Category: Uncategorized

Stinkers – Part 4

WARNING: This section contains graphic scat play. If brown turns your stomach, it would probably be better for you to skip this one.

Kurt wasn’t really looking where he was going–his eyes were on his phone. He had to call Jerry to go over the final details of their presentation tomorrow morning. He scrolled through his contacts, and slammed right into a young man who had stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk’s flow. He looked up, his eyes catching the piss and cum stained shirt, the sleazy handlebar mustache, the beat up hat, and then he caught a whiff of him. Of that…funk, that was wafting from him. He was speechless. He was beyond disgusted. He wanted to scream at him, but all the man did was stare at Kurt a moment, and then walk off into an alleyway, beckoning with one finger.

He told himself that he followed the young man because he was angry. Because he wanted to fight, because he wanted to scream, but his breathing was turning ragged, he was snorting through his nose without even realizing it. His nose was…awash with smells he’d just never bothered smelling before. The city itself, the filth of it. The grime, the trash, the exhaust, the sewage. The alley was dark compared to the bright street, and rather narrow. He fumbled for a moment, following his nose while his eyes adjusted. There, he saw the man he’d run into on the sidewalk, beside one of the most massive men he’d ever seen. He was wearing nothing beyond a couple of dirt crusted work boots and a pair of jean shorts that did nothing to hide the massive cock clearly visible through multiple tears. His chest was coated with hair, and he looked…wet. Like he’d just stepped from the shower, but it was sweat. He didn’t know how he knew, but it was sweat soaking the massive man’s beard and chest, his arms, his…his thighs. His cock. He couldn’t stop looking at the man’s cock, his fucking…fucking cock.

The man he’d run into on the sidewalk was speaking, but Kurt only caught the tail end, “…your turn Jed.”

“Don’t fuckin’ mind if I do.”

The huge one stepped towards him, and the musk froze Kurt in place. He couldn’t process it, he couldn’t grapple with how it was making him feel. The man ran his hands along his body, over his suit, down over his flabby chest and gut, down to his crotch, where he groped Kurt’s hard cock, around to his ass and then up to his face, stroking his chubby, stubbly cheeks before wiping some sweat up and shoving two huge fingers right in Kurt’s nose. He snorted, and nearly came in his pants.

“Fuckin’ pig. Old, fuckin, nasty piggy.”

He pushed Kurt up against the wall, and then pressed his body to him, pinning him there. Kurt had never felt so small–he could feel the man’s cock jutting into his gut, and then something warm started soaking into him. He could smell the man’s piss, he could smell it and he wanted it. He didn’t know why, but he’d never wanted anything as much as that, but he couldn’t get down on his knees. He couldn’t get down there, he was pinned, and the man knew it, he could see Kurt’s desperation, and he relished it. “Please…” Kurt whimpered, but he didn’t know whether he wanted the man to let him go, or to let him drink.

“Not yet, you nasty piggy,” Jed said, “First, you gotta do some things for me. Show me what a dirty stink whore you are. Piss yourself. Piss these expensive suit pants of yours. I don’t think I soaked ‘em well enough.”

It was surprisingly easy. Kurt felt his bladder go almost immediately, and as much as he knew he should feel ashamed, he felt…relieved. Sexy even.

“Yeah…yeah, fucker. But here’s the real test. The real piggy test. Shit your pants for me. I wanna smell a full load back there before I count to ten, or there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Wait…what? But–”

“1…2…3…”

Kurt tried to think about this, he tried, but his brain just wasn’t working, it wasn’t working at all. Why not shit himself? He couldn’t answer that question, he couldn’t.

“4…5…6…”

He grunted. He pushed. He heard himself fart.

“7…8…”

Another fart. It was coming, he could feel it, and he bore down harder. Filling the back of his pants like a good pig, yeah, fucking pig, he was such a fuckin’ pig!

“Good piggy,” Jed said, and smelled the air, “Gonna be a fun one, eh Sam?”

“You always make good ones man.”

Jed let up some pressure, enough to let Kurt come forward from the wall, and then shoved a hand down the back of Kurt’s pants, right into the mess, and then he pulled it out, dragging his hand up Kurt’s back, to his neck and up the back of his head. It was warm, it was warm and stank, and they were panting with lust. Another coating, this time smearing it across his face, forcing four thick fingers into his mouth, feeling Kurt try to suck all of them clean at once, leaned in and kissed him, invaded his mouth with a thick tongue, and he let him, he let him because he wanted it, because he was a pig, a nasty pig, a filthy pig, and he came. He came, and it felt like he was pouring out of himself, and someone he had never admitted was inside him was coming out in him. Jed stepped back, releasing pressure, and Kurt slumped down the wall, feeling shit squish around his ass and legs when he hit the pavement, but he was used to that…wasn’t he? He hadn’t been able to keep shit in for…for ages, not that he minded, a nasty derelict toilet pig like him.

The two stinkers were staring at him and grinning. The businessman they’d pulled into the alley was gone, replaced by an old, fat derelict dressed in filthy rubber and leather sex gear, his huge beard crusted with grime, cum and shit, his hair tangled, his skin barely visible beneath the layer of dried scum. Kurt smirked at them, showing his mostly toothless mouth, and licked his lips. Jed knew what he wanted. He dropped his shorts, bent over and braced himself against the opposite wall, and Kurt saw shit start pumping out of the hole. He scrambled up and tried to get ahead of the flow, tried to eat it all up like a good pig, snorting and grunting and shaking with need. Behind him, Sam yanked down his rubber pants and thrust his cock into the cooling muck stuck to the old man’s crack, stabbing around until he found the loose hole, and started fucking wildly.

After they’d both abused him, the two men left him there in the alley. He tried to follow them, but some small part of him was too ashamed to be seen on the sidewalk. What had they done to him? What had he just done to himself? He spent the night in the alley, eating his shit, trading his service as a toilet with other degenerates for booze and cigarettes, and by the next morning, Kurt had no memory of his old life–he was just a pig who wandered the streets, begging men for shit…and more often than not, he’d get it. Something about the way he smelled made men more than happy to slip into an alley and use him as the toilet he knew he was. After all, he was a stinker, through and through, just like the rest of them.

Stinkers (Part 3)

Jed slammed the door, and then punched a hole in the apartment wall. That was the third one. The third fucking prostitute, and every single one of them had reeked. Not unwashed reek, but this fucking reek of woman, and Jed hadn’t even been able to get past the nausea to fucking tough any of them. He stared at the hole he’d made, his arms raised up on the wall, his own unwashed stink calming him down, making him horny, making him hornier. He should take a shower. He’d already taken three showers, in fact, but as soon as he stepped out, it was like his body would immediately start sweating, and in less than five minutes, he’d be as filthy as before. But he had to do something, right? He had to try to get this faggot stink off of him somehow. He tromped back into the bathroom, and while he waited for the water to heat up, he stared at himself in the mirror.

What had that faggot done to him? He didn’t even look like himself anymore. He looked to be a good three or four inches taller, and his entire body was built like he’d been pumping iron at the gym for years. He was hairier, especially his chest, but even his arms and legs had a thick coating which hadn’t been there before, and his pits! They looked like fucking nests now, and the hair was always sopping wet with sweat. The same with his bush. If his cock hadn’t grown several inches longer, it would have been completely swallowed up by the mass of hair. Yeah, his cock. With that new foreskin which had grown over the head, he pulled it back and saw all the cheese he’d eaten off his fingers earlier (he hadn’t been able to control himself, he’d just had to taste it) had already been replaced with even more than before. It was disgusting. He was disgusting, he was turning into some freak faggot, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

There was another knock on the door. Probably that prostitute angry that he’d refused to pay her. He could set her straight, get her and her stink the fuck away from him, but as he stomped towards the door, he smelled something else. Something familiar on the other side. Something far more…appetizing. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let him in, he wouldn’t do that to himself, he wouldn’t be some stinking faggot like that! He’d fought it this long, he could fight it some more, he could bottle it up all over again, like he’d had to do before, but fuck. Fuck if his cock wasn’t hard as a rock. Fuck if his ass wasn’t twitching. Fuck if he wasn’t drooling into the two inch long beard he’d grown out in a single day. Fuck. Fuck it. He opened the door, and there, in the hall, was Sam.

He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him inside, shoving him up against the wall, door still open, and just smelled him. Smelled his pits, smelled his neck, fell to his knees and pressed his face against his crotch, smelling his cock, the cock he’d been wanting to taste all day, the cock he fucking wanted so fucking much. Sam reached out, and swung the door closed. Jed kept sniffing for a few minutes, fighting the urge to rip the jeans apart and swallow him then and there, but he pulled himself back from the brink, and stood back up.

“How…how did you find me here?”

“How do you think I found you? I can smell you across the city, you idiot. Why’d you run off like that?”

“I’m not…not gonna let you make me a faggot.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I can’t make you a faggot man, you just are one.”

“No…Fuck that. I’m not.”

“Look, this is my fault, I should have made sure you were finished before finding someone to stink up together. Let me help you man, cause you smell fucking amazing, and I can’t fuckin’ wait to see what you’re gonna be once you really let loose.”

Sam brought his mouth close; Jed could taste his hot breath. He’d never wanted to kiss a man before, that was true faggot territory, but…but he was so hungry, he was so horny, he closed the gap, pushing their mouths together, sucking Sam’s tongue into his mouth, chewing his lips, licking his mustache, pulling him closer, tighter, and then shoved him away, turning back, retreating into the apartment.

Sam stripped off his shirt, dropped his pants and dirty brown underwear, kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks. Jed just watched from a distance. “Please, just leave. Don’t make me do this.”

Sam walked past him, Sat down on the couch, and put his feet up on the table. “I’m not going to make you do anything. You just do whatever feels good.”

So many, different, smells. Crotch, feet, ass, cock, balls, pits, neck, navel. Why was he fighting this? Why? He got down on his knees, and started at Sam’s feet up on the table, licking the tops, and then the bottoms, burrowing his tongue between the toes, milking his cock with one hand, licking his own precum off his palm. Sam was nursing his own hard cock, Jed could see the cheese under the foreskin, and he ran his tongue underneath it, collecting it, savoring it, and then took the head and sucked, and then swallowed the whole shaft. Faggot. He was a faggot. But instead of shame, he just felt…nothing. He just felt like himself. He felt more like himself. He felt his muscles swelling, his beard growing longer, hair coating his body in an even thicker layer than before. Sam pushed him off his cock, rolled over, got on his knees, ass towards Jed’s face, and he shoved his tongue as far up the chute as he could, grinding his beard into the shitty crack, and when Sam farted directly in his face, he almost lost it, he almost shot his load, but no, no, he needed to fuck. He stood up, licking the scum from his lips and beard, pressing his precum slick cock head against Sam’s dirty hole and forced it in. humping and fucking, holding out as long as he could, but he was shooting, and shooting deep. And he felt…free.

Free.

He stayed in Sam’s ass as long as he could, licking the sweat from his friend’s back, sniffing his pits, Sam telling him what a good fucker he was, what a good stinker he was, what a good faggot he was. He was a good faggot. And Sam was a good faggot. Or maybe bad and good had nothing to do with it, maybe they just…were. His cock slipped out, and he finished Sam off, sucking the cum out, letting most of his load splatter into his bushy beard, smiling up at Sam, seeing him smile back. Just a couple of stinking fags, like Jed had always wanted, even if he’d never really known.

Stinkers – Part 2

They had gotten off the bus at around 5:15, and the sidewalk was swarming with men in business suits. Sam was quick, cutting against the flow with ease–more than once, Jed lost sight of him in the crowd, but discovered he could find him just as easily with his nose, if he focused on the foul stench coming off his body. The two of them swam through the current of men, any number of them throwing Jed nasty looks, wondering what a filthy worker like him could possibly be doing on their sidewalk. Jed eventually stopped following his eyes and relied on his nose–and he ran right into Sam’s back, discovering his strange acquaintance had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and was sniffing the air.

“What are we doing up here, anyway?” Jed asked.

“Eh,” Sam said, took a long snort, and sighed, “I was bored, wanted to play. I wasn’t expecting to find someone like you on the bus though.”

“Like me?”

“Another Stinker like me.”

“A Stinker?”

Sam took another deep breath, and gave a shudder, “Can’t fuckin’ concentrate with you stinking like filth behind me, fuck…”

Before Jed could do anything, Sam grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him across the sidewalk’s flow, towards a narrow alley between two large office buildings. There were a couple of dumpsters a fifty feet back or so, and Sam pulled him behind one, shoved Jed up against the wall, and pressed his body into him, licking Jed’s neck, sucking at the sweat there, listening to him moan and grind his cock into Sam’s filthy jeans. “Look…just…just stay here for a bit, I’ll be back in a moment with something fun to play with.”

Jed waited. Sam went back to the alley entrance, sniffing at the men who passed by without them really noticing. Something caught his attention, and he stepped back out into the flow of men, Jed struggling to see him in the throng of businessmen. A minute later, He stepped back, pulling someone with him–one of the businessmen. He was younger, probably in his late twenties. Well manicured, with that greased back hair that was so popular these days, and a smooth face. He was a bit taller than Sam, but probably a bit shorter than Jed was now. He didn’t look particularly happy, being dragged along by some strange filthy man, but Jed could see the tent in his tailored pants, and he could…smell him. He didn’t smell quite like Sam and him, not filthy, and he didn’t just smell “clean”, he smelled…like fresh meat. He smelled like prey, like a target, and without really noticing, Jed felt his mouth start drooling a bit, and he was stroking his cock.

Jed wasn’t a faggot, but he’d had sex with men before, always as a top, and now he realized that every single one of them had smelled exactly like this young man smelled. And every single one of them had done everything he’d said, no matter what it was, and in all of those situations, Jed had always been…surprised by the depths and filth of his imagination. He recognized that look in the businessman’s eyes, that confusion as he leaned in closer, Sam lifting one arm, the man sniffing, then giving in and burying his face in the stink. Sam spit in the man’s face, and Jed watched his anger turn to humiliation, then turn to arousal. Sam eventually walked away, deeper into the alley. The man didn’t want to follow, but he wiped the drool on his hand, sucked it up, and then followed him, staggering a bit.

“Ready to have some fun?” Sam said, when he rejoined Jed.

“I’ve…smelled men like him before, what the fuck is that?”

“Heh, don’t fuckin’ worry about it, just enjoy yourself.”

The businessman came around the dumpster, saw Jed there, smelled him…but this close, Jed couldn’t stop himself. He shoved the businessman back, hard enough to knock him onto his ass, surprised at his own violence. His hands quickly dropped his shorts, grabbed the back of the man’s head and forced him down on the shaft, enjoying the sensation of him gagging around it.

Sam came up behind him, pressing his body against his back, holding him tight. “Fuck, I forgot…what it’s like when two of us play together, fuck…and you’re still fuckin’ changin’, so fuckin’ excited man, can’t fuckin’ tell you…”

Jed, however, was having doubts. He wasn’t a fucking faggot. He’d had urges sure. He’d fucked pussy fuckers like this one, but he couldn’t explain Sam. He couldn’t accept that this man like him could be turning him on. That, when he felt Sam’s cock sliding up his ass crack, that he…wanted it inside of him. As much as it hurt–and it hurt a surprising amount, he got out from between them and stepped back a few paces. He needed some air–some fresh air. He couldn’t get the smell of Sam out of his nose, or the smell of this worthless business faggot. His head felt like it was slowing down, like he was just running on instinct, and his new instincts terrified him.

Sam stepped up. He said something to him, but all Jed could think about was how much he wanted to get on his knees and smell his ass, smell his crotch, smell his feet–all his faggot smells, fuck! He looked down at the man in the suit, and he looked different. He’d grown a beard, he had a gut, he had the hungriest look in his eyes and he was staring right at Jed, licking cum from his lips like a whore. Not this, he can’t do this, and he shoved Sam to one side, pulled his shorts back up and bolted. Sam shouted for him, but Jed just ran. He ran down the busy sidewalk, he ran as quickly as he could, until he couldn’t run anymore, until he’d finally gotten that smell from his nose, from his lungs. Home, he had to get home. Had to get home and just…forget any of this faggot shit ever happened. And once he calmed down, he could find some pussy (even though pussy was the last thing he wanted, the last thing he had ever wanted) and feel like a real man again.

Stinkers – Part 1

Jed met Sam on the bus (though he didn’t learn his name until quite a bit later), or rather, he smelled his pits as he walked past him, and knew, then and there, that he would have to get closer. Jed worked as a construction worker, and could build up quite the stink himself. He’d always enjoyed the stench of his sweaty pits, and while he would never in his life admit to enjoying any sort of faggotry, there was something about another fucker’s musk that got him riled up in a way no pussy stench could. And something in that guy’s eye, as he walked past, smirking under that sleazy handlebar mustache, made Jed think that he might not mind the attention. Before the bus could move on, he got up from his seat and followed him back. Sam took a window seat, and Jed slid in next to him on the mostly empty bus.

The musk simply enveloped him, and Jed breathed deep, feeling his heart pulse, his cock growing harder. Almost immediately a hand gripped the inside of his thigh, stroking the hardening shaft. He wanted to come up with something to say, but Sam put his arm around Jed’s shoulders, and he could see the yellow pit stains embedded in his white shirt, and he shuddered. Sam stroked a bit faster. Jed leaned in closer, snorting more of the stench up.

“Guess someone likes it nasty,” he whispered into Jed’s ear. He came in his shorts with a gasp.

“I’m…I’m not a faggot.”

He just smiled back.

“Fuck, you smell fuckin’ amazing.”

Sam leaned over, pressed his nose to the nape of Jed’s neck, took a sniff, and then licked up some of his hot sweat. “You’re not too bad yourself, you know.”

Jed couldn’t take his nose away. He took the pit of the shirt in his mouth and started chewing on it, filling it up with spit, and then sucking it out again, moaning louder this time. Somehow one of his hands had ended up in Sam’s lap, right on his cock. He ran his hand up and down the shaft. Eight inches? Nine?

“Not…Not a faggot…” he said again, but his heart just wasn’t in it this time.

Sam had his hand stuffed down the front of Jed’s shorts, coating his whole hand with cum, and spilled it back out. He pressed his hand to his nose, took a couple loud snorts, and then smeared it on the pit of his shirt. Jed sucked that up as well. It wasn’t the first time he’d tasted his own cum, but fuck, this was fuckin’ out of control. He wanted to look around, see how many people on the bus were staring at them, see how many were trying to not stare at them, check the rearview to see what the driver was looking at, but everytime he tried, somehow a hand pulled him back into the pit…and he just stayed there. He wasn’t quite sure how long, and then the bus came to a stop, and Sam put his arm down, forcing Jed to take his mouth away from the sopping wet fabric, his breath hot and quick.

“Sorry man, this is my stop.”

Jed looked outside, and realized he’d missed his own by three or four. Sam got up, purposefully ground the crotch of his jeans into Jed’s face as he pushed past. Every part of his nose lit up; it was an entirely different stench, and with a deep shudder, Jed felt his cock spasm, pumping even more cum into his already wet shorts.

He stopped in the aisle and looked back, “You could always come along for a little fun, you know.”

He kept walking, Jed kept sitting. He watched the man smirk at him as he got off the bus, and he scrambled up and after him, out onto the sidewalk. It was a part of the city he wasn’t particularly familiar with, part of the business district, men in suits hurrying past them on the sidewalk. The man was waiting for him. Jed fell to his knees, and pressed his nose to the front of the man’s filthy jeans, desperate to smell it again, running his tongue along the outline of his hard cock.

“I’m not a faggot, but fuck I wanna suck you off.”

“We can make each other gag later, don’t you fucking worry. Now come on, get up, and let’s have some fucking fun, man.”

Sam walked off down the sidewalk, and Jed caught a look at himself in the window of the building there, and he just stared at himself for a second. That couldn’t be right…could it? He looked…bigger all of a sudden. Taller, and more built, like he’d packed on some muscle during the bus ride. His shorts were tight across his thighs, and the shirt was riding up. He still had a belly, but there was more hair on it than before. In fact, there was more hair…everywhere. His arms were hairier, he had a short beard which had somehow grown in rapidly over less than half an hour. And…and fuck, he stank. He lifted one arm, and sniffed his own pit, his cock leaking more cum into his already wet shorts.

Sam had turned and was watching him. Jed hurried over and caught up.

“Did you do this to me?”

“If I said I did, would it even matter?” Sam turned and kept walking, “Come on, I want to have some fun.”

Jed told himself that this was a bad idea. That he shouldn’t follow him, but his legs were moving even before he’d made up his mind. His nose wanted more, his tongue wanted more. And he couldn’t quite manage to care much about what might happen to him if he kept on smelling.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

Leopold Grant woke up in his small twin bed in the servant quarters of Fitzroy Abbey. He wasn’t at all sure how he knew that–he had never seen this room before in his life–and while he knew his name had not been Leopold Grant before waking up here, that was the only name he could recall. He could vaguely remember fucking a young twink named Charlie one evening–fuck, that slut had had a tight hole–and then someone barged in while he was mid-fuck, and then nothing after that. As he recalled the memory, however, he had a sudden pang of guilt. That had been bad. A bad thing to do. He…he ruined that young tight hole with his big cock, the whole Master had wanted…he…he…

He looked down, past his furry paunch of a gut, and didn’t see his massive cock. He reached down and groped for the thick shaft, but only found the edge of the bed, felt closer to his body, and only when he reached under the gut did he find his small, shriveled cock and balls. In his mind, he knew he should feel terror at what had happened, but all he really felt was a strange sort of resignation. After all…he deserved this, didn’t he? Of course he did. He was being punished, and he should take his punishment like a gentleman…right?

He knew that these thoughts weren’t his, or that they weren’t the thoughts he should be having, but it was like he no longer quite knew his own mind. How could he resist or fight back against these changes if he didn’t even know what had been changed? He knew there were seams where his mind had been ripped apart and put back together, he could tell there were different fabrics, but the thread itself was invisible to him. For example, he had spent several minutes pondering this conundrum, before realizing that he was no longer a muscular young jock in his twenties, but rather a stout, short middle aged man.

His growing horror was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a fellow servant, Mr. Livingston peeking in, unfazed by the old, naked man sitting on the bed. “Oh good, you’re awake. Master Fitzroy would like to see you in the stables, so he can elaborate on your role and punishment here at the abbey. Do get dressed quickly? He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He closed the door before Mr. Grant could reply, and thankful for the excuse to not think too hard about what was happening to him, he walked over to his small closet and got dressed. The breeches and shirt were a rough linen, and there was no underwear. He pulled on his knee length socks, high leather boots, a vest and a cap to cover his balding head, and hurried off to the stables…though again, he wasn’t quite sure how he knew where the stables even were.

Fifteen minutes later, he was outside, huffing a bit and sweating in the summer sun, not at all used to his body or the clothes he was wearing. At least in the stables it was cooler, though the air stank of manure. Master Fitzroy was waiting for him just inside, looking calm and collected as ever, even in the heat. Seeing his master there made Mr. Grant feel even worse. “Ah, Mr. Grant–my new stable groom.”

“I…I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, sir,” Mr. Grant stammered. His voice sounded so strange to his ears, gruff and slightly gravelly, with a natural british working class accent he never could have faked.

“Oh goodness no, you were very prompt. Now, I’ve made sure you are well prepared for your work here, but there is one special animal here that I wanted to introduce you to myself. It is a very special creature, who requires very special care. In fact, I have no doubt that he will be the focus of the majority of your time in the stable. If you’d kindly follow me, Mr. Grant.”

They walked down the stable together, past lines of horses–somehow, Mr. Grant already knew each of their names, their temperaments, their particular requirements, even though he also knew that he’d had no idea that the abbey even possessed a stable before any of this. They passed through a door into a small room, and Mr. Grant witnessed the first thing which legitimately shocked him all day, so much that he had to choke back a bit of bile from his throat.

What even was it? He’d seen it from the side at first, and the rear was normal enough, a normal, dapple grey rump of a stallion, but halfway along it’s body, the hair faded to pale flesh, and the upper body of a man, it’s arms far too long and large, the same length as it’s back legs, the head too large as well. The face turned to them when they entered, and he realized he knew that face–it was the young man he’d fucked with his huge cock, whose hole he’d ruined. What had Master Fitzroy done to him?

“What do you think, Mr. Grant? I must say Charlie turned out rather well–one of my most successful projects to date. Still, why don’t you come over and say hello to your lover?”

At the word lover, it was like everything in his mind shifted. The twisted form in front of him was no longer disturbing in the slightest…in fact, it was rather…appealing? There was some sort of stirring in his gut and chest, and he saw Charlie look at him, and sniff the air. “Mr. Grant? Is that…you?”

He walked over, his face at the same height as Charlie’s, though it seemed much too large. He kissed him anyway, feeling their tongues intertwine. Mr. Grant didn’t want this, and yet he could…smell something in the air, something that was making him horny. From the way Charlie was snorting the air, it seemed something was affecting him as well. “Smell so good…Mr. Grant…gettin’ horny…”

Charlie let out a snort, and Mr. Grant pulled away, seeing his lover’s eyes dimming somewhat. “I’m afraid that when the beast becomes horny, most of his concerns become rather…instinctual. And considering the fact that you smell just like a mare in heat, Mr. Grant, I’m afraid he’s going to be rather horny whenever you’re around.”

Mr. Grant was too busy absorbing what his master had said, when he felt the tug on his breeches, yanking them to the ground. Charlie had pulled them down with one big hand, and when Mr, Grant tried to step away, he tripped and fell into the dirt floor of the stable. Charlie was huffing deeper now, and from where he was on the ground, Mr. Grant saw Charlie’s new cock, slide from it’s sheath. It was so massive, and he could only imagine where it might be headed.

He started to crawl, but Master Fitzroy stood in his way. “Now now, Mr. Grant, don’t you think you ought to take your punishment?”

Yes, of course. His punishment. How could he have forgotten? He hiked his ass into the air, and Charlie spent a moment trying to find the best position to fuck from, eventually working his cock head into Mr. Grant’s tight hole, the older man trying to suppress a scream at the size.

“Don’t worry too much, Mr. Grant. That old hole of yours is loose enough to take that big cock, but it will hurt going in,” Master Fitzroy had his cock out, and was stroking it to life, “Yes, I hope it hurts quite a bit, you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”

“Y–Yes sir, I do,” Mr. Grant said, and pushed back against the horse cock, accepting the pain, accepting his punishment, and he knew he would need to be punished much much more. Multiple times every day, in fact. And as much as he tried to fight it, his puny cock kept pumping cum into the dirt below him, and he didn’t think he’d be considering this to be punishment for very long at all.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables – Part 1 (Patreon Commission)

The Master of Fitzroy Abbey was relaxing in his study, finished with his various fuckboys for the evening with a decanter of whiskey and a half smoked pipe, when a knock came at the door. “Enter,” he said, and Mr. Livingston, slipped in.

“I am so very sorry to disturb you, sir. I merely wanted you to know that…Mr. Grant, I believe he is named now? Has finished his initial changes, and is currently undergoing his initial rounds of edification. I have already uploaded the video of to the server, for your examination. I know you were particularly interested in this case, and I thought you would like to know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Livingston. Is that everything?”

“Yes sir.”

“Sleep well.”

“You too, sir.”

Mr. Livingston slipped away again, and the Master hefted himself up out of his chair, refilled his glass, and brought it and his pipe to his second study. Unlike the first, which had appeared to be frozen in the early twentieth century, this smaller room appeared as a futuristic anachronism, full of monitors and keyboards. Technology–he rather loathed it. It had made him his billions certainly, but he so enjoyed the slower pace of his current lifestyle. He could almost forget, sometimes, that things had progressed so far and so quickly. Still, it did have it’s uses–after all, this whole world he’d created would crumble without it. He settled down, brought up the list of folders full of hours and hours of video footage, and found Mr. Grant’s newly uploaded files. There were five total–one from each camera, making sure he could the transformation from each of his preferred angles and focal points–but he decided to begin with the wide, full body camera first, to see how things went for Mr. Grant.

The video began–all four days worth. Of course, Master Fitzroy wasn’t going to sit there for four days–he could speed the video up so those four days would pass in five minutes. But he wanted to take a minute to examine the body that was. He no longer remembered what the young man’s name had been–he generally could only recall a name as long as it took to get his cock in their holes. This young man was a bit of an exception to his kind of usual guest–generally there was nothing that turned him off more than a muscular hunk with a cock bigger than his–a feat which was quite a challenge, considering his cock was nine inches long. But something about this one–his cocky attitude, that beautiful face of his that he knew would look angelic wrapped around his thick shaft–made him invite the man anyway. It had been a mistake.

Master Fitzroy had no problem with the young men he invited to stay at his estate taking their pleasures with one another, but this beast had wrecked holes right and left. There wasn’t a tight ring left for the Master to indulge himself with, and he certainly couldn’t have that. One young man in particular–he believed his name started with a ‘C’?–had been so stretched that the Master couldn’t even finish inside. Such reckless destruction simply couldn’t go unpunished.

He sped up the video. Nothing much happened for the first couple of minutes–the first round of drugs and treatments did little more than prepare the body for the changes to come, and Master Fitzroy teased his cock, working it up to half mast, scanning the screen for the first change–a slight softening of the young man’s firm stomach. He wasn’t quite defined enough to have a six pack, but over the next several minutes it bulged up into a small gut, inflating steadily as the video progressed. The other changes happening to his form were a bit harder to see, his legs shrinking up into his body, dropping him several inches in height, to around five foot six. His gut continued to expand, but his arms and shoulders were developing muscle underneath the fat–he’d need it in his new position at the abbey, working in the stables. The changes slowed, and Master Fitzroy admired the new curve of Mr. Grant’s round paunch, his thick, short legs and strong shoulders, but closed the video before it had finished, and opened a second–this one a top-down close up of the young man’s face.

He increased the speed of the video, shortening it to just a few minutes, and then set it to loop. He leaned back in his seat, stroking his cock, and watched the young man’s face rapidly shift to that of a seasoned laborer in his mid to late forties. Two things, in particular, kept drawing his attention. The first was how rapidly the young man’s hair receded. He began with a thick, full head of hair. By the halfway point of the video, it had pushed back in two deep divots, and by the end, it had pushed back even further, past the crown of his head, with a thin tuft of hair left in the front. The second thing was his mouth–or rather, his jowls. As Mr. Grant put on weight and age, the sides of his face began to sag down to his chin, giving him a flabby, resting frown across his face. He was happy with his decision to leave Mr. Grant without facial hair–those jowls were far too beautiful to hide behind a beard. He stroked a bit faster, bringing himself a bit nearer to his climax, closed down that second feed and opened a third.

There, in high definition, was the young man’s massive, eleven inch cock, flopped across his thigh. Again, he sped up the film, leaning in close, watching as it slowly shriveled away. “Fuck, that’s what you fucking get,” he muttered, “someone as careless as you doesn’t deserve a tool like that.” By the halfway point, it had shrunk to a mere four inches, but it continued shriveling up, and now he could see his balls beneath, the sack pulled tight around them, constricting them smaller and smaller as well. In the end, he was left with a cock less than an inch long, with much of the loose, wrinkled skin remaining as a heavy, overhanging foreskin, and beneath was a small sack, two balls smaller than grapes pulled up tight beneath it. It was ugly, so fucking ugly, and Master Fitzroy loved it. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket in time to catch his cum, moped his sweaty forehead with the other side and composed himself. Of course, Mr. Grant wasn’t finished yet–the Master had a second surprise for him once he was finished with his conditioning in a few days. Then, he would understand the full scope of his punishment.

(I felt like doing some short captions today. There will be two of them. Hope you enjoy them! I already posted one, so if you missed it, check back one post.)

Caption Day (2 of 2)

Dustin knew things had to change. He was just so tired of being fat, of the looks people would shoot him in the office, of the sighs from his doctor. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it by himself, he would need help. So he asked around, and everyone seemed to recommend this particular trainer, Eddie Willis. He’d gone in for a meeting, which had turned into an impromptu work out. He’d been so impressed, Dustin had signed up for a nine month program on the spot.

“And how’s Dumbo doing today?”

“Dumbo’s super good today sir, feelin’ super pumped.”

“Because Dumbo likes lifting, right?”

“Yes Mr. Willis, Dumbo good at liftin’ heavy stuff!”

The results had been even more than Dustin could have imagined. In just a few months time, he’d lost close to fifty pounds, and he was feeling better than he ever had in his life. Sure, it was strange that he never seemed to remember his sessions with Mr. Willis, and…and there were some…other strange things too, he supposed.

“What else is Dumbo good at?”

“Suckin’ cock!”

“What else?”

“Gettin’ fucked!”

“And…?”

“Obeyin’ Mr. Willis, cause Mr. Willis is my master!”

He’d started having these…fantasies, where he was getting fucked by muscular men, or sucking their cocks. His dreams were always sexual now as well, and usually even more obscene, and more than once, he’d discovered that he’d cum in his sleep like a teenager. But when he started wearing butt plugs regularly to work, when…when that man had stopped by, and he’d sucked him off. It had felt so…normal.

“That’s very good, Dumbo. And why do we have to make sure Dumbo gets big and strong?”

“To get rid of Dustin!”

“That’s right. Because Dustin is bad, right?”

“Right!”

“You’d much rather be Dumbo, right? Lifting, sucking, fucking, too dumb to write your name, too dumb to ever question your master, right?”

“Fuckin’ right, Mr. Willis…Mr, Willis, I’m super hard, sir. Can…Can I jack off?”

“Get down and suck my cock, slave, and then you can cum.”

“Thank you sir!”

And lately, lately he was having trouble remembering things. Sometimes, he’d black out, and wake up without any recollection of what had happened. His quality of work had been slipping. Apparently, in one paper, he’d misspelled his name as “Mr. Dummbo” or something strange like that. Thinking was just…so much work. Maybe…maybe he should talk to Mr. Willis about it. Mr Willis would know what to do, Dustin was sure of it.

“Go on and jack your cock slave, but don’t cum until I allow you. I want you to think about what you’re going to look like in a year. I want you to see yourself even more muscular, we’ll even start giving you steroids, turn you into a real beast. We’ll tattoo the shit out of you. You’re going to be covered in them, just a dumb, tattooed brute, and then Dumbo, when Dustin is completely gone, when you’re just a drooling hunk of tattooed and pierced slave meat, I’m going to sell you to some old pervert, for millions of dollars. F—fuck! Think about that hard, Dumbo, think about serving some old pervs cock all day, every day, and shoot! Shoot the dumb load of yours, and feel a bit more of Dustin leave when you do, and swallow my fucking load, you dumb whore, swallow it all!”

(I felt like doing some short captions today. There will be two of them. Hope you enjoy them!)

Caption Day (1 of 2)

The note on the unlocked front door said he was waiting for you in the basement. You’d never been to his house before, but he’d left a trail of discarded clothes down the hall leading to a door down the hall, but when you opened it, you couldn’t see anything. Not because it was dark—but because the entire room had been filled with fog…no, now that you could smell it, it was smoke. Sweet smoke, like a pipe, but how in the world had he made so much of it?

Now you were at your most terrified. Who knew what this guy had planned? But you had to go down there…right? You took the first step.

It actually smells…pretty good. In fact, it’s making your cock hard in your pants. You can smell, something else, too. Like…musk. Find the next step.

Fuck, it’s hot in here too, it’s making you sweat, and itch. You run one hand through your hair, not noticing it come away in clumps, leaving behind a perfectly smooth scalp. Find the next step.

Sweating like a pig. One hand runs over your hairy gut. Is it swelling? It…it is swelling. But when did it get so…small? Shouldn’t you be even fatter? And when did you take off your clothes anyway? It felt good to be naked though, it was cooler. You find the next step with your bare foot.

Panting now. Taking a moment to feel yourself. Soft, flabby gut. Hair everywhere. That feels more right. You look back over your shoulder, one hand pulling at your beard. You can’t even see the door up there anymore. You consider going back, but take another step down.

Why would you want to go back up, anyway? He—He’s down here. Somewhere. Waiting for you in all this sexy smoke. Waiting for…for his pig. Yeah, pig fucker, fuck. Such a fucking pig. You pause, reach around behind and finger your hole while you grope your short, pig cock, snorting and grunting. But you can cum later, you need to get down to him now. Take another step.

You can’t feel the wood on your feet anymore…but of course you can’t, you’re in your gear. Rubber stretched tight across your body, making you sweat even more, making you pant, making you stroke your piggy cock faster, hurry down another step.

Can’t wait to see him, can’t wait to see your master, can’t wait to taste his cock, feel his piss in your beard, can’t wait to serve him, the last step, now, feel the concrete, but fall to your knees because there he is, waiting with his pipe for his pig to arrive, but you’re here now, you’re here and you’ll never leave. He comes closer to you, and some small part of you is scared. Something just happened to you, something wrong, but what? You’re mind is too slow, too focused on the collar glinting in the smoke. He puts the leather around your neck, and you can feel the terror in you reaching a fever pitch. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t you doing anything, why—

The collar cinches tight. Your mind is empty. Master’s cock is there, and you salivate, drool running down into your beard.

“May I sir?”

“Of course, slave.”

Earl’s Truck Stop – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

The room stank of cum–Paul had been busy. Earl noticed that he’d picked up some memories as well–he’d dug out the small trove of tapes in the dresser once the first video had finished, and had another one playing in the VCR while he stroked his cock on the bed–and what a cock! Paul was panting, stroking his ten inch cock from tip to the base of the shaft slick with the cum dribbling out in a constant stream. Still much, much too young though, for Earl’s personal tastes.

Paul looked up when Earl came in. One part of him wanted to be alarmed that Earl had just walked in unannounced, but why would he be concerned? He knew Earl…right? He had all of these…memories, suddenly, but none of them felt quite real enough to him.

“You’ve been busy,” Earl said.

“Fuck man, you know no one can soak a bed in cum like I can.”

Earl laughed, walked over to the TV, and gave it a smack on the top. The fuzzy VCR image turned to static, and after a moment, a perfectly clear image of a hotel room much like the one they were in flickered into view.

“What gives man? I was watchin’ that.”

“I got something better to watch–the show should be starting any moment now…”

Sure enough, on the screen they saw the door to the room open, and a massively fat man struggled into the motel room, and flopped down on the bed, heaving for breath. His shirt was covered with food stains, and he still had chocolate sauce smeared around his lips, that he licked at lazily. Paul looked over at Earl, wondering what the old fuck was pulling. A minute later, while the fat trucker was still lying on the bed, the door opened again, and a very drunk, hairy bear in ragged flannel and denim stumbled into the room, a lit cigar shoved in his mouth. Both looked at each other, surprised like they had expected to have the room to themselves, and then Earl hit the pause button on the VCR, and the image froze.

“How about we have some fun, eh Paul? I got these two guys here, and I know how much you like porn. What would you like to see them do, you fucking pervert?”

“I thought it was a video–what do you mean?”

“Tell me your fantasy, man,” Earl said, “Whatever you want to see, it’ll happen. Think of it as…as interactive porn!”

“You mean…anything I want to see?”

“Yep.”

Paul looked at the screen a moment, “I want the bear to strut over, fill that fat pig’s lungs with smoke, and knead his fat body with those big, rough hands of his.”

Earl smiled, hit play, and the two men on the screen started moving again. No longer surprised to see each other, the drunk bear walked over, taking a deep breath of smoke off his cigar, locked lips with the chub and filled him with his smoke, his spare hand groping one fat tit.

“Holy fuck, it actually happened?”

“That’s how it fuckin’ works,” Earl said, and paused the video again, “Now lets get a bit hardcore, eh? Let’s make ‘em get nasty.”

“Yeah, fuck!” Paul said, stroking his huge cock again, “That pig looks hungry, make him eat out that bear’s dirty hole!”

Earl hit play. They stripped off each other’s clothes, and the bear bent over the bed, legs spread wide, cigar in his mouth. The chub, licking his lips, got down behind him, gut resting on the ground, spread the bear’s ass, and dug in. Paul and Earl watched them for a couple minutes, and then Earl paused the video again. “Ya know? This is hot, but I just don’t feel like I know these two well enough. I gotta have a backstory, you know? Some history. Don’t those two look a bit too young to you?”

“Yeah, fuck–I love fuckin’ old fag truckers–they are truckers, right?”

“Of course they are, but what do you think about that pig? Let’s call him Matt.”

“Matt eh? I bet…I bet he’s a fuckin’ fat whore. The only thing he loves as much as food is drinkin’ cum, yeah, fuck. Glory holes, biker gangbangs. He’s been suckin’ cock across the country for forty years, the old fat fag. He’s so proud of his fat, he leaves his gut hanging out all the time, or he just goes shirtless, his ass crack showing, and all his clothes are stained with food and crusty with cum.”

As Paul spoke, Matt was shifting on the screen. His hair turned grey and started creeping back up over his scalp, and his clothes tightened up on his body, becoming a filthy, stained tank top and cargo shorts, both of which could barely contain his fat. “Now how about that bear? Let’s call him Jack.”

“Jack, fuck, I bet he’s a dirty fucker. Definitely a top, and a fucking rough one. I think he’s in his fifties, salt and pepper hair, loves getting into fights and fucking the men he roughs up. Yeah, he drives trucks now, but he was a biker back in the day, he’s still got the tatts, piercings and scars to show for it.”

On the bed, Jack started aging as well, his hair and beard shimmering with grey. Tattoos spread all over his arms, chest and back, and the clothes he’d thrown on the ground now included a pair of grungy, well worn leather chaps and a thirty year old vest still bearing the patches from his old gang. Now, still paused, Earl admired the ex-biker bent over the bed, in the middle of a moan as some fat pigwhore, buried his nose in his nasty hole. Fuckin’ beautiful.

“Now, I got a real surprise for you,” Earl said, walked over the the wall, next to the TV, gave a wave, and a hole appeared, large enough for an eye, or even a cock. “Get over here and have a peep.”

Paul did, and saw Matt and Jack, frozen stiff in room 103, and he let out a soft moan. A second later, time restarted, and he could hear Matt licking at Jack’s hairy hole, but Jack was ready for more. He rolled over, grabbed Matt’s fat, jowly face in his rough, scarred hands, and shoved his mouth onto his fat cock.

“Yeah, look at what you did,” Earl said, getting down next to Paul, who was still jacking off his huge cock, “But you know, I think the one person here who still sticks out like a sore thumb here is you, Paul. How about we give you a new life to match that nasty head and big cock of yours, eh? An old pervert, I think. What are you–70 and still driving around the country? Sure, you could retire, but with stamina like yours, you can keep going for a few more years, drillin’ glory holes in motels and rest area bathrooms, jacking off in your cab as you drive, talking filthy with other roadfags over the CB. Your old, saggy, pale, hairy body might not be much to look at anymore, but that ten inch cock of yours is fucking legend around here, right? Go on, blow that load you old faggot, blow it!

Paul shot his largest load so far, and as he did, he could feel his youth sapping away, his young body growing wrinkled and old, his saggy paunch and thin arms and legs, a full, dingy white beard. He suddenly couldn’t see as well what was happening in the other room, but he didn’t really care. He could imagine what was happening, in his mind eye, Jack pushing himself up, shoving Matt onto his knees, slamming his cock down his throat. He watched the two of them fuck for hours, not even noticing when Earl got up and left after shooting his own load next to him. The next morning,  Earl couldn’t have been happier, watching all three proper truckers getting back on the road. He’d have another three or four in about two weeks, he couldn’t quite tell yet, but one thing he knew for certain–only certain men were made to be truckers, and Earl wasn’t about to lower his standards anytime soon.