Trevor had just graduated from high school, and had the summer stretching out ahead of him–his last summer stuck here in this small, rural town, before he went off to college in the fall, which, he hoped would let him get out of this place forever. However, college was…expensive, and while he had a good amount of assistance, he needed cash too. However, the town was…not in the greatest of financial shape, and so it was difficult finding a job. In the end, he just advertised around town as willing to do whatever work people might have for him on his property, and it ended up working out well–at least, until he drove out to Arthur Johnson’s rundown old lot a ways outside of town.
Arthur was well known as a bit of a loner, and he wasn’t seen around town very often. Trevor was nervous, but the old man greeted him warmly enough, shirtless and smoking a cigar in the already hot morning, and set Trevor to work clearing blackberry bushes from the side of his house. After a few hours, Trevor was exhausted, and when Arthur offered him a break and some lunch, he was more than happy to take him up on the offer. After they’d eaten, Arthur also offered him a smoke–Trevor had never smoked a cigar before, but smelling Arthur’s all day long had…piqued his interest. Arthur showed him how to punch and light it, and Trevor took the opportunity, once Arthur had left the room, to take a picture of himself with it, for something to tell his friends later.
But a couple of minutes later, he started to feel…a bit strange. Still, he passed it off as nothing important, and got back to work, still smoking, but the stick was making him feel a bit sick, and his head a bit…thick, somehow. He saw Arthur watching him from the porch, smoking as well, and Trevor found himself…aroused, somehow. Still, he pressed on, the nausea passed, and he felt…invigorated. After another couple of hours, Arthur offered him a beer on the porch, and one thing led to another…and Trevor found himself on his knees in front of the fat redneck, sucking his cock, groping his own member, but it felt…strange. A bit shorter than it had been, and hadn’t he had a gut, and…and why was it so hard for him to think, all of a sudden? Arthur fed him a load, and Trevor asked to use his bathroom–and in the mirror, he just stared at himself–at the body he had suddenly. He looked to be in his forties, with a thick goatee, heavily muscled, skin tanned from hours and days working in the sun, with a short, thick cock drooling precum…but was that so wrong? He fiddled with his cock until he came, and as he did, the nausea came back–as did his real body.
He fled, Arthur laughing as he ran off, got in his car and drove off, vowing never to go back there again…but that was before the headaches set in the next day, and the nausea, and the fact that he couldn’t seem to cum, no matter how horny he got. He…could still taste the cigar smoke on his tongue, and a few days later, drived by desperation, he went back to Arthur’s place, took another cigar from him, and spent another day as Arthur’s burly handyman, fixing up his house between servicing Arthur’s cock.
He told himself that he only had to get through the summer…but as time wore on, and he spent more and more time smoking Arthur’s cigars, he found himself…losing his younger identity more and more. His car changed into a beat up pickup full of tools. His body would change back less and less. He couldn’t think as well, and the accent he had grew slower and thicker. No one else seemed to notice a thing–and when the end of August rolled around, he said a tearful goodbye to his mom and dad, but didn’t drive to school–he drove to Arthur’s, knowing that this was the last time he’d ever be his real self again.
Trev appeared in town like he’d always been there. He was none too bright, but he could fix pretty much anything that needed fixing, and he was never hurting for work around town as a capable handyman. He lived with Arthur, and everyone suspected they might be a couple of faggots, but no one knew for sure–no one, except for any man who got a good whiff of Trev’s cigar smoke while he was working. Any man who did would find themselves unable to resist using Trev’s holes, filling the stupid, muscular redneck with their cum while Trev begged them for it, always paying him for the pleasure, but forgetting about having done it soon after–but Trev never forgot. Deep inside, Trev knew this was a lie, but he was far too addicted to go back to who he should be, and in time, he learned to accept it, and even, at times, believe it. Still, when he found out he would be spending a week fixing his parent’s roof–he rebelled, as best he could, but Arthur had plenty of ways to put Trev in his place.
And so, Trev found himself passing his father the cigar Arthur had given him. He watched as his father turned into a musky, hairy, big gutted and big dicked redneck biker, who beat Trev into submission before fucking him raw. He tried to deny liking it. He tried, but he couldn’t. And when his dad begged him for another cigar the next day, even knowing what would happen to him, and another the day after that–he knew that Arthur had plans for their little town far beyond just Trev. They both ended up back at Arthur’s that night, Arthur and his brute of a father fucking him senseless…but what could he do? He was just a stupid, weak, hick faggot, like they said he was, and that was all he’d ever be, forever. At least, once Arthur opened his cigar shop, he wouldn’t be the only one–hopefully.
Bracken's Corner 