couldn’t he ever just be the proper, uninvolved businessman? He shook his head and passed by one of the mudrooms, where he heard a very low, familiar squeal, and a voice, gruff and deep, shouting, “That’s right pig, ya like daddy’s cock in your hole? Fuckin’ take it! Take all a it!” Followed by a long, extended moo.

Obviously, things had sorted themselves out. He fiddled with the ring of keys hanging from his waist. He should probably check on them and make sure everything’s ok…but then again, it sounded like the two of them were…busy. Hadn’t he just been saying he should butt out more often? besides, he had a party to host, and those two had sucked up so much of his time already–at least this way the two of them might sort out their problems on their own. 

Four bells rang, and eventually, five more. The party was beginning to wind down a bit, and Jimmy had forgotten about the two of them in the room entirely. Inside, Matt and Carl had finally reached a point of exhaustion. Both of them naked at this point, Carl was lolling half in, half out of the mud pit in the center of the room. Matt was coated with it, and it suited him. He still had on the collar, Carl still had the leash in his hand, pulling his head around to different parts of his musky body, Matt happily licking the bull’s fur clean of their piss, cum and mud. Matt had to be honest–that had been the dirtiest, but best, sex of his life, and he didn’t need to talk to Carl to know his big bull felt the same way. 

The bells started again–dawn already. Carl knew that meant the two of them should get out and leave, but he was suddenly feeling so lethargic. By the fourth chime, he looked down and saw that Matt had stopped licking–he’d fallen asleep–his head across his thick thigh, cock against his face. By the fifth, Carl was asleep too. Out in the bar, the rest of the revellers had fallen into the same slumber, all of them except Jimmy, who was standing in the midst of them all, pleased that yet another Halloween party had gone so well, even better than last year’s. As they all slept, he saw everyone around him start to revert back to their usual selves. Some had a few…lasting changes, but you couldn’t do magic without a few consequences. Still, as long as you didn’t think about it too hard and take too well to the change, you could usually get away relatively unscathed. 

Some, of course, had never planned on getting away without a few changes, some more extreme than others. The older man in the cop costume was slumbering in a booth, a german shepard curled up under his feet–he’d be having an interesting life for a year–or longer, if he ended up preferring life as man’s best friend. With a wave, those normal enough to go back to their lives disappeared–all of them would wake up in their own beds. Sure, maybe not the exact same beds–a few of them might have taken to their costumes, and find themselves in a…new walk of life. The magic usually managed to sort it out well enough, at least, though he’d never really been able to figure out why it affected some people more than others. The only people who remained were those looking stuck in the middle. He’d have to have some awkward conversations with them when they woke up in a few hours. They’d probably be stuck working with him for the next year–still, there were worse fates, he supposed. He realized that he had never actually checked in on Carl and Matt–he stepped over the remaining bodies in the bar and slipped behind the curtain, hoping he wouldn’t be stuck with either of them for the next year–one night had been plenty exhausting. He unlocked the door to the mudroom, peeked inside, and it was empty, thank goodness. Matt would probably be a bit…thicker, but hopefully they wouldn’t be in for too much of a shock when they woke up in a few hours. 

– Chapter 5 –

Carl let out a low grunt, the sunlight slanting in at an odd angle across his face. Wasn’t…wasn’t the window usually on the other side? His head hurt, either way–what a fucking party. He had no idea how in the hell he’d gotten home–the last thing he could remember was the mudroom, Matt licking him clean…

He was already horny, his cock hard with morning wood. He rolled over, listening to Matt’s loud, violent snoring. He was turned away from him; Matt inched closer, pressing his gut into the small of his back, nuzzling his beard against the back of Matt’s hairy neck, feeling the old leather collar there Matt refused to take off–the silly pig. He pushed his cock between Matt’s ass cheeks, getting his still loose hole a little slick with precum, and the slipped the head in gently, inch after inch, until Matt finally woke with a snort. “Fuck, yer still hard after all tha’ last night?”

“When the hell’m Ah not hard?” Carl said, pushing it in the rest of the way, listening to Matt snort in pleasure, feeling him push back. He wormed his arm under Matt’s bulk and pulled him tight to him, spooning him with his cock buried to the hilt. There was…more of Matt than he could remember…or was there? His big hands found Matt’s big nipples and started tweaking them, licking his ear and nibbling at it with his teeth as he thrust in and out a bit quicker, eventually rolling him over, face down, and mounting him, cumming deep inside him after a few minutes, and then collapsed down on him…and looked around the room.

This…this wasn’t his apartment.

Hell, this wasn’t even an apartment at all!

He pushed himself up, looking around–or rather up and down the single wide trailer where they’d woken up. The queen bed was at one end, and through a flimsy door he could see a kitchenette piled with dishes, and at the other end a living room, side tables with ashtrays filled with cigar butts and ash. 

He licked his lips–he needed a cigar, actually…what…had he been thinking about again?

He slipped his way out of Matt’s hole, his pig rolling back over, playing with his hefty gut before wrapping his hands around his cock, jacking it slowly while he grunted a bit. Carl rolled his legs off the side of the bed, grabbed a cigar from the humidor there, and lit it. 

“Fuck, git me one too, would ya?” Matt asked. Carl handed him the one he’d just started, and lit a second one for himself, before taking over for Matt’s hand, slowly milking his…very large cock. His…strange looking cock, actually, or was it that strange? It didn’t look quite human–the shaft twisted oddly, but that was just how it looked…right? Matt went back to tweaking his meaty nipples, moaning around his cigar until he too exploded, shivering with pleasure as wave after wave washed over him, long after his cock had stopped spurting. Carl licked the cum off his still muddy hand, and wondered what that must feel like. He’d always been a bit jealous of Matt’s massive orgasms. 

Matt was content to loll for a bit longer in bed, and Carl was again struck by a sense that something was off. This…this wasn’t where he lived. Or, more accurately–this is where he lived now, he knew that somehow, but this isn’t where he’d lived before this, he could remember…kind of. It was like trying to hold onto a dream, but the more he focused on it, the clearer it came. He looked down at himself–his firm pecs and solid gut, his cock hanging down between his legs off the side of the bed, still dribbling cum. It was…huge. At least a foot long, and it too looked a bit strange. Not at all like Matt’s–but the head seemed a bit misshapen and narrow, and it was very pink, but it was…his, wasn’t it? 

He needed to see himself better. He got up, vertigo hitting him as he did, considering how close his head was to the ceiling. he had to duck and turn to the side slightly just to get through the door in the trailer and into the bathroom. It reeked of piss and didn’t look like it had been cleaned in quite a while–the mirror was grimy, but he could see himself well enough–the short hair, the bushy beard with flecks of gray, the big bull ring through his septum, studs in his ears, and smaller rings in his nipples. He had his tattoos from…before. He couldn’t remember when he’d gotten them all exactly, but there they were anyway, all over his arms, chest and gut–even circling his neck. It seemed wrong, and yet normal, which only made it feel more wrong. Feeling a bit nervous, he found himself chuffing a bit harder on the cigar, which at least helped him calm down a bit. 

The bed creaked, and after a few moments, Matt appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, and squeezed behind Carl to get in front of the toilet. He was bigger too–though not as tall as Carl–with a thick, barrel body that still sagged slightly, counterbalanced by a wide ass. Just like Carl, he too was covered with hair, and beneath that, just as many tattoos as him. His beard was quite a bit larger, and his head was shaved bald. He grabbed a sizable beer stein from the top of the toilet’s tank–though Carl wasn’t sure why it was there–until he saw Matt put in under his cock, and with a grunt, he started pissing into it, filling the massive glass at least three quarters of the way before he finally shook his cock, spraying piss everywhere, and raised it to his lips, drinking down his own hot piss.

“Wha’…what the hell’r ya doin’?” Carl asked.

“Huh? Why, ya wan’ some? Got plenty. Well, enough fer me, ‘less ya got some too,” Matt smirked, taking another drink, a good bit running down into his beard, he slipped the stein under Carl’s cock, rubbing his bull gut with the other.

He…did want some, but that was beside the point. This wasn’t…He felt his cock release, adding his piss to the stein, the heady scent filling the bathroom with their smoke. It brimmed over in a matter of seconds, piss slopping onto the bathroom floor, Matt pulled it out, got down, and finished drinking the rest of Carl’s piss right from his cock–Carl reached down and picked the stein up in his hand, and took a long drink of their mixed piss. “Fuck, tha’s better,” he said, licking his lips, “Ah never feel right ‘til Ah git mah first drink a piss in the mornin’.” Matt was only half listening–he dropped to his hands and knees, cigar on one hand, face to the floor licking up the puddle of piss Carl had made between them. Matt finished cleaning the floor, and stood back up, taking the stein back and having another drink from it, and Carl asked, “Matt, do ya…feel like somethin’s…different tahday?”

“Whadya mean?”

“Ah…Ah’m not sure myself.”

“Well, Ah got everythin’ Ah want,” he said, stepping closer to Carl, inhaling his smoke and musk, “Got mah bullfuck, got mah piss, ‘n after Ah git breakfast, everythin’ll be jus’ fine. Come on, Ah’ll cook.”

Carl sat down at the cluttered table and watched Matt get to work in the kitchen, and food came out in a steady stream–pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage (chicken, of course)–he had no idea how he was able to navigate the mess and make it happen, but they tucked in–Matt eating much more than Carl, but the nagging thought still wouldn’t leave him. They finished up, leaving the dishes were they fell, and Carl said, “Let’s go out tonight.”

“We were just at The Barnyard, Carl, ‘n Ah don’ feel like drivin’ all the way tah the city. Ah think it rained last night, why don’ we find a big puddle ‘n have some fun closer tah home?”

“Don’ ya…haven’t ya noticed that…that this ain’t all right? That we’re…this…” Carl tried to finish the sentence, but everything in his head either sounded insane or made no sense, even to him, “Look, Ah still owe Jimmy fer the room last night, we should go pay.”

“We ain’t gonna git paid til Friday though.” Carl gave Matt his “I’m the boss” stare, and the pig backed down. He loved Carl, but he could be so damn stubborn. “Fine, but Ah git tah pick the outfits…” Matt said, with a wink, and started digging around the piles of clothes littered around the trailer. He tossed Carl his well worn leather pants and a bulldog harness–for himself he got in a full harness, and over that a dirty jock, bulging obscenely from trying to contain his massive bulge. 

“Yer goin’ lookin’ like that?”

“Ah never wear more ‘n this, ya know that.”

At…at least put on some o’eralls, fer the ride.”

Matt rolled his eyes, but did as Carl asked. Carl pulled on the leather pants, but he could only fit into them by forcing his thick cock down one leg, where it fell into a well worn bulge, his crotch still bulging out with his massive balls. They pulled on their boots, and climbed into Carl’s old truck, pulled out of the trailer park, and drove toward the city. It was a long drive–about an hour and a half, but they made it regularly. Carl had no real idea they’d ended up so far away, but he somehow knew his way around the winding back roads so he could get to the highway. Matt occupied himself during the long ride by sucking Carl off slowly on the way, jacking his own cock as he did. 

Night was just falling as they arrived, managed to park on the street, and headed into the bar–but as soon as they were inside, Matt unhooked the overalls and stashed them away by the door. “What the hell’r ya doin’? Put those back on,” Carl asked.

“What? Alright, wha’ the hell’s the matter wit’ ya tahday?” Matt asked, “Ya’ve been actin’ all weird since we got home las’ night.”

“Ah don’t even remember gettin’ home, do ya?”

“Sure! Ah mean, we must’ve, right? We woke up in bed after all.”

“So ya don’t remember actually gettin’ home?”

“It’s all a lil’ blurry, but who fuckin’ cares? Yer the one who wanted tah go out tahnight, so we’re out! Let’s have some fuckin’ fun at least,” he turned and headed for the bar proper, “Honest tah goodness, ya can be so damn frast–fusteratin’ sometimes.”

Carl followed him. The bar was back to normal, including the clientele. Like always, the room seemed to be split between two camps–on one hand, was everyone waiting for the curtain, and on the other was the rowdy regulars…who were all shouting Matt’s name as he walked over, joking and kissing, blowing smoke at them…and Carl knew them too. All of them. By name. He knew what they did for a living, what their piss tasted like, who liked taking a round with him and Matt in the mudroom. It was…too much to take in, and he veered to the bar where Jimmy was polishing glasses in his jeans and flannel, eyes widening when he saw Carl plodding over to him.

“Huh…” Jimmy said, “I…suppose you’ll be wanting an explanation then? And a drink–you’ll definitely be needing a drink, I think.”

“No fuckin’…ya mean…Ah ain’t goin’ crazy?” he said, propping himself up on a barstool.

“No crazier than the rest of them,” Jimmy said, looking over at the mob of men which Matt had joined.

“Ya knew this was gonna happen…Wha’ the hell, Jimmy?”

“No, I knew that this ‘could’ happen,” Jimmy replied, setting a beer down in front of him. “It’s an important difference. Did Matt notice at all? It doesn’t look like it.”

“No, he’s got no damn clue. Look, how do we change back? Ah can’t, Ah mean, Ah kinda like it, ya know, but we can’t…we got jobs we gotta  go back tah tahmorrow.”

“Well, you don’t have the jobs you used to have, I can tell you that.”

“Of course Ah do! Ah was workin’ construction–we both were…right? Nah, Ah mean…what…was Ah doin’ bahfore…” his mind drew a blank, “Look, jus’ change us back, alright? No harm no foul.”

“Well…it’s complicated, you see. With magic, the more you notice what’s going on, the more likely the change…sticks to you. And I can’t just wave my hand and put everything back–see, it’s kind of like this…” Jimmy spoke his explanation, and Carl listened as best he could, but it was kind of hard to follow–especially since Jimmy kept using these big words he didn’t recognize. He focused on drinking the beer Jimmy had given him instead. It was…different than the one he’d always had before, but it was nice. The more he drank it though, the less since Jimmy was making…and the less he cared about whatever he was talking about. Carl didn’t know how to get him off the topic, so he just fidgeted on the bar stool. 

Finally he interrupted him, after finishing the rest of the beer, “Jimmy, Ah gotta be honest–Ah got no fuckin’ idea wha’ yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

Jimmy smiled, and shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about it–it doesn’t really matter anyway, does it? By the way…I think Matt might be getting a little, uh, carried away over there.”

“Gah fuckin’…” Carl said, looked over his shoulder, and saw Matt on his hands and knees, face buried in one of their friend’s crotches. “He ain’t even had nothin’ tah drink yet…”

“Here, take him a beer–I like him better drunk,” Jimmy said with a laugh.

“Heh, tha’ makes two a us…” Carl said, and took the two beers, cigar clamped in his jaw, and walked over to join his friends, his concerns now just a shadow of a shadow, “Who the hell told ya fucker’s ya could git mah pig all riled up without me?”

The guys all laughed, and the curtain slipped up on the other side of the bar, another man scurrying out, nervous and edgy. It gave Carl a sudden sense of deja vu, but more than anything, he was glad that wasn’t him. He sat down with the rest of the guys, Matt digging out his cock and sucking him hard, Carl rewarding him with his first load of piss for the evening. Sure, they had work early tomorrow, but they needed this too. Hell, the Barnyard was really the only place either of them felt at home anymore, with the rest of the guys, with Jimmy.

“You still have a hundred and fifty on your tab Carl, don’t forget!” Jimmy shouted at him.

“Yeah, yeah–payday’s Friday,” he said, grabbed the back of Matt’s head, and drove his cock down into his throat, happy and content in the Barnyard.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.17 – Establishing Residency

Jimmy woke up on something soft, but not that soft. It wasn’t asphalt, but it also wasn’t his bed at home, though as he swung his arms and legs, flailing a bit, it could tell it was at least a bed. One foot struck a wall that the bed was shoved up against, the other leg hit air, one arm knocked something off the bedside table that hit the ground with a thud, but not a crack. He was face down still, head pounding, and he rubbed his face with both hands, drilling fingers into his eyes until he saw spots, and then tried opening them again. 

Not his room. Nowhere that he had ever been before, that he could remember. He rolled over on the double bed, back to the wall, and looked around for someone who might have found him and brought him here, but he was alone that he could see. There wasn’t much of anything to see, really. There was a kitchenette across from him, bare of dishes but not necessarily clean, a bathroom at one end which didn’t seem to have a door, and in the other direction, a door that he assumed led elsewhere in the apartment. He swung his feet over the side of the bed gave a stretch, and that was when he got the first inkling that something about him was off. The weight of his arms as he reached up, the smell that came from his pits, stronger and rougher than what had been his boisterous, youthful scent. He stumbled towards the bathroom, found a switch that flicked on the beauty lights, though the bulbs in only half of them functioned, and stared at his face with a dull disbelief.

It wasn’t his face. Older, certainly. At least aged into his thirties, if not a bit closer to forty. A thick beard trimmed short all over his chin and jaw, climbing high up his cheeks. A body that looked strong, though not particularly pretty or handsome. A tunic of body hair, running up his chest, over his shoulders and down his back, interrupted by a few fresh scars running across it, from the Warden’s flogger. He ran his fingers over them–that had just been the night before, hadn’t it? They felt healed over, and yet the memory was fresh, and he felt a strange stirring in his cock from the thought of it, the bite of it, remembering how good it had felt laying into the shade, and–

He pushed it away. It was too raw and too close, the emotions all threatening to overwhelm him in a place that he didn’t know, that probably wasn’t safe, in a body that wasn’t even his own. He left the bathroom, not sure how to untangle the emotions swirling in his chest. Not fear, surprisingly. Exhaustion, sure, after the night he’d just had. Horny. A little numb, like something had been pulled out of him, something he couldn’t quite name, the importance of which was only clarified by the shape and size of the hole once pulled free. He went to the other door, opened it up, expecting to find a living room, or some other part of a larger apartment, but all he found was a concrete balcony overlooking a parking lot. It was a studio apartment, more like a hotel room, really, but Jimmy had never been inside one. He’d never known someone who lived in one either. He knew of them, vaguely, like kids in the suburbs knew about “Chicago”, or “London”, places that existed but had no real bearing on their lives. Someone passing on the sidewalk looked up, saw him, gave a whistle, and headed for the stairwell–it was only then that Jimmy realized he was standing there, stark naked under the early afternoon sun. He went back into the apartment, the man knocked on the door a few times while Jimmy cowered on the bed, embarrassed and frightened and angry at himself, before the stranger gave up and left.

There were some clothes on the floor, some torn up jeans and a wifebeater. The pockets had a key–probably to the apartment, but nothing for a car. The thing that he’d knocked off the nightstand was a cell phone, though not the one he’d had. This one was substantially older, and much less functional. The wallet had some cash, no cards, and an expired driver’s license. His name was on it, his picture looked how he imagined a halfway point between his youth of yesterday and face of today might have looked. He was smirking, and Jimmy felt mocked. The address was not his home address, but after throwing on the clothes, along with some socks and beat up work boots, he left. Sure enough, the address on the ID looked to match the apartment number and location. He might live here, allegedly, but he didn’t have to stay here. He left, key phone and wallet in his pockets, and started walking. 

It was a few blocks before he could orient himself with a half remembered landmark or two, and determined he was, in fact, in Pigtown. On the outskirts, he supposed, but if Pigtown were a circle, Depot was at the southern end, and his apartment was more to the east, closer to the river and the docks. He headed that way on foot, and after half an hour, pushed open the door to Marshall’s Cigar and Briar, and found Marshall and Kyle chatting with a regular. 

“Hey man,” Marshall said, “First time, I–no, wait…” He looked a bit closer. “Oh. Hey Bill, I appreciate the gossip, as always, but this one will need a little attention, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing, Marshall,” the chubby regular said, chuffing away at a massive pipe he held up with one hand. He gave Jimmy a look up and down, then a wink, and slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

The three of them just looked at one another. Kyle was confused, and didn’t seem to recognize him. Marshall was apparently content to let the silence grow as long as necessary. “It’s me, Kyle. It’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy…” Kyle said, like he was trying to recall a regular at the shop, until his brain clicked over, and he realized who it was who had just come in. “Fucking–what happened to you? I just saw you a week ago for fuck’s sake! What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

Jimmy related the story of the day and night before, from filing a report at the precinct, to his dream, and encounter with the shade on the street, concluding with a toned down version of what happened down in the jail. Jimmy didn’t want that to have been something he’d done, he couldn’t yet fold that into his identity, and so he tried to shut it away, edit around the joy he’d taken in flaying that shade open over and over again, for hours. Marshall saw it anyway, but he thought Kyle might have been fooled. There was something else though, something between him and his friend that had formed in the last week since he’d last seen him here. A confidence, maybe, in Kyle’s new persona, but it was also in the way Kyle looked at him, like he was still struggling to recall him, the young men they’d both been before. He thought about how it had felt, forgetting Marlon over the week before, and wondered how much Kyle had forgotten. How much him being here had just dredged forth. 

“That’s quite the tale, bud,” Marshall said, “I assume you want to know how to change back?”


“The short answer is, you can’t. You’re a resident now, whether you like it or not. You’re stuck here, with the rest of us, like this, more or less.”

“That’s the short answer?”

“The long answer, is that you don’t have to stay like this, I suppose. Plenty of folks around here will be more than happy to give you a makeover, if you aren’t happy, myself included. The deeper you go, the more…happy they’ll be. Around Washington street, it gets thicker, a couple blocks up from The Hideaway. Guys who go past there don’t come back to these parts after a while. We’ll all make our way there, one day I suppose. Resist, don’t, it’s all up to you. It’ll be easier if you just think of it as a brand new life, and enjoy it as best you can.”

Jimmy looked over at Kyle, who was looking down at the floor. No help then, not even an acknowledgement of his feelings, his loss. He’d expected better of his friend, but then, he wasn’t quite sure Kyle was actually his friend anymore, the one he remembered. He was becoming someone else too, just as he was. Unable to bear it, he turned around and left, breathing hard, full of anxiety, and just walked. He walked south, wanting to get out, wanting to try and get away. He knew how to get home by bus, he could go see his parents, they would help, surely. But he only got a few blocks south of the precinct before the sun felt too harsh, the air too clean. The looks that the businessmen and women going about their day shot at him told him that not only did he not belong here, but that being forced to notice him, to look at him, was making their day actively worse. He tried to get on a bus, but the driver wouldn’t even let him on. He tried to call a cab, but none of them even bothered stopping. He tried walking, but took a turn down an alley, only to find himself back on a familiar street between Marshall’s and the Precinct. He really was stuck. 

He was hungry. He found a cafe, ate some dinner, but that didn’t satisfy him. The cock he ended up sucking in the alley next to the cafe was more filling than that. He ended up at Depot for a while, but the bustling youth turned him off. This wasn’t his scene anymore. Depot, he realized, was bait. A honeypot for the district to suck men in–the younger the better. Others hovered around it and inside it, looking for men in moments of weakness so they could swoop in and have their way with them. He left, not interested in feeling like a predator. He walked more, saw the bar that Marshall had mentioned, the Hideaway, and decided it was better than nothing.

He didn’t remember much of what happened inside there. It had been pleasurable, not as pleasurable as his night in the jail, but pleasurable all the same. He awoke in the same position, in the same double bed, alone, in his new apartment. This, then, is all there is for him. He thought about getting up, but couldn’t face it. He stared at the ceiling, the patterns of mold there looking more and more like the silhouettes of cocks, until the need and the hunger drove him out again, into the evening, for more debauchery. This was it then. This was it.


The Chronicles of Pigtown: Chapter 3.16 – A Few Steps Behind

“What do you mean, it’s gone?”

“I…well, the morning shift arrived to guard the, uh, anomaly, and it simply wasn’t there. It was just a wall again.”

Commander Rumwell took a seat in the chair behind his desk, lit up a cigar, and rubbed his temples for a few moments. He ground his thumbs in hard, and then laid his hands on the surface. “Things like that don’t disappear in Pigtown. What time did the shift arrive?”

“Seven in the morning. You…know how hard it is, getting some of these guys up in the morning.”

As best as they’d been able to figure out, everyone in Pigtown passed out for the night by around dawn–about five in the morning, this time of year–and were all transported home, with no memory of how they got there. Seven in the morning was about the earliest they’d ever been able to rouse themselves, and that was usually with a good dose of stimulants a bit stronger than coffee, that were only used by officers in these sorts of situations. That’s still a two hour window where something, apparently, had happened, and the fucking hole in the wall they’d found the day before had disappeared.

“Also, there was this,” the officer said, and slid a sealed envelope across the top of his desk towards him. “From The Warden, apparently.”

Rumwell opened the letter, and found a short, handwritten note inside. Apparently, the shade that the officers had brought in Thursday night had somehow managed to escape. No further details or explanation as to how the escape happened were included. He tore the note up, struck a match, and burned the pieces in his ashtray. “Any other news you’d like to deliver me this morning, officer?”

“Rod asked for you to, uh, ‘grace him with your presence’ in the Depot VIP lounge at your earliest convenience.”

“I see,” the commander said. The room fell silent for a moment, aside from the crackle of ash forming on the end of the cigar, as Rumwell took a long drag, an inch long cinder sprouting on the end of the fresh stick. He heaved an exhale, a massive plume of smoke settling over the desk like a fog. He stood up, carefully unbuttoned his shirt, and hung it over the back of his chair.

“Did they send you because you can take it?”

The officer gulped, but the bulge in his uniform was well apparent. “Because I like it, honestly. Be as rough as you’d like, Commander.”

A couple of hours later, the officer stumbled out of the commander’s office, nearly tripping over his feet into the wall ahead of him. He took a moment to put his shoes on properly, made a cursory attempt to straighten his cum, piss and ash stained uniform shirt, and stumbled down the hall, where another officer was standing with a folder. “Is…did you just come out of the commander’s office?”

“Commander gave me the day off, but he’s still a little feisty. Might want to come back later, I mean, unless you know…” he said as he passed him, and went down the stairs. The officer with the folder watched him, looked at the door like he was considering it a moment, and then followed him back down. It could wait.

Rumwell breathed a heavy sigh, lit his fourth, or fifth, cigar of the morning–he’d already lost track–and sat down in his chair again. He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back on yet; he was still dripping with sweat. The rough fuck had cleared out most of his frustration at the three bits of news he’d been greeted with this morning, but he couldn’t help but feel that, if he’d been moving just a little faster, connecting the dots over the last day, he could have stopped some of this. It couldn’t be a coincidence, though none of the three bits appeared to have anything to do with one another on the face of it. But if Rod was involved, well, then something very serious was happening. He stood up, put his shirt back on, straightened himself up in the mirror he kept behind the door, and left, telling everyone he would be taking a long lunch, and be back in the afternoon.

He made his way over to Depot, though it would be hours before the bar was officially open. He pounded on the door until a bleary eyed barback, who likely had just woken up in the backroom, opened it up for him. He didn’t bother asking for directions. He’d been in the VIP room a number of times before, and had never once enjoyed his visits here. He didn’t know who, or what, Rod was, but all of his instinct told him he was close to the secrets of this place. That if he could one day unravel him, perhaps the rest of Pigtown would unwind as well. He knew it was a hopeless thought. Pigtown was an engine and had long ago become self-sufficient. It created its own fuel, after all. The best Precinct 27 could do was starve it a little, keep as many men as they could from sliding deeper and deeper into the center of the district, where no one, as far as he could tell, had returned from. He’d sent a few patrols in, but the deepest they’d gotten, and returned to tell about it, described a city that was no longer this city at all. It obeyed no maps, the men there could barely be described as men. There was something else at the heart of it all, and worse, he could feel it calling to him. They could all feel it, every man who’d been drawn here. It wanted to eat them, and perhaps, the men wanted to be devoured just as much.

Upstairs, Rod was waiting on his usual stool, with his usual drink. The same bartender was there as always, and Rumwell’s preferred Jack and coke was already waiting for him beside Rod. He avoided looking at the orgy that always seemed to be underway among the cushions there–it had always unnerved him, though he’d never been able to explain why, and took his seat. “You requested an audience?”

“There’s been some arrangements made that I feel you ought to know about.”


“Shadow will be given a house.”

Rumwell chucked his drink at the glass windows that looked out over the dance floor.

“You’re the one who told me he needed to be stopped at all fucking cost, and you’re giving him a fucking house!”

“It was convenient to have you at each other’s throats before, and now it serves no purpose. I’ll find you something else to keep your little precinct occupied instead, so you can pretend you’re all such upstanding citizens, and not just spending all day sucking cock like the rest of us.”

“No, fuck you, not after what the fucker’s done to my men, done to this fucking city.”

“I will admit that the precinct is special, for a number of reasons, but it too is a house, and must abide by the rules. If you wish to feud with him, that is your prerogative, but he will have a house, and he will have protection, so long as he abides protocol. In the meantime, Shadow and his shades are no a matter of your jurisdiction.”

“Consent is a protocol, if I recall.”

“I have informed Shadow of that stipulation, and he has agreed to modify his recruitment techniques to account for it. If he violates it, he will have much more powerful forces come to bear upon him than those your little precinct can wield. If you’d just move it a few more blocks in, you’d be much better off you know, anytime you want, just–”

“Fuck you.”

“The offer always stands. You’re far too near the edge to have much in the way of power. Perhaps you like it that way. Less likely someone will challenge you, I suppose.”

“You did it, didn’t you? Made that…thing, that hole in the wall disappear, didn’t you? I should have fucking known this had your freaky fingerprints all over it. I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to Rod, but one day, I’ll figure out this fucking place, what makes it tick, and when I do, I swear you will come down with it.”

Rod just shrugged. “Perhaps. As for…whatever you’re talking about, I don’t know what it is you’re even talking about.”

“That’s even more bullshit that I’d expect from you. A guy doesn’t fart within ten blocks of here without you knowing about it.”

“Have a drink, Rumwell. It sounds like you need it. Maybe try enjoying yourself for once. You’re so serious all the time, it isn’t good for the heart.”

The commander stormed off without another word, leaving Rod alone in the VIP room. Once the sound of the heavy boots could no longer be heard on the stairs, the shadows collected in a corner behind the bar, and Shadow stepped forth, followed by Marlon. 

“I trust that satisfies you?” Rod asked.

“How will I know he will abide by your word?”

“He will. He’s a stubborn fool, but he has too much pride in his principles to betray them. He knows better than anyone how fast turning on those principles would destroy him here.”

Shadow nodded. “Then, I suppose my only other question then, is where is my house?”

“Well, the House of Kings is still under construction, and they’re using up a good chunk of gruntwork right now. We do need storage space immediately though, so I know an old mansion or two that could work in the meantime.”

Rod gave him the address, and they shadow-walked there. It was decrepit, and some residents had taken up inside, using it as a base of operations for who knew what inside. “I’ll clear it out tonight, and have a team of hardhats over next week to assess and make necessary repairs. Are the works safe in the meantime?”

Shadow nodded. 

“Good, then we have our agreement?”

“We do,” Shadow said, and slipped back into the darkness, leaving Rod on the sidewalk. He didn’t mind, it had been a while since he’d walked the streets, and besides, Samuel’s studio wasn’t too far off from here–he might as well stop by and see what his prodigy was sketching next. 

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.15 – Big Horny Bastards

Hugh woke up in his bed, shaking a bit, already feeling the familiar sensation of withdrawal settling over him. It wasn’t particularly late in the morning, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be long before Parker returned with his promised load. The night before, he’d gotten what Parker had asked for, the location of the lab where BHB was being produced. Aaron had been hesitant to part with the information, and Hugh had eventually been forced to wire him a substantial amount of cash in order to get him to cough it up. It had been worth it though; he’d never felt this good in his entire life, and that fuck he’d gotten from Parker had been mind blowing. He’d grabbed a dildo he used on occasion, when the desire arose, and rode it for a bit, but it just couldn’t compare at all. He’d fallen asleep early that night, since Thursday was a slow evening for dealing anyway, and it wasn’t like anyone would recognize him if he went out. Now that it was morning though, hunger was creeping in. 

He tried to eat some breakfast, but couldn’t choke down more than a few mouthfuls of toast. It just made him feel sick, and it was all he could do to keep from vomiting it up into the toilet after a few minutes. He watched the clock on his phone, wondering if he should go and try and find Parker, but settled for texting him instead. He got a reply pretty quickly, telling him that he’d have his business finished up soon, and to wait for him there. Hugh wanted to scream in need, but did his best to be patient. He texted back an hour later, and nothing–not even a read notification. The worst possibilities crept into his head. What if his alpha was going through withdrawals right now, and only Hugh would be able to help him? He was starting to sweat and shake, his muscles tensing and cramping. The lab wasn’t too far off from his apartment, in an old derelict office park that a number of Pigtown residents used as a fuckspot and hangout. One of the places where even seasoned residents of Pigtown didn’t go unless they had good reason, and were well prepared. During the day though, it would probably be alright. He could go there, get the BHB, and be back before Parker returned, vial in hand–that would make him a good beta, certainly.

His desires well justified, he threw on some clothes that mostly fit him, and set off down the sidewalk, trying to project that everything about him was normal, though from the looks men gave him when he passed them by, his attempt was unsuccessful. He hurried along, the nausea intensifying, world lurching about until he had to pause and vomit up something halfway down an alley. The result looked like a gelatinous pile of cum. The weakness was intensifying, and the clothes that had been tight on him were more manageable. He was shrinking back down in size, but he didn’t know if the end result would be his own body, or something stranger. Given Pigtown, he didn’t want to find out if he could help it. 

The office park was a collection of one story buildings with plenty of parking lots that had, once, been filled with bustling small businesses. But as Pigtown had grown, respectability had been pushed out, and the only businesses that could survive here were those of catering to the risque, or outright obscene. As the businesses had fled, more and more men had taken up full residency here, and without any clear place to live, a number of them had taken over spaces like this, converting old offices to communal living spaces, all of them havens of drugs, easy sex, and hedonistic desire. Really, they were just places to wake up from your Pigtown Hangovers, before spilling back out into the new night and repeating the debauchery all over, but always more intense, always spiraling deeper and deeper–into pleasure, but also deeper into Pigtown itself. In the day, though, most everyone living here was still asleep. Hugh kept himself as quiet as he could, not wanting to rouse any attention, and found his way through the park to the back, where a row of warehouses had been constructed–for storage or manufacturing he supposed, but they too had all likely been converted to residences. One though didn’t have the pile of refuse outside indicating habitation. It was clear, the door unmarked, but still on its hinges and locked. He went up to it and pounded on it, to no answer. He kept pounding, and pounding, until he heard someone roused within. 

A number of locks were undone, and the door opened, by a bleary eyed young man, massively built, with a set of square glasses perched on his nose. “Who the fuck are…” he sniffed the air, and gave a little smirk. Hugh gave a little swallow, and realized what he was smelling. It wasn’t as raw as Parker’s musk had been, but it was just as pungent, just as powerful and domineering. The smell of another Alpha. Perhaps more alpha than Parker had been.
Force constrained rather than overflowing at the body’s seams, the power and precision of a laser cutter, instead of a chainsaw. The man stood up straight, straightened his glasses, and wrapped one arm around Hugh’s shoulders. “Come on in, man, let’s get you fixed up, you’re gonna be a real mess in an hour or two otherwise.”

“Thanks, I…It’s been a real weird fuckin’ couple of weeks. I was dealing some of that BHB, and one of my regulars, he reacted…real weird to it, and…” before Hugh could continue, the man pushed him to his knees, pressed the head of his massive cock to his lips, and pushed in. Hugh forgot all about what he was going to say, the scent and flavor of the cock demanded all of his focus and devotion. He worshiped it for a few minutes, before the man pushed him over, maneuvering him into position without exactly manhandling him, and fucked him right there on the concrete floor. “Oh fuck, oh god, I need it so fuckin’ bad…” Hugh moaned.

“I know you do. Don’t worry about what happened, just let all of that go, just enjoy this,” he said. The fuck was powerful without being rough, and Hugh rode a series of anal orgasms until the man finally finished inside him. When he pulled out, Hugh was surprised to find he was even larger than before. Parker had grown his muscles, but unevenly–now though, he looked like he could go into professional bodybuilding. The man helped him up, and Hugh thanked him. “No need, it would be a waste otherwise.”

“My friend, you have to help him, whatever happened to him, he’s gone crazy, and…and there were these things he made, these little…blob like creatures, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

That was the first time the man looked disquieted. “What?”

“Yeah–he…he fucking used his cock to suck the muscle out of a couple of guys. I…didn’t see it myself, but he threatened to do the same to me.”

“That…huh, alright. You were just hallucinating, you wouldn’t be the first. Come on, let’s get you hooked up.”

Hugh didn’t know what he meant, but followed him instinctively to a doorway inside. “I…what’s your name?”

“You can just call me Doc.”

“What…what is that stuff? I mean, I’m not complaining, but I don’t use, I just deal. Is there an antidote? Something to manage the withdrawal?”

He passed through the doorway, and just stared. Down the length of the warehouse, massively muscled men were strapped to tables, headsets over their heads, and massive hoses attached to their cocks milking out their cum, running to the far end of the building, where massive storage tanks were waiting, most likely to be converted to BHB. “What…the fuck is this?”

“These are my Big Horny Bastards. Where do you think the name came from?”

“I…no, I…”

“Come on, let’s get you on a table.”

“No, I don’t want–” Hugh said, but his feet were already shuffling after the man, obeying his commands just as he had Parker’s earlier, without any capacity to resist. They reached an empty table, and Hugh climbed on it, lying still while Doc strapped him down, and applied a collection of electrodes all over his body. “We have to keep the muscles stimulated, but managing a full gym for all of these fuckers was a nightmare, they’d get into fights, fuck each other, waste product, this is so much easier, and so much more pleasurable for you too.”

Doc slid a needle into Hugh’s arm, and hung up an IV full of what looked like cum. “That…it’s you?”

“Yeah. It all comes back to me, but I figured out how to produce it and purify it. I thought I’d managed to suppress the alpha formation, but apparently something in your friend triggered it anyway. It’s not a problem, he’ll run out of steam soon enough, now that his dealer is out of the picture.”

Doc slid a helmet over his head, and he felt the cum hit his bloodstream, filling him with a sudden surge of energy, just as the electric jots turned on, causing his muscles to spasm uncontrollably. It hurt, at first, but after a while, it reminded him more of a good workout, and the porn on the headset was hot, and he was just so horny. Whoever was sucking his cock was doing a real good job, and Hugh came with a shudder, Doc watching the first load from him newest BHB fill up a canister under the milker. He detached it and slid in another one–he wouldn’t add this one to the main feed until he’d tested it sufficiently. In any case, having another bastard in the lab was a definite benefit–demand was spiking quick, and he was going to need all the raw material he could get.