The Monastery

Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.

As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.

Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…

He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.

Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.

He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past.

It was a desire for control, that had led Father Nicholas to the priesthood. Control over his own urges, foremost, ones that had haunted him through his youth, ones that God had promised him he would conquer, if he only believed hard enough. To his teachers in seminary, this was a troublesome impulse, one they sought to temper. Control was important, yes, but to err is human. Without forgiveness, then everything they preached was meaningless. Nicholas understood that, but found it difficult to live–and certainly difficult in parish life. But he had found this calling in Rome, rooting out heresy and fraud and crimes against the church. He was a dog on a leash, and Rome held him and pointed him where he needed to go–and he did what was necessary. But this was already…a rather strange welcome. How warmly they had received him, even knowing why he was here, the threat he posed to their order. It felt like, either they knew they were innocent, or that they believed there was nothing he could do to bring them to heel.

Dressed, he felt somewhat restored. A shower would help, but that could come later–mostly he felt that what he needed most was confession–especially after the night before. None of the monks here were priests however–not in this small order. The only one able to hear his confession was the abbot–but that posed other problems. According to the monks, the abbot had fallen rather ill and needed to be confined to his chambers. They were vague about the nature of his affliction, and insisted that serious medical intervention was not necessary. The abbot, they told him, believed that God would heal him, and thought seeking a doctor would be a sign of weakness. It felt like a lie, but without knowing who was to gain from it, it was hard to sense the truth behind it. Was the abbot actually ill, or perhaps dead, the monks covering for some kind of foul play? Or was there something else the abbot desired to hide himself, and the illness was merely a convenient excuse? He found his way to the prior of the abbey, a short, rather rotund fellow named Timothy who had welcomed Nicholas the evening before. He found him in the abbot’s study, apparently taking care of business during his illness. Not unusual, but suspicious all the same.

He asked him if he would be able to see the abbot for confession, and Timothy told him it would be difficult, given the abbot’s condition. Perhaps in a few days, Timothy told him. In the meantime, Timothy promised Nicholas he would help him with whatever documents or records he needed from the abbey during his investigation. Nicholas gave him a list, and Timothy happily turned them over with question or reluctance. He simply told Nicholas that dinner would follow the Vespers service, and they were welcome to join them for both.

Nicholas did. The service was fine–though none of the monks were particularly fine singers or readers. It seemed a bit…hollow, in some ways. Rushed. The monks were seemingly eager to be through it, and Nicholas more than once caught a whiff of something delicious on the air, and he felt that hunger from the morning leap up again. He had promised himself a day of fasting, following his indulgence, but when he told this to Timothy, the prior merely chuckled, and led Nicholas into the hall, where another massive feast, equal in size to the one the night before, was laid out for them all. He was appalled, really. How could such extravagance be afforded so regularly? But Timothy planted him in his seat, the monks urging him to eat. He was so thin and frail! So quiet. Does he not like to live? Appreciate the gifts of the earth that God and Christ had given them?

He tried to excuse himself, but the wine was poured and pressed to his lips. The feast the night before had felt warm and welcoming, but tonight, there was a certain pressure. Outside pressure, from the monks, implying that he would be insulting them, if he refused their hospitality. But that was easy for him to resist–it was the pressure on the inside that was bending him, the hunger building up until it overwhelmed him, and he sat back down, filled a plate of his own volition, and devoured it, all while Timothy urged him on, his wine always full, the monks laughing and cackling around him. His vision was swirling, but there was some commotion at the far end, something he thought was fighting at first, one monk thrown against the table by another, but it was…it was…

He awoke with the same gasping, choking sensation as the night before, but the sensation passed a bit faster–which was a relief. At least until he realized, with some shame, that his sheets were damp with more than just sweat this evening, but that he had, apparently, had a wet dream at some point as well. He could…smell it, and it nearly made him want to vomit. He couldn’t recall the last time he had ejaculated–either on his own, or in the night. Perhaps as teenager, but even then, only once or twice. The dream was fading again, but left him with an even deeper sense of defilement than the one before. He took a shower, and noticed that his thin and muscular body was showing signs of a paunch after his two feasts now–and he was so filled with disgust and shame at his own lack of discipline, that he retreated to his room to pray privately for most of the morning, and then continued his devotions into the afternoon–until Timothy came to find him, and check to see if he was well.

Timothy was kind and gentle with him. Coaxed him from his room, only for Nicholas to find himself seated, once again, in the hall, another massive feast laid out before him, and all he could think to do was vomit–but the hunger inside him welled up once more, betrayed him–and again, the dreams, the vile, choking, panting, aching, dreams! It was the next day, his sheets again soaked with sweat and cum, that he demanded the sacrament of penance from the abbot–or he threatened to go into town and speak with the priest there instead, and not stop until he was back in Rome to tell the cardinals that this monastery needed to be torn down, stone by stone. Timothy consulted with the abbot in private, and was told that the abbot would agree–but he would need a few hours to prepare, and that he demanded that Nicholas not lay eyes upon him. The restrictions seemed ridiculous, but he agreed–and so that afternoon he was seated in the confessional, listening to the raspy breathing of someone he could not see through the screen, and he spoke:

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been…six days since my last confession.”

There was no reply, just the same ragged breathing on the other side of the screen. 

“I…I most confess to mortal sins. I…In my dreams, I fear I have sinned against God. Turned against him. That I have…have given into gluttony, and lust in ways that I do not understand, but which I feel are…are putting my soul in mortal danger.”

It was the truth, as close as he could come to it. The ragged breathing quickened, and became a deep, unsettling chuckle. “I am afraid, you are going to need to be more specific,” the abbot said to him. “If these sins are indeed putting your soul at risk, surely you can…tell me more about them…”

The voice was like oil, sliding over his ears and his skin and under his clothes and into his guts. He nearly fled then, but couldn’t move. “I…I do not remember them, I only…only feel it, in my soul.”

“Shall I tell you, what I saw then?” the voice said, close on the other side of the screen, close enough that Nicholas could…smell his breath, the rank odor closing in on him in the confined space. “How I watched you stuff yourself like a pig at our table? How I wanted you devour more and more into the empty space that you have hollowed out, waiting with all hope that God would come alive to fill it for you, but I filled it first, priest. I filled you up, I did, I filled you to the brim, and when you were full, I watched you fuck–clumsy, so clumsy, fumbling and foolishly, but you fucked. You enjoyed it too, you know. Had you given in, before? I tasted it on you when you arrived, how much you crave men, how it drove you here, right into my arms, where you always belonged, you know. God is empty, you see. I am not–we are not. We are alive! We are alive, and living, and enjoying all that life had to offer–and all you must do, for your penance, my dear priest, is submit, and live with me inside you.”

He hadn’t noticed the hole cut into the side of the screen when he’d entered, but he noticed it now, the thick, bulbous, leaking cock thrust through it, inches from Nicholas’ knees, the scent of the cum heady and creamy, and the hunger, oh the hunger thrumming inside him! He longed to taste it, longed to take it inside him, longed to devour it and everything else, everything that had held him back for so long, but Nicholas pulled away, fumbled open the door and tumbled out onto the stone floor–the monks already on him, holding him down and binding him, as the other door opened, and out stepped the abbot–or what remained of the man that the demon inside him had devoured.

He was massive, easily 600 pounds of heaving fat hanging off his frame in uneven rolls. His robe was filthy, crusted with cum and food, and he stank of corruption. It was his face though, his…massive mouth, and his eyes. The drool hanging from his lips in long sticky strings, His eyes were pitch black–and above them, a row of horns had pushed their way out from his forehead and temples. “I knew it was too soon for you–but I also do not have the time to waste, wearing you down slowly–bring him down into the dungeon, we will see if a few tools of the inquisition might bring our Vatican friend to his proper senses.”

The monks all professed their obedience, and while he struggled, they bound Nicholas and dragged him down into the depths of the monastery, the demon following behind them, down into the dark.


How long had he been down here now, in the dark?

There were no windows, only torches that never seemed to need to be relit, or perhaps they were only changed during his occasional, fitful moments of sleep. Nicholas screamed again as the lash came down upon his back again, heaving for breath, having already lost count of the number of blows this session.

“Can you feel it, Father?” Timothy said behind him, his hands gripping the leather tightly. He had traded in his robes for the garb of his new master–a leather harness strapped tight around his chubby frame, a leather strap knotted around his cock, keeping it fully erect, the color a deep reddish purple in the torchlight. “Can you feel it? Oh, I can. I can feel your pain, how delicious it is. Lean into it, release yourself into it! Your body need not feel as pain what it can feel as pleasure!”

The lash came down on him again, Nicholas tried to scream again, but nothing came out. He was exhausted–spiritually and physically. Down here in the dark, the torture had been unceasing, since meeting the demon in confession. If they were not whipping him, or branding him, or milking him, they were feeding him, forcing more and more of their slop into him, more and more wine, keeping him in a constant state of delirium, all of his senses driven to their limits. 

Sensing that he had had enough, Timothy tossed the lash to the side, stepped forward, and mounted the father, working his own aching cock into the priest’s now well worn hole, rutting against him wordlessly for a few minutes until he came, seeding him with another load, the same as the others he could feel drying on the inside of his thighs. Nicholas sobbed then, as Timothy pulled free, took off the strap and freed his own member. Other monks, dressed similarly, rushed in to care for Nicholas’s wounds, forcing more wine on him, and always more slop–but that…that was welcome. The hunger was only growing more intense now, gnawing away in his very bones at times. The monks no longer had to force him to eat–if food was put before him, he would devour it mindlessly, realizing only after, his face coated with muck, that they were making a literal pig of him.

And always, he could smell him in the dark. The demon. The abbot. Watching him, but in all of these days and hours, he had not once said a single word–even when Nicholas had cried out, demanding answers–even demanding death–he had been silent. And so he ate, and he drank, and his wounds were dressed with a surprisingly human tenderness, and then those monks too left him there in the dim light–and it was the first time that Nicholas had been alone in all of this time.

He tested his bonds again, but the cords were just as strong as before, holding him tight over this horse. He struggled anyway–what else was there to do, in the end? But even that exhausted him quickly, and he allowed himself to hang, the wine going to his head, making him dizzy, wondering if it would be better spent trying to rest in this moment of solace.

“Now, perhaps we can begin again. Confess to me your sins, father. Confess them, and I will strip them of you, and grant you true absolution from guilt, and pain, and hunger. None will trouble you again, so long as you are in my arms.” It was the demon speaking, but his voice seemed to permeate the room. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Perhaps, even from within his own mind.

Nicholas did not know what to say–but he ached. He ached to be free of this, he wanted to feel the sun on his skin, longed for God–and the demon laughed, like he could sense his thought.

“God is silent, don’t you see? God no longer cares for you–not like I do. Toil and labor in the service of him, and you get nothing but doubt and death. I can offer you more, so much more.”

He felt a sharp claw run down his welted back, and Nicholas gasped. It did not hurt–it felt…divine. He shuddered, his cock growing full, the demon continuing to stroke him gently, Nichoas moaning and gasping under his touch. 

“You long for me. You always have. Confess to me, how you turned away from me, Nicholas.”

His life stretched out before him, in his mind. How…things had started so differently for him, when he was young. How…how that first time with his cousin, how much he had loved the touch of men, but in his conservative family, any sort of desire like that had to be starved into nothing. And so, Nicholas ate. He ate, and he ate, and he tried to fill that hole inside him, thinking about him, about so many men, and hating himself for it. God seemed to be the only hope he had left anymore, and so he devoted himself to the church, first as an altar boy, and then finding his way into seminary.

It was there, that the discipline had been driven into him, by his teachers. They were disgusted by him, by his weight and his gluttony, which he had used to cover up his deeper sins. They shamed him, and humiliated him, wore him down and starved him until he was thin and muscular and willing to do anything for God–but what had God ever done for him? In all of this denial, in all of this rejection of the world, what had he gained, really? Happiness? Satisfaction? He was hungry, but he realized now, that the hunger was older–much older than the last few days. He’d been hungry all his life, and now, here he was, face to face with a being that could, at long last, feed him.

“I…please, I starved myself, I…I’m so hungry I don’t know what to do anymore,” Nicholas said between sobs, “Please help me, please, I…please forgive me…”

“I forgive you, priest, now feast on my seed. Join me. Do your penance.”

Nicholas allowed the cock into his mouth, sucked on it, draining it of everything he could. The precum was thick and creamy, coating the inside of his mouth, filling his gut–warm and solid and so satisfying. He drank and drank, letting it all go, letting all of his control drop for the first time in his life, ready to…embrace everything. Everything he could have been. With a roar, the demon’s cock erupted, and he drove his cock deeper down Nicholas’s throat, draining his corrupt balls deep into his guts, and Nicholas felt himself swell, and swell, and swell, so full he was certain he would burst from the love of his new God, but it would be worth it, worth everything to feel full, to feel this divine presence inside him, and just as he was certain he would be able to take no more–

He awoke.

He awoke from the most exquisite dream he had ever had in his life. He awoke reborn. He threw the sheets down, looked and saw his new body, nearly 400 pounds, and with his hands, he groped his fat, feeling his new folds, groaning and moaning in delight from the sensation of so much weight pressing down on him, and he grasped his cock, grunting and snorting, and within a minute, he shot one of the largest loads of his life all over his belly–and he rubbed it in, relishing it, thanking his God for accepting him in all of his folly, for showing him the way to pleasure, for giving him this true gift of a new body.

He rolled up and stood with some difficulty, and just stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He was beautiful, so beautiful. Full breasts hanging from his chest, wrapping around under his arms, with massive swollen nipples on each. Three chins cascading from his now fat, round face. His thighs touching most of the way to his knees, his ass jiggling slightly as he moved. He had already shot once, but he was already so horny…he struggled with his harness, but found his way into it, and left his room to join the monks.

The monastery had dropped all pretenses–the monk’s old robes folded away, all of them wearing the same harness and nothing else. He passed several pairs fucking in the hallways of the abbey–and while Nicholas longed to join them, he…he knew where he was needed, what he needed, and he found his way to the prior, to Timothy, down in the dark, and with their God in audience, Timothy gave Nicholas a proper whipping, and now, every grace of the lash against his flesh brought forth such brightness and pleasure that Nicholas’s cock would spontaneously explode, splattering load after load on the stone walls, until at last, Timothy fucked him roughly, and so pleased with with their devotion, their God allowed each of them to suckle on his milky teats until the time for the evening feast was upon them.

It was weeks later when Nicholas bade farewell to his brothers one morning, climbed into the car that had been sent for him, and left the abbey behind. He had gained more weight now–closer to 450 pounds–struggling to fit in the back of the small car, but it did not matter. He had found himself, who he was always meant to be, and he had a new mission now, one far, far more important than any he had been sent on before. He patted his satchel, a hunger gnawing at him, but he knew better than to feast on these himself–inside, were several vials of his God’s seed, each with a particular target designated in Rome, and in the world beyond. Cardinals, mostly–each of them with a weakness the demon could exploit, and each of them a potential new pope, as this one’s breath was growing ragged. It was time for a new church. A church with a real God, one you could touch. One you could serve. One who would ensure you would never be hungry again.

Danny’s Bad Day

The day had not gotten off to a good start for Danny. He’d woken up late, struggled to get himself together on time, and now was just making it to the gym a half an hour after he had agreed to meet Matt there for their workout together. Knowing him, he’d probably gotten started, and now Danny would have to catch up or get left behind again. He pushed his way into the gym, and as he did, he felt…something odd. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, actually, like there was some strange film in the doorway, something he’d pushed through that was more than air. The sensation was gone in a moment, but as the door shut behind him, he realized he couldn’t hear the traffic or the sounds of people in the street outside the building, and the sounds coming from inside the gym didn’t seem normal either. 

He stepped up to the desk to sign in, and saw that someone he didn’t recognize was sitting there. Usually one of the owners of the gym, Sven or Taylor, were at the desk, greeting people as they entered, but today there was a tall, lithe fellow sitting in the chair, wearing a polo shirt, and looking friendly. Still, Danny didn’t have time or a desire to chat with a stranger, not when he was already running late, so he just scanned himself in, as the man said hi, and tried to introduce himself. Danny knew it was rude to just ignore him…but if he ended up working here for a while, there would be plenty of chances for them to get to know each other soon enough. Danny knew what it was like to be ignored anyway–and he kind of relished the opportunity to turn the tables on someone, especially someone as tall as this fellow, who was easily an inch or two over six feet tall.

Danny, on the other hand, was short. Very short. Five foot, two inches short. He was used to people looking over him, or looking down at him, or treating him like a kid. He’d started going to the gym with Matt, hoping he’d at least be able to bulk up a bit, but so far all he’d managed was to get a bit more toned, which honestly didn’t help his image much. He compensated by wearing some shoes with thick soles, but even that didn’t help a whole lot. Most days he was a nice guy–but with everything that was going wrong for him, he just didn’t have the patience. It was a shame really. He could have gotten what he wanted. But it was a bad day for Danny, and it was only going to get worse.

The guy at the desk, after all, wasn’t a exactly a new member of the staff. He was the new owner, in fact. Of course, the gym wasn’t even really a gym anymore, and it didn’t even really exist on earth–not like it had. The man sitting behind the desk had gone by many names over the eons–though the one that had stuck the longest was Loki–though even that name was old and somewhat forgotten at this point. Humanity didn’t really have the imagination for magic, or gods anymore, or for naming the things beyond them. It made things easier, in some ways, for Loki to have his fun. He was a trickster after all, a joker, a force to be reckoned with. He’d asked Danny how he could help him today–which he had asked everyone so far, as they’d arrived at his gym. He’d given everyone what they wanted–mostly, in one way or another. But this one–this short, impatient fellow–he was strong willed, Loki could tell already. There was always at least one. Loki sat back and decided to just watch for a bit, and see how long it took him to realize how different things were already. These ones were always the most fun, after all.

Danny got to the gym floor and scanned it, looking for Matt, figuring he would be working out already, but to his surprise, he wasn’t there, that he could see. Maybe he wasn’t as far behind as he’d thought. But then he saw something strange. Something that he just…stared at for a moment, certain he had to be seeing things. That it couldn’t possibly be happening, right in front of him.

It was a regular at the gym, but not an acquaintance of his. Matt would probably know his name–he was here more often than Danny. He had interacted with the man a few times–and it hadn’t been the best experience. The guy was a bit of a clean freak, and if you left a machine and didn’t wipe it down, he would walk over and berate you, and then drag you over and make you clean it while he watched, to make sure it was to his standards. Everyone had their pet-peeves of course, but…but now, he was watching this man, looming over a bench on his hands and knees, licking the leather clean.

Danny just stared, because it was so absurd. He looked around, wondering if anyone else had noticed what the guy was doing, but it seemed he was the only one that noticed it at all, and he looked back at him, and noticed something else–the man’s tongue…it wasn’t normal either. It was too long, his tongue stroking the surface with such careful caressing strokes, thick, and slimy, and…and Danny looked away, confused and disturbed, but now that he had noticed one odd thing, more began to stand out to him.

Over there, by the power racks, were a couple of brothers who were in here often and usually working out together. They were both handsome, tall, and if they weren’t actual twins, they consciously styled themselves to seem nearly identical–often even wearing matching tanks and shorts when they were here. But the brother’s weren’t working out–they were making out with each other, their clothes off and discarded around them…but that wasn’t what made Danny question his own sanity in that moment. It was that there were only three legs between the two of them.

He had to count them twice, just to be sure. Then he looked for four arms, and he could only find two, one on each brother caressing the other, pulling each other closer, and as he stared, mouth open and jaw nearly on the floor, he could see that their bodies were fusing together, bit by bit. Even the third leg between them was beginning to atrophy, and pull up into the rest of their body as the two brother’s mindlessly kissed, two heads sitting on one set of shoulders.

Then there was Anton, standing over by the mirrors and the free weights. He was flexing, as he did often enough–but his body wasn’t right either. His arms were too long, and there was more hair than Danny recalled him having. In the mirror, his face didn’t look right either–the brow too defined and heavy, his eyes looking a bit empty, mouth hanging open and panting, one of his arms moving down to stroke his cock, even as the other went up, and he started sniffing at his pit, like the stench coming from there was heavenly.

Danny just stuttered, unable to believe what he was seeing. Was he having a stroke? Was this some dream, or hallucination? Was he dead?

“Everything alright, sir?”

Danny spun around, and there behind him, was the man from the front desk, looking down at him with a rather impish grin. “I…I don’t…are you seeing…any of this? Am I insane?”

“Oh no–this is all real. Allow me to introduce myself–I’m the new proprietor here, at this gym. You would be Danny, right?”

“How…who the fuck are you?” he demanded, but Loki just grinned down at him.

“Is there something I can help you with? Maybe…with your height? Give you…yeah, I see what you want, you want to be noticed, don’t you? Well I can make everyone want you–would you like that?”

Danny didn’t know what the stranger was talking about, and he backed away slowly, realizing he had stepped into a place that was not what he was expecting. “I…where’s Matt? And where are Sven and Taylor? They’re the ones who own this gym.”

“Ah, I facilitated the sale earlier with them. As far as I know, they’re still in the locker room. We were discussing price when your friend came in…half an hour ago?–and helped us reach a solution. I’m sure they’re all still occupied. But I’ll ask the more important question again, how can I help you?” Loki bent down, looming over Danny, “I’ve helped everyone so far–he wanted a gym that was cleaner, and I’ve helped him take it upon himself to make sure every bench is so clean you could eat off it,” he pointed at the man still licking the bench. “Those two wanted to be even closer–and I would say it’s difficult to be closer than that,” he indicated the two brothers–their bodies now almost entirely fused. “And he, well, he fancied himself a caveman, in his mind, a mindless muscular brute. I’m just helping him look more like he sees himself on the inside. But you–what can I do for you? Just ask, and I’ll give it to you.” 

Danny backed away some more, and then fled in the direction of the locker rooms. He had to find Matt, Danny told himself. He had to find his friends! Maybe together, they could sort out what this creepy fucker was doing, and figure out how to put things right again. Loki just laughed–this fellow was a strong one! No matter–he would settle him in sooner or later, in one way or another. He followed after him at a leisurely pace, knowing that there was nowhere he could run. Maybe once he found his friends he’d have a change of heart.

Danny made his way into the locker room but slowed down as he did, not quite sure what to expect–especially after what he had seen out in the rest of the gym. He thought about his friend Matt, a massive bodybuilder who had spent years perfecting his physique so far. Danny had always been envious of him–of not just his height, but also of his sizable cock, which was longer soft than Danny’s was hard. His personality was electric–he was always cracking jokes, and toying with people, and flirting, and he had such confidence. Danny felt lucky to be his friend, but now…well, what could this man have possibly done to him, and to Taylor and Sven too? Taylor was tall and lanky, and loved to play basketball, while Sven was shorter and stockier–thickly built and powerful…and what could all of them possibly want? They all had what Danny desired after all–he couldn’t really fathom what this man would have done to them, what he might have given them that they didn’t already have. But he could hear the moans coming from around the corner, smell musk, and sweat, and other strange odors on the air. He knew he should run–but he had to see. He had to try…and help them, he supposed.

He turned the corner, and there were three people there–but none of them were immediately recognizable as any of his friends. The scene unfolding was so absurd, that if he hadn’t known it was real and that all three of them were his friends, he would have laughed at the sight of it. One of them–she was beautiful, really. A transwoman with a stunning face, gorgeous hair cascading down past her broad shoulders, two muscular breasts jutting out, and there, below those, was one of the largest cocks he had ever seen. The woman was moaning, a deep, sensual voice echoing around the tiled room, as a second…thing was hunched over, suckling on one of her breasts while she stroked her cock. Danny had to creep around a bit to get a look at the second person, just to make sure he really was seeing this…beast.

It wasn’t a man–it was…a minotaur? That was the closest thing he could imagine for the beast suckling on the woman’s tit, lips frothy with milk, eyes gazing up at her face in awe and lustful worship. He was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, but large parts of his body were no longer human at all–his face was already contorting into a short, broad snout, his eyes were vacant and bestial, he had two horns pushing their way out from his skull, and there was a thick metal ring through his wide nose to complete the image. Below the waist, he was similarly changing–brown and white fur running down his massive legs, to where his feet had become heavy hooves–and his cock, emerging from a sheath, was easily a foot long, and no longer the least bit human in shape, with a flared head mottled skin. Behind him, a tail was even flicking back and forth, growing longer with each swing, a tuft appearing on the end as well. 

And that left the third figure–some sort of massive blob of a man lying nearby, watching the other two while stuffing his face with food. Danny had no way to even guess how much the thing might weigh–probably close to a thousand pounds, if not even a bit more. The man’s body was more slug like than anything else at this point–Danny could see small, vestigial legs on the end of his body, slowly withering away to nothing, while the rest of his body just became a singular, pulsating mass, pushing itself forward, moaning as he did–Danny realized it was because the fat slug man was dragging his cock against the ground–and whatever it looked like, it was probably large, and it left a scummy trail of white cum behind his body as he moved. He no longer had a head–or at least not one that could be separated from the rest of his oozing body. The man’s neck was too fat to really differentiate the head from the shoulders, or from anything else. His eyes were small and beady, the nose wide, but it was the mouth–the massive, gaping maw, droll running out of it and down his flabby chest–it was the mouth that he just stared at, unable to fathom how something like that could even happen.

It had to be a lie. These couldn’t be his friends, it was impossible. It had to be impossible. 

“Let’s see,” Loki said, coming up behind him, “Sven was more than happy to give up his share of the gym, once we had a chat. He’s always secretly thought exercise was too much work, and resented the fact that he couldn’t just eat–well, eating is what he does best now, and he’s so much happier now. As for those two, they were a bit more difficult. See, Matt didn’t want to change–not really, but he did have this fantasy. A strong woman, huge breasts, a massive drooling cock, milking her, suckling from her, getting fucked my her and then fucking her back. Taylor–well, I don’t know if she was really willing, but she seems to be enjoying herself now, don’t you agree? Still, Taylor needed something too–a real beast, a monster to fuck her, hungry for her milk–well, Matt will be her bull from now on, worshiping her entire body and keeping her oh so happy. Matt did love having everyone call him ‘Toro’ after all–doesn’t it suit him? I think they got quite a bargain for this place. More than money could buy, certainly.”

“I’m…this is sick! What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you do this to people?” Danny asked, and Loki just looked at him, eyes lax, like he was bored already.

“Because when you have lived a life like mine, and when you can do what I do, why would you do anything else? Why not give people what they want?–which brings us to you, little man,” Loki said, and squatted down, emphasizing just how low he had to get to look Danny in the eyes. “I can give you what you want too. Big man–bigger than all of them, and no one will be able to look away from you. Big cock too, you’ll be so happy here, with the rest of my toys. Isn’t that what you’d like? That’s why you come here after all–to change yourself. Because you aren’t happy like this–none of you were happy, this is not a place where happy people come. But this–this is true happiness, what I can offer you.”

Had things gone differently that day already, Danny would have said yes. After all, he wanted so much more than the rest of them, had wanted for so much longer, but this day, he balked. He balked, because he knew that what Loki was offering wasn’t really what he wanted, and looking over at his friends, all of them warped beyond their humanity, he knew that he would not fare any better than them, in the end, no matter what Loki promised him. “No–No, I’m getting out of here, and I’m getting them out with me. I’m not going to let you do this to him you fucking freak!”

He charged at his friends, first to Matt, tugging on his shoulder, shouting in his ear, but he didn’t even seem to notice him. Taylor, too didn’t so much as turn her eyes down to look his way, as she pushed Matt down to her cock, “Come now little Toro, suckle on your mistresses’ cock you fucking beast,” she whispered to him, and Matt didn’t need anymore urging. He took her cock in his mouth and started to suck, drinking down her milk, and Danny could…see his body bulking up even more, piling on more muscle as he mooed gently around her cock like it was a teat. Danny backed away in horror, and then turned to Sven–but he had no luck with him, either, not even when he pounded on his flabby body, trying to do whatever he could to get their attention. His anger turned to panic, and he started shouting louder, desperate for anyone to see him, or pay attention to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist to them anymore.

“It was rude, you know, what you did when you came in,” Loki said to him, and Danny turned around and looked at him. “You ignored me. Not many men have ignored me, in my life. But you enjoyed it in the moment, I could feel it. You felt justified, because you thought I was just someone working the desk, not someone you had to care about. Perhaps I should make it so no one will notice you ever again?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. How fucking dare you do this to us? You nasty fucking–” but that was as far as Danny got, as something happened to his mouth. It happened in a moment, his teeth dissolving as his lips contracted tight, feeling like they were caught in a tight pucker. He couldn’t speak, or breathe, and he clawed at his throat for a moment, until he realized he didn’t need to breathe, and he probed his face, cautiously with his hands, and felt that his mouth had…become an asshole. His nose had disappeared as well–and when he tried to scream, all that came out was a loud, noxious fart–and Loki burst into an uproarious laugh.

“Curse me, will you?” Loki said, “I’m the one with the curses around here, little man. If you can’t show me a little respect, then I don’t see why I should even give you the privilege of having a mouth any longer.”

Danny looked around for a moment, looked up at his friends–and realized the only chance he had to help any of them, would be to try and save himself. So he ran. He ran out past the still laughing Loki, fled the locker room, but as he ran, he could tell something else was happening to him. The ceiling was looming higher and higher above him, and the ground was coming up closer. He was running at the same speed, and yet felt like he was going slower and slower. Still he pressed on, slowing to a waddle, and he reached the doors to the gym, gave a mighty push, but while he could feel them rattle–he no longer had the strength to move even one of them, in order to escape.

In the glass, he could see himself reflected dimly. Now only two feet tall, if not a bit shorter still than that, his arms and legs had shrunk–his legs especially, now two thick stumps only a few inches long, that could barely carry his thick trunk of a body. Even now, he was wobbling slightly, unable to really keep his balance well without something to lean against. His new asshole took up most of his smaller face now, and he just had two smaller eyes–and his hair and short beard were different as well–curly and thick, more like pubes, than like actual hair. He looked around in terror, not sure what to do, or where he could hide, when he heard–and felt, footsteps behind him, and saw Loki casually sauntering towards him, not a hurry or a care in the world, knowing as well as Danny knew that there was nowhere he could go.

“Well–is it what you wanted, little man? Little asshole? What do you think–should I just leave you like this–everyone oblivious to you, just running around this place, trying to avoid being stepped on by all the brutes around here, now really just the runt under their feet you always feared you light be? Or are you going to cooperate? Give up, let me in, and I’ll make you happy–I promise.”

What choice did he have, really? Danny nodded, and relaxed, and he…could feel it. Feel the place permeate him somehow, like he belonged here. Behind him, the door sealed itself shut–perhaps it was still there, but for Danny–as for Matt, and Sven, and Taylor, there was no escape for them now. They were permanent residents in Loki’s kingdom here–for better or for worse. He braced himself, wondering what it would feel like, growing larger…but it became apparent after a moment that nothing was happening. He opened his eyes, looked down at himself, and saw that he was the same strange freak he’d been moments ago–Loki said he would give him what he wanted!

“No–I said I would make you happy–that is a very different thing,” Loki said, turned, and walked off back into the gym.

Angry, Danny waddled off after him, trying his best to keep balance on his tiny legs and feet, but Loki easily covered more ground than him, leaving the little asshole in the dust. Danny got tired quickly, and leaned against a bench to rest, looking around the place, at the freaks surrounding him. The man cleaning the benches was stuck on all fours, his tongue several feet long and very wide. The ape man was now beating his chest before grabbing weights and lifting them–massive amounts, really, obviously pleased with his new form. He looked around for the twins, but didn’t see them–then he turned around and saw them looming over him, obviously aware of his existence.

They were massive–easily nine feet tall, and as broad as two men. Their skin had taken on a greenish, greyish hue, and thick curly black hair was sprouting all over them. Their heads and faces were still identical, but had taken on a monstrous edge, thick tusks and short horns, like a rhino, were jutting from their forehead.  But closer to him, he could see a pair of foot long cocks, jutting out from the same root, and below that, a massive sack with four, churning balls inside. “Look bro, a little asshole!” one head said to the other. 

“Oh man bro, let’s put my cock in him.”

“No, mine! I saw him first.”

“Oh fine bro, but I get to fuck him after you.”

Danny tried to run, but the ogre’s arms swept down and picked him up like he weighed nothing, and holding him in both hands, they forced one of the cocks into his new mouth. It didn’t hurt, like Danny expected it to–instead, a massive wave of pleasure surged through him, and he shuddered, his insides rearranging, pulsing and vibrating around the ogre’s massive cock.

“Fuck bro, this little asshole feels great!”

“Kiss me bro, come on.”

The two ugly heads turned and made out, both hands working together to fuck Danny up and down on the cock, the sensation overwhelming Danny’s mind, and he wanted more. Wanted them to fuck deeper, wanted them to fill him up with their seed, wanted to please them, because pleasing them made him so happy too. 

One cock came, pumping a massive load of cum into Danny’s body, and he felt…full, a hunger he hadn’t even noticed brewing inside him feeling more sated. The ogre pulled him off one cock, and impaled him on the other, and repeated the fucking. After a couple of minutes, that cock too was spent, and the ogre gently set him down on the bench, where Danny rubbed his belly, full of cum, feeling…so happy. Content, even. He was a little asshole–and little assholes needed to be fucked.

The simple idea of it made what remained of his rational, human mind begin to short circuit and wither away. He knew what he was. He knew what made him happy. He needed to get fucked, of course–what else was there for a little asshole like him? He thought about Taylor in the locker room, wondered how it would feel to be wrapped around her massive cock. Matt, too–his new bull cock was so long that it might even come out the other end, leaving him impaled on it, sliding up and down…

Danny shuddered, and he carefully got down from the bench, even more unstable on his little legs, but he crossed the gym floor as quickly as he could, heading for the locker room. The day had started out terribly–but it was already looking brighter, for a little asshole like him.

A Ghost Story

Commissioned by Tnaka1414


I thought death would be the end of it.

I’m not religious or anything. Never really thought there was much to life, so never really expected much of an afterlife either. Maybe if I’d gone out differently. Peacefully, you know? Just lying in a bed, slipping away. Or who the hell knows, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered in the least, and I’d still be floating around like this then too. In any case, here I am, still stuck in my fucking restaurant (or what had been my restaurant until my murder), weeks later, just…drifting around, watching all of this fucking shit go down. First seeing my body carted out by the paramedics. Then seeing Jerry happily sitting there in the office after the fact, whistling away, thinking about all the money he’s going to try and make now that he doesn’t have to worry about me getting in the way of his grand business schemes. It was my fucking food, damnit! I didn’t want to fucking franchise shit, or market anything, or update the place, blow a lot of cash for frills that don’t fucking matter. I just wanted to cook good fucking food, was that so much to fucking ask? Money doesn’t fucking matter–after all, you definitely can’t take it with you. Now Jerry had sole ownership of the place, and he thought he could do whatever he wanted with it. Of course, he thought he’d be able to find my recipes somewhere–but little did he fucking know they’re all in my head. He had a bit of a fit when he couldn’t find anything–but that’s where the weasel came in.

By weasel, I mean Dennis, my sous chef–though Jerry promoted him to head chef after I passed. He was in on it too, I realized–my death that is. Big bearish fellow, on the chubby side. Not especially bright, but brighter than I’d thought. He was competent, and could follow direction well, and apparently he’d been watching me closer than I’d thought he had–because it wasn’t long before he was getting real fucking close to my food–close enough to satisfy Jerry, at least, and just a month after fucking killing me, they were about to reopen my fucking restaurant tomorrow, and fucking hell, I’m just so fucking angry. I think…I can influence things. I’ve knocked a few plates over, got in Jerry’s way once or twice as he was working and made him pause in confusion, but it’s exhausting. I…I want a body. Whenever I get close to Jerry, or to Dennis…there’s something inside me, some urge, telling me to…to get inside them, somehow, but when I try to press in through their skin, I can’t. I can pass through a wall, but not through a person–it makes no sense to me, but apparently, those are the rules. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I could be…doing something. I want to do something to them, but I don’t know what. There’s just so much rage, and…and all I can do is waft around like this, semi-transparent, glowing faintly, and wondering how long this is going to last–how much of this I’m going to have to watch.

Mostly I follow Dennis. Just looking at Jerry makes me so fucking enraged that I shake myself into a glowing mist, and it takes me hours to get myself back together. Dennis…even knowing he’s betraying me, I can’t help but kind of miss the fucker. I should say that there was another reason I kept him around despite his tendency to fuck up–the bear could suck mean cock. As a chef, mostly running my own business, it didn’t leave a lot of time for relationships, especially not when you’re gay. Dennis, well, he was homely, but he must have been practicing somewhere, because after flirting with him for a few weeks, he just got down in my office and sucked me off, no questions asked. I can tell you that mouth of his got him out of a few scrapes around here, when I got too pissed off at his incompetence. So yeah, I miss him–mostly his mouth. I’m a ghost and still fucking horny–how the fuck does that work exactly? 

So I’m mulling my fate, and I follow Dennis into the bathroom, floating right through the stall door, watching him drop his pants and get ready to sit down…and something nudges me. I can’t get in through his skin, but…but maybe there’s another way inside. I know I don’t have much time to think about it–and if I think about it too much, it’ll disgust me, but I’m not…well, I’m not living anymore, it can’t kill me again. Before he can sit down on the toilet, I go around him, lunge forward, and shove my ghostly hand right into his asshole.

He yelps in surprise, tries to pull away from my hand, but I come with him. He reaches around to try and pull me out, but he can’t grip me–even if he can even feel something back there at all, beyond a weird force. But my hand inside him…fuck it feels good. It feels alive. Without even really thinking about it, I shove more of my arm in, and there’s no real resistance. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my head forces its way into his hole, and he groans in pain, I can…hear it reverberating inside his guts, actually. My torso follows, and then all of me is inside him, as he totters about in confusion, and I…I start worming my way through him, looking for…for something.

From the outside, it must have looked something like this. Dennis would have yelped, and pushed his way out of the stall, groaning. First, his ass would have expanded as my arm, and then the rest of me forced my way inside of him, and then as I pushed deeper, his gut would have started to grow. I can see him, watching his guts suddenly expand and inflate, his hands desperately trying to push his aching, stretched gut back down, but apparently, ghosts like me still have a certain kind of mass. I can feel him pushing on me in there, trying to force me back out the way I came from, and I do get forced somewhere–a tiny opening, my head pushed out of it awkwardly. I spin around and look up at Dennis, who is looking down at me in terror…like he can see me, at last. “Fuck…T-Trevor?” he mutters in disbelief, “What the fuck is…is goin’ on?”

I just stare up at his bearded face, both of his chins, I see how scared he is, and I wonder what I’m doing, for a second. But just for a second. I am still…so fucking angry at him, for what he and Jerry did to me. I realize what hole I just popped out of then–my head is literally sticking right out of Dennis’s crotch–he’s trying to push me out of his cock! I grumble, and pull my head back inside of him, and start forcing myself higher–I need to get higher, to his head, but he’s fighting me, still trying to squeeze me out. He almost manages once–he gives himself a big hug, and I slide out of his belly button up to my waist, my own gut rubbing against his for a moment. I think the image of it was so jarring that he stopped squeezing, letting me claw my way back inside him. I found my way to his neck, shoved my head through the narrow passage…and then, I wasn’t me anymore.

I was Dennis.

I was Dennis, and looking at my body in the mirror. Cute, stupid Dennis, but his body was still so bloated, and…and I realize why, after a moment. I didn’t take over Dennis’ body, I replaced him–and he’s still inside of it with me, just like I was inside of him, rumbling around, confused, trying to feel his way back into control, and I do the first thing I can think of–I grab hold of Dennis’ cock and start jacking off, and I…I picture him sliding down, sliding his way into his balls…and sure enough, I see it happen, watch the rest of Dennis’s body start to deflate, even as his balls swell larger and larger. No–my balls. I’m going to take this body, I want it, and he doesn’t deserve it. I deserve it. I start jacking faster, and I can see cum start to leak from the head–slightly transparent and glowing just like I had been since my death…and I had a thought. If I just cum him out, what’s to stop him from doing the same to me, crawling inside my guts and forcing me out? I have…to trap him somewhere, and quick.

I grip my cock, my balls uncomfortably heavy (funny how quickly I already feel like this body is mine–but then again, it will be soon enough) and look around the bathroom again, and I see the toilet sitting there…and fuck, the idea feels so fucking sick, and yet, what else would he fucking deserve? Not just for killing me, but for stealing my shit and helping Jerry with his fucking scheme? So I lumber over, balls swinging, get in the stall, loom over the toilet, and start working my cock, willing the fucker out of his own body, and cum starts flowing, dribbling all over the toilet. It’s…not normal looking cum by any means, glowing, almost iridescent, pooling in the bowl, sitting on the seat, and I take a moment to bend over and rub it in…and I can hear him, hear his panic and confusion at what’s happening, his disbelief, but I nudge him, tell him that he has a new place here–a proper sort of place for him, and I see the cum start to…soak into the toilet, and it too, starts to glow a bit. I go back to milking my cock, pumping him out over the porcelain, watching the rest of him absorb more readily into the object, and I could see it was starting to…shake a bit, as it picked up his consciousness, and he slowly realized where exactly he was–maybe. I lost track a bit as I came, huge gouts of cum spraying everywhere, all over the toilet, and the wall, and the floor, and all of it congealed and flowed into the toilet where I had put him. When I could stand again without relying on the stall for support, I could see the toilet was…glowing, and even…vibrating a bit, the pipes rattling as he tried to make sense of it all.

Still, my body needed to finish the business Dennis had come in here to do, so I sat down–and as soon as I was sitting on it, I could…feel him. He could feel me too, I’m sure, and he was trying to figure out how to get into my body again, but now that I knew my own trick, I wasn’t about to let that happen. Instead, I focused on calming him down as best I could, talking to him…but more than that even. I was…controlling him, maybe. Warping him, and his energy. Telling him that he wasn’t a person. He’d never been a person. All he’d ever been, was a toilet. He didn’t want to be a toilet, not at first. But like I said, Dennis had never been the brightest tool in the shed, and, well, getting your entire psyche shot out of your own cock, while someone you helped murder takes over your body, tends to do some damage to your self-image, and your mind. He was pretty damn broken, and he probably would have put himself back together eventually, but I got there first, and put him back together…differently. He wasn’t a person. That had been…his imagination. He was a toilet. He was supposed to be a toilet. He liked being a toilet more than anything, a men’s toilet, having big men sit on him, shit and piss in him, flush him…

I could feel him start to quiver under me in excitement, and I had to calm him down. Remind him that he had to be a good toilet, and stay very, very still, or men might get frightened of him, and then they wouldn’t use him anymore. It took a lot of effort, but he settled down, and I breathed a sigh of relief, and as a final test, did my business, feeling the surge of pleasure Dennis got when my shit and piss landed in his bowl. I wiped, got up, flushed, and he couldn’t stop a little shake as everything flushed through him–it looked like it was orgasming, honestly, and I grinned at the thing, knowing who was in there…and fuck, if I wasn’t hard as a damn rock…

I was hard! I had a cock! A real fucking cock I could touch! I was alive!

It hit me hard then, and I left the stall and looked at myself in the mirror in amazement. I was in Dennis’ body. It was my body now, and there was no way in hell that I was going to be giving it back up–not that Dennis would be wanting it back, not as happy as he was now. I felt my body, groped Dennis’s thick ball belly, his chubby moobs, his arms and ass…and as happy as I was to be back alive, I knew that something was off still. I was in control, and this body was alive, but I could tell that it wasn’t mine–not really. It worked well enough, but it’s like…being a spirit, you could see the cracks between soul and body where you hadn’t even noticed them before. I didn’t feel quite…right. I probably never will, but honestly? Given what I can do…I don’t really mind that much, because it turns out I can do so much more now.

I did it by accident first. I went to leave, after getting my clothes sorted out, and when I went to push on the door–my arm pushed through it instead, Dennis’ entire arm becoming incorporeal as it passed through. I yanked it back, and tried again–eventually, I figured out that I had to focus on actually touching the thing, if I wanted to interact with it. In a weird way, I was spirit first, and body second now–but realizing that…well, now I had all sorts of ideas.

You see, I still didn’t know what I was going to do, now that I had Dennis’s body. I couldn’t very well tell Jerry what had happened, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to pretend to be Dennis for the rest of my life. I needed to take care of Jerry somehow–not only because he deserved it, but because…well, because he’s a piece of shit, let’s be honest. He deserved everything that was coming to him, and given all of the new skills I had just learned, I figured payback was something that ought to be given sooner rather than later.

I left the bathroom, carefully, staying focused to make sure I was actually touching everything instead of just moving through it. As I made my way back to the kitchen, Jerry rounded a corner, surprising me. He looked as much like an asshole as always–tall and slender, long face. For someone working as a restaurant manager, he’d always hated food–I never should have hired him, let’s be honest. “There you are Dennis–I’ve been looking for you, pig.”

Jerry groped his crotch…and I realized what he was implying. I’d known that Jerry and Dennis had a thing on the side too, of course, just like I had. Dennis, after all, loved to eat, but mostly just loved to eat cock. I hadn’t really thought it through to the point that…well, as Dennis, Jerry was going to expect something from me now. “Oh, uh, sure thing, boss…” I mutter, and follow Jerry back into his office, where he drops his pants, sits down in his chair, his big cock jutting out from a mostly hairless crotch, and he leers at me.

“Well then, get the fuck over here pig, and suck it!”

I didn’t want to. I wanted to charge over there and fuck him up…but I didn’t know enough about my new body to really know what I could do. I needed to maintain my cover for a bit, and so, as much as it disgusted me…I went over, got down on my knees, and started sucking.

“Fuck, what’s up with you tonight?” Jerry asked, “Usually you go right for it.”

I didn’t know what to say…but as soon as his cock was in my mouth…I could feel him. Not just his body, but his spirit too…and there was that same whisper, and…and I started sucking. Not at his cock, but at the spirit inside his cock and balls, if that makes sense. It’s hard to explain. I suck, and I can…taste it, his spirit sliding down my throat, and my own cock starts to…tingle. Dennis isn’t exactly well endowed, but when I reach down, I feel my new cock start to swell a bit, getting harder and longer than I’d ever seen Dennis’s little three incher get before…and Jerry’s huge tool was suddenly a bit easier to manage in my mouth. I was sucking it away, I realized–and so, I started sucking harder.

Jerry gasped and moaned–whether in pleasure or discomfort, I never found out. He didn’t stop me, in any case, as I sucked and sucked and sucked, draining away as much of the spirit from his cock as I could, feeling Jerry’s cock shrinking more and more in my mouth. He was shuddering and shaking, almost convulsing. Finally, I felt something…culminate. A huge load of spirit flooded my mouth, throwing me away from him, almost forcefully. I watched as the rest of his cock withered away to nearly nothing, just a nub, his sack just a loose flap of skin–no trace of his balls to be seen.

Jerry sat there, panting and shaking, probably finding it difficult to process what had just happened to him while he was sitting there. Then again, if I’d expected a blow job, only to have the cock sucked out of me, I’d probably have reacted the same way.

“What…what the fuck did you do?” he said, reaching down and feeling his little clit there, “I…my fucking cock! What the fuck did you do to my cock!”

I let off a belch, and then laughed at him, and I saw how angry he was getting–angry, but also terrified. I undid the front of my pants, and let my new cock flop out–all ten inches of it, and just grinned at him. “Looks like I know right where it ended up, Jerry.”

He got his first inkling then, I think, that I wasn’t really Dennis. Dennis–and pretty much everyone else–always called him Jer. I was the only one who called him Jerry–partly because he hated it. He looked at me, grinning at him, and his face went a bit white, and he bolted for the door–I didn’t let him get there though. Dennis was a big fellow, after all–six foot two, a bit over 300 pounds. He’d played football, and even though I didn’t have the knowledge, his body did–if that makes sense. I had him tackled to the ground and pinned under my sizable bulk in a few moments, enjoying the sensation of his squirming around under me.

“What’s wrong, Jerry? Didn’t think you’d have to talk to me again, did you? You fucking son of a bitch, you fucking kill me, and think you can just wash your hands of me? Well fuck you, you piece of shit. I’m gonna fuck you up real fucking good, just you fucking wait.”

Gripping him like I was…I wasn’t just holding his body down, I had my hands on his spirit too, sitting inside that shell there, and…and fuck, it was just…I could do anything to it, I realized. He didn’t even know it was in there, I don’t think–most people don’t have a clue. I could kill him. I could rip that soul out of him, shove it somewhere–maybe even into a literal piece of shit and flush him right down Dennis–but no–he needed to suffer. I wanted to ruin him. Ruin his body, ruin his mind, ruin his life…

I started tearing at Jerry’s clothes, ripping them away with a strength that surprised us both. Again, I had the distinct sensation that something was…helping me. Pushing me along a certain sort of path I could barely make out. I remembered how, earlier, I had accidentally pushed my way out of Dennis’s belly button, and when Jerry rolled over, and I saw his…well, I plunged my dick right into his gut before I’d even really wondered if I could or not. 

He gasped and groaned, but there was nothing he could do. I had him and his spirit impaled on my cock, and I started sliding in and out…and as I did…it almost felt like I was pissing. It wasn’t piss though, not really, but I as I fucked his gut, it started to grow–whatever I was putting inside him, it was inflating him rather dramatically–and fuck, seeing this slim fucker suddenly sprout this massive, hard, gut…fuck! I gave it a few slaps–it was heavy, but also…resonant. It was fat, certainly, but it didn’t feel quite like anything I had felt before. My cock was doing something else to him too…something hard to explain. I…I wanted to ruin him, and Jerry had always been so clean and neat, and…well, suddenly, he wasn’t. Hair sprouted all over his body, but especially all over his gut. His clean shaven face sported a thick, tangled beard. I could…smell him too. A thick, heady musk from all over him, as he started sweating. I pulled free, and he groped himself in horror, murmuring and groaning and grunting in confusion, barely able to roll over and get himself up on his hands and knees…and that’s when I saw my next target. Again, I don’t know what drew me there, but I saw his ear, and before I could really stop myself, I shoved my cock right inside his skull.

I couldn’t believe how easily it slid in. I also couldn’t quite believe it when I saw the head of my cock slide out the other ear, his entire head skewered on my cock…and he didn’t do anything. At all. Just stayed there, mouth agape and drooling, and I hauled my cock free, and watched him shake his head, eyes unfocused. “F-Fuck, what the fuck was…was that?” he said, a bit slow. With a leer, I gripped his head, shoved my cock back in, and gave Jerry the proper mindfuck he’d always needed, in my opinion.

Too smart for his own good. Too smart for anyone’s good really–I doubt that I was the first sucker that Jerry took for a mark. So I worked over his brains, really messed them up…and fuck, did it feel good! No sex like aural sex, if you know what I mean. Gets…real intimate, everything that you can feel. You see into them, every little bit of them, and they’re like putty. Make them forget whatever you want. Warp them around all of your little kinks and desires. And Jerry–well, Jerry was going to have a rather specific set of desires from now on, I can tell you that. He wants to make me happy–and he’s willing to do anything that I ask, if that’s what it takes. I came in his head–I don’t really know how it works, to be honest, but I came…and a bit of me seeped into him. I could…feel him, somehow. He was a part of me. I…owned him, body and soul. I was exhausted when I pulled my cock free from his ear, and his head only turned a little bit, mouth still hanging open, drooling, and when he saw my cock, he went right for it, slobbering all over it like he needed it more than anything, and fuck…I could feel it, on both sides somehow. It was fucking hot, I can tell you that, hot enough that I pushed him over, and gave him a real fuck in the ass–blowing even more fat into him in the process, but hey, he needed a a fat ass to counterbalance his massive gut, let’s be honest.

Jerry was much more compliant after that, and we sat in his office and had a bit of a discussion, about how things were going to work around this restaurant from now on. Jerry would, of course, sign all rights over to Dennis–me, naturally. He knew that what he’d been doing was wrong, and he felt oh so bad about it now that I’d fucked his head up, and he was so grateful when I offered him a job, so he’d be able to pay me back for all of the trouble he caused me.

The restaurant didn’t quite open back up on schedule. I had to take about a week to reverse all of the stupid, gimmicky changes that Jerry had planned for the “re-opening” and when the doors did open, everyone was welcomed into the same cozy space I’d always loved. Several regulars, in expressing their regret in my passing, told Dennis that the food was just as beautiful as when I’d been cooking it myself. I wanted to tell a few of them the truth…and maybe another day I will. Being a new person is…surprisingly nice, once you get the hang of it.

And so, here we are. Me, in the kitchen. Jerry in the back, washing dishes every night, which is the only job he can do without fucking up everything. Once the doors close, Jerry is more than happy to take a load from my cock, rubbing his own little clit–though he has no balls anymore to cum himself. The only time he gets off is when I fuck him–and he only gets that when he’s a very good boy. After that, he gets to work cleaning the bathrooms. He has a very special relationship with one particular toilet, you see–he’s the only one who can clean it. Dennis requires special care, after all, and Jerry is more than happy to give him a tongue bath, from top to bottom, every evening. Dennis has settled into his role rather well. He’s ebbing a bit, or maybe solidifying is a better word. After all, souls aren’t really meant to live inside inanimate objects like that–he shouldn’t really exist, and so, he’s changing somehow. I can sense it, but don’t really know what to make of it. I’m changing too, I’ve noticed. Something is…happening, but it’s a bit hard to explain. There’s still that whisper, you see–but following it’s nudges worked out well for me so far, so I…trust it, I suppose. I’m alive again, and that’s what counts–and I’m not going to let go of my second chance for anything–dead or alive.

Sneak Peek: A Ghost Story

Another commission! This one is available for patrons right now–I’ll post it in full next week! Here’s a teaser for all of you in the meantime…


I thought death would be the end of it.

I’m not religious or anything. Never really thought there was much to life, so never really expected much of an afterlife either. Maybe if I’d gone out differently. Peacefully, you know? Just lying in a bed, slipping away. Or who the hell knows maybe it wouldn’t have mattered in the least, and I’d still be floating around. In any case, here I am, still stuck in my fucking restaurant (or what had been my restaurant until my murder), weeks later, just…drifting around, watching all of this fucking shit go down. First seeing my body carted out by the paramedics. Then seeing Jerry happily sitting there in the office after the fact, whistling away, thinking about all the money he’s going to try and make now that he doesn’t have to worry about me getting in the way of his grand business schemes. It was my fucking food, damnit! I didn’t want to fucking franchise shit, or market anything, or update the place, blow a lot of cash for frills that don’t fucking matter. I just wanted to cook good fucking food, was that so much to fucking ask? Money doesn’t fucking matter–now I really know you can’t take it with you. Now he had sole ownership of the place, and he thought he could do whatever he wanted with it. Of course, he thought he’d be able to find my recipes somewhere–but little did he fucking know they’re all in my head. He had a bit of a fit when he couldn’t find anything–but that’s where the weasel came in.

By weasel, I mean Dennis, my sous chef–though Jerry promoted him to head chef after I passed. He was in on it too, I realized–my death that is. Big bearish fellow, on the chubby side. Not especially bright, but brighter than I’d thought. He was competent, and could follow direction well, and apparently he’d been watching me closer than I’d thought he had–because it wasn’t long before he was getting real fucking close to my food–close enough to satisfy Jerry, at least, and just a month after fucking killing me, they were about to reopen my fucking restaurant tomorrow, and fucking hell, I’m just so fucking angry. I think…I can influence things. I’ve knocked a few plates over, got in Jerry’s way once or twice as he was working and made him pause in confusion, but it’s exhausting. I…I want a body. Whenever I get close to Jerry, or to Dennis…there’s something inside me, some urge, telling me to…to get inside them, somehow, but when I try to press in through their skin, I can’t. I can pass through a wall, but not through a person–it makes no sense to me, but apparently, those are the rules. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I could be…doing something. I want to do something to them, but I don’t know what. There’s just so much rage, and…and all I can do is waft around like this, semi-transparent, glowing faintly, and wondering how long this is going to last–how much of this I’m going to have to watch.

Mostly I follow Dennis. Just looking at Jerry makes me so fucking enraged that I shake myself into a glowing mist, and it takes me hours to get myself back together. Dennis…even knowing he’s betraying me, I can’t help but kind of miss the fucker. I should say that there was another reason I hired him–the bear could suck mean cock. As a chef, mostly running my own business, it didn’t leave a lot of time for relationships, especially not when you’re gay. Dennis, well, he was homely, but he must have been practicing somewhere, because after flirting with him for a couple of days, he just got down in my office and sucked me off, no questions asked. I can tell you that mouth of his got him out of a few scrapes around here, when I got too pissed off at his incompetence. So yeah, I miss him–mostly his mouth. I’m a ghost and still fucking horny–how the fuck does that work exactly? 

So I’m mulling my fate, and I follow Dennis into the bathroom, floating right through the stall door, watching him drop his pants and get ready to sit down…and something nudges me. I can’t get in through his skin, but…but maybe there’s another way inside. I know I don’t have much time to think about it–and if I think about it too much, it’ll disgust me, but I’m not…well, I’m not living anymore, it can’t kill me again. Before he can sit down on the toilet, I go around him, lunge forward, and shove my ghostly hand right into his asshole.

He yelps in surprise, tries to pull away from my hand, but I come with him. He reaches around to try and pull me out, but he can’t grip me–even if he can even feel something back there at all, beyond a weird force. But my hand inside him…fuck it feels good. It feels alive. Without even really thinking about it, I shove more of my arm in, and there’s no real resistance. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my head forces its way into his hole, and he groans in pain, I imagine–I can…hear it reverberating inside his guts, actually. My torso follows, and then all of me is inside him, as he totters about in confusion, and I…I start worming my way through him, looking for…for something.

From the outside, it must have looked something like this. Dennis would have yelped, and pushed his way out of the stall, groaning. First, his ass would have expanded as my arm, and then the rest of me forced my way inside of him, and then as I pushed deeper, his gut would have started to grow. I can see him, watching his guts suddenly expand and inflate, his hands desperately trying to push his aching, stretched gut back down, but apparently, ghosts like me still have a certain kind of mass. I can feel him pushing on me in there, trying to force me back out the way I came from, and I do get forced somewhere–a tiny opening, my head forced out of it awkwardly. I spin around and look up at Dennis, who is looking down at me in terror…like he can see me. “Fuck…T-Trevor?” he mutters in disbelief, “What the fuck is…is goin’ on?”

I just stare up at his bearded face, both of his chins, I see how scared he is, and I wonder what I’m doing, for a second. But just for a second. I am still…so fucking angry at him, for what he and Jerry did to me. I realize what hole I just popped out of then–my head is literally sticking right out of Dennis’s crotch–he’s trying to push me out of his cock! I grumble, and pull my head back inside of him, and start forcing myself higher–I need to get higher, to his head, but he’s fighting me, still trying to squeeze me out. He almost manages once–he gives himself a big hug, and I slide out of his belly button up to my waist, my own gut rubbing against his for a moment. I think the image of it was so jarring that he stopped squeezing, letting me claw my way back inside him. I found my way to his neck, shoved my head through the narrow passage…and then, I wasn’t me anymore.

I was Dennis…


Read the rest on my Patreon here!

Commission: Serving the Cloth 2

Brett liked to run. He’d always been good at it, even when he was younger, running from cops through the streets. But he’d always felt like there was somewhere he had to run to, or something he was running from. Now though–he was just running. Running through this nice suburban neighborhood, running without really feeling like there was anywhere to go, running in a circle, starting at Regis’ sizable house, and ending right back at that sizable house again, an hour later, sweaty and exhausted, but not feeling like he had gotten anywhere.

He had, of course. He’d gotten here. He’d leveraged his body, and his wits, and his charm, and he’d gotten out. Here he was, twenty years old, slender and lean, cute face, good hair, a perfect little twink for older men to slather over–but he’d caught one. From whoring himself out on street corners, to settling down with a sugar daddy like this–it was everything he’d wanted, right? But then why did he hate it so much? Why was he feeling so miserable? He had money, a credit line, could whatever he wanted. The sex was…sex. He had never really felt much for anyone, and Regis was no exception–but over the last few months, things had gotten…harder. Regis had been so excited about moving him into his place, promised him the world–but it was really just a gilded cage. He was so controlling, and outright abusive at times. It was easier being on the street, in some ways. He was comfortable here–but for how long, really? He could tell already that Regis was tiring of him, and as much as he hated it, it hurt. It hurt, because while Brett had been using him to get out of there, he’d also…loved him, in a way. Loved a version of him. Loved what he could provide him with–safety and security. Regis was away on a business trip right now, and they’d had such a fight when he’d left a few days ago, that Brett was not looking forward to him coming home tomorrow. He thought about just running–taking what he could, and just…be gone. Maybe.

He probably would have talked himself into it that day, if he hadn’t run past that house. The haunted one, he thought, though haunted houses weren’t real, of course. All of the houses in the neighborhood were a bit…odd, but this one was especially odd. No one had lived in it consistently for ages now–it was either left empty, or someone would buy it, and then…well, no one really knew what. Brett had seen haunted shit before–the back alleys of the city were full of places like that, where you could feel the souls of people in anguish. This place was like that, and he usually avoided it, and took the long way around. However, he wasn’t focused on his route, and so he was already running past it before he realized where he was. The same car was parked out front, in the same place, where it had been for weeks. He’d seen a father and son pull up a few weeks ago, looking like they were going to overhaul it and flip it, but he hadn’t seen them since. Today though, something had changed. There was a bunch of detritus on the lawn–old clothes, actually, filthy looking stuff, and one of the windows on the upper floors was broken out, like someone had thrown everything out of it. Brett picked up his pace, but then he heard…something.

He picked up the pace, eager to be past it, but all the way home, he had a curious sense that he was being followed, by someone or something. He got to the garage of Regis’s place, unlocked the door, when something slammed into him, sending him stumbling through the doorway and onto the pavement inside.

He awoke a few moments later, and rolled over, looking around for who, or what, had slammed into him–but there was nothing around him. Cautiously, he stood up, locked the door, and listened…but he didn’t hear anyone or anything inside the house. Or…or was there something? A voice?

You don’t have to run anymore.

Brett nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice was so close, almost inside his ears, and yet seemed so…quiet, a whisper recorded and played back at an impossibly loud volume. Then, he felt something squirm under his running shorts, and in a panic, he dropped them–and saw that instead of his usual briefs–there was a rancid looking jockstrap that had somehow materialized under his clothes. Worse, he could feel the pouch…moving, groping him. It was unsettling, and yet…also arousing, and he groaned a bit.

You want things. We want things. Others…waste. We don’t want to waste, We want to help…

Brett looked down and saw that something was happening to his running shorts too–they were…beginning to squirm as well, the orange nylon darkening, becoming a light denim cut off short, ones that smelled as rank as the jockstrap he had on smelled in the enclosed space of the garage…but he didn’t mind it, did he? Brett groped himself with one hand, torn between trying to understand what was happening, and simply…wanting to enjoy it. The change was spreading to his tanktop now, becoming a simpler, ribbed wifebeater…and Brett pushed back. He hauled the clothes off of him–all of them, his shoes too, and hucked them across the garage into a pile, and stood there, naked and breathing heavy…but the smell wasn’t going away. He looked down, and saw that his…cock and balls had changed. He’d never been well endowed, in all honesty, but that had changed substantially–his cock was now close to eight inches long, as thick as a beer can, and had a long, wrinkled foreskin around the head. His balls, too, were massive–and his usually hairless crotch was seething with a riot of curly black hair. 

“What…what the fuck did…how did that…” Brett looked up in time to see the clothes had stood up, of their own accord, and were crawling, rolling and hopping into the house proper. His sneakers were the last, shuddering as they changed into a pair of heavily worn work boots, and they stomped off after the other clothes.

What could he do? He didn’t have anything to wear. He couldn’t call the cops and complain about living clothing. Regis wouldn’t be home for another day. He had no friends he could call. It…was up to him. He cautiously stepped into the house, listened, and heard the clothing on the stairs, and he followed them up.

Come here, follow us…

Was he hearing voices, or was it his own head? Brett didn’t know for sure. He also was no longer certain that following this…weird shit was the smartest thing he could do…but when he tried to turn around and go find a weapon downstairs…his feet wouldn’t stop climbing.

Up here, we have so much to show you…

–He should run, he should be running he had to run he had to run–

You don’t have to run anymore.

The thought struck him hard. Not having to run–what would that be like? He’d been running his whole life now, it was ingrained so deep inside him, that he didn’t know what it would even be like to…not do it. To plant his feet. To stay. He was at the top of the stairs now, one hand still on his now massive, uncut cock. He missed the feeling of that nasty jock now, how it had caressed him, how it had loved him. It had loved him, his body, in a way nothing else had. No one else had.

He was making his way to the bedroom now. He pushed open the door, the voices louder now, but…but more than just loud. There were more of them. All of them speaking differently, and yet at the same time, amplifying each other, louder and louder and firmer. He saw now, what was happening. The jock, the shorts, the boots and the socks and the wifebeater–they had found their way to the closets and were pulling out the clothes they found there, touching them, changing them, and throwing them into a pile in the middle of the room, a seething, warping…mass, and Brett stood there, gaping at it. 

Let us love you we love you, we will love you

The mass threw itself at him, surrounded him, absorbed him. The smell was intense and impossible to avoid, but it…it was his smell. They were his clothes, after all, weren’t they? The jock was on him again, groping him, and more, so much else, but he couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air, and as he blacked out, the last thing he heard was:

No more running, you’ll be a man who doesn’t run from anything or anyone ever again.

***

Brett wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when he came to again. The light coming from the window hadn’t changed–it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but he felt like he had slept for ages. He groaned, and pushed himself up from the floor onto his hands and knees, got his feet underneath him, and forced himself upright. His head ached–his whole body ached, really, but his head hurt the most. The voices were there and so loud–it was difficult to try and parse apart into anything meaningful. They also…didn’t seem to be from outside him anymore–they were in him. In his mind. Or they were his mind, digging in and pushing out anything that wasn’t right, that old him that…that other him. He turned, still a bit wobbly on his feet, saw himself in the mirror, and just…stared at himself, at what the clothes had done to him.

The clothes he was wearing weren’t his clothes, or Regis’s clothes either. Neither of them had anything like this in their wardrobe. Somehow the jockstrap had…changed them into this. He was wearing a wifebeater under a leather vest, both of them looking like they’d been worn for years, and not cared for particularly well. On his legs were a set of leather chaps, biker boots, and under them a pair of filthy looking jeans–though he could only judge that by the crotch, which was more yellow-brown than blue at this point. But him–underneath the clothes. That couldn’t be him, it just…it couldn’t.

He was huge–easily a few inches over six feet tall, broad shouldered, thick pecs, massive muscular arms covered in a riot of tattoos–and over those, a thick layer of hair. His face though–that was the worst part. He’d been handsome before, even beautiful. His face had gotten him out of poverty, further than even his body could have, and now, he was…ugly. A wide mouth and nose, a heavy brow, a thick black beard a couple inches long and growing high on his cheeks, a scar across one side of his face, brown eyes staring out at himself. He was…fuck, he looked like a brute. He felt like a brute, and the voices, they wanted him to like it, they wanted him to enjoy this, but all he could feel was horror.

He started trying to pull the clothes off of himself, but they fought him, refusing to budge. He could hear the voices starting to panic, shouting louder, so loud he had to scrunch up his eyes and clasped his massive, calloused hands over his ears in an effort to clock it out, but nothing worked. 

You want to be a real man, you want this. You want to stop running, be the kind of man who doesn’t run. 

He could feel them rummaging through his mind and his memories, trying to find something else to use against him, and they found Regis, and suddenly, he was all he could think about. How…how angry he was at him for being such a manipulative and abusive asshole. He’d never been this angry at him before in his life, but the voices were amplifying it, intensifying it, making it the only thing he could feel.

We’ll fix him. We’ll fix him for you, we’ll make him love you, we’ll pay him back for everything he did to you just let us in let us in and let us stay stay with us stay keep us on live in us we live in you and we’ll fix you and fix him and

Something broke. Something in his head broke, and Brett just stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, the voices quiet…and then he said, in a voice not quite his own, but one…better than his last one. “I’ll fix him…” It was low and gruff. It sounded mean. He liked it. He liked being mean. “Yeah, I’ll fucking fix him real fucking good, we’ll fix him, fuck yeah…” He hauled his cock out of the front of his jeans and started jacking off, thinking about Regis now, so many cruel, mean, nasty ideas, and all…all he had to do, was listen. Stop thinking so hard, just…just do what the voices told him to do, and everything would work out just fine. He lumbered over to the remaining mass of clothing piled in the middle of the room, looming over it, jacking harder now, and he came with a groan–a massive load of cum splattering all over the clothes there, drying instantly, and Brett felt much better. No more running. No–he would…wait here. Some planning to do of course, some preparations had to be made, but Regis…Regis would love him, really love him. He would fix them both for good.

***

Regis was fuming as he climbed out of the uber parked on the sidewalk in front of the house, went around to the trunk, and hauled his luggage out. That fucking boy–he knew he was supposed to pick him up from the airport today, one fucking job to do, and he couldn’t even do that properly! He’d even done him the courtesy of texting him that morning, but he hadn’t even been checking those apparently. Regis straightened himself out a bit, and braced himself. He’d settle this–that boy was out, as of today. He didn’t care where he went, or with who–this had been a mistake.

Brett had been charming, when they’d first met. But then, Regis had paid him to be charming, and Brett had known what was good for him. The sex had been great too, of course, and Regis had stupidly tricked himself into thinking that this one might be different. He might be worth bringing home. But as the months had worn on he’d grown bored of the boy, the allure of him standing on the street corner dashed when you could have him whenever you wanted him. Regis had been seeing other boys of course–on the trip he’d fucked two just yesterday, and they’d been better and more interesting than Brett by a mile. Yes–he was done with him. Go in there, throw him out on his ass, and pretend that none of this had ever happened. It was for the best, really. At least for him–but then, Regis generally only cared about what was best for him.

He was in his fifties, and not exactly the most handsome man to grace the earth. He was short, and pudgy–a little top heavy really, with a fat chest and gut riding on small legs. He was balding badly but didn’t put much effort into either hiding the fact or embracing it. He had a mustache, and usually a bit of stubble around his face. His looks had never mattered to him, not when he could grease his path with money–and that had served him well enough. 

He walked up the drive and in through the front door–and there was the first sign that something was amiss. There was a smell in the house–something…heady and musky and certainly human but also…not. There was also no sign of Brett anywhere–he’d hoped the boy would have enough sense to at least beg for forgiveness–it would make it that much more satisfying to throw him out. But there was…nothing. No one. He shut the door behind him and set his bag by the door, and called out–but no one replied. The smell grew…more intense though, and then he heard the sound of boots on the hardwood floor, and someone came around the corner.

Regis had no idea who the massive fucker was, standing there in those filthy clothes and all of that leather gear, leering at him. “Hey daddy,” the stranger said, “Glad to see you made it home in one piece.”

The voice…it couldn’t be. It was too deep, and yet…something about it rang familiar. “I…I don’t know who you are, but I will call the police and have you arrested.”

Before Regis could even make a move to grab his phone, however, the man charged him, slammed into him and pinned him back against the door. Now he knew where the smell was coming from–it was coming from him. It wasn’t just him though–it was the clothes…and this close to him, he could feel them…squirming against him like they were alive, the man just staring at him with his eyes, slightly vacant, but the erection pressing against Regis’s gut was very much eager and excited. Regis was frozen for a moment, before he managed to shove the massive man away–he was so large, that Regis was sure he only stepped back because he wanted to–not because of Regis’s shove. The man was just leering at him, groping his crotch and the massive bulge there, and Regis realized that the strange writhing sensation was still there–because his own clothes were…shifting.

He looked down, and saw that a multitude of stains were spreading across the front of his white dress shirt, and he quickly tried to pull it off–but the fabric fought him, the buttons disappearing under his fingers as the shirt sealed down the front, the fabric shifting from the expensive cotton he always wore to something far cheaper, his suit pants changing similarly, becoming rougher, and dirtier, becoming ragged denim–even as a voice started speaking in his mind, a voice he didn’t recognize–more forceful and powerful that the brute’s had been.

Down, down piggy, such a good little dirty piggy daddy yes go down down hands and knees before him before us before your masters

He tried to speak, but as he did, the tie he had on constricted suddenly, choking him, making him gargle and snort for breath. Brett just watched as his daddy’s fancy suit began to assume it’s new form–a cheap, threadbare t-shirt, covered with all manner of food stains with several holes in the front and under the armpits. The pants turned to denim, and started to grow up–his belt becoming denim as well and looping up over his shoulders, completing the new set of filthy overalls, his suit coat picking up color, a checkered pattern, turning to a flannel vest–the sleeves disintegrating before his eyes, the tie turning dark brown and becoming a thick leather collar cinched tight around his daddy’s throat. He clawed at it for a moment more, and then he fell to his knees, and the collar loosened, allowing him to gasp for air, snorting for it really, the voice louder in his ears, telling him what a good obedient pig he was, what a good slave he was going to become for his new master.

Brett stepped up, grabbed his pig by the hair, and dragged his face into the crotch of his filthy jeans, forcing the pig to snort in his stench now, the voice urging him to breath it in, lick it, taste his masters, taste the filth, serve the man, serve the cloth, serve them all–they would both serve them so well now, serve them well forever.

“I’m not running anymore, you fucking piece of shit,” Brett said, hocking a wad of spit right in Regis’s face, “You’re going to do exactly what I say, from now on–got it? You’re just my fucking pig, and…and yeah, fuckin’ hell, you’re gonna be so fucking hot, fuck–come on pig, let’s go play.”

Brett walked to the basement door and went downstairs, leaving Regis there, spit running down his face, more humiliated and disgusted than he’d ever been in his entire life…but it was too late, wasn’t it? The voices were already inside him. He was so much less resistant, so much more…pliable. As he crawled towards the basement, his body sagged heavier, more and more fat piling on him, the cloth growing to accommodate his new size, even as his cock shrank down. He didn’t need a big cock, not that it had ever been large to begin with. But he needed a pig cock, short and thick and always leaking. He crawled down the stairs, and when Brett saw him, more changes had appeared–a thick beard all over his face, growing longer by the moment, all of it a filthy off-white. He walked around his pig, found the convenient hole in the ass of his new pig’s overalls, and the nasty, unwashed briefs underneath, unleashed his cock, and rammed it into the pig’s hole, listening to him snort in excitement as his master fucked him for the first time of many, his own mind draining out his cock and soaking the front of his overalls in cum–and piss soon enough, the pig losing total control of his bladder, soaking his clothes and the concrete floor under him in it–though a number of filthy garments crawled out from the dark corners of the basement and soaked up every drop they could find. Yes, these two would feed them well, but the cloth would be smarter here–smarter than the cloth over in the other house, who simply devoured mindlessly. They would be careful, feed from them, and lure others, yes, already, Brett knew what he would do, what this pig would do for him. He hauled his cock free, and unloaded his cum all over the clothes swarming them, feeding them, the pig whirling around and sucking the last few drops from the cheesy head of his master’s cock, already eager for more–rough fucks, piss, anything it’s master wanted, the filthier the better, the pig would do anything to be with him, anything at all. He loved him, loved him so much he could barely stand it.

But the pig also had work to do–he understood that. Brett would find the men–online sometimes, or more often in person. Entrance them with his own powerful musk, but bring them home with him, tell them that he had a sex pig willing to do anything for anyone. Sure, once the men caught sight of the massive, old, hairy, stinking pig, some of them had second thoughts–but not for long. The cloth would swarm them, show them the error of their ways, and usually the men would leave with a brand new wardrobe different than what they had arrived in–more than willing to come back and feed the pig–and the cloth–whenever they could. Yes, this way they would survive–no, more than survive. They would thrive.

The Hog King

A gift for a certain someone’s birthday.

Warning!: This story has some weird stuff in it. Cockvore, cock to pussy tf, mpreg. Read at your own risk!


It had been three years since the Emperor–as the leader of the rebellion had called himself–had emerged to challenge the King’s rule. Laughable, really–no one had even understood what the rebels had wanted. The realm was prosperous, at least for the wealthy, but who cared about the peasants really, so long as they were contained–and the King contained them well. It was assumed that the local levy would be enough to contain the initial uprising–but then it spread, and with it, came the first of the rumors of this so-called Emperor.

A giant, they said. Ten feet tall, packed with muscle, massive beard and hair in thick braids, swinging a monsterous axe. Powers–impossible powers. Controlling minds, swallowing men whole. A cannibal, a wizard, a monster. The King was undaunted, of course. These were just rumors–effective ones against the local dukes and counts, who were coming to pester him more and more for aid and assistance, telling him that he simply didn’t understand the threat. The Emperor–he was doing something to the people. Changing them. He could take anyone, no matter how feeble and weak, and turn them into violent brutes seemingly overnight, willing to do and sacrifice anything for their new Emperor. 

Did he want treasure? Prestige? A title of his own? When it became clear that the rebellion would soon spark a proper civil war, the King called for parlay, and sent a team of diplomats in good faith, to determine what this so called Emperor desired–but the men who returned, claiming that they were the same men the King had sent…it couldn’t be true. They were twisted somehow, corrupted. One had grown massively obese, and was carried back on a palanquin by the guard, no longer able to stand. One had become some inhuman beast, caged. Another, so old he seemed to be in his 90’s, barely able to speak. With them, an Emissary of the Emperor himself, with a simple message. Bend the knee. Submit to the Emperor, and he will give you mercy. Or else, you will become a toy, like these.

He ordered the Emissary jailed, but he escaped the dungeons–leading the King to believe there were already traitors in his midst. Seeing no other option, he rallied all of his troops, hired in several bands of mercenaries from neighboring kingdoms, and set out to crush the revolt once and for all–but things did not go as planned. The army he faced was vast–like every peasant in the land had become a soldier in the army itself. Their morale was great–every single soldier fought with a single minded devotion to the Emperor that the King’s trove of gold could never hope to inspire in his own army. The Emperor did not even enter the field–there was no need. The King’s armies were shattered, and the King himself sent scurrying away–but his castle had fallen as well, while he was away. His heirs were hidden, sent to other kingdoms, and the King was reduced to a mere scoundrel, hiding as the monstrous army pursued him–but even that had come to an end now. Betrayed once more, he was now here. Back in his own castle, in the dungeons, with his own King’s guard imprisoned with him. His luxurious garments gone, now clothed only in rags. He had been crushed, and today, he had been told, the emperor would crown him with his fate.

He did not know what that meant. Execution, most likely. It’s what he would do, what he would have done to the Emperor had he emerged victorious. Now here he was, 33 years old, a thriving and prosperous reign brought to an end by some violent sorcerer’s ego and lust for power. He had been a good king, he told himself. And if he was to die today, so be it–at least he never beant the knee to the cretin. They were men–him and his guard. They would die like men too. 

There came a sound from the stairs, and a sizable regiment of the Emperor’s troops came to the dungeons. These ones seemed…mostly normal. As normal as any of the Emperor’s minions seemed. Still human, at least. Some of the beasts on the battlefields…Men with the heads of boars, and the claws of bears. Small dog men speeding through the ranks, tearing at flesh with razor sharp fangs. It was impossible. A nightmare. These guards, though hairy, and naked, each with a cock at least a foot long, stinking of blood and sex…this was easy to comprehend, compared to some of what the King had now seen. To think, he had imagined them rumors. Still, though, he had not once laid eyes on the Emperor himself–and over these three years, the rumors of him had grown only more and more monstrous. Who knew what awaited him in his own throne room, even now?

The guards hauled the King and his guard from their cells, shackled them together in a line, and marched them up from the depths, for their audience with the Emperor. The halls had been stripped bare for the most part, and every part of the castle was packed with heathens and warriors–and more than once, the King saw them fucking one another, in twos, and threes, the most despicable, blasphemous acts…what was to become of his noble kingdom, under the rule of this perverse tyrant? He felt despair, thinking of his court, of the noble houses, most of them now doomed to end. He doubted the Emperor would stop at his own kingdom–and if he could do this here, he could anywhere. What could possibly stop him?

They came to the throne room doors, and even the King could not stop a shudder from running through him–though he did his best to keep his men from seeing it. He held his head high–ready to face him. The guards opened the doors, marched them inside, and the King gazed upon him for the first time…and he could not help but gasp. 

He had heard rumors, so many rumors, but nothing compared to the man he now laid eyes on, if man was even the term anymore. The throne had been removed–the Emperor could have never fit upon it anyway, and he now merely sat at the top of the steps, a 25 foot giant. How had he even entered here, the King wondered? He looked, and saw one wall of the room had been demolished, a ramp constructed up the side–most likely just for him. Just the sight of a man so impossibly large was enough to make some of the men in the group pause, and one of them fell to his knees, astounded that this–this is who they had been fighting. How could they have ever hoped to win against something such as this?

The guards forced them all upright and into motion again. The King did his best to reclaim his calm–but he was shaken. How could he not be? A lion, the men fleeing the battlefield had called him. Now he saw that the metaphor was more apt than he could have imagined. Human, yes, but the Emperor’s hair was long, and impossibly thick, streaming around his face in a mane. In the dark room, it was…well, it was difficult to know what color it was. It seemed to shift, depending on how far away he was, and how much light shone on him–deep auburn, fiery red, golden blonde. The mane was perfectly braided, and each braid cascaded down the whole length of his person, pooling around him in massive coils, all the way to his bare feet. The rest of his body was hairy–but enough that skin could be seen in most places. Bristly hair, almost like a boar.

Closer still, more fine details appeared to him. The massive hands capped not with nails, but with claws–long, black claws manicured perfectly–enough that the hand was still usable, but plenty deadly to a challenger. The same was true of his feet as well. What he had first thought mere flesh between the Emperor’s legs became apparent as his cock–but it seemed impossible too. The thing was huge–nearly as thick as an entire man, and easily six or eight feet long. Then there were the eyes. The King could only hold the Emperor’s gaze for a moment, before he would look away, head swimming, What were the eyes, even? There was something there, something else, something deep, and ancient, and horrifying. Something older than humanity. He looked again, struggling to hold his eyes there, showing that he would not be bent, and the irises, like the hair, were constantly shifting in color, and…and it was beautiful.

The Emperor was beautiful. He was a monster, but looking at him there, he was regal. He was an animal, but one conscious of his own nature, one capable of presenting himself as civilized. Had he been a man before this, or was he some beast, raised up by sorcery? He trembled then, and did not feel the tears running down his face, before he finally looked back away, and nearly fell. The Emperor had seen inside him, he could feel it. Had been pawing and clawing across his mind, in that moment they had shared that gaze. The King had barely scratched the surface, but he was sure the Emperor already knew more about him than his closest advisors.

“There you are, My King!” the Emperor said, and laughed, a great booming laugh that sent the stone walls and floors shuddering. “So generous of you to finally grace me with your presence and full attention after all of these years. I have been looking forward to this moment for so very long, I assure you.” The Emperor bared his teeth in a smile–the fangs were sharp, and glistened with drool, the mouth…too wide, somehow, more like the jaws of some unseen beast.

“I know not what you wish from me,” The King said, doing everything he could to keep his posture upright, and still, “But spare my men–I will accept whatever punishment you wish. Have mercy on them, and the rest of the kingdom.”

The emperor just laughed some more, and the beasts in the room laughed with him. The calmest was the Emissary, who simply smiled in his cloak off to the side. “Nonsense King! You think I have brought you here to punish you? This is your coronation!”

The Emissary pulled something out from behind the massive Emperor then, and the King saw that the vault had been raided–there, in the Emissary’s hands, was his crown–apparently untouched. Every jewel still in place. What sort of game was this? It did not make any sense to him. Why not take the jewels? Melt the gold? The Emissary came forward, crown held gently between his hands. The King tried to make sense of him–as far as he could tell, he was fully human–so why side with these beasts?

“Now, King–kneel, and allow me to crown you once again–and you can assume your rightful place in my empire.”

He did not move. This was a trap–he could sense it. Two guards grabbed him however, and unchained him from the rest of his men. He struggled, but they were two strong–the two stinking brutes dragged him forward, and forced him to his knees before the Emissary–who gently–ever so gently, set the King’s crown upon his head–and it began to glow with a slight, golden light–and the King felt a filthy, corruption spread down through his head and into his body.

The King gave a grunt, and collapsed to his hands and knees, but forced his head up to look at the Emperor, determined to remain steadfast against the corruption suffusing him–but there was no amount of willpower that could stop what was to come. He felt his body churning, his gut grumbling, and it began to expand, his young muscles withering away as his body filled with fat. He tried to push it in with his hands, but there was nothing he could do as he swelled–another hundred pounds, and then another–fatter than any man the King had ever laid eyes on–other than his one-time diplomat, he supposed. His rags fought as hard as they could, but they shredded away in moments, leaving him naked on the ground before everyone, grunting and wheezing, feeling his vitality, too, begin to sap away.

He was getting older. His hair growing longer and receding, leaving a thin horseshoe of long, greying locks around the back of his head. He reached up to his face, feeling his sagging jowls, a beard pushing through as well, growing just as long and knotted down in front of him. He could smell himself now–the corruption seeping out from his very pores, and as much as he wanted to be disgusted at himself…he found himself relishing it. Groping his fat body, smelling the stink rising from his unwashed fat. More grey, bristly hair erupted from his skin–mostly down his back, his skin toughening into a leathery hide. His hands and feet felt like they were in a vice–fingers crushing down into hard, clumsy trotters–the same with his feet–and lastly, his face began to push out into a short, pig’s snout–though anyone would have been able to recognize him for who he’d been–as the king. The magic seered through the crown, and it began to melt and warp around the King’s fat head, now just a mass of golden, tarnished metal and dull jewels–it was far too warped for it ever to be removed–but then why would he want to remove it! He was the King! The Hog King!

The Emperor, seeing that the transformation of his rival was coming to an end, took a deep breath from his massive pipe, and pushed out two massive streams of smoke from his nose. They wound towards the King, wrapping around his arms and legs, lifting him into the air, and solidifying into a sling made of solid smoke–the changed King now facing his own men–and they gasped at the sight. Where the King’s cock had been moments ago, there was now a massive set of labia, drooling on the floor under him, the King reaching down with one trottered hand to push inside it, squealing as he did in filthy, forbidden pleasure. 

The new Hog King saw his men there, saw the horror on their faces, but why were they so horrified? Could they not see him in all of his glory? Crowned again, victorious at last! They…they would serve him–yes, serve him in all of his needs! “Fuck me!” he squealed, “Fuck your Hog King, men! Shove your cocks in my dirty pussy, I command it!”

All they could do was stare. One man, shuddered and turned away, unable to bear the sight of his King, the man he had fought beside for years, reduced…to this monstrosity. None of them stepped forward to obey him, and the King grew enraged, grunting and snorting in his sling, unable to get out, shouting for them to fuck him, to fuck him rough, to service him as he demanded!

“Well, your King has given you an order–do you not obey him? Have you not each sworn an oath to him? I have heard from other knights, that your oaths are all that separate you from the beasts of the land who prey on the innocent–are you all so easily convinced to cast them aside?” the Emperor said.

“You vile, horrific abomination!” One of the knights spit at him, “I will not let you taunt us with this thing, with this cursed beast. He is not out King, and you will never rule us either!”

The room fell quiet, and the Emperor considered the man carefully for a moment, and then one of the Emperor’s long braids shot out, coiled itself around the outspoken knight, and hoisted him into the air, drawing him across the throne room to where the Emperor reclined. “Ah–if you will not obey your king then, I suppose that is treason against the crown–isn’t that right, my King Hog?”

The King snorted in agreement, and again demanded the remaining knights fuck him–but they all stood there, watching the knight struggle against the coils, his face turning slightly blue, as the Emperor’s cock began to writhe on the ground, the head rearing up like some nightmarish worm. “Well, I suppose my cock is a bit peckish–I knew one of you would have to be an example in any case–so I skipped breakfast.”

The knight tried to scream, but could not find the air, as the head of the Emperor’s cock surged up, and swallowed his feet down into the maw. The Emperor took his time, and the only sound in the room was the King’s squeals and petulant demands, as the knight slowly disappeared down the Emperor’s urethra, his legs, then his torso, until just his head remained free from the neck up–and then even that was swallowed up. The knights watched as he struggled in the shaft for a minute, and then went quiet–just a bulge in the middle of the Emperor’s massive cock, that was pulled a few feet further towards the root every few moments, until it was gone all together–and then they saw the King’s balls swell, and a trickle of precum began to flow from the head of his cock onto the floor of the room.

“Yes–that’s much better. I only have room for a few of you in here though,” he said to the knights, “The rest, I think, I will slide into my ass–I do love feeling you squirm and thrash inside there. Now–obey your king, or you know what fate your Emperor has in store for you now.”

The knights were pale, and quiet. Finally, one of them stepped forward, up to the King, and pulled out his cock. This close, the man could smell the King’s pussy, the corruption flowing from it, and his cock stiffened immediately, and he forced it inside, losing control of himself almost immediately as the King urged him to fuck harder, and deeper–and the knight, too, began to change. Back broadening as he grew taller, packing on fat and muscle, face contorting into a bestial caricature of his former self. He fucked harder and harder, spewing precum into the King’s pussy, his brains draining, until with a final roar, he came after a few minutes–fully changed into one of the Emperor’s elite warriors. He pulled free, his cock now fully porcine, and went to stand with his fellow men.

One by one, the knights all accepted their fate, fucked their king, and became one more soldier in the Emperor’s massive army. No where near sated, the King began demanding more–cum dribbling from his pussy down onto the floor below him, but the Emperor silenced him with a word. “Take the King down into the courtyard. He will be displayed and made available to all the men for the next week–you of his former guard will see to his other needs of course, keep him fed and well watered. After seven days, the king shall take his place in the harem, with the other breeders–I’m sure he will have a load of piglets brewing by then.”

The warriors all hurried to obey their Emperor’s orders, and he relaxed–knowing that the war was now won. All that remained was to hunt down the King’s heirs and bring them here–but that task was already underway. They would be brought unchanged, just as their father had been–but they would see him–the new Hog King he had become, and then they, too, would likely join him in the Emperor’s breeding stock. After all, royal lineage had power–and he would need power, for his plans to come.

Adventures of a Himbo Daddy

I’m open for commissions from now until the end of September! If you have an idea that you think would make a good short story idea like this one, you can find more details here!


Fuck, why did Nick have to go and make things so complicated? That’s what William kept asking himself every time he got home from work and climbed out of his car, and saw Nick’s bike by the garage looking like its tires need inflating, or saw Mary–his next door neighbor and Nick’s mom–working on something that he could have helped her with–as good neighbors ought to do. 

Mary and Nick had lived next door to William and his family for years now–Mary had moved in after divorcing her asshole of a husband, ditching him on the other side of the country, where he probably belonged. William was married to his wife, June, and they had two girls, but William had always wanted a son. Nick had been lonely, and hadn’t had a decent father figure in his life, so William had, well, helped out. He’d made sure that the boundary was always there between him and Mary–but she never seemed that interested in an affair anyway. This was confirmed a few years down the road, when Mary introduced him to one of her girlfriends–not that there was anything wrong with that, of course! Nick had glommed onto him something fierce though by that time, and for quite a few years, William was happy to be his neighborhood step-dad–coaching him in sports, helping him with his bike or his scooter, giving him “the guy talk” when Mary asked him to one evening. 

But things had taken a complicated turn in the last few weeks. Nick was eighteen now, heading off to college in the fall. The two of them had been alone in the garage one evening, celebrating Nick’s graduation with a beer William had slipped him, when Nick confessed something–well, two things, really. First, that he was gay. And two, that he was in love with William.

William didn’t have anything against anyone gay, and honestly, he’d sort of suspected it of Nick, since the boy had never seemed that interested in girls, but when the eighteen year old tried to move in on him…well, he’d put that down fast–though as gently as he could–and Nick had refused to speak to him since. William didn’t want to tell his mom either (or his own wife), so the wound was just sitting there and festering. They’d had plans that summer–a few weekend camping trips up into the mountains for some fishing before he left for school–but it looked like things were going to stay cool for a while. Heartbreak was a bitch sometimes, even if you weren’t the one in love.

It was a Saturday afternoon, one of the rare moments in the week where William had the house to himself, that he heard a knock on the door. He opened it up, and there, on the stoop, was a small package addressed to him–he recognized the writing as Nick’s. He looked around, but his neighbor had already vanished–so he brought the package inside, wondering what this might be all about. Hopefully nothing trying to get William to have sex with him–then he really would have to have a chat with his mom about…boundaries. He tore off the brown wrapper, opened up the box inside, and grimaced. It was, apparently, as he feared–inside the box was a pair of underwear.

He picked them up, and received an odd little shock from them as he did–he assumed it was static. They were…risque, to say the least. Electric blue, the pouch was a see through mesh, and the ass–well, he wasn’t quite sure how the three straps were supposed to work, but it looked like, well, a jockstrap, almost. A really sexy jockstrap. He wondered, for a moment, what June might think of him in it–William was almost 50, and sliding gently into a dadbod–small beer gut, flabbier arms than he’d had when he was younger, though work at the factory kept him in almost decent shape, though he had a few more aches and pains than he would have liked. His physique wasn’t nearly good enough to flaunt this thing though. Still, there was something poking at the back of his mind, a…curiosity? More of an urge. What could it hurt, really? 

He went upstairs to his bedroom, stripped down naked, and pulled them on. It took him a few tries to get his legs in the right holes, but finally he managed, and he pulled them up around his waist, and chuckled. They did not look good on him. His ass was way too flat, and his bulge…well, it wasn’t quite sizable enough to fill out the very large pouch the underwear had. But as he watched, there was another shock–this one larger, and he felt something happening. His bulge started to swell, his cock growing to eight, then nine inches long–and his balls swelling as well. He turned around and saw that his ass was inflating as well, two globes pushing out the back of the underwear, each one framed perfectly by the straps in the back, with the middle sliding between the two perfectly and resting on his crack, making him shiver. William gasped in horror–and went to pull down the underwear, only to discover he couldn’t get them off, no matter how hard he tried.

“They look good on you, Daddy, just how I hoped they would.”

William whirled around, and found himself facing Nick, standing in the doorway to his bedroom. “Nick! What the fuck are you doing in here?” Nick had a key to the house, of course, but…wait, had he planned this? “Help me get these things off, now.”

“No daddy, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and dropped the backpack he was carrying onto the floor. “See? We could have had a good thing, but not…a long term thing, I see that now. You would never leave this life of yours, not for me, not being…who you are now. But I thought–why not change you? See, my mom…she knows people. Witches. She’s one herself, actually. She loves me–and she wants me to be happy. She helped–but then, she had her own reasons I think. After all, her and June, they’ve been fucking for ages now–did you not realize that?”

William just starred at him, unable to piece together the nonsense that had just come out of Nick’s mouth. Witches? Magic? The news of his wife’s affair barely even registered to him.

“I just want us to be happy, daddy. You don’t see how miserable you are–but you could be so much better! I want you to be better, you’ll see. Show me that ass–I mean, look at it, it’s divine. A huge cock too! What guy doesn’t want a huge cock?”

“Nick…Please, please don’t do this, I don’t understand…” William was babbling now, trying to piece together everything, but it felt like the foundation of his world had been turned upside down in a moment. June having an affair? With Mary, who’s a witch? Who is helping Nick cast…some sort of spell on him? That just gave him a gigantic dick and a perfect, fuckable ass?

Wait, fuckable ass?

William shook his head, and looked at his ass again in the mirror. It was perfect. He’d…fuck it himself, if he could.

“No no no…” William said to himself, “No, get the fuck out of my house, boy!”

“I’m afraid I’m the one calling the shots around here now, daddy–you have to put on the rest of your outfit–then we’ll get you right back out of it, I promise,” Nick said with a wink.

Nick picked up the backpack, and dumped the contents out on the floor around him, being careful not to touch any of it himself. There were two pink trainers with red socks, some lycra training pants–also in pink, with a red highlight. A pink muscle tank, and finally, a pink cap. All of it looked ridiculous–like something some, well, gay muscle hunk would wear. “I am not wearing any of that shit!” William shouted at him…but already, he could feel the clothes calling to him with the same spark of energy that the underwear had on him. Already, he was thinking about it, wondering what–no, who he’d look like, wearing all of that stuff. He’d…be an entirely different person. A whole new daddy, wouldn’t he?

Nick just stood back and watched as William stepped closer to the gear on the floor, as he bent down, and took the pink muscle tee first. There was another shock–and he could feel it resonating with the underwear, calming him down somehow. Everything was fine–he…he was supposed to wear these things. They were…made for him. The muscle tee had some writing on the front, the words “Butch Muscle Daddy” written in a curly, feminine font that made the whole thing a…study in contrasts. But it was too late, he’d picked it up, his arms were pulling it over his head and down onto his body. It was a tight fit–a size too small maybe, but it worked. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, and again, he felt the strange shift inside him–but this time, it was much more substantial.

His fat melted away, and muscle appeared instead. A lot of muscle. The shirt went from tight, to fitting easy, to tight again a moment later, as first his fat gut dissolved and his pecs expanded, pushing the fabric out so it actually hung slightly, touching his his shrinking gut, before it too disappeared, leaving a two pack that wasn’t half bad for a old gym rat his age. He flexed, watched as his arms bulged out as well, the size from working at the factory expanding larger, and also toning from years lifting weights…and damn, he looked good. Real good. His skin darkened as well to a deep tan, even as his body hair thickened a bit, growing a little thicker and denser on his forearms, down his chest and back. After all, he wouldn’t be much of a butch daddy if he didn’t have his body hair right?

Fuck, what was he thinking? He felt like he was going insane all of a sudden! These weren’t his thoughts–this was…something else. Why had he put this thing on? He needed to take this stuff off, right now, but then he saw the bright thong tan line around his crotch, only partly hidden by his favorite underwear, and he blushed, and looked back at the pile. He…he should cover that up, shouldn’t he? He grabbed the lycra shorts, and pulled those on too–they did nothing to hide his bulge, but then, why would he ever want to hide that? He loved how all the boys–and a few of the men–at the gym ogled him when he was walking around, bulge bouncing hypnotically. They all fucking wanted him, of course, he’d want himself too, if he could have him. His thighs and calves blew up just as his upper body had, bulging against the lycra, and he rubbed his hands on the fabric, shivering, feeling his cock starting to grow. “Fuck, I love the way I look in spandex, boy,” he said. His voice…was it deeper? But it also sounded different. Sensual, almost. A light lisp, but a playful one. It could make men melt–he knew that for sure.

“Of course you do daddy. I mean, it’s most of your wardrobe after all.”

That snapped William back for a moment, and he scowled at Nick. 

“What? Go look for yourself, daddy.”

William strutted over to the closet, opened the door, and discovered that Nick was right–all of his flannel, all of his jeans, all of his workwear–it was gone. Instead, it was just…his gym clothes, well, gym clothes and his club clothes too, of course. The singlets. The little strappy numbers. The thongs for the beach and the pool. Most everything was form fitted–aside from a few tastefully clever muscle shirts like this one, and not a sleeve in sight–just a couple of hoodies for the occasional rainy jog around the neighborhood.

But these weren’t his clothes. This wasn’t his life. “Alright boy, this is all very funny, and I do look like a hot fucking muscle daddy, I know, but you’re going to put me back right now, I fucking mean it,” he said to Nick, who just smiled at him, and pointed at the rest of the clothes on the floor. 

“You can take it all off, once you put it all on.”

Nick scowled at him some more, crossed his arms, but his gaze kept flitting to the shoes, and the hat. He was…still so dang curious, he couldn’t help himself. “Fine boy, have it your way.”

He grabbed the socks and trainers–and discovered they were…big. Bigger than his feet by quite a few sizes. Still, that hadn’t mattered for the other stuff, so he doubted it would matter here. He pulled on the socks, then the shoes, and stood up–but almost lost his balance as his feet started to grow–and then he started to grow too.

William wasn’t a tall fellow–just five foot nine, a little below average. But he shot up six inches in a matter of seconds, to six foot three. Everything about him broadened–especially his shoulders–and with the new height, the muscle tee went from being a little loose around his flat stomach, to being a tight crop top, showing off his whole belly–but then, he’d bought it specifically to show it off, of course. There was just one thing left now–the hat. He picked it up, and put it on his head–but this time, it was a different sensation altogether. He felt himself…falling into his mind, but not as the new self emerging–it was his old self, an aging factory worker named William, with a wife and two kids. William was falling away from consciousness, falling deep into the recesses of his mind–not erased entirely, but he found himself in a small box, barely enough room to breathe, or to scream–and outside, Billy was blinking to life. Billy, with his big, luscious lips. Billy with his short beard dyed platinum blonde. Billy with his head shaved bald. Billy, who wasn’t too smart, but he sure was a horny daddy–he turned around and saw Nick standing there–saw his boy standing there, his lovely, lovely boy who had made him, and he swept him up into his arms, picked him up like he weighed nothing at all, squeezed him, and kissed him deeply.

“Fuck son, your naughty himbo daddy is so fucking horny…” Billy moaned. 

“Well then get out of those clothes daddy, and let’s have some fun,” Nick said into his mouth.

Billy set his boy back down, and started peeling everything off–the hat, the shoes, the socks, the shorts, the tee–but Nick stopped him before he could get to the underwear. “Leave ‘em daddy, they’re so sexy on you…”

“Oh boy, whatever you say–you know I’ll do anything for you.”

Nick pushed his daddy backwards towards the bed, and Billy toppled back onto it. Nick climbed up on top of him, grinding his crotch into his daddy’s, still unable to believe just how…perfect he was. And he was his. All his. Nick knew this daddy would do anything for him, do anything he said. He’d never disappoint him, never. He was going to be absolutely perfect.

“What do you need daddy? What’s a horny himbo like you craving?”

“Fuck son, you know I need your boy cock in my dirty daddy hole,” Billy whimpered in his deep, sensual voice, and rolled over, grabbing the lube from the bedside table, where they kept it handy. Nick squirted some on his cock, butterflies in his stomach. It was his first time having sex, and it was with his perfect daddy, and he wanted it to be good, he wanted it to be perfect. Nick slid inside, and the sensation of Billy’s tight daddy pussy was enough to nearly make him cum, and Nick froze–waiting for the need to pass.

“That’s it boy, just relax–you’re doing great,” Billy moaned, “You’re gonna make daddy feel so good boy, so good…”

He picked up the pace slowly, Billy coaching him along, just like he’d coached him in baseball, just like he’d taught him how to fix a flat on his bike, just like how he’d shown him how to plant those squash in the backyard two summers ago. He was a great teacher, and Nick was eager to learn. Fifteen minutes later, they were both covered in a sheen of sweat, and Nick was pounding his daddy’s hole rough and hard, Billy urged him on harder, and with that Nick came–and as he did, they both felt the energy burst inside them, as the spell finished around them as well, sealing them, and this new reality, into place.

Nick rolled off him, and Billy pulled him close into his arms, telling his boy what a good job he’d done, fucking his daddy for the first time, how proud of him he was, and Nick cried a bit into Billy’s thick, hairy chest while Billy just held him close. William had been sealed away while the spell was finishing, but William…wasn’t sealed off anymore. William was gone, mostly, at least on the outside. He’d never existed now, but there were still pieces of him there. He still loved Nick, so much–and he was thankful, he was surprised to find. Thankful he could really love this boy like a son, and like a lover–and educate him in that way too–make sure that Nick became the best boy he could possibly be.

“Can…can you fuck me too, daddy?” Nick asked, “I’ve, I mean, tried with some stuff before, but–you would be my first.”

Billy put a finger to Nick’s lips. “I’m pretty big boy–you’ll need some practice. I have some toys though we could start with–I think you’ll like them, and I’ll like seeing you fuck yourself–getting ready for daddy’s big tool one day.” Billy hugged him close, and then rolled out of bed, and stretched, one hand grazing the ceiling. “Come on son–how about a workout? You’re not going to get as big as me wasting the day in bed–then later, we can have some more fun, what do you say?”

Nick thought that sounded great–and so he followed daddy down into the rest of their house that the spell had built for them–a bit surprised really that it had been so…all encompassing. There was a new pool in the backyard, a big spacious kitchen, a private gym, and down in the basement–he recalled, was Daddy’s playroom, too. It was a brand new life, and neither Nick nor Billy could wait to live it.