Case Closed (Part 3)

Walker seemed surprised by my sudden use of force, but he rolled with it, leaning in closer himself, a big, cocky grin on his face, pinning Richard in tighter at the table.

“Look, I…I don’t think…I mean, I–”

“Richard,” Walker said, “There’s nothing wrong with being gay. But there is a little something called ‘filing a false report,’ which is a crime. So I need you to tell me now–right now–if this is all some stupid game to you, because there are real victims out there who could use our help, and you’re obviously wasting our time.”

“I’m not lying!” he said, “This really happened, I know it sounds crazy, but it did!”

At this point, by detective intuition was going crazy. We had this lying pig right where we fucking wanted him, and all three of us knew it, but even then, what came out of my mouth next surprised me–hell, it surprised all of us. “Well, if it really happened,” I said, “then you’d be able to, you know, provide us with details of that night only you would know. Like, how did it feel, pig? How did it feel, getting fucked by all those cocks? How did all your frat brother’s cum taste, eh? Did you enjoy it? I bet a pig like you could use some more, right?” I had stepped closer at this point, by crotch inches from his face. I was…hard, but then again, good detective work always gets me hard…I think. He was staring right at the bulge in my black pants, unable to look away. “My eyes are up here, fucker.” He looked up at me, and the emotion there–he was terrified. Truly terrified. And that…that set me back a bit. I felt like…like maybe I was making a mistake, maybe I was…wrong about him.

“Please…please, if you aren’t…aren’t too far gone, just let me go, please…”

“No pig, you aren’t going anywhere until we get some answers from you,” Walker said, “Right Bailey?”

“R-Right…” I said, but something was wrong about all of this. “I’m…I’m gonna cool off for a bit, take a walk.”

“Sure thing, partner,” Walker said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt, pushing up his sleeves again, showing off forearms which looked…bigger than they had, “I think Richard and I here might enjoy some private time, right Richard? In fact, I bet we can get this all sorted out by the time you get back, Bailey.”

I didn’t say anything, I just backed out the door and didn’t stop until I was out of the building entirely, but I felt better as soon as I was outside, like the air was fresher, somehow. But I did need to walk, for a bit. Walking always helps me with my cases. I started off down the city streets, and after a few blocks, I realized one thing didn’t add up. If Richard was lying, which he had to be, of course, then why report it to us? Why come all the way here and report an impossible rape? It wasn’t like he could get anything out of a stupid story like that, with curses and suddenly gay frat houses. So why tell us at all? I could only come up with two possibilities. One, the guy was just desperate for attention, all of this was some weird cry for help or something. The second, more disturbing possibility was that he was telling the truth–and for some reason, I was coming around to seriously considering that might be the case. I mean…I’d felt…different in that room, or so I’d thought. Walker seemed to have been acting strange as well. Maybe…Maybe both of us were being affected, and we didn’t even know it. But if that was the case…then I might have just left the kid in the worst possible position–alone with my partner.

I double timed it back to the precinct and up to the interrogation room where I’d left them. I’d been gone for about half an hour, and all I could hope was that I was either wrong about this, or that I wasn’t too late. I opened the door, and immediately my cock hardened in my pants at the smell, and I looked at the two of them. Richard was now handcuffed to the chair, through the back, and looked like he’d been roughed up a bit, one of his eyes started to blacken. Fucking Walker and his hot head, getting started wwithout me! My partner was sitting on the table in front of him, his fly down, cock out…and Richard had the entire thing down his throat, moaning. Walker looked up and saw me standing there, told me to get in, and without really thinking about it, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, groping my own crotch as I did.

“Fuck,” Walker said, shoving Richard down on his shaft until he gagged, “Did you get the cigars? Can’t believe we ran the fuck out.”

Cigars? Neither of us smoked, and yet, I reached into my plastic shopping bag I was carrying–even though I couldn’t remember buying anything–and pulled out two. I walked over, handed one to Walker, got it lit for him, and then lit one for myself as well. I noticed, then, that Walker seemed…different, all of a sudden. For one thing, his head was shaven. He’d always liked his hair a bit longer, but when had he done that? I…suddenly couldn’t remember either look very clearly. He was also bigger–more muscular. His shoulders made his neck look smaller, his arms bulging from bicep to forearm, and I could see his cock was substantially larger than the one I’d glimpsed in the showers before.

“Well Bailey, we finally had ourselves a fuckin’ breakthrough!” Walker said, puffing smoke with that cocky grin on his face he makes when he figures out a clue, “Yeah, the two of us have made some very good headway, isn’t that right, Richard?”

Case Closed (Part 2)

Richard stayed quiet for a moment. Gathering his thoughts? Rehearsing his lies? Here’s what he said:

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, I know, but just…just listen. Last night…that…it was Meghan’s fault! She did this, I know she did.”

Ah, so the plot thickens, I thought to myself.

“Who’s Meghan?” I asked.

“Meghan is–was–my girlfriend. She found me after my psych 301 class yesterday and started screaming at me for cheating on her with someone else.”

“And were you?”

He waffled, before finally nodding, and kept talking, “Look, it was…an accident. But she told me, then, that she was going to get me back. She’d always been bragging that she came from this line of witches or something, and how she’s an expert at curses. This has to be what happened to me, it has to. I can’t think of any…any other reason why that would happen. Why they’d do that to me. Why I’d…change like that, like this,” he said, grabbing his hefty gut and giving it a jiggle. For some reason, watching him do that…I felt a tingle in my crotch, but I did my best to ignore it.

“Alright, and what exactly did they do to you? Your frat brothers, I mean. You were a member of the fraternity in question, right?”

Richard nodded. The two of us looked at each other, a bit doubtful, and he must have seen what we were thinking. “Look, I know…how I look right now, alright? But I didn’t look like this yesterday. I was buff, hell, I was one of the school’s football stars.”

“I don’t remember a Richard being announced at any of the games I’ve gone to,” I said.

“No, I mean, that’s all part of it. Look, I just…I just don’t want to sound like a crazy person.”

“And the two of us, we want to believe you, Richard,” Walker said, leaning over the table a bit, “But if we’re going to be able to help you, we have to understand what happened, and we’re going to need you to give us as much detail as possible,” I saw my partner’s…nose flare, suddenly. I don’t know why I noticed it at the time, but he seemed…eager, somehow. He always gets that way though, when he thinks he’s caught someone in a lie, but that just seemed so much more…hungry.

“I was…Meghan left me standing there in the hallway, and I went back to the frat house. Everything was fine that whole afternoon. The guys were all normal, I mean. Nothing changed until after dinner that evening, when I got back from the dining hall. Some of the guys were already drinking–I mean, we all drink on Friday, so that wasn’t strange, but…but some of the guys kept…giving me this strange look.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…they were looking at me, like I’d see them look at the sorority girls at our parties. I saw them looking at me like…like they wanted me. It was really weird, but they wanted me to drink with them, but after one beer I was already blasted. Marco…I think he might have drugged it, I know he has a stash of roofies in his room–and they started yanking my clothes off me. I punched…one of them, and they…they tied me down, over the table, and they started…”

The waterworks were flowing again, but at that point, I have to be honest, neither of us were buying it, but he wasn’t likely to give us a straight story–besides, something else had been bugging me. “So they tied you down. This morning you must have still been tied up, so how did you escape this morning, when you couldn’t all last night? I also don’t see any rope burn on your wrists, which we usually see from someone struggling.”

He was quiet–guilty quiet. “That’s…that’s the worst part. I didn’t want to tell you, not yet. I mean, at first, I didn’t want them to do it, I mean, I was fighting them, but for some reason, I…I started to enjoy it. When…when they untied me, so they could…could use my…mouth, I didn’t even run. I didn’t want to have sex with them, but I also couldn’t…stop myself. I just felt like…like such a pig! I didn’t even notice it happening at the time, but when I woke up today, and I…I was fat, somehow. I mean, yesterday I was a star football player, and now I look like I haven’t worked out a day in my life! How does something like that even happen?”

Easy answer–it doesn’t.

“Alright, so…you enjoyed it?” Walker asked.

“I don’t…I mean, I’m straight! I’m not gay. I didn’t want to like it, but it was like something in my head wouldn’t let me say no.”

“So you never said no?”

“No! I said no at first, but then, I…” he looked at each of us, and the look in his eyes–it’s that first moment they realize they’ve been caught. “I should go,” he said quickly, “I think I need to get out of here.”

He stood up, but I positioned myself between him in the door, “No, why don’t you go ahead and sit back down. We need to sort out what exactly happened last night, I think.” I stepped closer to him, and…and something shivered in me, some strange…desire. I couldn’t even really process it, but I shoved him back into his seat. I wanted answers, and this pig wasn’t going anywhere until I got them.

Case Closed (Part 1)

You see a little bit of everything, in our line of work, a lot of it that you want to unsee, too. Still, it takes a certain kind of person to be able to work sex crimes, and if I do say so myself, you won’t find two cops more dedicated than my partner, Detective Walker, and I. Still, this case, from the very beginning we knew it was going to be strange one, but let me go ahead and set the scene for you. It was a Saturday, which meant the precinct we work out of was pretty much empty aside from the usual weekend skeleton crew. Both of us had had a rough week, and were busy catching up on paperwork together. We’re both single in our early thirties–married to the job you might say, and dressed down a bit. Gotta look professional, you know? For the victims, but we’d discarded our coats and were just in our shirts and slacks, showing our suspenders, sleeves rolled up to our elbows, trying reports and shooting the shit, thinking about hitting the gym together after work. Both of us were in good shape–you had to be, to be a good cop, but beyond that, we were normal, middle Amercan guys, just trying to make the city better. That’s when an officer came in with Richard, claiming he’d been raped.

Now don’t get me wrong, I know guys can be raped, I’ve seen it plenty of times, but when Richard started telling us his story, well…it was a bit hard to believe. He was trying to claim that, the night before, he had been raped by every single fellow in his fraternity house, the whole night long–that he’d only managed to get out of the ropes holding him an hour ago, escape, and make his way here. It was obvious the guy had been through some kind of trauma, sure–that, or he had some of the best crocodile tears I’d ever seen working these cases. Towards the end of the story, he was sobbing so hard he could barely get his words out, so we parked him in one of the interrogation rooms to calm down, while the two of us discussed what he’d been telling us behind the observation mirror in the next room.

“So, what do you make of it? What he was saying about all that?” I asked, looking over at Walker.

“I don’t know, Bailey–something…something about him just rings a bit…off, you know?”

I did know, actually. Neither of us were new to sex crimes, and both of us had plenty of compassion for the victims we worked with routinely, but something about this guy, it was just…strange. I mean, the story he was trying to tell, about the entire fraternity raping him–what the hell? That was crazy all on its own. It wasn’t like I’d seen gang rapes before–hell, two years prior we’d busted a bunch of guys in one of those frats for drugging and gangraping a couple co-eds, but frats didn’t usually target men, you know? What would you have to do to get those kinds of alpha straight dudes mad at you enough for all of them to tie you down and rape you? There was something else to this story he wasn’t telling us, we both knew that. But then there was just the guy’s…I don’t know, there was something about him that just–look, it’s a detective’s instincts, you know? You can tell when someone is being straight with you, or when someone is trying to jerk you around, and both of us were feeling a bit jerked by him. At the time, I figured it might just be my exhaustion from the week.

We both fell quiet, looking at the guy. He was starting to calm down, and something else occurred to me–he didn’t quite fit the bill of a typical fraternity brother himself. Richard was considerably overweight–I mean, I might as well just say obese. A couple of chins, moobs, a bit gut stretching out his shirt. He had the right hair, he even had on the right, trendy clothes, but I knew that college, I knew what those frats were, and none of them were likely to let in someone looking like Richard. And yet, he’d been most distressed by the fact that he’d been raped by his “brothers and friends” as he’d called them. Was the guy delusional? Let’s just say I had plenty of alarm bells going off.

“Well, looks like he calmed down, at least.” Walker said, “How about we talk to him, see if he give us a more believable story.”

Obviously we’d come to the same conclusion–there was simply no way Richard was being totally straight with us. We went into the room together. Richard was sitting at the table. His eyes were still red from his crying earlier, but he was just looking…flat, at the moment. Stunned, maybe. Walker sat down across from him, but I stayed standing, by the door. This was our usual set up–normally when we had a victim come to us we’d try to find a more comfortable place for them to tell us what happened, but this guy–no, we needed to get the truth out of him, and if that meant making him a little uncomfortable, so be it.

“Feeling a bit better?” Walker asked.

Richard nodded, and let out a meek word that might have been, “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Walker said, leaning back in the chair, “Now, why don’t you tell us what happened last night. Start at the beginning.”

Dream Camp (Part 13)

Warning: Still gross and strange. Scat, anal vore, and other oddities of body and soul. This is the last chapter however! Maybe we’ll have someone more normal (and shorter) after this.

The final day of the camping trip was relatively uneventful, or perhaps it simply felt that way, because everything that had happened during the night was so insane it had rendered most everything else mundane by comparison. Christian came to his tent, and found his dad still cleaning up his morning mess–Barry was only too happy to take his son’s piss and shit right in his mouth, and then gave him a good solid fuck as well, though he found his increased mass made it substantially more difficult to give him as satisfying of a fuck as usual. Christian didn’t seem to mind–in fact, he didn’t seem the least bit fazed by any of it. Barry asked him a question about the Hoffsons, but the name no longer meant anything to Christian–apparently, it was like they had never existed at all. They finished their fuck–and Christian helped his massive father get dressed, since he couldn’t quite manage his uniform all on his own anymore, and then hauled him free of the tent, where Barry found the scouts all lined up and ready to help feed their Scoutmaster. One by one, the crouched over and Barry ate the shit straight from their holes, washing it down with their piss, and Barry had to admire them all. They had all become proper young bears overnight, covered with hair, some of them muscular, but most of them rather fat, thanks to Alex and Eric, who were busy feeding their newest pet, a man whose name Barry couldn’t even remember anymore, whose face had dissolved into nothing more than a single, massive sucking maw, with only vestigial arms and legs now, it’s entire body flabby, and yet taut–already filled to the brim with the father and sons’ milk.

Barry felt sated by the end, and the scouts all went off to prepare their own breakfasts. Barry thought he might as well cook his own, but suddenly the idea of normal food simply disgusted him…because he never ate food anymore. No, it only satisfied him once it was coming out the other end–the only things he’d be eating from now on were piss and shit–and cum of course, but that was beside the point. Still, there was…something he needed. He didn’t want food, but he was hungry as hell…and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew what he needed. He needed to be fucked–and his hole needed to eat. Leaving his troop to their own meals, he set off wandering the campground, and he found for himself a group of college aged men enjoying the last bit of the weekend. Seeing this massively obese man lumbering towards them, covered with hair, beard crusted with shit, enter their campsite–all of them were disgusted–at least until Barry unleashed his first fart–then the three men were fighting each other for the privilege of fucking his massive hole first, but none of them needed to worry–he was famished enough to eat all three of them.

Later–now feeling considerably larger, his cock and balls swelling as the three young men dissolved in his bowels, he lumbered his way back to camp where the scouts were all eating their own meals, and he fed them all as well–his cum, the distilled manhood from the men he’d just devoured, watching his troop develop further, their hair growing longer, their musk stronger, their muscles and bones thickening and lengthening as they drank his cum, Barry feeling his balls shrink as they did, but he’d fill up again in no time. Still, it was time for them all to leave–after breakfast, the troop packed up their gear and bundled themselves into the cars–though there was substantially less room than before, with just Eric and Barry driving back–but there were also fewer scouts this time around as well.

Back at the parking lot, Barry returned his boys to their equally berish fathers, all of them so happy to see them–so happy that more than a few couldn’t resist the urge to fuck right there in the open, on the asphalt. Such a good troop he had–there was nothing Barry liked more than turning a boy into a real man–and his father into an even bigger, sexier man. And if they fought? Well, he ate the ones who resisted alive and fed them to their own sons, before auctioning off the boy to one of the other fathers in his troop. To this day, the only person who’d ever fucked him and lived was his son, Christian–and he planned on keeping it that way. The two of them headed home, finally–it had felt like that long weekend had lasted forever–but they were each already looking forward to their troop orgy Tuesday night, as well as next month’s camping trip. The entire troop had rented out a lodge in the mountains for a whole week–which meant Barry had to get busy if he was going to store up enough cum to feed everyone for an entire week. Still, Christian would keep him well supplied–he usually brought two or three men home for him every night. By next month, his balls would be so big, he’d be barely able to walk.

But before he fell asleep that night, and before he forgot, Barry took off the amulet and hung it away in the closet. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be wearing it again for a while–his dreams were so crazy now, he figured he’d better give the amulet a rest for a while–but at least he had it in case he ever needed it, or maybe he’d pass it on to one of his boys one day, and help them make their dreams come true too.

The End

Dream Camp (Part 12)

***WARNING*** This is probably the most disturbing thing I’ve ever written, though it does have significant competition on that front. Scat, filth, snuff and anal vore–you should probably skip this one too.

Max yanked harder, but Barry’s hole had his cock in a vice grip–he could pull harder, perhaps, but he was genuinely terrified that he might end up ripping off his cock. He looked to his father in terror, and Kyle began shouting at the pig, ordering him to release his son’s cock, but Barry wasn’t listening, because he was too focused on his own strange thoughts to pay attention to his master. It…it was the amulet. It could…sense that he’d lost control, and it was…giving him an opportunity, something he could use to fight back. Without knowing exactly how, his ass began…tugging at Max’s cock, making Barry shudder with pleasure all over again, like he’d turned on a perpetual orgasm machine–and it was clear that Max felt similarly. His cock, despite being in a vice grip, came again almost immediately, and then again and again, the orgasms coming so rapidly that to Max it became excruciatingly painful. He began tugging harder, but suddenly Barry’s hole made a new motion, latching on and pulling in even more of him, swallowing not only his entire cock, but his massive ball sack as well. Max began screaming in proper terror now, yanking and tugging, no longer caring if he yanked his genitals off, but he was feeling…weaker. His muscles were fading, his body was turning pale, and as Kyle watched, his son collapsed over the pig’s back, shuddering on occasion, shrinking bit by bit, until Barry’s ass opened once more, impossibly wide, and a much smaller Max fell partway into the stinking maw, the ass slamming shut, bending him backwards with a sickening crunch–like a bug in the mouth of a frog–Kyle screaming at his son’s lifeless eyes, and with one more crunch, Max fell into Barry’s ass and was swallowed whole.

Barry only had a distant grasp on what he’d just done, but with Max now…inside of him, he could almost feel him…digesting. His own body was changing, his balls…regrowing, emerging in his fat, his cock lengthening again as well, but he was still…famished, and he looked to Kyle, and grinned.

“What…what the fuck did you do to him?” Kyle stammered, “What the fuck did you do to my boy!”

Barry just looked up at him from the muddy filth he was lolling in, felt a pressure building at his ass, and let loose a filthy, disgusting fart, the stench both horrid and yet…oddly appealing. Kyle took a step back, but the stench hit him with the force of a truck, his cock immediately hardening and leaking, unable to think about anything beyond the horrid stench of the pig’s hole…and…and how much he wanted to…to fuck it. He fought, he pulled away, even though every fiber in his body screamed at him to fuck. Barry unleashed a second fart, louder and frothy, and watched Kyle’s eyes go blank, the beast stumbling forward and around behind him, lining up his hard, aching cock, and slipped it inside, Barry immediately clamping down and milked him roughly as well, but Kyle didn’t fight, not like Max had. The…stench, it was eating away at his mind. He was happy to be fucking, happy to feel these orgasms ripping their way through his body, happy to feel his body begin withering away, as he fucked himself deeper, allowing himself to be sucked into the gaping maw, eager to be swallowed by the disgusting, dripping orifice, happy to die fucking, and his mind was gone even before he’d been swallowed up whole.

Finally, Barry could feel himself relax, his ass full of food, feeling it slowly digest, his body changing slowly as he lounged in the muck. His muscles pumped themselves up again, enough that he would at least be able to walk. His cock bulged out, his balls as well–not as large as they’d been previously, but he was at least happy to have anything at all, after everything Kyle had done to him. Hair filled in across his body once more, turning slightly silver, as he grew older once more, but he was…happy. Content, and for the moment, not hungry. The dream, he could sense, was finally beginning to fade, the nightmare finally over.

Over…it was over, he was finally awake from that insanity. He rolled over in his tent, vaguely aware that he should still be sleeping with Kyle Hoffson…but he was alone. Alone, because apparently the old wive’s tale was true–if you die in your dreams, you really do die in real life. Or in this case…it would seem that you fail to have existed at all. That made him…feel rather uncomfortable, and his massive belly gave a loud rumble of discomfort–one he assumed was a stomach ache, until he felt his ass suddenly release, and shit spewed forth from him into his massive sleeping bag. The humiliation and embarrassment only lasted a second, until he smelled his own mess and they were both swept aside by excruciating hunger–and he began eating his own shit, grunting and snorting in his tent, piss following shortly behind, soaking the floor of his tent, and he realized he had hardly escaped that dream unscathed–and he wondered how true the final segment of it might be as well.

Dream Camp (Part 11)

***Warning*** Here’s where things start getting really strange. You might just want to stop here if watersports, scat, anal vore, or snuff freak you out–which just to clarify, they probably should freak you out. Still, these are horror stories! You’ve been warned!!!

“Silly, silly little boy. Playing at being a grownup this whole time, but I remember you, oh fuck, do I remember you now,” Kyle said, as he stalked closer to him, “Weak, fat, terrified. My son was right to beat you up, you little shit!”

Spittle flew, smacking Barry in the face. He kept trying to move, trying to run, but his feet were glued to the ground, stuck in the mud, and he felt…shorter. Smaller and weaker than before, this monster bearing down on him, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing–he was…was weak. He was just…just a pig, just a boy, not a man at all…

His body was changing, and he was aware that it was his own loss of confidence causing it, but there was no stopping it, nothing he could do, because Kyle was right. ScoutMaster Hoffson was right, had been right about everything. He could feel his muscles diminishing as his fat spread all around him in every direction, rooting him into the ground even more, sinking into the mud which had begun bubbling around him. It…it would feel so…so good, to just stop. To stop fighting, to just…embrace this. He was too heavy to do anything, too heavy to fight anymore. His legs began to wobble, and finally collapsed beneath him, mud splattering out and up, sinking into his folds, cold against his balls and cock, and he could feel them shrivelling up, growing smaller and smaller, tucking themselves away into his fat where he’d never be able to reach them, where no one would be able to reach them, where they should just stay. He didn’t need them, he didn’t even want them.

Master Hoffson walked over, pushed him backwards into the mud and climbed on him, pinning him in the muck, his huge cock pushing itself into his soft gut, “Not even a pig–fuck no, just a hog. Worthless as a fucking man, no fucking balls at all–all you’re good for is eating and abusing, isn’t that right? That’s what you want, isn’t it? To eat? To drink? To serve? To be abused?”

Barry knew, in his head, that everything he was saying was a lie, that he didn’t–that he shouldn’t–want these things, but feeling his balls shrivel further and finally disappear, feeling his snout start drooling, he was…starving. Every hole of his was starving. Master stood up again, leaving him in the muck, walked around to his head and squatted down over Barry’s now porcine face, his hairy ass right over him, and Barry knew, what he needed. Knew what would satisfy his hunger, and he began licking at his Master’s pucker, feeling it loosen, and the shit start pouring over him, and he swallowed down as much of it as he could, the filth choking out any shame that remained in him, the desire for filth overwhelming him, dominating every last chunk of his small mind, feeling his own bladder release, piss cascading from his gunt and out over his fat thighs, shit spilling out into the mud beneath him, warm muck between his cheeks. Master Hoffson finished his load and allowed his pig to lick his crack clean, and then washed off his face with a blast of musky piss, marking him now, demonstrating to them both that this was not just any hog–but his hog. His toilet. His cumdump. And Barry no longer could conceive of wanting to be anything else.

He looked up and saw his Master had changed–no longer simply a beast, he had reclaimed his some of his humanity, even as Barry had lost his own. His cock was still slimy and inhuman, but his face had lost its snout, now merely angular and hyper-masculine, with a grin full of sharp, pointed teeth, a body coated with hair, bulging with muscle without a single trace of fat anywhere. To Barry, he was simply a god, everything he wasn’t. Everything he could never be. The only life he could imagine was one serving this god, of providing the only services he could now–as a hole. As a dump.

“Max, get the fuck up–you’re fine. No son of mine is going to let a pig control him, right?” Barry could barely lift up his head to see Max, where he’d been lying on the ground, hole wrecked, begin forcing himself up at his father’s command. “No, you’re a real man, a true beast, like me. Show this pig what he deserves–I want to see you destroy him.”

The feral anger in the bully’s eyes no longer filled Barry with fear–only with a crude desire. He wanted this beast to abuse and wreck him, wanted it more than anything. Max forced him to roll over, his body expanding with bulk, his mind filling with cruelty as his father filled him up, and he hammered his cock into Barry’s disgusting hole, and Barry squealed with pleasure, his cock forever soft, but his new ass now incredibly loose and sensitive to even the smallest probing, his fatty folds shaking and shivering with pleasure, but Max didn’t last long–after a minute and a half, he finally spasmed and exploded deep inside the pig’s filthy bowels, and tried to pull out, but Barry wasn’t satisfied. Barry wanted…more, and with a sudden motion, he clamped down his ass on Max’s cock, locking him in, even as Max, in a bit of a panic, started yanking at it, clawing at the pig’s ass, but Barry wasn’t done yet–Barry needed…more. He needed everything Max could give him, and he was going to take it, whether he wanted to give it to him or not.

Dream Camp (Part 10)

Kyle was in a space–outdoors, but nondescript–a thick collar around his neck with spikes, attached to a heavy chain, attached to a post rooted in the floor. Barry was standing a few yards off, watching him struggle and fight against it, trying to get loose, but there was nowhere for him to go now, nowhere he could go to escape this anymore. But still, he was stubbornly resisting, his will bouncing off of him, but he’d anticipated this–and he had an idea for how to finally get Kyle to accept his dream.

Max appeared, looking around, confused, like he’d been somewhere else entirely a moment prior. He had the same collar on as his father, but was unchained, and seeing his father panicking and terrified, he knew what he needed. He flinched away from his son when he tried to come closer, and Max began chasing him around the post, until Barry began shortening the chain, giving Kyle less and less room to avoid him, until Max finally pinned him in place, and swallowed his cock into his hot throat. The initial pleasure overwhelmed him, Barry feeding his libido, encouraging him, convincing him to enjoy his son’s beastly throat. He came to his senses after a few moments and pushed his son away, but it was too late–he was weakening. His…cock. It wasn’t human anymore. It had gone into Max’s mouth human, and what emerged was…pink, inhuman, and slimy, with a sheath. Stunned, he allowed Max an opening to keep sucking, and the pleasure now was impossible for him to deny, and his instincts began to overwhelm him, making him grab hold of his son’s head and ramming his new cock down his throat, Barry watching as the rest of his body began changing as well.

His nails lengthened into claws, giving him a better hold on his son as he skull fucked, him, the rest of the changes radiating from his groin. Fur spread across his body, even as what little fat melted off him, his muscles bulging with power. Barry could see Kyle there still, in his eyes, both trying to understand what was happening to him and still trying to fight it, but as the fur grew over his whole body, it was obvious that he was growing weaker. Finally, his head and skull began to reshape, his snout pushing out, and there was nothing he could do to fight it any longer–or contain the anger he had always kept barely contained within his body. He threw his son off his now thirteen inch cock and mounted his ass, grunting, snorting and slobbering, licking his emerging tusks with his now long, prehensile tongue, hungry for pain, hungry to fuck, hungry to dominate. Barry saw what was happening, saw he was growing larger than he’d anticipated and tried to push him back, but his will was rebuffed–Kyle’s muscles swelling even larger, his bones and frame growing to support him, until he was at least seven feet tall, Max limp and whimpering beneath him like a ragdoll, simply trying to survive being pummelled by his beastly father’s now foot and a half long cock. He came with a thunderous roar, cum spewing with such force that it spurted out of Max’s now wrecked hole, forming a puddle around his body, his father removing his cock from him. Barry wondered if he was still alive–he didn’t seem to be moving.

Kyle, at least, turned to him. The collar was now comically tight around his neck, and with one hand, he reached up, grasped the leather, and ripped it apart, letting it fall behind him as he stalked towards Barry, eyes full of fury, his massive cock jutting out in front of him. He was taller than Barry was now, and Barry felt…something he hadn’t felt in days now–he felt fear. That same fear he’d always had, before all of this, the fear of this man, of Max, of what this brute might do to him, and too late, he felt the amulet feed off his fear, and Kyle grew larger and bulkier, looming over him now. Should he run? Should he fight? He was strong, sure, but was he that strong? He didn’t know, he didn’t know anymore.

He was losing control, just like he’d lost control the night before, in the tent with Christian, allowing his friend desires to warp him. He tried to hold on to himself, tried to focus on the power, on shrinking him down, on making him weaker, anything at all, but he couldn’t–he couldn’t do it because…because.

“Because you’re weak, pig.”

It was Kyle who’d said it, his voice impossibly deep, almost entirely a growl, but he understood it all the same.

“Because you’ve always been weak–but I should thank you,” he said, “I…I hadn’t realized, how strong I could be, but don’t worry piggy, we’re gonna have some fun. We have all night, right? In our dreams?” He took a step closer, and Barry tried to back up, but it was like his feet had been sucked into the earth, and all he could feel was terror, as the beast he’d created stalked toward him, licking it’s chops and stroking it’s gargantuan cock.

Dream Camp (Part 9)

“No…No! This can’t be real, this can’t be fucking real…” Kyle muttered, unable to believe how hard his own cock was, unable to believe that he…a part of him, a growing, part of him, wanted this.

“Oh, but it is real, and it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Barry growled in his ear, with one hand, he grabbed the back of Kyle’s pants, took hold of them, and ripped them apart, revealing his lightly haired ass, and with one grimy finger he started probing inside him, licking the side of Kyle’s neck, feeling him shiver at the invasion, and push back slightly. “That’s good, real good,” Barry said, “You know, I was a bit worried about you, you know, that you might not want to join in here, but maybe you just needed a bit more work than everyone else. Still, I think we’re gonna be spending the night together, but I’m not quite tired yet–why don’t we find a way to keep you occupied until then?”

Barry looked over his shoulder, and saw the knots the fatter scouts who’d stayed back at camp had been working on, and chuckled, “Who wants to earn their ropework merit badge? Mr. Hoffson…would like to be restrained–you scouts think you can work on that for a little while?”

The chubby scouts were more than happy to do anything their ScoutMaster wanted. They grabbed the rope and hurried over, collectively pinning down the still struggling Hoffson and working on binding him tight. Barry supervised, giving advice and encouragement to his loyal scouts, and when they were finished, after an hour, Kyle Hoffson wouldn’t be going anywhere, his arms and legs behind his back in a hogtie, his balls bound up and strung up to his ankles, his muscular body crisscrossed by rope, his mouth gagged. Barry picked him up by his bound hands and feet, like a basket, listening to him groan as he tugged on his bound balls, and carried him over to the middle of camp, where any number of scouts had given into their burgeoning desires, fucking and sucking and licking out in the open, no longer able to resist each other. The scouts who had remained behind seemed to have taken on their own qualities, all of them weighing at least five hundred pounds, after sucking down as much of Alex’s milk as they could drink. Some of the musky, hairy scouts immediately gravitated to them, fondling their fatty rolls, pushing them down and mounting them, others preferring to worship their fat bodies, the chubby young men shivering with pleasure.

Barry set Kyle down on his side, hearing him sigh when the tension on his balls is lessened, and then he called Max over from where the strange mutt was busy servicing Christian by one of the firepits. Max came bounding over, eager for anything his Master might desire–and Barry pointed him to his father. “Max, why don’t you entertain your dad here for a while? Suck his cock, finger his hole, lick him clean–but don’t fuck him. I do, however, want that ass of his nice and loose by nightfall, so make sure you at least work your fist in, got it?”

Max nodded eagerly, and Kyle tried to struggle away, calling to Max, telling him to stop, to not do this, that he was his father for Christ’s sake, but Max was too far gone now to even consider obeying him, his simple, near feral mind focused on his master’s and their commands. He slobbered all over his paw like hand and started rubbing it against his father’s backdoor, gently massaging it, Kyle trying to pull away, but unable to do so without yanking his nuts and making himself nauseous, and before too long one finger was inside, and Max rewarded him by sucking his cock. Kyle sobbed, unable to believe that he was somehow hard, but the stench of musk in the air was beginning to affect him, make it harder for him to think. He fought against feeding his own son that first load, begging him to stop when he felt his balls constrict, but Max wanted it, wanted to taste his dad’s cum, wanted to see if it was as delicious as he’d always imagined it might be. He fought less during his son’s second suck, and by the third, with his boy’s feral fist buried in his hole, drilling his prostate, he had begun to beg for it, plead for it, encourage his filthy animal of a son to suck him harder.

He realized that, at some point, it had become night. The young men in their patrols had eventually grown hungry and were busy cooking their dinners, though some of the fatter young men had decided they would rather feast at the tit for the evening, and were jockeying for position in front of a quivering, milk soaked, Alex. Eric was still focused on his newest addition to the harem, molding his strange form to better serve as his one of his whores, and Barry had finally found a moment to pull his son aside and mount him next to the fire, slowly and gently, enjoying their mutual musk in the night chill. It wasn’t too much longer after that, when the campers, exhausted from a busy day, began to go off in groups to their tents for one final romp before sleep, and Barry knew it was time. “Son, I think you’re gonna have to sleep without your daddy tonight–I got some other business to attend to.”

Christian objected loudly, but Barry stood firm, consoling him with the fact that Max would sleep with him, keeping him happy all night long, but Barry, well, Barry needed some time with Kyle. His son wasn’t happy about the arrangement but he knew better than to disobey his father–so he led Max off to his tent, and Barry again picked Kyle up off the ground and carried him over to his tent, set him inside, and started untying him, but left his hands bound in front of him, his ankles bound as well, and then pulled him close, sliding Kyle onto his cock, feeling the older man sob even as he enjoyed the wonderful fullness, the hot rod buried inside him, the musk of the ScoutMaster shrouding him, making it hard to think. Barry was fighting the heat of the amulet, trying to stay awake and relish the moment, but he finally succumbed to sleep as he worked his cock in to the hilt, started snoring, and immediately began to dream.

Dream Camp (Part 8)

They returned to the rest of the hiking group, pushing through the trees, the scout now sporting a full beard, a small gut, and a longer cock he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from. Barry watched something pass through all of them, almost like a wave of some strange energy, the scouts all turning more…manly, all of them except Kyle Hoffson, who remained stubbornly unchanged…even when he saw his son Max, come lumbering out of the woods behind them, shorter, no longer wearing a uniform other than his neckerchief, soaked with sweat and cum, his paws glued to his thick, bestial cock.

“M-Max?” he said, mostly to himself, “What…I…”

Kyle couldn’t take his eyes away from the strange, disturbing beast. That…that couldn’t be his son. He would never…never, have a son like…like that, right? Max grinned up at him, baring his strange teeth in that inhuman snout, and then walked over and hefted a heavy pack onto his muscular back, and Kyle…Kyle felt something inside him, something he’d never felt before, grow tighter. It had been getting tighter all weekend, ever since he’d seen that obese monstrosity of a man in the parking lot dropping off his son, this strange sense that his hold on reality, it was becoming strained. He was trying to hold it together, trying to keep in mind what was real and what wasn’t, but increasingly he’d felt like he was living in some twisted, perverse dreamscape. First, Eric and Alex Mendel with their, freakish leaking chests. Then the disgusting perversity of Barry Brooke and his overgrown boy, and now…now his son? His own son? He couldn’t look like that! If…if Max looked like that, and if Max was his son, then…then what would that make him?

It grew tighter, he didn’t feel like he belonged in this place anymore. He looked around at the scouts, his scouts, and realized he barely recognized any of them, anymore. All of them were suddenly hulking, hairy young men, stinking with musk, all of them obviously corrupted by that filth Barry Brooke put out from his disgusting body. The disgusting fucker, he revelled in it, in his…his power and authority. Look at him, his cock hanging out openly, all of the scouts staring at it, smelling it, smelling him and each other. He had to get out of here, he needed to get out of here, and with a sudden terror, he grabbed his pack and started off back on the trail, leaving the rest of them behind. He had to get back to camp, he had to escape, before whatever this insanity was overwhelmed him.

The rest of the scouts watched him leave, and then looked to Barry. He could…sense it now, Kyle’s hold on reality beginning to fray slightly. He wasn’t sure whether it was simply stubbornness or just a lack of imagination that made him so resistant, but now he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist his dream forever. “Well boys? What do you think? Should we get back to camp for the evening?”

His young men all nodded, and Barry led the way, Max behind him, carrying his scoutmaster’s pack along with his own, happy to serve as beast of burden, like always. The boys followed behind, enjoying the musky scent of their ScoutMaster leading the way, their bodies developing as they did, bodies growing hairy, beards filling in and growing long, their own bodies becoming sweatier, their cocks and balls growing, leaking in their uniforms. More than once, on the way back, one of them would begin to have doubts, begin to fear what was happening to them, and they would try to hang back, to get away, but Christian, following up at the end, was waiting for them. They would, spend a bit of quality time together, their faces buried in Christian’s reeking pits, our slurping at his engorged cock, until they no longer questioned what was happening, until the desired it, and then the two of them would double time and catch up to the main group.

Up at the front, Barry kept the pace quick, not necessarily because he wanted to make it back to camp quickly–if anything, he would have preferred a few more breaks, so he could see how his scouts were all developing behind him, wallowing in his cloud of perverse musk, but no–he was keeping his eyes ahead, to where he could see Kyle trudging along as quickly as he could, desperate to put as much space between himself and Barry as he could. Barry could smell him on the wind: his sweat, but also his terror and confusion. He saw him ditch his pack to the side of the trail, look over his shoulder at the band of scouts behind him, led by their massive, obese ScoutMaster, his eyes wide with the terror of prey, and he started running proper, with about two miles left before they reached camp. Barry let him pull away from them, keeping the pace steady. Kyle was strong, but he wasn’t that strong, to keep up a run like that for much longer than a mile. Still, Barry wanted him exhausted. Barry wanted him stinking, and scared, and too weak to fight him. Let him run, he thought, he can’t run from what’s been coming to him for years and years.

Kyle reached camp, and found himself staring at something just as disturbing, his fellow leader latched to Alex Mendel’s tit, now the fattest man he’d ever seen, his arms and legs beginning to wither and atrophy, all of their muscle now concentrating themselves in his neck and chest, his eyes becoming swallowed in fat, his ears growing smaller as he became more and more cut off from the world, now just a body made to suck and swallow. The man, hearing him coming, pulled away from Alex and looked over at him, his mouth toothless, just two swollen lips, a thick, grotesque tongue licking them clean of milk, before Alex guided his face back to sucking, which the man would be doing for the rest of his life. Alex smiled at Kyle, and beckoned him closer, squeezing out of his tits, spurting out a bit of his sweet milk, and Kyle…Kyle felt himself stretch to the brink. With a primal scream, he ran to his SUV and started clawing at the door, needing to get away from this nightmare, when a bod slammed up against him, pinning him to the side, a voice in his ear growling, “No Kyle, I don’t think you get to leave yet–what would the troop do without their favorite pig?”

Dream Camp (Part 7)

Is he dreaming now? The thought occurs to him too late to do him any good. One moment, he was certain he was awake, lounging with his son, the next, he is no longer certain of anything, the sky oversaturated with color, Max crawling towards them both across the ground. He seems scared, but his terror is no longer enough to keep him away from what he wants. He circles around them, keeping his distance, snorting and huffing, but Barry knows that if they just remain still, he’ll approach eventually. Each time Max reappears in his field of vision, something…changes. His nose flattens. His bottom incisors have grown out past his lips. His muscles have bulged out, especially his shoulders, collapsing the length of his neck. His hands aren’t hands, his feet aren’t feet. He’s making this…noise, a desperate whine, snout twitching with need, a dark red, almost purple tongue hanging from his mouth, glistening with spittle in the harsh light. His clothes have disappeared, revealing a body coated with hair including much of his face by a thick, but short, beard.

His circling has become tighter now, and he finally stops at Barry’s side, sniffing him, his cock hardening, nose snuffling at his pit. Barry lifts his arm, and his own musk–it’s so much stronger suddenly, so strong even he can barely contain the lust that pulses through him when he smells himself, Max digging in, licking and slobbering, Christian, in his lap, groaning, rubbing his cock, his dad pulling him closer, into his stench. He can sense it spreading to him, encompassing them both like some strange cloud. Max is now licking his body mindlessly, but Barry and Christian are focused on their combined stench, their unwashed bodies, their greasy hair and tangled beards–

“Ummm…Mr…Mr. Brooke?”

The sun felt so good, so warm.

“Dad? We should get going–we still have five miles.”

Barry stretched on the ground, still against the tree. Max, whatever he was now, something between…well, he didn’t really know, really, but he was happily licking his grungy hiking boot, one strange paw like hand groping at his hard, strange looking, cock. He looked up and saw Christian standing already, pulling on his grimy, sweaty uniform. It was another scout who had come to find them, a guy in another patrol named John, eyes still wide at the scene he’d stumbled upon, but by the time Barry had stood up, everything seemed so…normal, suddenly. Barry pulled up his pants, soaked in his musky sweat, and buttoned them, but left his huge cock flopping out the front where it could air out a bit. “Thanks, must’ve fallen asleep there,” he said, walking past John, placing a hand on his shoulder, his stench making the young man tense up and spasm, as he spontaneously shot his load into his underwear. Barry chuckled. Fuck, he loved his boys. He leaned in and gave him a forceful kiss, one hand shoving its way into the young man’s pants, coating itself in cum before pulling out, feeling John moan into his mouth, hungry for his spit. Barry drew away and licked the cum from his fingers, and the scout leaned in, rubbing his face against his scoutmaster’s hairy chest.

Barry looked over, and saw Max was busy cleaning off his son’s cock, and now he could actually get a better look at what, exactly, he was. He was indeed something between a man, a pig and a dog, if he had to try and pin it down. He had a pig’s snout, definitely, with two short tusks pushing out on either side. His tongue was…very long, he saw, as he watched it lick Christian’s cock–it could stretch from head to root with no trouble at all. The rest of Max’s body, however, was a bit…harder to describe. He was coated with fur–not like a person, more like the pelt of an animal. His hands were closer to paws, but his feet were more like trotters, or hooves, and a short, bushy tail stuck out above his hairy ass. His body was substantially more muscular, but in a rather beastly fashion, and the muscle was covered with a thick layer of fat as well, giving him a firm and brawny physique. As he licked, he was busy rubbing his own cock, which was bright pink and…and definitely not human, with it’s odd slimy texture and narrow, pointed head. It was big, too–at least ten inches, which looked larger on him, because Max had shrunk considerably, down to about five feet tall, though his new posture didn’t help, hunched over like that.

The scout licking and chewing at his chest hair was getting him all riled up again, and he pushed him back gently, knowing that if he got started all over again, none of them would get back to camp before nightfall. But when he saw the young man’s face, he gave a bit of a start–his previously smooth face was now coated with dark stubble. Had he…done that? He couldn’t know for certain, but it looked good on him. Every boy looked better as a man, after all, and if he could, he’d make men out of all of them, he thought with a chuckle.

“Come on, ya’ll, let’s get back and get moving,” Barry said, “We’ve rested long enough, I think.”

Together, the four of them walked back to the troop. Barry led the way with Christian, the scout rubbing his stubbly face and wondering what had just happened to him, and Max following behind them, snorting and grunting happily, still stroking his cock with one paw, licking the palm clean of its slime on occasion, his old life now well and forever behind him.