xenoxephyr:

This was a fun one to write! A little perspective change.

—————————————–

     You walk into the spacious brightly
lit stall, closing the slatted door behind you. From the wall opposite you, you
greet yourself, the image in a shiny full length mirror. You set the swim suit
down on the bench next to you, tag still hanging out, revealing a price far
higher than many would consider reasonable. You stare at your reflection in the
mirror, after all, how could you not? How could anyone not? You stare into the
brilliant green eyes looking back at you from the glass, both set into a perfectly
symmetrical face built of strong cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. Your
closely cropped blonde hair sits beneath a backwards cap, the finishing touch
on the pinnacle of beauty that is your own face.

     You release the button on the size
32 shorts that you’re wearing and drop them down to your ankles, revealing a
pair of red and white checked trunks. You don’t really care much about the
pattern, but the girls you’ve banged recently seem to like them, so all the
better, right? You pick up the swim suit and slip it on over legs, pulling it
up around your waist. An ordinary person would have just stopped at that, but
you’re far from ordinary, aren’t you? You lift up on the shoulders of your
muscle-fit t-shirt and pull it off. You watch yourself in the mirror as your
hand runs over your tight abdominal muscles. You look lower to see that the
suit accentuates your Adonis belt perfectly. Your whole body seems to glow, but
a good spray tan will do that. Your hands almost move of their own will up to
caress your solid pecs, each adorned with a bee sting of a nipple. You can’t
help yourself but put your arms out and flex, watching the definition of your
shoulders and biceps bulge outward.

     A few moments pass with you staring
into the mirror, banal pop music drifting through the air like the perfume that
the store sprays from the ceiling, before you finally decide that it might be
time to go buy the suit. After all, it looks great, doesn’t? What doesn’t look
great on you though, right? You’re gonna get all the pussy you could want this
summer. Your hands reach for the tee that you were wearing, but all they come
into contact with is the cool plastic of the bench. You look over to see that
it’s not actually there anymore. Your shorts seem to have just disappeared as
well. You just stare, puzzled, trying to fathom where they could have gone.
Something catches your eye off to the side of the room. Piled over in the
corner is an amorphous pile of dark fabric. You pick it up. At first it seems
like it must be a blanket, but you realize that it’s actually a shirt. You didn’t
even know that this store made clothes that big, and to be honest you’re pretty
disgusted by it. Lying next them is an equally massive pair of shorts. You
decide that it would be a good idea to go get an employee to see if somehow
your clothes got misplaced. You go to grab the handle on the door, but your
hands just graze against wood. There isn’t a knob there to turn. The door is
just closed, without a means to open it.

     You turn around, trying to think of
what to do. Your eyes meet the man in the mirror again, but something seems
off. The mirror’s surface seems less shiny, if that’s possible. And everything
seems distorted in some way. You look at your flawlessly, tan skin as it starts
to itch. Your eyes widen as a thin red mark forms just to the right of your
navel. You can’t help but watch as it snakes it way up and over the mounds of
your abs. It looks as though your skin has just split. Horrified, you watch as
more marks just like the first appear on your flat middle. A few appear on your
sides and under your arms as well. You want to look away, but you just…can’t.
As you watch one finish digging its way from your armpit to you pec, you notice
that your nipples look larger. And indeed, you watch as they puff up just a
bit, the areolas spreading out over your pecs, stretching out and growing
larger and larger. You think it must be a dream, but something tells you that
it’s all too real.

        Whether
it’s from fear or from some new change, you feel yourself begging to sweat. It
even feels harder to stand there in place. You feel so weak, like all of those
hours in the gym are suddenly gone. Your body just feels so heavy. You’ve been
so busy concerning yourself with your now-huge nipples that you didn’t notice
as your abs slowing drowned in a sudden rush of fat onto your middle. It’s so
foreign to you that you can barely comprehend what it is. You feel your own
skin yield against our fingers as you press against it. Fear grips you. Skin
blemishes you could handle, but getting fat?! You watch as your belly
progresses from flat, to rounded, to a full-on pot belly. The tight waistband
of the swim trunks cuts into your sides as you watch the lower portion of your
belly begin to grow faster than the top, slowly lopping over the knot on the
front of your trunks. Your sides are pressing against the fabric too as love
handles form to your left and to your right. Somehow, you make the connection
that the lines covering your body now are actually stretch marks, though they
seem to have formed prior to the actual stretching. None of them even appear to
be tight yet, meaning this is far from over.

         Panic
fills your stomach as your stomach fills out with even more weight. You bang on
the stall door, but all that does is send waves through your new, heavy gut. You
can feel the ripples spreading up from your ponderous middle to your pecs
which, once pronounced with muscle, are now beginning to fill out with blubber.
They begin to puff out, growing to match the massively overstretched nipples
that you’ve already developed. It’s a foreign feeling for you to feel your
chest rubbing against the top of your belly, but as your huge tits sag lower
and lower, it’s quickly becoming impossible to avoid. Your mind fights to
accept that this is even really happening. You lament the fact that no girl is
ever going to want you like this. That thought is accompanied by the sound of
strained fabric crying out in pain as the trunks  and you underwear split, destroyed by your
ass, which has gone from firm to fat to cellulitic in a matter of moments. You
turn to see it, huge and bulbous, shaking from the movement of you rotating
your weighty body. From this angle, you can see that your legs have not been
spared from the fattening. Your calves bulge out, growing larger in circumference
until they surpass the girth of your thighs, giving you an almost comical
shape. It isn’t long before you feel the skin on your thighs bulging outwards
as they too, expand. You let out a yelp as you feel your underwear riding up
your billowing thighs, the last remaining fabric pinching your genitals. Relief
comes as your thighs finally burst the last shreds of the trunks and your
underwear.

         As they
fall to the ground, you look up into the mirror at your massive, naked body.
You have no concept of how much you must weigh, since you’ve never been a pound
over 170 your entire life. Now, though, your body is spreading out more and
more. Your breathing has gotten heavier as you’ve grown and with each heaving
breath, and because of the pounds added each breath, it never looks like you
fully exhale. Your eyes drift down below the curve of your belly, searching for
your cock. You always were proud of it, weren’t you? You struggle to see any of
your 8 inches. Your thighs, now rubbing together, push your balls out, engulfing
the lower portion of your cock, while the rest is being sucked into a massive
fat pad forming below your gut. You watch in horror as it slowly fades from
view as you belly sags lower and lower. You can still feel it getting swallowed
up as your pubic fat grows around it. You can’t believe this. How are you ever
going to get off again? This question nags on as you feel the curves of your
gut finally slapping against your legs. You’re beginning to look like a pile of
rising dough. The only thing that remains untouched by the encroaching lard is
your chiseled face, the backward cap still resting snugly on top.

          You
continue to mourn the loss of the use of your penis for your own pleasure, when
an odd feeling starts within you. It’s a dull itch that gradually grows into a
slight yearning. You suddenly realize that it’s been forever since someone gave
your ass a good pounding. Wait, what? You don’t like men do you? You can’t seem
to remember. You’ve always enjoyed getting fucked in the ass haven’t you? Or
for that matter, fucked in your fat rolls. That’s right, you remember, you’ve
always been huge so it just works out really well that you like getting fucked
so much! You could probably go for a good fuck right now!

         You
look at the pile of lard in the mirror, now easily nearing the size of a 600
pound man. A rumbling in your stomach suddenly sends a wave through your
digestive system, and a massive belch blasts from your mouth. As it does, you
can see your cheeks puff outward, fat obscuring your prominent jawline and
cheekbones. A faint hint of stubble forms on your smooth complexion. Another
burp flies out, adding another ring of fat around your neck and a thick
covering of facial hair. This continues until your face is unrecognizable
beneath a deep golden beard and an even deeper layer of flab. Your beard
tickles your chest as your neck fat rubs against it. Another rumble from your
stomach, and, this time, almost proudly, you blast out a massive fart, feeling
your massive as vibrate as you watch it expand, spreading to the edges of the
full length mirror in front of you. One more blast from your rear, and your
whole body expands, overfilling the mirror. You can’t see the lateral curves of
your love handles any longer as they lop off to either side. Your belly hangs
down almost to your knees, covering your thighs which spread out almost as wide
as your love handles. Your huge moobs hang like heavy saddle bags from your
shoulders, encircling your chest in blubber. They’re so big that they force
your fat-laden arms up from their usual perpendicular. You trace the multitude
of stretch marks with your sausage fingers, chills running over your massive
body. You feel a swell of pride in your size. . You stare at your reflection in
the mirror, after all, how could you not? How could anyone not?  

         Slowly,
you lean over, your fat bunching up around itself, and grab your clothes. You
pull on your 10X t-shirt and your 80’ waist shorts. Turning around in the tiny
stall, you grab the door handle and pull it open. Your sides graze the
doorframe as you waddle out, eager to go out and find yourself a hot chaser.

restrixxxion:

Matt was nervous.

He’s been nervous for weeks now. Setting up a new Grindr profile entailed posing for an endless barrage of self-inflicted reality. Getting the phrasing right on the profile, sounding cool, but not too self-conscious, alluding to the right cultural indicators, injecting an appropriate amount of humor without coming across as tiresome…it was all nerve-wracking. All of this even before the actual dates, which would invariably go wrong in exciting, unforeseen, and eldritch ways.

Until he met Liam —that’s when he ascended to an entirely new plateau of nervousness.

Liam was the kind of person who paid for french fries for the whole table and didn’t take a single bite. He was the kind of person who made allusions to contemporary literature, but it didn’t sound douchey. It just sounded like he really liked to read. He was the kind of person who probably called his mother every week just to check in. He probably didn’t even ask her for any money. He was the kind of person who somehow managed to maintain the body of an australian surf bro, but would sooner let you know his thoughts about the politics of prison reform than his current gym routine.

All of this made Matt nervous. They have gone on two dates and Matt had literally no idea whether it was going well or not. He felt, however, that he was fucking it up already. That he was on a different wavelength altogether.

Matt didn’t particularly like reading, nor was he eloquent about politics or literature, nor did he fashion himself particularly endearing or righteous or any of those other attributes that are so rarely found in the trolls of Grindr. He was tall, yes, and he had heavy, dark features to his face —an indicator of his southern European heritage. But he would never have Liam’s defined abs, wavy blonde hair, a bubble butt. If this were the mid-90s, Liam would have been at home in an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue, with his tight little body posed jumping off a diving board or opening a pick-up truck or some other American boy-next store homoerotic fantasy. Matt’s body, though tall, was much too average for such a world. He had patchy body hair. He didn’t work out and his burgeoning love handles let you know it. At least he was hung, but leading off with your dick size was not the way to win over peerless Liam. Matt wondered whether wearing tight enough jeans would get Liam’s attention on his package, or if it would just make him look chubbier.

Matt walked down the path in uneven, pained steps as the jeans prevented him from his normal stride. He was meant to meet Liam at a bar on the other side of the park, which was quite lightless and noisy with the whirring of cicadas on this particular summer’s night. Matt was rehearsing topics of conversation for his date —should he talk about his Dr. Who addiction? Would that expose him as a commoner? Would it make him seem unique and interesting? What part of the park was this?

Wrapped up in his own head, Matt wasn’t sure at what point it was that he started down a dirt path through the brush, rather than continuing on down the concrete sidewalk along the road. Yet he vaguely felt as if he were heading in the right direction. The park, after all, wasn’t that big, he thought, and besides, he’s bound to hit the road again sooner or later. Should he get there before or after Liam? Is it cool to make someone wait? Why didn’t anyone teach Matt these rules?

Halfway down the ever-darkening dirt path is when Liam first saw them. It was impossible not to see their yellow, almost bioluminescent glow, staring out at him like a pack of wild creatures’ eyes in the bushes.

From a distance, Matt immediately recognized them as mushrooms of some glowy sort, which is odd, because mushrooms certainly do not glow. What you might not know about Matt, however, is that what he lacks in awareness of culture and sophistication, he more than makes up for in knowledge of psychedelic drugs. Coming of age in the early 90s, Matt was no stranger to raves, ecstasy parties, and the joys of dropping a handful of mushrooms with a few friends in nature. Matt and his friends are used to foraging and cultivating mushrooms —he has, after all, spent countless hours reading on sites like Erowid about the differences between the poisonous and pleasurable of the fungi kingdom.

Matt left the path and approached the strange community of spongey mushrooms, which seemed to be flourishing some distance from the base of a gargantuan, barren tree. From a distance, they seemed to emit a kind of goldenrod haze, like opening the door to a gas station late at night. Yet as he approached, the air seemingly cleared of the arcane light. Matt could not be more certain that he stood in front of a gift from Pan himself, a bounty of hallucinogenic mushrooms ripe for the picking. He also knew that people, such as potential boyfriends, often thought drugs were dangerous, interesting, or maybe even cool. He gathered all the mushrooms he could carry into his coat pockets and found his way back to the road.

Liam sat with his back to the door at the bar. Matt instantly recognized him, he is somewhat embarrassed to say from his backside. His muscular butt, wrapped tight in a pair of white denim jeans, gently pressed into the barstool and spilled over it, ever so slightly, the dough of it embracing the hard wood. Liam turned around and waved Matt over, snapping him out of his reverie.

Matt was less nervous now. He had an ace up his sleeve —drugs in his pockets. He was certain this would impress Liam. But he had to wait for the right moment to spring it on him. He didn’t want to sound eager or creepy. Just casual. Just, ‘hey look what i found wouldn’t it be cool if we did these but like who cares?’ It was after their second whiskey that Matt made his move.

“So I don’t like…so don’t feel like this is weird or anything…but I found some mushrooms in the woods. I mean, like, psychedelic ones.”

Liam smiled and Matt immediately felt relief. Liam wasn’t freaked out and he wasn’t weirdly puritanical, which was step one.

“That’s so cool!,” Liam replied. “But are you sure they’re the right kind? I heard they can be really dangerous if you don’t identify them right.”

“Oh they’re the real deal,” said Matt. “I’m actually kind of an expert in all things psilocybin.” Matt smirked.

Liam smirked back. “Well I haven’t done mushrooms in years. I hope you’re going to ask me to take some with you.”

Matt tried very hard not to lose his cool. “Yea why not?,” he said casually —disinterested, even.

Matt and Liam decided to take the mushrooms right at the bar bathroom and then Uber back to Matt’s apartment. They take some time to work, anyway. The plan was to get to Matt’s and put on some stand-up or some ambient drone music —just play it by ear, really. All Matt really wanted to accomplish was to giggle and hang out with Liam, show him his real self, his non-nervous self. He liked spending time with Liam. He liked listening to his take on politics and art and he liked looking at him too.

Matt handed Liam his portion underneath the bar, and Liam sauntered off to the bathroom, his ass swaying with relentless confidence as he made his way across the room. A few minutes later, he clapped Matt on the back, exclaiming, “You’re up!” Matt smiled, but felt a rush of tension across his neck when he thought he witnessed a dull yellow glow escape Liam’s eyes. Matt blinked and it was gone. He’d also drank 3 whiskeys by this point, and they were, after all, basking in the neon glows of a poorly lit bar. He made his way into the bathroom and swallowed his mushrooms, which tasted, to Matt, like concentrated confidence. Like the best date he never planned.

Liam had already contacted an Uber while Matt was in the bathroom, and the pair made their way out.

Matt felt bloated in the back seat of the car. A common side effect of mushrooms, stomach discomfort. He was beginning to regret his decision to wear tight pants this evening. Bloated, not only physically, but also a bloating of the mind. He continued to half pay attention to Liam, but found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He felt full, so full. And heavy. Not tired, but dulled. It felt as if he’d been awake for days and nights on end eating fried chicken and smoking marijuana.

Liam watched Matt in the back of the car, not particularly minding that he had stopped paying attention to him. Liam actually found something quite sexy about Matt, but he really couldn’t put his finger on any particular thing that made him stand out. He kind of liked his big nose, his big frame, the hint of a double chin. He seemed distinguished, even though he was a year or two older than Liam. It didn’t hurt that he dressed impeccably. Liam just wished it was all more. You see, he had a thing for daddies. Big daddies. Liam wanted to feel the heft of a much bigger man upon him, the weight of the solid mass of an experienced older man upon his lithe, athletic body. He acknowledged the Matt was tall and on the chubby side of average, but he was so lacking in confidence and gravitas. Liam was just not sure he really desired Matt.

Upon deliberating Matt’s daddy-potential, a blinding yellow tide poured into Liam’s vision, like looking directly into a liquid sun. It lasted only a moment, before his sight returned to normal — so quick that he wasn’t sure that anything had actually happened. Liam looked down at his hands and was sure it was simply the mushrooms kicking in. Nothing to worry about. Liam reminded himself that mushrooms are fun, and that Matt was essentially a harmless teddy bear. Liam smiled and looked out the window, feeling the heat of Matt’s thigh brushing up against his own. He was happy to be here on this date, hoping that his attraction to Matt would come later.

Yet, the heat of Matt’s leg against him intensified, turning less into a gentle meeting of two bodies into a more forceful squeezing of Liam into his side of the car. Liam turned to look at Matt. Was Matt intentionally pushing Liam? Liam couldn’t tell whether Matt actually needed all of this space or not. Was he always this wide? This tall? The back of the car was dark, and, from his side profile, Liam wasn’t confident he remembered what Matt actually looked like.

They arrived at Matt’s apartment. Liam exited the car, with Matt following behind. He watched as Liam’s butt strained at the back of his painted-on white jeans while he exited the vehicle. Matt blinked a strange, yellow blink before returning to the matter at hand. Did he really appreciated how well endowed Liam was in the rear before? His butt bulged out obscenely. They were two meaty buns which sprung forth from his small waist. The twin cheeks jiggled and wrestled with each other as he sprung onto the sidewalk, as if to jest, “I’m fat! I’m here to get fucked!” You rarely see an ass stretch out the fabric like that on a man. In fact, he almost looked like a woman from this angle. Matt wondered whether anyone had ever made that mistake before. Could Liam catch straight men gawking over his butt? The thought made him twitch.

Liam watched Matt struggle across the carseat to pluck his bulk out of the car. He was looking thick tonight, especially in the middle. Matt’s belly was starting to jut out directly in front of him, as if it were on its own path, on its own way, independent of Matt’s will. It was taught against his coat, pulling its buttons precariously against their little threads. He seemed taller too, and like he was blocking out the light no matter which direction it came from. His face looked older too. Bigger. The double chin of his is starting to stick. It looked good on him, though. It belonged. “So thick,” Liam thought.

Matt had a naughty idea. Maybe it was the mushrooms or the alcohol making him feel funny, or maybe he was just feeling more comfortable around Liam, more himself. But he couldn’t help it. He reached into his pocket, and grabbed his keys, and purposefully dropped them in the direction of Liam.

“Fuck! My keys! Help me out, would you?”

When Liam bent over, he could almost feel the blood rush out of his frontal lobe into his groin. Liam’s bountiful globes of flesh swayed at just the right height, providing Matt with an impressive view of their width. “That butt is on the verge of a prison break,” Matt laughed to himself. But his intent grew. “It wants to be free, wants to be worshipped and slapped and jiggled as I enter it,” he thought. Matt could almost see them heaving, cresting, mushrooming from his back. He was blossoming.

Liam exclaimed a yip equal parts embarrassment and shock as his jeans split down his backside, revealing a wide crack of pale flesh between the jagged denim. Liam shot back up and tried to use his hands to cover his exposed butt. Yet a pale of confusion came over his face when he heard the tear pulling apart even further. Liam attempted to turn himself around to see what was going on, but only Matt had a full view of the situation. Liam’s ass was getting bigger by the second, right outside on the sidewalk. Liam felt as if he should be panicking, but couldn’t really bring himself too. Instead, he felt mildly bemused as he pulled off the remains of his jeans. Matt giggled, taking off his coat and covered the overgrown pear, ushering Liam inside and to the elevators.

“I’m just..I’m so..wow..embarrassing! I’m not sure how that happened,” Liam slurred. It was so challenging to think right now! But it felt OK, because he was with Matt now. Liam held Matt’s coat around his waist, and turned to look at Matt behind him. He must have forgotten how tall Matt was. Liam stood eye to eye with a pair of thick, conic breasts straining against Matt’s shirt. Matt’s nipples made themselves very known, like tiny sausages waiting to be sucked on. He thought for a moment what it would be like to suckle upon them, like he was a baby. Matt’s shirt held his chest like a bra, whereas his belly was almost entirely exposed to the air. It was covered in a thick pelt of brown and black hair. Liam giggled and poked his finger into Matt’s belly button. He could tell his love handles were going to be truly spectacular one day, albeit they were already bulging for attention. Matt’s stance seemed wider than before, his fattened stumpy legs doing their best to hold up a piano’s worth of weight. “I like this…,” Liam said, entranced. “Wider and thicker,” he giggled.

Matt felt big, important, like he had done a good thing by helping poor pants-less Liam into his apartment. “I helped.” Matt said, in a deep, serious baritone voice, which made Liam giggle even harder. “Come into my bedroom. Let’s see if we can find you new pants!,” Matt said. However, Liam was already laying face down on the couch, watching Matt and giggling to himself, softly. Liam’s fat pillowy ass was now clearly exposed to Matt. Matt approached, hypnotized by the billowing plump rolls of fat so out of place on such a small frame. He looked like he had two sets of butt implants. Like a former 400 lbs man who had lost weight everywhere except his ass. Like a heart shaped balloon being slowly inflated. “It must be …uh..hard to find a seat on the bus…with that thing?,” Matt finally said. Matt watched as Liam flipped over. He began to take his top off. Matt watched as Liam’s abs slowly began to disappear into a soft, slight, hairless, pink belly. “He looks good like this,” Matt thought. “He’s becoming such a chubby boy.”

Liam was confused about the hulking daddy that hovered over him. Confused in a good way, he supposed. Matt was growing as wide as he was tall —and he was very tall. His shoulders were broad, and his underlying musculature sturdy, like a man who used to do a lot of football before going to seed. His bulbous gut was only one of a series of sweeping curves to Matt’s body —his tits, his horse thighs, his fat greedy chipmunk cheeks. He also could not help but notice the mammoth shadow growing across his left thigh, a growing tent post that threatened to split him in two. Liam got up and helped Matt undress. He stood before the bulky bear, who was starting to resemble something between a power lifter and a sumo wrestler. His face was perhaps the most changed part of him, with prominent chins, inflated cheeks, and bulbous, greedy lips. He was a brute.

Matt embraced Liam in a bear-hug. He placed his meaty paws upon Liam’s fat ass, and thought about stuffing the soft, cellulite-pocked cheeks into women’s underwear. That would make it really look decadent and obscene. Matt turned Liam around and began to go to work on Liam’s ass. It took a lot of effort for Matt —everything seemed to be so heavy, like every movement was through jello. Yet his effort was not unrewarded. Matt worked Liam’s ass over like it was his duty. He started off slow, with pudgy digits expanding the fattened hole, exploring and kneading the dough like he was going to turn it into perfectly baked bread.

Liam felt the heft of the heavy man enter him. He felt the weight of Matt’s gut on the small of his back. He felt it slowly advancing over his mammoth ass, jiggling and ebbing and flowing together. He felt Matt growing inside of him too, the pleasure expanding like the rest of him.

Matt reached around and wrapped his beefy palm around Liam’s cock. This took some maneuvering to get around all of the rippling beef between the two. Matt felt Liam get harder, but also shrink. Matt pounded Liam from behind and pulled at him from the front, forcing the boy into orgasm. Matt finally came inside the boy with the whale’s ass, whose cock had retreated to the size of one of Matt’s nipples. Liam lay, spent, feeling every contour of his new body without any mental power left.

“You wont be needing one of these anyway, son.” Matt said with a yellow glow in his eye. He pulled his endless dick out and gently tapped it across Liam’s mouth.

Matt was no longer nervous.

wesleybracken:

Ty pulled his car into the driveway, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened to him at the store. It had just been a regular grocery store, and yet, when he’d gone back to pick up some more cleaning equipment–everything was gone. The shelves were simply empty, and when he’d asked an employee what was going on, they hadn’t even been able to give him a straight answer. He’d left the building in a huff, but as soon as he had, a short elderly man with a beard running down to the pavement had stopped him and shoved a spray bottle into his hand.

“Here boy,” the man said with a chuckle, “You’re going to need something extra-strength to deal with that house you’re trying to clean up!” Before Ty could even say anything, the man had run off, laughing. He must have just been a crazy guy–but every store he’d been to after that had been just as empty as the first. It seemed that no one in town had any cleaning equipment–well, aside from the bottle of “Clean-All” the old man had given him. Annoyed, he climbed out of the car and went up to the front door of the house he and his dad were cleaning after their lessee had skipped out on them, and went inside.

“Dad! I’m back. You’re not going to believe this–I went all over town and no one had anything! How crazy is that?”

“Pretty…pretty damn crazy. Son…Son, get in here, I got…we got something you need to do. I’m in the living room.”

Ty walked into the next room, taking the bottle of Clean-All with him, turned the corner, and froze when he say his dad sitting on the chair, a half-smoked cigar clamped in his maw, wearing a filthy yellow jockstrap he was certain he’d thrown out, along with a black muscle shirt and denim vest. “Dad–what the fuck are you doing? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“Son–I need you to…to get over here, and lick…lick up all the piss–all the fuckin’ piss!” Mick said, laughing then, and he stood up, “Gonna make you fucking lick it up, son. Gonna…Gonna turn you intah mah little pigcunt!”

Mick charged Ty, tackling him to the ground. He went down hard, scattering a pile of trash all over the floor as he landed, the spray bottle skittering from his hand, and then his dad was on him, pinning his son’s arms to his sides with his piss damp thighs, grabbing the back of his head and shoving him face first into the filthy jock he was wearing. “Dad! Dad, what are you doing, let me go!”

“Now now, jus’ calm down son, it’ll all be alright soon, we…we have it all planned out, don’t you worry, we have it all planned out.”

Ty tried to fight back, but when he opened his mouth to fight–the jock wiggled and then shoved its way into his mouth like it was alive, and as he tasted the rank piss, musk and cum of the jock, he felt–and heard–a voice. A strong, powerful will assaulting his mind, telling him to suck on it, to lick it to worship it. To crawl over, snorting and grunting, and lick up all his Pa’s piss while his Pa fucked his fat–fat piggy hole, how hot it was gonna be, servin’ his Pa, ‘n cleanin’ his filthy body, ‘n wearin’ all these fuckin’…fuckin’ filthy clothes. They needed to be worn, he could hear them, and he would, he’d wear them all he’d wear them–

With a scream, Ty managed to block out the voice for a second, long enough to put his hands up on his dad’s back and shove himself underneath him, disgusted as his nose squeezed past his dad’s reeking taint, but he was free, and he rolled over onto his hands and knees, grabbed the closest thing to him as a weapon, and stood up.

The spray bottle. He’d grabbed the fucking bottle of Clean-All–what fucking good was that going to do? Still, it was better than nothing, and he held it out as his dad stood up, laughing. “Slippery little pig–not gonna matter. Gonna rape ya little pig, gonna rape yer hole till ya like it, we’re gonna wear ya little pig, we’re gonna wear ya, ‘n wear ya out!”

His dad charged him again, and Ty squeezed the trigger, a cloud of spray slamming into his dad, who screamed in pain and stumbled back. As Ty watched, he saw the shirt and vest he was wearing writhe in agony, before they dissolved into some sort of goop on the ground, and his dad looked clean–normal–or at least the top half did. In a panic, Mick grabbed the jockstrap and clambored out of it, wadding it up and hurling it across the room, where it slammed into the wall, landed on the floor, and…stood up.

Ty couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then he noticed that the whole room was shuffling–all of the clothing was climbing out of bags, and then they swarmed. Ty was able to keep them back from him and his father for a few moments, long enough for Mick to stand up, and then they were rushing through the house, a horde of filthy clothing pursuing them, and a few seconds too late–Ty realized they were actually herding them deeper into the house. A grungy flannel shirt opened the basement door, and the clothes surged forward, shoving Mick and Ty into the doorway, sending them tumbling down the stairs and into the darkness below.

Neither of them had been down into the rental’s basement yet–they’d been too afraid. Mick quickly untangled himself from his son and stood up–his head bonking the chain attached to the single light. Thankful he’d found that at least, he reached up and clicked it–light flooding the basement–or what had been a basement. Now, well, he didn’t know what their lessee had been up to, but the room looked more like a dungeon more than anything else. In the room, he saw a sling and some sort of wooden cross, and the walls were lined with all sorts of paddles, dildos, whips, and then he saw it. The mass of leather and metal coalescing in one corner of the room–there was so much of it. He watched as the mass stood up–a seven foot tall golem of leather and chain which stalked toward them. “Ty! Look out!” Mick shouted, but one thick arm swung out, extending as it flew and slammed into Mick, throwing him back against one of the concrete walls if the room, before wrapping itself around his son and dragging him into the mass.

“No!” Mick shouted, and crawled up, his head spinning. He had to find the bottle his son had used, he looked around the room, saw it lying below the stairs and ran over, only to have something fly into his face and send him stumbling back–the jockstrap.

No, no–not the jockstrap. His jockstrap. His favorite jockstrap. His one and only jockstrap. He wore it everywhere, all the time, why in the world had he taken it off? He took a deep inhale of the pouch, and then pulled it back on, shivering as the pissdamp pouch cupped his cock and balls, gently massaging him until he was half hard and leaking like a faucet. He let out a groan of pleasure, and felt his body growing grungier as he stood there–and took a deep whiff of his pits. Not dirty enough–he wasn’t dirty enough. Still, he…he could fix that, but he had to…destroy it. Yes, destroy the evil thing, destroy it destroy the thing that hurts them destroy it–

He tromped over to the bottle of Clean-All and picked it up, but before he could obey the jockstrap, because he knew he would only have one chance–he turned the nozzle towards his crotch and sprayed.

The scream that ripped through his mind was excruciating, but only lasted a moment, as the jockstrap, caught in the full blast, dissolved in moments, leaving Mick panting and shaking. He did it–he didn’t know it that would work–but it had.

“Dad! Help!”

Mick turned and saw his son tangled up in the mass of leather. As soon as he spoke, however, a strap of leather wrapped around his throat, turning his face blue, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the beast. Mick ran over, bottle outstretched, and sprayed the leather before it could smack him again. The golem yanked itself back and then recoiled, his son dropping unconscious from it’s body to the concrete floor as the leather retreated to its corner. Mick grabbed his son under his arms and flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and tromped up the stairs, one hand steadying Ty, and the other brandishing the spray bottle.

At the top of the stairs, it was clear that destroying the jockstrap had meant something to the rest of the clothing. They menaced them, but kept their distance, well out of the spray bottle’s range, and so Mick, huffing and puffing by the end, managed to weave his way out of the house, stumbling down the front steps naked, threw open the car door with the keys from his son’s pocket, and laid Ty out in the back seat. He hurried around before anyone could see him, climbed in and started the car, driving off as fast as he could, before he slowed down and pulled off to the side of street, shaking and panicked and terrified of what had just happened. He laid his head on the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths…and then he heard his son chuckle.

He looked back, past the center console, and saw that Ty was awake–and that he’d changed. His son had been a string bean, but in the course of a few minutes, as they’d driven away, he’d put on a ton of muscle, and as Mick watched, tattoos snaked their way past his bicep and down his forearm. “Too…too tight…” Ty said, his voice deep and thick. He grabbed his shirt in one hand and ripped it away with a grunt, revealing a thick leather harness underneath. It must have wormed its way on when Ty had been in the grip of it, and Mick hadn’t checked–

Before he could grab the bottle of Clean-All, however, a slender leather collar which had twined its way around one of the harnesses straps shot out and coiled its way around Mick’s neck, choking him. He clawed at it, but it was no use–he was too weak, too…too submissive, too pitiful he had to serve, serve his son, serve the master the master was more important. Struggling for air, and for his sanity, Mick watched his son continue to change, growing taller, and more brutish by the minute, his eyes dull and cruel and masterful and Mick loved him so much, didn’t he? Loved him as a son as a master yes his master. His one and only master.

“Back.” Ty growled, sneering at his pitiful father as he spun around, turned the car on and sped back towards the house, desperately fighting with the collar for control, but realizing he’d already lost. Ty, however, grabbed the bottle of Clean-All from the passenger seat, considered in dumbly for a moment, and then tossed it out the window. They weren’t going to need that. He had more important things to do. They pulled back into the driveway, and Mick was pleading with his son, “Please, please Ty, snap out of it–don’t do this, don’t do this to us! You have to fight it–you have–”

He was silenced by Ty grabbing him by the throat with one massive, furred hand and squeezing the voice out of him, “Shut up slave. Inside, now!”

Mick felt his cock pulse in desire, and then he was out of the car and hurrying up the walk and back into the house, his son lumbering after him. Inside the living room, the clothing had all gathered, and Mick stood there–terrified and naked. “This one,” Ty growled, shoving Mick forward, “Yours–This one–ours, in the basement. Leave collar.”

The clothing swarmed then, tackling Mick to the floor, all of it so filthy, so wonderfully, amazingly filthy. They fought over him, and he wanted to wear them all, he did, but he couldn’t. A disgusting wifebeater several sizes too large slipped onto him, followed by a muddy pair of overalls with a bit too much room for a gut, and a pair of grungy socks and boots, and then the rest backed off, and Mick stood up, feeling his body change as the clothing wanted. He was growing, his gut filling out with fat, the collar needing to expand as his neck thickened, and was soon covered my a massive wiry beard that grew out of him chin.

“Aw yeah, filthy fuckin’ redneck hick, gotta cum, gotta git dirty, we gotta git so fuckin’ filthy, fuck…” Mick groaned, massaging his cock into the denim. But almost as soon as he had changed, the clothes were ripped away by others which pulled themselves onto his body, and changed him again. He lost track of how many outfits he wore over the next few hours, his body changing to suit each other, and they all wanted him–needed him. He could never leave, there were too many–but then, he heard the voice, the deep roar of his son from the basement, “Come. Time for punishment.”

The collar wouldn’t let him say no, and he hurried down into the basement, where he found his son. He was massive, at least eight feet tall, and it looked like every bit of leather in the basement had managed to wrap itself around him. His eyes were cruel and angry and vicious, and as soon as Mick fell in front of him, straps shot out and wrapped their way around him, and then it began, his son beating and torturing him for hours, the leather feeding off his pain and agony. This was their life now, serving the cloth, and it would consume him before long, like it had consumed the ones before him, but he would serve, and serve happily.

Always been an old favorite of mine! It’s a vacation week! So that means some reblogs, some old stuff, and maybe a preview of something special to come.

It’s my birthday this week, August was rough, and I need a moment to breathe and get my footing again. There will be content this week, but it won’t be new stuff of mine–it will likely be a mix of reblogs from some other authors I want to highlight, some old gems from the archive, and probably a little sample of some Patreon exclusive content I’ll be releasing this month.

Thanks for reading as always! Normal content will resume next Monday.