Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 6)


“Ain’t never thought ‘bout havin’ a rubber hog before,” Paul said, looking at the gear, “But fuck, rubbin’ my cock against mah waders does sure make me nut hard–so I reckon I could give it a try.”

Nate looked back and forth, trying to understand what had happened to his husband. How had he gone to work looking perfectly normal, only to arrive back home looking like this? And…and why was looking at this new version of Paul turning him on so damn much? Nate could smell him from where he was on his hands and knees, and his mouth was salivating more than it had while he’d been stuffing himself. Paul walked over, the stench growing stronger, and as hard as Nate tried to back away, he couldn’t–his face was right at the crotch of Paul’s muddy overalls, and he could see the bulge of the redneck’s big cock tenting them out, and he wanted to taste it so badly. He shoved his head forward, but Paul caught his snout and shoved one of his dirty hands into it, and groaned.

“Damn piggy–that a rubber mouth ya got? Rubber inside and out?”

He grabbed hold of the top and bottom of Nate’s pig face, and pried the jaws apart roughly. Nate…felt them bend and stretch past the point they should have been able to open, like they had no bones inside them, and Paul pushed his hand inside Nate’s gaping mouth and down his throat, which stretched to accomodate it further than it should have been able to, nearly to Paul’s elbow.

“Gawd damn, gotta be careful ‘r I might blow a load already. Let’s git ya dressed up, piggy–ya gots me all excited now.”

The rubber suit had a zipper that ran all the way down it’s back–Paul undid it and laid it down, before grabbing Nate’s arms and legs and guiding them through the four holes. He knew he should be fighting this, but at the same time…he was excited. Thrilled. Hadn’t he wanted this? Not…quite this, he supposed, but a moment ago, with his…his farmer shoving his fist down his throat, feeling that violation, his cock had spasmed and spurted precum all over the floor beneath him. With his arms and legs in the sleeves, Paul pulled the suit up around him and zipped him up–and as he did, the suit melded seamlessly together, with not a single sign that it could even be parted. When it reached the nape of his neck, and the rubber base of the mask which had adhered to his head, the zipper disappeared, though the suit…hung off his body and was far, far too loose. Nate knew that it wasn’t that the suit was too large–it was that he was too small.

“Looks like somebody’s wastin’ away!” Paul said, tugging at the loose suit, “Still–I…yeah, I know what’ll fatten ya up real quick, but first, we better git yer hands ‘n feet fixed, right?”

Nate nodded, and allowed Paul to put the gloves and boots on him as well, and as he did…he noticed that something about the length of the boots and the sleeves of the suit seemed…a bit off. On his arms, the sleeves were quite short, and the gloves weren’t quite long enough to reach his elbow, and yet somehow they managed to meet and seal together. The same with the boots–which were even stranger. The suit ran down his thigh, but the boots…they felt like the weren’t even made for a human foot. Paul shoved and tugged them on anyway, and they too connected up with the suit, and looking back, his legs seemed…a bit shorter, and crooked. Still, he didn’t have long to think about that, because Paul was unhooking the clasps of his overalls. Rapt, and oinking softly in anticipation, he stared as the bib came down, allowing his massive gut to spill out, and then he shoved them down, giving Nate his first view of his massive, ten inch cock with a hefty overhang of foreskin, with two balls hanging low below that looked like they’d belong on a boar, not on a man.

“Judgin’ by that kitchen thar, I’d say ya probably ate everythin’ in sight, ya gluttonous fuck–good thing I got yer dessert right fuckin’ here,” he said, smacking his fat gut, and making it jiggle. He turned around and bent over, “judgin’ by the state a yer crack back there, I don’t think yer gonna mind, right piggy? Go on, nose up ‘n git lickin’. Looser I is, the sooner ya’ll git fed nice ‘n fat.”

No–not this. He wasn’t going to do this, was he? But the hunger he’d felt earlier was now even more intense–it felt like the suit had created a whole new stomach inside him that was aching to be filled. He hobbled forward on his strange hands and feet, feeling them beginning to go oddly numb, and shoved his snout into Paul’s wide, filthy asscrack. His slick tongue started running up and down, and he was surprised by how long it was–probing Paul’s hole, he slid it inside, listening to the redneck groan around his cigar, grunt, and start to bore down–the shit starting to ooze out after a moment. He did his best to fight, but his body knew what it needed–his tongue happily licked it up, and he grunted and squealed in delight at the disgusting taste, feeling it slide with ease down his rubber throat and settle into his gut, where it…seemed to be burning. The shit kept coming. He didn’t know where Paul had been keeping it all, but the filth kept pouring out and he kept swallowing it down, feeling it settle into his gut and spread, and soon, he found a happy rhythm, and enjoyed the sensation of fullness spreading through him.

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