Category: Uncategorized

I’ll Make You Fell Small (Part 3)

***WARNING*** Strangenesss ahead. Mind death and implied snuff.

He didn’t permit Trash to ride in the front cab with him–no, George had brought along a dog carrier, just for this purpose. The bitch was too short to get up into the back of his truck, so George had to lift him up by the armpits, and the sensation of being held, helpless in the air, only cemented for Trash his new status, not even as a bitch, but as some kind of pet, a freak, a worthless, meaningless animal, especially when George padlocked him in, without another word. The crate was cramped–he could barely fit inside it–at first, though it grew more comfortable as he rode. The ride was long, about an hour, and Trash tried to sleep. But the crate was unsecured, and slid from one side of the truck bed to the other with each turn–and he thought his Master might be taking the turns a bit too hard, just to make it harder for him to relax. Finally, however, they came to a stop on a gravel drive–but George didn’t let the bitch out–he just dropped the back, grabbed the crate, and carried Trash into the house still inside it.

Inside, he carried Trash right down into the basement, to his dungeon, and only there, did he finally unlock the door, and allow Trash to crawl out of the crate–which was easier than getting in, because he’d shrunk once again, now only about three feet tall, his skin pale and hairless, arms bony. He felt like he was…disappearing, slowly. He may be worthless, but he didn’t want to disappear, he didn’t deserve that, did he?

He barely reached his master’s crotch now, and he watched George light himself a cigar, and sit down in a leather armchair with a sigh, “Bitch, lick my boots clean.”

The thought of disobeying didn’t even cross his mind anymore–he got down on his knees and started licking at the leather, though his small tongue barely covered any area of leather.

“You know bitch, you’re lucky–did you know that? Don’t you think so? After all, you have the privilege of serving a man–a real man like me, isn’t that right? Do you really think you’re worthy of such a privilege, someone as disgusting as you are?”

“N-No sir, no, of course not, I’m the luckiest bitch, I really am,” Trey said.

George puffed on his cigar for a few minutes, considering a few possibilities, before saying, “Do you…admire me slave?”

“I…I do, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose you would, but a true bitch, no, you aren’t even a bitch, really, are you? Even bitches don’t ride around in crates, even bitches aren’t as small as you are. You’re just my pet, my obedient, dumb, desperate pet, eager to please, utterly dependent on me to provide for you. But I wouldn’t want a pet that looks like you–no, a proper pet takes after it’s owner, don’t you think? I mean, you certainly can’t be a man like I am, but if you really did admire me, I think you’d want to look like me right, Trash? No, it doesn’t even matter what you want to look like–that’s just what you are. All pets are simply reflections of their owners, you couldn’t look any different even if you were capable of thinking otherwise.”

George sat up and bent down, grabbing Trash and pulling him up. He was much heavier than before–not too heavy to lift, of course, but the bulging, hairy gut he’d sprouted had doubled his weight. His face and head was coated with white hair, and his face, while still…humanesque, no longer had any real sense of self, his eyes glued to George’s face, filled with wonder and love, wrinkled with age like George’s own.

“What would you like boy, you want to make your master happy?”

Trash whined. George lined him up with his hard cock, and slipped his pet onto him, his ass opening wide and taking him easily, George’s cock pressing deep into his body, giving him some discomfort, but Trash could handle it. For him, for his Master, he would do anything.

“Yes, such a good pet,” George said, sliding him all the way down onto his cock, and leaving him impaled there, stroking his fat hairy body, “So stupid. Do you even realize that, without me, your existence wouldn’t even matter? That I am the reason you exist, the only thing in the world that cares about you? That without me, you’d just wither away? I’m not your Master. I’m not your owner. I’m your god. You worship me. My pleasure is the only reason you exist. To me, you’re little more than an object to please me–so please me, suck the cum from me with your worthless body.”

Trash’s hairy, fat began to jiggle, clutching at the cock buried inside him trying as hard as it could to squeeze the huge cock inside it. It’s arms were withering–it no longer needed them. It’s legs, too, disappeared, it’s body contracting squeezing as hard as it could, slowly milking it’s god, growing smaller, feeling the cock take up more and more of it’s body, allowing it to constrict harder and tighter, it’s body focusing around it’s now singular purpose–to bring as much pleasure to this godly man as it could. Finally, it heard a roar–cum filling it’s body–it had succeeded, it had done what it was made to do. It was good.

George reached down, and pulled Trash free from his cock, and set it on his massive belly. It was now less than a foot tall, it’s arms and legs gone. He could feel the body still trying to suck, it’s inside cavity coated with cum–he petted it’s hairy body with two fingers, feeling it shiver with pleasure, it’s face melting into the body as it shrank. “It’s time. The only purpose you have now is to join with me. Become a part of your god, it’s the only thing you have left to do.”

He kept stroking. He could see the last bit of it fighting, struggling against what it knew it must do. It shrank smaller and smaller, now just an inch, looking like a hairy nipple in the midst of his belly, and soon he couldn’t see it at all–it had become shapeless, microscopic, nothing at all, now that it was simply a part of him. George sighed, and stroked his belly, satisfied. It was what he’d deserved, after all. Small men like that, small weak men who could only hurt others, the only thing they deserved was to be nothing at all.

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 2)

It felt, to Trey, like an enormous shaft of pain. He’d never, ever, allowed any man to fuck him before, and he screamed, trying to claw himself away, but somehow, this fat man continued to overpower him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his sides, weighing him down with his gut, breath hot against his neck. “How does it feel? Being helpless? Do you feel small? Well you are small. A small man–no, not even a man now. Not a man at all, you’re just a bitch, a slave. My slave–how does that sound? You don’t get to be a man anymore, no, all you are is two loose, hungry holes, ready to please your betters–but that means you’re ready to please absolutely anyone, right? Because you’re the worst, the smallest, the most pathetic thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. Now quit your crying and take it–it’s the only pleasure you’re going to get from now on.”

Trey remained quiet, listening, trying to understand how this could have happened, George focusing on inflicting as much pain as he could, but Trey’s gasps were already turning to groans, as he adjusted to the size of his cock, and he began to realize how good it felt, to take a real man’s cock in his hole.

“Listen to yourself,” George said, “Listen to you moan. Does it feel good? Being used like this? It’s disgusting, how much you enjoy it. Aren’t you disgusting? Say it. Say ‘I’m a disgusting little bitch slave.’ I want to hear you tell me what you are.”

“N-No…” Trey said, but even he knew there was no force behind it.

“Fucking say it!” George screamed at him, “Say you worthless sack of shit!”

“I’m…I’m a bitch…” Trey sobbed, “I’m…I’m a disgusting little…little bitch slave.”

“Again. Say it again.”

“I’m a little, disgusting bitch slave…”

George gave a growl, and flooded Trey’s ass with cum, gripping the bitch’s wrists hard enough to bruise as he filled him up, and then he slid himself free and stepped back, heaving for breath, looking down at Trey, at what he was now. He walked over, grabbed Trey by the hair, and dragged him over in front of a wide mirror against the wall, and in the dim light, Trey could make out his body, his…his small, worthless body–what had happened to him?

He was…short. He’d started out taller than this hulking daddy bear by at least two or three inches, but now he barely reached the top of his chest. He’d shrunk close to a foot and a half…and all of his muscles had disappeared along with it, like he’d simply deflated. No wonder he hadn’t been able to fight him off–why had he even tried? He…he knew better, a weakling like him. Men…men like this man, like his…Master. He couldn’t fight them, there was no way he could possibly win, not against a man like that. Not against any man…because…because he wasn’t a man, not…not anymore.

He could see his crotch, and it was…it was bare. He’d always had a small cock, but now he had literally nothing. Not even a nub, and his balls, too, had shrunken away and disappeared entirely. Seeing where the bitch was looking, George crouched down, and with one hand rubbed the smooth patch of skin. “Tell me bitch. What do you feel? Feel anything down there anymore?”

“N-No…No, what…what did you do to me? Where’s my cock?”

“You don’t deserve a cock, bitch. What would a pathetic piece of trash like you even use a cock for anyway? Or balls? No…no, you know what you’re good for–the only thing you’re good for, slave. Tell me…tell me what a worthless bitch like you might be good for.”

He didn’t…want to say it. He couldn’t say it, but his lips were moving, words were slipping out against him, “Serving…sir. Serving men. Men like you.”

George turned him towards him and slapped him across the face, “No, fucker–you don’t serve men like me. You serve any man–all men are better than you and deserve your service, right bitch?”

“Right…sir.”

“Good,” George said, and pulled out a collar attached to a leash he’d kept attached to his belt. Trey meekly allowed him to place it around his neck, and then George tugged him out of the room, naked, “Let’s see if we can help you learn that lesson, bitch. Come on.”

They stayed at the bath house until the early morning, George leading Trey around by the leash, forcing him to serve every single man they came across, no matter how old and fat, or young and thin. The whole time, he forced Trey to show off his empty crotch, forced him to tell men what he was, and what he was good for. He even gave him a new name, since he didn’t deserve a man’s name. His name was Trash now–and by the time George led him stumbling out into the cold dark outside, still naked, it was the only name he could remember having.

Down the street, still parked, was a motorcycle. Some…dim memory tried to tell him that it was his, but what could a little bitch like him ever do with a motorcycle? Hell, he wouldn’t even be able to drive it…at his new height. He’d continued shrinking, all night long, the more George had abused and humiliated him. Now, he was even weaker, and only about four feet tall. George stopped outside, and looked down at him, wondering what to do next. He wouldn’t be hurting anyone now, not anymore–but was that enough? Did such a cruel thing deserve even this much of a life, as a worthless, tiny bitch? He didn’t. Not in George’s opinion. “Come on slave, you’re coming home with me. I’ll deal with the rest of you then.”

I’ll Make You Feel Small (Part 1)

George stood outside The Pit, off to one side of the entrance, just beyond the scope of the streetlights, smoking a cigar, and waiting. He’d been standing there for close to an hour, waiting for him to show up, his target–a man named Trey Donovan. They had business that needed to be settled, not that Trey was aware of the debt he owed. Still, he’d been a blight on the local scene for long enough that someone needed to deal with the fucker, and George knew that if anyone could deal with him for good, it was him.

Trey thought of himself as an alpha, not that he really knew what that meant. An alpha ought to be a leader; to Trey, it simply meant dominator. He cared only about himself, about his needs, about his looks. He was, George supposed, appealing, of one had a fetish for gorilla silhouettes. He almost certainly was on steroids, from how large he was–it was clear he was compensating for something, and everyone who’d been with him (or raped by him) could attest to his rather…lackluster size. Still, anyone who mentioned that tended to end up with one of those massive forearms shoved inside, whether they were ready or not. He was a brute, cruel and unfeeling, and George had seen too many boys and cubs he liked be ruined by Trey, in one way or another.

George considered himself a daddy, and he looked the part too. Past what some might consider his prime, his hair greying and balding past the crown of his head, a big full gut pushing out against the thick leather harnesses he liked wearing. Still, he knew how to win someone’s obedience, how to create a bond more lasting than the ones Trey fostered out of pain and fear. Some brutes could only learn in the language of brutes, and George was certain Trey was one of them. If he could only get off by making people feel small, then perhaps what he needed more than anything else was to feel small himself. So small, he’d never hurt anyone ever again–George would make sure of that.

He heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down the street, and saw the hulking bull sitting in the saddle pull over to one side of the street and park. He was decked out in leather and denim, all the clothes a bit too small for him on purpose. Trey got off and stomped his way down the sidewalk and up into The Pit, passing George on the way, not even giving the old bear a glance, since George wasn’t exactly his type. He didn’t even hear the strange mumbling coming from the shadows, though he did feel a strange…sensation as he climbed the steps, like some shadow had attached itself to him. He tried to shake off the feeling, but couldn’t, growled and went inside, figuring a rough fuck would make him feel better. George just smiled, waited a few more minutes, put out the butt of his cigar, and then followed Trey inside, ready to get to work.

It hadn’t taken Trey long to get started. In fact, he had probably grabbed the first slightly appealing guy he’d seen, dragged him into a room, bent him over the bench and started on him–or at least that’s what it looked like. The guy was young, short, a bit of a twink, kind of into it, though he kept asking Trey to take in a bit slower–not that he was listening. A few men were watching, and George joined the circle, watching for a moment, before he said, just above a whisper to the man next to him, “What is it, four inches, ya think?”

The man he’d spoken to, knowing Trey’s reputation, immediately turned around and left the room–the other men following suit. Trey, too, had heard him of course, and stopped his rutting, gripping his victim tight to hold him in place, turning to where George was standing, leering. “Big enough to fuck you up, old man. W don’t you just shut up and watch, and see what a real man can do?” The quaver of doubt in his voice was apparent even to him, and he started fucking harder.

“You’re not a man, you’re just a fucking animal. A fucking animal with a tiny, worthless dick,” George said, “You’re pathetic.”

Trey pulled out, and snarled, but something was wrong with him. He knew that he should be angry–no, he was angry, but he should be…angrier than he was. Part of him, some strange part of him was…a bit turned on, by the insult, for some reason. The young twink took his opportunity, rolled off the bench and ran off, Trey realizing too late that his fuck had gotten away. “Ya know, I don’t usually fuck old farts like you, but I’ll ram my fist up your hole just to teach you a lesson about respect!”

He charged George, ready to tackle him. “You’re weak,” George said. Something affected his stride, and Trey stumbled, nearly tripping. “You’re weak, and you’re worthless.” No, no, this wasn’t right, Trey thought to himself, this fucker couldn’t…couldn’t say shit like this to him! He threw a punch–George caught his fist in his own…and his hand should have been so much bigger, but somehow…somehow this old, fat man could palm his fist in his own…and…and… “Bend over, bitch,” George spat.

Trey fought. He fought this…this this sudden desire to submit, something he’d never felt before in his life, something he’d never even imagined himself capable of feeling. He took a step back, but George closed the distance between them, one of the bears hands wrapping around his neck. “You worthless piece of trash, don’t even think about it. You know you deserve this. I’m gonna show you just how little of a man you are. Now bend the fuck over, whore–I won’t tell you again.”

George shoved him back, Trey trying to keep his balance, but he fell on his ass, and…and he got on his knees, helped himself up with the bench, and…and bent over, the whole time, his mind screaming at him, unable to understand why he was doing this, as he heard George’s belt buckle click open, his zipper drop, and the old bear shoved his eight inch cock in balls deep.

New Lube (Sketch)

Noah took a look at the odd tube again, now that he was back in his apartment, which he’d received from a vendor offering out free samples to men passing by his table at the gay pride celebration he’d just been to. It appeared to some kind of specialty lube, but the matte black packaging didn’t say much about what was inside it. Still, he was curious, and the half naked guys he’d been checking had him horny. He was planning on bringing someone home tonight, of course, but why not blow off a little steam now? It was still early after all.

He stripped down and squeezed a bit of lube out onto his hand, but already it was different than any kind of lube he’d seen before. It was pitch black and opaque, but oddly shiny, almost like liquid rubber. He squeezed a bit more out onto his palm and set the tube off to one side, before tentatively rubbing it on his cock, groaning as the lube started pricking and tingling all over the surface of not just his shaft, but also the palm of his hand. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but the lube wasn’t very effective–he kept needing to apply more, and the tingling gave way to something more like numbness. It was keeping him from getting off, though he remained completely hard, and switched hands after a couple of minutes, gett the palm of his other hand coated in the stuff as well. It reminded him, when he was a kid, of sitting on his arm and putting it to sleep, so it felt weird when he jacked off, only instead of his hand being asleep, it was his dick.

To that point, he’d had his eyes closed, focusing on a fantasy involving some of the hot men he’d seen that day, but as his frustration grew, he finally opened his eyes and looked down–and gasped. His…cock. It was completely coated with the lube, but rather than drying away, it looked like it had simply coated his cock…and now it really did look like rubber. He ran his hands over it, and saw that the palms of his hands, and even the sides and some of the backs, had turned the same black color all over–his balls too, even though he was certain he hadn’t gotten anything on them. He knew he should try to wash it off, but his hands just kept stroking–faster now, fast enough that he could feel the lube drying harder. It didn’t feel good anymore, but he also couldn’t stop, and with a sudden, gut wrenching sensation, his cock and balls came right off his body, in his hands.

He stared at his cock and balls, unable to believe what had just happened to him…but they didn’t look like his equipment anymore–in fact, they looked just like a rubber dildo. Still, this had to be a dream, it couldn’t be real. He looked down, and where his cock had been attached was just a smooth patch of rubber. In a panic, he got up to go to the bathroom and wash his hands, but one hand reached out and grabbed the tube of lube–without him thinking about it–and brought it along.

In the bathroom, he set his dildo on the counter and tried to turn on the faucet. Instead, his hands–working against him, squeezed out even more lube into his palms, and started slathering it up and down his arms and legs. He screamed, trying to get his limbs to obey him, but it was like they didn’t even belong to him anymore–hell, he couldn’t even feel his hands at all, now that he thought about it, and when he grew too loud, one hand grabbed the dildo, lubed it up, and shoved it in his mouth.

The taste was vile, and the stinging and numbing was almost immediate, as the hand thrust the dildo deeper, down into his throat. He tried to scream, but suddenly he couldn’t get anything out–not even a whisper or a cough. His teeth and tongue went numb–he couldn’t even tell whether or not they existed at all, and after a few minutes, the hand pulled the dildo back out. Noah didn’t have a mouth anymore–all he had in it’s place was a puckered, rubberized hole.

By then, his legs were coated entirely, and they began to collapse underneath him, breaking off his body as he fell, and he could see from where he landed that they were now simply a pair of rubber, thigh high waders. His hands continued their work, coating his entire body with the substance, even smearing it across his eyes, nose and ears, sealing them shut, and then he sensed them deflating and falling away from him too, a pair of shoulder length rubber gloves, leaving him as a rubber torso and head on the floor of his bathroom, trying to scream with no mouth, no lungs, no hope at all.

He only had a dim knowledge of what happened next. He was picked up at some point, and driven somewhere. Before too long, the first cock shoved its way into his mouth, raping him brutally, and cumming in less than a minute. Then, a steady stream of cock followed. Some fucked him, others simply slipped inside and pissed. He could feel his torso–now completely hollow–slowly filling up with cum and piss, sloshing about inside him. He could, distantly, feel his old arms and legs being worn by men, like phantom sensations he only had distant access to, but his only pleasure came from his now disconnected cock, being ridden by some unknown asshole, or sucked on by a mystery mouth. He could never cum, of course, and the pleasure drove him closer and closer to insanity, his mind slowly turning to complete rubber, eventually only happy when it was being of service.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 3)

Things were different for Buddy from then on, when he finally woke early Saturday afternoon, from his very long sleep. He’d…tried to resist. He really had, at first, but once he’d understood how…how good it could feel, how wonderful it was to have someone like Mr. Lear inside him, guiding him, controlling him, it was easier to just…let go. Together, Mr Lear and Buddy spent the next hour or so jacking off–for real now–exploring his young, husky body, Buddy amazed at the range of pleasure the old man could bring out in him. Sure, he’d jacked off before, but it had never felt like…like this. It was no wonder people jacked off so much, if you knew what you were doing, of course. And Mr. Lear had shown him that Buddy had no idea at all, what he was doing. He’d just been…floundering all this time, in desperate need of someone’s help. Well now he didn’t have to do anything at all. Mr. Lear would do everything for him! All he had to do was go along for the ride.

He felt a bit bad for his dad, however. He eventually came up to his son’s room to investigate the moaning he’d heard, over the din of the television downstairs. He opened the door, and was appalled at what he saw–his son covered in his own cum, jacking off openly under his roof like some…some fucking faggot! Buddy’s dad wasn’t all that much brighter than his son. He hadn’t even managed to graduate high school, ending up working away his life in construction. he was a big brute, heavily muscled with a thick full beard–it didn’t take much effort for Mr. Lear to have him on top of his own son, drooling, licking up the cum from his skin, disgusted with himself at his own actions but unable to do anything to stop himself.

But what to do with him? Such a horrible little man couldn’t be allowed to just continue being…horrible, after all. Mr. Lear started by stealing most of his cock. Buddy had been modestly endowed–around four inches, his father was a bit larger, at six. Together, however, Buddy’s body was wielding a ten inch, incredibly thick cock, and his father was left with not even a dicklet, but a dimple and a hole. He was humiliated at the sight of himself–which gave Mr. Lear a horrid idea–so he forced his new father to take any number of pictures of himself, in all sorts of demeaning positions and in his wife’s underwear, and made him start posting them online–his face exposed of course. He couldn’t stand it, but the thrill for him was so powerful, he started compulsively oozing from his new cumhole.

Mr. Lear had no real interest in returning to school–he already had enough knowledge to satisfy multiple PhDs, but his new body needed at least a high school diploma. When Buddy suddenly stopped failing classes, some of his teachers thought it was a miracle–the hopeless student, not just uncaring, but too stupid to really know what caring was–suddenly improved. Was he cheating? No one could prove anything–but some of the teachers found out the truth, soon enough.

Mr. Sonders, for example. He was easily the fattest teacher at the school, weighing in close to six hundred pounds, though this year he’d resolved to lose as much of it as he could–at least until Buddy’s body showed up at his desk one day after school. Mr. Sonders, Buddy discovered, had been Mr. Lear’s pet piggy–and while he put up quite a fight against falling back under his master’s control, he was soon crawling around the floor, squealing and oinking, begging his master’s forgiveness for daring to lose any of the weight he’d worked so hard to gain. In a matter of months, he was larger than ever, and as punishment he could no longer cum without his mouth packed with food–or a cock.

The football coach was equally unhappy to discover Mr. Lear was back from the grave, but he too, was back to his old habits before too long–no longer showering or changing his clothes, licking out the locker room urinals and toilets after practice, wetting the bed each night in his bachelor pad, since his wife had long since left him after his hygiene had first slipped. One thing that was unforgivable, however, was that he had shaved off his long, grungy beard, and cut his hair. As penance, his hair began growing incredibly fast–he had his old beard back by graduation, and it would only be getting longer–and filthier.

Buddy had no real hope of getting into college, of course–not with his abysmal track record in school. That didn’t seem to bother him, however, and he took on a conveniently open janitorial position at his old high school, and moved out on his own, into Mr. Lear’s still vacant house. After a few months, his father and mother divorced–his photos had finally been found online by his wife and work buddies. He was forced to quit his job out of shame, and move in with his son as his personal maid and slave. The brute spent his days in woman’s panties and heels, but Mr Lear forced him to work out even more and start juice up, turning him into a massive muscle monster bottom, filming slutty, humiliating videos for his online fans…and that was the last Buddy saw of him…of anything, actually.

He’d been fading for a while now, as Mr. Lear took over more and more space up in his mind. Before too long, even he wasn’t sure he existed anymore–when Mr. Lear finally convinced him that his existence was simply an impossibility, he finally winked out entirely, leaving his body to his Master, for the rest of his new life.

Halloween at The Barnyard

A very special Halloween story is currently available for download on Patreon for everyone contributing five dollars or more a month. If you aren’t contributing yet, I would greatly appreciate your support. One dollar a month gets you access to a massive archive of unreleased stories and drafts, five dollars gets you the archive and special stories like this one (usually one sizable story a month). If you feel extra generous, ten dollars gets you access to all of my drafts of current stories, meaning you get to see everything I’m working currently ahead of everyone else! You can find more information here. Thanks again to those currently giving, and have a happy Halloween!

Halloween at The Barnyard

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 2)

***Warning*** This is a bit graphic with a tale auto-erotic asphyxiation, but it’s almost Halloween, what do you really expect from me?

There was a rumor, at the time, going around the school, that something had happened to the school’s janitor, Mr. Lear, over the summer. Of course, everyone at the school knew he’d died; the administration had announced that at the opening assembly. Everyone had liked Mr. Lear–sure he was a old fart, but he’d been silly and made friends with any number of students during his many years working at the school, and it had been a blow to the community. The old man had  always claimed to be a magician, but all of tricks were just sleight of hand–although none of the students had ever been able to catch him at it, in all of these years. He’d also been…accused of some odd things over the years, but no one seemed to care much, and they were generally forgotten quickly. That said, his death over the summer was the greatest mystery of all.

The official story was a heart attack at home, and no one had any evidence that that wasn’t the case, but the rumor going around was that Mr. Lear had, in fact, died in the school itself. The more scandalous versions alleged that he’d hanged himself in the gym locker room–and the version students only dared whisper was that he’d died with his hand around his cock, jacking off–just like some people had heard this senior, Terry Winters, had done at home two years earlier. Such a nasty rumor would only get a foothold, of course, if it hadn’t been at least…a little plausible. Mr. Lear had been a nice guy, but he’d also been a bit of a creep at times. The school administration tried to tamp down the story, which only made it spread faster.

Buddy had heard some of this, but he hadn’t thought much of it–he didn’t think much of anything, really. He sat the rest of the game out on the sidelines, trying to not rub his cock through his uniform pants. All he wanted was for the thoughts to stop, but being away from the game only made it harder to think about something else–because usually, Buddy wasn’t thinking about anything at all. The game finished–his team won, no thanks to him, and he got changed as quick as he could, and got home, the thoughts dimming slightly as he got away from the school, but didn’t leave entirely.

His dad was angry at him for his poor performance, and yelled and berated him for being such a terrible waste of manhood. Buddy, feeling terrible, went to bed, but didn’t dare cry. What if he wasn’t only a bad football player, and a bad man, but a faggot too? What then? It took several hours, but he eventually fell into a fitful sleep…and dreamed.

He never dreamed anything much–the few he remembered were mostly odd colors and patterns, not stories. But this–this was vivid, solid. He was standing in the boy’s locker room of the high school, by himself…or was he? There was…someone else here, someone watching him. He ran to the door, but it refused to open, and when he turned around–there, in the middle of the locker room, naked aside from a filthy jockstrap and a rope noose pulled tight around his neck, was Mr. Lear.

“Buddy?…Buddy! So you’re the one! You have no idea how glad I am to see you–to have found you,” the old man said, walking closer to him. There was something…wrong about him, something terribly wrong, with how blue his skin was, how…cold he seemed, the incredibly bloodshot eyes. “You make me feel…young again.”

“Wake…wake up. I gotta wake up!” Buddy said to himself, pinching his arm, but nothing happened.

“Oh Buddy–you aren’t in your dreams anymore–you’re in mine! And the best thing about dreams? They can last a very, very long time, you know. Why, it can feel like…years have passed, and you wake up the next morning, and it’s just hours. Isn’t the mind amazing? The spirit?”

“No–No! Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” he screamed, the bony old hand reaching down, grabbing his arm, and Mr. Lear tugged him into an icy hug, his mind…filling with…thoughts and desires, ideas and fantasies he had never imagined. Mr. Lear pushed him down onto his knees, where Buddy pressed his face to the nasty jockstrap he had on, grinding his face into the dry, crispy fabric, his hands wrapping around his own cock, jacking it slowly.

“You see, I’d been waiting for so long, Buddy, trapped in that school, just a shadow of myself, unable to move on. I’ve been trying to get into the others, but I was so weak, it took so much magic to just keep from moving on! But you–you’re so…empty, so perfect. Dumb, empty, with no real will of your own. But I can help you, Buddy. I can give you what you’ve always been missing! Desire! Purpose! You’re head’s so empty, why, there’s plenty of room for me to make myself at home, right?”

Buddy found himself nodding. Bony fingers with long, chipped nails slipped the jockstrap down, revealing a cock, perpetually hard, blue with desperation.

“I was almost there, right on the edge. I knew I needed to stop, but it feels so good, that explosion! And magic is cheating of course–you have to…to know that death is seconds away for it to really count. But I didn’t even get there, stuck on the edge in…so many ways. I want…I want to feel it again, Buddy. I want to feel what it’s like to cum again. To fuck again, to smell a filthy jock, to seduce men and have my way with them. My magic kept me tethered to the world, but if you become my vessel, it will become yours, you know. The power to bend wills, to change minds…we can have so much fun together, you and I.”

“No…No, please…” Buddy muttered, feeling his mouth open anyway, tongue extending to taste that bulging, dead cock inches from his mouth.

“I expected you to say that, at first. But we have ages in our dreams, you know. I can show you how wonderful it can be, to say yes. I can show you so many things tonight, so many wonderful things! Come morning, we’ll be a new man together, I promise.”

Buddy screamed, mouth wide, but Mr. Lear gagged him quiet, thrusting his cock straight down the boy’s throat. He’d learn, oh he’d learn–and he had he had all the time to teach him to be the best, most perverse vessel he could possibly be.

Mr. Lear’s Buddy (Part 1)

It was homecoming night, the big game against their crosstown rivals, and Buddy knew he couldn’t afford to feel nervous. In fact, nervousness wasn’t something he usually felt–hell, he didn’t usually feel much of anything, in the middle of a game…or really, much at all. As much as Buddy hated to admit it, he simply wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed. Football, now that was something he could do. He could run into guys, he could keep them away from the quarterback, that was simple, that was small and focused enough that his mind could latch onto that. But tonight, about halfway through the first quarter he’d felt something he usually only felt when he was called on unexpectedly in math class–he felt nervous.

A different…kind of nervousness, too. Not a terror nervous, but a sort of happy, giddy nervousness that he’d never felt anything like before. It wasn’t enough to really upset him, or spoil him, but his awareness of the sensation was there all the same, and there was nothing he could do to shake it. Alongside the nervousness, however, he had this other sensation of being watched…studied. Examined from the stands. That was understandable, he was one of the star varsity players, but this felt different than a fan watching him. Still, the nervousness seemed to ebb a bit at the first quarter segued into the second, but then, something else happened. He went in for a tackle after the center hiked the ball, like always–facing off against one of the brutes from the opposing team. They shoved their bodies together, but rather than just two sacks of flesh colliding (this is what it had always felt like, a fleshy violence, like when his mother tenderized cube steak with a mallet) it felt like a strange kind of pleasure, more liquid than flesh. Sensing weakness in him, his opposing tackle pushed onward, and Buddy flowed with him, his hand migrating to the other player’s crotch, gripping it, feeling the man’s surprise, feeling him halter, and then it was gone, and the game flashed back into him, the tackle blowing past him, the quarterback barely completing a pass before he was slammed to the ground.

Buddy simply stood there, unable to process what was going on in his head. There was his confusion, but something else, a giddy happiness. Like the nervousness earlier, it felt somehow foreign to him, and he again looked around the stands, trying to find the eyes he knew were focused intently on him, and trying to avoid looking at the coach, who he knew would be angry at Buddy for letting a tackle through like that. After all, Buddy never let a tackle through–that was his job, his only job, the only job he could get right.

The quarter counted down, but only grew stranger. Buddy felt…like his body was so much more sensitive than ever before. So sensitive, in fact, that during one particularly violent collision a few moments later, where his helmeted face ended up crushed against another player’s crotch, his cock spewed a huge load of cum into his jock, and he clung to the body, pressing his face as close as he could get, aware, for the first time, of how their bodies smelled here, on the field. The sweat, the grass. But also…also this musk. His musk, this other body, they were so close, and…and…

“Dude, fucking get off me, you freak,” the other player said, kicking himself free of Buddy’s hold, forcing him back. He tried to figure out what was happening to him, what he was feeling. His father talked about homosexuals, about these freaks who stuck their cocks in other men’s holes, how unnatural that was. And he was thinking about that, thinking about holes, about his holes, about other men’s holes and how…how that might feel. Was he one of those homosexuals? He’d fucked girls before, but this felt…

He shook his head. This was a game, it was the middle of the game, he was losing focus, why was he losing focus? It felt like his once empty head was…filling up with…sex. With musk, with pleasure, with bodies, with…it was so much, and so much of it was impossible to put any sort of words to. The quarter was over, and the coach was unhappy with him and yelled at him on the sideline, said he didn’t have his head in the game. He’d have to sit out the third quarter, and maybe play in the fourth, if they could build up a sizable lead. Buddy was trying to look sorry, his head bowed, but really his eyes were locked on the coach’s crotch, on the bulge there, wondering about cocks and holes again, those eyes still on him, his head filling up, and for the first time in his life, he wished his head was empty again. It had been so much simpler, but things…were suddenly becoming very, very complicated.

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 3)

This time, in the darkness, it was different. Before, RJ had been terrified, the strange beings around him a kind of torture. But now, now every touch from a claw sent a burst of pleasure through him, strange mouths fighting for the privilege of sucking and gnawing on his cock, balls and nipples, eager to drink and absorb his cum. Still, RJ had a question, a burning question–when could he leave? He knew, somehow, that he didn’t belong here, that he’d come from somewhere outside–at the thought, the presence around him turned angry, and the pleasure became…painful. He could enjoy it at first, but then he grew terrified, the presence lecturing him inside his mind. There was no outside, there was only here, and he was here to be punished and to punish others–that if he continued harbouring ideas about the world he’d come from…well, he’d just have to see what might happen to him then.

The lights again. Now, they were too harsh to his eyes–the dark, he liked the dark better, he liked being in the pleasures of the dark. He hadn’t changed, much–not nearly as much as before, but his hands…they didn’t seem quite human anymore, and his massive cock was emerging from some strange sheath, that ran up his muscled, hairy belly. In front of him was the endless wall of urinals, but one of them was not like the others. In the place of filthy porcelain, there was instead a body, fused with the wall. It was upside down, the chest emerging from the nasty, grafittied tile, the head looking up at it’s tortured body, arms trapped in the wall, the mouth screaming in terror.

RJ…remembered him. It was the stranger, the stranger he’d fucked earlier. A voice in his head, a darkness, told him that this man had fought them, it had tried to escape, it hadn’t even tried to be good, be free, it still thought it was a person. So now, it had to pay. If it wouldn’t join them, if it wouldn’t help them, then it would be nothing more than an object, a filthy, disgusting object.

The man’s skin had a pasty look to it under the light,; RJ walked forward, hearing something click against the tile floor, the man trying to flinch away from him, and ran his clawed fingers down its abdomen. It…was hard, or hardening. He was hard…too. And he had…had to piss. He bent over, pushing his cock into the thing’s screaming mouth, feeling it widen to take RJ’s unnatural thickness, and with a guttural groan, he released his bladder, feeling much of it flood into this thing, making it bulge out, the skin turning whiter, the screams dying into a gargle as its mouth became the only feature remaining of it’s pasty white face. and RJ’s piss began overflowing the mouth, cascading onto the floor, soaking his hairy, clawed feet. It wasn’t a person anymore, it was just a thing, a filthy urinal. RJ…RJ didn’t want that, he wanted to…to feel good, like he did in the dark. He backed away, leaving the urinal brimming with piss, and the darkness swallowed him once more into their arms.

What they wanted was simple. They wanted his humanity. They wanted his soul, they wanted him to join them, to become the monster he truly was. Part of him fought, but he was weak, he’d always been weak. He always hated that part of him, that morality, that thing which had questioned his cruelty, doubted his self-serving actions his whole life. He was happy to be rid of it. He was…a beast. Violent, angry, vicious. He only followed that which he feared–and he learned to fear the presence, through pain. Pleasure was…so much better, so much more desirable, he would do anything for to feel good.

The light didn’t return for a long time. When it did, he found himself alone, in a small sliver of light just a few yards wide, the light making him shield his eyes. Unlike much of the bathroom, this part he now found himself in wasn’t lined by toilets or urinals, but by two mirrors on either side–and for the first time, he could see himself, his monstrous form. He could no longer stand on his feet alone–the massive bulk of his chest and neck forced him onto his hands as well, like an ape, his hands and feet covered with red-brown fur and tipped with black claws. His face–there was no longer anything remotely human. A snout, a maw, filled with glistening teeth crusted woth something black, white eyes shot with red veins, and deeper…there, right inside him, that same void. It was…in him now, contained him, as he contained it. He licked his chops with a purple tongue, leaving a line of slobber, feeling his cock emerge. Something…was coming. He’d been brought back for a reason, to punish someone, and the lights on one side of where he stood flicked on.

There. There, a few yards away. A man. A nasty, resistant man. He’d been there for weeks, it looked like, his clothing ragged, his face exhausted. He was scooping water from a toilet with filthy, cupped hands, trying to drink, hoping it was clean. The darkness, his God, it had been working on him, wearing him away, but he needed to be forced, he needed violence, he needed to witness his own helplessness and weakness.

RJ roared–the man turned to him, and the look of terror in his eyes made RJ desire the hunt, the fuck, even more. He had no chance–the beast ripped his clothes from him, pinned him to the floor, and rammed his cock into him, biting down, drawing and tasting blood, fucking him not until RJ came, shuddering, which he did over and over again. No, not until the man was sobbing on the floor, and yet pushing back, aching to be filled by this monster’s cock, did RJ withdraw and slink back into the void, into the presence to which he belonged, and together, they cut the lights, and swarmed their new prey into the dark.