Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 4)

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

“How long since your last confession, my son?”

“One week,” the demon lied.

“Tell me your sins. Are you still suffering from that…overwhelming lust, you were describing to me, last time?”

“Yes father–it’s become…insatiable,” the demon let off a vulnerable moan, rubbing his uniform pants, “Today…in particular. This weekend–the faggots are out in force, Father. They gather here for three days, parading around in their filth–their leather, their rubber, flaunting their bodies and having sex in the street–such open and shameless in their displays.”

“I’m sure that must have been disgusting,” the priest said, but his eyes were glimmering and he had begun stroking his own cock openly, leaning closer to the screen separating them. “Have you been…tempted?”

“Yes father, but I have remained strong. God’s love…is stronger than the pleasures of the flesh–no matter how…thrilling they might be. But father–I…” he hesitated, and looked away. “I did…give in. None of them touched me, but I did…abuse myself–on my break, in a bathroom.”

“That is…a grave sin, my son, but given the temptation, it is admirable that you didn’t allow yourself to be pulled into their depravity further.” The priest shuffled forward on the bench, and leaned closer to the screen. The demon leaned in closer, looking at the older priest’s jowls covered with stubble, small eyes, balding hair, and that leer.

“There’s…more, father.”

“Oh?”

“I…I abused myself in the bathroom. It was…public, and I…I wasn’t alone. There were other men in there, and they were…I could…hear them, Father. I don’t know if they heard me or not. I knew I should arrest them for being indecent, for their perversion, but I did nothing, and I…pleasured myself, listening to them…and then…I…”

The priest was actively masturbating now, jaw hanging open, tongue half out of his mouth, a bit of drool. “Then what, my son, you…you can tell me,” he huffed.

The demon smiled, seeing how much the priest was enjoying his fabrication, but turned serious, masturbating harder himself, bringing himself closer to the edge. “I…came, father. I came into my hand, and without…really thinking about it, I…I licked it from my palm, and it…it tasted so…oh father!” he cried softly, and shot his wad of demonic seed into his hand, feeling the unnatural heat of it, burning into the skin of the officer’s hand. “It tasted so…good…but I can’t! Please father, take my sin from me, I can’t bear it anymore,” the demon said, and wiped the cum on the screen, smearing it inches from the priest’s flabby face, the man’s eyes twinkling, and like the pervert he was, he leaned in and licked it from the barrier between them, moaning, close to cumming himself as he unknowingly ate the demon’s cum, his face flushing, his desire…raging suddenly, and he began to lick more forcefully, desperate to taste more, desperate to eat more, but…but he couldn’t get enough of it into his mouth, his cock stubbornly refusing to shoot, leaving him…whimpering. “You understand, don’t you priest? Do you understand my need? Your need?”

The screen had begun to dissolve as the priest kept licking it, turning to ash and sulfur in his mouth. “You…you’re not Beau–what are you?”

“Let’s just say, that our friend Beau couldn’t quite resist the temptation today–and neither could you, father.”

“Begone beast! Leave that man alone, this is the house of the lord!”

“You have no power over me, priest–not after taking my seed willingly. No–the one who has the power here, now, is me.” the demon peeled away a finger from the officer’s decaying skin, and used the sharp point to cut around the base of skin around his cock, sliding it off like a condom and discarding it on the floor, allowing his true, thirteen inch, bright red cock to dribble steaming cum onto the floor. “Oh dear–I seem to be desecrating this house of worship, Father! Perhaps you could find a better…repository for my seed?”

The priest was sweating and gagging, the confession was sweltering and he tugged at his robes, desperate to be free of them, like they were burning his skin, hurling his cross last to the floor, looking at the scar it had left on his hand where he’d grasped it. “No–No, I won’t be corrupted. I won’t!”

“Priest, you’ve already corrupted yourself! You don’t believe you were really going to heaven, do you? No–your place is with us–it’s been with us every since that first man you fucked back in seminary. But don’t worry, we take all kinds, willingly or not. Now, it’s time to take what you want priest–what you need. Don’t worry–I have plenty for you. The more you drink, the better you’ll feel–I promise.”

The screen had caught fire, burning away in a moment, and then the flames had spread further, removing the entire wall between them. The priest gave a great hacking cough in the billow of smoke, like something was stuck in his throat–or maybe…maybe he was just…parched. Why had he deprived himself of pleasure for so long–only engaging in these little games with men as deeply closeted as him, terrified that if he felt…anything, his entire life might just crumble away. He took the head in his mouth and began gulping down the demon’s precum. It was so hot it burnt his throat, blisters appearing on his lips and tongue, swelling and bursting within moments, but that didn’t matter. Pain wasn’t important–his thirst was all that mattered. He only stopped for a few moments, to hack some hard, solid rock up out of his throat onto the floor of the confessional, and then resumed drinking–the demon switching to acrid, foul smelling piss–but the priest barely noticed. The rest of the officer’s purity had since burnt off, leaving the demon with the priest, lost in depravity, holding the stone which the priest had coughed up in his hand. His master would reward him well for this one.

They remained in the booth until dark fell, and then the demon stood up, holding the stone as a barrier against the premises, and walked away. The priest garbled some noise, and started after him–not quite able to walk for some strange reason, but he could crawl, mewling and begging for more filth–but the officer would be emerging soon, and the demon didn’t want him coming out without a welcoming party.

Self-confidence was hard to come by, for Asher, so sometimes you have to fake it. Or, at the very least, use some magic solution you get from a gypsy woman which promises to make you irresistible to anyone you desire. As a chubby young man, quiet and smart, and overwhelmed by being gay and interested in older bears who all seemed so…sure of themselves, he figured he could use a boost.

The first time he used it, it was more of a test. He had a cute guy in a class at school he liked, so he invited him to a study session, applied a bit of the potion, and it was less than ten minutes before his cubby classmate was tearing off Asher’s clothes off in the library (an admittedly poor choice) and sucking his cock–much to his embarrassment. Thankfully he shot quickly and no one caught him, but he wasn’t satisfied with one load–it was only after a few hours back in his room that the guy would finally leave him alone.

Now, it was time for a real test–he put on the solution, and then headed out to a bear bar that weekend. The men flocked to him, fought over him, and before too long he had an orgy going on in the back of the bar, with him at the center, men begging him for the pleasure of doing whatever he wanted them to do–and Asher wanted them to do all sorts of things. But morning came, and they wouldn’t let him up–the crowd of men had grown to about forty, and they all wanted a piece of Asher–it took all day before they were all more or less satisfied, and he fled the bar, reeking of sex and exhausted, with a few guys still running after him–thinking this potion might be a bit more than he’d bargained for.

Source: bigatlbear

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 3)

Finally got this story finished. If you need a refresher, here was Part 1 and Part 2.

“What did you…do to me?” Officer Wetzel said, groaning, something deep inside his guts twisting, and he found himself gagging, and then vomiting black bile at the wall in front of him in a great gush. It tasted vile, but no sooner had he wiped his chin with one sleeve of his uniform, than a second surge hit him. Something was caught in his throat, something sharp–he hurled again and felt it dislodge and fly out of his mouth–it hit the brick wall with a soft tink, and then landed in the puddle of filth. The demon bent down and picked up the small, gleaming thing between two fingers, and examined it. “That’s…that’s mine,” he croaked. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew, somehow, that it belonged to him.

“Pity–I was hoping it would be a bit larger. I certainly didn’t think you’d give it up so easily,” the demon said, and slipped it into his pocket. “And yes, it was yours–but that body of yours can’t hold something like this, not anymore. No–not even god will love you now. Be thankful the devil needed you at all, sinner.”

The officer grabbed for the demon, but he stepped back, watching the man crawl towards him. “I know I promised you a weekend, but I still have some pressing business I have to attend to–you’ll forgive me if I catch up with you a bit later. Do try and enjoy yourself–you’ve earned it. Still, I will need your clothes…”

Wetzel tried to find his feet, but his body was feverish, his vision blurry. He nearly tumbled into the street, but the demon managed to swerve him back onto the sidewalk, and into an alley out of the sun’s heat, where he forcefully disrobed him. Wetzel tried to fight back but his body was giving out–he slumped over, retching up another massive amount of bile, but this time it was thicker–instead of flying out of his mouth, it more…oozed forth, running down his chin and onto his chest, coating his body. He tried to wipe it off, but it just…smeared around–sticky and hot, more pouring from his mouth. He tried to speak, tried to beg for mercy, but he couldn’t speak through the flow–choking and gagging, he collapsed, the filth pouring out of him, coating his body until a few minutes later, none of his flesh was visible–all that remained was a black, rubbery cocoon anchored to the filthy concrete of the alley.

The demon squatted down, and rubbed spot where the officer’s head would have been, and then stood up, looking at the small amber gem which the officer had expelled–that small little chunk of authentic soul the man had still had within him. After all, the officer here hadn’t been his primary target–no, he had someone far worse in need of punishment. After all, if God wasn’t going to bother showing his face, that meant it was up to the devil, to enforce his own idea of law and order here on earth.

He licked his lips, placed the gem on his tongue, rolled it around his mouth, and then swallowed. Immediately, an uncomfortable grumble came from his guts, the purity of the gem rebelling against his demonic nature, seeking exit–but he bound it deep inside himself, corrupted it, and pulled the remnants of goodness forth. It’s human form began to shudder, and a few minutes later his body had become that of Officer Wetzel–fortyish, paunch covered in grey hair, a bushy mustache. He pulled on the officer’s uniform, checked on the cocoon one last time, and then set off down the street, whistling and twirling his baton, cruising the leather and rubber freaks as he went. As much as he might want to abuse the last vestiges of the Officer’s form with a bit more sex, the fact was he didn’t have much time to finish the job–a few hours at most. His demonic force would eat through this skin in that time, and he’d need it where he was heading.

The demon headed away from the revelrie, knowing he’d have a chance to enjoy himself more once his work was completed. The spire of the cathedral was visible, sticking out into the sky above the lower roofs around him, and after a few minutes, the skin already chafing slightly, he found himself at the entrance to the sanctuary, and gingerly placed his hand on the door, the skin insulating him from the holy energy thrumming through the structure. Had he not been shielded by the officer’s remaining piety, his mortal form would have been destroyed, and he would have been thrown back into the pits where he’d crawled from. Instead, he pulled opened the door with a gleeful chuckle, and slipped inside.

The space was obnoxiously pious. He walked through the sanctuary, where several people were praying, towards the back of the church, where the confessional booths were placed. Now here, he could taste something of his own nature, well cloaked and hidden within a false faith. He entered the booth and sat down, licking his lips, glancing at the priest through the screen–who was looking back at him, recognizing the officer’s face, even if…something seemed strange about him, at the moment. But there was an eagerness there as well, which didn’t care about those concerns, and one hand slipped to his crotch, rubbing his cock through his robes. This had become a…habit for them both, and as wrong as Father Nelson knew it was, he…he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “It’s late, Beau–I thought you might not come today.”

The demon resisted the urge to begin stroking himself as well, but he would wait. It would be better if he waited, to make sure the sinful priest was too deep to escape his grasp. When he was his, then he would have all the time to take his pleasure, and it would all the sweeter for his patience, as contrary to his nature as that might be.

Skin Sketch | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Something new for all of you Patreon peeps! I was hoping to have something else up for you this month, but I’ve been chasing and putting out other fires in the meantime. It’s a strange little outtake from a longer story which will probably get posted sometime soonish, once I get a chance to edit it, but it stands alone decently. Hope you enjoy it!

Skin Sketch | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Cabin Pressure (Part 5)

WARNING: Extreme Modification, Castration

Darkness. The same smell as before, but damp, mildew. He couldn’t see any detail around him, but he was confined in a tight space, something that could barely confine him, crouching on a hard surface. He kept expecting something to emerge from the black surrounding him, but all it did was press into him, fill him with a deep sense of unease and disgust. Why was he here? Who had put him here?

He felt woozy and sick. He couldn’t focus, and he felt a sudden sense of vertigo–like he’d fallen and remained upright at the same time. Something was in the darkness–a person? No, it didn’t feel like a person, but it was around him, inside him. He could see…flashes of memory, but nothing was clear, nothing that he could remember beyond broad strokes. Pain. Abuse. Humiliation. Screaming, his own screaming, so much screaming. He tried to put his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t stop hearing himself, his throat raw, his skin feeling like ants were crawling all over him, a dull ache in his crotch.

The dull ache drew his attention, even as he tried to ignore it. He’d…wanted it, as long as he could remember. His father had told him he’d never be a man, even as he’d raped him. The boys at school, calling him a sissy and a bitch. He didn’t know what he was, but he wasn’t a man, he didn’t want to be a man, he didn’t deserve to be a man, and…and so when he finally had…had the chance…

He’d done it before he’d drugged him, without anesthesia. It had hurt so much, he hadn’t believed anything could feel so gut wrenchingly terrible, but it was done, and the ache was easing already, several months later. He felt so much better, now…now that he wasn’t a man. He’d never been a man, of course, but now–now he was exactly as worthless as he’d always known he was. But everything else was a blur, a terrible, painful blur. Three months of his life, total freedom with his body, that was the price. Was it worth it?

Voices from the dark. It didn’t matter what he wanted. Master had wanted it as much as he had. Master, his master. He felt terror, a desire to serve, but couldn’t…remember him clearly. Who was his master, why couldn’t he see him? Why didn’t he know his name at least, why didn’t–

It was jostled awake by the plane coming to a rough landing, not that it could move much, hemmed in as it was, between hits own flabby body–500 pounds now–and Master Brian leaning on him. Home. It was home, finally. It had been named Jeff before this, but it didn’t have a new name yet–his Master had promised one when it had returned from it’s vacation. Seeing that it was awake, Brian tugged the chain connected to the thick leather collar around the thing’s fleshy neck and the thick gauge ring pierced through it’s septum, hauled him close and mauled his mouth, exploring its cavity like mouth. It had woken in the dungeon from his drugged state, and discovered it had lost not only its teeth, but its tongue had been split down the center, and pierced in several places–the better for pleasuring cocks, it had been assured. It would have to be fed by a tube from now on, which he was rather used to anyway, with its master at home. So far it had only been fully conscious again for a day, and still hadn’t quite come to grips with the body it now had–a hundred pounds heavier, missing its balls–and its cock, which had been taken without his permission, since it was so small anyway. The man had rerouted his urethra between his taint, allowing it to piss while sitting down.

Master Brian made it wait until everyone else had exited the plane, so they’d have more room to move. It was thankful–it hadn’t gotten used to all of the stares it was getting…now that it was awake. Then again, it was hard not to stare, at the tattoos all over it’s body and face, the piercings, the foot long, unwashed beard, the huge body barely contained by the wife beater and shorts it was permitted to wear out in the world, showing off the cruder tattoos which covered its body proper. Master Brian was its escort for the trip home–it had been escorted by someone else on the way there.

They lined up for passport control. No one could believe he was the same person as the man in the photo–he was interrogated for an hour, but eventually released, after Brian muscled his way in, and suggested the officers might just think of it as an object, abuse it for a bit, and then let him take it with him. Brian collected his luggage, and it wanted to disappear–so many people…just staring at it. Was it really worth it? But everything was worth it, if its master wanted it–his…master. It still couldn’t remember him, but it didn’t matter. Master Brian would escort him home, and it would be back with it’s master, and everything would be alright.

Once they were out in the airport proper, Master Brian made good on his promise, dragged the thing into the bathroom and fucked it’s loose hole, making it beg loudly, making sure people knew what they were doing, that it didn’t care, that it wanted them to know, that it anyone wanted it’s hole, it would give it to them without question. After its escort master had cum, they caught an Uber. The thing gave the disturbed young man it’s address. Master…Kevin, he had said? It sounded like it could be right. Once it had it’s master, once it had it’s new name, everything would be fine, ancd maybe, finally, he would stop feeling like he was under so much…pressure.

“But…sir. I don’t…what’s all this got tah do with fixin’ a TV?”

“Shut yer dang mouth boy! Ya know better ‘n tah challenge master. If he says this’ll fix the TV, then we’re gonna do it!”

“But sir…”

*SMACK*

“Don’t want no more lip from ya. Now git in that gear–I wanna see my boy’s ass in those chaps in ten seconds ‘r less.”

“But–”

*SMACK*

“Don’t make me bend ya over mah knee ‘n give ya twenty a those–Oh…Master! Were ya…listenin’ tah us? Sorry, mah boy’s bein’ a bit thick tahday, but we’ll git started on that TV a yers in just a sec…now…where did ya want us?”

“The bedroom? But ain’t the TV in the living room?”

“No sir, sorry sir. I won’t question master, I’m sorry. Ya ready boy? Come on!”

“Damn, quite the setup ya got here–what’s the camera for?”

“Yeah, guess it ain’t that important, I’m just a dumb faggot pig anyway, yer right Master. Alright boy, git on the bed with me, like master said–ya want us tah…do, like, the same stuff…we did last time? Cause…mah boy didn’t really, ‘n I…I mean, I’m a faggot, sure, but I guess, I never really wanted tah put mah cock in a dude’s…ya know.”

“Oh? Somethin’ different?”

“Ya wanna see…mah boy…fuck mah hole? No fuckin’ way, nuh-uh, ain’t gonna happen.”

“Nah sir, I think gettin’ mah cock deep in yer ass sounds real nice–maybe if yer busy moaning ya’ll shut the fuck up for a bit! Now git on there, and take yer boy’s cock like a man! Let’s git this damn TV fixed already.”

Source: musclemechanic

TV Repair (1 of 2)

“Dang, that TV a yers is actin’ up again? What is this, the third time this month? Maybe ya outta have some other tech come out ‘n look at it, since Bryce ‘n I haven’t been much help at all.”

“Ya sure? I mean, I appreciate the compliment–me ‘n Bryce have been workin’ out a bit lately, ain’t that right boy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Finally got this one whipped intah shape! Fuck, first time he came here with me, he was a bit a prick, wasn’t he? So much nicer now that he only speaks when spoken too–and so damn polite!”

“A cigar? Well, you know we can’t turn down one a yer cigars. Kinda started craving them a bit, actually. Bryce too. The wife ain’t too happy ‘bout me comin’ home, smellin’ like smoke, but fuck what she wants. What brand are these anyway? Might want tah pick up some fer mahself.”

“Really? Mail order? Dang–aw shoot, ya’d do that fer us? Thanks bud. Thank the nice man, Bryce.”

“Thank you sir, for giving us a supply of cigars.”

“That’s a good boy. Now, how bout we take a look at that TV a yers. Still doin’ the same staicy shit as before, huh? Well, we’ll try and git tah the bottom a this tahday, ‘n hopefully ya won’t have to see either of us again for a while! Go on boy, git down there, on yer knees–that’s it. Make room fer me too…n’…let’s focus….focus on the screen. See if we can…can look deep enough, find out what’s…the matter…

Source: somacho

Cabin Pressure (Part 4)

“You have a pretty hot mouth, I have to say.”

They’d been sitting quietly for a few minutes, Jeff trying to sort out his thoughts and his memories, feeling his body, trying to understand how it could feel both so…new and strange and yet familiar at the same time. He could barely fit in the seat assigned to him now, and Brian had raised the armrest between them, meaning their fat bodies were now in constant contact–something which scared jeff to death for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, and which also excited him to no end–feeling each breath of the hot fucking man beside him–he’d really…lucked out, right?

“Hello? Earth to piggy.”

Jeff blushed, “Sorry, sir, I’m…glad you enjoyed it. I…enjoyed it too.”

“I could tell. Bet you’d like me to get my cock in that ass of yours too, right?”

Jeff nodded, humiliated that the people sitting around them could hear what he’d just said to him. Why was he doing this? Letting this fat fuck do this to him? He…honestly wasn’t quite sure what had happened to him, but something was different–no, something was wrong. This was wrong, he was in the wrong body, this wasn’t who he was supposed to be, and he…he couldn’t remember who he’d been at all. Fragments–workout equipment. A woman. A…roommate. That was clear–the roommate. Kevin. He stopped thinking about himself, and focused on Kevin instead. He’d met him at…at college? In the gym–no, on the wrestling team! He’d had to have gone to college, if he’d met Kevin! And Tiffany! He’d just visited her, he…he was sure of it, even if he couldn’t remember it. That…that meant that this wasn’t him–he couldn’t remember everything, but he knew that much.

“How about, when we get off this plane, we head to the bathroom and I give that hole of yours a good plowing? How does that sound?” Brian said, leaning against him gently, exerting a bit of his pressure.

Jeff instinctively started to lean away, to pull back, but then he leaned back in, applying some pressure of his own. “No–no, I’m not going to let you do this to me anymore. I don’t know what the fuck you did, but you’re going to fucking change me back!”

“Did to you? I didn’t do anything to you, pig. This is just who you are!”

“No it fucking isn’t. I…know that. I don’t remember everything but…but I had a roommate I met in college–yeah, college! I know I went there. And I know I just…was just with a girl in Paris, that’s why I fucking went there. I…I forgot her name, but she was there, I know she was there. This is some fucked up fantasy of yours, and I don’t know how you did it, but I know your game.”

“Oh?” the man said, grinning wider, leaning harder, “More fight than I expected. Still, you’re so far gone, there’s nothing you can do but make things worse for yourself, if you keep this up.”

“Fuck you, you’re a fucking liar.”

The man shrugged. “Alright, then, Mr. Fry Cook. Tell me, how did an fast food dead-ender like you manage to afford a European vacation?”

Jeff tried to talk…but he didn’t have an answer. Where did he get the ticket? How did he even get to Europe? On one hand, intellectually, he knew the missing piece was there, but the girl, his roommate, it didn’t fit with everything else in his head…and something else, some other glimmer was forming, the man leaning harder, Jeff losing ground, feeling himself pressing against the side of the plane. “I…I couldn’t afford it, not on my own. I don’t have any savings,” he blurted out. It was…true. But it wasn’t right.

“Of course not. But the guy you were chatting with about those things you wanted, the mods. You couldn’t find anyone state side. And when he offered to pay for your ticket, in exchange for complete willingness as a test subject…well, what choice did you have?”

Jeff was shaking his head, trying to speak, but he couldn’t quite get in a full breath of air. He was feeling lightheaded, desperately trying to keep from passing out again, trying to keep Brian from changing him again, trying to keep himself from connecting the dots that he was being told to follow, because he didn’t want to see what was at the end there. “Please…” he croaked, “I’m sorry, I’ll let you fuck me, I’ll let you do whatever, please…”

“But I’m curious, Piggy. I’m curious about what you needed him to do. What were you so desperate for, that you were willing to let a stranger buy you a plane ticket to another continent, so he’d do it to you? What was so hard to find, what was so perverted, that you couldn’t find anyone closer to you, who would do what you needed so badly, that you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you? How long were you with him? How long were you his play thing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

“Yeah, he kept you pretty well drugged, didn’t he? In that dungeon of his, kept in that cage, while you rested in between sessions? Probably a bit hard to remember the details, but I know that you know what you wanted more than anything else. What you were willing to give up your freedom for months to have done to you.”

“I’m not…You’re wrong.”

“It’s only going to get worse, if you don’t just admit it.”

“I…it…tattoos?”

“Oh, I know he was a talented artist, and I know he was excited at a thought of a canvas your size, but that–you could get those anywhere. No, what you needed was much more…taboo…”

Jeff could feel the pricks across his body, ink appearing all over his skin. It still hurt, but Brian was right, there was something else. He…he knew what he was supposed to say, but there had to be something else, right? Not that…he didn’t…really want that, did he?

“Say it pig, say it hog. Say what you begged the filthy pervert you met in Paris to do to you. Tell me what you needed, to finally feel at home in your own, disgusting body.”

Jeff had been holding his breath, knotting up his tongue. He wasn’t going to say it, he wouldn’t. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out again, Brian chuckling, pressing harder, and Jeff dreamed again.

Cabin Pressure (Part 3)

Jeff looked around his office, trying to figure out what he was doing here. He should be on vacation, right? The offices around him were all empty, the air was stale and…and as he walked around, looking for an exit, he was beginning….to suspect that he didn’t work here at all. No, he didn’t know where he was, now that he thought about it–but he did work in an office, right? He’d…he’d gone to college, he’d majored in business, he worked as an accountant. The air was thinner all of a sudden, and he was feeling woozy, some sort of pressure pulling him to the floor, giving him a headache, and he could…feel his intellect being crushed. Jeff had never been that smart, but he was clever enough–but not only was his knowledge fading, but his edges were dulling as well. Everything seemed…simpler all of a sudden, and looking around at the alien office, he could see the walls…dissolving around him, reforming, until he was lying on filthy tile, not carpet, surrounded by a bank of cooking equipment–like…like in a fast food restaurant.

He managed to push back against the pressure, reassert himself, and as much as he didn’t want to find the place familiar–he knew it intimately. It was the fast food place where…where he worked. Where he’d worked for years, ever since he’d stupidly dropped out of high school, not that he could have gone to college with his shitty grades. He couldn’t even get a promotion, not without a GED, and he was too lazy to even bother getting that. So here he was, working the fryer, microwaving burgers, and…and taking orders.

At that thought, the pressure shoved him forward, towards the register. He was dressed in his uniform–4XL, and face to face with…with a young woman. Someone he should know…right? A name popped into his head from nowhere–Tiffany. She was pretty, she was his…girlfriend? But at that thought, her face looked at him, disgusted, like she had read his mind. No, someone like that would never be interested in a fat loser like him. The shame was burning through him, he couldn’t believe he’d even thought that. No, he couldn’t be interested in her, he wasn’t interested in her, he…he was…interested in…

The look of cruel disgust didn’t shift on Tiffany’s face, but the rest of her body did, growing larger, inflating, her dress becoming leather gear, her face growing a beard, his cock, fuck…fuck, his cock. Jeff was salivating, the pressure behind him, pushing him against the counter, bending him over as the man shoved his cock in Jeff’s mouth, and he saw a line form behind the man, and felt another line behind him, a stranger hauling down his uniform pants, fucking him roughly, like he deserved. Yeah, this is what a fat loser like him deserved, what he needed, what he craved. The man in front of him–he knew him now. A guy he’d hooked up with a few times around town–the man who held the key to the cage his cock was trapped in. Not that it was much of a cock–two inches when hard, and buried in his fat, but the man liked it locked all the same. After him, came the chubby manager of the restaurant, who had found out Jeff was a cocksucker, and he’d been servicing him ever since, the man threatening to fire him if he told anyone. The line continued. His father and stepfather, both of whom had abused him. Teachers. Strangers. Roommates. All of the men in his life he served, and at the end, a looming figure, familiar, pressing his gut into Jeff’s face, guiding his head lower with a hand–

Jeff opened his mouth and took Brian’s thick, seven inch cock into his well practiced throat, allowing him to slide in deep, down his throat. He hadn’t had a gag reflex in ages, and the sensation of being used roughly sent a tingle of pleasure through his jiggling body, like always. One hand twisted his meaty nipples and tugged on his fat moobs, the other slid down the back of his pants and toyed with the buttplug he wore almost constantly, puny cock aching in the confines of it’s extra small cage.

“How’s it taste, you fucking loser? You like eating my nasty cock?”

Jeff did like it–but then again, rough, abusive, fat men got Jeff’s hunger going like little else. Hell, he was so shameless at this point, that he’d beg men like this to abuse him–that’s why they were here, after all–Jeff had begged the man to feed him his cum, and when else was he going to have a chance to join the mile high club? He kept sucking, and the man fed him a load of cum after a couple of minutes. Someone was knocking on the door–had been knocking on the door. Brian zipped up and left, leaving Jeff on his knees, cum in his beard, looking up at an older, chubby gentleman in a business suit, staring down at him. “I’ll…suck you too, if you want,” he said, unable to believe his own audacity, or that the businessman–who’d briefly been pressed up against the wall by Brian, sneered and stepped inside.

“I hope you’re full service–because I have to piss first, and you’re in front of the toilet.”

Some other man, deep inside him, screamed, but Jeff had drank piss numerous times before. It took the man a few minutes to get past his nerves to actually piss in his mouth–Jeff helped put him at ease by telling him to pretend he was just an object–not a person at all. He drank the man’s bladder dry, and then sucked him off. The man blew after a minute, and slipped out, back to his seat. No one else was waiting, so Jeff went back down the aisle. Brian was waiting for him, and let Jeff slide back in by the window, his now 450 pound bulk mashed between the armrests, and Brian joined him again with a smile that told Jeff he wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

“Trash, get out of those clothes, and get over here. My nasty cock is waiting.”

“Please, don’t…call me that any more. I did what you asked, I gave you the money, please, just let me go…” the man said, He was dressed in an expensive suit tailored for a frame different than his current one–his gut pushed the buttons apart, but he had to keep pulling it up, the pants falling down around his ass. At the word ‘Trash,’ the man’s hair–already lank and greasy–had grown another inch, added more grey, his hairline receding further. “I don’t…want to do this…”

“Oh trust me, I appreciate the money–a few thousand will cover rent and drugs for a month–but why pass up a nasty fucker like you? Now come over here–you don’t want me calling you anything else, right?”

But the man was fighting all the same, trying to make his body move towards the door. “You fucking piece of disgusting filth, I said get over here, and suck my cock!”

The energy drained from the man’s eyes, as a wet patch appeared on the front of his pants. He was pissing, unable to stop himself, and kept pissing as he dropped his pants, stumbled over to the filthy young man, got down, and began sucking at his cock.

“Nobody gets away from me, you fucking pig,” the man winced, a tattoo appearing on his back, another on his arm. “You hear me pig? You fucking nasty whore?”

The man moaned, reaching around behind him and pushing a few of his fingers into his own loose hole, while his tormentor laughed. “That’s the spirit! You want me to fuck that hole of yours, bitch?”

“Oh god, I…please, fuck my nasty hole…”

He was more than happy to oblige him–and what the man didn’t know, was that as soon as the man shot his load deep into his guts, reality twisted around him, his previous life as a young, wealthy entrepreneur gone forever, his suit now just a bunch of rags thrown after him, as he was thrown out naked into the hallway, the young man still laughing the entire time.

Source: boxcardick