Author: wesleybracken8258

Max’s First Cam Show (Sketch)

Gay Spiral Stories is trying something new, and will start running story challenges for authors, where they can submit stories based on a prompt. This first one is called “The Very First Time,” and this is the story I wrote for it. If you enjoy it, I’d appreciate it if you head over to my story on the site there and give it a good rating! Thanks for reading as always.

It was an idea that he’d always toyed around with on occasion. It would cross his mind while looking at himself in the mirror, flexing, or when a guy would cruise him as he walked down the sidewalk on the way home from work. Max knew that he looked good, and he also knew that he liked having guys look at him–so why not try it? Of course, it was a big step, going from amateur exhibitionist to full blown camguy, but with the lockdown and his sudden unemployment, he had quickly gone from idle musing to careful consideration of the idea, now that rent was due in a couple of days, and he was a few hundred bucks short.

He’d been looking around at various sites, trying to figure out which one had the best payouts, and the one that kept being recommended by models was a site called porncam. Well, recommended by some. Others wrote these long screeds against it, said they were exploitative and manipulative, but here were comments like that for every site. In the end, Max poked around, made an account, and one evening decided he might as well give it a try–he turned on his camera, opened up a room, and waited to see if anyone would bite.

Sure enough, guys began to trickle in. Some just lurked, but others complimented him, helped him get adjusted to the system since he was new, and were generally appreciative of him and his body. He flexed, he stroked himself, he flashed his killer smile–but he knew that he wasn’t making enough doing this. He got a little cash from each guy who viewed him, and the longer they viewed him, the more he would get, but there had to be a way to juice the system a bit, right?

So he asked in the chat room. One of the lurkers piped up, and said that if he really wanted to make some cash, he’d have to turn on auction mode, but the mere suggestion of it set off a relative firestorm between guys in the chat. Max had a hard time following the line of it–accusations were thrown around, guys left the chat, other guys came in, and he was left at a bit of a loss. He investigated it, and found some information in his profile page about it.

Apparently, auction mode allowed viewers to pay to see specific acts by the model. They could offer any amount of money, and if the model behaved to their satisfaction, then he would get that amount–minus a transaction fee, of course. It sounded easy enough–after all, it wasn’t like he couldn’t say no if someone wanted him to do something really weird or gross. He decided to opt into the program, and a new set of waivers and privacy policies popped up–way too long to read though. He accepted them, and when he went back to the cam view and the chat window, he saw a new box had appeared on the side, listing the current auctions.

“God damn it, they’re gonna ruin another one,” one guy said, and exited the room.

“Fucking hell, worst thing this site came up with,” said another, but stuck around.

Max’s attention was drawn away from that by a chime, and he saw that a new auction item had appeared–for $50 dollars, he had to put clamps on his nipples and play with them for ten minutes.

It wasn’t his thing–he’d never really been one for pain play or anything like that–even for fifty bucks. He looked around for a way to deny the request, but there wasn’t a button for that or anything–and then he noticed something next to his keyboard–two wooden clothespins that he was sure hadn’t been there before. Before he even realized he was doing it, he grabbed them, clipped one to each nipple, and bit his lip in pain. What the fuck was he doing? He tried to pull them off, but all he ended up doing was tugging at them and twisting them while moaning and groaning, the men in the chat room egging him on–with more and more guys coming into the room.

“Oh man, a new auction boy? This is fucking great!”

“Yeah, I don’t think he even bothered to read the TOS. What a dumb slut.”

Another auction popped up–this one for $100 dollars: beat your balls with a ruler fifty times, and make sure you count them out loud.

No–he wasn’t doing that–he went to close the window, but all he got was an error message, telling him that the window couldn’t be shut due to an administrator setting. Fuck that–he’d just pull the computer cord out, but before he could try, his hand grabbed the wooden ruler that had appeared beside the keyboard, right where the clips had appeared before. He stood up, and while he held his cock up against his belly with one hand, he used the other to give his nuts fifty solid whacks, groaning out the count as he did, and by the time was finished, three more auction items had appeared–each worth more than the last.

The next item: Shave your head, eyebrows, and facial hair off.

“No, please…” Max begged over the cam, but that just seemed to rile the men in the chat up even more, and Max was helpless, his body leaving the computer to go get his electric razor, and he went to work. He cried as he did it–his beautiful hair! It was a perfect golden brown, a nice wave that fell back a bit past his shoulders–several boyfriends had told him it was one of his best features. He took a wide swath off the top, and burst into sobs, unable to do a thing to stop himself, sheering away his short beard as well, and finishing it all off with the shaving blade and cream that appeared in front of him. When he was done, he hardly recognized himself in the image on the computer–how in the fuck were they doing this? Why couldn’t he say no?

The clips that had come off went back on–this time with weights. He was ordered to fuck himself with a dildo, and talk dirty to all the men watching, telling them how much his little whore hole wanted all of their cocks inside him. Then, at long last, the auction queue was finished–which meant he was done, right? Without giving anyone a chance to add something else, he closed his cam, sat back, and tried not to sob. 

It didn’t feel real–any of it. Why hadn’t he been able to stop himself? The terror quickly became anger. The site had fucking tricked him! He hadn’t signed up for any of that shit. He had relatives who were lawyers–he’d sue them until they were broke. But before he could do any of that, a notification popped up on the screen, alerting him that a private show had been purchased by an anonymous viewer–and before Max could do anything, his cam had turned back on.

“Please, leave me alone, I don’t want to do this anymore,” Max said into the cam.

“Hey now, I paid good money for this session–you’re going to do everything I tell you to do pig, and you’re going to love every second of it,” the man replied–and then he started giving orders, and again, Max was powerless to resist.

Over the next few weeks, Max found himself becoming quite popular on the site. As hard as he tried to stay away, he would find himself thinking about it, reliving the humiliations inflicted on him, both hating them, and also finding them more and more erotic. The men were wearing him down slowly, he realized. Had they planned this all along? He began to recognize some of the names, and realized most of them were the ones who had convinced him to open up auction mode in the first place, which Max discovered was impossible to back out of, once you had opted in. In time, the quarantine lifted, jobs came back, but by then, in was too late for Max. He’d found himself a new job–a better job. His true calling, you might say. He was even getting offers from men to fly them out to him for weekends, or even for full weeks, so he could service them in real life–and Max was finding it harder and harder to say no. They’d wear him down eventually–they always did. Then the real auction would start–and Max would fly off to his new home, and the men of porncam would have to find a new whore, and start all over again.

Interactive: Orcish Recon (Part 1)

Sorry it’s been a while since I did one of these, the last few months have been, well, a mess as you can all probably imagine. Writing has been a bit of struggle, but I’m doing my best to get done what I can, and have been focusing on commissions for the last while to keep my head above water. I thought I would try something new with this interactive, and maybe a few after it, so we’ll see how it goes. Welcome to the land of Horalon–a fantastical realm full of magical creatures of all sorts, where fantastic machines, strange spells, and disturbing urges collide on a regular basis. For the next couple of interactives, I think it might be fun to toy around with a fantasy setting, since I don’t write in that sort of genre very often. These are going to be more narrative adventures than anything else–and depending on time and energy I might flesh some out into small twine interactives. Anyway, without further ado, I present Tales of Horalon #1 – An Orcish Reconnaissance.

Avoy cursed as he slid back on the rocks a bit, and listened in the darkness for any sign that someone had heard him. If ever there was a time to have invested in some climbing gear, it would have been now, but why had the whores back in Hilveride had to be so beautiful and so expensive at the same time? He checked his footing, and kept climbing–not too much farther now, and he thought he had enough grip strength to get to the top of the ridge, which ought to give him a good vantage on the orc camp below.

Avoy had been hired by a monastery in the foothills of these mountains, which had always had an uneasy relationship with the orcish tribes that lived higher up. Generally, the two groups managed an uneasy peace, but depending on chieftains, and depending on which monastery guards had the ear of the head monk, various disputes flared up from time to time. It appeared that a new something was brewing in the region–there had been a succession dispute among the orcs, resulting in rather new blood taking leadership, with a need to prove strength. Lately, some knights on patrol had failed to return to the monastery, and a few days prior, right before Avoy arrived to accept the task, a monk had been swiped by a roving patrol of scouting orcs–as close to a declaration of war as there was likely to be. Yet kidnappings were new–usually, the orcs would slaughter knights and monks found on their patrols and leave their corpses where they would be found later, as warnings–the change in tactics had the whole monastery on edge. So the head monk had sent Avoy to do some reconnaissance–figure out what the orcs were planning, so the monks and their knights could be ready when the time came to battle.

He hauled himself up onto the ridge, found a mostly sturdy position, pulled out a spyglass and began getting his bearings of the camp below. A basic count put the number of orcs around 500–the monastery had a reserve of nearly a thousand knights–but even in small numbers, orcs were ferocious opponents. They seemed better organized than most orcish camps he had laid eyes on before–guards posted and mostly doing the work of guarding, instead of napping or eating or fucking, as was more common. This looked to be a temporary camp of some sort, because as far as he could see, there were no women–odd really, because orcs generally didn’t discriminate when it came to battle. As he was observing, a horn blew, and the orcs not on patrol or on guard duty headed towards the center of the compound–a large open arena-like space that Avoy had a decent enough sight line on–though he couldn’t hear anything over the wind.

But what he witnessed was enough to chill him to the bone. Drums pounded first, as was common during these sorts of ceremonies–loud enough that Avoy could hear them quite well. The warriors danced and wrestled as the drums grew louder and faster. Then the drums ceased a moment, and two warriors hauled the kidnapped monk forward into the center of the ring, while the orcs hollered and screeched around him–apparently, he had been taken as a sacrifice. A shaman stepped down from a raised dais, where the chieftain was also seated, and the warriors held the monk down on a slab of rock in the middle of the space. The shaman pulled forth a knife–even from high above, Avoy could see that the blade was glowing a steady green, not dissimilar from the skin of the orcs around it–and the shaman began to carve.

Silence, aside from the monk’s screams of pain then. The orcs were silent and still while the shaman cut long, shallow wounds all over the front of the monks body. The lines were jagged and sharp, running the length of the monk’s body, the slab soaked with blood–though not as much as he might have expected. Avoy anticipated the killing blow at any time, but much to his surprise, the shaman ceased his work, the orcs cheered and rioted around him, returning to their fighting (and even a few instances of fucking, that Avoy looked away from quickly) while the guards dragged the unconscious, but allegedly alive, monk away in the direction they had come, leaving Avoy to contemplate what he’d just witnessed.

He’d certainly never seen a ritual like it before. He’d also never seen anything like that dagger wielded by the shaman. He put his spyglass away, and pondered his next move. Night would fall soon–he’d learned some, but everything he’d seen raised more questions than answers. He would have to go down, into the camp, and see what he could find out there. But what should he target? Rescuing the monk would certainly be a victory, though very risky, especially as wounded as he was now. He could investigate the shaman’s quarters, and see if he could get his hands on that knife. There was something special about it–but he wouldn’t know what until the monks at the monastery could examine it. Lastly, he could try spying on the chieftain. Orcs weren’t known to keep great written records of their plans, but Avoy knew enough of the tongue that he could catch the important bits, if he overheard them. That might be enough to give the monks an advantage.

So, what does our rogue decide to do?

Here’s the poll! Patrons have their own bonus poll as well, like usual. However! There’s a new twist to this–since I’m thinking about fleshing these out anyway, I’m going to be posting exclusive, alternate entries over on my Patreon, depending on what they want to see most–so if you’re a patron, you’ll get other branches that you won’t find here. These alternate chunks will be available to anyone supporting me with at least $1. You can find the bonus poll over here. The public poll is below:

Horny Hugh (Part 4 – Finale)

WARNING: Like the part before this one, this part has graphic material. It’s more horror than porn, unless you’re into that sort of thing. Mutilation, snuff, pain play, abuse, steroid use, and other bad things below, consider yourself warned.

Josh pushed his way into the apartment, dropped his bag off to the side, heaved a sigh of relief, and shut the door behind him. He hated travelling, especially for work, but it had to be done. Now though, it was time for a drink, a little relaxation, and then a day off tomorrow–something he always insisted on after a business trip. He went into the kitchen to fix himself a drink, and to fix himself some food, when there was a knock on his door. Figuring one of his neighbors must have figured out he was back, maybe with some mail, he opened the door, only to find Kyle, his boyfriend, standing outside in the hallway.

“Hey babe, I missed you!” Kyle said, pushing his way inside and giving him a kiss, “So glad you’re home safe.”

“Kyle?” Josh said, after accepting the kiss, “What are you doing here? I didn’t even buzz you up.”

“One of your neighbors did–I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Josh felt a bit unnerved, not necessarily by his surprise appearance, but because the night before, he’d had one of the strangest, most vivid, and most terrifying dreams of his life. Kyle had been in it, but it hadn’t been Kyle, really. There was something else inside him, and…and he’d fucked Josh, well, raped him. It had been intense, and a bit traumatic, and he’d been hoping to put off seeing him for a few days until the dream had settled. That, and he’d had wanted some more time to mull over what Kyle had asked him before he’d left, about moving in.

Josh liked Kyle, he really did, but he didn’t know if he was ready to move in with anyone right now. Sharing space was difficult, and Kyle could be a bit overbearing at times. Letting him down easy would be a challenge, but Josh didn’t want to say yes until he was sure. 

Kyle pushed into his space again, giving him another kiss, and while Josh appreciated the gesture, he was also a bit put off by how forward he was being. “Come on, give me a few minutes, I haven’t even had a shower.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said, looking a bit sheepish, “I’ve just waited so long to taste those lips, I can’t resist.”

“It’s been, like, five days Kyle.”

“It feels like ages though.”

Kyle slid closer again, giving him another kiss, now grinding his cock against Josh’s leg, Josh telling him to cut it out, asking him to stop, eventually forcing him away, and when he did, he saw…something else flash in Kyle’s blue eyes. A flicker of yellow. Something…cruel, and hungry there that he’d never seen before.

“Look, I know you meant well, but I’m not in the mood, Kyle. I just want to have something to eat and go to bed,” Josh said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Kyle just glared at him–and the air in the room grew a bit chilly, like all the heat was being sucked away. Josh gasped as two horns erupted from Kyle’s head, twisting out like the horns of a bull, their points almost glittering, as the lights in his apartment flickered. “I’ve waited so long for you, Josh, I’m not waiting any longer. You’re mine now. You’ll be so happy, you’ll see. I know just what you want, what we need together. You don’t understand yet, but I’ll help you, I’ll help you see…” Kyle said, his voice contorting into something else, something deeper as he stalked closer to Josh, head lowered, horns pointed right at him. Josh backed away looking for a weapon, certain this must be a dream. Kyle charged, Josh felt the horns pierce his chest–one driving right into his heart–and Josh gasped and choked, tasting blood, waking up from the nightmare in his bed.

He touched his chest, but there was nothing there. It had felt so fucking real, those wounds, but…but it had been a dream? But if it had been a dream, why couldn’t he remember anything else from the night before? How had he gotten into bed? And why could he hear sounds coming from the kitchen in his apartment?

He got up, went to investigate, and found Kyle there, cooking breakfast. “Morning lover–just wanted to surprise you with something nice, now that you’re home again.” 

“Oh…did…did you spend the night?” Josh asked him, “I…My memory is a bit fuzzy.”

“Well yeah, last night and every night, silly. I moved in a few months ago! How fuzzy is that memory of yours?”

Josh just stared at him, confused. He was certain that they’d just been discussing that before, but…but now, now he wasn’t quite so sure about it. Kyle pushed a mug of coffee into his hands and gave him a kiss, and before he knew it, they had settled down and were eating breakfast together. Everything felt normal. Even those two, nightmarish dreams were starting to fade into the back of his mind, feeling less and less important, now that the sun was up. Once breakfast was done, Josh cleared the table, but before he could get anything in the dishwasher, Kyle was on him, groping him, pulling him into the bedroom, and Josh wasn’t fighting him–he was certainly horny after his trip, but then, he was always horny, wasn’t he?

Kyle was more passionate than Josh remembered. It wasn’t that he’d been timid before, but he’d always been so careful with him, like Josh was something he could break. Now though, he tossed and turned Josh into whichever position he wanted, and he found himself enjoying the rougher treatment. It was like he was having sex with someone else, almost. At times, it really did feel that way, especially when Josh was on his belly, Kyle fucking him rough–he could almost…feel someone else on top of him, or…or something else, maybe. That dream came back to him, those horns. He’d seen those horns somewhere before, hadn’t he? The memory was there, but fuzzy. At a…bar one night, but he’d drunk too much, probably. Maybe at a Halloween party, or something.

Kyle fucked him and finished inside his ass, then flipped Josh over and sucked him off until he came as well, savoring the cum, licking his lips, before lying down next to him in the mid morning light of the window. The rest of the day was easy–Josh got the kitchen cleaned up again, and then they got caught up on their shows, until Kyle got randy again in the evening and gave Josh another fucking–though this time he seemed a little less…eager than he had in the morning. Almost like he was a bit bored. Then dinner, then bedtime. Sleep came easily to Josh, despite the bad dreams he’d been plagued with, and Kyle just watched him for a bit–or rather, Hugh watched him, through Kyle’s eyes, trying to temper his own disappointment.

He’d looked so perfect, from afar.

That handsome face, those sweet eyes, a nice bulge. That laugh of his. But now that Josh was his, Hugh found himself…bored. He’d seen so deep inside him with his horns that first night, and everything inside Josh was rather boring–a hopeless romantic, preferring to take things slow and cautiously, rather than rush into anything. He’d taken him apart in desperation, hoping for something deeper, but there was just nothing much. No real kinks or oddities to speak of. Even Sam had been an interesting sort of empty, void enough to fill with something interesting. But with Josh, Hugh just felt nothing exciting at all. Hugh could tell that this had been a perfect day for Josh–after all, Hugh designed it that way, just to try it. But in all honesty, Hugh was bored with it. There was so much more out there to experience. Josh could be so much more, but he limited himself. He was too cautious, too nervous, too worried about what others might think of him. It wasn’t uncommon of course. So many other people Hugh had met, and helped, over the last couple of months felt the same thing, but they all had something to hide. Josh didn’t even have that. Hugh would help him though. He realized that he’d been wrong before. It wasn’t that Josh was perfect the way he’d been, it was that he was the perfect base. A perfect hunk of marble that Hugh could now sculpt into something else–a masterpiece. But first, he would need materials. Tools. 

Hugh got out of bed, and sucked Kyle’s skin back into his body, looming over Josh’s figure as himself now. His true self. Massive horns jutting from his bony face, his forehead studded with several smaller ones that had emerged over the last few days. His skin was raw and inflamed all over, the infection from the horns spreading further now, making his skin rough and leathery. His eyes were yellow, teeth too, and so sharp. Looking at Josh’s throat there, he could…bite into it, tear it out, drink him down…but no, too soon. He slid one clawed finger down Josh’s exposed arm, watching the hairs rise and skin prickle at his touch. A marvelous specimen. Kyle lumbered out of the apartment, sniffed the air, and went to the roof, where he unfurled the wings that had grown from his back, allowing him to glide across the city. He could smell what he needed–he would go take it, come back, and help Josh realize who he was always supposed to have been.

Josh went back to work the next day, but as the week wore on, he had a hard time feeling like things were going back to normal. Part of that was, naturally, because of Kyle moving in with him. He knew it had been a while since it had happened, but it was difficult to feel like it wasn’t rather sudden somehow. It was also strange because Kyle was always there–sending him off out the door, and greeting him when he got home. The only time he didn’t seem to be present was at night, when he would send Josh to bed alone, and he’d be awake before Josh everyday. He awoke one night and found the bed beside him empty, but didn’t think much of it in the moment, but it was the first time in days he’d been alone in the apartment. 

Then, he had another nightmare. The same monster as before (he knew it was always the same monster somehow, whether it looked like Kyle or not) and it forced him to suck it’s massive, barbed cock, until Josh drank down a bunch of foul tasting cum. He woke up unnerved, but the details faded before he could find Kyle and tell him about it–but that morning was different. Usually he went right to work after leaving home, but today, Kyle left with him, and they went to the gym together. This wasn’t new for them, though Josh couldn’t recall the last time they’d gone to the gym since he’d returned from his trip a week earlier. Once there, Kyle proceeded to put him through a grueling workout, focused almost entirely on free weights, rather than the usual cardio they preferred. Josh found himself sliding into the rhythm of it almost immediately, and they worked out for a solid two hours–or rather, Josh worked out and Kyle coached him until he was a quivering, sweaty, aching mess at the end of it.

But he loved it. He felt…so strong, suddenly. Big. And the ache was good too, it felt good in a way that he hadn’t expected at all. They got back to the apartment, and Josh was so exhausted he couldn’t resist as Kyle led him into the bedroom and fucked him, telling him what a good job he’d done, telling him how big he was getting, how strong he was going to be. He needed to be stronger for what was ahead, Kyle whispered to him, he needed to be so much stronger. Only after that did Josh realize he should have been at work the entire time–but Josh calmed him down, fed him a big meal, and put him back to bed. He was just taking a few days off, is all. He’d be ready to go back to work soon.

The next day, before they went to the gym, Kyle took Josh into the bathroom, loaded up a syringe, and injected it into Kyle’s ass. When Josh objected, Kyle just looked at him like it was the most normal thing. Didn’t Josh want to be bigger? Steroids were just the natural next step, after all. Didn’t he want to be a brute? A muscle bull? A giant fucking stud?

Kyle turned him around and fucked him there in the bathroom, with Kyle facing his reflection in the mirror, and he didn’t…recognize his body, at first. He was so much larger than he’d been, then he should have been. Thick traps, massive biceps, a hard roid gut topped with a two pack, pecs so large he couldn’t really see over them at times. He was a giant fucking brute, wasn’t he? And he loved it. 

“Tell me what you are,” Kyle said in his ear.

“I’m your fucking muscle bitch,” Josh heard himself say.

“What else?”

“I’m a roided out muscle pussy, I’m a steroid abusing beast. I want everyone to fucking look at me and know that all I’m fucking good for is my massive fucking muscles.”

Kyle came, and they went to the gym, Josh dressed in a singlet stretched tight over his imposing frame, and just knowing that everyone was looking at him, that they all knew exactly what he was, he found his cock leaking. By the end of the session, the crotch of his singlet was soaked with cum and sweat–Josh made him sniff it in the locker room, suck it clean until he came all over the floor, and then Josh got down and licked that up too, mooing like a fucking bull–because that’s what he fucking was.

The next day, he went back to work like nothing had changed. In fact, nothing had changed, had it? Not that Josh could really remember. No one commented on the fact that he’d disappeared for two full days, and returned with an extra hundred pounds of muscle mass packed into a tailored suit. After work, he went to the gym, where Kyle was waiting, and they worked out as they always did, then went home for a massive meal, and the rough sex Josh had found himself craving more and more, just like he craved the ache in his muscles after his grueling workouts.

Some part of him knew this was wrong. Could sense it. But it was so addled by the changes he couldn’t get its bearings, and the truth was, Josh was enjoying himself. He’d always wanted this, hadn’t he? He hadn’t–a voice said, but with the thoughts raging in his head, Josh couldn’t tell the difference between what Kyle had fed him and his own thoughts. The dreams were still coming, but Kyle found himself less and less scared of the beast in them. He…almost found himself enjoying those as much as the workouts.

Kyle had another surprise for him that weekend, after he’d been back to work for a couple of days. After their evening workout, they took a detour to a piercing and tattoo parlor–Kyle had decided it was time for his muscle bull to start getting some piercings. It was like Kyle had read Josh’s mind–he’d been fantasizing about getting his nipples pierced lately, but hadn’t said anything about it. Needless to say, he was thrilled. He got in the chair, took off his shirt, and the bearish fellow swabbed his nipples, and then the needle slid into him. Josh felt the pain course through him, and he lost track of everything else for a moment. When he came back to the room, the piercing was done, he had a small stud through his nipple, and his pants were soaked with a load of cum he’d lost from the pain of it. Kyle just grinned at him, the man did the other one, and the same thing happened–a few moments of blissful pain, another load pumped out of him, and when Kyle told him that was in for this session, Josh begged him for another–at least one more. Kyle was more than happy to oblige, the piercer did Josh’s septum, and again, the sensation was so powerful that he was left soaked, and hornier than he could recall being in his entire life.

Josh begged the man to fuck him, as a thank you. He was a bit reluctant, but Kyle had a word with him on Josh’s behalf, explaining to the bearish fellow that he was a muscle bull with an aching cunt, who loved pain and loved getting fucked good and rough. Kyle and the artist, a man by the name of Tim, tag teamed Josh right there in the studio, and when they got home, Kyle fucked him again after Josh begged him to, telling him how much he loved the gift, how he couldn’t wait for them to be healed so Kyle could properly torture them.

Apparently, that meant the next morning. Much to Josh’s surprise, when he looked at himself in the mirror the next day, the small studs that had gone into his nipples and nose had been replaced by massive rings. The ones in his muscle tits were 0 gauge, and the barbell hanging from his nose was 00 gauge–and fuck, he looked so fucking hot, he started groping himself, tugging on his chest rings, feeling his flesh pull and ache. Somehow, other piercings had appeared as well, in his ears, in his eyebrows, in his lips and tongue. He could remember having them, somehow, but they felt so new as well, and fuck, if they weren’t sexy as hell too. He called Kyle in to fuck him right then and there, he couldn’t stand it. That night, Kyle took him back to the piercing shop to do his cock as well–though Kyle didn’t recall as much from that session. Tim and Kyle tied him down to the chair and tortured him for hours, and when he woke up, he found himself with a massive PA and a jacob’s ladder running the length of his six inch cock, a multitude of rings in his ball sack, and a ring in his taint as well. He gave his cock a stroke and shuddered–it felt so different, but it felt so…right. Like this is exactly what kind of cock he was supposed to have. Kyle was obviously pleased as well–and since it was Saturday night, he figured it was time for Josh to have his premiere.

He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but Kyle wouldn’t explain more. They went through their usual Saturday routine with an extra long workout and afternoon fuck session, and then, after dinner, Kyle told him it was time to get ready. He put Josh in a bunch of leather gear he didn’t know either of them had–a thick leather harness across his chest, weights and a chain attached to his swollen tits, a leather vest, chaps, and lastly, he took a heavy padlock and attached the PA in Josh’s cockhead to the ring in his taint, forcing his cock to stretch painfully across his balls, held tightly in check. Then, a choke collar, a leash, and once Kyle was dressed in a full leather uniform, he dragged him to the bar, to display him.

Kyle and Josh had been there countless times, but never like this. Josh was horrified, and yet so fucking turned on that everyone could see him for the muscle cow he was now–the muscle cow he’d always been, really. After a few drinks for them both, Kyle started pimping Josh’s muscle pussy out to anyone he took a shine to, and the men would drag him into the restroom, fuck him next to the urinal working its usual shift, and then back out again, until cum was literally running down the inside of Josh’s legs. They went home, and Josh had never felt so satisfied in his entire life–but he could tell that Kyle wasn’t quite as satisfied. He kept looking at Josh in the strangest fashion, like he was trying to see someone else through him, or inside him.

That was because Hugh still wasn’t completely satisfied. The more he twisted Josh, the more he could imagine twisting him further–there was always a level of perversion beyond the one he’d just finished dragging his obsession toward. This should be enough, Hugh told himself, but the beast refused to be satisfied–it knew what it needed to do next. It would be so…exciting, it could barely contain itself in Kyle’s skin that night. It had to slip out the window, find someone to toy with for a moment, let off a little steam before it could continue with Josh. If Hugh pushed too far, he knew it would be ruined. He’d get there, slowly. He’d understand soon enough that Hugh was the only beast that knew what Josh could really desire. He was the only thing in the world that could really help him now.

They started going out to the bars most every night after that. It wasn’t long before Josh was known as the communal muscle pig open for anyone, no matter how old, or ugly. Back in their apartment, Kyle was rougher, training Josh’s flesh in ways he’d never known possible, with a wide assortment of paddles, whips, floggers and other implements of pain and torture that Kyle found himself craving just as much as the exhausting workouts he had on a daily basis. Kyle upgraded to knives, sliding the blades along his skin at first, just enough to scratch, but it wasn’t long before the wounds turned deep, Kyle would end up driven into a blood lust when he tasted it, Josh left certain that the wounds Kyle gave him were sure to be the end of him, though by morning, all that remained of the night’s activities were old scars all over his body. 

Kyle surprised him one evening when they stayed in, and told him he’d arranged a special playdate for them both, something he was sure Josh would enjoy. The fellow arrived after dinner–a muscular skinhead, covered in tattoos and calluses, wearing filthy workgear and smelling like he’d just walked off a construction site. The scene started normally enough, with Kyle and the skinhead working Josh over in various ways, but then the knives came out–or at least, Josh thought it was a knife. He waited, expecting the blade to sink into his own flesh–but he just felt a hot spray of blood across his back, looked over, and saw that Josh had severed the skinhead’s throat–and that the blade was not a knife, but a claw.

A claw Josh recognized. A claw of the beast in his dreams. Was he dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream, but then, his dreams never felt like dreams, until he woke up. Did he want to wake up? He watched the blood pour from the skinhead’s throat, and part of him, a small part, but one that had been growing, wondered what it might feel like. That pain, and that terror. A smaller part was even envious, but it was too small to be noticed yet, just a seed, the blood splatter it’s first watering. Josh was too confused to scream, too uncertain as to whether any of this was real, as Kyle’s skin pulled back, was swallowed away, and the beast slid forth, crawling over the skinhead’s corpse, licking up blood with a long black tongue, sliding one claw along the skinhead’s body, as if contemplating where to cut next. 

“What…why did you do that…Kyle?” Josh asked, though he knew this was not Kyle. He didn’t know who it was, but he had known it wasn’t his boyfriend for sometime now. Calling it Kyle was convenient for them both, but it was not the truth. 

“You’re too pretty,” the beast said, its voice like steam hissing against hot rock. “Always have been too pretty. But I have a new face for you. New skin. Better skin. First though, the old must peel away.”

The pain that came next was indescribable. The beast pinned Josh down to the floor, and with it’s long prehensile tail tipped with a dagger like claw all its own, cut it’s way around Josh’s face. Then, it peeled it away, off the muscle, his entire mind crumbling into hot white agony. What came next, Josh wasn’t certain. He came, several times. Something slid over his head, like a hood. The beast repeated the process on his arms and hands, degloving him, sliding something else warm and wet over them instead, cut away skin in other places too–his chest, his back, applying new pieces there as well. When he was certain he couldn’t take it anymore, the beast fucked him, the cock penetrating him deeper than it had ever gone before, and Josh could feel everything shrinking to him, tightening, constricting, choking him until he passed out–and then, at last, he woke from the most horrifying, dizzying, erotic dream of his life, and puked over the side of the bed.

He stumbled to the bathroom, but it wasn’t his face looking back at him, not anymore. It was the skinhead’s face. His broken nose, his rotten teeth, his boxed ears, his bald scalp, the tattoos on his neck crawling up the sides of his head. They weren’t his hands either, covered with all these tattoos, calloused and stubby fingers, nails caked with grime and dirt. Other bits of the skinhead had been cut away and applied to him, tattoos that the beast had fancied, apparently, and thought would accent Josh’s new look. He vomited again, tugged at his skin, but it refused to come free. It was his now. It had always been his now.

Nothing more than an ugly brute. A muscle bull, aching for pain and for cock. Even now, the thought of that exquisite pain had his cock aching, though it was still locked up, knotted to his own taint, dribbling cum down the inside of his massive thighs. He sobbed–what the fuck was happening to him? What on Earth had he become? Kyle found him there, and Josh tried to fight him off, but there was nothing he could do to resist him. He was just trying to help him, just helping him become who he was supposed to be. Couldn’t Josh see that? That he was so much better now than he’d ever been before?

“What did you do with him?” Josh asked, over breakfast.

“Don’t worry about him, I found a use for everything left over.”

“Not him–with Kyle. Where’s Kyle?”

The thing inside Kyle’s skin looked over at him, and smiled, “He never understood what you needed. I’m the only one who could give you the help you. I helped him too–he’s much happier now.”

Josh went to work, though he had taken the skinhead’s place on the construction crew now. It was aching, back-breaking work, but he loved that too. Loved how sore he was. The other men around him were so sexy and handsome, his cock was aching for all of them. Kyle told him that they might invite them over soon, help them out, give them all a taste of what the beast could do for them as well. The beast just wanted to help. So many people, trapped inside a reality that would never allow them to be what they wanted to be. The beast was free now, and it could free them all too. It wouldn’t stop until they were all free.

But Josh knew he was trapped. Trapped in a nightmare that he’d never really woken from, ever since he’d returned from that trip. Maybe he did want this. He couldn’t tell anymore–but one thing he knew was that so long as he was here, the beast would never be finished with him, and that scared Josh to death. So, one night, he ran.

The beast hunted at night, Josh had long since realized that. The thing couldn’t be satisfied with Josh alone, it had discovered that soon enough–and so it had gone out at night, found other men to help along with their urges, freeing more and more men to realize their darkest desires around the city. Josh knew it was hopeless, that the beast would surely find him, but he had to try. He had to prove to himself that there was still some part of him that was him, and him alone. Not some sick thing planted in his mind, growing into a thicket of thorns and perversion he was more and more lost inside with each passing day. He would run. Leave town. Settle somewhere else. If this was who he was, then so be it, but he wouldn’t be a toy of the beast any longer.

But of course, it found him. Josh ended up cornered in an alley, the beast looming over him, enraged that Josh had left without its permission. Didn’t he understand how much Hugh loved him? Didn’t he understand how much help he needed? Maybe that’s why he had run, because he’d wanted punishment. Perhaps, it was Hugh that had neglected him. Josh fought, but there was nothing he could do–the beast slashed his throat open, and at last, he knew what it would feel like, the blood running down his chest, soaking him like sweat, tasting and smelling nothing but iron. The beast watched life drain from his toy, and contemplated what to do. Perhaps, it had been neglectful. It picked up Josh’s limp, blood-drained body in one clawed hand, and flew into the sky, returning to the apartment–and in the morning, Josh woke again, alive, with a new scar across his neck, and the beast looming in the bedroom.

The beast remained with Josh for a few more weeks, devoting all of its attention to him, and him alone. Each time the beast played with him, Josh was certain that this agony would be the highest attainable, that certainly there was no pain greater than what he was feeling right now. Each time, he would beg, and pray, as the blood drained from him, as his head was crushed in the beast’s claws, as his heart was pulled from his ass, that this would be the final time, but always, he would wake from death, and they would begin again.

Josh began to realize that he was losing something with each resurrection. A bit of his mind, a bit of his soul. His body was coated with scar now, his bones broken in more places than they were whole. There was just the pain, the mutilation, the destruction, the laying out of his flesh until he was no longer recognizable as anything human, and then returned, for it to begin again. He knew it would not last forever. Each time, the joy in the beast’s eyes dimmed slightly–it was tiring of him, as he’d known it would. All Josh could do was hope that the beast would end him, give him just that mercy–but he did not.

One morning, Josh woke, alone. The absence of pain (aside from the constant ache of mended bones, and the network of scars that wound across his body)  was a new sensation, one that was deeply unsettling to him, but one that he knew should be a welcome relief. In the mirror, he looked at his mangled face. One eye remained, the other hadn’t survived–there was just a deep, ugly scar that mangled forehead, socket and cheek. But he was alive–wasn’t he? But then why did he feel so empty now? 

The beast had left without explanation. After a day, the yawning emptiness inside him was terrible. He had lost too much, in the process. There wasn’t enough here to survive on, the only thing that could occupy him was thoughts of pain, and mutilation, and death. Still he survived for a few days, working at the site, going to the gym, getting fucked at the bars, before he gave in, took a knife from his work belt, and stabbed it into his arteries, the orgasmic pain swelling inside him, the only thing close to fullness that he had felt since the beast left him alone. Then he died for the night, and awoke the next morning–still alive, still empty, still aching.

He found others who would use him, eventually. Men who would kill him, maim him, torture him, bring him to the brink of crossing over, but always, whatever magic the beast fueled him with would pull him back, and Josh would come back, emptier each time, with less and less of himself, less and less humanity to ground him. The deaths and beatings and tortures took their toll of course. In time, it was difficult to recognize him as something that might have been human once, but the thing knew what it’s purpose is now. To die. To suffer. Perhaps one day, the beast, its true master, will return and end its existence–but until then, it will suffer, and suffer gladly.

Horny Hugh (Part 3)

WARNING: This chapter includes some abuse, pain play, and snuff elements. If that’s not your thing, I’d suggest moving on to something else.

“Goodnight, babe, I’ll see you in a few days,” Josh said to Kyle outside his apartment. The two of them had just shared a fun night out at the bars, followed by a nightcap and sex at Kyle’s apartment. Now, Josh was heading home–he was leaving on a business trip for a few days, and Kyle was already missing him, throwing him a pouting lip which looked a bit ridiculous on the buff fellow he was.

“Yeah, alright–but give it some thought, eh? What I asked about?” Kyle asked, trying not to sound too pleading.

“I will, I promise,” Josh said, leaned in and gave Kyle a kiss goodnight, before heading off down the hallway.

Kyle stepped back into his apartment and shut the door, heaving a sigh. He’d been anxious to even ask the question, but Josh had taken it well. It was a big step, sure, but Kyle had never felt this way about someone before, and he just hoped Josh felt the same way. It wasn’t a marriage proposal, but asking him to move in felt like the next logical step in their relationship–not to mention it would help them both out with the finances. But now it was late, and Kyle was ready for bed. He took a quick shower, climbed in, and it wasn’t long before he had fallen asleep.

Now, since his encounter with Hugh a week before, Kyle hadn’t thought once of that strange fellow who had hit on his boyfriend. The same could not be said of Hugh, who, after his fling with Sam, had found himself obsessing more and more over Josh–and in turn, Kyle. Hugh knew, of course, that if he wanted Josh bad enough–and he did want him very bad–that he would be his, no matter what, especially with the new powers that had been revealing themselves to him over the last week. But the more he thought about Josh, the more he found himself stewing about Kyle, about the disrespect he had shown him in the bar, about how he didn’t deserve a beautiful, handsome man like Josh. That he needed to be punished first, and then, Hugh would sweep in and show Josh what a true lover was like. 

But Hugh had wanted something special for Kyle. He’d been taking little peeks into Kyle’s dreams, and into his mind, for the last week or so, getting to know him better–what he hated especially. The things that turned him off more than anything else in the world. See, Hugh had made a discovery over the course of the week as he’d been playing with guys at the bars and bathhouses around town–Hugh had discovered that he could draw out someone’s fetish entirely and store it inside him, and then, when someone else blew him, he could feed that fetish to the new person–though it was usually quite a bit stronger after Hugh had held onto it for a while, toying with it, improving it. So for the last few days, Hugh had gone hunting, and he’d found three men with fetishes and lives that were the perfect torments for Kyle. He was going to hate what he loved now, though by the end of it, Kyle wouldn’t want to be anyone different.

And so, Hugh slipped his way into Kyle’s dream…though he was looking quite a bit different from how he had looked back in the bar, when Kyle had confronted him the first time. He was still human, mostly, though the more Kyle looked at him, the more he noticed that certain things about him seemed off. The horns, of course. They were longer though, and their color was darkening from something between ivory and grey, to more of a charcoal. The skin around them on the temples didn’t look great either–there was clearly an infection of some sort spreading across the skin, veins of blue and black spreading out from the roots of the horns across Hugh’s scalp and face. Hugh smiled when he saw Kyle in the dream, and the same was happening to his teeth–they were darker, and also much more pointed than they should be. 

He was naked in the dream, and the proportion of his limbs was a bit off as well–legs too short, arms a bit longer than they should be. Hugh was hunched over slightly, legs wide, fingers longer and the nails were almost…claws. “Found you…” Hugh said, though it wasn’t so much that he was speaking in the dream, so much as the words appearing in Kyle’s mind. In any case, this dream was way too fucked–he tried to wake up, pinch himself, slap himself, but nothing would work. “Oh, don’t think you can get away from me so easily,” Hugh said, “Not until you’ve had your treat.”

Hugh was clearly referring to his cock–and that was something Kyle had no interest in getting anywhere near. It was big, for one thing–eight inches? Nine? It was the barbs that were confusing, and the fact that the head was…it was too bulbous, almost like it was storing something in there. It was a dark purple, and almost pulsating. “Come on now, I’ve found such good treats for you. Get over here, maggot, and drink up.”

Kyle turned to run, but the void around them offered no traction. As fast as he ran, Hugh crossed the space between them in a couple of strides, shoved Kyle to the ground, and flipped him over onto his back. Hugh straddled his shoulders, and gripped Kyle’s face with his clawed hands hard enough to draw blood. He screamed, and Hugh took the opportunity to thrust his vicious cock into his mouth. Kyle struggled, but every time he tried to pull his face free of the cock, the barbs would catch in his mouth and throat, threatening to rip him apart if he resisted. Eventually, he relented, and allowed Hugh to rape his throat for what felt like hours, choking and gasping for breath the entire time, tasting his own blood in his mouth until Hugh finally came–and when he did, it was unlike any load Kyle had ever tasted before. 

It tasted like ash. Like old cigarettes. As Hugh pumped the filth into him, he stared down at him, eyes yellow, wide and manic, while he licked his lips with a tounge a bit too long to be normal. “Oh yes, oh drink the fuck up, you fucking pig. I’m going to enjoy this, and when I’m done with you, he’ll be mine, he’s going to be all mine…”

Kyle was choking now, for real. He kept trying to draw breath, but there was nothing to do other than swallow more and more of the vile cum into his guts–if it was even cum at all. Eventually, he passed out, darkness overwhelming him–and then, when he was certain he was dead, he awoke in his bed, thrashing and gasping for air, but he was alone.

He was alone, it was morning, and there was absolutely no way he would be getting back to sleep before his normal morning alarm went off for work. He laid in his bed for a few minutes, trying to calm down, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He’d never had a dream as vivid as that had been, and as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was somehow certain that it had been…real. But that wasn’t possible. Of course it wasn’t possible.

At least if he got up early, he’d have time to get to the gym before work. He hauled himself up, and after taking a shower, getting his breakfast ready, and dressing for the gym, he felt normal, mostly. With his bag over his shoulder, he took a sip of his usual morning shake, and he grimaced. It didn’t…taste right. He took another few sips on the way to the gym, and less than a third of the way through, he felt certain he was going to vomit–he had to pull into a parking lot so he could throw open the door and hurl onto the pavement. He stared at the shake on the ground, wondering if he should call out…no, just get the gym, and workout. Now that he’d thrown up, he felt fine other than the fact he was still hungry.

But at the gym, all he could think about was that hunger, but at the same time, just thinking about food made him want to hurl. He’d never experienced anything like it in his life, and he was so out of it, he couldn’t even really make it through his workout. He was craving something, something he couldn’t quite pin down–and it wasn’t until he left the gym and saw a couple of guys smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk outside that he realized what he was craving. He wanted to smoke.

He shook his head–no, he was past this! He’d been a smoker for years, since he was a teenager, and quitting had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He hadn’t had a craving in ages, and now, all of a sudden, he’d woken up aching for one? It…made a little bit of sense, he supposed, but he’d fought through all kinds of craving before. He’d just have to fight through this one too. It was easier, really, knowing what it was at least. It didn’t quite tell him why he was so hungry though. In any case, he had to get to work. He arrived, got through the morning well enough, but by lunch, he was nearly doubled over from cramps in his guts. It had never been this bad–if smoking a cigarette would make him feel better…maybe he should at least try it.

He used his lunch to go to the convenience store, bought a pack of cigarettes, smoked one–and it did help, much to his disgust. It took the edge off his hunger, but it didn’t stop it. He needed to eat something, but when he walked to a restaurant, just the smell of the food made him nauseous. Instead, he smoked the cigarette down to the butt. Then, when he should have just dropped it and snuffed it out on the sidewalk, he popped the still burning butt into his mouth, gave it a chew, and swallowed it down.

He realized what he’d done a second too late, feeling it slide down his throat, and he was horrified. Had anyone seen him do that? Looking around, he was relieved that no one had seemed to, but he did feel a bit better, in all honesty. Putting the strange incident behind him, he returned to work, but the gut cramps got so bad he had to relent and leave work early. The hunger was worse, and he could still…taste that cigarette butt, and he wanted more, but this time, smoking it wasn’t enough. He had to force himself to not eat it when he was done with it, but stamping it out on the sidewalk seemed like such a fucking waste. He’d go to the doctor tomorrow, though none of this made any sense to him at all. He got home, and found a sizable package waiting for him, though he hadn’t been expecting anything. He took it inside with him, put it on the table, opened it up–and the contents only confused him more.

Inside, it was like someone had taken the contents of a bunch of ashtrays, dumped them into ziploc bags, and mailed them all to him. There were a few coke bottles too, filled to the brim with a dark, syrupy liquid he couldn’t quite place. There was a letter too–he opened it up and read it:

“Here’s your latest supply–hope you fucking enjoy it you nasty fuck. Been collecting everything from the bar ashtrays as usual, and everything from home. As a little plus, a guy at work on the crew keeps all of his spit in coke bottles. You told me once how much you like the shit, and when I told him your deal, he was more than happy to fork over a few full ones. Looking forward to your next vids, ashtray.”

Who the hell would send him something like this? It didn’t make any fucking sense. He went to throw the whole box in the trash, but before he could even pick it up, the cramps returned, stronger than ever, and he was doubled over on the kitchen floor, panting for breath. He was so fucking hungry, and just…just thinking about all of that fucking ash in those bags, maybe…maybe just a little. Just to take the edge off. 

No! What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t want to eat that shit, that was fucking vile. But it wasn’t that he wanted to eat it, exactly–it was that, somehow, Kyle knew that he had to eat it. If he didn’t, the cramps would get worse, and…and he could somehow tell that the cramps were only the first stage of worse withdrawals to come, if he didn’t give in and…and eat. He told himself he’d just have a little. Just get rid of the worst of it, and then he would call the doctor and figure out what in the hell was wrong with him. But as soon as one of the bags was open, he couldn’t contain himself–he dumped all of the ash, the cigar and cigarette butts, the match ends on the table, and he started licking it up, chewing it all down. It was disgusting–he was disgusting, fuck, he was a disgusting ashtray of a human, fucking hell…

He looked up at himself, and his face was coated in soot. Why was his cock so fucking hard through all of this? Was this turning him on? It was turning him on, knowing that he was nothing more than a receptacle for men’s cast offs, not good enough to smoke the shit himself, only subsisting on the remnants. He wanted to throw up, but instead he took a fresh bag, a bottle of tobacco spit, and sat down in front of the computer, where he filmed himself eating and drinking and masturbating for the next hour, adding it to the collection of other videos he had of himself doing the same filthy shit. Videos he could not recall making, but there he was, devouring all manner of filth. He sent the new video to his benefactor first, and then uploaded a couple more–trying to stop himself, but…but he had to. He had to show everyone what he was, didn’t he?

He let off a belch, and a little cloud of soot erupted from his mouth. He knew he should feel sick. He had to eat something–real food, but he was stuffed. It felt like he’d just had the most satisfying meal of his life, and there was still so much in the box to enjoy later. It was too late to call anyone for help–and he didn’t think he’d be able to admit what he’d just done to anyone either. Exhausted, he crawled into bed, still covered in ash and tobacco spit, and fell asleep almost immediately.

But then, he was back in the void, and Hugh was waiting for him. “Looks like someone had a nice meal today,” Hugh said to him, and laughed, a tail swishing behind him that he hadn’t had the night before.

“You…you did this to me, what the fuck did you do to me?” Kyle demanded.

“I’m just giving you a few new things to focus on, since you won’t have your relationship with Josh for much longer, not when I’m through with you both. I just want to make sure you’re happy, and out of the way for good. Don’t you like being an ashtray? I found that especially for you–the man I took that from didn’t really want to give that up, you know. I had to give him something better, just to calm him down.”

“You’re fucking sick! Just…just make me normal again. You can’t fucking do this to people, how the fuck are you doing this?”

“Let’s not waste time with silly questions. After all, I still have more for you to drink up, Kyle…” Hugh said, and stepped forward. The head of his cock was still swollen large–though the swelling had gone down some. “Get over here and suck it.”

“No–no, I’m fucking waking up! I’m not doing this again, I’m not, I’m n–”

That was all Kyle got out, before Hugh’s tail wrapped around his throat, and squeezed enough to leave him lightheaded and gasping for air. “Less talking now, I’m done talking.”

The prehensile tail dragged Kyle down to his knees in front of Hugh’s cock, and started fucking his face on the barbed member, slamming Kyle’s face into Hugh’s crotch over and over, the massive cock drilling deeper and deeper into his throat with every pound. He clawed at the thing around his neck but it just constricted tighter, until he was seeing spots and certain he would pass out. Then, Hugh came, pumping another load deep into his guts, and when he was finished, the tail relaxed, and Kyle collapsed.

“See you tomorrow–just one more dose…” Hugh said with a chuckle, and then Kyle passed out, and woke up in his bed again, this time in the middle of the night. He sobbed in his bed, exhausted and terrified, wondering what in the world was going to happen to him this time. What in the world was Hugh? He’d been certain, in the bar, that those horns had been fake, but…but all of this was too real now. When the sobbing subsided, all that remained was hunger, but he didn’t dare indulge in his new found vice–he was too ashamed. Sleep eluded him however, until he got up and grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his nightstand. He chained smoked a couple on the balcony, eating the butts down when he finished them, and when he had calmed down at last, he went back to bed, and slept fitfully for the rest of the night.

He couldn’t possibly face work the next morning. He called his boss, letting him know that he wouldn’t be coming into the office, and was too sick to work from home too. He felt better now that he didn’t have to go out, but now he was stuck in his apartment, with that package, with nothing to distract him from the cravings gnawing away at him. They were stronger today, without a doubt. He needed to go see a doctor, but he couldn’t bear the thought of confessing any of this to someone. What could they even do? There wasn’t exactly a treatment out there for demon-men invading your dreams and making you crave filth like this. He passed the time smoking instead, which kept the hunger at bay, though it wasn’t nearly as satisfying. He finished the pack of cigarettes before noon, and was faced with a new dilemma–go get more, or…or eat. He was so fucking hungry now, and the hunger was beginning to win out over his shame. He relented and dug in, chewing down a few cigar butts, relishing them, washing them down with murky spit from the bottles, letting it run down his chin and onto his chest, rubbing it in there, using it to lube up his cock, licking his fingers, recording and jacking off for his patrons, showing them all how much he appreciated their gifts.

The horniness was more powerful today too–he stroked as hard as he could, trying to climax, but it was like the hunger was keeping him right at the edge. He ate more, stuffed himself, and when he was certain he couldn’t eat anymore, he finally came–but what came out of the head of his cock wasn’t cum–it…it was smoke.

Hanging there in the air, around his cock, forming a consistency somewhere between fog and some strange goo, he pushed his hand through it, and felt nothing as he passed right through it. This was it, he told himself. He eaten all of that shit, and how he was hallucinating, and now he was going to die from it, right? He could only stare as the smoke from his cock began to congeal, becoming a hand that wrapped around his cock–and then he could feel it, as it stroked him off, more and more cummy smoke coming out of his cock pooling in the air around the end of the hand until it was an arm, until the arm was connected to a body, until a face appeared at the top, and legs below, and Kyle was staring up at a massive muscle bear that had somehow been formed out of his own smoke-cum, right in front of his eyes.

He felt one last long pulse from his groin, and the man pulled a cigar out from Kyle’s urethra, stuck it in his mouth, where it flamed to life–along with the man’s eyes. “What…what the fuck are you?” Kyle said, standing up from his office chair and backing away from the smoky figure standing in the midst of his living room.

“Me?” the man said in a deep, raspy voice. “You made me, Ashtray–who the fuck do you think I am?”

Kyle didn’t know, but he did know one thing–despite his massive orgasm, his cock was still hard as a rock, and looking at this man, so different from any man he’d ever been attracted to in his life, he found himself…aching for him in ways he couldn’t really explain. He took a tentative step forward, reached out, and tried to grab the man’s thick cock, but his hand passed right through it, the thing becoming smoke as soon he would have touched it, and forming once his hand had passed back out. “How…how is any of this happening?”

“God, you’re fucking stupid,” the man said, “It’s a good think you’re just a fucking ashtray or I’d feel sorry for you.” He reached out, grabbed hold of Kyle’s nipple and gave it a rough twist, making him cry out and pull away from him. “You made me because you need someone to use you, Ashtray–it’s as simple as that. You can’t touch me, but I can touch you all I want–and I’m going to be touching you a whole fucking lot.”

He grabbed hold of Kyle and threw him onto the bed, and then climbed on top of him. Kyle tried to kick him off, but his feet went right through the man’s torso–he scowled at Kyle, took the cigar from his mouth, and slammed the lit end right into Kyle’s forehead, making him scream, the smell of seared flesh in his nose while the man ground it there. “Stop fucking fighting, Ashtray–you’re going to get used, and the sooner you just accept it, the sooner you can start enjoying it.”

He rolled Kyle over, climbed on him, and forced his cock into his hole dry, Kyle trying to crawl away, but the man’s hands were like a vice, cinders kept falling from the cigar over him and scalding his back, while the man laughed. “Look at you, you fucking loser. Can’t get a real man to fuck you rough like you want, so you make your own sadistic fucks instead. Filthy fucking thing, no good for anything other than taking the waste men leave around, their ash, their cum–you’re fucking worthless, and you fucking love it, don’t you?”

Kyle couldn’t reply, he was trying to leave, trying to not think about what was happening to him, trying not to accept the fact that part of him was enjoying this, it was craving it, it needed this just as much as it needed the ash, and the cigarette butts, and the spit. The smoke man came, and not too long after that, his cigar finished–he forced open Kyle’s mouth, made him eat the last bit of it, and then he dissipated around him, settling all over the apartment in a fine layer of soot. Kyle was left to nurse his wounds and his burns. The man had gripped him hard enough to bruise, and the burn on his forehead was…severe. He did what he could to bandage it, but the more he thought about it, the more he…he wanted more. His hole was raw, but his cock was still so fucking hard, harder than he could recall it being ever in his life. He’d…needed that. He’d deserved that. The smoke man was right, he’d never been able to find someone to treat him like that in real life, someone he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to, and now…now he could make someone like…like that whenever he wanted.

He knew this was Hugh’s doing, that he was in his mind, warping him, making him want things he should have never desired in his life. He hated being degraded. He was proud of his life, of his job, of his body, of how he was always in charge. But now, that life seemed so far away, so distant, like a haze of smoke had settled over it and rendered it impossible to distinguish. Now, he wanted to be used. So he jacked off again, but this time, he thought about it, about who he wanted to create. The same man as before, almost. But taller. Bigger cock. Clad head to toe in leather. Thick bushy beard. He had to eat more–he couldn’t cum if he wasn’t full, but after gorging himself, he stroked off, and he didn’t stop stroking when he started cumming, didn’t stop thinking about who he wanted to abuse him, and rape him, and humiliate him, and use him all evening long.

“Fuck Ashtray, now this is what I’m talking about,” the man said, looming over him, ripped right out of his imagination. The man put a boot on Hugh’s neck, and drooled dark spit onto his face while he gasped for breath. “We’re going to have some fun tonight I think–that’s what you want, isn’t it? Tell me what you want.”

“Use me, please Sir, use me…” Kyle said, garbled as his throat was crushed under the man’s boot. 

A few hours later, battered and bruised, coated in ash and soot and spit, Kyle was in his bed, exhausted. His smoky creation had lasted longer this time, a few hours, long enough to beat him into shape, long enough to fuck his mouth, his ass, and his mouth again. Long enough that Kyle’s doubts and anger had been overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of it, but now, in the aftermath, bed gritty with ash, he was horrified with what he was allowing to happen. He couldn’t keep doing this, could he? He realized, when he was done, that the camera on his computer had been filming the entire scene, the massive leather brute throwing him around like a rag doll and punching bag, broadcasting live to all of his fans, urging the beast on, wondering how a loser ashtray like him could find a perfect leather sadist like that to abuse and humiliate him. 

But he was exhausted. Exhausted, but he didn’t dare sleep. Hugh was waiting for him–he’d said there was one more thing he had to give him, and Kyle was terrified. This was already awful. He hated all of this, it was everything he’d always hated, and now he was living his worst nightmare. If he could just stay up all night, maybe he would be safe. He just had to not sleep. And not jack off. Not…make himself some new sexy beast of a man to abuse and humiliate him all night long. Then he wouldn’t sleep a wink, he was sure of that. Maybe a pipe smoker this time, older, fatter, dirtier, using him like a urinal…fuck…

He spent the next few hours caught between hunger, horniness, and exhaustion–but exhaustion did win, eventually. He could have sworn he only meant to blink, but then he couldn’t force his eyes open again. When he could finally see, he found himself not in his bedroom, but back in that inky void, Hugh waiting for him there, tail longer and thicker, his skin…flaking, or maybe peeling off, revealing something raw and angry underneath. Scales perhaps. Kyle didn’t want to look to close. He didn’t want to know anymore of this than he had to.

“You kept me waiting tonight,” Hugh said, “Were you enjoying your new skill? Looks like you made a daddy who treated you right,” the monstrous fellow of his dreams came close, brushing a clawed hand across Kyle’s bruised face. “Don’t worry–they won’t kill you. You’re rather…durable now. After a good night sleep, you’ll be good as new, no matter what kind of damage they inflict–though I do like that burn there…” he added, and pressed a claw against the raw wound on Kyle’s forehead, making him wince and flinch away.

“Please, make it stop. I don’t want any of this, I…I just want to be normal again!” Kyle begged him, dropping to his knees. “I’ll never see Josh again. I’ll forget all about him, all about you–please, don’t make me do this anymore.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Kyle,” Hugh said, close enough that he could smell his breath, feel the lash of his long, blackening tongue on his cheek, “I just want to help you be happy–don’t worry, you’ll be happy soon enough. Tonight is a bit of a trade. You give me something of yours, I give you one last gift–and we’ll be even. You’ll never see me again.”

He felt something tighten around his cock, looked down, and saw that the head of the demon’s cock had swallowed his own. He tried to pull away, but the head clamped down harder, making him feel like he was about to pull his own cock off. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me.”

“Sorry Kyle, but first I need something from you–I need to make sure you stay out of my way, and the only way that’s going to happen, is if Kyle disappears. So you’re going to give me all of yourself.”

Kyle felt the head of Hugh’s cock throb, and it…sucked on his cock, and he moaned, trying to stay on his feet. It wasn’t pain that he felt–it wasn’t anything physical at least. It felt like…a strawberry milkshake, when you’re trying to suck a berry through the straw. Only he was the berry–his mind, his identity, his relationship to Josh–all of it. Hugh sucked again, and he felt some of it slip away from him, leaving just…a hole. He knew that something should fill it, but he didn’t know what–just the vague outline of…of something. Another pull, and more of him disappeared, Hugh pulling him close, holding him up while he watched the confusion on Kyle’s face grow as he sucked down more and more of him, storing him in his cockhead, just like he’d stored those other men, which he’d fed to Kyle. 

When he was satisfied that he’d pulled out enough, Hugh let the man fall, his cock slipping free of his own, and on his knees, the man looked around in horror. “I…Who…What just happened? Who are you?” He asked, looking up at Hugh in terror, “Why…why can’t I remember anything?”

“Don’t worry, I can help,” Hugh said, and pressed the head of his cock against the round burn on the man’s forehead. With a thrust, he shoved his cock into the man’s head, driving right into his skull, the man going limp while Hugh fucked his brains in his dream. Eventually cumming and emptying out the final gift he’d prepared for Kyle into his skull. He let him fall to the ground, a limp doll, and sneered at him before slipping back into the void. Hugh had what he needed now, and Kyle wouldn’t be an issue anymore–well, Kyle didn’t exist, not anymore. The man lying on the ground with a hole in his head, in his dreams–he didn’t have a name. He did have a purpose though, and that was good enough.

When he awoke, he couldn’t do much of anything for a moment, his head ached so badly. His body as well, like he’d come down with a cold overnight, his bones and joints aching. All he could do was moan and toss in the filthy, ash covered bed for most of an hour, until the pain in his skull settled down, his body eased up, and he could finally throw his legs over the side and stand up.

He…didn’t feel right, somehow. His head felt empty–emptier than it should be. He should have a name, right? He…he couldn’t remember one though, but he could remember a…a job. A thing, that he was. Ashtray. It wasn’t a name–it was a category, but did he really need something more than that?

Ashtray went into the bathroom and pissed, before looking at himself in the mirror. This seemed wrong as well–he could…almost remember another reflection. A younger one. A sexier one. But this…this face. He was old. Easily in his fifties, if not sixties, though he couldn’t remember how old he was. A thick beard across his face, stained yellow around the mouth from years of smoking, caked with ash. He was balding heavily, with just a fringe of too long hair around the temples and down the back. The face was lined with wrinkles, and when he opened his mouth, he grimaced–a good number of his teeth were gone, and the rest were…not in great shape at all. 

Ashtray knew that something was wrong. That something had changed, but he didn’t know what. The worry nagged at him, but not as much as the hunger and the horniness did. He…he had to talk to someone about it, maybe they would know. So he ate–he devoured a few bags of ash from the shipment a couple days before. It was…pleasurable, to some extent, but he ate it because it was his duty to eat it. He was an ashtray, after all. What other purpose could he serve? When he was full, he masturbated, thinking…thinking about someone. Someone who would…help him understand, and remember what he was sure he had forgotten. But all he could think about was that image in the mirror, his old, feeble body. The smoke poured from his cock, and formed an older man, quite fat, covered in hair, wearing some shabby clothes and smoking a massive pipe.

“I…Sir…I…I don’t…know what to ask, really, but I don’t know who I am? Do…do you know who I am?” he muttered, falling to his knees before the figure, who just scowled down at him.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are. I do know what you are though–you’re an Ashtray–is that not good enough for you?”

The figure shoved the hot bowl of his pipe against Ashtray’s nipple, holding it there until he cried out from the heat. He spit in his face and then dragged him into the bedroom, throwing the old, fat pig onto the bed, and forcing his fat cock into his ass.

Ashtray decided that it didn’t really need to know who it was. Or more likely, it would have to accept that there wasn’t going to be an answer. It was an object, at the end of the day. It served the filth that men sent it, chewed it down, and ejected it back out into their most violent, perverted fantasies for it to suffer under. It would always be a waste–there wasn’t anything more for it beyond that. There couldn’t be. And so, it accepted itself, as best it could, as the fat pipe bear finished inside it’s hole, hauled out, and started working his fist inside him next. It would be a good ashtray. 

Hugh smiled, watching in his own dreams, stroking the head of his cock, swollen now with the contents of Kyle that it had sucked out. Josh would be back in a day, and Kyle would be there to greet him–a Kyle, at least. But Josh would be Hugh’s before long. He would be his forever–after all, it was time that Hugh helped himself.

Horny Hugh – Part 2

When Hugh had finished with Evan–now only known as the bar’s regular urinal–he had gone back out into the bar, his cock aching for someone to fuck. This was a rather new sensation for Hugh, whose attitude towards sex was generally ambivalent at best. It wasn’t that it wasn’t enjoyable–it was just…difficult. When you watch porn, you always saw guys behaving so naturally, without inhibition, and Hugh found himself so inhibited, all the time. He overthought everything, caught up trying to understand pleasure rather than experience it. There was…something inside him that wanted it, because he kept trying despite his general failures, but it was like he kept getting in his own way.

It just so happened that there, at the bar, was someone that Hugh wanted to fuck desperately. The man’s name was Josh, and he was just…so strikingly handsome, that the first time Hugh had seen him, he’d wanted him more than any man he’d ever met. Of course, Hugh knew he had no chance–not with a perfect man like that, and so he’d kept his distance, and his desire, in his heart. That hadn’t stopped him from fantasizing about Josh on a regular basis, his fantasies often taking turns that he would have never considered for someone else. It was like…Josh was a key to something. Or, not Josh himself (after all, Hugh had never even spoken to him before tonight, only given him the occasional unreciprocated cruise across the bar on nights they were both there) but the idea of Josh, some perfect…human object to fulfill his desires on. Perhaps that was why he had stayed away so far. The idea and the fantasy could have never matched reality, and the overthinking, inhibited Hugh knew that. Tonight, however, that inhibition was gone–and so he walked right on up to where Josh was standing at the bar, and hit on him–hard.

“Hey sexy, wanna touch my horns?” Hugh said, leaning in. 

Josh looked at him, confused, and then at the horns pushing their way out of Hugh’s head, and the look turned to disgust. “What the fuck man, it’s not Halloween for another six months.”

“Come on, I wanna fuck you.”

Josh backed up, but Hugh came around and cornered him at the bar, leering at him–until someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away.

“Is this guy bothering you, baby?”

Hugh spun around, and found himself looking up at a massive figure–easily six foot four, close to two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. This guy was a beast–it looked like he lived at the gym. 

“He’s just drunk, Kyle, let him go.”

Kyle stared at Hugh, and then leaned in slightly, “Leave my boyfriend alone man, he’s not interested,” Kyle said, and shoved Hugh back into the crowd, before moving in and putting one meaty arm around Josh’s waist. Hugh stumbled back and kept himself upright, but the sight of Josh with someone else gave him another feeling he wasn’t quite expecting–jealousy. Violent, vicious jealousy. Not only was the fantasy not the reality, it was so far from what Hugh had wanted that he could barely square it with the lust guiding him. The disconnect and the anger was so strong, that it broke some of whatever mental fever had come over him since his interactions with Evan over the last few days, and he pulled himself back. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. Josh couldn’t be worth it. Some of him even believed him. But he cast one last look at Josh as he turned away, and that burning, aching lust wasn’t going anywhere, even if his mind was telling him to look elsewhere, anywhere else, for some release.

He didn’t end up having to look far.

“I’ll touch your horns, man,” someone said behind him. Hugh turned around, and saw a twinkish looking fellow grinning up at him. “What are they? Glued on? Pretty sure there’s another horn I’d like to touch too.”

Hugh leered, and leaned down a bit, letting the young guy touch his horns. He expected the same sort of rush he’d gotten from Evan when he’d touched them, but this was different. There was the same sort of sensation of Hugh diving down into the man’s head, looking around for his desires, but where Evan’s had been obvious and immediate, with this guy, there just…weren’t any. Well, there were some–a general desire to be fucked, an attraction to guys–but there wasn’t anything strong enough to hold Hugh’s interest. As he pulled away from the guy, he mostly felt a bit…disappointed. He was still horny though–almost more so, now that someone was actually interested in him. “What do you think? Like those horns? I do have another one for you, if you wanna come back to my place,” Hugh said.

The guy nodded, and they left the bar immediately. Josh and Kyle had watched the whole thing with a bit of disgust, and then went back to their drinks. That was probably the last they’d see of that weirdo, they assumed. But Hugh wouldn’t be letting Josh go that easily–and this distraction wouldn’t keep him busy for long. For Sam, however, the young man heading hope with Hugh–he was about to get filled up in ways he’d never imagined possible.

Sam got to the door of his apartment and shuddered a bit, trying to shake off that strange hookup. Hugh, that had been his name. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, as these things often did. Then he’d gotten his first good look at Hugh’s “third horn” at Hugh’s place–the cock was as heavily modded as the horns on his head must have been, in ways that Sam had never seen before. It looked like someone had implanted barbs underneath the skin, along the entire shaft. It looked…gnarly. As much as Sam enjoyed getting fucked, this wasn’t quite what he had in mind–but it became clear quickly that Hugh wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

He’d dragged Sam into the bedroom, and Sam couldn’t resist him, somehow. There was…a yearning inside Sam that Hugh brought out in him, something he’d never felt before, like a desire to be filled up by something, but when Hugh had started fucking him with that strange cock, the desire hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had gotten stronger. It was like Hugh’s strange cock was making room, hollowing a space out inside Sam’s soul that he hadn’t even realized was there–and the hollower it became, the hornier Sam got, the more Sam wanted to get fucked–even as Hugh was fucking him. Hugh quit at some point without finishing, though he was still rock hard. He had just yawned, and sent Sam on his way–he was done with him. So Sam had left a few hours after midnight, that massive chasm inside him aching still, and he knew full well he wouldn’t get any relief here at home.

Sam lived with his boyfriend, Max. They had a great relationship with one sizable problem–they were both bottoms. Sam could top on occasion, but Max had a rather small cock, and zero interest in anything other than getting plowed. Sam also wasn’t really big enough for Max anyway–his boyfriend mostly got off by being fisted or using one of the massive dildos in his collection of toys. It wasn’t really Sam’s thing–so if he needed to fuck, he’d usually hookup on the weekend and Max would play with his toys alone. It usually worked out fine–but Sam needed something tonight, badly. He went inside, Max was asleep, but as soon as Sam got into the bedroom and got into bed with him, something happened. 

Max woke up, his small cock erect. Sam showed him his ass, and Max happily shoved his cock inside him and fucked him. It wasn’t large, but that didn’t matter. The hole inside his guts that Hugh had created was getting filled by something at last. He didn’t quite know what was filling it exactly, but it was so satisfying that all he could do was collapse onto the mattress and ride the wave of satisfaction until Max finished inside him, collapsed on top of him–both of them not quite sure what had come over them in the moment.

“Thanks, I needed that,” Sam said, and crawled under the covers.

“No luck tonight?” Max asked.

“No, I…it was weird. I’ll tell you in the morning,” Sam said, and it wasn’t too much longer before they were both asleep–though Sam slept fitfully all night long. The dream came on quickly, less a narrative with setting and characters than an onslaught of sensations and needs and drives that manifested inside and outside of him. Always, there was a sensation of something growing inside him, something planted in him by Max, inside the hole Hugh had dug, which was now spreading through him in ways he could barely understand. At times in the night, he would wake in something like a fever dream, humping the bed under him, desperate for release. Other times he would sleep deep, and all he would see was Hugh in the darkness around him, those horns and that cock looming in the unknown distance. Then, he was close, so close he could smell him, the scent of the bar still on him, along with something else, something primal. Then, Hugh was inside him somehow, penetrating him, but not with his cock or his horns, digging around, looking at the thing growing inside him and making little approving noises. “Good, glad someone found a use for you–I’ll check in later, see what else I can do to help…”

And then Sam was surfacing again from the depths of his dream. Blinking, he assumed that this had to be the dream still. The sun was streaming into the apartment bedroom, Max was awake and riding Sam’s cock on the bed, moaning and shuddering and groaning while he did, and Sam joined in. It felt…good. So good for someone to be using him, using his cock, yeah, oh god, he was so horny, he could feel himself on the edge, right on the verge of release, but no matter what Max did, no matter how slow or how fast he fucked up and down on Sam’s cock, release refused to come to him. Max, however, was brought to a series of shuddering orgasms as he hammered his prostate on Sam’s cock, and when he finally pulled himself free, both of them soaked with sweat, there was a puddle of precum all over the bed from Max’s cock.

“Fuck, don’t…don’t stop, I haven’t cum yet, please…” Sam moaned.

Max just smiled at him, “Why would you cum, Sam? You know that big rubber cock of yours can’t cum. That’s just how I like you–always hard, and always eager to fuck,” Max stood up and stretched, “I need something to eat though–then we can keep going.”

Sam just looked at Max, confused, as his boyfriend went into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast, and then down at his cock, still slick with lube. Was this really his cock? Was it…supposed to be his cock? It had been smaller before, hadn’t it? And…and flesh? He reached down, cautiously, and touched the black rubber skin of the shaft, trying to remember what his cock had felt like before, what it had looked like before…but now, all he could think about was this…monstrosity attached to his crotch. It was thicker than a beer can, and had to be at least fourteen inches long. The shaft itself wasn’t smooth, but covered in all sorts of different textures, nubs and waves and veiny sections. It felt…good, stroking it, but not as good as it had felt inside Max’s ass. The sensation was there, but dull, but he was still achingly horny. He reached down and felt his balls, but they were as rubber as the rest of his cock, and didn’t…feel like much of anything. They weren’t important, after all. His cock was important. Fucking was important. He needed to keep fucking–if he wasn’t fucking, then….then what was he even supposed to be doing?

He got up from the bed, his massive cock tugging down on his skin, and he looked down, where the rubber met his skin–his human skin, and he could see lines of black pushing their way up into his crotch, like the roots of an infection, almost. He recognized it then–the thing that his cock was now. It was a toy that he and Max had played with on occasion, a rubber strapon, basically, that slid on over his cock and balls. Max loved it, but Sam had never gotten much out of it, really. All…all he had to do was pull it off, right? And his…his real cock would be under it?

He gripped it, but with all the lube he couldn’t pull it free. He wiped it off, pulled again, and it was like he was trying to actually pull off his cock. The distress was hitting him now, but it was still losing out against the aching need to fuck that had been clinging to him since he woke up. Max…would know what to do, right? He followed his boyfriend out into the kitchen, where he had just dropped a slice of bread into the toaster, and stood in the doorway. “Did…did you put the…cock sleeve on me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I…I can’t get it off.”

“Of course you can’t get it off–it’s your cock silly.”

“No…I mean…I…” Sam stumbled over his words, and couldn’t quite figure out how to deal with Max’s response. “Can…we fuck some more? I can’t think good, I’m too horny.”

“Of course we can fuck some more hon, go wait in the bedroom.”

“Can I…just a little? Now? While you wait for your toast?”

Max sighed at him, and pulled him back into the bedroom. Sam was hopeful, but Max just sat him down on the bed, pulled something out of a drawer, and walked back to where Sam was. “Here, this ought to keep that mouth of yours occupied better. Good toys like you don’t really need mouths anyway, right?”

Sam tried to resist a bit, but Max seemed so much more domineering all of a sudden, and he forced the gag into Sam’s mouth. He saw a cock on one end of it, and expected it to go in his mouth, but instead, Max flipped it around and pushed the other side into his mouth, so that the cock was sticking out–and as soon as it settled in Sam’s mouth…something happened. He could feel the rubber expand in his mouth, almost like it was inflating–forcing his jaw wide. Then, it was more than that–he felt something…sucking on his tongue, like it was pulling it into the cock now sticking out of his mouth. He felt his teeth going numb. Then, he couldn’t feel his mouth anymore, like everything had been filled in with rubber. Max grinned at his confused boyfriend, flicked the cock sticking out of his face, and went back to the kitchen. “Now, be good and wait for me–we’ll try that out in a little bit.”

Sam felt incredibly patronized by everything Max was doing to him today, and so as soon as he left, he reached up and tried to yank the rubber cock gag from his mouth–but it refused to come free. In fact, it hurt when he tugged on it, like he was trying to yank his tongue out of his mouth. Concerned, he stood up and went to the mirror in the bedroom, and there, he saw that the rubber had…fused with his mouth, just like how the rubber cock had fused with his crotch. There were lines of black rubber reaching into his cheeks and around his nose in a rather worrying way. He gave another tug on it, but it was no use. He felt…lost. He was so horny, but he didn’t know what to do with any of this, so he just sat down on the bed and waited for Max to return. Maybe…after Sam fucked him and came, everything would go back to normal. He did want to cum so bad, and he’d been so close before. Everything…everything would be alright if he could just finish, right?

It was twenty minutes before Max came back, and Sam could barely contain himself. His boyfriend climbed up on the bed, ass towards him, and told him to use that new mouth of his–Sam pushed the cock into Max’s hole, and discovered he could…taste still. The rubber cock was almost like a tongue, and the deeper he probed, the hornier he became. He could feel his cock-tongue throbbing, aching for release, but it never came–instead, over the next hour as he fucked Max’s ass, it just seemed to swell, growing longer and thicker, sliding further and further into Max’s ass, bringing him to orgasm after orgasm, while Sam was left aching for release–any release at all, but his groin-cock was dull in his hands, no matter how he stroked it. Max finally had had enough, and pulled himself free–and Sam was left with his new cock-tongue–all two feet of it, hanging down to his chest.

“Fuck, that’s a hot fucking tongue of yours,” Max said, as he laid back on the bed, coated in a sheen of sweat, still shudderning a bit from his deep fuck. “You’re the hottest fucktoy in the world, you know that?”

Sam tried to make a sound, but nothing came out–it was like his throat had started sealing itself up–he could still breathe…but it was a struggle. Even then, he didn’t feel weak, if anything, the ache only made him more desperate. He couldn’t even beg, couldn’t do anything but watch as Max proceeded to ignore him, pick up his phone, and start texting a few of his friends. After a few minutes, with Sam still kneeling at the side of the bed, Max stood up and got dressed in some clothes for clubbing. Sam looked out the window, and realized it was already getting dark–how long had he had his massive tongue buried up Max’s ass today?

“I’m gonna grab some dinner with a couple of friends, then hit the club. I’ll see you tonight, fucktoy, if I don’t get lucky otherwise.”

That was all Max said to him, and then he left, leaving Sam kneeling in the dark bedroom, trying to will himself to stand up…but what did it matter? It wouldn’t make the ache go away. There was nothing to fuck anywhere here. Still, he did it, floundered in the dark, and finally found his way to the bathroom, where he looked at himself in the mirror.

The infection was worse now. The rubber was spreading over most of his hips, and even around to his ass. A good chunk of his face was webbed with black veins as well, even down onto his neck. It was changing things–his nose was…sealing up. No wonder he was struggling to breathe. What little hair he had on his face had fallen off, and when he touched it with his hands, it was…cold. Not exactly cold, but it was…rubbery cold, like there was still flesh below it, but too deep to feel easily. 

He needed to get help. Look at him! He had a massive rubber cock, and a proboscis like cock hanging from where his mouth was supposed to be. But where could he go? The hospital? What would they even make of something like this? A friend’s place? No–no one could see him looking like this, it was too humiliating, knowing that Max was slowly turning him into a rubber fucktoy, and there was nothing he could do about it at all. God, if he was here right now, he…he’d fuck him real good, maybe fist him, even. He was still so horny, but touching his cock only made it worse, because it felt like nothing. His hands were worthless–the only thing that could make him feel good, the only thing that gave him any purpose at all, was a hole. He went back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed again, resigned to the fact he would simply have to cope with being horny until Max returned to use him, and zoned out a while–until he heard a knock on the door.

He paused–should he answer that? No–of course he shouldn’t answer that. Not…not looking like he was. 

The knock came again, and after a moment, Sam…felt something, or heard something, in his head. Words, or feelings, or something between the two. He might have translated it as, “I know you’re in there, Sam. I just want to see if I can help you more. You don’t have to be afraid of me, let me in.”

The knock returned, a bit more firm, and still a bit unsure of himself, Sam got up, went to the door, and opened it up–and Hugh stepped inside from the hallway outside his apartment. “Oh my, look at you! Looks like someone definitely found something to fill you up with. I wasn’t quite sure that would work last night.”

Sam stared at him, realizing that this strange, horned man was to blame for this. That he had…done something when he’d fucked him, and then…and then Max had done something else. He tried to speak, but not a sound came out–Sam realized he wasn’t even breathing. That he didn’t even miss breathing. Hugh reached out and grabbed Sam’s cock-tongue, giving it a tug like he was testing it, and then wrapped it around his hand. “Yes, this is much better now, I think. Come on, let’s go play a bit–I hoped I might get to meet the guy who filled you up, but this is good too.”

He gave a tug on Sam’s proboscis, like a leash, and led him back into the bedroom, all the while Sam trying to figure out some way to ask him all of the crazy questions going through his head–mostly wanting to know how he could get fixed, how he could change him back. He…was here to change him back, wasn’t he? He had to be, of course. In the bedroom, Hugh pushed Sam onto the bed so he was lying on his back, and climbed on top of him, rubbing his horns against Sam’s torso, and he…felt it. That same eerie sensation he’d felt back at the bar, of Hugh rummaging around inside of him, looking for something. Before, it had felt like Hugh was wandering around an empty room inside of Sam–but now, even Sam could tell the room was no longer empty. All of Max’s desires had been pumped into him–and taken root inside of him. He was relieved, for a moment, when he felt Hugh pulling on them, tugging them…forward. Forward, and hopefully out of him, but Hugh wasn’t removing them, he was making them bigger, and finding some intriguing things that Sam had developed on the way.

“Oh, what a mean man,” Hugh said, still rubbing his horns on Sam’s body, “He made you so horny all the time, but no way of releasing any of it. I know how that goes–I get so horny, if I couldn’t cum…I don’t know what I would do, really. So selfish. We can fix that, we can fix so many things, don’t you worry…”

Hugh pulled away at last, and Sam was left gasping–or trying to gasp, before he recalled he couldn’t breath anyway. But something was happening in his chest, like he had to cough, force something out, or vomit, and with something like a gag, he felt a…fluid slide out of his chest and down the long shaft of his tongue-cock, until a black, rubbery ooze seeped out of the end. Hugh leered at him, gave his massive groin-cock a stroke, and he felt the same thing, coming from the same…place, even, and his cock leaked the same goopy stuff. It felt…it felt amazing, like every expulsion was a mini orgasm, and while Hugh jacked his cocks, Sam found himself spreading the goop all over himself, coating his body with it, feeling it spread out in an even film and permeate his skin.

 “That’s it, we need to cover all of that skin up, don’t we? You don’t need it anymore–better to just be rubber, inside and out. Let me see what I can find to help…”

Hugh got up, twisting and contorting his head a bit as he looked around the bedroom, almost like he was honing in on something, using his horns to guide him. They led him right to Max’s drawer full of rubber and toys, and Hugh dug around, fishing out a few things. First, an industrial rubber glove he put on Hugh’s right left hand, and then coated with the gunk, trapping it as a fist. Sam added more and more coats of his rubbery cum to it, watching it get…bigger, and thicker, his entire arm picking up more and more muscle as he covered it with rubber–until Hugh pulled his other hand away and put a different glove on it.

This one Hugh had seen before, and played with a bit. Each finger and thumb of the glove was textured differently–one a corkscrew, one covered in nubs, another shaped like a normal cock, and so on–to give the bottom a variety of sensations. As soon as the glove was on, Sam felt it fuse with his skin, and the five fingers came alive, the bones in them melting away, scooping up more and more rubber, growing larger, and longer, and thicker. He could feel some sort of vein or network sliding down his arm and into his chest, hooking up with whatever reservoir was pumping out this rubber, and soon even more was flowing from his five prehensile fingers. Lastly, a pair of rubber waders on his feet, securing around his knees, fusing, more and more rubber flowing around them, all over his entire body now, Sam growing larger and larger, more and more muscled while Hugh admired his handiwork. His face was last, rubber flowing over his eyes, blinding him, but Sam didn’t need eyes anymore–he could…sense what really mattered now, he could feel the holes around him, Hugh’s two holes, in fact…but those weren’t his. No, he…there was one last thing that Hugh needed to do for him, and Sam turned around, bent over the bed, and presented his ass to him.

“That’s a good fuckdrone,” Hugh said, and lined his cock up with Sam’s rubbery asshole. “It’ll be an honor to be the last man to ever fuck you.”

Sam would have said groaned when Hugh thrust into him, but he couldn’t make a sound. All he could do was keep spewing his rubbery cum all over the bed, feel it slick up underneath him, turning the sheets themselves rubber, while Hugh fucked him with his barbed cock. It didn’t…hurt his body, exactly, but Hugh was tearing through…something. His identity, or what remained of it. His humanity. His self-conception, his awareness. Each thrust was like a dagger in his mind, cutting out a bit more of him, until there just wasn’t anything left. Just…urges and needs. A need to fuck, but also, a growing need to…to feed. It was hungry, wasn’t it? But what was it going to eat? Hugh came, and like Evan before him, Sam felt everything inside him suddenly lock into place. It knew, without a doubt, that it wouldn’t change again. That it was itself now–it was exactly what it was supposed to be–a solid rubber fuckdrone. A…a hungry, solid rubber fuckdrone.

Hugh pulled his cock free of the drone’s ass, and the hole sealed up behind him, disappearing entirely–the drone knew it would never be fucked again. It no longer had any holes to fuck. That wasn’t its purpose, or its design. Hugh felt better now, his own horniness sated somewhat. He had been aching since fucking Sam the night before, when he hadn’t been able to cum. He could only…make space. Then, that odd dream, where he’d seen Sam, and then this morning, he’d…known he had to find him, and somehow, he’d followed his horns, and his cock, and found him easily enough. Now though, he was finished. The drone stood up, its featureless face turning towards Hugh, all of his cocks leaking everywhere, rubber spreading all over the floor and bed, and Hugh found himself bored. He could wait, he suppose, until the man who had filled Sam up returned to find his new, finished, fuckdrone…but Hugh was pining for something else. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Josh. This had been a good distraction, and Hugh had learned a lot, but he didn’t feel satisfied by it. It was not what he needed. He was angry at Josh’s boyfriend, over how rude he’d been to him, as well. He’d never have Josh to himself, not until Kyle was dealt with–and after this, Hugh had a few ideas for how that might happen. So Hugh left, and the drone took note of him leaving, but it couldn’t leave. It had to wait. Wait for…for Max. To come home.

It didn’t really know time. It only knew hunger, and as it waited, that hunger grew. It was not a hunger of survival, exactly. The drone knew it would not die, no matter how hungry it became. But it needed to consume something, all the same. It was a hunger of purpose…but it also knew, somehow, that it’s reservoir of rubber, which it had been excreting almost constantly, was not…unending. Hunger would fulfill a purpose, but it would also refill its supply. 

Max didn’t return that night. He had gotten lucky and gone home with someone. He didn’t come home until the morning, and he could…smell something, a rubbery smell all through the apartment, and there, in the living room, was the drone, waiting for him, eager for him, hungry for him, and before Max could do anything, the drone was on him, doing everything it was designed to do. Everything Max had desired, and even more than that. The drone pushed it’s fat fist up Max’s ass, driving it in, giving no heed to Max’s pleading, begging for the drone to stop, to now fist it, that it was going too fast. It lifted him up, the rubber drone impossibly strong, so Max was hanging on the air, sitting on the drone’s arm, squirming and trying to get off, but unable to get any leverage. The drone was hungry, so hungry, and now it knew what it would feed on. This man, Max, had something it could use. It would help him. Soon, Max would never have to do anything other than get fucked ever again.

The drone’s long proboscis slid down to Max’s small cock, opened up its mouth, and slid over it, clamping down. Max felt it both sucking at it forcefully, and also pushing deeper, driving into his groin. It was painful, he screamed, but the drone could not hear the screams, nor would it have cared if it could. It was feeding. It was sucking, drawing everything out of Max’s groin that it could, sucking it down, converting it into its own rubbery muck. After a few minutes, when Max had screamed himself hoarse, the drone withdrew its proboscis–though it didn’t let the man down, not yet–and with a shaking hand, Max felt his crotch. His cock, his balls–it was all gone. In its place, a rubbery pucker, a…another hole. The drone relaxed it’s arm and dropped Max onto the couch, then replaced it with his massive cock, now pumping out rubbery gunk that coated Max’s hole, letting the massive member slide right inside. Max felt the hole stretch–but then…he felt almost a numbness as the rubber goo slicked the inside of his hole–and then, pleasure. Different pleasure. Orgasmic pleasure. Max moaned in delight, while Max’s five dicked hand slid up to his face, two forcing their way down his mouth, pumping more rubber into his throat, down into his stomach, into his lungs, and the thumb and pinky cocks wrapped around his head, drilling into his ears, middle finger into his nose, all of them pumping rubber into his head, coating his brain, making it smooth. Making it rubber, making it perfectly obedient.

Soon, Max didn’t worry about any of this. Max was barely thinking at all, in fact. It spent the next long hours in service of the fuckdrone, coating himself in it’s rubber, forming his skin into a black rubber catsuit, perfectly shiny, though his face remained human–mostly. A human face could be useful, for now. Once the fuckdrone had enough to eat, then Max’s face could go away too. The drone was hungry again, its rubber running thin now, dribbling from its cocks instead of gushing forth. That was no problem though. Max had lots of friends who liked to get fucked, after all. He called them, invited them over for an orgy, telling them he had a great new toy for all of them to play with. The drone was pleased–it wouldn’t be hungry for a long time, now. Max was happy now too. Now, all he needed was to get fucked–it was the only thing he was good for, anymore, the only thing that made him happy. He liked being happy. He would make all his friends happy. He would make any man he found happy too, happy to be fucked by his drone.

Quarantine Files (Caption)

I mentioned this on twitter a few days ago, but I started a little series of caption stories over on my discord server, on the theme of quarantine. It’s been fun having something silly to work on between how stressful work has been and commissions, and for anyone who’s a patron, they’re welcome to suggest stories or ideas for future installments. Here’s one of the captions I’ve done so far–if you want to see the other couple, you’ll have to support me and join my discord channel! You can find more details here.

The quarantine didn’t mean much to Barry, since he spent most of his life in his apartment anyway. Barry was…eccentric, by any real measure. He’d lived in the old apartment building longer than anyone really knew, including the staff who worked there. Oddly though, he didn’t look a day over 40 or 50, but the secret of his longevity and good looks wasn’t something he shared with anyone. He worked from home–or at least, that’s what he told people, but other times he was known to disappear from the building for weeks, if not months at a time, only to appear later like nothing had happened. Barry, you see, was a sorcerer, with a rather specific focus. He loved sex, and he loved nothing more than using his magical ability to corrupt other men until they loved it just as much as he did. In his apartment, he would refine his spells and enchantments, and then when they were ready for real world testing, he would choose a different city somewhere in the world, and, well, binge. He’d fuck men for days on end, warping them all in the process, and only when he was fully spent did he return home to relax, recharge, and prepare a new collection of ideas for his next journey.

But this couldn’t have fallen at a worse time. Barry had just prepared all of his travel arrangements, only for everything to be cancelled, every international city shut down entirely, and now he was here in his apartment, spells and enchantments at the ready, with no one to use them on. He gave a great huff and settled deeper into his leather couch, and looked over at the window–now what in the world was he supposed to do?

Above him, he heard the creak of bed springs–the young couple who had moved in there earlier this month were obviously occupying themselves well enough. Barry scowled–not only was he literally cockblocked by a virus, he had to be taunted by the constant noise of sex all around him in the building–that he owned, in fact. He went over to his scrying pool out of curiosity, and summoned an image of the couple above him–and was surprised that it was a gay couple, in fact. Now this was more interesting. Still, it didn’t do much for him…but then, what if he…

He looked over at the collection of enchanted items, spell scrolls, curses and the like in his luggage. He never used his spells at home–it was too risky. But he was so damn horny…why not just this once, spread his goods around to his neighbors here? He smiled, and started unpacking his goods and services. It was dangerous, but he was horny enough that he didn’t care. Pretty soon, the apartment building would be a lot more interesting, when he was done with it.

***

The couple above Barry had no idea what the sorcerer below them was plotting–they had found that quarantine had done wonders for their physical intimacy, because what else were they going to do with their time? Before this, Ian and Francis had spent most of their free time organizing parties with their other friends (parties they called them, but really, orgies was more precise) or going out to the various gay bars around the city. Without that to occupy them, and with both of their jobs scaling back work, they found that the easiest way to pass the time was to fuck.

With a groan, Ian blew a load of cum into his boyfriend’s hole, and collapsed on top of him, huffing a bit. He rolled off, and Francis rolled over, cuddling with him for a bit in bed. “Fuck, I miss the gym,” Francis said, and Ian chuckled.

“Just a few more weeks, right?”

“The news said it might be months.”

“Fuck, seriously?”

“I don’t know. I never thought that the most social thing going on in my life was going to be going to the grocery store.”

“Gonna have to work out here just so we don’t look like a couple of flabs when we get out of here finally,” Ian said, and then he noticed an odd smell. Looking over, he saw Francis holding a cigar in his hands. He was about to ask his boyfriend where that had come from, when he brought his own cigar up to his lips, and took a drag off of it, the sudden nicotine rush pushing the confusion from his mind.

The two twinks got up from bed, still smoking their new cigars, and went to go watch some TV. On the couch, with Ian sitting on it, and Francis sitting on the floor between his legs, they kept smoking, the cigars never getting smaller, and changes starting to appear on their bodies. Both of them were getting hairier, and over the course of half an hour, Francis went from having a smooth face incapable of growing a beard, to the somewhat thick, salty beard across his face.

The smoke was filling the apartment, turning into a thick fog–and everything it touched began to shift and change. The couch grew older and more threadbare. The stylish art hung on the walls became pictures of cowboys and rednecks in various states of undress. It drifted into the closet, and their suits began to contort and shift into flannel, jeans, and leather gear.

It wasn’t long before the two new cigar daddies were making out on the floor, feeding each other smoke, holding their cinders to each other cocks, balls and nips, smearing each other with their ash. But then, just as the cigars had appeared before, they disappeared from their hands, leaving Ian and Francis lying in a dirty heap, wondering what had come over them.

“Come on then, my new cigar daddies–let’s have some fun, eh?”

They looked over, and there was Barry on the couch, smoking a massive cigar in his leather gear, and the two old men crawled over and started servicing him–Ian worshiping his cock, and Francis his leather boots, both of them taking turns eating their downstairs neighbor’s ash, the curse tightening around them both, squeezing out the old Francis and Ian, and replacing them entirely, with a couple of old cowboy queers living in the city, working in construction, smoking cigars from the moment they woke up until they went to bed. After a day, Barry was spent, and returned home–deeply satisfied with the result.

The Janitor’s Revenge

Gonna go ahead and skip the Patron only step of this, since it’s been a while since I posted something. Life is crazy! Work is especially crazy–it’s a good time to be in the grocery business, but I’m exhausted. I still have commissions that I’m working on, mostly because I need the extra money to make ends meet for a while. I don’t quite know when I’ll get back to “normal” content, or a more regular schedule, but I’m doing what I can. Special thanks to everyone supporting me on Patreon as well, as always. Stay healthy everyone!

It was strange being back after so long. Mark had thought it would be easier, but if anything, it had only revealed just how raw everything still was inside of him. He’d thought he’d moved on. The job paid well, it had good benefits. But right there, in that shower, he’d sucked Assistant Coach Anderson’s cock that first time after practice, that one act which had set everything else in motion–and now he was back here, twenty-five years later, mopping the same tile floor as the college’s newest member of the janitorial staff.

Twenty five years after he’d been pulled into a relationship with his coach, been outed by a professor on campus, and expelled by an assistant dean–after the coach had thrown him under the bus, told everyone that Mark had seduced him, which was a fucking lie, but it had saved his own reputation at the expense of Mark’s. He’d been a good player, but after that, he had nothing–bouncing between dead end jobs and dead end relationships. Now, in his forties with nothing to show for it aside from a bunch of hurt he’d never had the liberty to process, he was trying to keep himself from a panic attack in the middle of the locker room. It hadn’t been fair. It had been the 90’s though. AIDS was still all over the news. Every gay man was a predator. Now, all he wanted to do was survive.

“Why survive, when you could have revenge though?”

The voice caught Mark off guard, and he spun around in the shower, but no one was behind him.

“Up here man, hey!”

He looked up, and there, clinging to one of the shower heads was a small green creature. It was fat, it’s body covered in blisters and seeping who knew what onto the floor below him, eyes black with pinprick pupils of red. “What…what the fuck are you?”

The little creature laughed, and burst apart into a cloud of green gas. It flowed past Mark’s face, and he caught a whiff of one of the most horrendous scents he’d ever smelled in his life–something between a fart, the worst body odor he’d ever smelled, and the filthiest bathhouse he’d ever had to clean. The creature rematerialized on his shoulder, and the smell came with it, invading Mark’s nose, and he could feel it eroding his mind somehow, making him…sleepy? No, not sleepy exactly, but the more he smelled it, the more relaxed he became, and the less he minded the stench at all.

“You know man, I never thought I’d see you here again. What a reunion! I was just a little spec of filth when you were blowing that guy in here. Shame what happened to you, real fuckin’ shame. Those three guys, you know? They all still work here. I see ‘em on occasion, especially that coach of yours.”

It was true–Mark had learned that already. The assistant dean was now the dean of students. The professor was now the head of the business department. The assistant coach was now head coach of the football and wrestling teams. “Yeah…I know…” Mark managed to say, but the words felt sluggish and heavy in his mouth.

“You know, we could help each other out. I know what you really want man–you want revenge, don’t you? And me, well, I wanna get out of this place. It’s great, in some ways you know. Lot’s of filth to feed on, but I know I could do more–we could do more together, what do ya say?” The demon flicked it’s tail under Mark’s nose, then grabbed the zipper on his coveralls, and rode it down to Mark’s crotch, where it clung, groping his hardening cock. “Come on man, what have ya got to lose? Let me in–we’ll have so much fun. Those three fucks won’t know what hit them.”

Mark knew that something was wrong with this. The demon worked on him for a while longer, tempting him, bringing him to his knees on the floor of the shower, the demon’s stench working it’s way deeper and deeper into Mark’s brain, until all he could think about was how much he loved it–that, and how much he wanted to cum. The demon kept him on the edge for close to an hour, until Mark was begging him for release.

“Let me in Mark,” the demon said, “Let me in, and I’ll let you cum. It’ll be better than any orgasm you’ve ever had–trust me. Once I’m inside of you, you’ll feel like a brand new man. Then, we can show those fucks who wronged you what kind of men they really are. So say it. Say the words Mark, say the words…”

“Please…please get…get inside me, just let me cum, please…” Mark muttered, eyes distant and delirious.

The demon cackled, turned into gas, went around behind Mark, and he felt something forcing its way inside his ass. He fell forward onto his hands and knees with a groan, as the demon pushed inside, and while it hurt, it also felt so good–his cock exploded all over the tile floor without him even touching it. After a few minutes, it was over–Mark, lightheaded and confused, stumbled upright, and looked down at his bloated stomach, then stumbled over to the mirrors in the locker room. He looked…mostly right. Except his eyes. His eyes hadn’t been that…sickly shade of green before, had they?

Don’t worry about it, Mark. You feel good, don’t you? Strong? Powerful? Hungry?

It wasn’t his voice in his head–it was the demon, but he was right. He did feel…good, and also hungry. His gut rumbling, he went back to where he’d shot his cum on the floor, got down, and licked it all up, while the demon kept whispering to him, telling him his entire plan. It was a good plan. Mark knew it would work–all he’d have to do is trust his new friend and do everything he said–and everything would turn out just fine.

“Got something to show you in the showers, Coach.”

Ralph Anderson crumpled the note he’d found on the door to his office after practice, and frowned. He hadn’t planned anything with one of the guys on the team today, had he? Maybe one of them was feeling a bit frisky, and wanted to blow off some steam, or something else. In any case, Ralph never objected to getting his rocks off–so he headed for the locker room to see who was inviting him.

He wasn’t the young, muscular fellow he’d been twenty-five years ago, when he’d been hired as an assistant coach, but the years had been kind for the most part. He was still plenty muscular, but could finally sport the beard he’d always wanted when he was younger. The guys on the team certainly appreciated–or at least the ones who liked to call him daddy. It wasn’t good to be an out athlete still, not if you wanted to go pro, but Ralph had always been willing to help his boys find an outlet. He’d never tell, after all.

He stripped down when he got in the locker room, headed into the shower, and stopped right in his tracks. It wasn’t one of his boys waiting for him at all. In fact, the coach had no idea who this fellow was–obviously a janitor, given the boots and coveralls he was wearing, but…or wait, did he know that face?

“Hey Ralph, it’s been a while,” Mark said, and smirked at him, his bright green eyes shimmering in the half lit locker room. “Thought you might fancy a reunion with your first.”

“M-Mark? Is that really you?” Ralph said, and looked at him closer. The years hadn’t been kind to him. While he still had some of his muscle, Mark had put on a sizable beer gut in the last few years, but as he watched, the gut squirmed a bit, and seemed to…inflate slightly, while Mark let off a loud fart. Now that he knew who it was though, Ralph could recognize him, even through the beard, the grimy looking uniform…and his rather captivating green eyes that Ralph was having a hard time looking away from.

“Come on over here Coach, don’t you miss me?”

“Look, Mark…I…I’m sorry for what happened. I…I didn’t mean…” Ralph kept stumbling over his words, the scent of Mark’s fart drifting towards him, sliding up his nose and into his brain, his own eyes picking up a figment of the green shimmer in Mark’s own.

“It’s alright Ralph. Why don’t you come on over here, and you can say sorry properly.”

Ralph didn’t want to come any closer. Some part of him knew that there was something wrong with Mark, with this whole situation. But while he tried to keep his feet planted, instead, they started shuffling him forward, bit by bit, deeper into the shower, Mark beckoning him closer. The smell grew more and more intense, and Ralph found himself disgusted by it–but the more he smelled it, the harder it became to think about anything else, the harder it was becoming to think at all.

“That’s it, down on your knees, Coach,” Mark said, and pushed him down, while his other hand unzipped the front of his coveralls, pushed them off his shoulders, and then Mark turned around. “Go on Coach, give me a kiss. Show me how sorry you are.” He bent over, pushing his ass into Ralph’s face, and before he could work up the will to pull away, Mark unleashed another fart. Ralph didn’t have a chance–the stench was so direct and so powerful, that the rest of his mind shut down. When Mark stood up and turned around, the older coach was on his knees, listing a bit, drool running out of his mouth, his eyes shimmering green. “There we go, Coach, doesn’t that feel better now?”

The coach nodded slowly.

“You know Coach, you really did me wrong back then. You know that, don’t you? And now…now I know all about your other boys. You feel bad about what you did you me then, don’t you? You’ll do whatever you can to make it up.”

“Yes…Mark.”

“No, you don’t get to call me that anymore. From now on, you call me Master.”

“Yes, Master.”

“That’s much better. It feels good to submit to me. It feels good being my slave. The only way you can get my forgiveness, which you want so badly, is to submit yourself to me. To become my willing, eager slave. Do you understand, Coach?”

He nodded.

“What do you want to be, Coach?”

“Your…slave Sir. I want to make up for my mistakes Sir. I want to serve you…forever Sir…”

“Kiss your Master’s ass, slave.”

Ralph leaned in and planted a kiss right on Mark’s ass, the small part of him left inside screaming desperately, but it no longer had any power. Soon, it wouldn’t even exist.

“Good slave, now get down and kiss my dirty boots. Lick them clean.”

They spent the next few hours alone in the shower, Mark having his new coach slave worship his entire body lovingly, feeding him another blast of gas whenever his hold on him began to diminish. They ended up with the coach lying on the tile floor, Mark’s bare foot pressed against his mouth, while the coach jacked off, pledging his life and eternal obedience to his new Master while he serviced his feet, knowing that this was where he belonged, where he had always belonged. He’d been wandering, lost, these twenty-five years, looking for other young men to fill the hole that he’d always known could only be filled by one person. By his Master. Now, he had him again. He’d do everything he could to keep him happy, anything he could to service him. 

“Once you cum, Slave, you know what that means, right? It means you’ll be mine forever–mind, body, and soul. You’ll never be able to disobey an order from me. You will want to be with me, servicing my body all the time, because it is the only thing that will bring you the filthy pleasure you so desire from now on. Shoot slave–I want to see you cover yourself in your seed!”

With a groan that echoed in the entire locker room, Ralph’s cock exploded all over himself, and when it did, he felt the gas inside him–the presence that the gas was, perhaps–bind itself to his mind, and to his will. He could…feel it. He knew he should be horrified, but all he felt was a tremendous peace. That, and a raging lust he could barely describe for his Master standing over him. “Get dressed coach–let’s go home. We have plans to make.”

“Yes Master,” Ralph said, got up, put his clothes on, and followed Mark out into the night, ready and eager to serve.

Luke Marshall had been working late in his office like usual, and was now on the way out of the building where he worked as the head of the business department. It hadn’t been an easy road here for him, especially since when he’d been hired, back in the early 90’s, he’d been only one of two black professors on the entire campus. He was tall and thin, and known around campus for being an uncompromising fellow–rules were there for a reason, as were morals. Violating either category was a sure way to get on his bad side, and if you were there, well, it was best to just switch majors entirely, rather than try and sway him. It was that conservative streak that had buoyed him this high, however, through any number of trials. He did have his share of secrets, however–and a fair number of hypocrisies he kept locked away tight in his chest, but after so long, it felt entirely natural. He had no reason to expect, as he slipped out of the building and started towards the parking lot, that one of those old secrets, and hypocrisies, was waiting for him.

The quickest path to the lot included an alley between two dorms set rather close together. As he was about to exit the dimly lit corridor, someone stepped out in front of him–no one he could recognize immediately. With the light behind them, they just looked like a looming, broad shouldered shadow. He took a step back in fright, and after a moment, realized who it was–Ralph Anderson, one of the school’s coaches.

“Oh! Ralph…you surprised me…” he said, feeling his cheeks heat with a little blush. Thankfully, against his skin and in the night, the coach wouldn’t be able to see it. Ralph had always…inspired certain feelings in him that Luke had struggled to contain. It had led him, before, to rash decisions. “How…how are you doing? Heading home?”

Ralph stepped forward, more into the light, and Luke realized that something was off about him. The coach’s usually clean shaven face was sporting a thick layer of stubble. His clothes looked rather dirty as well, and when the breeze shifted, Luke caught a whiff of the powerful musk rolling off the coach’s body. Then, there were the eyes. Ralph’s blue eyes had always been a favorite feature of Luke’s–but tonight they were green, and in the dark, they seemed almost like they held a shifting light of their own. “Just out for a walk, is all,” Ralph said, “Fancy running into you though–you know, I have a friend who’s been wanting a word with you, Luke…”

Luke stepped back, and Ralph matched him, pace for pace, until he was backed against the wall. “Ralph, you’re scaring me…”

“Don’t be afraid. Master…he just wants an apology is all. You’ll understand, I promise, everything will be so much better soon…”

Ralph tried to grab him, but Luke had always been quick on his nimble feet, and his thin frame allowed him to slip away before the coach could grab him. Luke took off at a sprint, his long legs carrying him to the parking lot while the coach chased after him–he unlocked the door to his car, climbed in–but before he could even start it up, he heard someone shift in the back seat–and let loose a massive fart. In the rearview mirror, he saw someone sitting there, with the same glowing green eyes Ralph had–and then the stench hit him like a brick. Choking, he clawed at the door handle, but Ralph was there, holding the door shut, leering at him through the window, as the stink weakened his resistances.

“Fuck, that smells good,” Mark said, and let another fart rip, “Gonna get it nice and stinky in here–I think you’re gonna be a bit harder to break than Coach was out there. Just relax, take some deep breaths–you won’t mind it in a few minutes, trust me, Professor Marshall.”

That voice–he knew that voice! How could it be? In the mirror, the fat old stinking man in the backseat looked nothing like Mark–but it had to be, it made too much sense. Luke made a half hearted plea, but his mind was already beginning to go empty, his clawing only half-hearted, and then he was gone, Mark whispering in his ear as Ralph climbed in the passenger seat, and together they started working on their newest victim.

The demon knew the whole story, you see. That Luke had reported Mark and Ralph because he had been lusting after the coach himself. Well, now, he could have him. All he’d have to do is pledge his eternal loyalty to Mark, promise to become his utter slave, and he could have the man he’d always wanted in his heart. It took a while, breaking down all of those morals and rules that Luke had constructed to keep himself standing tall, but before long, he understood how good it could feel to give in. His face buried in Ralph’s musky pit, sucking on his big cock while Ralph urged him on, telling him how good it would be, both of them together, filthy, utterly devoted to their master. At last, Luke came, filling the front of his pants with a load while he worshiped Ralph’s muscular body, the coach urging him on, and in the backseat, Mark just laughed, and smiled–two down, and only one more to go. Then, his revenge would be complete.

Edward Willis didn’t know how this week could get any worse. First, Coach Anderson, after acting strangely for a day, had disappeared from campus. No one had seen him, and he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. Then, a couple days later, Professor Marshall, after working late one night, hadn’t returned to class the next day, and was just as missing as the coach. There had to be some sort of connection, didn’t there? The police were no help, and the press had caught wind of the story now too–this could be a scandal, and Edward had no patience for a scandal right now. What he wanted was answers.

Exhausted from fielding phone calls all morning, he hefted his substantial bulk up from the chair behind his desk, and headed for the bathroom to take a piss. The administrative wing bathroom was usually empty, but today there was a janitor mopping the floor–Edward didn’t take any notice of him, as he headed for the urinal–until the man let loose a massive fart right behind him. Edward was about to tear into him…but something else happened instead. It was hard to recall exactly, but the next thing he recalled clearly, he was alone in the bathroom, the scent of the man’s gas still lingering in the air…and when he looked down, he realized he’d pissed his slacks.

His face turned bright red with embarrassment. He couldn’t let anyone see this! He had to get home immediately and change. Without saying a word to anyone, he took the back stairs, got to his car in the lot, and drove off–but while he had every intention of driving home, he instead found himself driving somewhere else. He found himself growing more and more distressed, the further from his house he got, but he couldn’t figure out how to make himself turn around–there was somewhere he had to go, somewhere important. Somewhere…he could get answers.

He ended up parking back behind a rundown looking bar, a place he had never been to in his life. It was early in the afternoon, and doubtful the place would be open–but he went to the front, knocked, and after a couple of moments, it opened up–and the person who greeted him was none other than Coach Anderson, dressed up like a grungy looking bouncer. He stepped aside without a word, and Edward entered the rather cramped space–behind the bar, sure enough, there was Professor Marshall as well, wearing nothing more than a jockstrap and a leather harness strapped tightly around his lanky frame, getting the place cleaned up. 

“Master’s waiting for you in the bathroom–you’re already late,” Ralph said in a gruff voice, and shoved Edward towards the back of the bar, where there was a sign for a restroom, and inside, waiting for him, was the same janitor from the bathroom at school. 

“What…what is this? What am I doing here?” Edward demanded, and the janitor just smiled.

“You’re almost late for work, is what you are,” Mark said, leering at him. “You didn’t forget your new job already, did you?”

With those words, a crash of memories returned to Edward–how just that morning–after running into the janitor in the bathroom–he’d put his resignation in with the university, effective immediately. How he’d known that he had a new job starting here, this afternoon. How…how he was going to be working as a urinal, here in the bar from now on…wasn’t he? “M…Master, what’s going on? I don’t…I don’t understand what’s happening?” Edward muttered, as he stripped off his suit, still soaked with piss, and got on his knees next to the trough, while Mark handcuffed him to two rings screwed into the wall. 

“Here, I know what will help my little piss pig out,” Mark said, turned around, and let off a massive fart right in Edward’s face–and with his hands bound, there was nowhere he could run as the stench assaulted him, and he remembered more. How he…he loved piss more than anything. How he was nothing more than a fat, old piss pig, luck enough to have a job doing exactly what he loved, at the filthiest gay bar in town. 

Mark got down and started working Edward’s cock, helping him settle into his new role, and he called in his bouncer and bartender to give the new urinal his first loads of piss that evening–juts tasting the stuff sent Edward into a sexual frenzy, and without even touching his cock, he exploded, cum puddling below him as his eyes turned the same bright green as the other three, his mind rotting away inside his mind until all that remained of the dean was a snorting, grunting, piss-starved glutton, aching and begging for more from his Master–who gave him a load of his own.

Inside, the demon smiled–this is exactly what he’d needed, a new place to grow, and thrive. The locker room had been…a delight, but there would be so much more opportunity here, especially with four thralls at his disposal. He would spread his filth all across the city, into as many men as he could. Mark had had his revenge, at last, and the demon had what it longed for as well–power, and a kingdom of his own.

A New Teddy

Toby got his keys out of his pocket and hoped that his roommate, Kyle, wouldn’t be home tonight. It was a silly hope really, because Kyle almost never left their apartment if he could help it, but given the fact that Kyle had brought up rent again with him this morning, Toby was really hoping to avoid that conversation if he could help it.

Toby had been in a bit of a bind, earlier this year. Between going to school as a full time student and trying to juggle two jobs, he’d been struggling to find somewhere to live, hoping from roommate situation to roommate situation, all of them terrible for various reasons. In the midst of this, he had met Kyle one night, a friend of a friend, and Kyle had rather generously offered to let Toby live in his apartment with him rent free. 

When he’d met him, Toby had assumed that Kyle was maybe a few years older than him–all he’d known about him was that he’d graduated from his college a earlier than him. It wasn’t until he’d moved in that he’d learned Kyle was actually in his thirties, which made the fact that he still hung around college kids a little stranger, but he was in too deep to worry too much about it. Kyle worked from home as a tech consultant with several large firms and raked in a ton of money, but while he could have gotten a larger place, he didn’t. Just a modest two bedroom apartment. Instead he spent the rest of his money on three things–video games, porn, and weed. That, and friends when he was out. Going to the bar with him, it was easy to understand why Kyle was so popular with kids on campus, especially when he found out he also helped them score fake IDs on occasion.

Of course, Toby didn’t know any of this about him when Kyle had suggested this. At the time, it had seemed like an amazing opportunity, and in all honesty, it still was. Even though Kyle was a total slob, had no real sense of privacy, was about as inconsiderate of a roommate as you could find–at the end of the day the place was free! Free could grease a lot of wheels, and help you put up with a lot of bullshit. The problem now was that it wasn’t going to be free anymore.

Apparently, Kyle had been dropped by a client the month before, and while he had a few new ones lined up for the near future, his income had taken a bit of a hit. He’d asked Toby to start chipping in on rent this month–the only problem, was that it was also the start of the quarter. Toby had spent all of his money on books and supplies for his classes before Kyle had dropped this little nugget on him. He might have been able to swing it, but Toby had lost one of his jobs a few months before, and had almost no cash to spare. He’d tried to explain all of this to Kyle, of course, hoping he’d be understanding, but while he’d been nice enough, he had put his foot down. He wanted 500 dollars a month, no question about it. 

Now, Toby was officially past due, and Kyle, while still friendly, was being insistent. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, and found his roommate there on the couch, snacking and gaming away like he always was. Kyle was not a particularly handsome fellow. He weighed almost 400 pounds, was covered in hair, and wore almost nothing around the apartment. They were both gay, but Toby wasn’t interested in him, and Kyle had never suggested they have sex–though from the sounds of things in his room, Kyle got off several times a day by himself. He had a thick neckbeard, wore big chunky glasses, and always seemed to have an acne problem. He showered rarely, and so always had a cloud of musk following him, as well as the constant smell of weed. Not ideal–but it had been free, and desperation could convince you to tolerate a lot.

“Hey man, how was the day?” Kyle asked as he took his shoes off at the door.

“It was alright I guess, just long,” Toby said, “I’m gonna get to bed, I have an early class tomorrow.”

“Sure thing. Hey, you got that rent man? You’re a few days late, and you owe me.”

Toby gulped–no such luck. “Look, Kyle, any chance I could start paying you next month? The quarter just started, and I had to buy supplies already.”

Kyle paused the game, looked over his shoulder, and stared Toby down across the room. “Man, you owe me. If you can’t pay rent, then you’re going to have to pay me some other way.” The stare was…intense. Toby had never seen Kyle look like that, ever, and he was a bit creeped out by it. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Kyle turned around and returned to his game, and said nothing else. Toby took his bag to his room, set it down, and figured he’d have to come up with the money somehow–there just wasn’t much of a choice. Five hundred was still cheap–and when Kyle found a new client, maybe he’d let Kyle stay for free again. Hopefully. Or maybe he should find some other place. Kyle was generous, but living with him was a pain. If it wasn’t going to be free, he should just ditch him. 

Toby did some reading for his class in the morning, and then got ready for bed. Kyle didn’t say anything to him when he left his room to use the bathroom, and all he could think about was Kyle’s weird stare. Yeah–he was done here. Figure out a way to pay him, and then get the hell out of here as soon as he could. He’d obviously overstayed his welcome. He climbed into bed, and it wasn’t long before he was sound asleep.

But sometime in the middle of the night, he woke up. He wasn’t sure what had disturbed him–a sound, something touching him, or even just a bad feeling–but he opened his eyes, and found something looming over him in the dark. “Fuck Kyle, what the fuck are you doing in my room?” he asked, reached over and turned on the light he had on his nightstand, but it wasn’t Kyle standing there–it was a giant teddy bear.

It was easily seven feet tall, and larger than any man Toby had ever seen before. He had no idea what it was doing there, and it was just standing over his bed, looking down at him. The strangest part was that the bear’s front had a massive rip down the front, and the inside was…hollow. There was no stuffing inside of him, and yet somehow the bear was standing up perfectly fine. It had to be some kind of prank or something by Kyle, right? Was this because he wouldn’t pay him rent? What kind of weirdo did something like this anyway? The bear was standing between him and the door. He got up out of the bed, and the bear slowly moved with him, his beady eyes following him as he moved. Was Kyle controlling the thing? Was he inside it? He couldn’t be inside of it–the thing was empty! Toby didn’t want anything else to do with this place–he’d move out tomorrow, he didn’t care where he’d go, but before he could get out of his room, the bear grabbed him from behind in a hug, and started stuffing him into it’s hollow body, through the rip in it’s guts.

Toby screamed and tried to pull away, but thick threads from inside the bear’s body shot out, wrapped their way around his hands and arms, and tugged them backwards, drawing them up into the bear’s own arms. More threads wound their way around Toby’s neck, choking him, forcing his head up into the bear’s head, while the bear’s arms, with his own arms inside of them, hoisted up his legs and dropped them inside the bear’s cavity. Still screaming, he looked down and saw that the threads were zipping across the cavity, sewing him up inside the bear’s body while he struggled to get free. 

As soon as the cavity was stitched up, everything went dark–and then, the fluff that had been mysterious absent inside the bear’s body began to appear. It started at the feet, crowding in around Toby’s legs, and began to fill up in a matter of moments. At first he could still move around a bit, but the more fluff there was, the harder it was for him to move at all–and soon the pressure became crushing–more intense than should have been possible from light fluff like this. It was like the skin of the bear was starting to shrink, pressing in against him on all sides, the fluff pushing up to his neck, and then above his neck, and then surrounding his entire head, choking him. He held his breath for as long as he could, tried to struggle, but he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs anymore. There was just…fluff, as the bear shrunk down further and further, choking him out, making it impossible to breathe. His tongue was like cotton. Was it that he couldn’t see, or had his eyes dissolved into the same fluff as the rest of him? “This has to be a dream,” was the last thing he thought to himself, clinging to that hope as he passed out…and then he woke up.

There was a moment of relief. It had just been a fucked up nightmare summoned from some deep part of his subconscious, and now, he was going to be ok. He was lying facedown in bed, his blanket on top of him, feeling very warm. Too warm, really. And there was a smell. Something familiar, but not a smell that should be in his room. Heady and musky, with a strong undertone of weed. It smelled like Kyle, he realized after a moment. The blanket was also too heavy. So heavy, that when he tried to roll over, he couldn’t. It was heavy, and warm, and…and was it growling? There was a sound, wasn’t there? Like a growl. Or like a snore.

Whatever was lying on top of him, he quickly discovered it was too heavy for him to move, or to get out from under. He felt so weak somehow, and his arms and legs felt numb, probably from whatever was pressing down on him. It wasn’t long before he started to panic and squirmed harder, and he finally felt the bulk pressing down on him shift. It wasn’t a blanket–whatever it was, it was alive.

“Oh, looks like someone decided to wake up.” It was Kyle’s voice, groggy with sleep. Toby tried to get his arms and legs to work, to roll himself over, but all he could do was flail awkwardly–his limbs refused to work right, and he couldn’t seem to bend them in any sort of helpful direction. A massive hand gripped his arm and turned him over, and now that he was lying face up, he found himself staring up at a massive Kyle. How on earth did he get so damn big, and why couldn’t he move right? “You make a much cuter bear that a person,” Kyle said, “Here, let me show you. You’re probably a little confused.”

Kyle grabbed him by the arm again, and this time lifted Toby into the air like he weighed nothing to him. As he swung Toby around, all Toby felt was a tremendous sense of vertigo. He was in Kyle’s room, but the room was huge! It clicked then–it wasn’t that Kyle had grown, or that his room was big. It was that Toby was suddenly much, much smaller. Kyle’s hands gripped him around his belly, and he held Toby up in front of a mirror, and as hard as Toby tried to scream, no sound came out of his mouth. He was looking in the mirror at Kyle holding a stuffed teddy bear. He was probably about two and a half feet tall, with a big fuzzy gut, glass eyes, and a smile stitched across his face. He was the stuffed teddy bear! The dream–it had been real! He tried his hardest to squirm out of Kyle’s grip, but all he could do was flail awkwardly, stuffed arms swinging to and fro, legs pumping the air. The effect was rather cute–and hopeless.

“You know, it’s dangerous, owing a warlock something,” Kyle said. “The rules say I can’t do anything to cause harm to a person–unless they owe me a debt of some kind. And you, Toby, owed me for rent. In exchange, you get to be my new bear–I finally wore out my last one.”

Toby knew what Kyle was talking about–he’d seen the ragged old bear that Kyle slept with a few times, as well as the shelf of other old bears above his bed. 

“You though–I thought I’d try a few new things with you. You’re the best model yet, I think. Why don’t we take you for a spin?” 

Kyle set him down on the bed, sitting up, and before he could try and do anything, Kyle reached behind him, tugged on a cord hanging off his back, and pulled it away from him. It began to retract, and without knowing how it was happening, Toby heard himself start talking. “Kyle! Kyle, what the fuck did you do to me? Change me back, I’ll get you the money, I’ll figure…it…out…I…” The cord ran out, and Toby’s voice ran down. It hadn’t sounded like he was really speaking, more like some recording coming out of his chest. 

“Oh yeah, that’s hot…Gonna love hearing you moan, Teddy, while I’m on top of you, with my cock buried in your tight little ass…” 

Kyle came closer, reached down, and started rubbing a few fingers across Toby’s fuzzy crotch. Toby’s bear body didn’t have a cock or balls or anything, but as soon as Kyle touched him, his whole mind was suddenly awash with pleasure. Kyle kept rubbing, and with his other hand, pulled on Toby’s drawstring again. “Oh fuck, why the fuck does that feel so fucking good? It feels like I’m about to cum, fuck, it…almost…hurts…”

“Don’t worry Teddy, I don’t want you to suffer. You’re going to be making me so happy, you know? I’ve never really liked…people. They’re too complicated, and they never do what I want them to do, not really. But you’re not a person anymore–you’re just my special Teddy.”

Kyle flipped Toby over, and laid him on the edge of his bed so that his legs were hanging off, and his teddy bear ass was exposed. He felt something press against the fuzz, and then it pushed inside of him, and again, a burst of pleasure pushed everything else from Toby’s mind. “Oh fuck! I never made a teddy with an actual hole before–always just made a little rip, but fuck, this is fucking nice…” Kyle muttered, as he slid his cock in and out of the silicone sheath implanted in Toby’s stuffed ass. “How does it feel Teddy? You like having your master’s cock inside your furry bear hole? You want me to fill you up with a big load of cum, get that stuffing of yours all sticky with my load?”

Kyle pulled the drawstring, and again, Toby’s voice came out of the bear’s body, “Oh fuck! Of fuck, that feels so fucking good, oh god, oh fucking…god…”

“I’m your fucking god now, Teddy. I own your stuffed ass, and you’re going to be taking all of my fucking loads from now on.”

Toby felt betrayed by his own voice somehow. When Kyle pulled the string, it wasn’t what he wanted to say that came out, exactly. It was…it was more like something speaking through him, using his voice, mocking him. It did feel good, that was true. It felt almost too good. The more Kyle fucked him, in fact, that pleasure was building–but there was no outlet. It felt so good he ached. It felt so good that it felt like every other part of his mind was going to be crushed by it. He wanted to cum. That’s what it really felt like. Like he’d been edging himself for an hour, and now was trying so hard to get himself over the edge, but no matter what he did, nothing would happen. He didn’t have a cock anymore, after all. Could he even have an orgasm? If this is what it felt like to get fucked now? It felt like just having an orgasm would tear his mind to shreds. He both craved it, and also didn’t know if he’d even be able to survive it. Chances were, it would just drive him mad if it lasted much longer.

He didn’t have to worry for much longer, in any case. After a few more thrusts, Kyle drove his cock in deep, head popping out the other end of the sheath, deep in Toby’s guts, and unleashed a torrent of cum into his stuffing. Toby could feel it in there, gooping everything together, and a moment later, he felt something else. A warmth suffusing his entire body, from his flailing arms, to his face, to his fat, fuzzy feet. Everything was getting hazy somehow. Like…Like he was getting high off of Kyle’s cum. But the pleasure was still there–aching inside him. Dulled now, but still so frustrating, and when Kyle pulled his cock free, it didn’t help. Instead, he just felt so fucking empty. He felt a tug on his back, and Kyle pulled the drawstring again, and that voice–so close to his own, but twisted somehow, came out of him: “Oh fuck Master, fuck me some more, your dirty toy feels so empty, please…I…need…your…c-ock…”

“Oh don’t worry you stupid bear, you’ll get more later. How’s it feel, Teddy? You feeling good? Don’t you like the way my cum makes you feel? You were always such a wet blanket, you know that? Complaining about how much weed I was smoking in the apartment. It’s my fucking apartment, you know? Well, I thought this might help you loosen up a bit, get you feeling really good, all day long. Or at least for a few hours at a time. Once it dries, you’re going to start jonsing for another fuck. You’re going to need me inside you whether you like it or not. For now though, I need to smoke something myself, and then it’s time for some breakfast.”

Kyle got up to go find his weed and eat something, abandoning Toby on the bed. This was his chance, right? Maybe…he could escape somehow. Get help. But his high was only growing more intense, his vision starting to swirl, and he was still so weak. He tried to manipulate his body as best he could, but all he managed to do was fall off the edge of the bed and land on the floor. It didn’t hurt, thankfully, but on his back there was nothing he could do, other than stare at the ceiling spinning around him, feel the dull ache of his groin, Kyle’s cum slowly drying inside of him. He came down after about an hour, and Kyle was right–he did feel terrible. The ache in his crotch hadn’t lessened one little bit, and he felt…hungry, of all things. Hungry for cum. Hungry for Kyle’s cum. It was eating away at his guts, and there was nothing he could do, aside from lay there on the floor of Kyle’s bedroom, next to a pair of dirty underwear, smelling his musk rolling off of them. He had to get a handle on himself, but as soon as Kyle came back into the room, all he felt was relief at the sight of him.

Kyle fucked him again, slower this time, relishing it, pulling on Toby’s drawstring over and over, making his little stuffed bear beg for his mercy, beg for his cum, promise to be a good little toy forever and ever. Toby hated hearing his voice saying those things, but the more he heard them, he found them growing more and more true in his heart–or what remained of his heart. Kyle came again, and left his bear there to enjoy his high while Kyle got some work done. From where he was lying on the bed, on his back, he could look up and see the other bears on the shelf. Earlier, they had been sitting there, looking straight ahead, but now they were all leaning forward, looking down at him.

Were they jealous? Probably. Kyle wouldn’t put him up there, right? No–of course he wouldn’t. Toby was the best model yet–and…and as long as he kept his Master happy, he’d keep getting his cum, and he’d be able to stave off the ache for a little while longer. Toby caught himself, horrified at what he’d been thinking. He had to get out of this somehow–someone would come looking for him right? At the school? His family? But no one ever came. Day after day, they all passed the same for Toby, or Teddy, as Kyle called him, and Toby started calling himself that too.

The first year was great–or as great as it could be for a fucktoy like him. Then, during a rough session one evening, his drawstring broke, and Teddy never spoke again. Kyle didn’t mind. It had been hot, but it didn’t really matter that much to him one way or another, and he just kept on using him, but he was a bit disappointed, and Teddy panicked–his voice was gone, but he was still there. Teddy was covered with stains now, lumpy and misshapen from all of his stuffing being stuck together with Kyle’s cum. One drunken night, Kyle pissed in him as well, and that…well, nothing could really get the smell off of him, and Teddy could tell that Kyle just wasn’t looking at him, or fucking him, like he used to. And then, there was someone new. A roommate, a guy named Terry. Then, Teddy knew. He knew that he was too dirty, too gross. He’d been worn out, and a few months later, he too was up on the shelf, and Kyle had a brand new teddy bear to play with instead, and all Teddy could do was sit there watch his beautiful Master plow his new bear’s hole, and ache. 

Early Access: A New Teddy

I have a new commissioned story up, and Patrons can access the full version of this story now over on my site! Otherwise, it’ll be posted publicly in a week or so. Here’s a taste, if you’re curious.

…Sometime in the middle of the night, Toby woke up. He wasn’t sure what had disturbed him–a sound, something touching him, or even just a bad feeling–but he opened his eyes, and found something looming over him in the dark. “Fuck Kyle, what the fuck are you doing in my room?” he asked, reached over and turned on the light he had on his nightstand, but it wasn’t Kyle standing there–it was a giant teddy bear.

It was easily seven feet tall, and larger than any man Toby had ever seen before. He had no idea what it was doing there, and it was just standing over his bed, looking down at him. The strangest part was that the bear’s front had a massive rip down the front, and the inside was…hollow. There was no stuffing inside of him, and yet somehow the bear was standing up perfectly fine. It had to be some kind of prank or something by Kyle, right? Was this because he wouldn’t pay him rent? What kind of weirdo did something like this anyway? The bear was standing between him and the door. He got up out of the bed, and the bear slowly moved with him, his beady eyes following him as he moved. Was Kyle controlling the thing? Was he inside it? He couldn’t be inside of it–the thing was empty! Toby didn’t want anything else to do with this place–he’d move out tomorrow, he didn’t care where he’d go, but before he could get out of his room, the bear grabbed him from behind in a hug, and started stuffing him into it’s hollow body, through the rip in it’s guts.

Toby screamed and tried to pull away, but thick threads from inside the bear’s body shot out, wrapped their way around his hands and arms, and tugged them backwards, drawing them up into the bear’s own arms. More threads wound their way around Toby’s neck, choking him, forcing his head up into the bear’s head, while the bear’s arms, with his own arms inside of them, hoisted up his legs and dropped them inside the bear’s cavity. Still screaming, he looked down and saw that the threads were zipping across the cavity, sewing him up inside the bear’s body while he struggled to get free. 

As soon as the cavity was stitched up, everything went dark–and then, the fluff that had been mysterious absent inside the bear’s body began to appear. It started at the feet, crowding in around Toby’s legs, and began to fill up in a matter of moments. At first he could still move around a bit, but the more fluff there was, the harder it was for him to move at all–and soon the pressure became crushing–more intense than should have been possible from light fluff like this. It was like the skin of the bear was starting to shrink, pressing in against him on all sides, the fluff pushing up to his neck, and then above his neck, and then surrounding his entire head, choking him. He held his breath for as long as he could, tried to struggle, but he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs anymore. There was just…fluff, as the bear shrunk down further and further, choking him out, making it impossible to breathe. His tongue was like cotton. Was it that he couldn’t see, or had his eyes dissolved into the same fluff as the rest of him? “This has to be a dream,” was the last thing he thought to himself, clinging to that hope as he passed out…and then he woke up.

Horny Hugh #1 (Commissioned Story)

Evan knocked on the door of Hugh’s apartment, and after a couple of moments, it opened up. Hugh looked through the crack of the door, and then pulled Evan inside and shut the door behind them both.

“What the hell is up with you?” Evan asked, “You spend all morning blowing up my phone, saying I have to come to your place, and you won’t even tell me why–now you’re yanking me around like this is some spy movie or something.”

Hugh was wearing a pair of sweatpants, which wasn’t unusual for him, and a hoodie with the hood up–which was definitely odd. He didn’t say anything right away–he and Evan had been friends for ages, and he was the only person he could possibly talk to about…well, about what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d woken up this morning. “Look, promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Dude, no one fucking says that unless what you’re about to show me is really fucking weird–now what’s going on? It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Hugh took a deep breath, and then he pushed the hood back, and showed Evan the horns that had appeared, growing out his temples, when he’d woken up this morning. They were small, or at least, that’s what Hugh had told himself all morning as he struggled to not freak out about it. They were about an inch tall, with a sharp point–not quite sharp enough to draw blood, unless he gave someone a hard headbutt with a running start or something.

“What the fuck?” Evan asked.

“Please–you’re the only person I could show this to, please, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” Hugh pleaded.

Evan was, he had to admit, a bit freaked out, but he was also, well, curious. He reached out to touch one, and Hugh pulled away. “What?”

“They’re…tender, is all.”

“Did it hurt?”

Hugh shrugged. “I…I had this dream. I don’t really remember it all that well, but…yeah, it hurt, in the dream, and when I woke up, I was thrashing in my bed, my pillow was torn to shreds, and I had these fucking things sticking out of my head. I don’t know what the hell to do–should…I mean, if I go to the hospital, are they just going to treat me like some kind of freak?”

“Can…Can I touch them? I’m just curious. I’ll be careful.”

Hugh bent his head down, and let his friend cautiously stroke one of the small horns with a finger. It wasn’t quite smooth, more like unsanded wood–but definitely bone. The flesh at the base was still a bit red and inflamed from what he could see, but it didn’t look like there was any infection.

Hugh, however, felt something rather strange when his friend touched them. Something he couldn’t quite explain. Thus far, aside from an ache around the horns where they’d burst through his skin in the early morning, they hadn’t really done anything–but when Evan touched them, he felt something. He felt connected to him for a moment–he could see…inside him, somehow. Just a flash, really, but it was disconcerting, and he pulled away after a moment.

“Did I hurt you?” Evan asked.

“No–No, I…would you take me to the hospital? I…I don’t want to go alone.”

Together, they left the apartment and Evan drove him to the hospital to get his new horns checked out, and on the way, all Hugh could think about was that strange sensation, how he’d almost been able to see Evan’s…thoughts. More than his thoughts though, deeper than that. Like…his dreams, or desires, or something like that. It had just been for a moment, but he hadn’t been able to focus on it for long, but it had been tantalizing, because he was sure he’d been about to see something that Evan had never told him about–and Evan didn’t keep many secrets from Hugh, about anything.

Evan and Hugh had known each other for years. They’d met in college, and when they’d graduated, they’d both stayed in the city, though they worked at different companies. Neither of them had been very lucky in love or relationships. They’d tried dating each other for a little while, but it hadn’t worked–thankfully, their friendship had been stronger than that little mistake, but they were still closer to each other than anyone else they knew in the city they lived in. Hugh though…he’d seen something…he didn’t know, there inside Evan. A secret even his friend had kept from him–hell, maybe even a secret he was keeping from himself. It was tantalizing. There in the waiting room, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wanting to see more, wondering if he could come up with some excuse to have Evan touch them again, so he could see it.

Thankfully, the oddity of his condition meant they didn’t have to wait long, and they were taken back to meet with a doctor. His horns were examined, samples were scraped off–which was more painful than Hugh was expecting it to be. Tests were taken, blood was drawn, but after several hours of being poked and prodded, no one had any idea what was happening to him, and he didn’t seem to be in any danger, so he was sent home, and told to come back if anything changed. Hugh was frustrated–but the same thing had happened each time someone had touched his horns–though the gloves the doctors and nurses had always worn dulled the effect somewhat. He could see into their minds, see their…desires. He knew that’s what they were. With the doctors, it had been…like looking through privacy glass at something in another room. The curiosity was killing him, and he had to know what he was experiencing, and the easiest way to do that, was to get Evan to touch his horns again. 

Thankfully, Evan seemed to be suffering from the same curiosity. Ever since touching the horns, he’d been unable to get the feeling out of his mind. They were just so unlike anything he’d ever touched before. They stood by the apartment door, neither of them sure what to say, since the trip to the hospital had left them both with more questions than answers. Eventually, playing it as cool as he could, Evan asked if he could touch them one more time. Hugh was ecstatic, but didn’t let on to his own relief. He bent down, Evan touched his horns again, and this time Hugh felt everything.

It wasn’t quite an image, or a sound, or a feeling, or a thought. It was bits of all of those things smashed together. Hugh could suddenly smell something strong and pungent–it was the smell of piss he realized after a moment, but not fresh piss. More like the smell of an unwashed urinal. There was the sound of piss hitting flesh, there was the sensation of being wet and warm, like standing in a summer rain shower. The taste of piss in his mouth. He realized, finally, that what he was sensing was some deep desire of his friend’s–Evan had a fetish for watersports, and a powerful one at that. It was so…deep though. So far away. The sensations were there, but they were muted, or blocked. There was something in Hugh, something telling him that he could…could pull it closer if he wanted, so he could get a better look. Without knowing what he was doing or how, he gave it a tug, or something a bit like a tug and then the sensations stopped.

Evan had pulled away from him, shaking his hands like he’d gotten a shock of some sort. “Fuck, what the hell was that? I…Were you in my head?”

Hugh blushed, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“You…what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I…I just…” Hugh didn’t know what Evan knew–but from the look in his friend’s eyes, that deep embarrassment, he…figured Evan knew exactly what he had seen inside him, what he’d…tugged on. Without saying anything else, Evan left the apartment, leaving Hugh to get ready for bed. In the bathroom, looking at himself…he swore the horns looked a bit…swollen, the skin around them a bit more red and inflamed. It took hours to find a position that was comfortable to sleep in, and he hoped all of those tests the doctors had given him would tell him…something. At least let a surgeon remove them, or something. He felt a quiver at the thought. Something…didn’t like that notion much, but it was deep inside him too–too deep for him to notice much beyond a sudden flush of anxiety in his guts. Eventually, Hugh managed to fall asleep, and by the next day, he had already put what had happened with Evan behind him, and resolved to make the best of things.

He called his work, and with the help of a vague note from the doctor at the hospital, he convinced them that he didn’t really need to be in the office for the next couple of weeks. Hopefully he would get this strange horn situation sorted out by then. That gave him some time for himself that he hadn’t had in a very long time–and he wasn’t quite sure how to fill it–especially since leaving the house wasn’t really an option. He played some video games, he worked around the apartment, but what he found himself doing more and more was jacking off.

Hugh had never really been that sexual of a person. In fact, while he found men attractive, he had never really gotten behind the idea of sex beyond mutual masturbation–which was probably the reason why things hadn’t really worked out between him and Evan, when they’d tried to date, knowing what he did now about Evan’s interests. But suddenly, he was horny all of the damn time. He’d wake up with a raging hard on that would refuse to quit until he masturbated. The same thing would happen when he was trying to sleep–one stray thought and he would pop a boner, and he wouldn’t get a moment of rest until he’d jacked off. The more he masurbated, the more his thoughts drifted to Evan–thinking about what he’d seen when he’d taken that little peek inside his friend’s mind, the feeling of that little pull, dragging that…dark, twisted desire out of the dark and towards the light. It had been a rush, really. He hadn’t been able to admit that to himself at the moment, but he…he wanted to do it again. He didn’t even know what he’d done! But he wanted to feel that again. It was the power of it. There was some sort of power there, one he couldn’t really understand, but if he…if he could just do it again, maybe he could figure out what was going on here. Why these horns had suddenly just appeared on his head, for no reason that he could seem to comprehend.

But no such opportunity arose. Sitting around in his apartment, inventing ways to occupy his time, trying and generally failing to avoid wasting the day away masturbating, or just staring at himself in the mirror, touching his horns gently, or not so gently. It was in the evening, two days after his visit to the hospital with Evan, that his friend returned. 

They had been chatting off and on over the last couple of days, mostly Evan just checking in on Hugh to make sure everything was alright still, but all that day, Evan had gone quiet. The knock on the door was a bit urgent, and while Hugh tried to ignore it, eventually Evan shouted at him on the other side, and Hugh threw on his hoodie and opened it up for him.

It was the smell that hit him first, and he realized something had gone…very wrong. Evan reeked of piss. Hugh managed to keep his gag reflex down, but something else responded eagerly–his cock was hard as a rock. Evan shoved his way past him into the apartment, wearing a button down shirt and slacks that were, well, soaked. 

“Alright, I need a fucking answer, Hugh. What the fuck did you do to me?” Evan said, when he was inside.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened to you?” Hugh asked him.

Evan glowered at him, and Hugh could see a bit of doubt in his eyes…or maybe he could feel it. Could he feel it? Was he imagining things?

“Look, I…I’ve always had this…this fantasy, alright?” Evan said, “I really, really like the idea of…of guys using me as a urinal. Pissing on me, making me drink it, I…I mean, I’ve done some piss stuff with guys before, but…but I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I felt something when I left the other day, when I touched your horns. I…I don’t know what the fuck it was, really, it sounds stupid saying it out loud, but…but ever since…” Evan paused. “Look, the next morning, I was fucking horny, and I pissed in a glass and drank it. I’ve never done anything like that, but…but I didn’t just want to do it, I had to do it. And then, at work…the guys were…they were treating me different, and my boss…he was in the bathroom with me at one point in the morning, and he…he offered me his piss, and I fucking drank it! I don’t know what the fuck came over us, but I did. And when I went out to lunch, I wasn’t…hungry, exactly, but I went to the lunch spot, and right into the bathroom, and every guy who came in, I drank their piss too. I…I didn’t know what was wrong with me, so I went home, and I tried to eat, I fucking tried to eat, but I couldn’t keep anything down, but I could drink without throwing up. So I got drunk, and I went out to the bar…then today. Fucking today, I go into work, and by boss calls me into his office, right? He calls me in, tells me I’m getting a new position. He takes me into the bathroom, and tells me I’m the new fucking urinal! And I spend all fucking day on my knees, every guy on the floor pissing on me like I’m some fucking object, and…and that’s not fucking normal, Hugh, and I know you did something to me. You did, or those fucking horns did, and I need you to put me back right fucking now.”

Hugh just stared at him, for a moment, trying to process what his friend was telling him. He knew he should be…horrified, right? But…but wasn’t this what Evan had wanted? It’s what Hugh had seen, at least, when he’d looked into him, but…Evan didn’t look happy about it. Then again, why should he be happy about it? He’d just been pissed on by everyone he worked with, all day long…and it was Hugh’s fault. It was a hot story though. Hugh realized he was groping himself–that he’d been groping himself the entire time Evan had been telling the story of his day, and that his friend had noticed–and was looking at him with disgust. He pulled his hand away.

“What, did that turn you on or something?” Evan asked. “I…I fucking knew it! When I touched those freaky horns of yours, what the hell did you see? What did you do to me?”

“Look, I…I did something, I know, but…but I don’t really know what I did, or how I did it! It was the horns. I…I could feel it inside you, and…and I just…pulled on it. I don’t know what it was, I just….”

“Great–if you pulled on it, you can push it back in, right?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works. We should go back to the hospital. We…I don’t know what I’m doing, I might make it worse.”

“No–I can’t…I can’t go anywhere,” Evan said. The implication was clear–if he was in a public space, chances were good he’d be in the bathroom before long, drinking as much piss as he could. “You have to fix this, right here, right now.”

“Isn’t…isn’t this what you wanted though?” Hugh said, “I mean, you said it yourself this was a fantasy. I just wanted to help.”

“‘Help’? Fucking ‘help’? I don’t think I can show my face at work ever again! These last couple of days have been a fucking nightmare. It was just a fantasy! It was supposed to stay as a fucking fantasy! Something I jerk off to on occasion, and then put away. I don’t want to be stuck in a bathroom for the rest of my fucking life! I want you to put me back, and then I never want to see you or your fucking horns ever again.”

“Evan, I–”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking freak!”

Hugh didn’t know what to say to that. Mostly it hurt, but not in the way he expected it to. He knew, in his head, that he’d done something wrong to Evan, but…had he really? He knew this is what Evan wanted–what he really wanted, more than anything else in the entire world. Evan could deny it all he wanted to, but he couldn’t lie to Hugh–Hugh had seen right into him, he knew all of those little secrets he kept, and there was absolutely no way he could be wrong about this. If anyone should be angry in this situation, shouldn’t it be him? He’d given Evan a gift! He’d helped him fulfill a lifelong dream of his, and now that he had what he wanted, he was getting scared? More than just getting scared–he was blaming Hugh for all of it. But Hugh had only done what he did because Evan wanted it so badly. It was all Evan’s fault, really. If he’d just been honest with himself, he’d understand how…how happy he should be right now. But Hugh could fix this. He had to fix this–it was the right thing to do. Evan would forgive him eventually, right? “Ok–look, touch my horns, and…and I’ll put it back. I think I can do that.”

Evan was nervous, but he reached out and touched Hugh’s headd, and the same sensation that he’d felt before washed over him. It had been…strange. In the moment, he’d felt so calm, like he wanted nothing more than for Hugh to rifle through his thoughts and…and change things. He’d watched before, as Hugh had found his desires, dragged them out to the front of…of him, somehow, or at least closer. He’d known what he’d been doing, but as soon as he’d pulled his hands off those horns, he’d lost it. He could see it again though, he could see all of those nasty, perverted, filthy things he wanted men to do to him, right there, like he was broadcasting it to the world–which would explain a few things, he supposed. And Hugh was there, and he…what was he doing?

He wasn’t pushing them back down, that was for sure. Evan screamed at him, and when his friend looked up at him, his eyes…weren’t Hugh’s. They were pitch black, and the smile that crossed his face–his entire face, his mouth stretching from ear to ear, those…those sharp teeth…that wasn’t Hugh, what the fuck was that? The thing that looked like Hugh began pulling everything out, all of the filth, putting it everywhere, filling up everything with it, and Evan tried to scream, tried to beg, tried to do…something! Anything to stop it from happening, working to wrench his hands away before it was too late, and finally, he let go, and all of it fell back behind the shroud. He was left standing there, looking at the top of Hugh’s head, at those two horns taunting him, trying to sort out what in the world had just happened to him.

“There, see? Doesn’t that feel better already?” Hugh said, raising his lead up. His eyes were…normal, as was his mouth, but Evan couldn’t shake the vision from his head, that there was something else behind his friend’s face, something inside of him, trying to push it’s way out of him, and Hugh didn’t even realize it. 

“I…I don’t know…I guess I’m thirsty, mostly.”

“That’s not surprising. Shouldn’t you be getting to the bar soon?” Hugh asked him. “Tell you what–I’ll come by later, towards the end of your shift. If you still aren’t happy with things, then I’ll put everything back, but I think we got everything right this time, I can just…I can just feel it.”

“Are…are you sure I can’t have something to drink before I go?”

Hugh sighed, and pushed down the sweatpants he’d been wearing around the house. “I’m really fucking horny, but I think I can piss for you. I know how much you need it.”

Evan got down on his knees, the horror still there, but muted. Like some part of him was…was so deep now, that he never even really had to acknowledge it existing. It…It was more important to be a urinal, right? Isn’t…isn’t that what he was? He was certainly thirsty enough to be one, and when Hugh finally managed to piss through his hard cock, and Evan drank it all down, every single drop, he felt so much better. “Thanks man, you’re…a great friend, you know that?”

“Of course I am,” Hugh said, “Now go on, you don’t want to be late.”

Evan left Hugh’s apartment, got in his car, and while he was certain he should be driving home–he had work in the morning after all–he instead knew, somehow, that he had to work somewhere else tonight. At…at the bar, right? The Hawk? It was the seediest of the gay bars in town, and Evan hadn’t been there very often, but he had to be there. He got there a little before six. The bouncer at the door knew his name somehow–as did the bartender, and after saying hello, Evan went right into the bathroom, got on his knees next to the other urinals, and it wasn’t long before Lucas, the bartender, came in. 

“Fuck Evan, glad you got here early, didn’t think I could hold this for much longer,” Lucas said, and unloaded his bladder into Evan’s eager mouth. “Gonna be a busy night tonight–hope you’re ready for it.” Lucas finished up, didn’t say anything else, and Evan moaned a bit, feeling the piss settle in his gut. He didn’t have long to think about it, before another man came in, and then another. The other urinals were neglected for the entire night–after all, Evan was the best urinal the bar had ever had. Evan found himself caught in his mind between this new normal, and that little voice, begging him to stop, to listen to reason, that he couldn’t just…be a urinal, right? He was a person! He had to be a person, didn’t he? During a lull, it was that little voice that forced him up from his knees, stumbling over to the sink where he could look in the mirror. Told him to look at his smooth head and face, at his porcelain white skin, at his belly distended from the gallons and gallons of piss he’d drank already tonight. He was naked, but when had he stripped his clothes off? Had he driven here naked? Why would a urinal need clothes anyway?

“Hey! Pisser! Get back in your spot.”

It was the bouncer. Evan felt guilty, and got back down on his knees, took the bouncer’s piss, and remained there, where…where he belonged, where he needed to be. He kept drinking all night long, until sometime after one in the morning, as the club was winding down, and Hugh pushed his way into the room. He was drunk, from the way he was staggering, and Evan swore that Hugh’s horns looked a bit…longer than they had back in the apartment. Fuck, his horns were right there. He wasn’t even hiding them! 

“Fuck Evan, fucking look at you,” Hugh slurred, “What a good looking urinal. I did a good fucking job on you, you know that? Aren’t you happy? This is exactly what you wanted–I know, I fucking saw it there, right in your brain. I’m…fuck, I’m like the best fucking friend, you know that? How many other friends would actually help you become the urinal you always wanted to be?”

Evan…knew he shouldn’t. But that little voice, it refused to shut up. “Hugh, please, I…I don’t want this! I don’t know what’s going on, but this…this isn’t you. Those horns, they’re controlling you. I…I like piss! I always have, but fucking look at me! I…I don’t want to look like this.”

Hugh squinted at him, then squatted down and squinted some more. “Fuck, you’re right, this…this is no good.”

Thank you! Fucking thank you, please, please fix me!”

“You don’t look like a urinal at all. I can be such a fucking idiot sometimes. I mean, you still look like a person!”

Evan’s guts dropped out from under him, and he tried to force himself up from where he was kneeling, but he was suddenly frozen in place, as Hugh leaned in, and rubbed a horn against Evan’s hairless, perfectly white arm.

“I’m still learning, I know, but I’ll get it right this time, you’ll be perfect.”

Evan found himself behind the shroud again, inside his own mind, but this time, it wasn’t that Hugh was pulling anything out–he was putting things away. Burying all of those parts of Evan, all of his humanity, deep inside himself, deeper than his watersports fetish had ever been, so deep that Evan couldn’t even see it, or feel it, or…or know it.

At last, Hugh pulled away from him, and Evan tried to scream, but he couldn’t. His mouth was frozen in place, open wide. His tongue was glued to the bottom of his mouth, and he was drooling constantly, the water running down the back of his throat and into his massive, porcelain gut. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Hugh said, “You’re fucking beautiful. Fuck, I’m…so fucking horny…”

Hugh couldn’t stop himself. He tore open his pants and started jacking his cock, but every touch was like fire. He was grunting and moaning in pain, but it felt so damn good too. Evan, head locked into position, watched his friend’s body contort, like something was inside his skin, rearranging Hugh’s insides while he stroked off, a trickle of blood running down the front of his face as the horns pushed out another few inches, splitting the skin apart as they did. Hugh licked the blood from his lips as it ran past his mouth, and moaned in excitement–enough to bring himself to orgasm–but his cock…well, it wasn’t the same cock that Hugh had started with. It was bigger–easily nine inches long, the head more pointed, with fleshy barbs running up and down the shaft. He came with something like a roar, pouring inky black cum down Evan’s open throat, and Evan…he felt something inside him turn into cement. He knew, without knowing how, that…that after what Hugh had just fed him, this was…him now. Forever. He’d never change again. Already, he could feel his old life fading away, turning to vapor in his mind. He felt at ease, Hugh’s cum settling in his friend’s gut next to his piss, and Hugh heaved a sigh, and pushed his swollen, barbed cock back into his pants. “That was good, but god damn, I need to fuck something. Urinals are no good for fucking…” he muttered, and stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bar proper, leaving Evan alone. A thing that had been named Evan, once. It didn’t have a name now, of course. Urinals didn’t have names.

Its shift finished a little after two in the morning, after one last load of piss from the bouncers and the bartenders. The urinal forced himself upright, standing just a little over four feet tall on squat, wide legs, and waddled slowly over to the mirror on the wall. There was its face, contorted and constantly open wide, eyes wide set, head dominated by its massive maw. It had no neck, rather its head was placed right on his wide body, above his massive, distended gut. It was the only part of the thing’s body that was still pliable. It would process all of that piss and cum he’d ingested tonight, turn it into more drool, use it to power its body, but the thirst would always be there. Thankfully, a good urinal always had plenty of work. During the weekdays, it worked in an office nearby. In the nights and evenings, it was always here, at The Hawk. But on the weekends, it would make its way to a truck stop on the edge of town, drink its fill of trucker piss all day long, and start all over again on Monday morning. It was a life, wasn’t it? And it was happy. It was doing what it was meant to do–why wouldn’t it be happy? It left the bathroom at its slow, trudging pace. It looked around for Hugh, but its friend was nowhere to be seen. Hugh was done with him anyway. Hugh had found someone new to take home–someone to fuck. But most importantly, Hugh knew he could help them too. Horny Hugh was going to help everyone.