(Flash Commission) Monster Cock

Jeff saw the package sitting on the porch when he got home, got out of his car, hurried up, got it, and took it inside. He’d been waiting weeks for it to arrive, and finally, it was here. He put it on his table, opened it up, and hauled it out, turning it over in his hands, already wondering if his eyes had been bigger than his stomach, or his ass, rather. It was a custom dildo from a fellow who called his creations “monster cocks”–each one was one of a kind, and while he didn’t charge for them, getting your hands on one of them was hard as hell. The creator took applications for his work, but who received them always seemed a bit random. He said that his toys chose who they wanted to own them, but after trying for most of a year, Jeff had finally been chosen, and now, it was in his hands.

It was in his hands, and the thing was massive. Far larger than anything he’d ever taken before in his life. He had a modest collection of dildos for when he didn’t have anyone around to fuck him, and he’d always enjoyed it. Some guys he knew had suggested he start training to take a fist, and he was close to that at this point. This dildo though was thicker than most guys fists, and easily a foot long. The dildo’s skin was a dark brown mottled with tan up the shaft to the head, which had a sheath, or a foreskin, bunched up around the glans of the cock. He toyed with it, and saw that it was actually rather elastic, and could stretch over the head, even, giving it more of a sheathed look. The base of the dildo included a set of substantial balls, the sack the size of a small melon. The sack and the bottom third of the cock was actually covered with hair–running his hand over it, he couldn’t quite tell if it was real or not. It had to be synthetic, but it felt a bit like soft boar bristle–he wondered what it would feel like on the inside of his hole–if he could get it that far in, even.

Jeff tried at least. Got himself cleaned out and lubed up, warmed up with the largest dildo he had, and then gave it a go. He was just too tight–he couldn’t even get the thing in past the head. He felt demoralized, got cleaned up and onto his computer, where he saw a chat message from the dildo maker.

“I saw that the package got delivered, just wanted to make sure everything got there alright.”

“It did,” Jeff replied, “It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Don’t know when I’ll be able to take it.”

“Don’t worry too much about that. It’ll get in you faster than you think, just keep trying. I know this is the right one for you, it won’t be too long at all.”

Jeff wasn’t sure of what to make of that, but he poked around online, looking for a dildo to train with larger than the ones he had, but smaller than the monster cock, but all he could think about was the beast waiting for him upstairs, and how much he wanted it inside him. It was getting late, and he had work in the morning, so he went to bed. His dreams that night were intense, and when he woke up he couldn’t recall much of them at all, aside from a strange sensation of being stalked. That, and he woke up with the monstrous dildo in his arms, when he was certain he’d left it in the drawer with the rest of them before bed. Confused and a bit bewildered, he went to work, but found it more and more difficult to focus. At first, it was just because he was tired after his restless night, but as the day progressed, he found himself thinking more and more about the dildo waiting for him at home, and he rushed home so he could be near it again, feel it again, lube it up, and once again try and fit it inside him.

That day, after an hour, he finally managed to get the head inside his hole, and that alone was a revelation. It was a sign of progress, and Jeff kept working at it, sweating and grunting, until he was too starving and shaking to continue. He went downstairs, found a couple of steaks he’d been saving in the freezer, and cooked them both, not caring they were rarer than usual, he was just starved. He considered a shower, but felt too tired to bother, and simply went upstairs to bed, curling up around the dildo without even thinking about it. The dreams that night were no clearer, but he woke with a groan, rutting his own cock against the dildo, the sheets under him soaked with sweat and cum from what must have been a very active night. He pulled himself together as quickly as he could, not even bothering to shower, but when he headed for the door, he struggled. He couldn’t…leave it here. He bundled the dildo up and took it with him not quite sure what he was doing, but it felt instinctual. He managed to leave it in the car for most of the day, but found himself terrified someone might see it, or worse, steal it. On his lunch break, he went down, retrieved it, and struggled to resist the urge to take it out and start riding it right there in the office. He settled for taking it into the bathroom with him, licking and sucking on the head while he jacked off, horrified by his loss of control, but still unable to stop.

It was when he got home, that he noticed something was off. He hadn’t really bothered looking at himself in the mirror that morning, but in the bathroom, ready to clean himself out and try again, he saw his reflection, and just stared. He hadn’t been that hairy before, or that muscular. It wasn’t…much, really, but it was there. His clothes didn’t quite fit right, which explained some of his discomfort the day before. His beard was thicker, and when he lifted an arm up in the shower, he caught a whiff of his musk, and that was more pungent too. He didn’t have time to shower though–he hosed out his hole, skipped the soap, and was back in his bedroom, riding the dildo again, working it deeper, inch by inch, now sliding halfway down the shelf. 

He could almost feel it…throbbing inside him, trying to wriggle deeper. He couldn’t tell if it was real, or if he was just imagining it. The idea of it was so hot, though, that he kept shooting load after load of cum all over his bed and his sheets until he collapsed again, too exhausted to move. It was nearly midnight, he’d been at it for hours. He had to piss, but was too weak to get up from the bed. He released it onto the bed under him, horrified at first, but the scent of it satisfied some deep, primal need inside him, and sleep took him soon after.

The next day, he got up from the bed, sniffed his hairy pit, and before he even really realized it, he was pissing all over the carpet and the wall next to the bed. Part of him was concerned, but it was much quieter than it might have been usually. Instead, he hauled out his cock and jacked off as well–it was the only thing on his body that wasn’t larger, all of a sudden. He squeezed his way into some office attire as best he could, no longer certain why he was wearing this, why he was bothering with it. He had more important things to concern himself with, after all, but some part of him clung to that normalcy, tried to deny the drives and desires that were well on their way to overwhelming him.

He didn’t last long at the office that day. He kept sneaking away to the bathroom to masturbate, to worship the dildo, his cock, his monster cock, as he kept thinking about it. Each load that he shot did nothing to calm him down, it only seemed to drive him to more intense heights of desire. When he stepped out of the stall shortly after lunch, and saw the one of his burlier coworkers at the urinal pissing, maybe it was the smell, maybe it was the sight of his ass filling out the back of his slacks, but he went over, shoved the man up against the urinal, and rutted against his ass, grunting and snorting like some animal. The man managed to get away, and before security could get a hold of him, Jeff fled the office with the dildo, abandoning everything else, and sped home.

He wouldn’t go back there. It wasn’t safe. He was safe in his home, in his den. He had to finish, he had to fuck himself with his cock, with his monster cock. He threw himself into the task, he was so close. The dildo was warm now, he could feel blood pulsing through it, the hair no longer synthetic, but so close to the hair that beginning to sprout all up and down his own body. He only had a couple more inches to go, and He worked at it, pushing everything else out. Every time he shot a load of cum, he realized, the dildo would slide in a little deeper. His body was getting larger, yes, but he noticed at last that his balls were shrivelling, his cock dwindling. At long last he took the dildo to the hilt with a roar, and felt the monstrosity come alive, the entire thing digging deeper, screwing into his guts, his wrecked hole closing up behind him.

He felt it push out, forcing its way from his body, his human cock stretching and ripping apart as his new, monstrous cock erupted from his crotch, his massive balls coming through last and dropping, slapping against his hairy thighs. He could feel it, his new cock pumping…something through him, changing him. His teeth, already sharper than they had been, grew longer, into proper fangs, is mouth and nose distending into a furry muzzle. The hair that had been growing thicker on his body became a thick pelt of black fur, hands becoming paws with thick claws on the end, his whole body filling out with layers of muscle and fat, until he was nearly eight feet tall and close to seven hundred pounds of pure mass. He looked at his monstrous bear body in the mirror, cock throbbing and leaking, and that was the last thing he recalled clearly, as he wrapped his paws around his cock and kept stroking, kept pleasing his cock, a slave to his new sexual desires, no longer interested in anything else.

When he awoke, his body had reverted–somewhat. His room was wrecked, as were several of his doorways, but he hadn’t managed to make it outside at least. That didn’t matter now. All that mattered was what his new cock desired–and it wanted a hole to fuck. There was a knock on his front door, and much to his surprise, there on the doorstep was his old coworker from the bathroom, the one he’d rutted up against. He was shaking and sweating, muttered some excuse about needing to see him again, but Jeff knew what the man needed. He grabbed him by the collar with his clawed hand and dragged him inside, shoved him down to his knees, and pissed all over him, marking the man as his new property, or rather, the property of his cock. It would take a while to open this one up and fuck him properly, but he had no doubt that in time, he would be a perfect slave–and when he took him to the hilt, and filled him with a load of his corruptive cum, he too, would turn. He shook off the last bit of piss from his cock, and dragged the addled and horny man into the bedroom now reeking of his scent, threw him on the bed, and went to work.

Commission – Piggy Pizza

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


Part 1 – Staffing Solutions

It was the sudden rumble that woke Max up. It sounded like a stomach grumbling, but something about it was off. He realized that he hadn’t just heard the rumble, but he’d felt it through his hand, but his hand wasn’t…on his own stomach. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at the back of someone’s neck, and not a womanly neck, either. He recoiled away, nearly fell off the bed in the process, and stood up, looking down at Jeremy, his roommate–or at least, someone who looked mostly like Jeremy, there on his bed, naked.

The main difference was that this Jeremy looked to be fifty pounds heavier than the Jeremy from the night before, not that he could really remember what had happened the night before. They’d gotten home from football practice, completely starving. Jeremy had seen a new pizza place had opened up near campus, and suggested it for dinner. They’d ordered delivery, the food had arrived, and after that…well, he couldn’t recall much of anything. It was then that Max realized he’d been staring right at Jeremy’s uncovered, fat ass, and his cock was…hard. Real hard. Hard enough to climb back into bed, slide his cock right in there and–

He retreated from his room and into the bathroom, turned on the light, and it was the scream that woke up Jeremy. He rolled up out of bed, waddled his way to the bathroom, where he found Max gripping his own larger, hairier gut, horrified. “What the fuck happened to us? What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Did…did you get fatter?” Jeremy asked, then looked down, “Fuck, we’re…both fatter?”

“Do you remember anything from last night that was strange?”

“Just…that pizza bro, it was fucking good, but…I felt real weird afterward, and you were acting strange too, I…I don’t remember anything, though…” Jeremy said, blushing a bit, “Do…do you?”

“No, nothing.”

“Oh, ok, good.”

“It had to be the pizza. What was the name of that place again?”

“Piggy Pizza, it’s just a few blocks away from campus.”

“Come on, we need to go there, and figure out what the fuck was in that stuff, so we can go the hospital and fix it.”

Jeremy’s gut grumbled again, and he grabbed it with both hands. “Can…we have breakfast first?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you fucking think of eating at a time like this?”

Jeremy shrugged, and followed Max’s lead as they got dressed in whatever clothes they could find that mostly fit their changed bodies, got into Max’s car with a bit of a struggle, and drove the few blocks over to Piggy Pizza. They got out, the door said the place didn’t open until eleven, but there was clearly someone inside working away. They pounded on the door until the fellow came out from behind the counter and opened the door for them both. He was an older fellow, wearing a flour and sauce stained apron, easily six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds of beef, with a thick beard braided and tied off against his chest.  “Can I help you boys? I don’t open for lunch for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Yeah you can fucking help us, you can tell us what the fuck your pizza did to us last night!” Max said to him.

“Oh fuck, what smells so fucking good?” Jeremy said, his gut growling again, and he pushed past both of them and into the restaurant. The place was sizable with plenty of seating, and a lunch buffet off to one side, where a couple of pies were already resting, ready to be eaten. Jeremy stumbled over there, drooling, grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth with a moan of delight, while Max just stared at him, horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing man, don’t eat that shit!” Max said.

“Oh fuck it’s so fucking good though…”

Max went over and tried to pull Jeremy away, who just slapped at him until he backed off. He turned around, only to find the owner of the shop had locked the door behind them, and was grinning wide. “When I delivered those two pies to you two last night, I had a feeling you were just the couple of pigs I was looking for to help out in the shop.”

“What are you talking about?” Max said.

“Go on, I know you must be hungry. Those pizzas last night would have only scratched that appetite of yours, pig,” the man said, walked over, reached past Jeremy, and picked up a slice of pizza. It was so fresh, Max could still see the grease pooling on the surface, and he realized he was drooling. “Come on pig, let Boss help you out,” he said, pushed the pizza to his lips, and Max opened up and took a bite, moaning as his cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of the sweats he had squeezed into.

He felt his gut growl, and it heaved out as he swallowed, adding a few more pounds. He tried to pull away when he realized it, but Boss just pushed the slice into his mouth, more forceful this time, and Max couldn’t stop himself from taking bite after bite, begging through a full mouth for him to stop.

“I’ll stop pig, but only if you stop. All you have to do is not take another bite. Maybe I’ll even give you that body of yours back, would you like that? Wanna be muscular again? Smooth? All you have to do is stop.” Max tried, turned his head to the side, but he could feel his jaw struggling against him, twisting back, opening up, taking another massive bite, and the owner just laughed at him. “Guess that means you’re mine, pig.”

Slice after slice disappeared down his throat, and with each one, he only got worse. Fatter at first, and then he started getting even hairier. Boss started telling him about his life now, about who he was. Sure, he’d started college on a football scholarship, but that was a few years ago now. He was too lazy to keep up, and after a year, he’d added fifty pounds. He lost his scholarship, had to get a job delivering pizza, and only grew bigger. Now here he was, his late twenties, balding already, too hairy to work the kitchen for sanitary reasons, delivering pizzas for his boss. For his owner. The man shoved Max down onto his knees, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. He took one taste of his owner’s precum, and knew, somehow, this was what was in the pizza, this is what had been changing him. He tried to resist, but he sucked his new Boss dry, and when he came, and Max swallowed it all down, everything Boss had told him, that whole story, it became…real. He stumbled up, now close to 400 pounds himself, hair all over his body, head balding, beard down to his chest, sweaty and greasy and stinking. He knew he should hate it, but he didn’t–he groped his fat, reached under and found his cock and started milking it, grunting while he kissed his Boss, and they turned their attention to Jeremy, who was still stuffing himself silly at the buffet.

He was even fatter than Max now, close to 500 pounds. His eyes were terrified at what he was doing, but there was no stopping, not any more. “What do you think of your boyfriend, Jeremy?” Boss asked him, dragging his face around and showing him the hairy, sweaty pig that Max had become. “Wait…Max? What…what the fuck happened to you?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Max said, groping his fat frame, running his hands through his greasy fur, “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ horny…”

“I bet you are, watching this fat pig stuff himself always gets that cock of yours hard, but not as hard as this fat ass, right?” Boss said, gave Jeremy’s ass a slap, and they watched it inflate, growing wider than the rest of him, Max drooling again, but for a different reason. 

“Fuck, he’s got such a hot fuckin’ ass.”

“Come on pig, I know you’re still hungry for dessert,” Boss said, tore open the already weakened sweats on Jeremy’s body. With a grunt, Max got down on his knees, crawled forward and shoved his bearded face into Jeremy’s crack, eating at the sweaty, rank crack, Jeremy moaning in confusion, not understanding anything of what was happening to him. 

“I…what did you do to him?” Jeremy moaned, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t think too hard now, we all know you’re the dumbest fuck here, Jeremy. Too stupid to be a driver, and too fat at this point. Lucky for me you can operate an oven, with supervision. Still, you have a few good qualities, right? Well, a few things that disgust everyone else, but Max there sure loves them, like your fucking musk, and those rank ass farts of yours.” The mere suggestion was enough for Jeremy’s new ass to rip off a ripe one right into Max’s face, who moaned, his own cock drooling even more pre onto the floor below him.

“No, no that’s not, I was…big! I was a big, like, football guy…”

“No you weren’t, you stupid fuck. You dropped out of high school, and have been working here for years now. You met Max when he started working here, and you pigs moved in together, with my permission of course. I own your fat asses after all, neither of you thinks a fucking thing without my damn permission. But that asshole of yours is as hungry as dick as this mouth is for my pizza, and Max is a horny hairy freak, so it works out, doesn’t it?”

Jeremy tried to think, tried to remember, but all that came out was a loud fart from his hole, right into Max’s face, who just grunted in pleasure and dug in even deeper. Boss grabbed his head, shoved him down, and Jeremy sucked on his cock, already hard again after feeding a load to Max–but then, Boss could always produce a load for his dough, and his sauce, and his toppings. That was how he had the best pizza in town, after all, and when he saw someone he liked, well, he usually got them to work for him, one way or another. “Max, get up, I wanna see you fuck this fat pig while he swallows my load.”

“Yes Boss!” Max said, hefted himself up, dropped his gut on the small of Jeremy’s back, and worked his cock into Jeremy’s loosened hole. He drove in rough, panting and heaving, the air thick with the combined musk rolling off the three of them in the lobby of the restaurant, until Max came with a squeal, and Boss came too, Jeremy swallowing down a load and feeling everything solidify around him, just as it had around Max. 

The restaurant opened an hour late that day, since the two new employees had demolished the lunch buffet. Boss got them into their new uniforms–shorts that were a bit too tight on them both, a polo shirt with Piggy Pizza across the front, neither long enough to disguise their guts hanging out below, and a ball cap with a smiling pig on the front. Then, Boss secured a leather collar around both of his new pigs, reminding him that they were his personal property. Max also got a cage around his cock, and for Jeremy, a vibrating plug in his hole to keep him excited and motivated. If Max got good tips, Boss would unlock him and let him fuck his boyfriend at home that night, but if he didn’t, well, he’d just suffer, hard in his cage from Jeremy’s gas and unable to do anything about it. Neither of them complained, though. Why would they? They loved working at Piggy Pizza–it was the perfect place for a couple pigs like them, after all.


Part 2 – Franchise Opportunities

A year had flown by since Piggy Pizza had opened, and for Max, it had been a bit of a blur. Boss didn’t let his worker slaves have much in the way of time off, after all, and so he delivered pizzas from the time the shop opened for lunch until the evening, snacking on pizza along the way, of course, until they closed at one in the morning. Then, he would drive Jeremy home in his truck, they’d usually have a fuck session if he’d earned one and fall asleep, before getting up, throwing on their still dirty uniforms, and doing it all again. 

Boss took a particular interest in Jeremy over that year, feeding him almost constantly in the shop. Six months after they’d been conscripted, Jeremy had packed on another hundred pounds, and was pushing the scales at nearly 600. One evening, after a long stuffing, he couldn’t manage to get into the truck for the ride home–but Boss had a solution all ready for him. He’d made him a little sleeping area in the storeroom of the restaurant–Jeremy would be living there from now on. It would be more convenient. 

Of course, Max was still horny as hell, and so he’d rush over when he woke up, get his fuck in before his shift started, and Jeremy only grew larger and larger, and muskier and muskier, since he didn’t have a shower in the restaurant. Jeremy eventually couldn’t even keep up with the baking, but Boss had a new role for him already planned–he hooked Jeremy’s cock up to a milker, and started pumping cum out of him, a new blend that Boss had been encouraging inside him, one that he had a feeling would help them grow their customer base even more. It worked–Boss’s own cum was more potent, but Jeremy’s kept folks coming back for more, and more, and more pizza every day. Business was booming, and they had to pull in a few other guys from campus as delivery slaves for the business, with Max as their general supervisor. One night, while they were tag-teaming Jeremy, the rest of the staff home for the night, Boss told Max how proud of him he was. He was thinking about opening up another franchise soon, and he thought Max might be an idea manager for a new location–under Boss’s strict control of course.

Max was thrilled by the idea. He rode that high for the next few days, until it all came crashing down with a sudden drop, when he delivered a load of pizzas, laced with a bit of Jeremy’s special sauce, to a house he…almost recalled, but one he couldn’t place. He rang the doorbell, the door opened, and he quickly realized he was delivering pizzas to a frat house. A frat house he knew. It had been his frat, a lifetime ago now, before he’d met Boss and started working at PIggy Pizza. He prayed that no one would say anything, but after staring at him for a moment, the jock who had opened the door said, “Holy fuckin’ shit, you’re…Max Grainger! Oh my fucking god, what the fuck happened to you?”

Max’s face reddened. Boss’s magic sauce could twist reality, but there were always these little pockets left behind. “Look man, I don’t wanna talk about it. Have a good night.”

The jock called the rest of the guys to the door, and they laughed, watching the player who had been recruited as a possible star waddled back to his truck, ass crack exposed, now just a loser dropout pig. Max’s face was burning, and he grumbled all the way back to the shop, angry that he was even angry about it. He liked working for Boss! He was going to have his own franchise soon! And a new franchise, he supposed, would need some more labor, wouldn’t it? He grinned then, and when he went back into the shop, he told Boss what had happened, and his idea.

Boss was skeptical of Max’s plan, but decided to give him a chance. He fed Max a big load of his cum, and Max felt something happen to him, his balls swelling and tingling. Boss told him that he had the power to change men like he did now–not nearly as potent, but more than enough for what he had in mind, this evening. First though, he had a few more deliveries to make. It was mostly to regulars around town, those who had been especially susceptible to their special ingredients. As the men opened their doors and smelled Max, they all seemed especially interested in him somehow. Max had fucked around with most of them–after all, now that Jeremy was living at the shop, he had to get his fucks in somewhere, but tonight, he was saving his loads for something special. That didn’t make it any less difficult to turn down the men who would invite him in, try and sneak a sniff of his pits, tell him that he seemed real sexy tonight. In the end, they were all mostly satisfied to take their pizzas, leave him a substantial tip, and Max went on his way back to his truck, sniffing his own pits. Sure, they were rank, but no more than usual. Is this what it felt like being Boss all the time? If it was, he could get used to it.

It was close to one in the morning, the shop was closing up, and Max loaded up a hefty stack of eight pizzas Boss had waiting for him, for one final delivery. He pulled up back in front of the frat house, already leaking into his uniform shorts, and the more excited he got, the more musk he seemed to be putting out–and maybe it was a bit stronger than before. He hefted the stack of pizzas to the door, rang the doorbell, but no one answered. It took a few rings, and a hard pounding, before any of the frat boys inside actually took notice, and one of them came to answer the door. Max grinned. He was showing good progress, a solid gut, a good amount of hair on his chest, and he was half naked, with grease and cum smeared across his face. 

“Who the fuck are…oh fuck, you…smell real fucking good man,” the frat boy said, stumbled out onto the step, and shoved his face into Max’s pit, snorting in his stink.

“I got your second order of pizzas, why don’t you help me bring them inside, boy?” Max suggested.

He had to suggest it twice, and haul the young man’s chubby face out of his pit, but he finally got the hint, picked up half the boxes of pizza, and brought them inside, Max following him in and shutting the door behind him, looking at the party already in progress.

The pizzas were demolished, the room was demolished as well, and all of the frat brothers were scattered about the living room, on the furniture or the floor, in various states of fucking, sucking, licking and sniffing. None of them had gained less than thirty pounds, and some, like the one who’d opened the door, had gained more. But the one that Max was looking for wasn’t among them–the one who had laughed at him earlier, that was the one he had some special plans for. He took the pizzas one by one, opened up the boxes and laid them on the floor, calling for the little frat pigs. The smell of him, and the pizza, caught them and pulled them over, all of them grabbing for slices like greedy hogs and shoving them in their mouths, moaning and grunting in delight. That would keep them all busy, and growing, for a while longer. He saved one pie, and started looking through the house for the missing boy.

He found him after a few minutes, holed up in his room. Max could hear him on the phone with someone, trying to explain the situation–probably 911, but they kept dismissing it as a hoax. Why wouldn’t they, after all? He knocked on the door, the voice inside went quiet, and said, “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just me,” Max said, “Got your second delivery of pizzas here, but everyone downstairs was too busy to pay me. Why don’t you open up, boy, and we can settle your bill?”

“Fuck you! You fucking freak, what the fuck did you do to everyone?”

Max just chuckled, hauled off his shirt, took a piece of pizza out of the box, and rubbed it in his pits, soaking it in his stink. For good measure, he wiped some of his precum off on it too from the inside of his shorts, then shoved it under the door. 

“What the, fuck why the fuck does it fucking stink!” the voice said, “Oh fuck, it smells so fucking good, and I’m so fucking hungry…”

He didn’t say anything else for a minute, just the sound of someone scarfing on the other side, and then quiet, and a belch. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and open the door, boy?” Max said.

The lock clicked after a moment, and when it opened, he saw a rather zonked looking young man on the other side, grease smeared across his face, drooling slightly. Max pushed his way in, and fed him the rest of the pizza. His name, he found out, was Doug, but Max decided Dough would be a much better name for him. Dough pleaded with him through the first few slices, begged him to stop, but by the time half the extra large pie was gone, he was ravenous. It was only natural, then, for Max to haul out his cock, and give him something to wash all that pizza down with.

Max was so horny, that he came after just a few sucks, and the orgasm was long. He could feel it, all of the corruptive potential he was feeding down Dough’s throat, and when he’d finished, a very different sort of fellow was sitting on the floor. He hauled Dough up by the collar of the shirt that no longer fit on around his nearly 400 pound frame, shoved him in front of the mirror in the room, and he gaped at his new body.

Sure, the fat was a big change for him, but Max helped him notice everything else too. The male pattern baldness that had settled in when he was twenty-five, a few years after he’d dropped out of college, too fat and stupid to keep up. Of course, he was pushing forty now, and had lost most of the hair on his head, replaced by a thick, bushy beard starting to grey, and a forest of hair all over his body–not quite as much as Max, but still plenty.

“Fuck, look at you, you fucking loser,” Max whispered in his ear, “And you thought I was bad when I answered the door, now look at you, long past your prime, don’t even have a job, just spend your days and nights stuffing yourself silly with your friends downstairs, jacking off all the time, like a proper fucking pig.

Dough tried to deny it, but Max tore off his clothes and led him downstairs, where the rest of the boys of the house had finished the second round of pizzas, and were all in similar a similar shape–older, all of them out of college now, fatter, their lives as jocks quickly being forgotten in the haze of lust that followed. He shoved Dough into the middle of them, and they all fell on him, humiliating and insulting him, and Dough found himself more and more turned on by the humiliating, begging them for their loads. Max spent the rest of the night finding the ones with a bit more resistance, and feeding them from his tap, until they too were just happy pigs, eagerly settling into their new lives.

A couple months later, a new franchise of Piggy Pizza opened on the other side of town, with Max as the head manager. Dough took up residence in the back, this location’s sauce supply, just as Jeremy was at the home location. The rest of the boys in the house, after being interviewed by Boss, were all hired on as well–as drivers, and cooks, and cleaners, depending on their personal skill sets and kinks. Business was booming, and both Boss and Max couldn’t wait to see how big this town could get.

Commission – Bottom-Up Selling

This was a commission from last year I’ve been sitting on for a bit, but wanted to finally share it. It was commissioned and edited by J. Swartz. He’s a very fine author himself, and published a book called “The Initiate” a few years back that I was quite fond of. If you like bears, bondage, BDSM, and some sexy artwork to go with it, I’d recommend taking a look! You can find it over on amazon here, if you’re interested. Hope you enjoy!


John looked up at the clock and sighed. These last couple of hours were always the worst part of the shift. He loosened his tie a bit and straightened up the desk. Noah, the night auditor, was a stickler for neatness, and if the front desk wasn’t just so when he arrived to relieve John at  eleven, there would be passive-aggressive notes left in his mailbox the next day. Still, the job  wasn’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things. John had started here a couple months back, on a recommendation from one of his professors, Dr. Farnham.  

Having been accepted to UCLA on a football scholarship. John wasn’t the best when it came to school work. As such, he was pursuing a relatively easy business management major. Farnham had recommended the position to him as a good way to bulk up his relatively weak resume, and was offering him extra credit too. That was handy since John hadn’t been doing great in Farnham’s Psychology class either. Working on the weekends sucked, knowing he couldn’t be out at the bars having fun with his college friends. Still, LA was an expensive city, so he wasn’t going to complain about his generous compensation. So three evenings a week, John was planted behind the hotel front desk, checking folks in mostly in the afternoons. By the time evening rolled by, aside from the occasional late businessman, there wasn’t much to do. The door chimed, and an older fellow in a suit walked up to the front desk, rolling a suitcase behind him. “Welcome to Windell Suites,” John said, “Do you have a reservation?” 

The man smiled and shook his head. “No reservation, I’m afraid.”  

“No worries, I have some vacancies,” John said, and pulled up the available inventory on the computer. “Okay Sir, you’re in luck! I have a single queen, lake view, available for $120 a night–”  

“Oh, that won’t do,” the man frowned, “I’m going to require the executive suite.” John was taken aback at this, and the businessman cleared his throat. “And quickly, if you would, young man.”  

“Oh, well…” John muttered, wondering if he could come up with a good excuse. The manager hated it when the executive suites got reserved first. They cost more, sure, but they took three times as long to clean, and it was cheaper to leave them empty until the end of the night, selling the less expensive suites first. Bottom-up selling, his professor had called it once, he thought.  Trying once more to steer the guest away from the top level of the hotel, John explained,  “Sir, I assure you, our smaller rooms are quite comfortable.”  

The businessman’s smile hardened and his tone became icy. “The suite is available, isn’t it?”  John gulped at this. Apparently, he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one. “The executive suite is available, yes Sir. It runs $540 a night.”  

The businessman chuckled. “Actually, I’ll be getting the specialty rate.”  

John winced. “Excuse me?”  

Nodding towards the back office, the guest explained coolly, “You’ll find my name on the VIP list. Kip Walker, friend of the owner’s family.”  

John resisted the urge to grumble, slipped into the office, and checked the owner’s personal VIP list. Sure enough, there he was. Closing his eyes, John rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh.  Not only was this guy going to be a high maintenance guest, he was buddies with upper  management. John had to give Mr. Walker what he wanted, and there was nothing he could do  about it.  

Masking his annoyance with a cheery smile, John re-emerged from the office. “Sorry about that, Mr. Walker,” he said. “Let’s get that reservation straightened out.” John took the guest’s credit card and created his room key. All the while, he kept getting a rather peculiar vibe from the older fellow. He wasn’t particularly imposing, an average frame concealed in a suit, glasses, short  haircut, mustache, but the way he kept looking at John was unsettling. Relief washed over the  him as Mr. Walker made his way to the elevator, and especially thankful he’d only reserved the room for one night. He’ll be the night auditor’s problem soon enough, John thought.  The rest of the evening was smooth and dull. Noah arrived on time as always, and John filled him in on the shift’s events, including the odd businessman in the executive suite. Noah just nodded, like he was familiar with this particular customer, but didn’t share insight. John was about to clock out, when the front desk phone rang. Noah answered it, then handed it to John. Wondering who in the hotel would ask for him, John took the receiver, listened for a few seconds, and hung up.  

Without saying anything to Noah, John clocked out. However, instead of heading for the parking lot, John entered the elevator and rode it to the top floor. Noah just chuckled. He should have known the new guy was one of Walker’s boys, it made sense now. Noah got the receipts in  order and began working on balancing the accounts for the day, while John got ready for a party he didn’t know he’d been invited to, where he was going to be the main attraction.  

***  

“Well Al, I must say you have out done yourself with this one. Truly one of the nicest specimens you’ve brought to our little club to date.”  

John shook his head, and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he clearly  recalled was picking up the phone at the desk, and then…nothing. Now, he was standing in the  middle of a room that he slowly recognized as the executive suite, the one he’d given to that  strange businessman earlier in the evening. Sure enough, Mr. Walker was in the room with him,  along with his professor, the one who had gotten him the job here to begin with. Al Farnham was  a taller fellow, mostly slender but with a bit of a gut. Now in his sixties, he’d had a rather wild  youth, before going straight. Farnham’s hippie roots still shone through, and his theories about  psychology were rather unorthodox, but what was he doing here, with Mr. Walker? And why was John here at all? John started to ask, but then caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room, and a more pressing question posed itself. What the hell was he wearing?!  

John’s hotel uniform was gone, and on his legs clung a pair of black stockings, attached to silk garters, pulled up over his hairy calves, and strapped to a belt around his waist under his gut,  which left his crotch and ass exposed. Or at least, it exposed the black lace panties he’d been  squeezed into at some point while he was out. The fabric was cutting into John a bit, especially at the parts of him where he had a little extra weight; his ass, under his gut, and around his thighs. John’s thick cock was bulging out, and his muscular ass had the material stretched thin. He had a silk and leather harness buckled around his chest, with a cut out for his pecs. The material seemed to actually push them up and out, making them even more prominent than they usually were. His hands were bound above his head, and then the rope was wound into an intricate weave between his upper arms and around his shoulders, before reaching above him to a beam in the ceiling. It was effective at suspending him upright, and the rope had been pulled tight enough that he couldn’t quite rest easily, forcing him to keep his heels raised up and standing on the balls of his feet.  

“I should have gone a size up, didn’t expect him to be quite so thick,” Farnham mused, as he groped John’s ass with one hand, squeezing his cheek through the silky, thin panties.  

“What–what the fuck is going on? What the fuck did you two perverts do to me?” John slurred, peering at the two older men in the room.  

“Us? Perverts?” Walker exclaimed, “Why, we’re not the ones wearing garters and strung up like a piece of meat, panty boy. If anyone here is a pervert, it would seem to be you.” 

His mouth agape at the businessman, John turned to Dr. Farnham. “Professor, what is  going on? Why…why can’t I remember anything?”  

“Now Johnny, don’t worry your pretty little head about any of it. Just enjoy yourself tonight–I have no doubt that you will put on quite the show. After all, I’ve been training you for it for a month now,” Farnham said, but his usually kind smile seemed quite a bit darker than usual.  

John tried to figure out what he meant by that, and he realized, slowly, that he’d been visiting Farnham’s office hours regularly for about a month. But he’d been working on his classwork, hadn’t he? He’d been doing poorly, but why couldn’t he recall what they’d talked about there? Had…had he been hypnotized, or something? He struggled harder, but the professor stroked John’s bearded face, gave him a little shush, and said, “Relax now–we can’t have you getting all worn out before the main event. Relax.”  

John moaned, and felt some of the fight go out of him, and he slumped slightly into the ropes holding him. “But…why am I here? What are you doing to me?”  

“We’re hosting a party tonight, for one of the city’s most exclusive clubs. You, John, are going to be our full service boy. You remember what that was from your hospitality classes, don’t you? Don’t tell me you fell asleep during that lecture too.”  

John gulped, figuring he had a good enough idea, but Farnham just stroked his cheek, imploring him to relax again, his voice growing softer.  

“That’s it sissy boy, just relax,” Farnham said, dropped his hand lower, and groped John’s sizable cock through the panties he was wearing. At that moment John realized, with some horror, that he was semi-hard. “Just relax and enjoy yourself,” Farnham whispered. “You want this, don’t you? Aren’t you excited, and you don’t even know why?”  

John shook his head, but moaned loudly when the professor kept teasing his cock, causing him to leak into the front of the panties.  

“Quit playing with him already,” Walker snapped, and handed Farnham a masquerade mask, just enough material to hide his identity. Walker was already wearing one. “The other guests are starting to arrive. We should get the cameras rolling.”  

“Cameras?” John asked in a stupor, and struggled a bit, but found it hard to put that much effort into it. His body just felt so slack and at ease. He had to fight, but it was difficult to convince his body to agree with him.  

Professor Farnham smiled at this. “Well of course, Johnny. We always tape our sessions here. Now, you will only refer to me as Mr. White, and Mr. Walker as Mr. Grey, until I say otherwise,  you will forget we have any other name. Better yet, you don’t really need to say anything at all.  We take the confidentiality of our clients very seriously.” The white-bearded man then pulled a  small remote out of his pocket, and turned the various cameras installed around the room on.  Together, they would give a complete record of everything that happened in the suite that night,  but most of them were pointed at John, to capture him at every angle.  

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Walker opened it and welcomed in another masked man, also wearing a suit. For the next ten minutes, a steady stream of other men followed. Most of them arrived alone, but some arrived with young men at their side, also masked, many of them wearing rather skimpy, sexy attire–leather, rubber, silk–all of them clinging to their older date’s arms rather happily. Every guest greeted Mr. White and Mr. Grey, and then came to admire the newest addition to their collective stable.  

They gathered around John, running their hands over his body, groping his cock, squeezing his ass, and while John pleaded with them all to stop, begged them to let him go, they all would just laugh and continue on, before congratulating Mr. White on his latest catch from the college. John realized, then, that the only person unmasked in the room was him, and the men were all using his first and last name. Everything was on camera! What if the team saw this? What if his parents did?! He struggled against the bonds, but he also knew it was too late. The only thing he could do was get through this, and figure out how to destroy the footage after, maybe.  

When all of the men had arrived and been poured a glass of champagne, Mr. White got their attention and gave John a proper introduction. A sophomore football player, a rather impressive tight end (bringing laughs from the men, and a blush to John’s cheeks), and of course, a secret sissy with a rather humiliating collection of fetishes that they would be displaying for all of these men this evening. “One of those fetishes is hypnosis,” the professor said, “please take the panty boy’s protestations this evening with…a grain of salt. He asked to be made unaware of the fact that he had asked for this–or rather, begged for it, repeatedly. I’m sure that by the time we’re through this evening, he’ll remember perfectly well just what kind of slut he is.”

John looked at the professor in confusion. That couldn’t be true, could it? He wouldn’t…want this to happen! “That’s not–I didn’t ask for this!”  

The men all laughed, and John’s face burned hotter still.  

“Now, Mr. Grey put up the initial investment for John here, and so, as usual, he will have the honor of breaking him in. After tonight, John will, of course, be available to all members through the usual avenues. Now, Mr. Grey, if you would,” the professor said, and bowed off to the side while Walker stepped up next to where John was suspended. The men clapped, and he took a bow.  

“Now, Mr. White here has asked me to demonstrate a few of our newest boy’s proclivities, which I am more than happy to do. First on the list, is that the sissy boy loves to be disciplined, don’t you?”  

John started to object, but not before Walker brought one of his palms down on John’s pantied ass, making him gasp in surprise. The sheer fabric did nothing to disguise the pain of the slap, but what surprised John most was that it felt…good, somehow. Not that it didn’t hurt, but that with the slap, there had been some strange burst of perverse delight in his mind, making his lip curl, and cock throb in the front of his panties. Walker gave his other cheek a smack, and this time, John groaned audibly, swinging out slightly from the force of the impact, and the men around them laughed.  

“You were going to say something, sissy boy?” Walker snarled.  

John panted, and then heard himself bleat, “M-More Daddy, please…I’ve been a naughty sissy boy.”  

“Yes you have, going around the school, pretending to be a big *smack* strong *smack* butch *smack* football player, all the while thinking about dressing up in panties and having a mean, old Daddy bend you over his lap and give you a proper spanking, you slut.”  

Walker fell into a rhythm after that, alternating cheeks, bringing out a collection of whimpers, moans, and shudders from John that horrified him, and yet felt so completely natural.

The suspension only increased his predicament, as he swung out slightly with each blow, only to come back as Walker brought his hand back down on his ass again. He stopped, and John  came to rest again, and then heard him pick up something behind him, step around, and hold up  a thick, wooden paddle.  

“What do you think of this, you little spank slut?! Think this will teach you your lesson?” 

Part of John was terrified, but all that escaped from his mouth was a moan, followed by, “Yes, Daddy.”  

John didn’t know how hard Walker was really swinging it, but each connection stung, and made John let out a scream. He twisted a bit further now, trying to evade the paddle, only for gravity to drag him back into position for another strike. Too late, he felt his cock throbbing, harder and harder with each blow, and with a loud cry, he came, filling the front of the sheer panties with a massive load of cum. He looked down, watched it spurt through the fabric and onto the floor, the men around them cheering and hooting at him, John’s face burning in absolute shame.  

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but his professor stepped up, whispered something in his ear, and John relaxed, deeper than he could really have thought possible. Distantly, he felt the ropes around his shoulders loosening and he was let down to the floor, where he collapsed into the professor’s arms. He was put on his knees, and Walker was saying  something, while the professor fit something in his mouth, and then, everything was a blur.  

***  

The next thing John knew, he was unbound, and lying against the foot of the bed on the floor, facing the TV. Looking around, the men had all disappeared other than Professor Farnham and Mr. Walker, who were sitting in a couple of chairs, smoking cigars, and watching the screen. John looked up, and saw that it was a video of him taken by the cameras in the room. He was on his knees, a spider gag stretching his mouth wide, while men surrounded him, jacking off, dumping their loads into his open mouth on splattering them across his face, all while John’s clearly hard cock hung out the front of his panties.  

“What do you think, John? It’s a good debut, don’t you think?” Farnham smirked, and sat back in the chair. “Should we post it on xtube tonight?”  

John stood up on aching legs, and sat on the bed, head in his hands, trying to figure out what to do about any of this. Beg? Plead? Fight?  

Taking a puff from his cigar, Farnham continued wistfully, “Then again, no one has to know about any of it. All you have to do is sign a two year contract as an escort with our exclusive club, and this video will stay in our archives, instead of being distributed to your parents, and blasted onto every computer on the college network.”  

John shuddered, and tried not to think about what a turn on that was for him all of a sudden. The idea of everyone on campus knowing he was a sissy panty slut, all of his coaches, his…father. His cock throbbed at the thought, and he pushed it away, horrified. “You–you did this to me, you made me want this.”  

“Did I?” Farnham chuckled, “Or did you ask me to do this to you? Come to my office with all of these secrets, wanting to make them a reality? You don’t remember, do you?” 

John gulped–he didn’t remember. He didn’t know at all.  

“Come on now, John. Be a good sissy boy, and put your name on the line,” Walker goaded impatiently, holding out the pen. “Do it quickly now, and you’ll get your reward.” What choice did he have? John tried not to think about how thrilling it was to put his name on the dotted line, knowing that any of those men from the night before would be able to use him now, whenever they wanted, that he was essentially a slave for all of them to spank and humiliate and degrade whenever they wanted to. As John signed his rights away, a look of evil satisfaction came to the businessman’s face.  

“That’s it bitch… Now get down here and thank me properly for disciplining you earlier,” Walker barked, and John looked over to see the man’s rock hard cock jutting out of his slacks. John gulped, then got down on his knees in front of him and started sucking. He hadn’t sucked many cocks before, and it wasn’t more than a minute before he grazed the shaft with a bit of teeth, and Mr. Walker picked up the riding crop from the table and brought it down hard on John’s ass, making his gasp. “No teeth, or I’ll have to gag you–but you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? Go on, gag on it, get it good and wet for daddy, or you’re going to be at this for a while.”  

John redoubled his efforts, doing his best to lick and suck as Mr. Walker requested, until at last, he was rewarded with a load of cum. Finished with one, he moved over and sucked off his professor as well, who shot his load all over his face.  

Speaking softly, the professor’s gentle tone was undercut by the harsh directive. “Now, you  fucking slut… Get dressed, and wear that load all the way back to campus,” Farnham said, and  handed him a small flip phone. “This is for work. Always answer it, no matter when it rings. You’ll be given instructions and a location each time. Don’t be late, don’t be disobedient, and the video taken last night will never see the light of day.” He paused, grinned, and cooed, “Unless, of course, you want it to.” Farnham leered down at John, like he’d known the filthy thought that had crossed his mind a moment ago, his burly father seeing what a slut John was, bending him over his knee, and…  

John nodded and gulped, removed his party attire, and changed back into his hotel uniform before slipping out the back. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, but John took a moment to jack off in his car, his ass aching against even the soft seat, thinking about how it would feel on the hard classroom chairs. Fuck, what had his professor done to him? He came in the front of his slacks, cheeks burning with shame, and headed home. It was just two years, right? He’d be done by the time he graduated, and the fee he’d receive for each escort would be…substantial, according to the contract. 

John got what little rest he could, and in the morning, did his best to pretend that everything was normal. That is, until the sound of an unfamiliar ringtone interrupted his homework. He answered the flip phone, and a computerized voice on the other end instructed, “The executive suite has been reserved for a special guest after your shift this evening. He requested the same outfit as last night, you’ll find it in the drawers of the suite’s dresser. The party last night was a great success, you’re already booked out every night for the next two weeks. Get your rest, sissy boy.”  

They hung up before John could reply, and he felt his stomach churn in anticipation, terror, or both. Apparently, the only bottom at the hotel being up-sold now, was his. 

Flash Commission – Greene Aged Tobacco

Garowan the tanuki brought the package inside from the porch, his striped tail swishing happily to and fro, excited that his tobacco sampler had finally arrived. It was a new variety of aged tobacco he’d seen advertised online, from a company called Greene’s. Curious, and happy with the low price, he’d ordered one just to give it a try. He opened up the box, and let out a little disappointed growl. What a ripoff! Sure, the sampler had been discounted, but inside the wood box with the Greene label on the front, there had been nothing more than a single cigarette rattling around.

A fucking cigarette! He didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He’d had a couple when he was a teenager, sure, but he preferred cigars. He picked it up, wondering who he was going to have to contact to complain about this, and brought it to his snout to take a sniff. It didn’t smell like the cigarettes he’d had before, actually, which had a sharper, cheaper scent. It was pleasant, actually. A little woodsy, a little rum, a little vanilla. He looked at it, and decided why not? He’d ordered it, he might as well try it. He could still complain about it to the company and get his money back, even if he used it. The box was decently sized, after all–it was probably supposed to have more stuff in it than this, and someone had packaged it wrong. He went into his living room, got his lighter, and lit the cigarette, taking a small draw on it, holding the smoke in, and then exhaling it into the air around him.

It was nice. Really nice. All of those flavors he’d picked up with his rather sensitive nose were still there, blended nicely together, without being too cloying or artificial. He gave his sizable nuts a scratch as he took a deeper drag, inhaling some of it this time, and felt a surprising little zing that went right to his head, making him feel a little light headed and dizzy. Apparently, whatever aging process they used made sure the tobacco packed a punch as well. He enjoyed the rest of the cigarette for a few minutes, that rush suffusing the rest of his body, and smoked the cigarette down to a small butt, before dropping it in the ashtray. It hadn’t been a total waste then–the tobacco was great. Now he really did wish he’d gotten a complete sampler, instead of just that little taste. He started back towards the kitchen, where he’d left the box, but before he could get there, be passed by a large mirror hanging on the wall in the living room, and then paused, staring at his reflection, a little confused.

He looked different. Not…all that different, he supposed. The fur on his cheeks and around his muzzle was thicker and a bit darker brown, looking like a proper beard that older tanukis usually grew. His body looked a little heftier. His arms were thicker with a bit more muscle, and his belly had grown fatter. Not my much, really. Just enough to really be noticeable, and to make his underwear look a little strained, especially since his nuts had grown as well. For tanukis, that was one of their main signs of age–their substantial sacks grew their entire life, and elders in particular often had sacks so large it made it a bit difficult to move around at times, though they usually managed. The fur on his belly had darkened and thickened as well, becoming a substantial treasure trail running up his larger gut. If he had to guess, he looked like he’d aged about ten years or so, into his mid-thirties, but he looked…good, somehow.

He went to the box, wondering if it might have some explanation, but there wasn’t anything like a note or warning. There was something new in the box though, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It was impossible that he could have missed something, it must have somehow just appeared there after he’d smoked that cigarette. It was a sizable smoking pipe, dark brown with a bent stem, and a little pouch of what he assumed must be tobacco along with it. He picked up the pouch, paw shaking a bit, opened up the top, and gave it a little sniff. Sure enough, it was the same aroma, though a little stronger, the flavors a little deeper, melded differently. Aged more. He could just tell from the darker, deeper scent. But if this tobacco was aged more, did that mean that, if he smoked it, he would age more too?

He went back to the mirror and looked at himself again, at his older body. He tried to imagine what he might look like even older and…and why was he even considering this? He couldn’t smoke this shit, who knew what it might do to him, he needed to get help. He went back, intending to throw the pouch of tobacco in the trash, but smelled it again, found himself getting a bit lost in it, and realized when he pulled it away from his snout that his cock was leaking in the front of his tight underwear. Without taking time to second guess himself, he picked up the pipe, dumped the tobacco in it, and tamped it down. The whole pouch fit in the bowl perfectly, and he went back into the living room, got his lighter, and lit the pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the stem, relishing the flavor again, enjoying the subtler notes he’d missed before.

He sat back, took an inhale off the pipe, and again, felt that same surge of energy off the tobacco as before, but while he still felt alert and energized, it was coupled with a rather profound sense of relaxation. He sank back into his armchair, and this time, he felt it as it was happening, his gut grumbling slightly, and then began to expand. Pipe in his mouth, he rubbed it with his paws, groaning a bit from the pressure. The gut was rather soft and pillowy, flowing around him, spreading out across the chair, thighs growing closer together. He could see the fur on his belly that had grown in before thicken further, and when he was about halfway through the bowl, it changed color again, the brown lightening to a steely grey, contrasting with his the prown pelt across the rest of his belly. It was joined by his beard, he realized after a moment, which was long enough to reach his chest now, and the same greyish color–almost the same color as the smoke coming from the pipe itself. His chest was growing as well, packing on fat until he had two sizable moobs resting on top of his gut. His nipples in particular grew as well, and the two piercings he had in them grew as well, from a pair of studs into two sizable gold rings. 

He smoked the pipe down to ash, and then sat for a moment, looking down at himself, surprised he wasn’t more horrified. He set the pipe aside, and hefted himself up from the chair, his legs and back aching in ways that he didn’t expect, but which he supposed came with his new age. If he had to guess now, he was probably in his late forties. As he walked into the kitchen, he could feel his nuts swinging against his knees as he walked, the constant stimulation provoking a constant leakage from the head of his cock. Along the way, his underwear finally gave up and shredded away, leaving him entirely naked. 

Something had appeared in the box again, where the pipe had been. It was a cigar, and not a small one, either. At least an 80 ring, if not larger, and close to nine inches long. He’d only seen cigars that large in pictures on the internet, never in person. He picked it up, paws shaking a bit, and brought it to his nose. The smell of it made him salivate–he could almost taste it, just from smelling the wrapper…but he shouldn’t, right? If he did, how old was he going to get, anyway?

He resisted the urge for a little while, moving around in his new body, getting used to hefting around his new weight, his sizable balls. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigar though, and come evening, after a sizable dinner to feed his new bulk, he sat down with the cigar in the living room, punched it, and after a moment, brought it to his lips and lit it.

It took some work, getting it started, because it was so large. The thing was so big it stretched his snout uncomfortably wide. At last, he was satisfied with the light, sat back, and took a sizable draw off the end, a bit greedy for the smoke even, and sighed out a thick plume, delighted with the flavor. The cigarette had been just a tease of this depth of flavor. It was the most delightful, savory smoke he’d ever had, in fact. Again, he felt the smoke spread through him, permeate him, and he grew again. Soon, his fat was spilling over the sides of the armchair, which was creaking under the weight of him, his balls sagging lower until he realized they were large enough to rest on the floor in front of the chair, his meaty thighs pushed wide apart by the massive sack. His jaw was aching from holding the cigar, but when he pulled it free for a moment to give it a rest, he realized that wasn’t the only reason. His tusks were coming in, his lower jaw jutting out, growing thicker, and two stubby incisors pushing their way out of his lower jaw. He put the cigar back in, happy to discover that it was much stronger, and could support the cigar easily while his paws explored his growing body.

His fur thicker, and all over his belly, the brownish grey lightened further to a stark white, as did his beard, which now reached down to the massive belly button in his massive gut. His moobs were even larger now, and when he squeezed them, he let out a little grunt of surprise and pleasure when he felt something leak from the nipples. Looking down, he realized he’d matured enough to start lactating, something that didn’t happen to every tanuki, but if it did, it didn’t usually happen until they were in their sixties. It felt…good, and the rings in his nipples grew even thicker, almost as thick as the massive cigar he was smoking. The smell was beginning to permeate him now, and the smell of the tobacco was joined by a scent of his own musk, growing stronger and more pungent, with a definite pang of smoke–but that wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d been a near constant smoker for years now, why wouldn’t he smell of smoke?

He shook his head, but that memory was real, as real as his other ones. He could find himself remembering other things, a whole life that he’d lived now, leading to this new body. He was happily retired, well supported, and didn’t have to worry about anything. He could even sense, somehow, that he hadn’t really lost any years off his life, through these changes. He would stay like this for years now, for as long as the years he had lost, probably close to forty or so, before aging any further. He finished the cigar, set the butt down in the ashtray, and heaved a final, contented, smoky sigh. It was a lot to consider, really, but he didn’t regret any of it, though he was horny as hell after all of that, and his massive balls were aching for release. He pulled himself up, and saw he’d already accumulated quite a puddle of cum around his balls on the floor. No matter, he knew a few cubs around who would be more than happy to clean it up for him–maybe while he had another cigar, or two.

Flash Commission – A Demon’s Face

WARNING! This story has some real extreme stuff in it, and is definitely more of a horror story than an erotica story. This includes blood and knife play, extreme pain play, scat and demonic references. If any of that isn’t of interest to you, don’t read it!


The message had arrived for John as a bit of relief. His friend Aleks had grown more and more distant over the last year or so, delving deeper into the occult and demonology, beyond the sort of fetish play the two had always enjoyed over the years. The last time John had gone over there, the mood had been tense, Aleks not exactly high, but more than a little out of his mind. John had left, unsure of what to do, and when he’d expressed some concern, Aleks had lashed out over text and refused to reply since. 

But now, months later, he’d finally gotten a message back. Short and to the point, Aleks had asked him to come over, there was something he wanted to show him. No apology, no real admission that he might have gotten a little too deep, but for John, he was happy he at least wasn’t dead or something. He got geared up in some leather pants and a spiked leather jacket, and headed for Aleks’s apartment to see what he wanted to show him.

When he arrived, though, it was quickly clear that everything was not exactly normal. The door wasn’t locked, and when he stepped inside, it was the smell that assaulted him at first. Something beyond musky or stale, perhaps even beyond rank. It smelled like something between a burning trash pile and a grungy locker room. He stepped inside, tested a light switch in the entryway, but the light only flickered for a moment before going out, and refusing to come back on. 

Looking down the hall, the whole apartment seemed to be dark and maybe even empty. He went in anyway, despite a general instinct to turn tail and run, and as he approached the living room, a more familiar smell joined the rest, cigar smoke. Sure enough, he turned the corner, and there in the dimly lit living room was Aleks sitting on the couch in full leather, smoking a cigar. He even had on a full leather mask that John had seen him in a few times, which only made the whole look hotter still.

“Ah, there you are,” Aleks said, “I was getting tired of waiting.” He grinned, and John saw something strange–there was a light coming from the inside of his mouth. Aleks put the end of the cigar in his mouth, and again, something was off. The end of the cigar wasn’t burning, but he was still exhaling smoke out of his mouth. Aleks took off the dark glasses he had on, and John’s eyes went wide–his friend had no eyes underneath. There were just the holes in the leather mask, and behind that, there was just flame. “As you can see, I’ve made a few improvements to myself since the last time we saw each other,” he said, and when he talked, John could see the fire through his mouth as well. That explained the cigar–he was literally burning it inside his mouth. Aleks took another inhale off it, and John could see the thick plumes of grey smoke emerging not just from his mouth, but from his eyes as well. “Come on then, come have a closer look,” Aleks said.

Everything in John’s mind and body screamed at him to run, but the smell, the smoke, the light of the flame, all of it beckoned him closer. His limbs a bit stiff, he found himself lurching forward, the smell growing more intense, inhaling the smoke now, feeling his mind going a bit numb, his own cock stiffening in his leather pants. “Fuck Aleks, what the fuck did you do?” John managed to croke out as he came closer.

“Well, it turns out that selling your soul is the hard part,” Aleks said to him, “But once that’s gone, everything else is so much easier, you see. Demons will trade just about anything for a face. They use them to infiltrate our world, but not many people are willing to part with them. I feel like I got everything I wanted for mine though. Stop trying to fight it, John–my smoke can bend the will of any man now, my musk can corrupt even the most stalwart soul. Stop pretending that you don’t want to kneel before me, service me, it’s all you fucking want now.”

John could feel it, the hunger and desire welling up inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own–after all, they had imagined something like this together many times before, though only Aleks had really believed he could pursue such power. In the end, it didn’t matter. He could feel the smoke smothering all of the doubts, all of the fears, and he fell to his knees in front of Aleks, and shoved his face into his new master’s crotch, inhaling the scent of the musky leather.

One of Aleks’s hands cupped his chin and lifted his face up. “I always loved your face, you know, it’s so sweet–I’m going to get a great deal for yours, I think.” Aleks reached over to the table beside the couch where he was sitting, and opened up a switchblade.

“Wait…what…” John said, but his throat seemed too dry, his head spinning from the smoke.

“Your face, John. They want faces, and I will provide them. Don’t worry, I already know what I’ll be getting in return for yours. Now hold very still.”

The blade cut into his neck, shallow, but John gasped and tried to flinch away–only to find his body was paralyzed. Aleks drew the blade around his neck, and John could feel the blood drooling down onto his chest. Then, he drew it up the back of his head, following the spine, all the way to the crown of his head. That, it turned out, was the easy part. Aleks’s leather gloved fingers dug into the wounds at the back of his head, and began pulling the skin free of the muscle. John screamed then, the pain surging through his body and mind until he finally felt darkness overwhelm him, and he passed out.

In all honesty, he thought that was the end. When he awoke, the nerves of his face dully throbbing away at him, he thought he must be dead, now in some afterlife. He looked around at what he could see, and knew he was on a bed in a room he recognized as Aleks’s bedroom. Perhaps it had been a dream, or some hallucination. He tested his arms and legs, and while sore, they could move. He pushed himself up so he was sitting on the bed, and knew that there was a mirrored closet behind him. Terrified at what he might see, but knowing he had to look, he twisted around, and let out a groan.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in the mirror. The horrifying, bestial face, something between a gorilla and a wolf, staring back at him. The only part that he could still recognize were the human eyes underneath. He reached up, felt the greasy hair, the thick beard, the coarse skin, looked lower, under his neck, and let out another groan–whatever it was that was on his head now, it was…growing into him. He could see the veins of corruption spreading down into his chest and shoulders. He got up and went to the door–but it was locked. He tried to call out for help, but after a few minutes of that, he could feel the pain intensifying–whatever this process was, it wasn’t yet complete.

He spent the next eight hours on the bed, screaming in agony, as the demonic face fully attached itself to his head, spreading its corruption down into his body, deep into his soul. That was the most painful part, in fact, feeling that darkness, the horrifying chill, drilling deep into his chest, finding whatever light and good it could and snuffing it out. As it did, his body was growing, bones cracking and extending, muscles burning and flexing, a thick pelt of fur growing all down his back and chest. When the pain finally subsided, he looked over at himself in the mirror–and saw that his eyes were gone. His humanity was gone, corrupted away, just two pitch black eyes staring at him, a gnawing hunger deep in his guts, and an aching horniness in his groin. His cock and balls had not gone unaffected–his cock was larger now, easily eight inches, now with a sheath running up his abdomen. He got up from the bed, now nearly eight feet tall, tested the door with his claw tipped hands, but before he could rip the door from its hinges, it opened, and John dropped to his knees before his Master in the doorway.

The smell of him was not only more intense to his now bestial nose, but also smelled absolutely delightful. Filthy and musky and corrupted. Drool began flowing from his mouth faster than he could swallow it, and John pushed his face into Aleks’s crotch, snorting and huffing in his intoxicating stench.

“Good, it took. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to incinerate your corpse,” Aleks said, wrapping one hand around the back of John’s head, tangling his fingers in his greasy locks. “I’m too fond of you to not spend an eternity with you as my thrall.”

Thrall. The word reverberated through him, and John could feel it. Their connection. He lived to serve his Master now, his soul was gone, and what had replaced it was a deep, undeniable desire to worship him. Aleks’ opened his burning mouth wide, reached in with a hand, and pulled free a metal chain glowing with heat, though his gloves were unburnt. He took it, wrapped it around John’s neck, and the beast howled in pain. Aleks pressed the metal into his flesh, searing it there, before gripping the free ends of the chain in his fist and melting them together into a knot, now impossible to untangle or remove.

The pain ebbed away, and John felt his flesh healing rapidly around the metal–in a matter of moments, it was like it had been fused to his body for years. “What…what have you done to me?” he growled out, words warped by his long inhuman tongue and sharp fangs.

“I took your face, and traded it for a demon’s. A lower one, a beast of filth and sloth and wrath. I knew it would suit you and your desires. You are hungry, are you not, my slave?”

John gave a growl, and Aleks’ turned around, pulled his pants down, and shoved his ass to John’s face. The stench was horrific and intoxicating. John pried his master’s cheeks apart with his claws, digging into the skin a bit, and drove his long, pointed tongue into his hole, tasting it, tasting what he desired now, more than anything. Aleks fed his thrall his massive load of shit, listening to the beast eagerly devour every last bit of it, and when he was finished, he turned around, and sprayed him down with a load of piss. It came out nearly hot enough to scald, steaming in the air, and John was in ecstasy, reeking of his Master now, belly full, cock aching to fuck.

“Now, why don’t we begin our real task, my slave?” Aleks said.

That night, John grabbed one of the other tenants from the building, and dragged him back to the apartment. Aleks took the face from the man, and replaced it with one of his own desire, a blank rubber gas mask, filling the man with his smoke until his entire identity had been erased, knowing nothing more than the fact he was a drone, a slave to his demonic master and his favorite pet. At last, John was given his reward, and mounted the their first drone, driving his monstrous cock into its tight hole, wrecking it, destroying it, filling it with as much corruptive cum as he could, watching the drone expand in size, growing more and more muscular as the rubber of the gas mask spread, encasing the drone’s entire body.

Soon, they would have a harem. Then an army. Aleks was not content, after all, with personal power. No, the demons had promised him much, much more, if he would assist them in their assault on the mortal realm. The time of man was in twilight, and the age of demons was about to dawn.

Flash Commission: A Twin of His Own

I’m currently offering patrons flash commissions! I’ll be posting a few of them here, but if you want to read all of them, and want to read them sooner, I’d recommend you go sign up! You can find more info here.


“And you’re sure it’ll work?”

“Well, no. I’ve never done anything like this before. Hypothetically, yeah. You’ll have to talk him through it though, push him in the right direction.”

Sheriff Clark Easton had his eyes closed, listening to the men talk. The last thing he could recall well was packing up in his office late at night, getting ready to go home, but he hadn’t made it to his car. Someone had snuck up behind him, shoved a rag over his nose and mouth, and now he was here. Though where ‘here’ was, he didn’t know. Just two men talking in the room with him–they were more likely to spill something while they thought he was still out. The first voice was rather gruff, the second a little younger and softer, but he couldn’t say more than that.

“So what, like…my past?”

“Yeah, the more you feed him, the more likely you’ll get the result you want from it. Just like the pig–the gun and ink does some of the work, but the more you talk him into accepting it, the stronger the result will be.”

There was a grunt from the gruffer voice, the sound of some boots coming closer to the sheriff, and then a hand slapped him across the face–harder than necessary if all he’d wanted was to wake him up. Clark gave a little shout, looked up, and saw he was staring at Timothy ‘Bruiser’ McGee. Bruiser was the leader of a particularly nasty biker gang that had been moving in on the county for the last few months. Running drugs, extortion, rape–nothing was below them, and the sheriff had been struggling to pin down their hideout and get them arrested. Now, it appeared that they may have overplayed their hand. “How exactly do you think this is going to end for you, Timothy?” the sheriff asked.

The older biker sneered at him. Bruiser was easily six and a half feet tall, and heavily muscled, with a sizable gut. The only thing the sheriff had ever seen him wear on the top half of his body was a filthy leather vest, showing off the riot of tattoos the biker had all over, even running up his neck and face. “I imagine, bud, we’re gonna walk out of here together and have a good laugh about it all,” he said, grinning and showing off his crooked teeth, a few replaced with gold caps.

The other fellow was smaller and younger, setting up what looked like a little workstation beside the chair where Clark was tied down. He looked over the equipment, and recognized the tattoo gun–what the hell were they going to do with that? “I’m ready to go,” he said. He took the gun, brought it to Clark’s arm, and while he tried to flinch away–as soon as the needle slid into him, something else happened. There was just a cascade of sensations–sights, sounds, smells. None of them were familiar to him, and yet as soon as he experienced them, he knew, somehow, they were his. Nostalgic, and yet alien. Before he could try and make any sense of them, there was another wave, another bunch of sensation, all of it baffling him, swarming his mind. He didn’t quite know how long it had lasted, but it finally ebbed away, leaving him panting and sweating in the chair. It felt like it had lasted a few moments, but the artist had managed to cover both of his arms with full sleeves, and from the one window in the room, he could tell that a significant amount of time had passed.

“Alright, that should be a good start–talk to him for a bit, I want to see if it’s taking like I thought it would,” the young man said.

“What should I talk about?” Bruiser said.

“Yourself. Usually the older stuff comes in first. Ask him about your parents.”

Brusier laughed, “Fuck, my old man, you mean. My mom dumped me on him when I was a just a fucking kid–I don’t blame her, I tried to set the house on fire when she wouldn’t let me keep watching TV one night.”

“Fuck, I…I remember that…” Clark muttered. It wasn’t his memory. He’d been a good kid, always listened to his parents, they’d been married his whole life. But he could recall, somehow, piling up a bunch of sticks under the curtains in a dingy living room, setting them off with a lighter he’d stolen from his mom’s purse, cackling while she panicked, getting a pot of water to put it out. “Why do I remember that?”

“Fuck, it’s working!” Bruiser said. “Bet you remember dad too then, don’t ya?”

“Mean fucker, beat the shit out of me,” Clark muttered. “I mean, that’s…not my dad. I…I ran away. He had some friends who were bikers, they…I ran off with them when I was a teenager, but…”

“Yeah, fuck, real sexy fuckers too, right?”

“No! I went to school, I…I went to fucking college! What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Bruiser grinned at the young man, who nodded back. “You’ll see, Mr. Sheriff. Is he ready for some more now?”

“I think so,” the young man said, brought the needle to his chest, and again, Clark was overwhelmed with the sensation. He realized, now, what he must be feeling, and he realized where he’d recognized the tattoos on his arms from. They were perfect copies of Bruiser’s own ink. The young man was copying the biker’s tattoos onto him, and in doing so, he was somehow transferring over his memories–no, more than memories, his whole personality, his history, his identity. He could feel it. Before, the onslaught had felt chaotic, but now, it felt like a force, a corruption spreading through his mind. Everywhere it went, his old self was being overtaken, erased, and replaced by this new self. 

The sensation retreated again, and when Clark’s vision could focus again on the room around him, he looked down at himself and let out a whimper. The uniform he’d been wearing had been cut off entirely, leaving him naked. He’d always figured that Bruiser had more of his body tattooed under those ratty jeans he wore, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d gone this far–his whole cock and balls were tattooed now, and halfway down his thighs. More than that though–his cock was…bigger. Much bigger. The sheriff had never been well endowed, but his newly tattooed cock was close to eight inches–soft. The rest of his body was shifting as well, growing more muscular–but shouldn’t it be? He’d been working out all the time since he dropped out of school and fell in with the gang, beating and fucking his way to the top…right? He shook his head–those weren’t his memories! He had to hold on…hold on to…to what? He struggled, but couldn’t find everything he’d lost, just bits and pieces.

“Fuck, that’s real fucking hot,” Bruiser said, stepping around the chair, while the young man prepped his gun again. 

“Bruiser, get me the fuck out of this god damn chair, ya piece a shit!” Clark said, and only after the words were out, did he realize that his voice had changed, his accent–he sounded so much like Bruiser…but he was, Bruiser, right? “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Hold on bud, you’re just confused is all,” Bruiser said, “Like that time we wrecked out on the interstate, had a concussion for days.”

“Fuck, I still get headaches from that,” Clark said, “But I…I thought…there’s someone else in my head, man, what’s going on?”

“We’re fixing you up, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m scared, I…I don’t know if I can trust you, he’s…scared.”

“Here, this’ll help. You know how we get when we don’t get a smoke in a while,” Bruiser said, and pushed the cigar he had lit into the sheriff’s mouth. He took a draw on it, and while Clark had never been a smoker, he instinctively sucked the thick smoke right down into his lungs, held it for a second, then pushed it out of his nose in a couple of thick jets. “Fuck, that’s better.”

“See, we know what we need, don’t we?” Bruiser said, and groped the sheriff’s new cock, and he moaned around the cigar, feeling it stiffen in Bruiser’s hand. “We’ll sort you right out–we just have to do the back of you–you’ll feel better soon.”

Bruiser and the young man undid the rope holding Clark to the chair, and while a small voice told him to run…that wasn’t his voice. He laid down on the table they’d set up, the young man got his gun ready, and started on his back, and Clark struggled for a moment, before the sensation overwhelmed him again, and he rode the sensations. This time was different. He felt himself siding with the corruption, the strength flooding into him, rooting out and destroying all of that weakness in him. The good, the lawful, the obedient. Fuck that! He knew what he wanted, he knew what he was. The memories were coming clearer now, more and more recent. The sensation fell away again, and he blinked, pushed himself up from the table, and gave a little flex.

“How’s it feel?” Bruiser asked, as his twin sat up on the table. He was now the spitting image of himself, right down to the long hair, the thick ratted beard. Stepping close, they even smelled the same. The only difference was, the Bruiser sitting on the table had the number two on his neck, where Bruiser had the number one. They needed to keep track of pecking order one way or another.

“Fuck–I…did we get the sheriff? I can’t really remember, my head’s all fucking fuzzy.” Number two asked.

“Fuck yeah we got him–you were him!”

“Wait, what? Seriously? Fucking hell, so it all fucking worked?”

Bruiser stepped up and gave his twin a smoky kiss, which number two happily returned. He helped his twin up from the table and over to the mirror so he could see them both together, and the sight of it got them both so fucking hard, they reached down and started stroking each other off.

“Hold on, got us a celebration planned first,” number one said.

“You don’t have to tell me, I remember,” number two replied.

Downstairs was the gang’s new pig, a college student travelling through the county that the gang had kidnapped a week before, who the sheriff had been trying to track down. He’d been a test for the young man’s tattooing abilities, and the magic tattoo gun they’d gotten their hands on. The young man had been covered with raunchy images and words, his whole identity replaced with a cum and cock hungry filth pig, who at the sight of not only one, but two of his bosses, crawled over, grunting and squealing, before turning around and presenting it’s hole for them both. One took the mouth, Two took the ass, and they fucked the pig from both ends, sharing smokey kisses over his back–thinking about all the trouble they’ll be causing now that there’s two of them, and that troublesome sheriff was out of the picture for good.

Flash Commission: A Good Dicking

I’m currently offering patrons flash commissions! I’ll be posting a few of them here, but if you want to read all of them, and want to read them sooner, I’d recommend you go sign up! You can find more info here. This one was commissioned by Mutabear.


“Well boy, this is what you came for, isn’t it?” Coach Gus said, swinging his hard dick in front of Liam’s face, “You gonna stare at it all night, or are you gonna suck it like a good cockhound?”

Liam licked his lips, leaned in, pressed his nose to the crease between the coach’s thigh and cock, and took a long inhale of his musk. He smelled amazing, but then, it wasn’t like either of them had had time to shower after practice. Liam was a freshman on the rugby team this year, and for the last few weeks, the coach and him had been flirting harder and harder with each other, trying to sus out just how interested the other was. Today, they had both hung back in the locker room today, chatted a bit, and coach had suggested that Liam come over to his house for dinner. Dinner, though, was apparently going to be a load of cum from the coach’s cock, not that Liam minded one bit.

Well, aside from the fact that the coach’s junk was massive. He’d had a feeling it would be from the bulge, but finally getting to see the older man’s ten inch cock and grapefruit sized balls swinging below–he gave them a lick, and could almost feel them churning with cum in the sack. 

“Boy, don’t play with it, fucking suck it already, I’m about ready to burst,” Gus said, tugged up on Liam’s hair, and pushed the head of the cock against his lips. He tried to tell the coach to go a little slow, but he thrust in, pushing against the back of his throat, and Liam nearly gagged. It wasn’t his first cock by a long shot, but it was the biggest. He started milking and sucking on it, Coach let go of his hair, and gripped his head in his hands, gently thrusting in and out.

“Fuck, been holding this one for you since I first saw you checking me out on the field, you know that boy? I haven’t cum in weeks–saving it all up for a good dicking.”

A dicking? Liam liked the sound of that. He sucked a bit harder, and was rewarded with a grunt from the coach, and precum drooled from the head of the coach’s cock and into his mouth. It tingled a bit as it went down, reminding him a bit of a novocaine shot at the dentist. He tried to pull away and ask about the sensation, wondering if the coach was on drugs, or way worse, if he had some STD he hadn’t told him about, but the coach gripped the side of his head a little harder, thrust a bit deeper, and much to Liam’s surprise, he didn’t gag this time–the coach’s cock slid down his throat, choking him for a moment, before sliding back. “Yeah, that’s it–getting you lubed up. Gonna pump those guts of yours full of my seed, gonna dick the fucking shit out of you boy.”

Liam didn’t have much of an opportunity to ask what the coach was talking about, or about that strange sensation–all he could really do was focus on breathing in time with the coach’s thrusts. He managed a good rhythm, at least until Gus got close, rammed the whole ten inch cock down his throat and held it there for a good minute. He could feel the shaft spasming, pumping what seemed like gallons of cum right into his gut. With his hands, Liam reached down and he could feel his belly distending, his stomach uncomfortably full, but still he kept cumming. The tingling sensation he’d felt before around his mouth and throat grew stronger, but was concentrated lower now–on his legs, for some reason. At last, the coach hauled his cock free of Liam’s throat and mouth, letting him gasp for breath, “Fuck coach, what the hell? What’s wrong with your cum? It fucking tingles.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it–just getting you ready for your dicking is all–fuck, look at you, you’re gonna be a real handsome cock when I’m through with you.”

“I thought when you said dicking you were gonna fuck me, but it seems like you already blew everything down my throat,” Liam said, a bit disappointed. He tried to get up from where he was on his knees, but the tingling sensation was stronger–he couldn’t seem to feel his legs, like they’d fallen asleep. He reached down to massage them, felt something off about them, looked down and gasped.

His legs weren’t quite legs anymore. His ankles had adhered to the back of his thighs, the flesh had swelled around each leg, and were looking more and more like balls. The skin was loosening around them, the bones dissolving, and he could feel sensation coming back to them slowly. He pressed on the massive sack that had replaced his legs–his own cock and balls still sitting there where they had been, but found it increasingly hard to balance on the round testes. He ended up falling forward and catching himself on his arms, surprised that he wasn’t panicking. “Coach, uh, what did you do to my legs man? I…I think I’m hallucinating.”

“You’re not hallucinating, you’re getting dicked.”

“I…I don’t know what the means.”

“It means, boy, now that I’ve flooded you with my seed, turned those legs of yours into a couple of massive balls, now I’m going to fuck your ass. The rest of your body is going to turn into my dick, and when I cum again, you’re going to cream your brains right out your mouth, and stay my stupid cockhound dick forever.”

“I, what–” Liam started to say, only for…something to well up his throat, almost like he was vomiting, but what came out was rather familiar–it was precum. It tasted just like it had when the coach had fed it to him, but now, he realized, he’d just shot it from the massive sack below his waist.

“Look at you, just talking about it got you all excited for it. You wanna be my dick, don’t you boy?”

“No, I mean, I…”

“Come on, think about how good it’ll feel. Your whole fucking body is gonna he so fucking sensitive. You won’t have to worry about school. You won’t have to worry about anything other than driving into the next hole I line up for you. Trust me–my dick gets a lot of ass. I saw how much you liked how it smelled, I’ll always keep you good and musky, just how we both like it. Men will line up to worship you. Doesn’t that sound so fucking hot?”

It did sound surprisingly hot. Another load of precum pushed its way out of his mouth and down his chin; the coach leaned down and kissed him, licking it up from his lips and then got some on his hand. He went behind Liam, got on his knees, and pressed a couple of fingers, slick with precum, against his hole. Liam shuddered. The same tingling sensation from before spread down his ass, and he shuddered in pleasure. “Oh fuck, that feel so fucking good,” he moaned. 

“I know boy, I know it does. It all feels so good. You’re going to feel so good forever.”

“Oh fuck, I…I don’t know if I wanna be a dick!”

“You’re gonna be my dick, boy, I don’t care if you want to. Dicks don’t get to care about shit like that,” the coach said, now pressing the head of his cock against Liam’s asshole. “I knew you were gonna become my dick the first time I saw you. There’s nothing you can fucking do to stop me, so you might as well enjoy it. Every boy I’ve ever dicked has loved it, and I know you won’t be an exception.”

Liam began a half hearted beg, but then the coach’s massive cock slid into his ass, and another massive gout of pre drooled from his mouth, shutting him up. When he coughed it all up, he muttered, “Oh fuck, it…you’re so fucking big.”

“No, you’re so fucking big,” coach said, “One big, stinking dick, that’s what you are. Say it.”

“I…fuck, I…no, I–”

“Fucking say it boy, say you wanna be my fat, horny dick. Tell me you wanna blow your brains all over the floor, forget you were ever fucking human, forget you were ever not a part of my stinking body.”

The coach reached out, ran his hands over Liam’s body. He had been fairly hairy for as young as he was, and was getting hairier now–long pubic hairs sprouting at the base of his back and around his crotch as his own cock and balls were slowly absorbed into the sack below. Liam gasped at the sensation–his skin had never been so sensitive before. “Oh fuck, why does that feel so good?”

“Stroke yourself boy, I wanna watch you jack yourself off until those fucking arms of yours wither away.”

Liam gave himself an awkward hug, rubbing his torso with his hands, feeling his skin shuddering and loosening, becoming…dick skin. He could smell it all around him now, the coach’s musk, his musk. He ran his arms up and down his body, shuddering, a steady flow of precum drooling down his chin. He scooped it up, rubbed it into his chest, shuddering and moaning in delight. “Of fuck, feels so fucking good.”

“Feels good being my dick, don’t it?”

“Fuck, it does!”

“You wanna be my dick, don’t you boy?”

“Fuck, I…I do.”

“Since the moment you laid eyes on my cock, all you fucking wanted was to be part of it,” the coach said, “You can feel our balls churning now, can’t you? Getting the load ready that’s gonna blast out of your mouth in a few minutes, gonna empty that head of yours, erase that pretty fucking face, leave you with nothing more than a drooling dickhole where it was.”

“Oh fuck,” Liam said, “I can feel it.” He was still trying to rub his body, but his hands and arms were tingling more and more. He tried to look down, but his neck had disappeared–his body was now one wrinkly shaft, arms dwindling away to nothing, leaving just his human face plastered on the end of it, moaning and drooling out precum, powerless to stop what was about to happen to him, no longer even willing to stop it. The coach was stroking his body harder now, and he could feel it, his balls churning and tightening, until at last, there was a massive shock of white light and pleasure. Cum exploded from his mouth, and when it did, it tore his mind wide open–he could feel it, his memories, his desires, his humanity shredded apart, huge chunks of it blown out along the way. The next shot scraped away even more, and each one after that scouring what was left of his mind away, leaving him drooling on the carpet. For a moment, he tried to blink, but that was dumb. Dicks couldn’t blink. Dicks didn’t have eyes. 

The coach looked down at his new, massive cock–still around three feet long, his balls as massive as those exercise balls he had at the gym. It would take a few more loads before he was sure all of Liam had been erased, and before his cock would return to a more reasonable size, but he had all weekend for the two of them to get acquainted.

“See, I told you that you’d love being my dick,” he said. He felt the thought return, or a series of sensations really–gratitude, desire, excitement. Dick thoughts. He dragged his massive meat over to his couch and sat down, before putting on the video he’d just taken using the surveillance cameras he had in his apartment. This might be his favorite dicking yet–he was excited to watch it again, and cum again as well. His dick was too. His dick was very, very excited to cum, and fuck, and stink. After all, what else was there for a dick to do?

The Family Portrait

This is…technically an older story that I never got around to finishing at the time, and at the urging of a patron, I returned to it, revised it a bit, and gave it a conclusion. Hope you all enjoy it! Also, the new series I mentioned, “Pigtown Chronicles”, is in early access over on Patreon, and I’ll be posting it publicly next week! If you missed the first three chapters, you can go check them out there, or wait and read them here. If you’re still over on tumblr, I created a new blog for this series–that way it won’t be stuck behind the nightmare that is NSFW tumblr, and have a searchable, accessible archive. If you want to follow it there, you can go ahead and follow it here. I’ll also be reposting all of them to my old tumblr as well.


It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed. 

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying. 

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, were friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Or rather, his dad Gary, a conservative city councilman who couldn’t afford to have a gay son in the news, made his say it, and Keith went along with it. Marty had had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself. 

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly traced back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide. 


Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.


When reality snapped back to order, the effects were seen far beyond the run-down house where Keith now lived with his older brother–his now ex-wife and sons were forced into new realities as well. The two older sons, David and Terrance, were living out on their own, working and renting an apartment together while they attended the local community college, trying to make the leap to a four year college when they could afford it, and both of them avoided their father like the plague. His youngest son, Bobby, split his time between his mother’s house and his father’s house, but only because he was still seventeen for a few more months. In all honesty, he hated every second he had to spend with his filthy uncle and father–he was ashamed to even be related to them. His mother understood, but there was nothing she could do, until he reached eighteen and could legally decide for himself. And so, Marty decided that the next easiest target would be Bobby, when he arrived to stay with his dad and uncle the next week.

That gave him plenty of time to get adjusted to life with his new stupid, lazy younger brother, and he loved every second of it. While he couldn’t make any massive changes to him, now that the picture had become static again, just like his wizard friend had said, he could continue making small changes and suggestions for another few days, all of which Keith was more than happy to obey, and by the end of the week, he reeked of cum and sweat, he hadn’t had a shower in months, and he spent all day and night drunk, passing out on the couch with the TV on every night, when he wasn’t busy in his brother’s bed, servicing his every sexual desire. Still, they both knew that as soon as Bobby arrived for his week of custody they would have to control themselves…for a little while. Marty didn’t think Bobby would be returning to his mother’s house anytime soon, that was for sure. All he’d have to do is get the young man relaxed and focused on the portrait, and everything would be perfect.

However, from the day Bobby arrived, it became clear it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Marty had thought. The boy had some…problems with authority, especially parental authority. He spent almost all of his time in his room, giving his uncle no real chances to exert much influence on him in any way. Marty thought he had him the second night, when he managed to successfully enchant Booby with the portrait, causing a third blurry figure to appear beside the images of his father and uncle, but when he tried to influence the boy, and turn him into a chubby, submissive cub for them both to use, nothing seemed to work–Bobby fought his suggestions, and after an hour, the image of him had faded from the picture entirely.

Angry and frustrated, Marty called his wizard friend, demanding to know what was wrong–the wizard was a bit flummoxed, but said that the reason for Bobby’s resistance probably had to do with his perceived relationship to his family–that is, he didn’t want to perceive himself as Keith’s son, but he didn’t have an easy solution for him. Marty’s mood stayed sour for a few days, until he overheard a fight between Bobby and his father one night. Bobby told him that Keith had never been his father, that Bobby was the only person in the room who could act like an adult–and that gave Marty an idea: if Marty thought he was the adult in the room…well, why not make him one?

The fight ended, Bobby stormed off to his room. Marty waited for half an hour, and then knocked on the door, letting himself in–the portrait had appeared on the wall of Bobby’s room, looming over him. “Bobby, I know you aren’t a fan of us, but you need to accept the fact that we’re your family, and there isn’t anything that can change that,” he said, and pointed at the picture, “Look at us up there, wasn’t that a good day?” Bobby looked at the swirling paint, his eyes drawn in immediately, a fleshy blob appearing in the picture, but Marty could see him fight, see him resist his placement between them, where a son belonged. So Marty tried something different, “But you’re a man now, you know? And you know, we don’t treat you like that enough. You aren’t a boy anymore, Bobby–no, not Bobby–Bob. You’ve grown into a fine young man, haven’t you?”

Bobby resisted for a moment more, but then visibly relaxed where he was sitting on the side of the bed. Marty could see his body changing, hair growing up his forearms, thick like theirs, his body bulking, as he grew older, into his mid 20’s. Finally, finally he had him, and Marty knew exactly what this young prick needed–if he wanted to be an adult, then fine, let him. 

“You know Bob, I’ve always admired you. I’ve never seen you as a nephew, not really. I’ve always thought of you as a real brother to me. And I know Keith gets on your nerves, but he’s, well, he’s younger than us, right? He’s always going to be a bit immature.”

Bob kept growing older, his face growing a bit more lined, hair receding back past the crown of his head, becoming flecked with gray, and he chuckled, “He acts like a fucking child,” Bob said, “I wish…I wish…grandpa had been sterner or…or something, he…why does my head hurt all of a sudden?” Bobby said, rubbing his temples, “I…I feel like I’m forgetting something…”

“You mean dad, don’t you?” Marty said. “You wish dad had been stricter.”

“I…I guess.”

“Look, you’re not one to run away from Keith when he gets on your nerves. You know what he needs–you’ve always known what we both need, as the oldest.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right Marty–you always have a way of…of making so much sense, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, now come on. I think you should go have another word with Keith, don’t you?”

Bob nodded, and turned to leave the room. Marty checked the portrait, and sure enough, there was Bob level with them both–but Marty wasn’t really interested in having another brother. Since Bob wanted to be an adult so badly, why not go a little further? He smiled, and joined the rest of the family in the den.

The now middle aged Bob went and stood in front of Keith on the couch. He looked up at him, confused for a moment, before the magic helped him along. Bobby his son didn’t exist for him now–he was looking up at his big brother Bob. 

“Yer blocking the game Bob, get out of the way,” Keith said, craning around him as best he could.

“Yeah? That so? What’s a fat fucking piece of shit like you gonna do about it?” Bob asked.

Keith glowered at him, and hefted himself to one side, but Bob just shifted along with him.

Marty stepped up, and saw that the family portrait had followed them, and was now hanging above the fireplace. “Come on now Bob, you know what Keith needs, don’t you? Ever since he was a kid, you knew exactly what kind of worthless piece of shit he was going to be, and you never hesitated to put him in his place.”

Bob’s gaze grew a bit harder, and he undid the belt around his waist, pulling it free of the loops with one pull. Keith’s eyes went wide, but he couldn’t move before Bob’s hand was around his neck, gripping tight enough to make him gasp for breath. “Apparently someone has forgotten who the boss is around here,” he said, “get up, knees on the sofa boy, I think you need a good reminder.”

Keith tried to mumble something, maybe an apology, but Bob’s grip tightened enough that he only managed a squeak. He released him, and Keith did as he was told, hauling his fat body up and onto the couch, letting Bob tug the back of his grimy underwear down, and pushing his body over the back of the couch, so his ass was high. The first smack made Keith holler, and that was enough to shake Bob as well, and he looked at the belt–almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“Don’t worry about the screams, Bob–we all know that just makes that big dick of yours even harder. All those years working construction put a whole lot of muscle on you, and you love using it on the pig–even more than the pig likes the abuse. Go on, see how much that fat pig’s puny cock is leaking.”

Bob ran a hand between Keith’s legs, and sure enough, it came back coated with precum that he wiped across both cheeks. Leering now, he brought the belt down again and again on Keith’s ass, stopping only to pop open the buttons on his jeans, letting his own sizable cock free. Unable to resist anymore, He tossed the belt down and drove the cock into Keith’s loose hole, making them both cry out in delight.

“That’s it Daddy,” Marty said, coming close and stroking Bob’s body as he fucked the pig’s hole. “You’re such a good daddy to us boys, aren’t you?”

Bob was too eager to fuck to even muster much of a resistance, as the portrait began to shimmer again, Bob’s image migrating behind Keith and Marty, where the patriarch would be. 

“Retired now, sure. Past your prime, maybe. But you trained the pig well, didn’t you? You knew before he could walk that he wasn’t going to amount to shit, and no amount of discipline would stick, because the pig just wanted more. More punishment, more humiliation, more, more, more. But that’s ok, isn’t it? You do love him, you want to give him what he wants. It just so happens its exactly what you want to, right Daddy?”

Bob swelled larger, body filling out with more fat and muscle as his hair all turned a stark white, beard down to the top of his gut, snorting and grunting in time with his son as he thrust harder and harder, until he came finally with something like a roar. He pulled free, and his cum drooled out Keith’s hole, who was coming down from his own orgasm, having soaked the couch cushion below him. 

“Fuck Daddy–you’re so fucking hot. Take care of me now, come on. I’ve always been the favorite. Your oldest, I could never do anything wrong. You want to make me happy all the time, don’t you Daddy? You can’t resist anything that I say,” Marty said, grabbed his burly father by the shoulder and shoved him down to his knees, Marty’s own cock out. “Come on Daddy, suck your boy off, you love the taste of my fuckin’ cum, you fuckin’ need it.”

Bob swallowed Marty to the hilt in one practiced motion, and he didn’t last more than a couple of thrusts, before exploding in his Dad’s mouth. He could feel the magic tightening around them all as the portrait turned solid again. It wasn’t quite what he’d planned, Marty thought as he pulled free, watching his new father lick his lips and thank his favorite boy for his load, before getting up, grabbing a beer and a cigar, and sitting down next to the still panting and huffing Keith to finish the game. Marty could make this work, though. He’d pay a visit to Keith’s sons soon, once he was sure these two were well under his thumb, and his new family would be nearly complete.


It had been a bigger change than Marty had planned on for Bobby, and he was a bit concerned that he might try and push back against the magic, but for the rest of the weekend, everything progressed smoothly. If anything, Bobby was revelling in his new found authority and power over his new son, humiliating and abusing him all day long, cementing Keith’s new role as the family loser more and more. But much to Marty’s surprise, the change to Bobby was having an impact on him as well.

Apparently, by making him his dad’s favorite son, that changed some of his own past in the process. Over the rest of the weekend, as his dad showed him his new found affection, pleasing his favorite boy as much as he could, while he did everything he could to punish Keith, Marty found he was losing weight, and putting on muscle. New memories came to him of playing football in high school at his father’s urging–it clashed uncomfortably with his other, older memories of being kicked out of school at Keith’s father’s behest. Needless to say, Marty was thrilled that he could be affected as well, and once he realized the effect it was having, he pushed his dad, and himself, to be more manly, more masculine, both of them sprouting thick beards and bigger cocks, ending Sunday night with a family spit roast in their leather gear–father and his favorite son skewering the family pig at both ends, while they both smoked their favorite cigars, before dragging him down into the basement dungeon, where they took turns flogging him until the pig’s puny cock exploded in delight against the wall.

Marty had spent a bit of time trying to work out how to get the rest of the family under the portraits influence as well. Talking to his friend, the portrait was bound to the house–it would only affect people while they were here. That meant he had to figure out some way to get Keith’s other two sons, Jack and Eric, over here–but neither of his older sons wanted anything to do with him. In the end, the situation with Bobby, now Bob, created a solution to the problem. When Bobby didn’t return to his mother’s house on Sunday night, and with no word from Keith, and after a call to the police turned up no record of her son at all, she asked Jack and Eric to check up on Bobby and make sure he was alright, and to bring him home.

And so, Monday evening there was a pounding on the door. Bob and Keith were downstairs taking care of some discipline, and so it was Marty who opened the door, and found both of his nephews standing on the doorstep, looking rather angry. “Marty,” Jack said, “Is Bobby here?”

“Bobby?” Marty asked, a bit confused. He’d almost forgotten that his father downstairs had been a teenager a couple days before this. 

“Stupid fucking freaks, where the hell is he?” Eric said, shoving his way inside and looking for Bobby in the living room and kitchen. Jack followed after him, and Marty shut the door, smiling that his next two targets had entered the web so willingly.

“Boys, I think you’re confused. Who’s Bobby?”

“Our brother, you know who.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I had any boys other than you two,” Marty said, looking up at the portrait up above the fireplace, watching the image of both young men materialize in front of Keith for a moment, but Marty had a better idea. Keith was a loser pig, and these boys didn’t deserve that. No–he had a better idea for both of them, that he’d been mulling over for the past couple of days, and with some focus, he watched the images of them scooch over, and take their place in front of him instead. These were going to be his son’s now, and he would raise them just right.

He saw that slight daze come over both of them as the portrait took hold of them, and smiled. “Come on boys, I know you’ve had a long day at work on the site. Crack open a beer and let’s have some family time, while Grandpa’s taking care of your uncle downstairs.”

“What…no, we….we came here for…for Bobby,” Jack said, trying to push through.

“No, you’ve been working on the construction site all day, like usual. Now you’re home, where you belong, with your family. You’re thinking of Bob, your grandpa. You two aren’t too bright, I know you can get confused easily.”

Marty was a bit worried that they’d put up as big a fight as Bobby had, but he watched as Eric’s clothes shifted to some grungy workwear and boots covered in dust and dirt, and seeing it happen to his brother, Jack changed quickly after that. Apparently, the two of them had a good affinity for each other–Marty could work with that too. The two of them followed Marty over to the sofa and sat down together, while he got the remote, fiddled with it, and found an old boxing match to put on. “There we go, that’s what you boys like, isn’t it? A good bout, right?”

Jack and Eric watched the fight go on, while Marty kept talking.

“Yeah, the two of you have always been fighting each other, ever since you were kids. I was always hollering at you two to cut it out, but that just seemed to encourage you. But you’re both sadists, just like me and your grandpa–it shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose, all the roughhousing. You two were always so easily matched though–identical twins, and damn, did both of you grow big and strong, just like the real men of the family.”

Jack gave a groan, and was the first to pull his cock free of his pants, with Eric following along soon after. The two of them were swelling larger now, packing on a substantial layer of beef across their chest, arms and legs as they grew larger, topping six and a half feet. Their features were melding together–Jack’s hair lightened to the color Eric’s shaggy brown mop, while Eric’s eyes grew more sucken and his brow grew in to match Jack’s own forehead. 

“Fucking inseparable, the two of you. Always have been. Only way I can tell you apart at this point is that Jack, you lost both of your front teeth to a game of backyard football when you were fourteen, and Eric, you pissed Jack off so much a year later he pummelled your face and flattened that nose of yours to your face. But you love each other, deeply. Been catching the two of your fucking around with one another for years now, and I swear you know what the other is thinking half the time. Of course, both of you are such dimwits that it makes sense the two of you would only have one brain between the two of you.”

At the same time, their hands moved and took hold of each other’s cocks, and the two boys moaned simultaneously. One eye each still on the screen, taking in the blows of the bout, obviously excited at the bloodsport, they leaned in and started kissing each other, pressing closer, Eric wheezing through his busted nose, his tongue sliding through the familiar gap in the middle of Jack’s teeth.

“That’s it you two. Fuck, I couldn’t be more pround of my two handsome, dirty, sadistic boys. Hardly ever showering you, pretty much always have a thick cloud of musk and cigar smoke clinging to you, covered in dirt, but not so much that we can’t all see the riot of matching tattoos the two of you have gotten over the years together, all over your arms, your chest, even your cocks have twin snakes down the length of them,” Marty said, came around the front of the couch, and climbed up, one foot between each boy’s legs, his cock thrust between their faces, his twins slobbering all over their new father’s cock as the portrait swirled, coming more and more into focus, the old Jack and Eric fading away, and replaced by the two massive twin bruisers parked on either side of their massive father. “But most of all, you two boys love your Daddy, don’t you? You’ll both do anything for me, without a moment’s hesitation–and your Grandpa too. We’re the only guys who ever fuck you–aside from each other. But that’s what guys in a family do for each other, right? Besides, I know how the two of you love to fight over my cock.”

Jack won the day not long after that, taking his dad’s cock in his mouth while he shoved his brother’s face lower, Eric relenting and lapping at Marty’s balls until he exploded in Jack’s mouth. He pulled free and fed the load to Eric, the two of them sharing it, watching it drool into their tangled brown beards. “Fuck dad, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Eric said when they pulled free, “Can I suck it next time?”

“You know the rules boys, Daddy likes watching you fight for it,” Marty said, getting down from the couch. “Now come on, let’s go see how grandpa’s work on your pig uncle is going.”

They all went down into the basement dungeon, where they found grandpa with his flogger, coated with a sheen of sweat, laying into Keith’s back with a whip. The smell of blood and sweat mingled in the air, and from his sons’ panting, Marty could tell the scent was getting them excited. “Hey dad, Eric and Jack are home from work, why don’t you let the youngin’s take over for a bit?”

Bob looked over his shoulder, confused for a moment, but the magic took hold after a moment, and he remembered his two grandson’s properly. “Sounds good to me–I think the pig’s just getting warmed up, isn’t that right?”

He walked around, and there was a puddle of cum under Keith from where he’d lost any number of loads already, but from the look of bliss across his face and his still rock hard little cock, it was clear he was ready and eager for more punishment. “Fuck yeah boys, come teach your naughty pig uncle a lesson already,” he said, leering at the two of them. Jack and Eric stripped down repositioned Keith so his hands were together and suspended from the ceiling, pulled tight enough he couldn’t quite touch his entire feet to the ground, and then started using him as a punching bag, one twin punching his uncle’s fat gut while the other held him fucking or fingering his ass while he did, and then trading positions. Meanwhile, Marty took a seat where he could watch his boys work, and Bob came over, got down, and started sucking on his son’s cock.

This was shaping up to be a better family that Marty could have ever dreamed of–but it was still missing one last person, he thought. Gary, the old patriarch of the family, was going to have to be given a new position, since Bobby had already taken his. Now with his two sons in place, Marty knew just where to put him, and then, the portrait would be complete.


Over the next day or so, as Marty made sure his twin boys were well cemented in their new lives, he could feel the magic of the portrait beginning to ebb and pull back. If he was going to bring Gary into the fold, he had to do it soon, or he would miss his opportunity. Thankfully, Gary still lived in town, though his years as a councilman were behind him at this point. He’d used his local connections well though, ending up on the board of a sizable corporation, doing very well for himself. It was time, in Marty’s opinion, to take the old man down a few notches. The disjoint between the two realities–between the portrait and how things used to be–made it difficult to see how to get him close enough for the magic to work on him. After making a call or two, he didn’t even recognize Keith as his son, whether that was because of the magic, or because he wanted nothing to do with a pig like Keith, well, it didn’t matter that much.

In the end, the simplest solution proved to be best. Marty told his two sons to go get the old man and bring him back here, no matter what it took. It took a little breaking and entering, and a little bit of a beating, but not long after midnight, Jack and Eric returned with a well bound, and slightly bloody Gary between them, that they dragged into the house. 

“What the fuck is this? Do you fucking know who I am?” Gary shouted when Marty pulled the gag from his mouth. “Is this about money? Well, you’re not getting any, you’ll all fucking rot in jail!”

“No Gary, this isn’t about money,” Marty said, “This is a family matter. You remember your son Keith, don’t you?”

Keith stepped forward, battered and bruised, stinking of cum and musk, covered in hair. Gary stared at the pig, horrified, but after a moment, there was recollection as well. “K-Keith? What…I…what happened to you?”

Keith, on the other hand, didn’t know who this man was. As far as his simple mind was concerned, Bob had always been his father now. An uncle, maybe? He looked over at Marty, unsure of what to do or say, and the pig knew better than to act without direction from his superiors.

“Yeah, your boy,” Marty said. “Or at least, he was your boy. How about me, Gary? Do you remember me? Marty Hackman, that ring a bell?”

Gary shook his head.

“You ruined my life, Gary. Your son gave me a blowjob in high school, and rather than deal with the fact that your kid liked dick, you decided to demonize me, and get me kicked out of school. Now do you remember Gary?”

Gary’s face went a bit pale, then. “I…What is this, what are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I suppose you could say, I’m going to give you another chance, boy, to do right by your family. Boys, pick him up, bring him into the den, so he can see our family portrait.” Jack and Eric dragged him along, following their dad into the family room, where the portrait was hanging over the fireplace. “There, Gary–doesn’t that look like a happy family?” Marty said, grabbing Gary by the hair and making him look up at the picture, “Still, it’s missing something. It’s missing you, Gary…”

Gary watched as the image began to shimmer, and after a moment, a new image appeared in it, behind Keith and next to Bob–his own image, in fact. “What? How…how did…” Gary said, but trailed off, the magic already taking hold, putting him in a light trance.

“Oh, but that’s not where you belong in the photo Gary, not after everything you’ve done,” Marty said. “No, not someone as petulant as you. As greedy. As cruel and conniving. You don’t get to be the head of this family anymore. But there’s always room for another pig, right nephew?”

Gary watched as the portrait shimmered again, and his image in it moved and shifted, moving from the back beside Bob, down to the front row, in front of Keith and next to Jack and Eric. “How…I don’t understand…”

“I know it’s hard for you, pig’s aren’t very good at thinking, right Keith? You wouldn’t expect a pig son of yours to be any good at thinking hard, would you?”

“No way bro,” Keith said, “No son a mine would be a good thinker. He’d just be a stupid, gluttonous, cocksuckin’ pig like me, if I had anything to say about it.”

“Fuck Gary, you hear what your Daddy is sayin’ about you?” Marty said.

“No, I’m not…I’m not…” Gary said, but watched as the image in the portrait began to change–and to his horror, he could feel his own body begin shifting to match it. Gary, as he had gotten older, had spent his time maintaining his physique as well as he could, and he had quite a reputation as a silver fox. But now, the silver was beginning to fade, and his body began to expand with fat. He pushed back with his hands, trying to stop it, trying to cling to his old self, but he was finding it harder and harder to think, as his mind slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t fight it, pig, you know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want,” Marty said. “Just a short, obese, hairy, stinking piggy. Not many good genes on that side of the family. You got your daddy’s tiny dick for one thing–hell, we tried to measure it once, but couldn’t really get a good read because of how fat you both are. Hair all over. Your fucking musk could peel paint off the wall, and it doesn’t matter if you shower or not, it comes back in just a few minutes. We don’t mind of course, as family, it doesn’t bother us. All that hair though, and you’re still balding at…how old are you? Twenty two? Ugly fuckin’ mug too, but that can’t be helped. Not many women were willing to have sex with that pigdad of yours. We found one willing, but he couldn’t even get inside her–we had to inseminate. We paid her plenty, of course, but even she thought you were the ugliest baby she’d ever seen. Never wanted to see you again, if she could help it.”

Gary could only watch in horror as everything Marty said came true. He lost a few more inches in height, even as his weight exploded–ending up at five foot six and nearly four hundred pounds of mostly fat. His skin was coated with hair, aside from his hair, which was balding, the rest of it buzzed short. The thick beard on his face did some to conceal his ugly looks, but you couldn’t hide the big nose and ears, the thick brow, the crooked teeth. His clothes had disappeared, but that wasn’t shocking. Pigs didn’t get to wear clothes in the house, and it wasn’t like Gary got to leave that often. Between the stink rolling off him, and his ugly looks, the family decided it was best if the pig just stayed home and took care of the family. 

“But every generation has to have their pig, right? Yer Daddy was my pig, and that means you get to be my boys’ pig. That excites you, of course. Getting to service two big, burly sadists like them, day and night, doing whatever sick, twisted things they want to you. They’ve been training you real well for the last couple of years. Just last month, they finally managed to fit both of their fists inside you at the same damn time. You make my boys so damn happy, and you’re happy doing what you do best, being a stupid, ugly pig cocksucker for your whole damn family.”

Unable to help himself, Gary gave a snort, remembering how happy he’d been, feeling histwin cousin’s fists deep inside him, pummelling his prostate until his little cock jizzed all over his gunt. Across the room, uncle Marty had been busy working over his Daddy with a paddle, working out some sadistic aggression on his ass, turning it bright red. Every once in a while, Keith would shudder and grunt, adding to the pool of cum drooling off the fuck bench he was strapped to. 

“You like being a pig, don’t you Gary?”

“Yeah Uncle Marty, of course I do.”

“You like being your family’s fist hole? Their urinal? Their ashtray? You like how we treat you like a fucking garbage can and cum dump? You love being humiliated.When my boys brought home that tattoo gun, you begged them to use it on you, to mark you as theirs forever. Of course, the only place they could tattoo you where anyone would see it was your face, since the rest of you was so hairy…”

Crude writing appeared across Gary’s face, scrawled there by his cousins over the last few months. Gary didn’t mind. He loved being marked by them, owned by them. What else was there for a pig like him to do anyway? Too stupid to work, too horny all the time to do anything other than beg for sex, he thanked his lucky stars every day that he had been born into a family that understood what a pig like him needed, and treated him right.

“Open pig.”

Gary did as ordered, opened his mouth, and Marty tapped the hot ash from his cigar into his mouth, then shoved his nephew down to his knees. “Open up boy, let me help you wash that down.”

Marty started pissing all over his nephew, watching the young pig chase the stream all over, the rest of it dribbling down into his hairy body. The rest of the family gathered around–even Keith–and added their own piss, baptizing the newest, and youngest member of the family as one of their own. Marty could feel the magic thrumming around him and through him–this was the last one, he could already feel it beginning to seal, but he had gotten what he wanted. He pushed Gary down, climbed on top of him, and drove his cock into his loose hole, Gary grunting with excitement as his uncle took him for the first time, for the hundredth time, he didn’t know. All he knew anymore was that he was a horny, cockhungry pig, and he was here to service his family as they required. Gary’s hole wasn’t tight, but Marty was so horny he didn’t last long. He exploded deep in Gary’s hole, and felt the magic contract and solidify around all of them. Looking up, the portrait was still there, but perfectly stable now–but a piece of artwork, nothing more. 

“Come on boys, let’s get these pigs downstairs. I think we’re just getting warmed up, right?”

Everyone hollered in agreement, and dragged Keith and Gary down to the basement, for their nightly ritual. None of them could be happier, of course, especially Marty, whose own memories were fading away, and had disappeared by dawn. He had what he’d always wanted, a loving family. A perverted, stinking, roughneck family of pigs, sure, but a family all the same.

Patreon Suggested Story – Swine Flu

My suggestion box is open each month for Patrons! Here’s one from last month, and here’s a link to this month’s suggestion box if you’d like to contribute an idea. There’s an additional suggested story from last month as well, if you missed it. You can find it here.


Each year, Henry and Clark liked to get away from their wives and kids and reconnect out in the wilderness somewhere for a week or so. It was something they’d done as brothers ever since they were teenagers, and now that they were approaching 40, they wouldn’t give up their little trip away from everyone else for anything. Their parents hadn’t always been there for them, and so they’d been each other’s biggest support network, and even their wives joked that there was no way they could tear the two of them apart. This year, they’d decided to try something a bit different–a rafting trip down a river, where they’d start up in the mountains and ride the current of the river down to the valley, where their wives would pick them up at the end of the week. With their gear packed and route planned, all that was left to do was to rent their vessel–their wives dropped them off at their starting point–a small little town whose economy revolved around campers and backpackers in the area, and they made their way to the little shop that rented out the rafts.

The older man at the desk sorted out their reservation, but the whole time he was there, he kept sneezing, and while Henry handled the paperwork and the deposit for the rental, Clark hung back a bit. It wasn’t just that he seemed sick–though he was clearly unwell, from the sweat beading on his brow, the runny nose, the snorting–it was…well, when the guy pulled off his hat, a clump of hair fell off onto the ground beside him, and his clothes looked to be a few sizes too small for him, like he’d gained weight suddenly, and hadn’t had a chance to find something else to wear. When Henry was done, and they’d left the shop, Clark commented on the guy’s appearance, and Henry shrugged. Apparently, half the town had come down with it over the last couple of days, some flu of some sort. Clark hoped that neither of them would catch it–nothing could ruin a trip like a cold.

All was good for the first day. They spent some time reminiscing, talking about their kids, about the world, and just some nice silence on the river, enjoying each other’s company. It was on the second day, as they were having a snack in the raft, that Henry sneezed for the first time, but passed it off as allergies. By evening, when they stopped to make camp, he was coming down with a fever and shakes, and was ravenously hungry. He devoured most of the meal that Clark made for them both, and then a good helping of their snacks for the next day as well. Henry bundled up in the tent, suddenly cold, but Clark decided to sleep out under the stars. If the flu was worse that Henry thought, then at least one of them needed to be well enough to go get help, if necessary.

The next morning, despite insisting that he felt fine, it was clear that something was very, very wrong with Henry. He had, somehow, gained close to fifty pounds overnight. He was still sweating, and when Clark went to touch his forehead, he found that his brother’s hair had receded, and there was hair everywhere in the tent. It didn’t take much for him to convince Henry to stay at camp while he went to go get help. There was a ranger station not too far off from where they had set up camp, with a trail leading to it. If no one was there, it wasn’t too much further to a little town where he could call for help too, if he didn’t get reception along the way.

Clark packed a light bag for himself, made sure that Henry had food to eat since he was still starving, and set off to go get help. The ranger station was only a couple of miles up, but the trail wasn’t well marked. He was worried that he was lost and going in circles, when he spotted the little cabin tucked away, with a jeep parked beside it on a dirt road. That meant someone had to be there. He climbed up the steps and knocked on the door, but no one answered–even though he could hear someone inside. Or was that someones? There was a lot of grunting, but seemed to be two distinct voices. He opened the door, and there in the middle of the floor were two…men. Or at least, two people that were probably men once. They were naked, their bodies naked and glistening with sweat. The one on the bottom was completely hairless, and probably two hundred pounds heavier than the more muscular man fucking him, who had a coating of boar bristle running down his back, arms and thighs.

He turned at the sound of the door, and his face–what the fuck had happened to his face? His mouth and nose had pushed out into something like a snout, with two short tusks pushing their way out on either side of his mouth. He snorted, hauled his cock out of the fat one, and started towards Henry, his hard, inhuman, and very large cock pointed right at him and drooling cum in a steady stream on the floor. “Fuckin’ horny!” the beast said, and made a grab for Clark, who ducked back out of the way and ran–but not before he saw the shredded ranger uniform still clinging to the man’s body. He didn’t pursue Clark far, but went back in and resumed fucking the other pigman. 

What the fuck was happening? Clark checked the jeep, but it was locked. He wasn’t about to risk getting the keys out of the cabin, not with those two things in there. Instead, he kept going, following the road to town, which was only a couple of miles further on. There, things were much the same. No sign of women anywhere, just these monstrous pigmen, not one of them smaller than five hundred pounds, all of them fucking one another, unless they were stuffing their faces with anything they could find. He saw a few less severe cases, and all of them looked to be sick with the flu–the same flu that had stuck his brother down back at their camp. One, he watched get fucked by one of the massive, boarish fellows, and right before Clark’s eyes, he ballooned out into a soft, simple minded hog. From then on, the only thing that he seemed interested in was getting fucked, or stuffing his body with anything he could get his hands on. Clark kept his distance, and retreated back down the dirt road–hoping he could get back to his brother in time.

He slept a bit in the forest, fitfully, and didn’t make it back until dawn. There, he found Henry in the tent, wrenching in pain, face contorted, somewhere between human and beast. Clark tried to help him, tried to tell him what he’d seen, but Henry just grabbed him, tore off his clothes, and fucked him there by the side of the river. Clark begged him not to, at first, but after the first load coated his guts, the strange swine flu working through his system, Clark found that he was having a hard time thinking about, well, anything. All he could focus on was getting more dick in him, more hot boar dick, and the two brothers spent the next few days in a near constant sexual fervor by the river, until their growling bellies dragged them back to town, and then down into the cities. The world wasn’t prepared for this epidemic, and it wasn’t long before pigs took over and ruled the Earth.

Stud Service

WARNING: This one has some weird stuff in it. Furry, anthro, feral, bestiality, cock swapping, nullification. Consider yourself warned.


Jason found the entire story hard to believe, but desperation could be a potent reason to keep your ass planted in a chair, sipping tea while he listened to the strangest thing he’d ever heard. The farmer across from him was offering Jason a job, though it was unlike any job Jason had heard of before, and one that all of Jason’s better judgement urged him to call bullshit on and get the hell out. But what else did he have? Just desperation–and he could tell the farmer was desperate too. That was the main reason Jason was starting to believe him.

It was March. Jason had gotten out of prison a few years prior, his parole had ended, and he was left with nothing much to show for it. He scraped by with little jobs here and there–bouncing at strip clubs, seasonal work with farms around the countryside, the occasional drug running or dealing, but he didn’t want to fall back into that permanently. It had been looking like he didn’t have much of a choice, though, because once you’d been in prison, it was like the entire world was conspiring to put you back in there as soon as it could. So when he’d struck up a conversation at the bar this evening with Rick, the man who owned this farm, and he’d offered to talk to him about a possible job…Jason hadn’t really been in a position to turn him down.

But then Rick had started explaining what, exactly, he had in mind. See, Rick’s farm was in trouble. He had a variety of livestock–horses, cows, pigs, goats and chickens mostly–that he raised and that brought in a decent income, but after a string of bad luck–or sabotage–all of his studs had died, and the fees to bring in new ones were exorbitant. Well, Rick had a few tricks up his sleeve. Apparently, it had been cheaper to go out into the woods and make a deal with a witch there–though from the sound of it she wasn’t interested in currency–and in exchange, she had given him this set of enchanted rings.

This had been the most unbelievable part, but when Jason had challenged him on it, Rick had taken him out to the shed and shown him his new set of tools, for lack of a better word, and Jason hadn’t had much choice but to accept he was telling the truth. There, hanging on the wall, were four sets of genitals–a stallion, a bull, a goat, and a pig–all of them procured from various rival farms around the state. Jason had touched a couple, and they were warm, and alive. Now, apparently, what Rick needed was a host–and that was where Jason came in. 

Rick couldn’t do it himself–there were risks involved, apparently. But if Jason would agree to be his stud for the year, then he’d walk away with thirty percent of Rick’s income for the year–and have his room and board covered, of course. According to Rick, that would be close to 50,000 dollars if things went as well as he hoped they would. It was more money than Jason had seen in his entire life, and the idea that he could get a little breathing room was amazing–but that wasn’t quite the reason he said yes, in the end.

Jason hadn’t just gone home with the farmer because of the job offer. The bar they’d met at hadn’t been just a seedy trucker bar off the interstate. Whatever Rick had used to brew the tea hadn’t hurt either. Rick wasn’t the handsomest fellow–a bit on the short side, chubby, smoking his pungent pipe the entire time they’d been talking–but something about the way he touched Jason’s hand, pulling off his shirt, the feel of their tongues together–it was comfort that drew him in at last. Jason hadn’t been with a man since prison. He hadn’t been with a man like this since his last visit with his uncle, when he was eighteen. Something had a hold of him, and that night, in the farmer’s bed, smelling the mix of their sex with the grass and manure flowing in from the open window, Jason threw caution to the wind. It was crazy. But what was really wrong with crazy, at the end of the day? 50,000 dollars was too good to pass on, no matter what he had to do to get it. If all he had to do was…fuck some animals? Hell, it was better than running drugs and getting shot at, that was for sure. That, and Rick could be worth it too, maybe. Maybe there’d be a place for Jason here too, at the end of things.


So the plan, as Rick laid it out, was this. Mares first, in the first few weeks of April. Then, the cattle. Assuming everyone took, that would mean calves and foals in early Spring. After that, a few weeks as a goat to set up the Spring lambs, and then some time as a pig to get the sows pregnant in time for the state fair in the fall. Once the sows had given birth, Jason would knock them up again, and they’d have another round of piglets in the early Spring. For those winter months, Jason would just be himself, let the side effects wear off (Rick had not yet been clear on what the side effects were, exactly, but he assured Jason that they were temporary. If not, then the witch had promised she would help him deal with anything that lingered) and then, Jason would help him birth the mares and foals in the Spring, and get his portion of the profits.

There was just one catch–naturally–the witch’s payment. Rick would have fulfilled it himself, but he was infertile. Jason would have to be the one to give her what she wanted–a child, and while pussy wasn’t quite his thing, he’d managed before. If all he had to do was fuck some weird woman, then he could manage. Jason didn’t recall much of the encounter–they went into the woods, and things grew…strange. Impossible. There was a woman. Jason had…trouble, given the fact that he wasn’t quite sure she was entirely a woman, or entirely human, but with a little coaxing, or a little spell, he got hard enough to perform. Satisfied, she sent them on their way again, leaving Jason feeling rather…uneasy about the entire experience–but after a cup of tea and a trip to bed with Rick at the farm, it just felt like a dream, and he could set it behind him.

The first few weeks were spent working with Rick on general maintenance. The older fellow had been living out here on his own, running the moderately sized farm himself for so long, that quite a few areas had fallen into disrepair. It was satisfying work, and Jason enjoyed the chance to get closer to Rick. It wasn’t quite love brewing between them, or at least, Jason did his best to keep it from that. Love was dangerous. It compromised you. He’d allowed men to compromise him before, and it had never ended well. This was business, Jason told himself. Best to keep it that way. He did keep a little coal of hope fired though, in his chest. A little hope had never hurt anyone.

Then, it came time for the real work to begin. Jason didn’t really know what to expect. Rick handed him the cock ring he’d have to put on first–it looked more like two rings, really, but the two were so tightly sealed together he couldn’t pry them apart, no matter how hard he tried. The rings were metal, but they could stretch–or rather, they would expand, and then, once they were around the base of his cock, they constricted again. Not too tight, but a bit tighter than any cock ring he’d worn before. Rick muttered a few words, and then he gave a little tug on Jason’s cock, and the rings separated–Jason’s cock and balls coming off, and leaving just one ring stuck to his groin…somehow. He couldn’t feel Rick’s hand on his cock and balls as he set them down on the table, took the massive horse cock off the wall, and pressed the base of it to the ring still on Jason’s body. There was a slight pinch, and then he could feel it–all of it, the heft of the massive shaft and balls hanging off his body. Then, Rick gripped the double ring, stretched it out, and pulled it off of Jason’s body–leaving him with a massive horse cock where his human one had been moments before. After that, well, it wasn’t quite clear what happened to him, exactly.

It was the same sensation he’d felt when they’d gone into the witch’s woods together a few weeks before. The sense of the impossible all around him–expect now, it was inside him as well. Not…chaos exactly, it was more ordered than that. Nature was being undone, something beyond it was taking hold, and it made Jason feel nauseous as his body tried to fight it off, and failed.

He fell to his hands and knees, retching, but nothing would come up. His entire body was shuddering and shaking, muscles flexing, bones creaking. It grew more and more painful over the next several minutes, Jason caught in a delirium, until at last, some new equilibrium was established, and he found himself…remade. He was not a horse, and he was not a human. His cock, which had hung loose before, had grown a sheath that ran up the length of his abdomen, covered in sandy hair. His arms and legs were still covered in human skin, but had the proportions of those of a horse–his hands gone, and replaced with hooves–though his fingers could still be made out, even as they were sealed together. His face was human but stretched long, with a mouth full of horse teeth, his human hair running down his back and becoming a mane, with a short tail hanging off his new rump. He was horrified, tried to beg Rick to change him back, but the words that came out of his shifted mouth were garbled and unintelligible. Rick whispered a few sweet nothings, and helped him sip some of his tea.

All Jason felt, after drinking it, was horny.

Rick led him to the field where the mares were waiting, and all it took was a whiff of their sex before Jason mounted one and began fucking her while the farmer watched, pleased. As soon as he finished, he climbed off of her, and before he could try and regain control of himself, he smelled another mare, and mounted her as well. He managed three before he was too exhausted to continue, but by then…something had happened to him. Thinking was difficult–more difficult than it should be. The farmer led him into the stable, gave him some hay, which he happily ate, though the small bit of his humanity recoiled at the idea, the farmer telling him that everything was happening just like it should be, that after a couple of weeks, when he was sure all of the mares had taken, then he would change him back. Jason wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that anymore, his mind dulling more and more, until it couldn’t be quite sure of anything. What didn’t fade, was that sense of wrongness. The unnatural which had taken root in his body. It made him anxious, and only the tea Rick brough him would help settle him down.

The days after that, the horny tea wasn’t required–Jason happily followed the mares out into the fields, fucked a few more each day, and returned to the stable without a second thought. The farmer would hang out with him and talk to him, but to Jason, the words were mostly gibberish at this point. Finally, though, the day came to change him back. The farmer placed the rings around his cock and balls, removed his stallion cock, and put his human one back on–and then took the rings off.

Everything twisted again, but for Jason, it was not a sense of undoing. Rather, everything seemed to turn upside down yet again, but the result was somehow even more disconcerting. After a few minutes, he was lying on the dirty straw, panting and gasping, Rick holding him close, whispering words in his ear that Jason couldn’t comprehend, while he tried to recall what it was like having two feet, and two hands. Things came back to him, slowly. He could walk upright again the next day, and understand most of what Rick was saying to him, but it was difficult processing it, and his own speech was slow and slurred. He felt stupid in a way that he couldn’t explain, and none of this was helped by what he saw when he looked at himself in the mirror in the morning.

He wasn’t fully human again. He was mostly human, sure, enough to fool someone not looking too close. His hair had returned, but still ran a good way down the back of his neck and upper back. He was more muscular than he’d been before, but the muscles bulged rather oddly–his shoulders and thighs more developed than anything else, and his forearms were too slender. His hands were clumsy, his fingers shorter and capped with thick, black nails. His face was at least normal, mostly, but his front teeth were a bit too large. Rick helped keep him calm, along with his tea, and told Jason that all of this was to be expected, and also wasn’t permanent. His body would slowly return to normal, though the process could take a couple of months–it was why he’d planned on having Jason fully human for most of the winter, so he’d have a chance to sort himself out again. Jason was not happy to be told this when it was too late to do anything about it, but he knew he was, essentially, stuck now. He couldn’t very well leave–not looking like this. Rick offered him a raise–forty percent now–and Jason agreed, though he wasn’t happy about being lied to.

Rick did ask him, after a few days, what it had been like, and Jason did his best to recount what he could remember–but what he did remember was rather distant. Rick seemed especially interested in whether Jason could remember what Rick had said to him, and Jason couldn’t–he didn’t understand speech much at all. It was like his brain had shut off, running almost entirely on the instinct running from his cock. At the end of the week, when Rick told him it was time to work on the cattle, he was almost relieved–being some strange human bull would in some ways be easier than this…mostly human bullshit.

Once his cocks had been switched out, he found himself on all fours again, hands and feet replaced by hooves. His face was contorted with a bullish snout, though the top and sides of his head remained entirely human. His torso thickened and bulked out with more muscle, even more than when he’d been a stallion, and his thick bull cock was even more insatiable than his horse cock had been before. He spent all day in the meadows with the cows, mounting and breeding them, his mind lost in a dullness deeper than before. Rick visited him often, but a few days into his stud service, Jason noticed something…different about him. Different about the way he smelled. It was still human, but familiar in some…other way. Something in the water made him…sleepy, and he only dimly realized what was happening halfway through it, as Rick pushed Jason’s tail to the side and fucked his ass right there in the stall.

In their human bodies, Jason had, thus far, been the top. Rick was a bit older, and was not endowed with anything sizable or in reliable working order. It had been easier, really, for Jason to take the lead–and he’d rather enjoyed showing the shorter, fatter farmer just what kind of a stud he could be. But after that first fuck, Rick would fuck him every day, sometimes twice, his words unintelligible, but the underlying tone was…forceful. After the first week, Jason was surprised by Rick grabbing him by the snout, and putting a thick ring through his nose, the farmer sneering at him while he snorted and grunted in pain, and then he fucked him–harder and rougher than he had at any point before…but whatever was in the water, Jason found himself enjoying it more and more, submitting to this…man, even as he dominated the cows in the field during the day.

He remained a bull longer than he’d been a horse by about a week and a half, mostly because there were more cows on the farm to service. The day came, at last, for the bull cock to come off, and was replaced by Jason’s cock again, but like before, his form was not…entirely human. In fact, the lasting effects from his time as a stallion were still there as well–such as the mane, and the teeth–and some were enhanced by his time as a bull as well. He was larger, for one thing–close to six and a half feet tall, with more muscle everywhere. He had a difficult time standing fully upright, and his hips ached no matter what he did, his hands mostly useless now, with the fingers fused at the nails in several places. The mental fog was stronger this time as well, and while he couldn’t be…certain, Rick seemed a bit different as well. He looked a bit younger, and somewhat slimmer. The more dominant attitude he’d developed while Rick was a bull remained, and even though his cock wasn’t large, he still managed to fuck Jason regularly, and also started making odd demands, having him service him, dragging him around by the ring still cemented in his nose. Jason found himself…enjoying it. Being treated like an animal, like a slave. Crawling around was one of the few ways his warped body didn’t ache at the end of the day, and with Jason’s encouragement, that was how he moved through the house, at least until it was time for the goats.

This time, Jason ended up growing smaller, but it felt good having hooves again, being back on all fours, breeding the does in the fields. He was also rather proud of his new horns–rather fine ones that Rick liked to admire when they were back in the barn after a day’s work, when Rick would fuck his ass until Jason was screaming in a voice somewhere between a human and a goat. Again, Jason noticed that after a day, Rick changed–it was that same smell. He was bigger too, more muscular, and his cock was larger. Jason didn’t complain of course, and his animalistic mind didn’t really understand any of it clearly. He just wanted to fuck, or be fucked, all the time–sex was the single most important thing, driving everything else out of his mind until his humanity was just a distant memory. But there were only a few does on the farm, and after about a week, Rick returned him to his human form–but this time, it was…different.

The cock he found the next morning, after he’d regained some of his capacity to think, wasn’t the one he could remember having, vaguely, from before his time as a goat. It was smaller–much smaller, just three inches or so when hard. The hair around it was greying as well, and when Jason looked at himself in the mirror, he knew that something was very wrong–he was too short, too fat. He looked older, somehow, in ways that he couldn’t explain, but there was so much off about his body that it difficult to tell what was really different. Was the white haired goatee around his mouth from his time as a goat, or was it because he suddenly seemed twenty years older? There were his new horns to contend with, not particularly large, but they were obvious. His eyes hadn’t returned to their human color, and were still the yellow and black of a goat. His body was still bulky with muscle, but his frame had shrunk–whether because his last form, as a goat, was shorter, or because of his different genitals, he couldn’t tell. But Rick was different too–taller, broader of shoulder, most muscular. The grey in his hair was gone, and replaced not with the brown Jason swore he could recall him having, but instead a stark black. He tried to ask what was going on, but his voice hadn’t returned. The best he could do was bleat and shout, still like a goat, and Rick told him that was alright. He didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to think. He was just a stupid, horny animal after all, craving Rick’s big cock. A cock he…recognized, didn’t he? But why wouldn’t he? It was the same cock Rick had been fucking him with all Spring long, right? He’d try and puzzle it out more, but get lost along the way. Being human was hard, he decided. It was what he was supposed to be, of course, but he found himself anxiously anticipating his next round of stud work.

In the meantime, Rick’s rule grew stricter. He told him that an animal like him didn’t deserve to sleep in a proper bed, but should stay out in the barn where he really belonged–Rick kept him tied up by the ring still in his nose, all day long, visiting him a few times a day to fuck him, and talk to him, and taunt him with his big cock. The more distance he got from his time as a goat, the more his mind cleared–and he almost realized it, eventually. That the cock he had now wasn’t the one he’d had before, that Rick had…switched something on him, but as soon as Rick realized he was getting close to asking the right questions, it was time to breed some sows–and he gave Jason a new cock to keep him occupied for a few weeks.

His time as a pig was a frantic blur. There was a new hunger now, gnawing away at his mind. He needed to eat all the time, and Rick was more than happy to make sure his prize pig’s trough stayed full all day and night. The breeding of the sows felt more and more perfunctory to Jason as the days dragged on–all he could think about what Rick’s cock sliding into his piggy hole in the barn, fucking him while he squealed and grunted, or better yet, getting fucked while he was feasting on as much slop as he could shove down his gullet–but there was one thing that Rick didn’t quite count on–that pigs were much smarter than hoses, or bulls, or goats.

Confident that his hold over Jason was firm, Rick had grown lax in making sure the pigman in the barn was being fed his usual doses of the various teas he had procured from the witch over the last few months. The lustful tea, the subservient tea, the calming tea–together, they had all combined to mold Jason into a moaning animal, lusting after Rick’s cock–his perfect cock, now that he’d gone and stolen Jason’s member and cast aside his own. He hadn’t felt this strong in ages, and the longer he kept it on, the more he could see himself becoming Jason entirely–and he coveted it more than anything else in his life.

This hadn’t always been the plan–but ever since that first time he’d tried on Jason’s cock out of drunk curiosity, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else–and the witch had been plenty eager to use his new member as well, milking him of cum for her own twisted purposes, deep in the woods. Jason on the other hand, knew too much. He would have have a good life here, though, as an animal, a freakish sex animal for Rick’s private pleasure, too stupid to even realize that he’d lost all of his humanity in the process. But the usual mental stupor that usually came over Jason when he transformed didn’t come this time. And when the tea slowly flushed from his system, Jason found himself realizing, slowly, that Rick’s body was not the body he had had before–he was looking up at himself. 

Rick would taunt him, and while Jason couldn’t understand all of the words he was saying, he understood well enough, what was going to happen to him if he didn’t do something–he would never be getting his portion of the profits. He would never even get off this farm. Before too long, he’d be rendered too dumb to want anything more than his Master’s cock in his ass–and the worst part was that part of him, a part of him brainwashed too far to do anything about, wanted it too. He had to escape–he had to get help. But the only place he could go, the only person who could, perhaps, help him, was the witch.

And so, in the dead of night, when he was certain that Rick was asleep, he managed to get himself out of the pen where he was being kept–his awkward half-human form being useful for a few things at least–make his way out of the barn, and he disappeared into the woods. He couldn’t quite recall the exact location of the witch’s hut–but he could feel his way there. Feel the wrongness, the way nature twisted and warped the closer he got, the forest growing darker, gnarled, and heavy the deeper he went. He found the witch, nursing one child and obviously pregnant with another, and he pleaded with her, begged her, as best he could without a voice, for her to have mercy on him, and free him from this nightmare–all he wanted, was for all of this to go back to normal.

She got down and stroked his bristly back, cooing to him. “I’ll give you what you desire. If normal is what you crave, then so be it–normal is what you will be.”

Jason wasn’t sure what he felt, after that. After so many months of things twisting out of place, of his sense of reality warping further and further, of everything feeling like it was in flux–there was, at last, a hardening. The sense of nausea that had plagued him since he’d first replaced his cock with that of a stallion, began to settle. He was at peace, and the last thing he recalled, was letting out a heavy sigh and grunt, and passing out on the floor of the witch’s hut.

Then, he awoke in a stall, in the barn, and he knew, immediately, that things were…normal. That the state of flux he had existed in for most of the last year had faded, and passed beyond him. He knew, somehow, that he would never change again–and that filled him with a sense of relief he could barely describe–at least until he tried to stand up, and discovered the trotters where his hands should have been. They were the trotters he’d had when he’d been a pig–and he crawled over to the water trough in his pin, looked at himself, and groaned in horror. It wasn’t a human face looking back at him–or at least, not entirely. There were glimmers, here and there–mostly the eyes. But the rest of him…he was a pig. He had a piggish snout with a big metal ring in it. Floppy pig ears. A curly pig tail. His front legs ended in trotters, but his back ones ended in more human feet. His fat torso didn’t have the usual bristle of hair that he’d had before, but instead the curly body hair of a man running down his belly and back.

He tried to scream. He tried to speak. All he could do was squeal and grunt, until the commotion eventually drew Rick to come check on him, but he didn’t seem at all surprised as what he found there. Rick just proceeded to feed his favorite fuckbeast, and then plowed his ass and filled him with his first load of the day. It felt…so good, to Jason. Better than it had ever felt before, for reasons he couldn’t grasp. When Rick pulled out of him, all he could think about was how he needed more…a corrupt thought spreading through him, beginning to push out the rest of him that realized how deeply disturbed all of this was. But he had to focus on…on the cock.

Or rather, on Rick’s old cock. If he could get the rings, if he could get Rick’s old cock at least, maybe he could fight back, try and save himself, but when he looked down at himself–Jason began to sob instead. His groin was entirely empty. The pig cock he’d been wearing for the last few weeks was gone, and the ring that remained, even when switching cocks out, was gone as well. He realized, then, that there would be no escaping this–any of it. He’d asked for this to be normal, and in doing so, he’d asked it to go on forever–he’d asked to remain like this permanently. The witch, in her immeasurable cruelty, and given him exactly what he’d asked for, and Rick, from the glimmer in his eye as he gave Jason a kiss on the snout and a playful tug on the ring in his nose, seemed to know exactly what had happened to him.

“I’ll be back in a little, piggy,” Rick said, “the witch made a little adjustment to the rings’ magic, and so I shouldn’t have to go looking for another stud anytime soon–I’ll be able to wear them myself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want to feel me rip open that ass of yours with a big bull cock? Because that’s what I’m going to do next, I think. That’s what you deserve, for running off like that. But don’t worry, you won’t be going anywhere ever again. I can see you fading already, that little light in your eyes. She said you’d last long enough to realize what happened to you, but that once you did, you’d fade faster and faster, until it’s just the animal inside you left. The part of you I love the most. Don’t worry–I’ll take good care of you. You’re my favorite, after all. All of this was possible because of you, and I’ll show you how much I love you every day, my piggy–every single day.”