Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 3)

Finally got this story finished. If you need a refresher, here was Part 1 and Part 2.

“What did you…do to me?” Officer Wetzel said, groaning, something deep inside his guts twisting, and he found himself gagging, and then vomiting black bile at the wall in front of him in a great gush. It tasted vile, but no sooner had he wiped his chin with one sleeve of his uniform, than a second surge hit him. Something was caught in his throat, something sharp–he hurled again and felt it dislodge and fly out of his mouth–it hit the brick wall with a soft tink, and then landed in the puddle of filth. The demon bent down and picked up the small, gleaming thing between two fingers, and examined it. “That’s…that’s mine,” he croaked. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew, somehow, that it belonged to him.

“Pity–I was hoping it would be a bit larger. I certainly didn’t think you’d give it up so easily,” the demon said, and slipped it into his pocket. “And yes, it was yours–but that body of yours can’t hold something like this, not anymore. No–not even god will love you now. Be thankful the devil needed you at all, sinner.”

The officer grabbed for the demon, but he stepped back, watching the man crawl towards him. “I know I promised you a weekend, but I still have some pressing business I have to attend to–you’ll forgive me if I catch up with you a bit later. Do try and enjoy yourself–you’ve earned it. Still, I will need your clothes…”

Wetzel tried to find his feet, but his body was feverish, his vision blurry. He nearly tumbled into the street, but the demon managed to swerve him back onto the sidewalk, and into an alley out of the sun’s heat, where he forcefully disrobed him. Wetzel tried to fight back but his body was giving out–he slumped over, retching up another massive amount of bile, but this time it was thicker–instead of flying out of his mouth, it more…oozed forth, running down his chin and onto his chest, coating his body. He tried to wipe it off, but it just…smeared around–sticky and hot, more pouring from his mouth. He tried to speak, tried to beg for mercy, but he couldn’t speak through the flow–choking and gagging, he collapsed, the filth pouring out of him, coating his body until a few minutes later, none of his flesh was visible–all that remained was a black, rubbery cocoon anchored to the filthy concrete of the alley.

The demon squatted down, and rubbed spot where the officer’s head would have been, and then stood up, looking at the small amber gem which the officer had expelled–that small little chunk of authentic soul the man had still had within him. After all, the officer here hadn’t been his primary target–no, he had someone far worse in need of punishment. After all, if God wasn’t going to bother showing his face, that meant it was up to the devil, to enforce his own idea of law and order here on earth.

He licked his lips, placed the gem on his tongue, rolled it around his mouth, and then swallowed. Immediately, an uncomfortable grumble came from his guts, the purity of the gem rebelling against his demonic nature, seeking exit–but he bound it deep inside himself, corrupted it, and pulled the remnants of goodness forth. It’s human form began to shudder, and a few minutes later his body had become that of Officer Wetzel–fortyish, paunch covered in grey hair, a bushy mustache. He pulled on the officer’s uniform, checked on the cocoon one last time, and then set off down the street, whistling and twirling his baton, cruising the leather and rubber freaks as he went. As much as he might want to abuse the last vestiges of the Officer’s form with a bit more sex, the fact was he didn’t have much time to finish the job–a few hours at most. His demonic force would eat through this skin in that time, and he’d need it where he was heading.

The demon headed away from the revelrie, knowing he’d have a chance to enjoy himself more once his work was completed. The spire of the cathedral was visible, sticking out into the sky above the lower roofs around him, and after a few minutes, the skin already chafing slightly, he found himself at the entrance to the sanctuary, and gingerly placed his hand on the door, the skin insulating him from the holy energy thrumming through the structure. Had he not been shielded by the officer’s remaining piety, his mortal form would have been destroyed, and he would have been thrown back into the pits where he’d crawled from. Instead, he pulled opened the door with a gleeful chuckle, and slipped inside.

The space was obnoxiously pious. He walked through the sanctuary, where several people were praying, towards the back of the church, where the confessional booths were placed. Now here, he could taste something of his own nature, well cloaked and hidden within a false faith. He entered the booth and sat down, licking his lips, glancing at the priest through the screen–who was looking back at him, recognizing the officer’s face, even if…something seemed strange about him, at the moment. But there was an eagerness there as well, which didn’t care about those concerns, and one hand slipped to his crotch, rubbing his cock through his robes. This had become a…habit for them both, and as wrong as Father Nelson knew it was, he…he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “It’s late, Beau–I thought you might not come today.”

The demon resisted the urge to begin stroking himself as well, but he would wait. It would be better if he waited, to make sure the sinful priest was too deep to escape his grasp. When he was his, then he would have all the time to take his pleasure, and it would all the sweeter for his patience, as contrary to his nature as that might be.

Skin Sketch | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Something new for all of you Patreon peeps! I was hoping to have something else up for you this month, but I’ve been chasing and putting out other fires in the meantime. It’s a strange little outtake from a longer story which will probably get posted sometime soonish, once I get a chance to edit it, but it stands alone decently. Hope you enjoy it!

Skin Sketch | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Cabin Pressure (Part 5)

WARNING: Extreme Modification, Castration

Darkness. The same smell as before, but damp, mildew. He couldn’t see any detail around him, but he was confined in a tight space, something that could barely confine him, crouching on a hard surface. He kept expecting something to emerge from the black surrounding him, but all it did was press into him, fill him with a deep sense of unease and disgust. Why was he here? Who had put him here?

He felt woozy and sick. He couldn’t focus, and he felt a sudden sense of vertigo–like he’d fallen and remained upright at the same time. Something was in the darkness–a person? No, it didn’t feel like a person, but it was around him, inside him. He could see…flashes of memory, but nothing was clear, nothing that he could remember beyond broad strokes. Pain. Abuse. Humiliation. Screaming, his own screaming, so much screaming. He tried to put his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t stop hearing himself, his throat raw, his skin feeling like ants were crawling all over him, a dull ache in his crotch.

The dull ache drew his attention, even as he tried to ignore it. He’d…wanted it, as long as he could remember. His father had told him he’d never be a man, even as he’d raped him. The boys at school, calling him a sissy and a bitch. He didn’t know what he was, but he wasn’t a man, he didn’t want to be a man, he didn’t deserve to be a man, and…and so when he finally had…had the chance…

He’d done it before he’d drugged him, without anesthesia. It had hurt so much, he hadn’t believed anything could feel so gut wrenchingly terrible, but it was done, and the ache was easing already, several months later. He felt so much better, now…now that he wasn’t a man. He’d never been a man, of course, but now–now he was exactly as worthless as he’d always known he was. But everything else was a blur, a terrible, painful blur. Three months of his life, total freedom with his body, that was the price. Was it worth it?

Voices from the dark. It didn’t matter what he wanted. Master had wanted it as much as he had. Master, his master. He felt terror, a desire to serve, but couldn’t…remember him clearly. Who was his master, why couldn’t he see him? Why didn’t he know his name at least, why didn’t–

It was jostled awake by the plane coming to a rough landing, not that it could move much, hemmed in as it was, between hits own flabby body–500 pounds now–and Master Brian leaning on him. Home. It was home, finally. It had been named Jeff before this, but it didn’t have a new name yet–his Master had promised one when it had returned from it’s vacation. Seeing that it was awake, Brian tugged the chain connected to the thick leather collar around the thing’s fleshy neck and the thick gauge ring pierced through it’s septum, hauled him close and mauled his mouth, exploring its cavity like mouth. It had woken in the dungeon from his drugged state, and discovered it had lost not only its teeth, but its tongue had been split down the center, and pierced in several places–the better for pleasuring cocks, it had been assured. It would have to be fed by a tube from now on, which he was rather used to anyway, with its master at home. So far it had only been fully conscious again for a day, and still hadn’t quite come to grips with the body it now had–a hundred pounds heavier, missing its balls–and its cock, which had been taken without his permission, since it was so small anyway. The man had rerouted his urethra between his taint, allowing it to piss while sitting down.

Master Brian made it wait until everyone else had exited the plane, so they’d have more room to move. It was thankful–it hadn’t gotten used to all of the stares it was getting…now that it was awake. Then again, it was hard not to stare, at the tattoos all over it’s body and face, the piercings, the foot long, unwashed beard, the huge body barely contained by the wife beater and shorts it was permitted to wear out in the world, showing off the cruder tattoos which covered its body proper. Master Brian was its escort for the trip home–it had been escorted by someone else on the way there.

They lined up for passport control. No one could believe he was the same person as the man in the photo–he was interrogated for an hour, but eventually released, after Brian muscled his way in, and suggested the officers might just think of it as an object, abuse it for a bit, and then let him take it with him. Brian collected his luggage, and it wanted to disappear–so many people…just staring at it. Was it really worth it? But everything was worth it, if its master wanted it–his…master. It still couldn’t remember him, but it didn’t matter. Master Brian would escort him home, and it would be back with it’s master, and everything would be alright.

Once they were out in the airport proper, Master Brian made good on his promise, dragged the thing into the bathroom and fucked it’s loose hole, making it beg loudly, making sure people knew what they were doing, that it didn’t care, that it wanted them to know, that it anyone wanted it’s hole, it would give it to them without question. After its escort master had cum, they caught an Uber. The thing gave the disturbed young man it’s address. Master…Kevin, he had said? It sounded like it could be right. Once it had it’s master, once it had it’s new name, everything would be fine, ancd maybe, finally, he would stop feeling like he was under so much…pressure.

“But…sir. I don’t…what’s all this got tah do with fixin’ a TV?”

“Shut yer dang mouth boy! Ya know better ‘n tah challenge master. If he says this’ll fix the TV, then we’re gonna do it!”

“But sir…”

*SMACK*

“Don’t want no more lip from ya. Now git in that gear–I wanna see my boy’s ass in those chaps in ten seconds ‘r less.”

“But–”

*SMACK*

“Don’t make me bend ya over mah knee ‘n give ya twenty a those–Oh…Master! Were ya…listenin’ tah us? Sorry, mah boy’s bein’ a bit thick tahday, but we’ll git started on that TV a yers in just a sec…now…where did ya want us?”

“The bedroom? But ain’t the TV in the living room?”

“No sir, sorry sir. I won’t question master, I’m sorry. Ya ready boy? Come on!”

“Damn, quite the setup ya got here–what’s the camera for?”

“Yeah, guess it ain’t that important, I’m just a dumb faggot pig anyway, yer right Master. Alright boy, git on the bed with me, like master said–ya want us tah…do, like, the same stuff…we did last time? Cause…mah boy didn’t really, ‘n I…I mean, I’m a faggot, sure, but I guess, I never really wanted tah put mah cock in a dude’s…ya know.”

“Oh? Somethin’ different?”

“Ya wanna see…mah boy…fuck mah hole? No fuckin’ way, nuh-uh, ain’t gonna happen.”

“Nah sir, I think gettin’ mah cock deep in yer ass sounds real nice–maybe if yer busy moaning ya’ll shut the fuck up for a bit! Now git on there, and take yer boy’s cock like a man! Let’s git this damn TV fixed already.”

Source: musclemechanic

TV Repair (1 of 2)

“Dang, that TV a yers is actin’ up again? What is this, the third time this month? Maybe ya outta have some other tech come out ‘n look at it, since Bryce ‘n I haven’t been much help at all.”

“Ya sure? I mean, I appreciate the compliment–me ‘n Bryce have been workin’ out a bit lately, ain’t that right boy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Finally got this one whipped intah shape! Fuck, first time he came here with me, he was a bit a prick, wasn’t he? So much nicer now that he only speaks when spoken too–and so damn polite!”

“A cigar? Well, you know we can’t turn down one a yer cigars. Kinda started craving them a bit, actually. Bryce too. The wife ain’t too happy ‘bout me comin’ home, smellin’ like smoke, but fuck what she wants. What brand are these anyway? Might want tah pick up some fer mahself.”

“Really? Mail order? Dang–aw shoot, ya’d do that fer us? Thanks bud. Thank the nice man, Bryce.”

“Thank you sir, for giving us a supply of cigars.”

“That’s a good boy. Now, how bout we take a look at that TV a yers. Still doin’ the same staicy shit as before, huh? Well, we’ll try and git tah the bottom a this tahday, ‘n hopefully ya won’t have to see either of us again for a while! Go on boy, git down there, on yer knees–that’s it. Make room fer me too…n’…let’s focus….focus on the screen. See if we can…can look deep enough, find out what’s…the matter…

Source: somacho

Cabin Pressure (Part 4)

“You have a pretty hot mouth, I have to say.”

They’d been sitting quietly for a few minutes, Jeff trying to sort out his thoughts and his memories, feeling his body, trying to understand how it could feel both so…new and strange and yet familiar at the same time. He could barely fit in the seat assigned to him now, and Brian had raised the armrest between them, meaning their fat bodies were now in constant contact–something which scared jeff to death for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, and which also excited him to no end–feeling each breath of the hot fucking man beside him–he’d really…lucked out, right?

“Hello? Earth to piggy.”

Jeff blushed, “Sorry, sir, I’m…glad you enjoyed it. I…enjoyed it too.”

“I could tell. Bet you’d like me to get my cock in that ass of yours too, right?”

Jeff nodded, humiliated that the people sitting around them could hear what he’d just said to him. Why was he doing this? Letting this fat fuck do this to him? He…honestly wasn’t quite sure what had happened to him, but something was different–no, something was wrong. This was wrong, he was in the wrong body, this wasn’t who he was supposed to be, and he…he couldn’t remember who he’d been at all. Fragments–workout equipment. A woman. A…roommate. That was clear–the roommate. Kevin. He stopped thinking about himself, and focused on Kevin instead. He’d met him at…at college? In the gym–no, on the wrestling team! He’d had to have gone to college, if he’d met Kevin! And Tiffany! He’d just visited her, he…he was sure of it, even if he couldn’t remember it. That…that meant that this wasn’t him–he couldn’t remember everything, but he knew that much.

“How about, when we get off this plane, we head to the bathroom and I give that hole of yours a good plowing? How does that sound?” Brian said, leaning against him gently, exerting a bit of his pressure.

Jeff instinctively started to lean away, to pull back, but then he leaned back in, applying some pressure of his own. “No–no, I’m not going to let you do this to me anymore. I don’t know what the fuck you did, but you’re going to fucking change me back!”

“Did to you? I didn’t do anything to you, pig. This is just who you are!”

“No it fucking isn’t. I…know that. I don’t remember everything but…but I had a roommate I met in college–yeah, college! I know I went there. And I know I just…was just with a girl in Paris, that’s why I fucking went there. I…I forgot her name, but she was there, I know she was there. This is some fucked up fantasy of yours, and I don’t know how you did it, but I know your game.”

“Oh?” the man said, grinning wider, leaning harder, “More fight than I expected. Still, you’re so far gone, there’s nothing you can do but make things worse for yourself, if you keep this up.”

“Fuck you, you’re a fucking liar.”

The man shrugged. “Alright, then, Mr. Fry Cook. Tell me, how did an fast food dead-ender like you manage to afford a European vacation?”

Jeff tried to talk…but he didn’t have an answer. Where did he get the ticket? How did he even get to Europe? On one hand, intellectually, he knew the missing piece was there, but the girl, his roommate, it didn’t fit with everything else in his head…and something else, some other glimmer was forming, the man leaning harder, Jeff losing ground, feeling himself pressing against the side of the plane. “I…I couldn’t afford it, not on my own. I don’t have any savings,” he blurted out. It was…true. But it wasn’t right.

“Of course not. But the guy you were chatting with about those things you wanted, the mods. You couldn’t find anyone state side. And when he offered to pay for your ticket, in exchange for complete willingness as a test subject…well, what choice did you have?”

Jeff was shaking his head, trying to speak, but he couldn’t quite get in a full breath of air. He was feeling lightheaded, desperately trying to keep from passing out again, trying to keep Brian from changing him again, trying to keep himself from connecting the dots that he was being told to follow, because he didn’t want to see what was at the end there. “Please…” he croaked, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you fuck me, I’ll let you do whatever, please…”

“But I’m curious, Piggy. I’m curious about what you needed him to do. What were you so desperate for, that you were willing to let a stranger buy you a plane ticket to another continent, so he’d do it to you? What was so hard to find, what was so perverted, that you couldn’t find anyone closer to you, who would do what you needed so badly, that you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you? How long were you with him? How long were you his play thing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

“Yeah, he kept you pretty well drugged, didn’t he? In that dungeon of his, kept in that cage, while you rested in between sessions? Probably a bit hard to remember the details, but I know that you know what you wanted more than anything else. What you were willing to give up your freedom for months to have done to you.”

“I’m not…You’re wrong.”

“It’s only going to get worse, if you don’t just admit it.”

“I…it…tattoos?”

“Oh, I know he was a talented artist, and I know he was excited at a thought of a canvas your size, but that–you could get those anywhere. No, what you needed was much more…taboo…”

Jeff could feel the pricks across his body, ink appearing all over his skin. It still hurt, but Brian was right, there was something else. He…he knew what he was supposed to say, but there had to be something else, right? Not that…he didn’t…really want that, did he?

“Say it pig, say it hog. Say what you begged the filthy pervert you met in Paris to do to you. Tell me what you needed, to finally feel at home in your own, disgusting body.”

Jeff had been holding his breath, knotting up his tongue. He wasn’t going to say it, he wouldn’t. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out again, Brian chuckling, pressing harder, and Jeff dreamed again.

Cabin Pressure (Part 3)

Jeff looked around his office, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He should be on vacation, right? The offices around him were all empty, the air was stale and…and as he walked around, looking for an exit, he was beginning….to suspect that he didn’t work here at all. No, he didn’t know where he was, now that he thought about it–but he did work in an office, right? He’d…he’d gone to college, he’d majored in business, he worked as an accountant. The air was thinner all of a sudden, and he was feeling woozy, some sort of pressure pulling him to the floor, giving him a headache, and he could…feel his intellect being crushed. Jeff had never been that smart, but he was clever enough–but not only was his knowledge fading, but his edges were dulling as well. Everything seemed…simpler all of a sudden, and looking around at the alien office, he could see the walls…dissolving around him, reforming, until he was lying on filthy tile, not carpet, surrounded by a bank of cooking equipment–like…like in a fast food restaurant.

He managed to push back against the pressure, reassert himself, and as much as he didn’t want to find the place familiar–he knew it intimately. It was the fast food place where…where he worked. Where he’d worked for years, ever since he’d stupidly dropped out of high school, not that he could have gone to college with his shitty grades. He couldn’t even get a promotion, not without a GED, and he was too lazy to even bother getting that. So here he was, working the fryer, microwaving burgers, and…and taking orders.

At that thought, the pressure shoved him forward, towards the register. He was dressed in his uniform–4XL, and face to face with…with a young woman. Someone he should know…right? A name popped into his head from nowhere–Tiffany. She was pretty, she was his…girlfriend? But at that thought, her face looked at him, disgusted, like she had read his mind. No, someone like that would never be interested in a fat loser like him. The shame was burning through him, he couldn’t believe he’d even thought that. No, he couldn’t be interested in her, he wasn’t interested in her, he…he was…interested in…

The look of cruel disgust didn’t shift on Tiffany’s face, but the rest of her body did, growing larger, inflating, her dress becoming leather gear, her face growing a beard, his cock, fuck…fuck, his cock. Jeff was salivating, the pressure behind him, pushing him against the counter, bending him over as the man shoved his cock in Jeff’s mouth, and he saw a line form behind the man, and felt another line behind him, a stranger hauling down his uniform pants, fucking him roughly, like he deserved. Yeah, this is what a fat loser like him deserved, what he needed, what he craved. The man in front of him–he knew him now. A guy he’d hooked up with a few times around town–the man who held the key to the cage his cock was trapped in. Not that it was much of a cock–two inches when hard, and buried in his fat, but the man liked it locked all the same. After him, came the chubby manager of the restaurant, who had found out Jeff was a cocksucker, and he’d been servicing him ever since, the man threatening to fire him if he told anyone. The line continued. His father and stepfather, both of whom had abused him. Teachers. Strangers. Roommates. All of the men in his life he served, and at the end, a looming figure, familiar, pressing his gut into Jeff’s face, guiding his head lower with a hand–

Jeff opened his mouth and took Brian’s thick, seven inch cock into his well practiced throat, allowing him to slide in deep, down his throat. He hadn’t had a gag reflex in ages, and the sensation of being used roughly sent a tingle of pleasure through his jiggling body, like always. One hand twisted his meaty nipples and tugged on his fat moobs, the other slid down the back of his pants and toyed with the buttplug he wore almost constantly, puny cock aching in the confines of it’s extra small cage.

“How’s it taste, you fucking loser? You like eating my nasty cock?”

Jeff did like it–but then again, rough, abusive, fat men got Jeff’s hunger going like little else. Hell, he was so shameless at this point, that he’d beg men like this to abuse him–that’s why they were here, after all–Jeff had begged the man to feed him his cum, and when else was he going to have a chance to join the mile high club? He kept sucking, and the man fed him a load of cum after a couple of minutes. Someone was knocking on the door–had been knocking on the door. Brian zipped up and left, leaving Jeff on his knees, cum in his beard, looking up at an older, chubby gentleman in a business suit, staring down at him. “I’ll…suck you too, if you want,” he said, unable to believe his own audacity, or that the businessman–who’d briefly been pressed up against the wall by Brian, sneered and stepped inside.

“I hope you’re full service–because I have to piss first, and you’re in front of the toilet.”

Some other man, deep inside him, screamed, but Jeff had drank piss numerous times before. It took the man a few minutes to get past his nerves to actually piss in his mouth–Jeff helped put him at ease by telling him to pretend he was just an object–not a person at all. He drank the man’s bladder dry, and then sucked him off. The man blew after a minute, and slipped out, back to his seat. No one else was waiting, so Jeff went back down the aisle. Brian was waiting for him, and let Jeff slide back in by the window, his now 450 pound bulk mashed between the armrests, and Brian joined him again with a smile that told Jeff he wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

“Trash, get out of those clothes, and get over here. My nasty cock is waiting.”

“Please, don’t…call me that any more. I did what you asked, I gave you the money, please, just let me go…” the man said, He was dressed in an expensive suit tailored for a frame different than his current one–his gut pushed the buttons apart, but he had to keep pulling it up, the pants falling down around his ass. At the word ‘Trash,’ the man’s hair–already lank and greasy–had grown another inch, added more grey, his hairline receding further. “I don’t…want to do this…”

“Oh trust me, I appreciate the money–a few thousand will cover rent and drugs for a month–but why pass up a nasty fucker like you? Now come over here–you don’t want me calling you anything else, right?”

But the man was fighting all the same, trying to make his body move towards the door. “You fucking piece of disgusting filth, I said get over here, and suck my cock!”

The energy drained from the man’s eyes, as a wet patch appeared on the front of his pants. He was pissing, unable to stop himself, and kept pissing as he dropped his pants, stumbled over to the filthy young man, got down, and began sucking at his cock.

“Nobody gets away from me, you fucking pig,” the man winced, a tattoo appearing on his back, another on his arm. “You hear me pig? You fucking nasty whore?”

The man moaned, reaching around behind him and pushing a few of his fingers into his own loose hole, while his tormentor laughed. “That’s the spirit! You want me to fuck that hole of yours, bitch?”

“Oh god, I…please, fuck my nasty hole…”

He was more than happy to oblige him–and what the man didn’t know, was that as soon as the man shot his load deep into his guts, reality twisted around him, his previous life as a young, wealthy entrepreneur gone forever, his suit now just a bunch of rags thrown after him, as he was thrown out naked into the hallway, the young man still laughing the entire time.

Source: boxcardick

Cabin Pressure (Part 2)

It was back, the thing. But not as a weight this time, it was…the ground, the air, all around him. It smelled stale, earthy, and somehow greasy, coating the inside of his mouth and lungs every time he inhaled a bit of it into himself, and with each breath he sank a bit deeper into it. A waterbed, a beanbag chair, it conformed to him, pulled him in deeper, welcoming him and encouraging him, helping him to feel safe, secure, content, and relaxed.

A space that had been nothing was becoming something around him. His gym. A gym. Did he go to a gym? His memories…they were telling him that he had…but the thing surrounding him was doubtful. Wasn’t that a lot of work? It whispered in his mind’s ear, telling him he wouldn’t have bothered, that he was wrong. The gym was fading, slightly. The walls closing in, the workout equipment melting into the floor, or contorting into other furniture–some shelves, a TV, and behind him, a bench had grown into a couch. The floor shifted, and sent him off balance, falling backwards into the couch, the couch accepted him like the dream had, told him he was here, where he belonged, where he always was, watching the TV. The room was dark and tight, dirty. He didn’t like it here, he didn’t want to be down here. He tried to get off the couch, but he couldn’t lift himself away–the weight dragging him back, the couch pulling him in with a strange suction and gravity. He couldn’t breathe, he was stuck, he couldn’t move, he–

Jeff was pushing against something, something fleshy. He thought it was the strange thing from his dreams, for a moment, and then he realized it wasn’t. It was Brian’s body next to him! His face was pressed into his armpit–that musty smell he’d been inhaling had been the massive man’s sweaty musk. Disgusted, he tried again to push himself away, and had to haul himself out of the Brian’s grasp–his arm had encircled him, and pulled him close, while the man had slept-and now awoken to Jeff’s struggle. “Oh goodness–are you alright?”

“What the fuck, man?” Jeff said, sputtering a bit. “You fucking queer, were you fucking holding me?”

“Now now,” Brian said, his tone a bit more gruff, “You fell asleep on me first!” I didn’t mean to hold onto you, I just dozed off.”

“You fucking faggot, you just wanted to feel me up. Probably the first time you’ve touched a muscle in ages, right you fat fuck?”

Brian just cocked an eyebrow, and then sneered at him, pleased with himself. “Must have been some dream, if that’s what you think of yourself.”

Jeff glared at him, but…but something did feel off. He looked down at himself, expecting to see a chubby, powerlifting physique (was that even right though? Shouldn’t he be leaner than that?) but instead, he was looking down at his body–his real body. Fuck, he’d never set foot in a gym in his life! All he fucking did with his time was sit in his apartment, watching TV…and eating. Fuck, did he have a binge habit, and it showed. He wasn’t quite as large as the man beside him, but he’d just crested 300 at his last doctor visit, which had been pretty fucking humiliating–

No, what the fuck was he even thinking! This wasn’t right, this couldn’t be real! He pinched himself, trying to wake up. This had to be the dream, it had to be!

“Nice try, but there’s no waking up from this one,” Brian said, leering at him, leaning closer, pressing some of his weight to Jeff’s side, “Why don’t you go back to sleep, eh? We were just starting to have some fun.”

Jeff pushed back, pushed himself into the corner, trying to keep from touching his seatmate, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He reached under and unlatched the seatbelt, which was cutting into his gut, stood up, and forced himself between Brian and the seat in front of him, pushing his grasping arms away, while Brian licked his lips, and then he was stumbling down the aisle, towards the bathroom. He needed space, his own space, he had to get away. He got to the bathroom, found it unoccupied, struggled with the door for a moment, and as soon as it was open–he was shoved inside by Brian, who’d followed him up the aisle and followed in by the massive figure, squeezing in with him, and shutting the door behind them both.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Jeff tried to shout, but Brian grabbed him by the face and hauled him close, burying his face between his moobs.

“Now now, just relax, young man. Everything will be fine when you wake up again, I promise,” Brian whispered in his ear, “But we’re going to have to punish you, for being such a fighter–thankfully, I know a few ways to take the fight out of men like you.”

Jeff struggled harder, managing to get a breath of air and spin around, but froze when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Gone was his manicured, slicked back hair, his smooth face–his hair looked like it hadn’t been touched in months, hanging around his head in a mop, the scruffy beard covering his jaw and…both of his chins. He was wearing a dirty, stained t-shirt with some stupid gaming reference, and a pair of massive shorts. He looked like a slob, like a nerd. He was disgusted, he was disgusting. He couldn’t look at it, he couldn’t look at him, and he looked back, into Brian’s eager eyes, and he had nowhere else to go. The man smothered him, Jeff trying, desperately, to reach the door handle, but his hand went slack after a few minutes, and Brian held his limp body close, stroking his body while the younger man snored, eager to have some more fun when he woke again.

Cabin Pressure (Part 1)

We’ll keep going with Officer Wetzel next week (once I figure out what’s going to happen next) but here’s a different story for the mean time.

Just perfect. Fourteen hour flight home, and he’s the one who has to sit next to the fucking fat ass on the damn plane. Jeff regretted requesting the window seat–usually he liked being able to look out, but most of the flight he’d only be seeing ocean, and now he’d be trapped between a wall, and this fucking piece of slab. He was on his way back home after a summer trip to Paris with his girlfriend–he had to go back to work next week, however, and she had another week off, so she was jetting off to Rome to stay with a college friend of hers who was studying there. He squeezed past the fat fuck–he had to be close to 400 pounds–and tried not to look at him, but it wasn’t easy. He had a scruffy beard and longish hair which was receding, with a fair amount of grey in it. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks, but Jeff couldn’t help but notice the spots under his arms were already damp.

Jeff, on the other hand, kept himself in perfect shape–he worked out regularly with his roommate Kevin, whom he’d known since college–though he wouldn’t be his roommate for much longer. Things were getting pretty serious with Tiffany, and they were talking about moving in together soon after she got back. Still, he was a beast–very little fat on him, broad shoulders, thick chest, a nice ass. He wasn’t exactly small, either, at six foot four, and so he had a hard time squeezing into the seat–no matter what he did, his own, muscular thigh was pressed against the fat stranger’s flab, and it made his skin crawl a bit. The guy smiled at him a bit apologetically, and Jeff rolled his eyes, got himself settled, and popped in his earbuds–signalling to the guy he definitely wasn’t interested in talking. Jeff ignored the safety video, and focused on the screen in the back of the seat in front of him, at the little plane, that massive stretch of ocean, the white flight path leading back to the states, the countdown that hadn’t started yet. He sighed, the plane took off into the sky, and he put on a movie to watch. The guy next to him did as well, but Jeff noticed he kept glancing over at him every few minutes. Was he a fag too? Even worse. Still, Jeff was exhausted, since the flight was an early one, and he’d need to sleep a bit. The cabin lights dimmed after a snack–which the fat ass wolfed down–and then the cabin lights dimmed. He waited until the fatty’s head had slumped over, and he was snoring lightly, before leaning against the window, and nodding off himself.

There was a weight on him. It was heavy, almost immobilizing, and while he was panicking slightly, it was also…kind of comfortable–like a thick, heavy, blanket. Yeah, something was pressing on him, but also…also, into him, in some way. The more it was on him, the more he felt heavy himself, and a bit sluggish, and more comfortable, and relaxed, and at ease. He felt soft. He felt…weak, even. It was starting to be too much, he was getting hotter, he needed to get out, he needed–

Jeff struggled out of the dream, only to find that at some point in their nap, the man beside him and slumped over, onto him. No wonder he’d felt something heavy on him! He gave the man a rough shove, waking him up in the process. “Fuck dude! Get off me.”

The man looked groggily, his face flushing. “Oh! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!”

Jeff knew he should be furious, disgusted, demand the stewardess find him another seat, anything, but looking at the man’s red face, he felt…something else, which he couldn’t quite describe. “It’s…it’s alright. It happens, right?” He smiled, an odd butterfly in his gut.

“Yes, it does, I suppose. Still, I try to be conscious about my space–big guys like us gotta be, right?”

Jeff was taken aback by the comment. He was big in some ways, but nothing like this lard ass. He looked down at himself, but was a bit…flummoxed. Something about his body didn’t seem quite right for some reason. “Yeah, the gym does that.”

“Oh goodness, no gym for me! But you have an impressive powerlifter build, I must say. Very handsome. My name’s Brian by the way.”

The guy really was a faggot, Jeff thought to himself, but the usual revulsion he felt around those types was more muted than usual. He also felt…happy at the compliment, and he did have a pretty stout figure. Plenty of muscle, sure, but a hefty, firm gut as well. The two of them chatted for a bit–Brian was returning from a business trip–when Jeff’s eyes got heavy again, and he started yawning.

“Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night, obviously. Blame the girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle, which Brian returned with less interest. That ought to give him a hint at least. “I’m gonna sleep a bit more.”

“Alright, I promise to fall in the other direction next time, if I sleep again.”

Jeff chuckled…but secretly, he’d kind of…enjoyed it. The sensation from the dream had been pleasant, and lingered with him as he laid his head back, and he was snoring before too long. When he Brian was confident his seat partner was fast asleep, he gingerly reached up and put an arm around the back, and gently nudged him, until the a groggy mutter, Jeff slumped over onto him and let off a bit of a groan–the big man adjusting his crotch, and pulling Jeff a bit tighter to his body.