Dream Camp (Part 3)

The disorientation and terror lasted for only a couple of minutes. It might have lasted longer, but the euphoria supplied by Alex’s milk made sure that neither Christian nor Barry were thinking of much for the next hour, while they drained his tits dry, both of them cumming several times over the course of their meal. Finally, however, they felt sated and sat back–both of their guts sloshing with milk, unable to believe how much they’d just consumed. Alex, too, looked a bit exhausted–he had cum several times as well, his milk production ramping up suddenly and pumping itself into both of them–that was the only way he could cum, after all, since neither of the Mendel’s had cocks, anymore. They didn’t have anything aside from a piss hole, in fact, not that they needed anything like that–their nipples gave them all the pleasure either one of them could need, after all. In fact, now that Barry was able to focus past his hunger, he saw that Alex’s nipples weren’t really nipples, but short, meaty cocks. His father’s were larger–each of the four were probably about five inches long, flaccid for the moment, but Barry knew that, at a moment’s notice, they could go hard and start leaking. He’d…tasted Eric’s milk a few times, in small doses. Too much, and he’d be an addict for the rest of his life. Alex could drink his father’s milk without worry–in fact, that was all he ate, now that Barry thought about it. Alex was still maturing–his milk not fully potent yet, hell, his second set of tits hadn’t developed to their full size, which wouldn’t happen until he was around eighteen. How Barry knew all of this, he didn’t know. How any of this was even possible, he didn’t know that either.

He looked over at Christian, who, after his momentary confusion at Alex packing on two hundred extra pounds of fat onto his body in an instant, had settled into this without further incident, like nothing strange was happening at all. Needless to say, Barry was vigilant for the rest of the ride, not daring to fall asleep again, out of fear more than anything else. After another half hour, they arrived at the campsite, and all the boys in the troop started unpacking their gear from the back of the cars. This trip was really just car camping–they were staying at a national park, though it was mostly deserted at this time of year–something Barry was thankful for, since he didn’t want this amulet affecting too many people, especially after what had just happened.

Thankfully no one was at all disturbed by the Mendels’ new appearance. In fact, most everyone treated them both normally, like they’d had plenty of time to adjust to their odd physiology. In fact, several of the scouts all took some time to suck at Alex’s tits, all of them cumming spontaneously as they did, and the other adult leaders seemed…focused on Eric: licking their lips, rubbing their gurgling guts, thinking about their own next meal. The only people who were different were The Hoffsons and the older scouts. In fact, Mr. Hoffson seemed outright hostile towards Eric, actively avoiding him, glowering at him–but Eric didn’t seem to mind, if he even noticed.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully–setting up camp, a few hours of free time for the scouts, which Barry and Christian spent playing cards and sucking more milk out of Alex, then it was time for dinner, some time spent around the campfire, and then bedtime. Barry and Christian were bunking together in one of Mr. Mendel’s very nice tents he’d bought for the patrol, and Barry finally found an opportunity to ask Christian what was wrong. His friend had spent the entire day in a funk, but he hadn’t seemed particularly willing to open up around anyone. Barry didn’t want to force him to talk about it, but he couldn’t help being worried.

“My…Dad left,” Christian said after a moment of silence.

“What do you mean?”

“My mom…well, the court has been siding with her, and my dad, he just left. No one knows where. I mean, it’s just…”

“You liked him better.”

“That’s not really fair, I know, but…yeah.”

“He didn’t tell you where he was going? At all?”

Christian shook his head, his eyes tearing up, “I thought, I mean, I guess I just thought that, if he was going to leave, he’d…like, tell me. Or take me…I mean, he couldn’t just take me, I couldn’t just leave with him, but he didn’t…tell me anything. One day he’s going to pick me up on Wednesday like usual, and then he doesn’t even show up, and he’s just gone. I…I thought he cared more about me than that.”

“I’m sure he cares about you, Christian,” Barry said, but it was clear from his friend’s eyes that his words were no real comfort.

Christian didn’t reply, he just climbed into his sleeping bag and turned out his flashlight, but neither of them slept for a while. Christian was sobbing as quietly as he could, and Barry was pretending not to hear him. He didn’t notice the amulet warming up again, against his chest, pulling him down into another slumber, and into another dream.

Dream Camp (Part 2)

After the pack check and more ribbing from some of the older scouts about his size, the troop split themselves up into small groups paired with the adult leaders, so they could all carpool to the campground. The older boys all climbed into Mr. Hoffson’s SUV. Barry ended up in a car with two other scouts–Alex Mendel and Christian Brooke–driven by Alex’s father, Eric Mendel. The three of them were all in the same patrol, but while Barry was good friends with Christian, Alex was rather cool towards him. Then again, Alex and his dad were cool towards everyone. The Mendel’s were one of the wealthier families in the troop–Eric worked at a tech start-up that was raking in capital, but he loved the outdoors as only a tech guy could, always buying the latest and fanciest gear for him and his son, and even financed new equipment for the rest of the troop as well. Alex thought the money made his farts not stink, but at least he wasn’t cruel. Christian was overweight himself, and his parents weren’t very involved in scouts. Well, his parents weren’t involved in much–they spent most of their energy tussling in divorce court. Christian liked camping because it was at least a few days away from his parents without having to stress about money, custody, or anything else a teenager shouldn’t have to deal with.

Alex was in the passenger seat, leaving Christian and Barry in the back. It was clear from the dour look on Christian’s face that it had been a bad week with his mom or dad, and didn’t feel like talking. The Mendels were engaged in their own conversation, and Barry realized he’d left his snacks in his pack, and so he was left to stare out the window at the passing scenery, one hand gripping the amulet around his neck…and he realized it felt…warm. Warmer than it should be, from just being close to him. Even though he knew that should concern him, for some reason it just felt…comforting. The amulet had felt warm like that before, on those nights before he’d had those dreams, but that had been in the evening, but right now it was the middle of the morning. Part of him unburied the worries that he’d been having all week about the necklace–mostly the fact that he really had no idea how the thing worked. He knew that it made his dreams come true…loosely. The dreams had, so far, always involved him and the people around him nearby. He’d been pleased with the results, but it wasn’t like the dreams were things he’d…planned. Like the night before last, when out of nowhere he’d dreamed his mom had a cock and was fucking his dad, and woken up to discover she’d become a…well, a hermaphrodite. Not…Not that there was anything wrong with that, he told himself. Hell, his dad loved it, but…it had been unexpected.

He gripped his necklace tighter in his hand, feeling the warmth permeate his fist and spread into his body, making his eyes droop. Was he still sleepy from the morning, or…was the amulet making him tired? At least he wasn’t thinking as much about how hungry he was. Mid-morning naps had never really been his thing, but he was definitely tired. It was about a two and a half hour drive to the campground, so he had plenty of time for a little rest, right? He should stop worrying so much. Everything…everything was going to be…just fine…

A rumble in his guts. He was…somewhere. Indoors. Featureless, dark walls. Not much light. Doorways, but no doors. No hallways between rooms. He’s looking…looking for food, but he also knows the place is empty. Barren. He sees someone leave a room as he enters it, he chases them. Gets a better glimpse–Alex Mendel, but he’s different. Fatter. A gut, but a huge chest, full moobs jiggling. Naked, naked and running, and he…he has food, somehow Barry knows. Smell, he can smell it. Chasing him, but can’t quite keep up, he won’t slow down. Barry gives up, exhausted, so hungry now, but he can still smell the food. Looks up and there, there is Mr. Mendel. Taller, obese–with tits. Two pairs, hanging down, swollen nipples, something running down…down his fat front, something sweet smelling, he’s gesturing him closer. Barry is salivating, latches onto a nipple and starts sucking, pulling out the sweet delicious milk, something tasting between cream and cum, eyes rolling back in pleasure, Mr. Mendel stroking his head, telling him to drink as much as he’d like. Other’s now, more coming, latching onto the tits, fighting for position, he feels buried, full, eager, hungry–

Barry woke with a start, flailing for space in the car, before realizing where he was, and where he’d fallen asleep, his heart racing. What in the hell was that? These dreams had only been getting stranger, but that one lingered with him, especially that smell. Sickly sweet and yet musky–it had him drooling. He looked up, and saw Alex leaning across the middle of the front seat, his mouth wrapped around one of his father’s nipples, sucking, milk leaking out the corner of his mouth, Barry’s jaw dropped. Ripped from his dream, Eric Mendel was easily five hundred pounds, nearly all of it concentrated in his chest of four, leaking tits. Barry could smell it, and he…he wanted it. Drool leaking out of his mouth, but his throat was too dry to speak. He saw Alex glance back at him, sensing his desire, and he pulled away from his father’s nipple.

“Somebody woke up hungry,” Alex said, and pulled his own shirt off, revealing a fat body. Like his father, Alex saw four nipples, but only two breasts had filled in. Still, Barry unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged forward, wrapping his lips around Alex’s nipple. His milk was sweeter, not nearly as musky as his father’s, but Barry had no interest in objecting, his cock swelling, his hands helplessly reaching into his uniform pants to stroke his big cock off, pleasure overwhelming him, the amulet still hot against his skin.

How about you, Christian?” Alex said, one hand under his other breast, “Want some, big boy?”

Barry glanced to the side as best he could and saw Christian now drooling as well, his eyes filled with confusion but his mouth already pulling him closer, and he took Alex’s other nipple, both of them sucking, Alex groaning and moaning with pleasure, his father egging him on, Christian and Barry helplessly jacking off as they fed. A more interesting camping trip indeed, Barry thought as he spasmed, blowing a massive wad of cum across the center console, and wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Dream Camp (Part 1)

It was the camping trips that were the worst. Barry could handle the rest of the whole scouting thing–hell, some of it was even kind of fun, like learning about plants and animals, and survival skills–but it was the camping that he hated. Not the act of camping itself, of course, but it was…well, why beat around the bush? He was fat. Seventeen years old and over three hundred and fifty pounds didn’t exactly fit the usual model for a scout, and pretty much everyone in his troop was happy to remind him of that. He got pranked almost every camping trip somehow–the worst was a few months ago, when some of his fellow campers decided to rub poison ivy on his face while he slept. It didn’t help that the scoutmaster, Mr. Hoffson, turned a blind eye to the bullying, mostly because his son, Max, was the ringleader and Barry’s principal torturer. Hell, he’d tried to tell his parents that he wanted to quit, but both of them were adamant that he stick to it. As his dad often said, “If he was tired of getting bullied, then he should just lose some weight,” like it was that simple. To be honest, Barry liked being fat–hell, he more than liked being fat, he wanted to be fatter, and he found fat guys hot as hell, not that he could tell anyone that, of course. This weekend’s camping trip though, this weekend would be very, very different–thanks to the amulet he’d bought from that old woman at that flea market last weekend–hell, things had already changed for the better.

His dad pulled the car into the parking lot of the school, most of the other scouts were already assembled with their packs out, getting ready for their pack inspection. Barry opened the door and hopped out and went around the back of the car, opening the back and getting out his backpack, while his father opened the driver side door and started the process of hefting is now six hundred pound bulk out from behind the wheel, where he’d lodged it. Now, his dad had only been this massive behemoth for about a week now, but no one gave him a second look. As far as everyone else was concerned, including his dad, he’d always been that fat. He lumbered back around to where Barry was, waiting, pack on the pavement, huffing a bit. “Alright son, have a good weekend, I’ll miss you.”

“Heh, don’t worry dad, you have plenty of dildos for that hungry ass of yours to work on, and mom’s always happy to fuck you too.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ll always prefer my big boy’s huge cock in my hole,” he said, and groped Barry’s crotch, feeling the thick, eleven inch cock Barry recently acquired. “Make sure you get enough to eat now–I don’t want you losing any weight, alright?”

“Don’t worry dad, I’ll be fine.”

“And don’t let those other boys give you a hard time either, they’re just bullies with tiny cocks.”

“Heh, I think I’ll be fine this weekend dad, I’m not too worried.”

“Alright,” his dad said, smiling over his three chins, “I’d better get back home–mom’ll be angry if I miss breakfast.”

“Yeah, go eat–wish I could join you!” Barry said, gave his huge dad a big hug and watched him get back into the minivan, still amazed at what the amulet had done, and he gripped it with his hand. The amulet of his dreams–literally. He’d fallen asleep, and dreamed he was getting fatter–and when he woke up, he had been. That’s all it was, the first few nights, him packing on the pounds, but then he dreamed that his muscular dad was a gainer too. The next, that his dad was a total bottom for his son’s huge cock. It didn’t seem to work every single night, but often enough that he had a good feeling about this trip; he hefted his pack up onto one shoulder and joined the rest of the troop.

It was late fall, and the weather had turned sour and rainy over the last few weeks. It looked like a decent chunk of the troop had decided to bow out for the weekend–there were only about twelve people gathered in the parking lot–three adults leaders and eleven scouts, including Barry. The scoutmaster Mr. Hoffson and his son Max were there of course–they always were. Max was a few years older than he was, and his main bully in the troop, along with a few other older kids who followed him around like a puppy. Usually this would have been the worst trip imaginable–leaving Friday and coming home Sunday morning–three days and two nights–but that length of time suddenly had Barry excited. One or two good dreams–and who knew what might happen.

“Yo, lardass, are you coming or not?” Max shouted at him, “This could have actually been a good weekend if you hadn’t shown up. Sure you don’t want to go home and stuff yourself with your lardass dad?”

He really would rather be at home, fucking his fat dad while his mom stuffed their faces, but he had business to attend to first. “Nah, let’s get going–I have a feeling this is going to be a great weekend.”

Neighborhood Pub (Sketch)

“Hey! Faggot! Why don’t you get fucking lost? Ain’t no guy here wanna have you round, lookin’ at us like that,” Nick puffed up his chest and got in the stranger’s face, leering at him. No one knew who this fucker was–the pub here was really only frequented by guys from the neighborhood, guys who’d know each other for years. Sure, the occasional stranger would slip in, but they got the idea pretty quick that new folks weren’t very welcome in there. But this guy, he hadn’t gotten the hint at all this evening, and worse, it was clear the guy was a total faggot.

He was an older guy. He’d shown up a few hours previously, and ordered a beer with a bit of a lisp and the bat of an eye from Sammy, the bartender. Usually Sammy wouldn’t even bother serving freaks like this, but for some reason he’d just given the guy the beer he’d wanted, and the fucker had just made himself at home. Very, very at home. He’d spent the night wandering around the pub, busting into other people’s conversations so he could flirt and feel up the local guys…and for some reason no one was doing anything about it! Well Nick had had enough of this clown–he’d throw him out himself, since no one else could bear to do it, for some reason.

The stranger grinned at Nick, and moved in closer, pushing his gut into him. The man was older, balding, sweaty and hairy. At some point he’d lost his shirt, so nothing covered his ugly fat beyond two suspenders keeping up his pants. Nick’s first instinct was to recoil, but he wouldn’t give him the…the satisfaction of knowing he was…was scared or…or turned on…or…if he pushed closer, into the man’s gut, maybe the strange butterflies fluttering in his gut would go away. They didn’t they got worse, but that was alright, and something…something about the way the man smelled, something was…was so…good.

The bar had grown quiet. No one had known what to make of the man, no one had been able to resist him, and terrified, no one had dared challenge him. They had all secretly hoped that if they just…let him feel up their bodies, and lick their necks, and whisper…horribly, sexy things in their ears, that maybe…maybe he would leave them in some kind of peace. But Nick–fucking hotheaded Nick–the man ran one hand over Nick’s stubbly face, watching his jaw droop, eyes turning glassy. The stranger put his hand on the top of Nick’s head and applied a gentle pressure, the bar watching as he dropped to one knee, and then both, the man guiding his face to his crotch, where Nick began grinding his face into the man’s crusty jeans.

He had no control. He couldn’t…couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself. He could…could see…visions, in his mind. Of himself, but…but different. He was wearing something…shiny and black, all over his body. It looked like rubber, but so…so reflective, black, but with yellow. Yellow…like piss. Fuck, like piss! He felt the warmth in his crotch as his bladder released into the front of his pants, running down both thighs to the floor of the pub. Everyone else could smell it too, they could smell it, and they were growing…growing hungrier, like when they’d all first smelled the stranger, and they could see what Nick was now–a urinal, a fucking tool, a dump for them to use and abuse as they wanted. The man undid his fly, pointing his cock at Nick’s face, who waited patiently, the puddle growing around his knees until the man released his own piss, and Nick drank down as much as he could, feeling everything he couldn’t get down soaking his body, his clothes so…wet now. It would be so much better if he was wearing rubber, all rubber, all the time, for…for the rest of his life, yeah, a rubber urinal, just an object.

The man finished, Nick kissed the head of his cock, and started licking up his own piss from the floor of the pub, the weaker willed men around him standing up and walking towards him, their own bladders begging to be emptied, and the man drifted off to other men, toying with them, slowly for the rest of the night, and he never returned to the pub again…not that he needed to. The pub was…different from that day on. Every man from the neighborhood would come dressed in leather and rubber, most of them smoking, all of them constantly horny. New men were always welcome–none of them could resist the heady, musky smell of the place for long, all of them ended up going home with some other patron of the club to discover the new desires brewing in their guts. Nick, however, lived in the bathroom, chained to the floor. He’d grown fatter, his gut massive, stretching the rubber bodysuit he now wore to the limit. He hadn’t left the room in months, but Sammy took good care of him, making sure he got all the nutrition he needed and stripping him out of the suit once a week to hose down his fat, and shave his body smooth. It was up to the rest of the bar to keep him full of piss and cum, to keep him happy, forever.

Hopeless (Part 3)

You stumble into the parking lot, still pumping cum out the bottom of your shorts, where it’s running down your thick, hairy legs. There’s something wrong with you. Well, of course there is something wrong with you, you’re worthless, but this is different. You’d gone so long without cumming, for weeks–or maybe even months, you couldn’t quite remember, and now that the dam had been broken, your gut was churning, your balls are aching, you’re sweating from head to toe. People stare, no–gape at you plodding to your car, mouth open, snorting, eyes wild. You throw open the door and go to climb in, but hit your head on the frame, your knees scrunched under the wheel. It isn’t until you process the fact that the space is smaller than usual that you manage to reach under your seat, past your massive cock, and shove the seat as far back as it will go. Is this even your car? Your key worked, it…smells like you, but it doesn’t feel right. You shut the door and immediately feel claustrophobic, panting and panic rising in your chest, but you have to get home, you’ll be safe at home, you aren’t safe here.

It’s a fifteen minute drive to your home from the gym, and it’s harrowing. Your bones ache, muscles pulse. More than once, a sudden, full body spasm of growth sends you speeding forward or swerving into other lanes–the fact that you don’t end up in an accident or arrested is a minor miracle. You park, throw open the car door, and manage to squeeze yourself free of the confines of the car, whimpering and moaning. The exit is anything but graceful, and you end up toppling out face first onto the pavement, but you’re free, at least. you grab the car door to help yourself up, but when you pull on it, rather than gaining any leverage, you feel the car door bend down in the frame towards you instead, the car tipping slightly to the side as you drag yourself up. It’s so…small, like one of those clown cars at the circus. You abandon it, running for your apartment, and your shorts finally can’t bear the pressure of your package and thighs, bursting at the seams, your foot and a half long cock and massive balls flopping out into the open, your shirt following soon after–you tear away the tattered remains once you reach your door, crouching in the hallway, fumbling with the keys you’d kept in your hand, but they’re so small and you’ve grown so clumsy that you can’t fit the key in the lock–in frustration you simply start pounding on the door–and it opens.

Without worrying how, you start the next task of finding some way of squeezing through the doorway, the only thought you have is making it inside. You end up pushing yourself in sideways–you’ve grown much too tall to walk in, and your shoulders are too broad. It’s close, but you squeeze inside, heaving for breath, feeling your body continue growing as you do…and you realize you’ve trapped yourself. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to fit yourself back out–but why would you want to leave? Out there, all there are are people who will stare at you, look at you like you’re a freak–because you are a freak. You don’t want to go out there, you don’t want to leave. Your trainer, who’d opened the door for you, closes it behind you but doesn’t lock it–you don’t even notice that he’s there until he standing beside you, stoking one massive, hairy arm, talking to you, calming you down bit by bit, that buzzing sound returning, and soon you’re shivering at his touch, at his words–and you realize that you are sitting down on the ground–and he’s standing next to you–but he barely comes to your shoulder. How…how big are you, really? How big is your cock? It doesn’t seem real, hanging there between your legs. You must be at least ten feet tall–far too tall for your ceilings. The only way you’ll be able to move from room to room is by crawling…but is this even your apartment? Now that you’re more calm, this doesn’t…seem familiar. The floorplan is too open, there’s almost no furniture…where did you drive yourself, anyway? Where did you just trap yourself?

“Look at you, you’re a beast–a gigantic, disgusting beast,” he says, walking around you in a wide circle, taking all of you in–the hairy body, the long beard, the massive cock and balls, “You’re going to be so popular, so many people have been waiting for you to finally blow.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t elaborate. You try to talk, but words…don’t come easily to you anymore, and he has no interest in anything you might ask or want to know. He leaves you alone–but you don’t feel abandoned. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe. The the men begin arriving. You have several visitors each day, and all of them come for one reason–to abuse your massive cock. The ride it, they worship it, the suck it, they drink your cum by the gallon. None of them care about you, about the body attached to this marvelous beast of a cock–but then, why should they? You know you’re worthless, unworthy of anyone’s attention. You’re simply happy to know that there’s one part of you which is worthy of desire and that’s enough for your simple mind. The only person who sees you is your trainer–no, your owner now–when he visits. He comes every few weeks–you look forward to those visits more than any other, because finally, he has allowed you to serve him. You pull him close, gently, lick him clean from head to toe, worship his cock and balls with your mouth, letting him know how thankful you are. How thankful you are that he has given you purpose. How thankful you are that a hopeless, giant-cocked beast like you, could ever hope to be owned by a man like him.

Hopeless (Part 2)

I have a comment I want to make on the inspiration for this story, but I felt like it would be best to wait until I posted this second part, where it becomes more obvious what I’m talking about. This story, as it ended up being written, is the fault of @noodlesandbeef and all of his recent posts on big dick humiliation. I wouldn’t say the story is *for* him necessarily, because it’s also filtered through the rest of my own perversions and came out…uh…slobby, but I’ll dedicate it to him anyway. So here’s to you–thanks for your awesome blog, and for making me think of fetishes that don’t cross my mind very often.

You watched him drive away, certain that this had to be…some cruel joke. The way he’d consoled you, he had to care about you, right? Then again, why would he care about you? You were a mess. Filthy, sweaty, stupid–so fucking stupid! How could you have just said something like that to him, to the only man in your life who cared about you. Still, he had told you to go home, so you got in your car and drove home. However, once home, you had no idea what to do.

Your apartment was filthy. You had always done a good job of cleaning up after yourself, but ever since you’d met him, you’d just…started letting things slide. First it was a bit of clutter, then you stopped doing the dishes, and now you hadn’t done laundry in weeks, everything you owned stank to high heaven, and the whole apartment was littered with empty take out, since you couldn’t even think hard enough to try and cook. You’d probably just burn everything anyway, or hurt yourself trying. Worthless…fucking worthless! Just…just a big pile of nothing.

Your cock tingled at the thought, which was odd. As turned on as you’d been lately, with your personal trainer, and all of the fantasies you’d been thinking about, you’d actually been jacking off less than usual. More often than not, it simply hadn’t occurred to you to jack off, and even when you’d been horny, thinking about him, your cock had been hard, but you hadn’t touched it. Now, however, you pushed your hand into your pants and started rubbing it, thinking…thinking again.

I’m hopeless.

Your cock was raging now, and you pushed some trash off the couch and laid down, slowly stroking your cock.

I’m a just a dumb brute with a big cock. I can’t even hold down a stupid job.

Fuck, you were so horny! Your cock was leaking as you demeaned yourself, over and over again, thinking about all of your recent failures, how hopeless you are, and it felt…it felt so damn good, but you couldn’t cum. You jacked your cock for hours and hours, but though you leaked a copious amount of precum into your nasty jock and the front of your gym shorts, you never reached any sort of satisfaction. You couldn’t even jack off right–but that thought only made you even more crazed with lust. It was only when you reached the point of exhaustion and hunger that you finally stoped, ordered some take out you can’t afford anymore, and ate. When you finished, you tried again, but it was like your balls were locked shut, and no matter what you did, you would never be able to cum. That didn’t stop you, you weren’t even sure you could stop, as you fantasized about all the ways you’re slowly ruining your life. Eventually, you collapsed back on the couch, and fell into a fitful sleep. He’s there, in your dreams. You don’t…deserve him. He’s amazing, and you’re completely worthless. A failure. No wonder he left you, you’ll never deserve him. You don’t deserve anyone–you deserve to be alone.

The next day, you arrive at the gym…late. He’s waiting for you, but he doesn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seems to be expecting you to arrive late, and the simple failure…it makes your cock leak in your nasty, crusty shorts that you didn’t even bother changing before you came. After all, you like it. You like other people seeing what a nasty thing you are. How badly you smell, how stupid you are, it makes you feel so good, and you want him, this man you love, you want…you want him to hate you, to see that he’s wasting his time on you, that you don’t deserve him, that you never deserved someone like him. That you are, and always were, a hopeless wreck.

All day, you fuck up on purpose…or maybe you can’t tell the difference anymore. You lift wrong, you plateau and backslide, you spot poorly. Still, he’s nothing but supportive and enthusiastic, his usual self. But behind his usual smile, you see it, that…sly grin of his, and that buzzing, it’s so loud in your head, you can barely hear him sometimes, what he’s telling you. He talks so much, but why talk to you? You barely understand anything that comes out of his mouth. Your workout is long today, much longer than normal. The next several days, the workouts are equally long. You know you should work on finding a job–you have some savings, but they’ll only be able to pay your bills for a few months. Soon, you think differently. You deserve to be unemployed–in fact, knowing you do nothing with yourself, that you have wasted your life doing nothing, it turns you on. Seeing what you’ve become in the mirror, fuck–your cock refuses to go down, it leaks constantly all over the benches and the machines. You’re huge now, so huge, with a thick beard all over your face, your hair down past your shoulders, massive pecs, thick legs, mouth open and drooling almost constantly. The only part of you that isn’t muscled is your gut, bulging from your constant diet of take out and pizzas, but that bit of failure only makes you look hotter, in your eyes.

Until a day comes, and you arrive at the gym, only to discover that he isn’t there–instead, the person waiting for you is the manager of the gym. He informs you that so many members of the gym had complained about your behavior and hygiene, as well as that of your friend’s, that the two of you will be permanently banned from premises. The manager telling you that, somehow it does something nothing else had been able to do, and even as he continues speaking, your balls tense up, you let out a groan, the first blast of cum erupting from your cock, soaking the front of your shorts. Your go weak and fall to your knees, and the orgasm last for what feels like an eternity, everyone in the gym turning to stare at you, the cum now leaking down your leg to the floor it an amount so copious you couldn’t even believe it was yours. The manager threatens to call the police; you stagger up and out of the building, your cock still pumping out a trail behind you, and into your car, where you pull down your soaked shorts, and discover your cock has somehow grown even more massive in the space of a minute–it’s now a foot and a half long and incredibly thick, your balls each the size of baseballs, and still pumping out cum. How could this even happen? It’s so large, you’d never be able to fuck anyone–it’s just…just obscene and pointless and nasty, like the rest of your whole life. So worthless that…that all you can only think about is going home and…and milking your worthless, disgusting cock over and over again.

Hopeless (Part 1)

You met him at the gym, but whether it was by accident, or by a choice he made, you never found out. He asked you to spot for him on the bench press so he could push his max, and you were willing to help him out. You’d seen him at the gym before, but had never thought much of him–probably in his mid 30’s, bearded with a shaved head, a bit hairy. Muscular, but with a small gut all the same. On the bench, while you guided the bar up and down, you listened to him grunt, your eyes focusing on the curve of belly that appeared, inch by inch, as he lifted, an odd…buzzing in your head, vision tunnelling slightly, until he failed, and you snapped back, helping him rack the weights back, your head still…fuzzy. You worked through a few more sets with him, and then he offered to help you, counting for you as you pressed. You couldn’t lift nearly as much as him, but he encouraged you, he made you feel…good. You parted ways with a handshake, and from that then on, you noticed him more and more, every day, and both of you struck up an acquaintance, spotting each other from day to day.

He wasn’t the first guy you’d been attracted to, but he was…different. The way he made you feel, when you were close to him, it was something you’d never felt before. At the same time, life outside of the gym started to become more…difficult. You found yourself messing up at work more often, you felt…exposed in public. Friends you’d known for years were suddenly saying strange things–that you seemed distant and disconnected, that you were quieter and didn’t talk as much. You felt hurt at their comments, and saw them less, even as you started going to the gym more. Whether that was because you simply had more time, or because, at heart, you wanted to see him more, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t quite be honest with yourself yet, could you?

Still, he never pushed you away. He never said you were too quiet, or too disconnected. Without really noticing when it had happened, he’d taken control of your workouts, almost becoming your personal trainer. You would arrive early and wait for him–the idea of working out without him felt…wrong. Scary, even. You might hurt yourself, or do something wrong, if he wasn’t there, watching over you. He pushed you away from your cardio focus, and you began lifting more, and longer. It was exhausting, but you were doing so good! You could see it, too. You were bulking faster than you’d ever imagined possible…but it was more than just muscle. You seemed…taller, too, although you convinced yourself that was probably your imagination. Your cock, too–it seemed longer. Thicker. It felt thicker when you jacked off, thinking about him, about your trainer, about…about how good he made you feel.

Without really noticing, the gym became the center of your life, and he was the center of your workout. Everything else was driver further and further to the periphery, so when your boss called you into his office, it felt like…some strange intrusion. You hoped it wasn’t more work he needed you to do today–you wouldn’t want to be late for your workout. You knew that your work had been slipping, but when he laid it all out in front of you: the missed deadlines, the simple errors, the poor presentations, your unprofessional appearance, the ill fitting clothes, your lack luster hygiene, it made you…feel so small, even though you towered over him. You wished your trainer had been there, so that you wouldn’t…have had to care. So that comfortable buzzing could have taken over, so he could have just…just told you what to do, what to say. You had no excuse, no reason to give, you could barely even speak at all. Your boss had only been planning on reprimanding you, but somewhere in the one-sided conversation he decided to just cut you loose entirely. You packed up your things, and didn’t know what to do–so you went to the gym, and you waited.

It was hours before the two of you were supposed to meet for your workout, but what else could you do? It was so hard to…to think, to make a decision. You felt paralyzed. But he…he was so confident, and he was so…such a natural leader, and you had to follow, you had to. When he arrived, you tried to tell him what happened, but getting the words out was difficult. Talking, in general, had become more and more difficult lately, and the buzzing when you were near him only made it worse, the stuttering, the words missing from your vocabulary, you couldn’t get it out, and so you just worked it out. You worked out, hoping that would help you focus, but all you felt was dimmer. It made you feel hopeless, and even more overwhelmed than before. What was wrong with you? You hadn’t always been like this. Thank goodness he was here, watching out for you, or else you would probably hurt yourself so much. At least you were looking good, looking bigger. With his help, you’d been packing on the pounds lately, and even the beard was looking better, now that you’d been growing it for a few months, though your hair was lank and greasy, and…just ugly. You stank too–when had you taken a shower last, or brushed your teeth? You hadn’t been taking care of yourself, not at all. You were disgusting, you were filthy, and ugly and…and you hated it.

You hated yourself, and there, on the bench, you started sobbing. You’d been trying to keep it inside, trying to ball it all up, but you had no guard left anymore, and you were certain, as soon as he saw how weak you really were, he’d leave. Abandon you, forget about you–worthless, hopeless you…but he didn’t. He sat down next to you, and put his arm around your now hulking shoulders, cooing at you, consoling you. The buzzing grew a bit louder, and you, slowly, calmed down. When you felt up to it, you continued your workout, and things felt…easier, for the moment, until you were finished…and he walked away from you in the parking lot.

Of course he was walking away, he had his own home, but the terror that gripped you, when he did, was something you couldn’t comprehend, and you started following him, chasing after him, and caught up to him as he climbed in. He saw you there, the desperation on your face. “Don’t….leave me…” you said, those three words so inadequate to how you felt, but the only three you could find in your empty head.

He thought for a moment, looking you over, and said, “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’ll Make You Fell Small (Part 3)

***WARNING*** Strangenesss ahead. Mind death and implied snuff.

He didn’t permit Trash to ride in the front cab with him–no, George had brought along a dog carrier, just for this purpose. The bitch was too short to get up into the back of his truck, so George had to lift him up by the armpits, and the sensation of being held, helpless in the air, only cemented for Trash his new status, not even as a bitch, but as some kind of pet, a freak, a worthless, meaningless animal, especially when George padlocked him in, without another word. The crate was cramped–he could barely fit inside it–at first, though it grew more comfortable as he rode. The ride was long, about an hour, and Trash tried to sleep. But the crate was unsecured, and slid from one side of the truck bed to the other with each turn–and he thought his Master might be taking the turns a bit too hard, just to make it harder for him to relax. Finally, however, they came to a stop on a gravel drive–but George didn’t let the bitch out–he just dropped the back, grabbed the crate, and carried Trash into the house still inside it.

Inside, he carried Trash right down into the basement, to his dungeon, and only there, did he finally unlock the door, and allow Trash to crawl out of the crate–which was easier than getting in, because he’d shrunk once again, now only about three feet tall, his skin pale and hairless, arms bony. He felt like he was…disappearing, slowly. He may be worthless, but he didn’t want to disappear, he didn’t deserve that, did he?

He barely reached his master’s crotch now, and he watched George light himself a cigar, and sit down in a leather armchair with a sigh, “Bitch, lick my boots clean.”

The thought of disobeying didn’t even cross his mind anymore–he got down on his knees and started licking at the leather, though his small tongue barely covered any area of leather.

“You know bitch, you’re lucky–did you know that? Don’t you think so? After all, you have the privilege of serving a man–a real man like me, isn’t that right? Do you really think you’re worthy of such a privilege, someone as disgusting as you are?”

“N-No sir, no, of course not, I’m the luckiest bitch, I really am,” Trey said.

George puffed on his cigar for a few minutes, considering a few possibilities, before saying, “Do you…admire me slave?”

“I…I do, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose you would, but a true bitch, no, you aren’t even a bitch, really, are you? Even bitches don’t ride around in crates, even bitches aren’t as small as you are. You’re just my pet, my obedient, dumb, desperate pet, eager to please, utterly dependent on me to provide for you. But I wouldn’t want a pet that looks like you–no, a proper pet takes after it’s owner, don’t you think? I mean, you certainly can’t be a man like I am, but if you really did admire me, I think you’d want to look like me right, Trash? No, it doesn’t even matter what you want to look like–that’s just what you are. All pets are simply reflections of their owners, you couldn’t look any different even if you were capable of thinking otherwise.”

George sat up and bent down, grabbing Trash and pulling him up. He was much heavier than before–not too heavy to lift, of course, but the bulging, hairy gut he’d sprouted had doubled his weight. His face and head was coated with white hair, and his face, while still…humanesque, no longer had any real sense of self, his eyes glued to George’s face, filled with wonder and love, wrinkled with age like George’s own.

“What would you like boy, you want to make your master happy?”

Trash whined. George lined him up with his hard cock, and slipped his pet onto him, his ass opening wide and taking him easily, George’s cock pressing deep into his body, giving him some discomfort, but Trash could handle it. For him, for his Master, he would do anything.

“Yes, such a good pet,” George said, sliding him all the way down onto his cock, and leaving him impaled there, stroking his fat hairy body, “So stupid. Do you even realize that, without me, your existence wouldn’t even matter? That I am the reason you exist, the only thing in the world that cares about you? That without me, you’d just wither away? I’m not your Master. I’m not your owner. I’m your god. You worship me. My pleasure is the only reason you exist. To me, you’re little more than an object to please me–so please me, suck the cum from me with your worthless body.”

Trash’s hairy, fat began to jiggle, clutching at the cock buried inside him trying as hard as it could to squeeze the huge cock inside it. It’s arms were withering–it no longer needed them. It’s legs, too, disappeared, it’s body contracting squeezing as hard as it could, slowly milking it’s god, growing smaller, feeling the cock take up more and more of it’s body, allowing it to constrict harder and tighter, it’s body focusing around it’s now singular purpose–to bring as much pleasure to this godly man as it could. Finally, it heard a roar–cum filling it’s body–it had succeeded, it had done what it was made to do. It was good.

George reached down, and pulled Trash free from his cock, and set it on his massive belly. It was now less than a foot tall, it’s arms and legs gone. He could feel the body still trying to suck, it’s inside cavity coated with cum–he petted it’s hairy body with two fingers, feeling it shiver with pleasure, it’s face melting into the body as it shrank. “It’s time. The only purpose you have now is to join with me. Become a part of your god, it’s the only thing you have left to do.”

He kept stroking. He could see the last bit of it fighting, struggling against what it knew it must do. It shrank smaller and smaller, now just an inch, looking like a hairy nipple in the midst of his belly, and soon he couldn’t see it at all–it had become shapeless, microscopic, nothing at all, now that it was simply a part of him. George sighed, and stroked his belly, satisfied. It was what he’d deserved, after all. Small men like that, small weak men who could only hurt others, the only thing they deserved was to be nothing at all.

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 2)

It felt, to Trey, like an enormous shaft of pain. He’d never, ever, allowed any man to fuck him before, and he screamed, trying to claw himself away, but somehow, this fat man continued to overpower him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his sides, weighing him down with his gut, breath hot against his neck. “How does it feel? Being helpless? Do you feel small? Well you are small. A small man–no, not even a man now. Not a man at all, you’re just a bitch, a slave. My slave–how does that sound? You don’t get to be a man anymore, no, all you are is two loose, hungry holes, ready to please your betters–but that means you’re ready to please absolutely anyone, right? Because you’re the worst, the smallest, the most pathetic thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. Now quit your crying and take it–it’s the only pleasure you’re going to get from now on.”

Trey remained quiet, listening, trying to understand how this could have happened, George focusing on inflicting as much pain as he could, but Trey’s gasps were already turning to groans, as he adjusted to the size of his cock, and he began to realize how good it felt, to take a real man’s cock in his hole.

“Listen to yourself,” George said, “Listen to you moan. Does it feel good? Being used like this? It’s disgusting, how much you enjoy it. Aren’t you disgusting? Say it. Say ‘I’m a disgusting little bitch slave.’ I want to hear you tell me what you are.”

“N-No…” Trey said, but even he knew there was no force behind it.

“Fucking say it!” George screamed at him, “Say you worthless sack of shit!”

“I’m…I’m a bitch…” Trey sobbed, “I’m…I’m a disgusting little…little bitch slave.”

“Again. Say it again.”

“I’m a little, disgusting bitch slave…”

George gave a growl, and flooded Trey’s ass with cum, gripping the bitch’s wrists hard enough to bruise as he filled him up, and then he slid himself free and stepped back, heaving for breath, looking down at Trey, at what he was now. He walked over, grabbed Trey by the hair, and dragged him over in front of a wide mirror against the wall, and in the dim light, Trey could make out his body, his…his small, worthless body–what had happened to him?

He was…short. He’d started out taller than this hulking daddy bear by at least two or three inches, but now he barely reached the top of his chest. He’d shrunk close to a foot and a half…and all of his muscles had disappeared along with it, like he’d simply deflated. No wonder he hadn’t been able to fight him off–why had he even tried? He…he knew better, a weakling like him. Men…men like this man, like his…Master. He couldn’t fight them, there was no way he could possibly win, not against a man like that. Not against any man…because…because he wasn’t a man, not…not anymore.

He could see his crotch, and it was…it was bare. He’d always had a small cock, but now he had literally nothing. Not even a nub, and his balls, too, had shrunken away and disappeared entirely. Seeing where the bitch was looking, George crouched down, and with one hand rubbed the smooth patch of skin. “Tell me bitch. What do you feel? Feel anything down there anymore?”

“N-No…No, what…what did you do to me? Where’s my cock?”

“You don’t deserve a cock, bitch. What would a pathetic piece of trash like you even use a cock for anyway? Or balls? No…no, you know what you’re good for–the only thing you’re good for, slave. Tell me…tell me what a worthless bitch like you might be good for.”

He didn’t…want to say it. He couldn’t say it, but his lips were moving, words were slipping out against him, “Serving…sir. Serving men. Men like you.”

George turned him towards him and slapped him across the face, “No, fucker–you don’t serve men like me. You serve any man–all men are better than you and deserve your service, right bitch?”

“Right…sir.”

“Good,” George said, and pulled out a collar attached to a leash he’d kept attached to his belt. Trey meekly allowed him to place it around his neck, and then George tugged him out of the room, naked, “Let’s see if we can help you learn that lesson, bitch. Come on.”

They stayed at the bath house until the early morning, George leading Trey around by the leash, forcing him to serve every single man they came across, no matter how old and fat, or young and thin. The whole time, he forced Trey to show off his empty crotch, forced him to tell men what he was, and what he was good for. He even gave him a new name, since he didn’t deserve a man’s name. His name was Trash now–and by the time George led him stumbling out into the cold dark outside, still naked, it was the only name he could remember having.

Down the street, still parked, was a motorcycle. Some…dim memory tried to tell him that it was his, but what could a little bitch like him ever do with a motorcycle? Hell, he wouldn’t even be able to drive it…at his new height. He’d continued shrinking, all night long, the more George had abused and humiliated him. Now, he was even weaker, and only about four feet tall. George stopped outside, and looked down at him, wondering what to do next. He wouldn’t be hurting anyone now, not anymore–but was that enough? Did such a cruel thing deserve even this much of a life, as a worthless, tiny bitch? He didn’t. Not in George’s opinion. “Come on slave, you’re coming home with me. I’ll deal with the rest of you then.”

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 1)

George stood outside The Pit, off to one side of the entrance, just beyond the scope of the streetlights, smoking a cigar, and waiting. He’d been standing there for close to an hour, waiting for him to show up, his target–a man named Trey Donovan. They had business that needed to be settled, not that Trey was aware of the debt he owed. Still, he’d been a blight on the local scene for long enough that someone needed to deal with the fucker, and George knew that if anyone could deal with him for good, it was him.

Trey thought of himself as an alpha, not that he really knew what that meant. An alpha ought to be a leader; to Trey, it simply meant dominator. He cared only about himself, about his needs, about his looks. He was, George supposed, appealing, of one had a fetish for gorilla silhouettes. He almost certainly was on steroids, from how large he was–it was clear he was compensating for something, and everyone who’d been with him (or raped by him) could attest to his rather…lackluster size. Still, anyone who mentioned that tended to end up with one of those massive forearms shoved inside, whether they were ready or not. He was a brute, cruel and unfeeling, and George had seen too many boys and cubs he liked be ruined by Trey, in one way or another.

George considered himself a daddy, and he looked the part too. Past what some might consider his prime, his hair greying and balding past the crown of his head, a big full gut pushing out against the thick leather harnesses he liked wearing. Still, he knew how to win someone’s obedience, how to create a bond more lasting than the ones Trey fostered out of pain and fear. Some brutes could only learn in the language of brutes, and George was certain Trey was one of them. If he could only get off by making people feel small, then perhaps what he needed more than anything else was to feel small himself. So small, he’d never hurt anyone ever again–George would make sure of that.

He heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down the street, and saw the hulking bull sitting in the saddle pull over to one side of the street and park. He was decked out in leather and denim, all the clothes a bit too small for him on purpose. Trey got off and stomped his way down the sidewalk and up into The Pit, passing George on the way, not even giving the old bear a glance, since George wasn’t exactly his type. He didn’t even hear the strange mumbling coming from the shadows, though he did feel a strange…sensation as he climbed the steps, like some shadow had attached itself to him. He tried to shake off the feeling, but couldn’t, growled and went inside, figuring a rough fuck would make him feel better. George just smiled, waited a few more minutes, put out the butt of his cigar, and then followed Trey inside, ready to get to work.

It hadn’t taken Trey long to get started. In fact, he had probably grabbed the first slightly appealing guy he’d seen, dragged him into a room, bent him over the bench and started on him–or at least that’s what it looked like. The guy was young, short, a bit of a twink, kind of into it, though he kept asking Trey to take in a bit slower–not that he was listening. A few men were watching, and George joined the circle, watching for a moment, before he said, just above a whisper to the man next to him, “What is it, four inches, ya think?”

The man he’d spoken to, knowing Trey’s reputation, immediately turned around and left the room–the other men following suit. Trey, too, had heard him of course, and stopped his rutting, gripping his victim tight to hold him in place, turning to where George was standing, leering. “Big enough to fuck you up, old man. W don’t you just shut up and watch, and see what a real man can do?” The quaver of doubt in his voice was apparent even to him, and he started fucking harder.

“You’re not a man, you’re just a fucking animal. A fucking animal with a tiny, worthless dick,” George said, “You’re pathetic.”

Trey pulled out, and snarled, but something was wrong with him. He knew that he should be angry–no, he was angry, but he should be…angrier than he was. Part of him, some strange part of him was…a bit turned on, by the insult, for some reason. The young twink took his opportunity, rolled off the bench and ran off, Trey realizing too late that his fuck had gotten away. “Ya know, I don’t usually fuck old farts like you, but I’ll ram my fist up your hole just to teach you a lesson about respect!”

He charged George, ready to tackle him. “You’re weak,” George said. Something affected his stride, and Trey stumbled, nearly tripping. “You’re weak, and you’re worthless.” No, no, this wasn’t right, Trey thought to himself, this fucker couldn’t…couldn’t say shit like this to him! He threw a punch–George caught his fist in his own…and his hand should have been so much bigger, but somehow…somehow this old, fat man could palm his fist in his own…and…and… “Bend over, bitch,” George spat.

Trey fought. He fought this…this this sudden desire to submit, something he’d never felt before in his life, something he’d never even imagined himself capable of feeling. He took a step back, but George closed the distance between them, one of the bears hands wrapping around his neck. “You worthless piece of trash, don’t even think about it. You know you deserve this. I’m gonna show you just how little of a man you are. Now bend the fuck over, whore–I won’t tell you again.”

George shoved him back, Trey trying to keep his balance, but he fell on his ass, and…and he got on his knees, helped himself up with the bench, and…and bent over, the whole time, his mind screaming at him, unable to understand why he was doing this, as he heard George’s belt buckle click open, his zipper drop, and the old bear shoved his eight inch cock in balls deep.