Category: Uncategorized

The Catcall Curse (Part 5)

“Come on now, don’t be scared–don’t you want to play with a nasty pig like me?”

Fuck, did he ever. Jack quivered, the energy building up inside of him. He’d never really been able to have that much control over, whatever power this was. All he’d ever really been able to do was point it in someone’s direction, give it an idea to go on, and then push–but it was moments like these that terrified him the most, because this was when he realized how little control he had. This would kill him one day, this energy–he could feel it–but at that moment, all he felt was life and vigor throbing in every bit of his body. There was too much light up close and too much dark at a distance, like his vision was scrubbing away everything that wasn’t this…this sexy, disgusting pig in front of him. But he had to fight it. This had already gone too far, no one deserved this. He could feel what the spell wanted, but it needed more from him to make it happen. If he could just get away before it got anything else out of him, then it would lose strength eventually. However, getting away was going to be…difficult.

“Well? Why are you just standing there? Go on, say something, talk dirty to me, tell me what a disgusting fucker I am, I want to hear it.”

“Please…I know you want this, but…but pick someone else, anyone else. You don’t want me,” Jack said, but even as he said it, he knew reason would fall deaf in this space. Curses spoke a twisted logic all their own–the pig had no time for this. But more than that, the spell was…angry. Not that spell could feel emotions, but it could sense him pushing against it, and it was more than ready to push back.

“Oh, but look at you daddy. You obviously came to play tonight. I love a man in uniform–are you here to punish me, officer?” The pig ran a finger down the front of Jack’s leather uniform shirt, tight against his body. Hadn’t…he been wearing something more casual, earlier? It was the spell–it was trying to weaken his resolve, and it was working. The pig started groping Jack’s cock through the tight leather breeches he was wearing, and he groaned, precum leaking into the gap between skin and leather. “Such a big tool, and you don’t want to use it? Am I not naughty enough for you, sir?”

“No–No, I’m not going to fall for this. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What’s that, daddy?”

“You’re…it’s not going to work, you…stupid pig.”

“Fuck, I am stupid, aren’t I, sir?”

“So fucking stupid, no fucking brains at all. The only thing a pig like you is good for is as a couple of holes for big fucking cocks,” Jack said, his voice turning to a snarl. No, what was he saying? He shook his head, and forced himself to take a step back, ignoring how…hard his cock had gotten saying that. “No, I can fight this. Have some fucking will, Jack!” He said to himself.

The pig laughed, “You don’t have any fucking will daddy. Big fucking stupid brutes like you only know how to do two things–drool, and fuck. Look at that fucking body of yours, every bit of you stuffed with testosterone. No room in that skull for brains. You won’t have any fucking will when I’m done with you,” the pig said, it’s voice dropping into a lower register which made Jack shiver with terror and lust, but the words he said kept reverberating in him. He tried to fight, but he didn’t know how, his body expanding, coating itself with hair, every thought draining from his mind aside from a deep, endless desire to fuck. With one hairy forearm the brute wiped drool from it’s beard, and snarled.

“Fuckin’ pig, damn slut, bend the hell over, gotta fuckin’ plow you!”

He was so…big all of a sudden. Nothing felt right, or was he just clumsy? It didn’t fucking matter, not anymore. He slammed the pig down onto a table and yanked his cock free, ramming it deep, fucking like a beast, huffing and roaring, spittle flying everywhere, pushing his energy out now. Had to fucking punish this pig. This pig was nothing, this pig was property, this pig was worthless! Now there really was a vortex around them, the men surrounding them could feel the curse pulling at their lives, their will, their souls. The room started to bend and warp, shifting and changing into something entirely new, Jack powerless to stop it, powerless to do anything at all. The pig beneath him was shifting as well, changing into…into something. It was coming from him, some image, but he couldn’t keep it straight, all he knew was to fuck, to punish, to brutalize, to mark, to humiliate.

He exploded, at some point. He came, and the spell sucked the last bit of energy from him that it needed, and finally completed itself, the leather bar slowly coming back into focus, no man in the room unchanged at this point, but all Jack could do was keep fucking, and fucking, and fucking.

The Catcall Curse (Part 4)

In the dimness of the bar, it seemed to the pig that he’d been surrounded by a single wall of flesh, the lines and boundaries between men indiscernible from the shadows. The wall was in constant motion, the faces at the top shifting as men jostled for position at either end. No sooner would a cock slip into his mouth or ass, that someone else would push him away and take his place. There were…too many of them. Too many men. He couldn’t do this by himself, he couldn’t please all of these men. The spell needed outlets, and so, the singular mass around Clyde began to break apart, smaller bubbles forming.

The jeers would start out as benign, masculine posturing. One man would challenge the other’s prowess or form. But always one or two would be isolated, torn down further, unable to muster a returning challenge, finding the constant barrage of humiliation from the men now surrounding them to be…turning them on, not making them upset or angry. Soon, they were asking for for, begging the men to abuse them further, unable to keep their hands from their cocks, licking their lips, thinking about how good all of these men’s cocks would taste. From one pig came four. When four was too many, the spell made twelve pigs scattered throughout the room. Twelve was still too few–so it made twenty. All of them were slightly different–reflections of the particular crowd that shaped them and called them forth.

The spell tended to focus on deserving parties. Two of Clyde’s lieutenants, who had often been the crudest and loudest calling to the women, always competing with the old Clyde for the best comment of the day, found themselves surrounded by men, who began taunting them together:

“Look at you two, like a couple of faggots. Bet all you two brutes want is to have your cocks in each other’s faces!”

“Yeah, they might look like men, but you know they’ll moan like a couple a whores!”

The constant barrage of comments formed a constant static. They heard all of it, and yet couldn’t separate any one bit from the mass of sound, as they stroked and rubbed each other’s hair bellies, leaning in close for a deep kiss that only grew more intense as the crowd pulled in tighter around them. The two of them were still kissing, face to face, as the men forced them over a table and started working their asses over, first with their cocks, then with their fists, the two men’s construction gean becoming leather and rubber highlighted with red.

Others were pulled in by the spell because they showed an odd resistance. A younger man, who’d remained pressed to the wall–caught between a terror at what he was seeing urging him to flee, and a strange, external compulsion planting his feet and urging him to join in. The men noticed his reluctance, they began to break off, laughing, pointing and jeering at him:

“Hey little boy, don’t be shy, I know what that pretty ass of yours likes!”

“Got nothing to say? Good! Everyone knows a mouth like that isn’t meant for talking.”

One man stepped forward and started working the young man over, and the crowd surrounded them both, urging them both on, the daddy finding himself holding the leash of his cub’s collar, proud of how good his little boy was doing, his first night out. He was nervous, sure, but the catcalls were turning him on–everyone could see it–and after he’d drank a full load of his massive daddy’s cum, he was more than happy to be led around on his hands and knees, servicing anyone else his daddy liked.

Eventually, enough attention was diverted away from Clyde, that he discovered there was no one else around him–they had all lost interest, and gone off to look at the new whores forming their own orbits around the room. He was angry, frustrated. People were supposed to be looking at him, wanting him, disgusted by him, and he looked around until he laid eyes on the one person still paying him attention–a man he could just make out through the grimy window of the bar, hunkered down and staring at him. He beckoned him in, and saw the man’s eyes go wide.

Jack hadn’t wanted to be noticed. He’d been…happy observing the festivities inside the bar, content to avoid the full force of this incredibly savage curse as best he could. It wasn’t like it could do him any real damage–or at least he hoped it couldn’t. He hadn’t made one of these storms in a while, and he’d always been careful to keep his distance before. Now, he didn’t really have a choice, but to try and keep to the edge, and hope the wind wouldn’t pick him up with a sudden gust and whirl him in closer.

Then, Clyde saw him. Clyde didn’t just see him, however–it was more that Clyde knew him. The spell, through Clyde, recognized him, the power he had in him, and it was…hungry. It wanted to be bigger, it wanted to exact more justice. He was too close, this was too powerful, even for him. The pig…wanted him. He stood up, and fought his body moving him inside the bar, trying to protect himself from the power threatening to engluf him, but he felt helpless. That was, really, how curses worked–the harder you fought, the more they ensnared you until you couldn’t even fight anymore, until you couldn’t even imagine why anyone would fight this. But he had to fight, he had to. With all of his will, he froze himself a few yards inside, focusing his mind as best he could, pushing against the spell, trying to create a zone of protection for himself.

That, of course, couldn’t stop Clyde from approaching him. The pig could sense the power rolling off him, and he was so hungry for it. So hungry to be punished, desperate for it now. And this man, whoever he was–he could sense that no one would be able to punish him like he would, and with a laugh, he whispered in Jake’s ear with a voice not quite his own, “Come on now, don’t be scared–don’t you want to play with a nasty pig like me?”

The Catcall Curse (Part 3)

The rest of the men just stared at the clothes where they’d fallen in front of the pig, still kneeling on the ground. They’d all seen the pair of overalls…hadn’t they? But it was like, as they’d moved through the air they’d just…changed. It wasn’t denim anymore, but…leather, and something shiny and black. The pig licked it’s lips, eyes wide, tiny cock seeping cum, and it stood up and began to dress, moaning to himself. First, a pair of tight, rubber booty shorts– though minus the booty, allowing easy access to his hole. The leather bulldog harness next, the leather bands, flagging yellow and red on the right, of course. Then the socks and boots, and last, the collar, gaudily spiked. With a snort, Clyde ran his chubby hands over his smooth, fat body, relishing the…freedom. No one would be able to resist looking at him now, no man would be able to avoid the filthy thoughts he’d summon to their minds. He looked around, and the men surrounding him, the brutes, they were just staring at him. He knew what they wanted, what they saw. But why weren’t they taking him? Raping him? Owning him? Abusing him? It’s what he deserved, after all. It’s what they’d all been calling him.

The men in the ring were caught. On the one hand, they were all struggling to return to themselves, their old selves, though they would, unavoidably, remain warped in some way by the curse laid on Clyde. But on the other hand, their hearts and their groins were beginning to ache again at the sight of this…nasty disgusting whorepig, right there in the middle of them, just…aching to be used. They couldn’t look away from it, no matter how much they tried, watching it grope itself, knead it’s fat tits, sway it’s hips too and fro, that fat, supple ass jiggling, inviting them for another round, but they fought all the same. Some of them took a few, shuffling steps forward, before pausing. Others found themselves stroking their cocks stiff against their will, panting at the sight, but made no effort beyond merely staring. They all, instinctively knew that if the curse wanted the orgy to begin again, they would be helpless, but no…it wanted something else.

The dissatisfaction kept brewing in Clyde’s heart and soul, the men just staring at him, wanting him but it wasn’t enough. He wanted…more. More eyes, more men, to be in the midst of a crowd, to find new men to humiliate him, new men to abuse him. Even if they didn’t want to, he knew they wouldn’t be able to help themselves once they saw him, once they could see what a piggy slut he was. So he started walking, heading for the exit to the worksite. Everything that had already happened had occurred behind the relative privacy of a tall fence, but as soon as Clyde slipped out of the gate and onto the sidewalk, everyone around him simply stopped and stared. It was close to five, almost time to end the work day anyway, and the streets were crowded with men and women. The women–they didn’t even seem to notice him, but the men…every man stopped and stared, enraptured, sneering, disgusted and yet unbelievably aroused at the sight.

“Hey pig, how about you go home with me tonight? You wanna keep me warm?”

“I gotta big cock for that big mouth a yers, pig.”

Wolf calls, growls and howls, he looked over his shoulder and saw that the men from the worksite were following. They couldn’t resist him, the allure of him, and the men who saw him on the street fell into a parade. He could no longer separate out the jeers of the fuckers behind him, it was simply a cacophony of want. His booted feet kept walking, his hips swaying, putting on a proper show for them all. He…wasn’t quite sure where he was going, until he was suddenly there. The Horseshoe Tavern, down the street a couple of blocks from the worksite, where he and the other guys would often go for a few drinks after quitting time. It was a surprisingly spacious bar, with an already sizable crowd of men getting off of work, and as soon as he stepped inside, every eye swung in his direction, jaws dropped, leering up and down his body.

“Howdy boys!” He shouted, “How about we get this party started? Who wants to be the first to plow my holes?”

The men paused for a moment, and then the same thought occurred to them all at the same time. They cheered, a table was cleared, glasses thrown to the floor to shatter, and Clyde was bent over it, two men jostling for first position, hunger and confusion in their eyes, but they couldn’t resist the pig. After all, coming in, dressed like that, the thing was asking for it, right?

The Catcall Curse (Part 2)

Clyde told himself he’d just suck one. Maybe, if he sucked one, the rest of the guys would feel like they’d had their fun, and would leave him alone. He looked around, surveying his workmates’ cocks, sizing them up…wondering how each of them might taste. Eventually, one of the hornier guys made the choice for him. “It’s not a fuckin’ buffet, pig, fuckin’ get to work already!” He said, grabbing Clyde by the hair, pulling so the pig moaned in pain, and then slammed his cock into his mouth. It wasn’t one of the largest, by any measure–just around four inches…but as Clyde sucked, and he started getting hornier, he found himself caught up in a fantasy, that the shaft was growing in his mouth, down his throat, large enough to make him gag and choke, thick enough to stretch his jaw. Thinking about how…how much of a whore he’d feel like, if he was servicing a cock like that.

He was so caught up in his fantasy, that it took a deep thrust by the guy down his throat, forcing a gag out of him, to realize his sudden, unbidden fantasy had, in fact, come true. He didn’t have much time for thoughts after that, he was too caught up in figuring out how to breathe, while still getting the cock lodged as deep in his throat as he possible could, hungry for a load, a…big load, fuck, filling his mouth, running down his chin onto his chest…

The man exploded, his suddenly huge balls constricting and unleashing a blast of cum so huge, and so deep, that Clyde felt the seed push up into his sinuses, burning and making his eyes water as cum streamed out his nose and out from around his mouth, the man still thrusting until Clyde had to pull away, wiping cum from his face, the guy staring down, agog at his now massive cock and huge balls still dribbling cum onto the gravel, and Clyde could only gawk at it, at…at the size of it, and he realized he’d been mistaken. There was no way he could only suck one cock–he…he wanted more. Besides, it was only fair, right? But more than that, the guy’s couldn’t believe the change, and they were all fighting for the privilege of being the next cock in the whore’s magic mouth.

Clyde…kind of lost track, after that. For a while he stayed on his knees, sucking at a near constant clip–and every cock that entered his mouth grew, the smallest ending at eight inches, but thicker than a beer can. His hands were busy too, stroking cocks, keeping the men happy as they waited for their turn, but his brain wouldn’t stop…thinking. Imagining. Fantasizing. Sure, these guys were all hot, but…but they could be hotter. Bigger, of course. Hairier too. Rougher and cruder, beastly musky and stinking of manhood. The men’s combined musk welled up around them all, as their bodies responded to Clyde’s thoughts, their muscles expanding, guts growing heavy and hairy, none of them now less than six foot three, and there was Clyde in the midst of them, trying to juggle all of their cocks, all of their desire, but these new men were impatient. They hauled him up–he was amazed that just two of them could carry him–and he was bent over a sawhorse, the men forming a second queue for his ass. The first one hurt…and he liked that it hurt. He liked being tight, he liked feeling himself being torn apart by their massive cocks, their huge hands gripping his chubby hips tight enough to bruise, listening to them huff and pant and whisper crude nothings in his ears:

“Tightest ass I’ve ever felt on a pig, and plenty of cushion for pushin’–just built to be a slut.”

“Come on boy’s let’s coat the pig in cum, if it likes it so much–gotta make sure everyone knows this pig’s roll in life.”

“Soft and smooth, just how I like ‘em, not a fuckin’ hair to be seen!”

Overhead, on the roof, Jack had positioned himself for a birdseye view of the orgy down below. Yeah, this curse was a strong one–all he’d really planned on was Clyde becoming the new slut of his worksite. If the guys were too busy shouting at him and getting the pig horny, they wouldn’t have time to harass the women passing by–not that any of them would have an interest in women after this. But apparently the curse had collected some feedback–from where he was, he couldn’t tell whose fantasies were feeding it, but he watched the guys go from average looking blue collar guys, to huge brutes, coated with hair, bulging out of their jeans and shirts, all of them strong jaws, heavy brows, and when the wind blew, he could catch their collective musk on the wind, and fuck, it was even making him hard.

Still, the energy was beginning to wind down. All of the guys had taken four or five turns with either of Clyde’s now well worn holes, his fatter, now hairless body crusted with cum. He watched the thought appear in each guy’s mind at the same time, that the pig needed a shower of course. They got Clyde back on his knees and together they spewed their yellow, stinking piss all over him, the pig drinking down as much as he could, thirsty for more, and then the men started to emerge from their sexual haze, stumbling back, trying to process what in the world had just happened to them. That was it then–that wasn’t quite as powerful as he’d expected then…but why was there still a buzzing in the back of his head? Some…thread unresolved?

Indeed, the men in the circle were coming back to themselves, but looking again, it was clear Clyde was not. He was simply delirious with lust, sucking piss from his lip, rubbing it into his body, stroking his tiny cock, gut stretched taut with the men’s massive loads of cum. Had he really not had enough? Or had the curse ensnared him so tightly that even still, it felt he deserved more?

He saw two guys speak for a moment, and then one trotted over to his truck, and start digging around behind the seats. He came out with, what looked like to Jack, as a pair of overalls–probably something for the pig to wear, since they’d shredded his clothes to bits. The guy went over and tossed them to Clyde, probably telling him to get dressed, but in the air, Jack watched them ripple in shift, landing in front of Clyde as a couple pieces of leather. Jack took a deep breath–this had only been the first act then, but what now?

Miles didn’t know how everything had gone so wrong. It had seemed easy enough a task–Sonja had made him promise that he would lose fifty pounds before her sister’s wedding, as soon as they’d received the invitation nine months prior. It was going to be his first time meeting most of her extended family, and he did want to make a good impression, of course. But…he’d also never been very good at the whole diet and exercise thing. And so he’d turned to a slightly sketchy corner of the internet, which one of Sonja’s uncles recommended for him, through her. The pill promised that he could eat as much as he wanted, and he’d shed weight no matter what. It seemed like too good to be true, but supposedly he’d had great success with it. He added the pills to his diet…but not long after, he’d started to backslide.

He’d take the pills, and he’d be…ravenous afterwards. He’d do his best to only eat healthy stuff, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was packing on weight faster than ever before in his life. Sonja was furious–when he tried to tell her it was the pills, she refused to believe him. After all, they’d worked for her uncle! Was he calling her uncle a liar? They fought more and more, and he kept taking the pills, and by the time the wedding rolled around, he had to buy a whole new wardrobe for his now 450 pound body. They hadn’t had sex in months…and if he was being honest, she…just wasn’t that attractive anymore for some reason. 

The wedding was beautiful, but his relationship was a disaster. He couldn’t wait to get to the reception so he could get drunk off his ass and stuff his face. He saw Sonja hitting on one of the bridesgrooms, and they disappeared together–she made sure he saw. He tried to care, he really did, but he was just so…hungry. Food first. beer first. Then he could figure out what to do about that. 

“You must be Miles–Sonja told me quite a bit about you, boy.”

He looked over, and bellying up to the buffet was a huge man, at least 200 pounds heavier than he was. Miles just gaped, his cock hardening. He’d…started to notice that big men were turning him on, but he’d been trying to ignore it. But this fucker…he was salivating, and not for food. “H-Hi…” he stammered, wiping a sweaty hand on his pants to shake the mans hand, “I’m…here with Sonja.”

“Oh, I know. I’m Sonja’s Uncle. Those pills worked mighty fine, I must say.” He stepped closer, their fat sides pressing into each other, “Fill up that plate boy–I wanna see you eat. And then you’re coming to my hotel. Been needing a tight, chubby hole for my cock, and yours will do just fine…be even better once we pack another few hundred pounds on that wide ass of yours.”

Source: emkay202

First off, I love your work, especially anything involving fat transformation. With that said, why do most of your work involve filthy sex? It can be hot at times, but it can be a turn-off to many readers. I hope you the best of luck in future projects.

A) Because I like it. That’s…why I write all of these stories, because I want to. I expect people to read them if they like them, or to not read them if they don’t.

B) I don’t write stories because “many readers” would like them. I’m not an attention whore. Stats are not a goal. If I cared about the “many readers” then I’d go write hetero shit. Since that’s the majority after all. It sounds like, actually, that by “many readers” you actually mean “me”. The best way to get me to write something for you is to either i) request it, or ii) commission me when I’m available. Or iii) write it yourself. That’s what I do–see item (A).

C) You’re concern trolling. Stop it. No one likes it. You sound like dick.

Here at R.V. Wink’s Furniture Outlet, we pride ourselves on having not only great deals, but the most comfy sofas, loveseats, armchairs and beds in town! Goodness, they’re so comfortable, almost everyone who sits or lays on one finds themselves losing the will to get out, and not too long after that, they tend to drift off. Almost everyday, it seems like the most common sound on the sales floor is the snores! But I do love helping out my customers, why, just take a look at him. 

He’d come in here this morning, some wealthy college kid looking to furnish his new condo his parents are renting while he’s going to school. He kept sneering at my wares as I led him around the floor, telling me that my furniture was decades out of style, and not in a classy, retro way. I did eventually cajole him into an armchair, and he’s been snoozing his life away for hours now. What do you think he is, 40? 50? At least. Well, he’s still probably a bit older than you are now. I see that you’re gotten used to that big gut of yours now. How does it feel, when I rub it like that? Yeah, that’s good, moan for me gramps, you fucking love it, just like I knew you would.

Still, I think it’s time for an afternoon nap, don’t you?

Oh don’t shake your head at me, your eyes are drooping at the mere thought. There’s a king size bed right over here, why don’t you lay down for a bit? Take off those clothes of yours, they’ll just make you uncomfortable–that’s it, doesn’t that feel so soft? So relaxing? Now hold on, I’m sure you’d rather have a teddy bear to snooze with right? Let me just get him out of the chair…

Oh look at you, already slipping off to sleep again. Now you too–go crawl in with your husbear–don’t be silly, of course you have a husbear? Cuddle up close now, give him a big hug–feel how good that gut of his feels? By the time you wake up, you’ll have one yourself. A couple adorable grandbears–my favorite kind of customer. Now close those eyes and have another nap–when you wake up, I’m sure you’ll find the furniture more you’re style, don’t you?