Month: January 2016

Subway (Sketch)

Officer Hugo Mason had been with the city police department for close to ten years, and in that time, he’d always been highly respected by his fellow officers and superiors, enough so that his occasional fag bashings, both in and out of uniform, were usually overlooked and shoved under the rug by the rest of the department. After all, none of them liked faggots–although none of them disliked them nearly as much as Hugo did. Whether it was from a position deep within a closet of his own, or simply lashing out at a particular target, he was merciless either way. He was never quite certain, in the thick of what happened, whether it had been coincidence or some grand scope of cosmic revenge that it was him that ended up on the subway, alone in that car, that late at night. All he could really be certain of was that something strange had happened to him–though in the immediate aftermath, even he hadn’t been quite sure what it was.

It had been a late shift and he was on his way home–that time of night, there were never many people on the subway, but being alone in a car–that was rare enough that generally everyone notices when it happens, and the sensation is always eerie. A place  which was usually so full of people–you realize just how large and small the space is at the same time. Hugo once heard a story of someone hyperventilating while alone in a car. It was probably just an urban legend, but sitting there by himself, the tunnel roaring along outside, he could understand how it could do that to a certain kind of person.

It was a decent distance to the next stop, long enough for him to notice–and the lights in the car flickered once, then again, and plunged him into momentary darkness, before coming back alive. The car had never stopped moving, but when he looked around, after the darkness, he say that he was no longer alone in the car. Down towards the other end, standing, holding onto the upper rail, was a sizable man–well, a sizable faggot, by the look of him. He was clad all in some sick, leather mockery of the uniform he wore during the day, and that alone made Hugo furious. Those faggots–was nothing sacred to them? Or was everything just some…disgusting target for their filth? Did faggots see him like that? Is that why they were always looking at him? Because they wanted something like that?

He stood up, the lights flickering again as he did, the train swaying and keeping him off balance. “Hey! Faggot! What the fuck thinks you have the right to wear something like that?” The man did nothing, didn’t even look at him, like he wasn’t even there. “Hey! Hey fucker, I’m fucking talking to you!”

He stalked towards him. The lights cut again, and when the lights came back up–there was no one there. He looked around, confused–the lights cut again, this time longer, and then came back after a few seconds–the man inches from his face–Hugo staring right into his eyes, smelling his hot breath, tinged with cigar smoke, and Hugo…he felt different. He…he was different. He was cold–his shirt and pants were gone, replaced by a harness and leather shorts…and a collar, which the man grabbed him by, pulling him into a kiss. Hugo knew he should be disgusted, but all he could think was how much he wanted him, wanted this man, wanted to be with him. The train was slowing down as they kissed, and came to a halt. The man stepped away, and asked, “Coming, boy?” He left the train without waiting for a reply.

Hugo crept to the doorway and looked out at the empty station–a station he didn’t recognize from the route. It was…somewhere else. The man walked off and disappeared up a staircase–something in him ached to follow him, but the terror was greater–the door slipped shut again, and started up, the lights flickering off, and he was left standing there again, his old self, the taste of the stranger still on his lips, which he licked. His cock achingly hard in his pants–so hard that he was able to whip it out and jack off onto the seat beside him before the train reached it’s next station–his station, so he could get off, legs shaking, trying to grapple with what he’d just experienced, what he’d just felt, the certainty that soon, very soon, he’d have to feel like that again.

Breakdown (Sketch)

“Great, just great,” Paul thought, hearing his car’s engine start grinding as he drove down the highway. He made it another half mile before smoke started pouring out, and he was forced to pull off to the side of the road…somewhere. He was on the way to a convention being held in Houston, and had decided to just drive rather than book a flight, but here he was–stranded in the middle of “Some Desert, Texas” in the middle of the night. He was already cutting it close, since the convention started the next morning, but this didn’t bode well at all. He got out and tried to pop the hood, but the metal was too hot too touch–instead he got his cell phone, but naturally he had no reception–that’s what he got for going with that stupid bargain network bullshit. He kicked the tire, cursing, and then leaned against the car door, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. He had zero mechanical know-how–if desperate, he could probably figure out how to change a tire, but this was obviously beyond that. It would seem, then, that the only option he had was to try and catch a ride to somewhere he might get some help.

That late at night, vehicles were few and far between. He kept the lights of the car on so people could at least see, but the first several trucks and semis he waved at didn’t even slow down for him. Finally, after a few hours–putting it well past midnight at this point–a pickup truck rolled down the highway, saw him, slowed down and pulled off the side of the road a some yards ahead of him.

Both door popped open. From the passenger side came a younger man, probably not quite old enough to be drinking yet. He was in better shape but still with a sizable paunch, balanced with a bit of muscle, wearing a sleeveless tee in the hot night, grimy looking jeans and cowboy boots. From the driver’s side, out climbed a…rather obese redneck, a full bushy beard, and long hair, wearing a pair of coveralls and boots which looked to be coated in grease. That was a good sign at least–if the guy was actually a mechanic–maybe his luck was turning around.

“Hey! Thanks for stopping–I was starting to think no one was even seeing me over here,” he said, extending a hand for the older guy, “The name’s Paul.”

“Bill,” he said with a grin, and spit something black onto the ground, “Ah don’ mind givin’ ya a hand, but it ain’t gonna be free, ya hear? Still, don’ look like ya got much choice, right?”

“I mean, of course. How much will it cost?”

“We’ll figure that out once Ah see what’s wrong. Might need tah go back to the show fer the tow truck, we’ll see. Let me poke ‘round a bit, see what’s wrong.” The young man came up, and Bill slapped him on the back, “Mah boy ‘ere can keep ya company fer a bit–say hi, Tim.”

“Hello sir,” the younger man said, his voice much less accented then his father’s, “I just hope we can help you out. I got some coffee in our cab, you fancy a drink?”

“That…that would be nice,” Paul said, and followed Tim over to the truck, while Bill popped the hood, cusing at the heat, and started looking around. It was lifted well off the ground, and Tim had to climb up into the cab–as he did, he let out a long, slightly wet fart inches from Paul’s face, behind him. The smell was gastly, burning his nose and bringing tears to his eyes, as he tried to cough it back.

“Aw shit, sorry about that. I can let real stinker’s go sometimes.”

Paul was still coughing and sneezing, but it felt like…like the smell was forcing it’s way through his nose and eyes, right into his skull. he could almost feel it in there, wrapping….wrapping itself around his brain, choking it…cutting…cutting off…

Paul didn’t bother bringing down the thermos of coffee–he just flipped over, legs hanging off the seat, watching the businessman’s eyes glaze over as he stopped coughing. He was a handsome one–looked like he worked out, probably in mid thirties or so. Dressed in a suit, hair styled nice, looking like a good cityfolk ought to look. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and jock down around his boots, rolled over and dropped to the step up into the truck, bare ass towards Paul’s face, and let loose another fart towards him, Paul sniffing the air and stumbling forward, pushing his face between the young man’s cheeks and sorting in as much of the funk as he could, his tongue licking out the filthy crack, burrowing into Tim’s hole. It was…sweaty, or greasy–something was getting on his face in any case, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to care. Deep inside, some part of him was screaming, the the stench in his mind had cut it off, rendered it quiet and powerless.

He had no clear idea of how long he stood there, eating out Tim’s ripe hole, as the young man pumped fart after fart in his face, forcing him to inhale all of it, but eventually Bill came around the side of the truck, apparently unsurprised by what he was seeing.

“What’s the damage, daddy?” Tim asked.

“Engine’s shredded tha bits. We’re gonna have tah tow it outta ‘ere at some point. Looks like he’s enjoyin’ himself. Fuck, still remember the first time Ah caught a whiff a yer farts son, fuckin’ changed mah life.”

“Can I bring him home, Daddy? This one’s…hungry. I think we can have some fun.”

“Oh alright. Ain’t like he’s got anywhere else tah go, right? He can stay wit us ‘till Ah git his car fixed up.”

“Ya hear that Paul? You get to stay with me for a few days! isn’t that exciting?”

Paul wasn’t listening–Bill finally grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him free from his boy’s crack. His eyes were empty and unblinking, and his previously smooth face was coated with a half inch long beard all over, which he’d sprouted over the course of his ass eating. Together they got Paul into the cab with them, squished between them on the cab’s hump, and got back on the highway, heading home, Tim giddy with excitement that his new friend would be staying with him for a good long while.

Arctos Monthly (Part 5)

From that moment on, the two of them were inseparable. Andy was my roommate, sure, but he moved in with Mitch–after Mitch got done kicking his old frat bro out of the place to make room. While Mitch tried to go to class and practice, Andy spent the day fucking himself, smoking, drinking and eating, but as soon as Mitch got back to the room, they’d fuck all night long. I joined them regularly, but it was clear I was a third wheel, and when I got my third package in the mail–well, that changed everything, literally.

It came a few weeks after Mitch’s first, and it was moderately sized. I had no clue what might be in there, but I took it back to my room and opened it up, and when I did–I still don’t really remember what was in there. Nothing…physical, but as soon as I opened it, I started…seeing and feeling and knowing all of these things I knew I couldn’t, that all of this was impossible, and when I felt like my head was going to explode, I passed out–and woke up in my house. Yeah–my house, not what I was expecting either, not that I really knew what to expect from Arctos at that point.

But I had a house. I had a whole new life, actually. I made my way to a mirror and got a look at myself–now in my early fifties, a good amount of grey accenting my red. I’d done well for myself, working construction and owned my own company–I’d never been to college. It all felt perfectly natural, and totally unfamiliar at the same time, but needless to say, I was freaked out. I was still in the same town as before, so I hopped in my truck and headed for campus, where I discovered that both Andy and Mitch both remembered me, and that no one else did.

From that moment on, I drifted apart from Andy and Mitch, though I kept tabs on them well enough. Andy got his final package a week after me, and ended up in a rundown trailer park not too far from my house, living like a complete pig, eeking out a living as a long range trucker–which is about the only job he could manage with his piss-poor work ethic. Mitch quit going to school and moved in with his pig, and got his second package in due time–Andy made him hold off on using the cigar that arrived for him for four days, and Mitch smoked it with Andy in the room, of course. Mitch is massive now–shaved head, covered in tattoos, a real mean fucker, but the new Andy loves it–the abuse, the rough fucks, being his urinal, the fisting–all of it. Mitch doesn’t have a job–he doesn’t do well with authority–but they make some extra bucks renting out Andy’s hungry holes to a few local biker gangs, and Andy pimps himself out on his trips as well–though Mitch usually follows along in his hog, keeping tabs on his pig bitch. After Mitch’s third package, he aged up a bit, but not a whole lot changed–the two of them are certainly happy together still. I see them on occasion, but I don’t fuck Andy anymore, now that Mitch insists he charges me too–I don’t even get a fucking discount, can you believe that? Fucking ungrateful bastards.

But yeah, I was lonely, I admit it. I hooked up regularly, but most of the fucking bears around here are little bitches. It was Arctos who reminded me that I still had one referral left that I could use, and I’d made friends with an older fellow in my neighborhood named Orville–a widow in his early seventies, no kids. He…tolerated my sexuality, but didn’t understand it, but I figured, why not give him a chance to experience it himself?

He got the package a few days after I requested it, and twenty minutes later he was pounding on my door, dressed in some rather age inapporpriate attire–some denim cutoff booty shorts, a leather harness, and steel toed boots, a pipe shoved in his mouth, and my tongue shoved in beside it in short order. He was confused to say the least, and less than happy after I gave him the whole story, but, well, once he’d gotten a taste of my dick, he couldn’t quite get enough, and I was happy to have a steady fuck again. The pipe had put on some pounds, and fuck his ass was nice–soft and pillowy, but not too fat–just right.

He’d come around by the time the second package arrived, and he asked me to stick around while he smoked it. I was more than happy to do so, and when everything cleared–well, we were a bit closer than I was expecting. He’d picked up my red hair, though his was quite a bit whiter at his age, and a nice, thick accent that made my cock jump immediately. Yeah, he’d become my own father, and somehow that only made us hotter for each other. he loved lording it over me too–ordering me around, telling me how to take care of the company he’d given me when he’d retired, but in bed, he did what I told him–I made sure of that. The third and final package showed up and burst his bubble, however. When he woke up, he discovered he’d lost fifty years of his life, and now he was my young, chubby cubson, but I think it made him happy. Fifty more years, and someone sexy to spend it with? He thinks he’s pretty lucky, and I’m pretty lucky too, having a sexy son like that in my life.

To say that Arctos industries changed my life is an understatement–it was transformative, and it can be for you too! For just $149.99 you too can get a three month subscription to Arctos Monthly, and a gift subscription for a friend. I promise you won’t regret it–after all, as with all of Arctos’ products, your one hundred percent satisfaction is always guaranteed.

Arctos Monthly (Part 4)

Andy was, shall we say, impressed with my new look when he came back from class–and he was even more happy when he got a taste and a feel of my new, extended cock, all the way down his throat, and shoved up his ass to the hilt. However, once we’d gone a few rounds, and were lounging around the room, smoking, I could tell he was mulling something over in his head, and I prodded it out of him–he was thinking about what might happen when he got his next package sometime in the next week. I told him to not sweat it too badly, that I was sure Arctos wouldn’t do something to him he wouldn’t like, but I could understand his reservations at the time. After all, the clothes he’d receives had all been cut from a certain…style–walking around campus, he looked more like he belonged as an extra in a country music video, or working on a farm or something, than going to college. Still, the cigar showed up in its small box, a few days later, and Andy had simply decided he wasn’t going to smoke it.

That…well, I hadn’t really considered that as a possibility. That he might just…not do it. Still…I felt a bit guilty, I admit it, for pushing him into the whole thing to begin with. I kind of expected him to just throw the cigar away, and I think that’s what he wanted to do…but instead he just left the box on his messy desk, open. I caught him staring at it more than once that day, like he was questioning his own resolve, but I knew it was better for me to just stay out of it, and let him figure it out himself. What I didn’t expect, was that by the next morning, the cigar would be different. Longer. Thicker. Rougher. Now Andy could barely keep his eyes off of it, and I had a feeling he wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter, whether he wanted to smoke it or not. Still, somehow he held off for another day–it helped, I think, that he was gone at classes for most of it, but come Saturday…well, the cigar was massive, he had it in his mouth, and I went ahead and excused myself–there was no way I wanted to get caught in that room, with him smoking that monster. Turns out that was a very good idea.

Apparently, the longer these things sit–the stronger they get. I came back and found Andy had grown well over an extra hundred pounds–hell, he was probably closer to 500 at that point. His beard was huge and long, down past his fat moobs to his chest, his hair equally long, greasy and uncombed. His side of the room looked like a fucking sty, piles and piles of unwashed clothes, and he was still smoking, sitting on a dildo, and as soon as he saw me come through the door, he started demanding I fuck his fat hole, speaking in a southern accent so thick I could barely understand him around his cigar.

From that day on, Andy…didn’t have much of a mind for school work. Andy didn’t have much of a mind at all. Sure, he tried to keep up for a few days, but his head was so empty now, he preferred sitting around the dorm room, fucking his hole, and eating—and then I noticed Mitch. I still don’t quite know what happened, but Mitch seemed…a bit changed, when I saw him next. He spoke with a slight southern accent, his usually expensive wardrobe seemed a bit grungier, and a bit more southern all of a sudden, and he was obsessed with Andy. That obsession generally took the form of ridicule and pranks, but I thought I knew what might have happened–he must have walked past the room while Andy was smoking that big cigar, and gotten a whiff of the fumes. Not enough to make a huge difference, but enough for me to decide that it was time the bully realized the truth of that old maxim: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

I didn’t tell Andy what I was planning, and I’m not sure this new Andy would have really cared all that much. The only things he really seemed to care much about now were drinking, eating, smoking and plugging his ass with my big cock, which frankly? Was a bit of an exhausting endeavour now. He was fucking insatiable, and don’t get me wrong, he was–and remains–a wonderful fuck, but damn, nothing is enough for him. It wasn’t too selfish a wish, right? That someone else might pick up a bit of the slack?

Well, a week passed. I had no way of really knowing when Mitch might get his package, or if he’d even open and use it–though as I’d seen with Andy, I didn’t think Arctos would take no for an answer. It was only half a surprise then, when someone started pounding on our door one evening. Andy wasn’t about to heft his bulk up and answer it, so I did–and found myself faced with Mitch–or the guy who Mitch was now. He’d grown taller and matched my own substantial height, and his already muscular body had grown only more so, along with a thick forest of black hair all over. He had on jeans, leather chaps, leather vest, boots and a muir cap, like he’d stepped out of a leatherman’s dream, but he didn’t want me. He pushed his way past, rolled Andy over with very little ceremony and started pounding away at his hole, Andy groaning and grunting and begging for more…and watching the two of them go at it, I realized I might have just cut myself out of the equation entirely.

Arctos Monthly (Part 3)

Still, I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself, mentioning Mitch–he was in the picture, sure, but he didn’t really get, uh…involved until a while later. So anyway, Andy and I finished that first fuck of ours–I came twice in his hole, he shot at least once all over my sheets, and then licked it up afterwards. I was happy to just smoke my pipe, lounge around, and enjoy the smell of our sex in the room, but he, well, he wasn’t exactly happy about what had happened. I suppose I can’t blame him, but the way I was feeling, the way I was acting–hell, the way I feel and act I should say, I should just use the present tense, since I sure haven’t gotten better about it–I honestly didn’t care all that much, I thought he was just over-reacting. After all, he’d enjoyed it, hadn’t he?

We got into…a bit of a fight. A bit of a fight, because there wasn’t much he could do to me, at least with the body he had now. He threw a weak punch, I tackled and pinned him down, groped him a bit, lit another cigar for him, and we went right into round two. He mellowed out a bit after that, or he knew there wasn’t a whole lot he could do to stop me, but he liked it, he admitted it. Hell, by the end of the week, he needed it more than I did, that fat ass of his was never satisfied, and he’d…well, he never forgave me, exactly, but he was enjoying it all the same, the same way I was. We both knew, in our heads, that we shouldn’t be doing this. That I should feel bad about turning into a domineering top, that he should hate being this fat, desperate bottom. But neither of us did…and we enabled each other because we didn’t have anyone else. It wasn’t like we had much of a social circle after all, looking like this. Everyone else in the dorm thought we were crazy.

Yeah, we gave the floor RA a headache, especially with the smoking. Both of us got written up multiple times, but both of us needed the smoke too much to really care, and even the RA knew there wasn’t much he could do about it, especially this close to the end of the year, so eventually he just gave up, and we smoked with the window open, fucking all the while, and both of us settled in pretty well. Other people in the floor? Well, that’s where Mitch entered the picture. Mitch was the Freshman Hotshot, the Football Recruit, the Drunk Bro, and a huge homophobe to boot. Everyone knew what the two of us were up to, and most people didn’t care, even if they didn’t like it, but Mitch was the one who had to be vocal about it, who had to make sure everyone knew how much he was disgusted by us. It was a performance–we both knew it, but while I was too big for Mitch to do much to, he did harass Andy more than once. I considered referring him to the program for a while, but wasn’t sure if he deserved it, if I really wanted to be around him that much even if he was different, so I held off–then my second package arrived from Arctos, and I forgot about that for a while.

It’s important to note here, I think, that very little else had changed when we got our first package, beyond our bodies and desires. The boxes had been filed with quite a large assortment of clothes, of course, but that was literally all either of us had been wearing for close to a month, and as relatively poor college students, neither of us had the cash to completely revamp our wardrobes. So when I saw the next package from Arctos–or rather, when I saw how small it was–I was a bit disappointed, to say the least–it certainly wasn’t large enough to have any clothes in it. When I opened it up in my room–alone, I should add, since Andy was in class–all I found was a pipe and a bag of tobacco with a note. I didn’t keep that one, but it was shorter and I remember the gist it. All it said was, “Big changes come in small packages. Smoke in your bedroom, either alone or with bears you care about.”

I thought about waiting for Andy to get back, but I was too excited to try it, so I packed the pipe and lit it, but nothing happened, aside from the pipe pumping out way more smoke than should have been possible. At first I thought I had packed it wrong. I tried to take the pipe out…but I couldn’t. It was locked in my lips, and I was sucking in and blowing out even more smoke, so much that the room was soon so foggy I couldn’t see a thing, and I began to feel a bit lightheaded, slumping down at my desk, completely focused on smoking the entire bowl down as quickly as I could.

It was exhausting, but the bowl finally went out, and the smoke began to clear away from the dorm room…and I saw that, indeed, this package had been much, much larger than I had initially thought. My closet door was open, but instead of being filled to the brim with clothes I could no longer hope to fit, I saw it filled with shirts to fit my new physique…and a whole bunch of kilts–tartan, leather, denim. It was true, I had…really enjoyed wearing that kilt in my first package, and finally able to stand, I got up to take a closer look, and was overwhelmed with vertigo.

I was even taller now, by a few inches. My body had packed on muscle…and my entire frame was covered from top of foot to my back in bright red hair–and especially a thick, curly bush around my now ten inch cock. I lumbered over to the mirror in the dorm, and sure enough, my head and beard were the same bright red, and I noticed I had also received some tattoos–the scottish flag, my clan…yeah, my clan. I knew my fucking clan, and had the coat of arms tattooed across my entire back. My family had been in the states for a while, so I don’t have much of an accent, but…well, it comes out when I get a bit drunk. I had trophies from when I competed in the highland games, and others for weightlifting and powerlifting. Small packages indeed–and when Andy got his a week later, well…that’s when I knew we needed to do something about Mitch.

Arctos Monthly (Part 2)

Adjusting was…difficult. The smoking was the hardest–I’d never given much thought to something like that before, but if I went more than an hour without smoking a bowl of tobacco, my mouth would go dry and I’d start getting these jitters. I could sometimes get away with smoking in the dorm with the window open if Andy was out, but for the most part I was stuck outside on benches away from buildings–at least it was a warm April, if nothing else, but my mind was focused on wondering how long it would take Andy to get his package from Arctos…because I had to admit, I was itching for a fuck. Sure, there were a few gay guys on campus who were drooling over me, but I wasn’t really looking for the skinny college type–I needed a fucking bear. Unfortunately my age hadn’t changed at all, and I couldn’t very well get into a bar, and I was nervous about hooking up online. But once Andy got his first package, I had a feeling I wouldn’t have to worry about not getting enough sex soon enough.

It came about a week after I’d received mine. I was in the room working on some school work when he came in carrying a box the same size as mine had been, and my mouth went dry. It was so hard not giving away the game while he read the card out loud to me, laughing, and all I wanted to do was scream at him to put the damn clothes on! That was something I’d discovered too, with this new body–I think my behavior had shifted too. Just…a little but. Like I was more cocky? I took more risks, and I loved being in charge. It was hard to describe, because I was having a harder and harder time remembering that I’d been completely different just a week earlier. Still, I managed to play dumb, and he finally pulled the clothes out–some XXXL sleeveless shirts with the Arctos label, some huge jeans and overalls. Boots, socks, boxers and a set of suspenders. He ended up with cigars instead of a pipe, however. I’d been expecting him to get something like what I’d gotten, but it was an entirely different set–the clothes even smelled different than mine had: more musky, like a locker room.

Now I’d been pretty average size before my package, as best I could remember. Andy, however, was a big old beanpole. Probably six foot three and maybe 160 pounds–there was no way these clothes were going to fit him, and he didn’t even have any interest in trying them on…though something had him at least a little interested, as far as I could judge from the bulge growing in the front of his pants. I think he would have eventually tried them when I was out of the room, but I cajoled him into them, saying it was just for shits and giggles. He finally gave in, pulled on a pair of boxers, a shirt, the overalls because there was no way he could hold the jeans up, even with the suspenders on. He looked ridiculous, of course. The clothes were massive, but the overalls didn’t even reach his ankles, the legs were so short on him. He asked if this was enough…and I wondered why he wasn’t changing. Was it because I was there watching? I realized something was missing, unwrapped one of the cigars and told him to put it in his mouth too. He refused–he hated anything having to do with smoking…but I could see something in his eyes. The smell of the clothes was getting to him now–he wanted it, he just didn’t want to admit to me that he did, especially after all the complaining he’d been doing about the smell of my pipe smoke getting everywhere. So I gave him a push, and just stuck the cigar in his mouth anyway.

I had to pull my hand away immediately, as the end burst into flame, and an entirely different Andy was standing in front of me, looking confused and disoriented around himself at the room which was suddenly much…taller. He had, in an instant, shrunk down over a foot to a much shorter height of five foot two, the top of his head now not even reaching my bearded chin, and he’d exploded in size–and it sure as hell wasn’t muscle. When we weighed him in a bit later, using the scale in the bathroom, we found out he was now 385 pounds, but all I could think at the time was that he was…so fucking fat. He looked down at himself, confused, unable to take it in, panicking and sucking down smoke like he didn’t even know he needed it, and started ripping the clothes off of him–and I helped of course.

I hadn’t really…considered the fact that I might be attracted to bigger guys. Sure, more than a few of the chubby, bearish professors around campus had been catching my eye, but seeing Andy’s new rolls of flab covered with a thick coating of brown hair, his face and double chins covered by a bushy brown goatee, his hair grown out down past his shoulders–I had that cigar out of his mouth and my lips over his, sucking the smoke from his lungs so fast that he didn’t even know what was going on–but he needed me, and I wanted him bad. I threw him around and shoved him over the side of the bed, surprised at my own forcefulness, got down and started eating out his massive ass, and he was moaning and groaning, getting looser until I lined up my huge cock and slipped it right inside, like it had been made for me. Hell, maybe it had been, right? I knew he’d probably have questions, but he sure wasn’t saying no at the time, and I’m not sure I could have stopped myself even if the thought had crossed my mind. He…sure was pissed, though. He ruined the afterglow with his shouting and whining. He’s probably still is a bit pissed, probably, but he’s pretty happy with Mitch these days…heh. Mitch. Where do I even start with that fucker…

Arctos Monthly (Part 1)

I was in the mailroom, and saw the slip telling me that I’d received a package. My first thought was that it was probably another care package sent by my mom–even though I’d just gotten back from spring break a few days earlier. It was a bit embarrassing, but I know I wasn’t the only freshman suffering under parents with empty nest syndrome. However, when I picked up the package it quite large and heavy–at least the size of a small moving box–and wasn’t from my parents at all. With the labels printed out, it looked more like a package from Amazon or something, but I hadn’t ordered anything recently that I could remember. Checking the return address, all I saw was the name of some company I’d never heard of: Arctos Industries.

Still, who wouldn’t be a bit curious? I could have refused it, but I took it back to my room. where I got my scissors from my desk and broke open the tape of the box, opened it up, and found a card on top–I kept it all this time, actually–hold on, I can just read it to you:

Hello Bryan,

We here at Arctos Industries are beginning a new monthly subscription program called Arctos Monthly! Each month, subscribers will receive one box full of our signature clothing and other wares, and we have chosen you to be a part of our launch! If you’ve never heard of us, don’t worry–we’re testing this fabulous new program in both current and future market areas. In this pilot program, you will receive a three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly, free of charge, and your first shipment of our products will have arrived with this card. We hope you’ll try the outfit on–don’t worry if it doesn’t seem like your usual style, or if there are possible fit issues. Our signature Customerization Process (patent pending) guarantees your satisfaction with our products.

Also as a part of our launch, we are so certain that you will be thrilled with our products that we will provide you with three free referral codes for your friends. Simply go to the website listed below, log in with the information provided, and enter their full name and address, and they too will receive their own three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly at no charge to you or them, because we know our products are at their best when shared! The referrals never expire, so feel free to wait and see what Arctos can do for you, before deciding who you’d like to refer.

Yours in Brother Bearhood,

Harvey Whitlock

Vice President of Marketing, Arctos Industries

Now that’s all very strange, of course, and I had no idea what to make of the note at the time, but hey, I was a poor college student, and I’d recently discovered how easy it is to take for granted the fact that, when you’re younger, your parents buy you all the clothes you want and need. As an adult it’s not so easy. Even if they weren’t my style, a few extra pants and shirts wouldn’t hurt, right? I threw the card on my desk and pulled out the clothing inside the box–and I was a bit dismayed.

It wasn’t really my style at all, and it looked like it was way, way too big. There were a couple flannel shirts, some XXL tees with the Arctos label across the front and back, Some jeans with a size 46 waist, a trio of jockstraps in white black and red, wool work socks, size 14 boots–and a pipe with a bag of loose leaf tobacco. That last part, especially, freaked me out a bit, after all, who in the hell would send some strange smoking supplies? Still, the clothes…they smelled really good, ok? That’s weird, but I wanted to try them on anyway. Andy, my roommate, was gone–I figured I could put them on, take a silly selfie, and then figure out how to return them for something more my size and style. I put them on as best I could–nothing fit right–hell, I even stuck the unlit pipe in my mouth, held up my phone and took a selfie…but the picture…well, let’s just say I didn’t recognize myself when I looked at the photo.

There, on the screen of my phone, was a big, hulking, muscular man–thick pecs, a decent sized gut pushing out the t-shirt he had on, a thick beard on his face and his hair cut in a high-and-tight, a pipe trailing wisps of smoke into the air. Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out–and then I looked in the mirror, and I really freaked out. It was me. I was the big muscle bear in that selfie, looking like a lumberjack, smoking a pipe I couldn’t remember lighting. I told myself it couldn’t be real, I stripped off the clothes, but my body didn’t change back–and oddly enough, the more I saw of myself…the more I liked it. In fact, I ended up jacking my eight inch cock off, rubbing my very furry gut and chest, smoking the whole while like I’d been doing it for years, shocked at…at how turned on this body was making me, but I found these strange thoughts entering my head. I’d always liked bears, hadn’t I? I tried to tell myself that I was straight, but I couldn’t believe it when I tried to think it. Hell, after I came I tried to think back to how I’d used to look, and I couldn’t remember anything–and then the door opened and Andy stepped in.

I tried to explain–he just blocked his eyes and told me to get some clothes on and put the pipe out before the RA yelled at me again…like I’d always had this body. I pulled on the clothes I’d just taken off and apologized–Andy did his best to take it in stride, and somehow I got the feeling that this hadn’t been the first time he’d walked in on me naked, looking like this. I spent the rest of the evening searching for some…evidence of my old self, but found nothing. All the clothes in my closet? Gone–replaced by various clothing I’d just received in the package. Pictures on Instagram and Facebook? They all looked like this new face, all in situations I could remember…aside from a few big, brawny men I couldn’t remember meeting, but who I could remember…well, fucking. I ended up just…staring at the card from Arctos, reading it over and over, wondering what in the world the next few months would have in store for me…and I looked over at Andy working on one of his papers, feeling my cock suddenly stir…and knew just who would be getting my first referral.

Paid Vacation (Part 4)

***WARNING: Still very filthy. ***

In his mind, Ian–or what few scraps of his old mind remained, knew they had lost. This new self–it knew what it was doing, and that was perhaps the worst part. It wasn’t that he had to behave like a child–it was that he wanted to. He wanted to shit and piss himself. He wanted to be fucked by his brother. He wanted to play with his shit, when it gushed out the sides of his diaper, smearing it all over his body, for Rick to lick clean later. He…wanted it, all of it. That made it so much worse, and so much more difficult to fight. It was no longer a compulsion, it was a desire, and it was a desire which was pushing out everything else that had been in his mind. He could barely remember anything about himself, his old self, anymore–and he didn’t really want to. That old him–he’d been a bad boy. But Ian wanted to be a good, disgusting baby boy more than anything, and so he fought that old him, beat it back into a tiny corner of his mind, until in the middle of the last week in daddy’s mansion, he…discovered it was gone. He’d won, finally–he was going to be a good boy for the rest of his life, and there was nothing that old him could do to stop it.

That final week, Rick was no longer taking care of him, but it was his own daddy–finally! The first time he came through the door, Ian was so excited, he fell off the bed and landed right on his diapered ass, shit spraying every direction. Still, since his brother wasn’t there to clean it up, Daddy said, that meant baby would have to take care of his own messes. That made sense to Ian, and so he licked the tile floor clean of his own shit–no longer disgusted by the taste, and a part of him had even begun craving it. His final programming sessions were much shorter these days, merely making sure it had fully eradicated every last bit of Ian’s old self, and his days were instead full of playing with his Daddy. He preferred having his baby play undiapered, and Ian was surprised at how fun it was, crawling around naked, feeling his massive belly drag across the tile, shit and piss suddenly spurting out of him, which he always cleaned up promptly, unless he risk upsetting his Daddy.

Not that his daddy didn’t enjoy getting messy–one afternoon, he hooked Ian up to his feeding machine with Ian on his hands and knees, and his Daddy fucked him for hours, until shit started falling from the baby’s ass. “Look at you, you fucking piece of shit–I looked in your file, you know. Ivy league college, top of your class, and now fucking look at you! Just a stupid, disgusting baby, can’t even keep your shit in! Well don’t fucking worry–you’re not going to have a smart thought in your head ever again, fuck no–the rest of your life, is gonna be spent in a fucking diaper, giggling and cumming as you shit and piss yourself!” he slammed his ten inch cock deep and came, stayed in and unloaded a bladder full of piss, muck spewing out after he removed himself, and rubbed Ian’s face in it, telling him eat it all up, like a good piglet, and Ian had never been happier in his life.

After three rough days with his Daddy, Rick finally came back in–his own gut taut after spending several days hooked up to the toilet pipes, and the two of them spent the next several days cleaning up the nursery and each other with their tongues. Still, the vacation was finally over, and it was time to get back to the office. In his state, Ian couldn’t drive of course–so Rick took them both back, and Ian discovered his office decor had been traded out, carpet for tile, an oversized crib, a big TV for his baby shows, and plenty of space for him to play. It turned out, he also had a lot of playmates.

Rick visited him daily of course, keeping his little brother cleaned up, but it turned out Daddy had lots of friends who liked playing around with dirty babies. Some of them wanted to hear him talk like a baby, begging them to let their little boy suck their cock–others wanted a chance to eat his shit out of his diaper, and still others were diaper daddies themselves. Ian liked those ones the best, both of them filling their diapers before playing in each other’s filth–the mess usually took all day to clean up, and Ian would let his big brother help–sometimes. It was a perfect life, and one Ian wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Daddy would even visit sometimes, to play with him, though he didn’t see him as often as he’d like. But when Daddy told him it was time for another vacation, that he had some great ideas for his little boy, Ian was thrilled. Another whole month for his daddy to fuck with his mind? He could barely contain his enthusiasm, and shit his diaper in excitement.

Paid Vacation (Part 3)

***WARNING*** Still nasty.

For the first week, Ian was able to trick himself into believing that the programming was having no effect on him. He would fight and resist as much as he could, when he was awake, but the fact remained that there was very little he could do to prevent anything from happening to him. He focused his efforts on Rick, trying to get his coworker to see how fucked up this was, but Rick would just smile and shake his head, “I…I used to think like that too, you know. But don’t worry, you’ll understand here soon. You’re going to be so happy, just like me, just like we all are. I…I just want you to be happy, baby–here. let me make you feel good…” he said, and rubbed another load out for Ian, before leaving for the night. Rick was the only person he saw, after that first day, and after about six days, he’d started to loose hope that he’d escape. Still, he only had to hold out for a month, right? That’s how long his vacation was at least. If he could just hang on that long, if the programming didn’t work, then maybe…maybe they’d just let him go! He had a strong will, he could do this!

Then, slowly, he found himself enjoying what was happening to him. Enjoying the feedings, finding himself sucking down as much of the slop as he could, eager to fill himself up so…so he could shit more. So he fill his diaper to bursting. He tried to push the thoughts away, but they persisted, growing louder and louder in his mind. Still, he knew they were intruders, and even as they gained volume, he fought them, trying to work on Rick, trying to make him see that this was wrong. But my the middle of the week, he’d noticed something new–that whenever he tried to talk, the only thing that would come out sounded…immature and childish, using small words, or nonsense words. Even in his mind, he found himself using ‘poo-poo’, ‘pee’, and calling his penis his ‘wee-wee’. He forgot Rick’s name, and couldn’t recover it–the only thing he could think to call him was…’Daddy’.

Rick heard him say that, and chided him. “I’m not your daddy, little boy–you know that. Why don’t you just call me your big brother? Because we’re family, and families take care of each other, right?”

That didn’t sound right at all, but…but it did make him feel good, “Ok, big brother,” Ian said, smiling wide.

“You wanna take care of your brother’s wee-wee for him?”

Ian nodded–the taste of his brother’s cock had started growing on him, and he sucked him off, cumming spontaneously when Rick shot down his throat.

The next day, he woke to discover he was no longer tied to the bed. This…this was his chance! He rolled up, surprised by how…heavy he felt, and saw that his small gut had doubled in size in just a week. What in the world was he being fed, to make him do that? Still, now was his chance to get the hell out of here. He tried to stand up, but his legs couldn’t–or rather, wouldn’t support him. Instead, he started crawling across the floor towards the door, feeling his full diaper sagging down between his legs, making his wee-wee hard, just thinking about…about how nasty it was. How much his big bro would love eating his filth later. He shook his head, and reached the door, struggled to balance on his knees…but froze, in front of the doorknob, struck with terror, and…guilt. He…he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be a bad boy! No, no! He was a good boy, and good boys did what daddy wanted, and daddy wanted him to stay…right? Ian had lost his mental footing, and he sat back in his own shit, trying to sort out what he should do, reaching no firm conclusion before Rick came in to get his little brother cleaned up and fed, but disappointed that Baby Ian had gotten out of bed by himself. Doesn’t he know that’s dangerous? He disciplined him, smacking his ass after he’d licked it clean, Ian sobbing, promising he’d be a good boy from now on, and Rick let him suck his cock to quiet him back down, before diapering him back up, helping him back onto the bed, and giving him his daily programming.

Clarity came less and less. The few times Ian found himself considering escape filled him with fear of disappointing his family. No, he would be a good boy, good and obedient. His feedings grew longer, now that he could eat more, and his shit would regularly overflow his diaper after his meals…which filled Ian with disgust at first…but when Rick saw and praised him for being such a good, nasty baby, he felt himself well with pride–and he started eating more, shitting harder, to make Rick happy. After two weeks of his vacation, Rick finally fucked him–before licking him clean, shoving his cock into Ian’s shit coated crack, and Ian couldn’t believe how…how horny he was, playing and fucking in his own filth. Rick began fucking him regularly, and even let Ian suck his cock clean, even though Rick saved most of his mess for himself, and Ian found himself wondering what his big brother’s crack might smell like in the rubber, what…what his shit might taste like.

Ian could tell his body was changing, but his mind was so addled it was difficult for him to comprehend everything that was happening to him. The fat he was putting on was the most pronounced shift–after two weeks he was already close to 350 pounds, and his muscles had begun to wither. Now, even if he could remember how to walk, his leg’s wouldn’t have been able to support his weight. All of his hair, from the top of his head to his face to the rest of his body had fallen away, leaving him perfectly smooth from head to toe. His cock and balls had changed as well, growing smaller. His balls, by the end of the third week, were more like raisins, and his cock was shrunk back to less than an inch, and was usually buried in his fat. His nipples had grown larger, however, and become incredibly sensitive–it was easier now for him to cum by playing with them, that trying to find and play with his cock. He was losing, and he knew it, and a growing part of him didn’t even mind anymore.

Paid Vacation (Part 2)

***WARNING*** Things get nasty from here on out.

He awoke the next morning in a kingsize bed, his wrists and ankles bound to the four bedposts, naked aside from a thick diaper around his waist and a pacifier stuck in his mouth, and…and his mind clear, for perhaps the first time in ages. He fought and struggled, trying to scream around the pacifier, but his mouth wouldn’t stop sucking on it–even though he knew he shouldn’t, he had no control over his body, or over his bladder, he discovered, when he felt it release into the diaper, his cheeks blushing as he struggled more, but it was no use–sweaty and tired he collapsed, heaving for breath through his nose. He was alone for around an hour, before the door finally opened, revealing Mr. Jeffries and his two butlers, now glad in their more usual leather jocks and harnesses, to greet his newest guest.

“Ah, there you are Ian, I see you have been well attended to since your arrival last night, and from the smell, it sounds like you’ve already made yourself right at home.”

He tried to curse at him, but it only came out garbled through the pacifier, and he gave up after a few attempts at speaking. What in the hell was this? had he ever been working on anything? Now that his head was clear, all he could remember doing at work for the last few months was watching television meant for babies, laughing and giggling like an idiot as he pissed himself over and over, and jacked off into his sopping wet pants. What the fuck had been wrong with him, that he hadn’t even noticed it once?

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, now that I’ve undone the block on your initial programming. Don’t worry, you won’t remember for very long–but the second stage isn’t effective unless you are fully aware–I wish we could just skip that long preamble, but until I’ve broken down your defenses, I can never be sure you’ll respond properly to the big guns or not. But now, your mind is defenseless–an open book, and I can’t wait to start ripping out those pages. From the moment I saw you in that elevator, I knew I had to have you, sweet little thing you are. You’ll be daddy’s good little baby boy before too long–you’re going to love it. I like to administer the first round myself, but I have another project of mine who’s dying for some time alone with you, who’ll take charge of your development for the rest of the month.”

First came the IV and the drugs, relaxing his body until he could barely move a muscle–even his mouth ceased it’s spontaneous sucking. Then, came the helmet, covering his entire head. He couldn’t see or hear anything for a moment, but then it turned on, a blast of sound and color, so intense he…he didn’t really remember any of it. It was removed from his head later, and he was given a tube to suck–fed slushy food until he felt like he was going to burst. He’d resisted for so long, but he couldn’t fight it, as he messed his diaper at last, a massive load of shit filling the back of his diaper. It was night now, but no one came to change him, and exhausted from the terrors of the day, he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day, he was awoken to the door of his room opening–he expected to see Mr. Jeffries, but it was someone else–someone he didn’t recognize, not at first. It was Rick–his coworker–although now he was dressed in a full body rubber suit, his eyes…crazed, as he stalked towards the bed, shoved his face into Ian’s diaper, smelling it and rubbing his cock through the suit he had on. Ian tried to yell at him through the pacifier in his mouth, but Rick had a singular obsession–he tore the diaper from his body and began devouring everything inside, before he turned his attention back to Ian, and licked his own body clean, before applying a generous amount of baby powder and diapering him back up. Ian couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed, but after another massive meal fed to him by tube, the helmet descended once again, and he was once again held captive by Mr. Jeffries’ programming all day, subjected to a second feeding that night, by Rick. He pleaded with him again, but Rick just stroked his hair with a filthy hand, and cooed him gently.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take such good care of you. Does baby need to cum before he goes beddy bye? And maybe you need a big boy pacifier too…”

Rick pulled the plug from his mouth, undid the zipper of his suit and allowed his dick to pop free from it’s sweaty prison. Ian tried to resist, but he…he needed to suck. Even though it tasted foul and disgusting, he…he couldn’t stop. He didn’t…want to stop. Rick didn’t undo his diaper, he just rubbed Ian’s cock through the thick padding, until with a wild spasm he came, and Rick started fucking his face until he shot as well, Ian sucking down his coworkers load, no longer able to control his own body or needs.

Rick left him there, and it was only a few minutes later that, with a loud fart, Ian started filling his diaper with shit once more. There had been no warning from his bowels this time–he’d simply lost all control, and he started sobbing, whining and crying, until Rick returned to comfort him, massaging his cock again until he came once more while he sniffed at the shit in Ian’s diaper, and no longer able to cope with what was happening, Ian fell into another sleep of exhaustion.