Beasts of the Corn (1 of 2)

I thought it was a stupid idea–I mean, who actually wants to go do a fucking haunted corn maze? I haven’t done something like that since I was ten. But when my friend and his girl suggested it, and Tina, my girlfriend, loved the idea, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of options but to go along for the ride. It wasn’t like it would take longer than a couple of hours, and then we could go do something a bit more adult.

The maze was a few miles out of town, connected with some rundown farm. The whole thing seems sketchy as all hell–it’s all these sort of redneck looking guys running the show, but we all pay the admission fee, and listen as the guy talks about the maze, tells us to be careful and not get separated–and definitely don’t get lost, or the beasts in the maze might have their way with us. He added what I assumed was supposed to be a menacing laugh, but I just rolled my eyes. Sure, some spooky fuck will jump out at us looking like the wolfman–who gives a fuck?

We head into the maze. There’s apparently four or five secret locations, and the more you find, the better your chance at getting a prize at the end. Tina and her friend want to hunt them down, but I just want to get the damn thing over with, because the maze is giving me the creeps. No one’s actually hopped out to scare us at all, but I have this…feeling that I’m being watched all the same.

It was my stupid fault. While they were hunting for the clues or whatever, I was just looking for the exit. I would head down other paths, scouting things out, before heading back to rejoin them–and it wasn’t long before I got separated from them in the maze. The sensation of being watched was only more intense now–I turned the corner of the maze only to find myself facing a dead end–and there was…something waiting for me. There was a slash of fur and claws, and then it was on me–I don’t remember much at all, but I woke up on the ground, out of sorts…and my clothes had all been ripped to shreds, and my ass hurt.

I stood up, and found myself naked–but I looked different. A little pudgier, and hairier. My phone still worked, but didn’t have any bars. I took a photo of myself to see, and sure enough…I was different. Hairier, I even looked a bit older.

I heard a rustle in the corn near me, stood up, and hurried back the way I’d come, thankful my shoes were intact, at least. I could hear them, whatever they were, chasing me, taunting me. I had to get out of here before they caught me again.

Source: bareboy

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 8)

“What’s the matter, daddy?”

Daddy gave a another growl of frustration, hefted his gut a bit higher on the pig’s back, and kept trying to work his cock into the pig’s hole, but as horny as he was, his cock simply wasn’t responding. “Yer too fuckin’ tight, pig.”

“Oh trust me daddy–after that nice licking you gave my hole earlier, I’m as loose as can be. You need one of your little blue pills to help you out?”

“Fuckin’ piece a shit! If I wasn’t looking at ya I could git hard, but yer fuckin’ grossin’ me out.”

“Don’t lie to me daddy–I might disgust you, but that just turns you on more. Still, if you can’t get hard, I guess we’ll have to figure out some other way for you to make my little piggy cock cum.”

“It’s daddy’s cock you should be fuckin’ concerned with. Ya can cum after I get mah own damn rocks off.”

“That’ll be a while, and you don’t have that much time left.”

“What the fuck do ya mean?”

“Well daddy, if you want to change back, you’re going to have to drink my cum–but the longer you wait, the more this becomes the real you. If I finish my pipe before I cum, I won’t be very happy, and you’ll be stuck for good.”

“Wait…what?”

“Can remember daddy, who you were? That’ll all be gone soon, if you don’t hurry, I don’t have a whole lot left in this bowl. Too much longer, and this little piggy will be gone again, and you’re going to be this disgusting daddy forever.”

He looked at himself in the mirrored doors of the hotel room closet, his 400 pound body covered with hair, matted with sweat, reeking of piss and musk, beard and hair grown long and ragged. That…wasn’t him. He knew that, but he could barely remember who he’d been before meeting this fucking pig hours earlier. “Fine, fuckin’ roll over, ‘n let’s git this over with.”

Carmichael did as he asked, rolling over onto his back, piggy cock jutting straight up into the air. “You can suck all you want daddy, but I simply can’t cum without something in my hole, and if that cock of yours can’t get hard…then again, a perverse, dirty minded, kinky daddy like you can probably figure something out.”

He was still looking at himself in the mirror as the tattoos appeared, snaking up his arms and legs onto his chest and belly, his mind–every empty spot was suddenly filling up with the sickest, most disturbing fantasies he could imagine. His gear shifted–a studded leather harness appearing under his vest, his gloves growing and turning to rubber, reaching up to his elbows. His nipples grew large and inflamed, pierced with thick rings, and his bulge grew as well, his cock and balls pumped and inflated with silicone. But he did have ideas–oh, did he have plenty of ideas for how to get this nasty piggy to nut his load down daddy’s throat.

He went to the closet, dug around for a moment, and returned to the bed with a tub of shortening, slathered one of his gloves, and started working his fingers into the pig’s hole–he’d been right, it was loose, and it swallowed his whole fist in less than a minute.

“Oh fuck daddy, that’s what I’m talking about…”

“Yeah, ya slutty fuckin’ pigs, daddy knows what ya really want…”

He pushed in deeper, up to his elbow, deep enough that he could get his mouth around the pig’s cock and start sucking, hard, milking it for all it’s worth.

“Oh fuck daddy, that feels so good, but I don’t know if I want to cum–just think, I could play with you anytime I wanted.”

The daddy didn’t like just how appealing that sounded to him. He sucked harder, pounding in deeper, before sliding back out a bit and milking the pig’s prostate until at last, with a grand squeal, the pig exploded into his mouth, and he drank all the cum down that he could–but there was so much of it.

“Careful daddy–you really don’t want to miss *grunt* a single drop.”

He could feel it working, feel some of the changes receding, but the flow stopped long before he felt normal again, and looked over at himself in the mirror. He was still at least fifty, with some of his original color back in his hair and beard, both of which were quite long. He still reeked of musk, and only a few of the tattoos had receded–but with some relief, he felt a stirring in his crotch, his cock returning to life and coming to full mast, but the view of it was still obscured by his massive gut–he had to be at least 350 pounds still, and a fucking hairy beast. “Feed me more a yer cum,” he said, “I can git another load out a ya.”

“Sorry daddy, but it doesn’t work like that. But let your little pig take care of you for a while,” Carmichael said, sitting up and pushing his daddy away, feeling his fist slide out of his hole, “After you cum, you won’t even want to go back–you’ll be a good dirty daddy, just how I want you.”

Half an hour later, Carmichael stepped out of the hotel room, and adjusted his cuffs and collar.

“Fuck man, I don’t know what the fuckin’ hell that was, but that was the nastiest sex a mah life,” a voice said behind him. He looked over his shoulder at the leering, bearded daddy grinning through a crack in the door. “When can I fuckin’ see ya again? I wanna play with that little pig some more.”

“Oh my,” he said, blushing a bit, the taste of tobacco still fresh in his mouth, “ Well, I was planning on finding a gentleman or two at the party tonight for another play session. Perhaps I’ll give you a call once we are underway, and you can come join us?”

“Fuck, sounds amazing.”

“I’ll be in touch then.”

The door shut, and Carmichael strutted down the hall, whistling a tune. He had a feeling he would enjoy this new life of his–maybe this had been a good trade after all.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 7)

*Knock* *Knock*

“Room service!”

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

“Daddy…Daddy, that’s your cue. Get the door.”

He just moaned, burrowing deeper into the pig’s shit chute with his tongue.

“Daddy! Get the door!”

He blinked, and sat back on his heels, trying to remember what was going on. He took a suck off his cigar, but realized it had burnt out while he’d been eating out the pig’s hole–how fucking long had he been at it?

*Knock* *Knock*

“Is anyone there?”

He stumbled up, a bit off balance, and stumbled towards the hall, hauled open the door. “The fuck do ya want?” he said, and the young woman who’d brought the two full carts of food up gasped at the sight of him, and backed up a step, at a loss for words.

“T-Thanks,” he said, and pulled the two carts inside, shutting the door behind him, feeling a bit embarrassed at the woman’s obvious disgust. Wondering what she’d seen, he slipped into the bathroom and turned on the light, only to shout at the sight. That wasn’t his face–he didn’t look like that! The beard he’d sprouted had lengthened, running down to his chest, and his hair had grown out long as well. They were both greasy and tangled, more grey than his original brown at this point–well, aside from the area around his mouth, which was slimy with the pig’s juices and his own slobber. His leather gear (was it even his? He’d always despised leather and the fake masculinity it seemed to inspire in the men who wore it) was no longer crisp and new as it had been earlier, when he’d found himself in it. The leather vest was well worn, and now bore a number of biker patches, his chaps and boots equally worn, and the jock–fuck, his jock was putrid yellow and crisp to the touch.

“Oh good choices all around, daddy,” the little pig had gotten off the bed and was inspecting what the woman had dropped off. “I bet you’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, right?”

“What the fuckin’ hell have ya done tah me, ya little fuck?” he exclaimed, pointing at his reflection in the mirror.

“You honestly didn’t expect a dirty, disgusting pig like me to want to play around with the cute little cub you were before, do you?” Carmichael said, grunting and chuckling to himself, “No–I only play with guys who are just as disgusting as I am.”

“No–No, I’m not fucking like you–this ain’t me! I ain’t this disgusting fucker! Change me back, right fuckin’ now, or I fuckin’ swear, I’ll–”

The pig interrupted him, shoving a cupcake in his daddy’s mouth, watching the older man’s eyes roll back in his head in pleasure, his larger gut growling with approval. “That’s what I thought. Come on now daddy–let’s get you fed.”

He laid the daddy down on the bed, propping his head up with a couple of pillows, and then pulled both carts up alongside them, before climbing up and straddling, grinding his ass against his daddy’s bulging jock, listening to him moan. “Be a good daddy, let the little piggy fatten you up, and maybe you’ll get to feel that cock in my hole tonight.”

Before he could respond, he shoved another cupcake into his maw, and the feeding began. It was slow going at first–the daddy was still fighting pretty hard. They took the occasional break to feed each other some smoke, to let the daddy’s hunger catch up, the pig’s pipe so much sweeter than the rough cigars he preferred smoking. The breaks weren’t necessary before too long, and the pig quickened the pace. Cupcakes, pudding, ice cream, doughnuts–all of it went into daddy’s gut–they could feel it heaving up between them until a certain point when it lost its firmness, and settled around him in a pile of soft flab. It was around that point, daddy started sobbing–pleading and begging with the pig to just let him go, refusing to eat another bite.

“Do you want to fuck my hole or not, daddy? Keep eating.”

“No, please, no more. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can too–I believe in you! You can be the biggest, most vile daddy in the world, I know it. Now open up.”

But he stubbornly refused, the little pig letting off a squealing sigh. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this until later, but you’re just not cooperating. Still, this will help move things along.” He fished his piggy cock out, aimed for his daddy’s mouth over his flabby gut, and let loose a burst of piss which landed right in his face. The stench alone made his head spin–he licked his lips and got a taste of it, and groaned. The pig let loose a longer stream then, his daddy chasing the golden piss as the pig soaked him down, watching his daddy’s hair and beard grow longer, his body stinking and unwashed, the musk stronger than most men would be able to handle. The pig started stuffing his face again, helping him wash it down with more and more piss, watching him grow older and older still, his hair entirely white aside from where it had yellowed around his mouth from his cigars, teeth rotten and crooked, eyes hungry and desperate, losing their will to fight. It wasn’t too much longer before the carts were both empty, and while his daddy moaned, the little pig spent a while licking him clean, tasting his daddy’s filth while the older man smoked his cigars, trying to muster some resistance, but…but he wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, he was fighting against anymore. All he really wanted, now that he had stuffed himself, was a turn at that little pig’s dirty hole.

“Alright pig, I did mah part. Now you’s get bent over the bed, ‘n let daddy plow that nasty hole a yers.”

Daryl had always harboured a suspicion that video games were bad for you–it always seemed like such a waste of time, when you could be doing something productive with your time: studying, working out, taking a walk, or anything else for that matter! And so, you can imagine his frustration when he arrived at his campus house for the start of the semester, and discovered he was living with a bunch of gamers–though one of them was by far the worst of the lot. Sammy was every worst imagined flaw of a gamer that Daryl could imagine, brought to life. He was obese, he was a slob who never picked up after himself, he drank and ate all the time wherever he was, and he was always playing those stupid games of him. His two housemates got sucked in with him, wasting their time, but he just ignored them…until he started to notice something strange.

The other two guys had been fairly normal, but within a month of hanging out with Sammy, they were starting to pick up his habits. They stopped shaving and showering, they were all drinking beer and eating pizza every night, and none of them seemed to find that the least bit strange or disturbing, even when he tried to point out what was happening to them. They were oblivious. By midterms, the two of them were almost unrecognizable, and if he hadn’t seen it happen, he would have never believed that the two of them had been slim, clean cut guys just a month and a half before–it wasn’t possible. How in the hell could someone even gain 200 pounds that quickly?

The tension in the house was rough–Daryl would get into screaming fights with any of them, telling them to pick up their crap, or do anything besides sit there, drink, and play video games all day long. Then, one night, he came home late from the library, only to discover the living room was empty of the three of them, but the gaming system was still on the TV. He walked over to turn it off, but the screen…caught his interest somehow, and he stared at it for a few minutes, unblinking, before throwing caution to the wind, picking up the controller, and giving it a shot.

When he finally emerged from the stupor he’d sunk into, he realized it was morning–no, it was afternoon. Snacks were litered around him, along with a bunch of empty beer bottles, and his gut was distended. He threw down the controller and stood up as Sammy walked into the room, completely naked, bearing another tray of junk food. “Oh player four, sit back down on that couch–you aren’t nearly ready for a break yet.”

Daryl tried to resist, but he found himself compelled to obey, Sammy waddling over and picking up the controller, putting it back in his hands. “Players two and three are having plenty of fun upstairs together, so that gives us plenty of time to get you caught up, right big boy?”

But Daryl wasn’t listening anymore–he was playing his game. By the end of the week, he was as massive, hairy and slobby as the rest, begging for player one’s cock all day long, and he couldn’t even remember being any other way.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 6)

“Alright Daddy, *grunt*, how do I look?”

The cub had finished placing the order and was just sitting on the bed, wondering again how in the world he’d ended up here in this situation, when he heard the bathroom door open…but that voice–that wasn’t the same voice of the guy he’d brought with him. The words were distorted somehow, and while the voice was pitched higher, it was more gutteral. He got up from the bed and walked over to the short hall that lead to the hotel room door and the bathroom, and there, blocking the exit, was…he didn’t know what the fuck it was, but he let out a scream and backpedaled into the room. “What…what the fuck!” he managed to say.

Carmichael squealed and laughed and grunted at his sudden fright, holding his pipe in one hand so he didn’t drop it. “The look on your fuckin’ faces! Every fuckin’ time,” he started walking towards the cub, “What’s wrong daddy? I thought you wanted to play with a little pig tonight?”

“Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak.”

“Oh daddy, that’s so fucking sexy, fucking talk to me like that all night long, and we’re gonna have so much fucking fun.”

“I’m fucking serious! I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing man, but we’re fucking done! Get that fucking mask off, and get the fuck out of my room! You’re fucking sick!”

The pig groaned again and gave it’s cock a little stroke, “Fuck Daddy, that’s enough pillow talk–get over here and kiss your nasty pig, and let’s get the fun started,” Carmichael took a deep lungful of smoke and pushed it out into the room, watching it fill up with a grey haze. The cub tried to get to the sliding door and out onto the balcony, but the smoke caught him first, making him cough and wheeze. The smoke was so sweet smelling, cloying even, but he couldn’t seem to get a full breath of air into his lungs, his eyes were watering–he hadn’t even noticed the pig walk over to him, shove him up against the glass. He tried to wriggle away, but not before the pig shoved it’s snout to his nose and mouth and exhaled even more smoke into him–he couldn’t help but inhale it, and once it was inside him…the world spun, and the only thing that kept him upright was the pig pressing into him, groping him, making him moan, making…making him want to…to kiss that snout, and…

He shoved the pig back, and Carmichael allowed him, watching the cub change as he coughed. His shorts blackened, growing longer even as they split along the crotch, becoming a pair of leather chaps, his briefs shrinking into a simple white jockstrap holding a sizable package. His shirt split down the center, and became a leather vest, but it affected far more than his clothes. The cub’s neatly trimmed goatee spread across his face, becoming a beard flecked with the first tinge of grey as the hair on his body filled in thicker, his abs disappearing under a definite paunch, which became a beer gut in less than a minute. Lastly, his shoes morphed into well shined boots, and leather gloves appeared on his hands, one of them holding a thick cigar that flamed into life, the cub bringing it to his lips and sucking in his own smoke. “What…am I doing? I don’t smoke?” he said, exhaled a plume through his nose, and immediately took another drag. His own cigar was harsher than the pig’s pipe tobacco, but that seemed…right. He was rougher than the pig, yeah, a rough daddy fucker. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to do,” the pig said, approaching slowly. The cub’s eyes were still filled with disgust, but now alongside that was a sudden urge to dominate, to fuck rough and brutal. “How’d you like your first taste of your pig, daddy?”

“You fucking disgust me…I don’t…know what you did, but fucking fix this, you fucking piece of shit, or I swear to god I’ll beat your ass to a fucking pulp, hog.”

“Such a sweet talker,” Carmichael said, pressed himself to the cub again and kissed him…and as disgusted as he was facing this ugly pig thing, the cub’s new instincts took over, shoving his tongue into the pig’s snout, sharing and swapping spit, spinning the thing around and shoving him up against the wall, grinding up against it’s belly. The pig’s skin was…soft and supple, but didn’t feel like human skin…it was somehow thicker–it made shivers run up his back, but whether they were disgust or arousal he couldn’t tell anymore, and the more smoke they shared, the less it mattered to him. The pig was disgusting, it made his stomach churn, but somehow that just made him want him even more.

“I…can’t stop…” he moaned into the pig’s mouth, before running his tongue down to his chest, tasting the pig’s hide for the first time, running a gloved hand over the pig’s strange cock, wondering how it would feel in his mouth, but Carmichael pushed him away, walked over, and bent over the bed.

“Now, now daddy–dinner first. How about an appetizer before our food arrives? Show this pig what a dirty daddy you are.”

“You want me to fuck you? You fucking piece of shit?” the cub said, walking over.

“No no, not yet daddy. I said eat,” the pig reached back and spread it’s cheeks, revealing it’s pink hole, curled tail swishing with anticipation, and the cub’s realized what the pig had meant. But no–no, he couldn’t. It would be so…so fucking gross, and…and disgusting, and yet that only made him want it more. Maybe just a taste, just a little one. His knees buckled, and he crawled over to the pig, Carmichael encouraging him the whole way, and after a whimper and groan of fear, unable to process what was happening to him, he dove in and started eating out the pig’s ass like he hadn’t eaten in days–and when the pig let loose the first fart, all remaining doubt disappeared into the ether.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 5)

The elevator ride was silent. Carmichael was staring at the young man, one hand fiddling with the pipe and pouch of tobacco in his breast pocket. The young man was decisively staring anywhere other than at him, but he was sweating a bit under the older man’s stare. The old fuck was obviously a bottom, given how he’d acted down in the restaurant, but a part of him didn’t feel like he was the one in control of the situation, and wanted to abandon ship and run, but the hard cock in his shorts–fuck, he’d never been so disgusted by someone as much as this fuck, and he’d never known that disgust could be such a fucking aphrodisiac. He could give the pig a dirty rough plowing, and then send him on his way. He certainly wouldn’t be telling any of his friends about this, and he’d hook up with someone hotter later, so he could feel normal again.

“I never did get your name, sir.”

“You’re not getting it, pig. I don’t want to know you.”

“Then I suppose I will just have to call you daddy then.”

The cub blushed at the thought of this man at least thirty years his senior calling him daddy. What the fuck was he doing?

The elevator dinged, and they emerged on the cub’s floor. He led Carmichael down the hall to his room, opened it up, and went inside. “Alright pig–get naked, and get on the bed. No talking–I just want to get this over with.”

Carmichael let the door shut behind him, and chuckled, “No–here’s what we’ll do. You go ahead and call room service and order us some food. You can bill it to my room, 823. I don’t quite think I satisfied my sweet tooth yet, so focus on the desserts, daddy.”

“You fucking–” he sneered, “You’re still fucking hungry? No–this is a quick fuck, I’m not playing into your fucked up fantasies anymore. You want my dick? Get on the bed or get out.”

“My fantasies?” Carmichael said, moving quick for his size, pressing himself to the cub, feeling a shiver run through the young man, “I know how much you liked stuffing me down in that restaurant. Besides–it’s surprisingly easy to work up an appetite when you’re playing with a pig like me, so you might want some too. Now, call room service while I freshen up and get ready for you, daddy.”

The cub backed away, and walked over to the phone, unable to believe what he was doing. He wasn’t really doing this. He didn’t actually want to do this, did he? No! No, he…he didn’t, and yet…and yet he was thinking about what it was like downstairs, how much he’d fucking enjoyed watching the old fuck struggle to chew while he shoved food in his face…Fuck, maybe he did want this. It was just…curiosity, he told himself, waiting for room service to connect, looking at the menu, thinking about what would be fun to stuff in someone’s face.

Carmichael hadn’t stuck around to see if the cub called or not–he knew he would. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, pulling his piggy pipe out with a quivering hand, licking his lips. The little piggy was so eager to be out again, so eager to play. He took his time packing the pipe with his special tobacco–he wouldn’t want to ruin the moment with a poor draw. When he was satisfied, he lit the pipe, puffing gently, tasting that sweet smoke–he’d smoked this so many times, and yet this time felt…new, somehow. He took a deeper draw, his body reacting to the smoke, quivering and shifting in front of his eyes.

His body began to lose a bit of weight–never too much, he was still wonderfully plump–but enough to make moving a bit easier. His gut no longer sagged, but rested as a taut gut, a bit of muscle filling out his frame, giving him a huskier look with thick shoulders and an even thicker neck. His clothes, rather than becoming loose, shrank with him as he condensed until they were skin tight, the fabric picking up a bit of a shine under the bathroom lights. The color of the fabric darkened to a solid black, the shine increasing until he was clad all in rubber from sleeve to pant, and then the suit began to retract until all that remained was a skimpy, rubber singlet, the word “PIG” across the back in red letters, with an open crotch giving him easy access to both his piggy cock and ass. Fuck, that fucking cock!

It wasn’t human anymore–instead, emerging from the sheath, was a slimy, spiralling pig’s cock with two massive boar balls swinging beneath. His shoes had disappeared, but they wouldn’t have fit his new feet anyway, as they shifted into trotters, his footing a bit slick on the tile, but he adjusted easily enough, watching his face start to shift through the smoke of his pipe. Ears growing larger migrating up on his head a bit before flopping over. Nose and mouth pushing out into a short snout with two tusks on either side, and lastly, with a squeal, his tail pushed it’s way out above his ass. Just a fucking little pig, that’s all he fucking was–it was so fucking good to be free at last!

As the pig smoked and groped himself, the last changes swept over his body. What little hair he had on his body and head disappeared, leaving just a soft hide behind. His head was completely bald, and his mustache disappeared from the tip of his snout…but as the hair disappeared, his appearance youthened. The wrinkles disappearing around his eyes, his jowls pulling back in, moles and liver spots dimming and disappearing, leaving him a beautiful pink from head to toe. He was ready to play, and what a fucking good time this pig was going to have with that daddy tonight.

Snake Oil (2 of 2)

“What the fuck did you give us, you fucker!” Nick said, dragging the old man behind his booth at the fair, Anthony beside him. Their changes had progressed further, both of them now approaching middle age, their muscles much weaker–but not so weak they couldn’t kick this fucker’s ass if he didn’t give them an antidote.

“Ah! You must be the young man from earlier,” the man said with a laugh, “I see the sample I gave you is working nicely.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? It didn’t work at all!”

“Oh nonsense–it’s working exactly as it’s supposed to. Looking at you both, you’re here right on time–the second stage should be starting any moment…yeah, look at your friend there.”

Nick looked over at Anthony, but his friend was just standing there, slackjawed, almost like he was in a trance…but the bulge in his friend’s pants drew his attention next. What the hell was wrong with his bulge! It seemed…massive all of a…sudden. Nick’s mind was clouding over, dulling, and he released his hold on the old man, feeling a pleasant warmth in his pants too, but a…pressure too.

“Yes, very good you two. Follow me, and let’s get you both milked.”

Helpless to disobey, both Nick and Anthony followed the man to a trailer parked against the side of the fair and went inside with him. He sat them both in a chair, strapped them in, opened up their pants, and they saw what was the matter–their ball’s had swollen up to three or four times their original size.

“See, I do, in fact, sell a muscle growth serum, but business has been so good this year, I’ve been running out, so I needed someone to help me resupply my wares. All that youthful muscle? It’s in those sacks of yours, and you’re going to give it to me.”

Both men tried to protest, as the man put milking tubes over their cocks, and started the process of sucking the cum from their sacks. “No–you can’t…we’ll…tell…”

“You won’t be telling anyone anything,” the older man said, “You won’t remember a thing when I’m through with you both. Nope, the only thing the two of you will remember is your new lives as a couple of dumb, old, faggot carnies. I’ll help you fit the part of course–grow out your beards a bit, tone down the hygiene, soften your minds, make you both smokers and drinkers–I think cigars and whiskey for you both. I have lots of wares that will be perfect for you both.”

They both tried to fight, but there was nothing they could do–and when they both stumbled out of the trailer a few hours later, in their filthy clothes, smoking their cigars like they’d been doing it for years, the two old men found a bit of privacy and fucked each other for the first of many, many times.

Snake Oil (1 of 2)

“Dude, you know everything they sell at the fair is fucking snake oil.”

“Well sure, but the guy gave me a sample for free!” Nick said, holding up the little bottle. “He even gave me two, when I said my friend might want to try it.”

“Seriously? I don’t want to try that shit,” Anthony said, “Come on man, can’t we just work out, without another one of your get big quick schemes?”

“Come on man, just give it a try with me. What’s the worst it could do? Not work?”

It took a few more minutes of cajoling, but Anthony finally relented, and together the two of them drank down the oddly creamy liquid in the two bottles Nick had gotten from the man at the fair.

“So, what’s it supposed to do exactly?” Anthony asked, running his tongue around his mouth. It hadn’t been a very pleasant drink, that was for sure.

“He just said to take it before working out. It apparently gets triggered by exertion, and your body kicks muscle growth into overdrive or something. He said one dose would be enough to see a result, which is why he’s giving out samples.”

The two of them started their routine, and after a few minutes they were both sweating and panting in the hot garage, but rather than feeling energized, both of them were starting to feel a bit winded. They couldn’t keep up their usual pace, and after twenty minutes, they stopped for a break.

“Fuck, I feel something alright–that drink didn’t do anything but make me feel weak.”

“Hey, I’m sorry man,” Nick said, looked over at his friend, but something seemed…different about him. His muscles a bit…smaller, and his gut was sagging slightly. “Uh…I’m gonna go get some water.”

“Whatever, I’m gonna take a sec.”

Nick went inside and to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and his stomach dropped to his feet. Something was happening to him too. His arms and chest were losing mass, his gut growing–but worse, his beard was turning grey, and his hairline was receding.

“Uh…Nick? Nick! What the fuck is wrong with me?”

He didn’t know–but he did know he had a bone to pick with that fucker at the fair.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 4)

The hotel was large enough that it served as an anchor for a couple of restaurants–the first was a much more highbrow affair, and while Carmichael simply knew he would have to sample it’s fair at some point this weekend, he decided on the other restaurant for his first meal–a more casual restaurant with a bar inside. His piggy was growing a bit restless, and he always had a better chance of finding someone for his piggy if he stuck out a bit. It was slightly early for dinner, but a number of other bears were there, scattered around the restaurant, most of them eating as well, but Carmichael neither joined them, nor found any of them particularly intriguing. He asked the hostess to seat him at a small table with a clear view of the concourse of the hotel, giving him a good view of men walking past–as well as giving them all a clear view of him. He ordered a bevy of appetizers for himself–including a couple plates of wings so he could make a mess of himself, and when they arrived, he ripped into the food–after tucking his napkin into his shirt like a bib. He’d never really been able to contain himself around food; the messiest side of himself always seemed to come out, no matter what he did.

The people around him kept glancing at him, a bit aghast at the massive man stuffing himself at the table there, and knowing how disgusted they found him made his cock harden and leak a bit in his slacks. He would occasionally look around and meet their stare, daring them to come over and say something, encouraging them to come play with him, but none of the men at the tables answered his desire. If anything, they seemed embarrassed, and by the time he moved onto his entrees he was becoming a bit discouraged–but then he walked by.

One of three young muscle cubs who were obviously acquaintances. They were all wearing some variation on shorts and tanks, displaying their wares, giving the men a peek at what they might find underneath if they were worthy. A great snort escaped from him, as he chowed down, loud enough to draw their attention, and while all three gaped at him in utter disgust, one of them in particular stood out to him. Finally, someone interesting. He locked eyes with him a moment, and unlike the others around him, he didn’t flinch away–he stared right back, the utter disgust apparent in his eyes, and he only turned away when one of the other young men got his attention, and they continued on their way–but Carmichael knew he’d made an excellent first impression–he’d be back soon enough.

He finished his three entrees and ordered a trio of desserts. With these, he took his time. He no longer needed to perform as grotesquely as before, now that someone had taken the bait. His cock was hard and quivering with excitement, but it wasn’t until the young man walked back past the restaurant–no longer in the company of his two friends–saw Carmichael still stuffing himself, sneered, and walked over.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you one of those fucking gainers? Is that what you’re fucking doing? Because it’s fucking disgusting, and you should be fucking ashamed of yourself,” he said, standing across from Carmichael.

The insult brought a sharp, erotic heat to his groin, and Carmichael moaned, mouth full of cake as he did.

“You fucking piece of shit, did that fucking turn you on?” he asked.

Carmichael nodded, slowly, watching the fury build in the young man’s eyes. Yes, he was going to be a good one.

“So that’s you’re fucking fetish? You like making a pig of yourself in public?”

“Oh, I can make a pig of myself in private too.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“No–I know you want to. That’s why you walked over here, sir,” Carmichael said, “You get as much of a thrill from insulting me as I get from your cruelty. You want to punish me, don’t you? You want to abuse me, and humiliate me, and you’d love every moment of–”

The young man, rattled, picked up the rest of the cake and shoved it into Carmichael’s mouth, and he moaned, taking as much as he could, feeling the rest spread around his face, while the young man tried to figure out why his cock was so hard all of a sudden. He pulled his hand away, wiping it off with a dirty napkin, while Carmichael chewed the massive bite, and swallowed it. “Goodness sir, this pig wants to play with you real bad.”

“Fuck you. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“No sir,” Carmichael said, a strange sternness slipping into his voice, “We’re going to go up to your room, and you’re going to play with this little piggy, because that’s what you want. You want to abuse me, to use me, to rape me. Well here is your chance. What do you say, sir?”

The young man tried to speak, he tried to deny it, but…but it was true. He’d never once imagined having sex with someone who looked like this, this fat, old ugly fuck, but looking at him, standing right here, suddenly…it was all he could think about. “Get up then.”

“No sir–help me finish dessert first, and then we can go.”

“What?”

“Stuff my face like you’re going to stuff my holes. I know you want to. Show the rest of these people what a pig I am. Think of it as a warm up.”

So he did, standing there. He shoved the rest of the food on the table right into Carmichael’s mouth, listening to his grunt and snort, wondering what it the world he was doing–and when every plate was licked clean, Carmichael paid his sizable bill, left ample gratuity for the embarrassed staff, and the young man led him up to his room to play.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 3)

“Oh my dear heavens, this can’t possibly be real…”

Carmichael was in the hotel room’s bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Staring at a reflection he’d never seen before in his life, but which he somehow knew was…him. But this couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be him…He didn’t want to be this!

The pain had eased up after a few minutes, leaving him gasping and panting on the floor, clutching himself. He’d managed to use the side of the bed to help heave himself back up–but it had been a struggle. For one thing, every joint in his body suddenly ached–not from the pain that he’d just been through, but from age–and from the fact that he was no longer 220 pounds with a potbelly–he was easily closer to 400, or more. He got himself righted and just stared down at himself, at the sheer mass spilling over him, and stifled a scream, managing to waddle into the bathroom instead, where he’d been staring at himself for the last few minutes, unable to believe what, or rather who, he was looking at.

He was looking at himself. He was looking at Carmichael Emmett Fields, a sixty-seven year old retired insurance salesman who was now living off his sizable retirement account. He enjoyed his groceries, and was resting at around 460 pounds or so, after his last visit to his physician, but surprisingly enough he was still healthy as a horse, much to the doctor’s disbelief. His size was only exacerbated by his short height of five foot four inches. Still, the image before him was…blurry for some reason, and he couldn’t quite make out the details of himself–one hand fished around on the counter in front of him, searching for something, and after a moment found his glasses, and he put them on–the world coming back into true focus, and then he did scream.

“No–No, no no…” he said quietly, shaking his head, watching his three chins sway slightly with the movement. The short beard he’d had was gone–replaced with just a walrus like mustache covering his upper lip, and leaving nothing below to the imagination. He looked bloated and puffy, with full jowls and deep crow’s feet around his eyes. His hair had receded badly and was completely white on the fringe that remained. “No, this will not stand–I am not going to be some old, fucking pig!” he said to the mirror, but as he did, he felt a sudden heat in his groin, his old cock hardening deep in his gunt.

He was old. He was disgusting. Fuck, he was repulsive! One hand grabbed a meaty, flabby teat of his, tugging on the full nipple, while the other reached under his fat, digging around for his short, stubby cock which he could barely reach any longer, but fuck, looking at how ugly he was always had turned him on helplessly, he was such a pig. He tried to resist, to stop himself, but instead he humiliated himself in front of the mirror, jacking off, watching his fat heave to and fro, his smooth, hairless body shining with sweat until he came with a pant and a groan into his hand, pulled it out and licked up the cum. Now…what had he been doing again? Carmichael’s gut rumbled. Dinner! Of course–but he couldn’t go down looking like this mess. Instead, he hoped into the shower, hosing himself down carefully, enjoying the feel of his body hanging off him, and how much space he took up in the sizable tub. Once finished, he dried off well, combed down his mustache and what remained of his hair, and went to get dressed.

He was surprised to see the clothes he’d arrived in just lying there on the floor, and he quickly hung them back up before picking out another one of his suits for the evening, excited to get amongst the bears, excited to see who would be disgusted by him the most, and–

Carmichael shook his head, wondering where that thought had come from, oddly disturbed by that train of thought, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Still, dinner came first, regardless, or perhaps he’d find someone interesting in the restaurant downstairs and kill two birds with one stone. He dressed himself in his massive briefs and undershirt, then his dress shirt–the starched collar cutting into his flabby neck in the most delightfully uncomfortable manner, and then his pants pulled up over his belly and held in place with his suspenders–and lastly his suit coat, socks and shoes–always the hardest part for a man of his size, but looking in the mirror, he felt like…himself, but something was still…amiss. Something gnawing at him, trying to remind him…

He looked around the room and spied his pipe box. Of course! How could he have been so thoughtless as to forget that. Still, while he’d chosen a smoking room for himself, he couldn’t very well smoke elsewhere in the hotel–instead, he slipped the smaller of the two pipes–his piggy pipe as he referred to it–into his breast pocket as well as a small pouch of tobacco and his necessary tools, in case he should meet someone of interest while he ate. He always seemed to find interesting men while he ate to be honest, but then again, his appetite was one of his most appaling qualities. His cock shivered again at the thought, thought of the pipe in his pocket, but he contained himself. “Calm yourself, little piggy,” Carmichael said to himself in the mirror, “We’ll find someone for you to play with soon enough.”