Our Demons (Part 4)

He wiggled his toes. He hadn’t been able to do that in a while. His finger uncurled from their fists reluctantly, trying to remember how to work. They felt strange, like they had too much weight to them. The rubber pulled back further, along his arms and legs, and there were some sensations Rich was expecting, but that didn’t happen. He…couldn’t feel any air against his cock, even though the rubber was no longer covering it. It was still buried in…something warm and soft. Without the rubber holding it back, he felt his gut spill out, followed by his chest. He must be fatter, but how much fatter? He wanted to touch himself, he wanted to feel himself, but Master had ordered him to stay still, sitting back on his knees, hands on the floor. Now only the hood was left. Two rough hands…rough. How long since he’d felt skin against his skin? Skin besides the feeling of a hand or a foot in his ass, besides a cock down his throat, or a filthy ass puckered against his tongue? He shivered. His skin got chills after being trapped in the suit for so long, and his entire body felt slimy and clammy with sweat.

The hands pulled the hood free in one movement, and the light was blinding. He hadn’t seen anything since the hood had gone on…days ago? Weeks? He’d been unable to keep track of time. He’d tried to count cigars, he’d tried to count fucks and loads and so many other things to keep his mind busy, but he’d just…sunk in. Accepted it, enjoyed it even. He blinked a few times, and realized he was kneeling in front of a mirror. There was some kind of white blob in the reflection–was that him?

It was him. What in the world was he, even? Fat. He was fat. No wonder he couldn’t feel his cock–it was buried beneath his huge fat apron, between two thighs larger than anything he’d ever seen before. He couldn’t look at it. It was disgusting. He looked up, and caught his own eyes, but his face, even his face was wrong. His mouth seemed too wide, the nose too big, eyes too small. He no longer had anything resembling a neck–his head just dissolved into folds of fatty jowls and chins which cascaded down onto his chest, where two huge moobs shook with every labored breath. His hair was gone–all of it. His entire body was completely smooth, his head, his face, his belly. His skin had lightened to a ghostly, sickly white, and the sheen of sweat all over him only made it worse.

He looked away. He couldn’t look at that. He looked over and down and saw a pair of leather boots, followed them up, and found a massive, six and a half foot tall brute looming over him. Derrick–no, not Derrick was gone, or dead. This no longer even looked like him. His entire body was covered with leather, a crisp, shiny uniform, up to his neck. The face, though. Beneath the thick beard he could see a sharp jawline too angled to be human. In fact, the entire face looked like a crystal with flesh stretched so tight over it it might rip at any moment. He was smiling. He was smiling, and it’s eyes were red, and it’s teeth were sharp, and there were bones pushing through the skin above his eyebrows, blood dribbling from two of the wounds, unnoticed by it.

He needed a cigar. He couldn’t think about any of this. Almost as if he was anticipating him, the brute, the demon, took a thick cigar down, shoved it in Rich’s mouth, and lit it to life. He sucked in the smoke…and realized too late that he had made the final mistake. There was something else in this cigar, something…another it. Another thing like whatever it was in Derrick’s body. He coughed and hacked, trying to force it from his lungs, but his body felt so…heavy all of a sudden. Leaden. It was just so much effort. He slumped to one side, tried to catch himself, but ended up crashing to the floor on his fat side, wheezing.

“Oh Rich, I think you dropped something,” it said, bent down and picked up the cigar and this time jammed it so far down his throat where he lay that he knew he had no choice but to inhale. “Oh Sloth, Mr. Sloth. Do come play with me. I’ve enjoyed the mortal, I truly have, but oh how I long for a filthy, filthy Sloth…”

Rich was trying to fight, trying to rationalize with whatever it was inside of him, but while Derrick had at least been able to reason with the Wrath now inhabiting him, Sloth was unreason. Rich would plead, but pleading was too much effort, wasn’t it? In fact, why think at all? Why bother with a mind? It was mindless, it was acidic. Every effort he made against it simply dissolved. It was irrelevant. Useless. The ego is useless. He was useless. Yes…why even exist at all? That was the question he suddenly had to face. Why exist?

Rich was too exhausted to answer. There was no answer, really. He could see that now. It would be easier, really. So much easier to just stop fighting. He sighed, and let the demon inside of him run amok. His memories dissolved, his desires fled. What was he even? A voice? A will? What was a will in the face of utter sloth?

Wrath watched eagerly, as the cigar burnt down. He could see the light in Rich’s eyes dimming, the iris’ and whites dimming to greys and then to deep tar black, without any reflection at all. The cigar burned to ash, and the mouth hungrily chomped it to bits and swallowed it down. “Wrath….Wrath……Fuck…hole…….” the blob managed to say, with a voice something between a whisper and a gargle.

“Oh you piece of filth, I know what you want,” Wrath said, and rolled it over. It was so heavy suddenly! But he found the hole, sucking and hungry at the rear, drooling some foul smelling filth down the crack, and shoved his fist in as deep as he could with a deep howl.

Our Demons (Part 3)

“Swallow it,” the voice said, the first he’d heard in hours, and without questioning it, he started chewing the butt into a paste and swallowed it down. “This one too,” the voice said, and a second hot butt dropped into his mouth. A bit bigger, and he had a harder time choking it down. There was a pressure on his chest, his master straddling him again, and a hot, bitter liquid started flowing into his mouth. “Drink it all.” He did, and it helped wash down the butt as well. A few gulps in, he realized it must be master’s piss, but he couldn’t stop now, he couldn’t stop ever. As soon as he’d swallowed it all, another cigar was shoved into the mouth ring, but Rich didn’t need orders this time–he craved it already. Needed it. It was wrong, and yet already he knew he’d lost. What was he becoming? He realized he couldn’t quite bring himself to care–and when master went back to stretching his pig hole, all the concerns melted away all over again.

“Don’t resist. Move only how I direct you to move.”

He felt the restraints on his arms and legs being removed, and then two hands helped him roll over onto his back. Every order gave him another surge of pleasure–it was hard to keep himself focused on the fact that he shouldn’t be obeying, that he should try to get away. But get away how? He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. He didn’t know where to go. It was easier to just obey. So much easier to obey everything Master said.

His arms were again pulled up and secured to the top of the bed, but his legs were stretched up to the ceiling in wide split, his ass exposed and hanging slightly off the edge of the bed. He could feel that the rubber had covered his entire ass, however–did that mean he was going to be spared his fisting? Then he realized that the fist shaped dildo was still lodged in his ass, sealed in by the rubber, and he started to squirm.

“Calm down.”

He did. Nothing happened for a few moments, or rather, he wasn’t aware of anything happening. He still couldn’t see or hear, all he could do was breathe through his mouth, and lie there on the bed, legs thrown up in the air. Then, he felt something shove it’s way into the hole. It wasn’t a gag–if anything, the end felt dry and tasted somewhat bitter on his tongue. Breathing was suddenly like trying to get all of his air through a straw–possible, but it took much more effort than he would have liked.

He felt something by the side of his head, and he could hear again, but only on one side. It spoke to him again, “There, isn’t that better for all of us? I’m sure you’ll be much more agreeable from now on, in that nice suit of yours. And I haven’t forgotten my promise earlier, but before I start fisting your ass into a crater, how about we light you up, piggy?” Rich heard a lighter flick to life, and suddenly he was inhaling smoke. He tried to cough, but with no where for the air to go, he found himself choking in the rubber. “Calm down,” it said, “Inhale. Breathe in deep, and it’ll be just like breathing air for you soon enough.”

Rich didn’t exactly have much of a choice, but he did as the voice said, and did his best to breathe normally. After a minute, he was feeling a bit lightheaded, but otherwise it seemed normal–and that worried him more than anything else.

“Good job little pig. We’re gonna fill you up with so much smoke that you won’t even recognize yourself pretty soon. But don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck around with that little head of yours just yet. Derrick’s already dying off you know. Pretty soon it’ll just be the two of us. Think of all the fucking fun we’re gonna have, pig! Now I’m gonna close your ear back up–all I want you to focus on is smoking that fat cigar, and how good it’s gonna feel having my forearm buried in that fat ass of yours.”

He felt the rubber seal itself up again, and once more, there was silence. He tried to force the cigar out of his mouth, but it had been lodged in so tight he couldn’t budge it. Besides, that would be bad. Master had wanted him to smoke it. Focus on smoking and how good it’s gonna feel to be fisted. The rubber parted down his ass crack–he could feel the air on his sweaty crack–and the dildo slid out of his hole easily, and almost immediately, he felt three or four fingers worm his way into his ass. He was feeling so hot, all of a sudden, and he could feel himself sweating inside the suit. Hot and…and horny. The smoke was getting to his head, he couldn’t quite get enough air. In the darkness, he felt his head spinning from the lack of oxygen, but Derrick’s fist breaking past his sphincter refocused him and…and it felt good. It felt so fucking good. He moaned around the cigar in his mouth, and Master must have heard him, because he shoved his hand in deeper.

Rich tried to tell himself that this was all wrong, tried to fight past the sensation and the orders and the sheer pleasure he was feeling, but after a few minutes he relaxed back, and just let Master pummel his hole. The first orgasm came over him like a soft wave, the rubber sucking the cum from him, and minutes later, there was another one just as intense. Master had grown bored, or simply satisfied with how loose the pig’s hole had become, and started punch fucking him, and then worked both fists in. Rich suddenly felt the cigar butt give way into cinders–he had smoked it to the root. It was hot and burned his tongue, but he couldn’t get it out–he doused it with saliva, cooling it as quickly as he could.

Our Demons (Part 2)

“Look, I’ll just be gone for a few hours, nothing to worry about, really.”

“Please, just untie me, just let me go.”

Derrick looked at Rich with a bit of pity, but also fear, “I would, but it wouldn’t want me to. Besides, you’re helping me out so much! Really, you are.”

“Derrick, this isn’t you, you have to stop smoking those things. Can’t you see what they’re doing to you? You’re becoming a freak, man? A fucking faggot.”

“I’m not a fucking faggot!” Derrick yelled, “You’re the fucking faggot here, you fucking bitch, just for that, when I get back, I’m gonna shove my whole fucking fist in that hole of yours, got it? I’m gonna make you scream like a fucking whore.”

Rich just shook his head, but Derrick grabbed the cock shaped gag on the bed pillow, shoved it back in his mouth, and strapped it around the back of his head. After fucking his face for what felt like hours on the couch, Derrick had dragged Rich into the bedroom, and bound him belly down and spread eagled on the bed. He went over, grabbed the biggest dildo from the collection that had appeared on the dresser. It was shaped like a fist, not a cock, and Rich pleaded with him through the gag.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, but it’ll help. I’m gonna fist you when I get back, and this will get you a bit looser,” Derrick said, and then his voice hardened, “No lube though–I’m gonna shove it in raw, so you can get used to the pain, piggy.” Derrick had already spent most of the afternoon fucking him repeatedly, but the fist was something else. He screamed into the gag, but as soon as he did, he felt a searing pain in the small of his back, as Derrick smashed the butt of his burning cigar into his flesh, “You know how I feel about screaming, fucker! Shut your fucking trap.” Rich bit down and sucked on the gag in his mouth, anything to distract from the pain of his stretched hole, and then Derrick stood back up. “You should make sure that stays in there. I don’t know what it might do to you if it falls out by the time I get back. I’ll try to hurry, I promise. I just gotta get some more cigars, and maybe…maybe some other stuff, is all. I’ll be back soon.”

Soon ended up being four hours later. Thankfully, Rich got used to the pain rather quickly, but the sheer boredom of his position wore on him more than anything. He tried calling for help, he tried wrenching at the handcuffs holding him to the bed, but nothing budged. Instead, all he could do was think about what in the world was happening to Derrick. He’d already been trapped here for over a day–no one had heard them, no one had come to check on them. Rich lived alone and worked from home–it would be days before anyone realized he was missing, and who knew what might happen before then? At first, he just thought Derrick was going crazy–he kept referring to an “it,” like there was something else inside of him–but as the day had worn on, he was growing more and more sure it was those new cigars of his. Rich thought it was that other voice, the cruel voice, the abuser. Whatever it was, it scared Rich to death–and Derrick was scared of it too. He tried to sleep for a bit, but whenever he did, he could feel his body start pushing the dildo out, so he stayed awake, forcing himself to clench his ass down on the dildo–or clench it as best he could. As terrified as he was of whatever might come next, he was still happy to hear the door open, and the heavy trod of Derrick’s boots.

“Hey, piggy,” he said when he came into the bedroom–but this was a new voice. It was closer to Derrick’s, but tough, raspier, “Fuck, I needed that. I feel so much fucking better, you know? Turns out, those first cigars were just meant to get me started. The guy gave me these new ones, and fuck! They pack such a kick. I can’t wait to get my fist in that hole of yours, it’s gonna be fucking amazing. You’re such a good piggy friend, you know that? What the fuck would I do without you?” Derrick sat down on the bed looking down at Rich’s spread eagle body. “I told him about you, you know? He thinks you’re such a good friend, helping me out like this, that he had a present for you. You see, I told him that you’re still fighting a bit, and he suggested that what I really needed was a better way to keep you under control, and I fucking agreed, you know? If you just did what I fucking told you, then all this would go so much smoother. Thankfully, he had just the fucking thing for you. But here’s the thing. I have to take out your gag, so remember,” and here his voice shifted, and it came back, that deep snarl, “If you scream or shout, I will choke the fucking life from your lungs.”

Derrick pulled something black from the bag–Rich had no idea what it was. He unlatched the gag from his head and pulled it out. To scream or not to scream? He was caught in a moment of indecision, while Derrick fiddled with the black object. A mask? A hood? Before he could get anything out, his friend pulled the hood over his head. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe. The rubber pressed against his nose and mouth, tight, as he sucked against it, trying to get air, and just when he thought he might faint, the rubber opened up, pushed into his mouth, and hardened, forcing him to keep his jaw wide spread. He felt it with his tongue–a hard, inch wide, rubber ring had appeared out of nowhere, then he noticed something else–he could feel something running down his neck and onto his chest. He wanted to see what was happening, but he couldn’t see anything. He realized he couldn’t hear anything either, until Derrick spoke. The voice was almost too loud–like it was coming from inside his own head.

“Just relax. Let the rubber cover you.”

He felt his body slump down into the bed. It was rubber then. He could feel it running up his arms now, reaching his hands, but instead of forming gloves, the rubber massed around his hands, forcing them to form fists that he couldn’t open no matter how hard he tried. The rubber kept going down his body, covered his cock and balls in a mass of rubber so thick he didn’t think he’d be able to feel anything, and then down his legs to his feet, which formed into thick, rubber soled boots. He felt two fingers shove their way into his mouth, followed by a single word in his mind, “Lick.” He did, unable to stop himself, and felt the area around his cock start pulsing and sucking on his cock and balls, sending bolts of pleasure through him. Then a cock, another brutal face fuck, and now there was nothing Rich could do. He’d been turned into a hole. He hadn’t imagined that this could get any worse–but now he realized that this might just be only the beginning.

Our Demons (Pt. 1)

“I’m sorry, I know…I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

Rich groaned again, trying to blink the haze from his head. He could remember Derrick calling him. He’d sounded like he was in trouble, and of course Rich was willing to help, but when he’d arrived, Derrick hadn’t answered his knocks, but the door was unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside, when someone had slammed him up against the wall, hands wrapped around his neck, and he’d passed out.

“I just…You see, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you today, and I knew you were at the gym, and just, fuck, I have to stop, I have to stop smoking this but it tastes so fucking good, you don’t understand.”

Rich tried to move, but his hands had been tied together, his feet as well. He was lying on the couch in Derrick’s apartment, gagged, and there was something around his neck, something tight like a collar. He tried to speak, but there was a length of rope wrapped around his head several times, forming a rather effective gag.

“I know that this probably isn’t very comfortable. I just had to use what I had on hand, I mean, I…but fuck, you look hot, tied up. Hell, you look hot anyway, you always look hot, fuck. And you smell…fuck, you smell so good after a workout—did you know that? I’d…I’d smelled you before, but not like this, fuck, not like this.”

Rich looked over and saw his friend had the jock he had worn to the gym in his hand. Looking down, he realized that he had been stripped of his shorts, and was naked aside from his tight, spandex shirt. Derrick took the cigar he was smoking from his mouth and pressed Rich’s jock to his nose, taking a deep, snorting grunt, pawing at his crotch as he did. He realized then that his friend wasn’t looking quite like he usually looked. He had a thick, bushy goatee for one thing, and he was dressed head to toe in leather. Derrick had hated leather—what in the hell was he doing wearing all this shit now?

“I…I do need your help though, man. I really do. I just…I just had to tie you up to make sure you listened to the whole story, alright? Yeah…yeah, that’s…all, really.” Derrick looked away and took a long drag off his cigar, the jock still balled up in his other hand. “I did a stupid thing, you know? I guess it didn’t seem stupid at the time. I went into this smoke shop, for a new bong, right? I broke mine last weekend, whatever. But instead of a pipe, I let this guy sell me these cigars. And I can’t stop smoking them, but they’re changing me, Rich, I think they’re turning me into some kind of faggot. All this leather gear replaced all my clothes, and I’m so fucking furry. I’m older too! It’s some freaky shit. You gotta help me. I think…I think if I just…just get it out of my system, it’ll all be fine, right? That’s how it works, I think. And I’m just curious, so…so…”

He gripped the jock nervously, and then got down on his knees next to Rich’s head, who shook his head no, but Derrick was just staring at him.

“This was a bad idea. You…you shouldn’t have come over.”

Rich tried to pull away, but his friend hooked two fingers in the already tight collar and pulled him closer. He was sniffing the air, and then he took out the cigar, leaned in, and licked the side of Rich’s face. A long lick, from jaw to scalp.

“I just…gotta get it over with.”

He put the cigar back in his mouth, and started running his hands over his friend’s chest and stomach. Rich tried to pull away, tried to block him with his bound fists, but Derrick just worked around his protests.

“I knew it had to be you, it just had to.”

He yanked at the spandex a couple times, until it ripped, and then he tore the shirt off Rich’s body in tatters.

“I knew it, I didn’t want to admit it but fuck, look at you. Fucking smell you.”

Rich tried to scream when Derrick started twisting his nipples.

“Shut the fuck up! Shut your fucking mouth, you fucking slut, or I’ll give you something to scream about!”

They both froze. That voice wasn’t Derrick’s, and they both knew it. Derrick let go and fled into the kitchen, Rich could hear him pacing the length in his leather boots, smoking his cigar. He looked around for some way to escape, some way to free himself, but before anything came to him, Derrick emerged.

“I’m sorry man, I’m sorry. I lost…control for a second. But everythings alright, I got this, I got this all under control.” then, immediately that same deep, powerful voice from before, “Yeah pig, I got you right where I fucking want you.”

Rich tried to roll off the couch, but Derrick caught him and pushed him back into the crack, and then climbed on him, straddling him in his leather pants. He unzipped the fly, and pulled his cock out. “Look man, look…just…just suck me off. Just do it. Do it, and…and I’ll let you go.”

Rich shook his head, sobbing now.

“No no no! Really! Really really, I promise, just suck my cock. Please, before it comes back, it’s always worse when I’m horny, just suck me off, and I’ll untie you, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”

He reached up and untied the knot, unravelling the rope gag. When Rich could speak again, he screamed. “I’m not going to suck you fucking cock! Help! Help, somebody—”

Derricks hands grabbed his throat and crossed thumbs over his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe at all, he couldn’t—

“Listen pig,” that deep, terrifying voice, “Listen good. You scream again? I’ll choke the life out of you. If I feel any fucking teeth? I’ll pull them all out. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna choke on my fucking cock. You’re gonna gag on this motherfucker, I’m gonna fuck your motherfucking face with it, and there ain’t shit that you can do about it, because I will kill you. I’ve never fucked a corpse before—but if you wanna be my first, then fucking fine by me.”

The hands loosened enough that he could gasp, and then he nodded, still sobbing.

Derrick sat back, blinking, not entirely sure what had just happened, but Rich was nodding, and so he scooted up, straddling his friend’s neck, and Rich let him slide his cock into his mouth. He lost track of himself after that, he just had to fuck, and fuck rough. He could hear Rich choking and gagging underneath him, but it probably wasn’t anything to worry about, right? Rich was such a good friend, helping him out like this. Maybe once he came, he’d be willing to help him out with a few other…things he’d been thinking about lately.

The Wrong Side of Pigtown

wesleybracken:

Here’s the link to my Patreon exclusive story for backers who have pledged five dollars or more a month—the story that I previewed last week here. The story is attached as a .pdf—just click the icon in the upper right hand corner to download and read it.

A note—this is my first time using this set up, so I expect a few hiccups. If you’re having trouble accessing the page (most likely, if the page asks you to donate and you know you’ve already signed up to pledge) there might be a few things wrong. One, make sure you’re logged in. Two, there are some people who are pledging five dollars or more, but who aren’t listed (on my end of things) as being part of the $5 dollar (or higher) reward group. You may have to go in and change your reward tier (this won’t change your pledge amount) to view it, depending on how Patreon works, or you might have no problem at all. Third, the site may not let you see these posts if your last payment was declined, or if you haven’t contributed yet—again, I’m not sure how the system works. It’s an adventure! If you’re having problems, send me an email or a message on Patreon, and we’ll get it sorted out.

The Wrong Side of Pigtown

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

“That’s a good little man,” Don said, and opened the top of the cage, reached in with one huge hand, and stroked Howie’s furry back, making his shiver, and shoot a load of cum into his underbelly. “Silly Howie, thinking you could just leave me. Well now you’re never going to leave me. If I can’t have you as a lover, then I guess I can settle for a pet.”

Don reached down and grabbed him under his armpits and stood up, Howie kicking his legs in the air. He was so high! Don hadn’t been this tall before, had he? He couldn’t tell whether it was just his own vertigo, but instead he focused on Don’s sweet eyes, his wrinkles when he smiled, his thick white beard, and they kissed, or rather, Don licked and sucked at his smaller face, cleaning his own cum out of Howie’s beard, and then carried him into the bedroom, set him down on the bed, and laid back down.

Howie immediately went to drink more cum, but Don pushed him away. “Nuh uh, there’s one thing I still want to do. You always said I was too small to be a good fuck, eh? Well now let’s see how my cock fits in that tight, tiny hole of yours.”

Howie tried to fight against Don, tried to push back, but there was a cloud over his mind, he couldn’t find any good reason not to dig Don’s cock free from his gunt, no good reason not to smear fresh cum over the head, and place it against his ass. However, he couldn’t quite get enough leverage, and it was so big! Don had to help him, and once the cock was deep inside of him, he grabbed Howie and starts sliding him up and down the short shaft, Howie helpless in his hands, groaning and moaning with pleasure, orgasms shooting through them both spontaneously. Cum was pouring from his hole, and each time he shot, he grew even smaller, the dick stretching his ass a bit larger, the cock pushing a bit deeper. Finally, he couldn’t fit it any longer, and Don dropped him, his gut taut with cum, hole aching, he collapsed onto the bed and groaned in pain, but his hand wouldn’t stop rubbing the head of his cock, just barely within reach of one tiny hand not pinned by his huge belly. Don sat up and stroked his side with one huge hand. How small was he now? A foot and a half? A foot?

“Fuck I’m hungry,” Don said, “Gonna go eat something, and then I’ll be back to finish you off.” He heaved himself up off the bed, and knocked himself on the top of the doorway. He was taller, and so fat the sides of his gut brushed the side as he slid through, heading for the kitchen. Howie, however, was still so thirsty. He hefted himself up, fighting his massive gut, and then struggled across the bed to the edge, hung off, and managed to slip off without hurting himself. He followed the trail of Don’s cum into the kitchen, lapping up each drop and puddle as he came to it, and found Don on the sofa, surrounded by a pile of snacks which he was stuffing into his mouth, his cum dribbling onto the sofa cushion, and back under him, into the couch itself. His cum. Howie’s cum. He needed it, he was so thirsty–it was all he could think about. He picked one fat leg and started his climb, falling off a couple of times before he realized he could use the thick hairs growing on Don’s fat legs to pull himself up. Don would shout encouragement to him as he climbed, watching the short old man heave his way up his leg, grinding his crotch against the fur, spasming occasionally. By the time he reached the sofa, he was less than a foot tall, but Howie no longer cared. His mind was shrinking too–all he could think about was drinking cum and playing with his cock and his fat old body. He burrowed his way into Don’s gunt, found the head of his cock and pressed his whole mouth against the slit, drinking down as much as he could, feeling himself growing smaller and smaller, his head turning fuzzier, and then everything went dark.

He woke up on something scratchy. He pushed himself up, and tried to figure out what was going on. He wasn’t in bed, it was somewhere else. There were bars around him, and he walked up to them, looking out, and saw that he was up on the dresser in a cage meant for a mouse. Looking down, he realized that if someone wasn’t paying close attention, they might even mistake him for one. His round, fat body covered with white fur, pink ears and a bald head, a face covered with a thick beard. But he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t scared. All he really was, was thirsty. He tried to speak, but all that really seemed to come out was a squeak a bit more high pitched than his usual voice, and a huge figure eventually lumbered into the room and bent over, looking at him in the cage.

Don–he was massive now, probably weighing close to six hundred pounds and covered with hair. He tapped on the cage, Howie licking at his finger. “Now now, calm down. I just have to go into town for some supplies. After all, I think we’re going to be living here for a while, don’t you?”

Howie didn’t care where he was, as long as Don was close by, and he could drink his cum.

“I just don’t want you wandering around on your own is all–a little man like you could get into trouble. So much better keeping you safe in your cage. I bet you’re thirsty though–don’t worry, I got your bottle right here.”

Don slid a water bottle into the fixture on the cage, the little spout on the end pushing through the bars into the cage. Howie went and licked at the small metal ball, allowing the cum in the bottle to flow through, and he drank and drank.

The Wrong Side of Pigtown

Here’s the link to my Patreon exclusive story for backers who have pledged five dollars or more a month–the story that I previewed last week here. The story is attached as a .pdf–just click the icon in the upper right hand corner to download and read it.

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The Wrong Side of Pigtown

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

Don woke up feeling groggy, but healthier than the morning before. He gave a yawn, and felt something in his mouth–he opened his eyes and found himself faced with Don’s crotch, his cock down his throat. It felt bigger that before, but that couldn’t possibly be right. Cocks didn’t just spontaneously grow overnight. Still, he was thirsty. Don was still asleep, but Howie sucked another two loads out of him in rapid succession, grinding his own cock into the fluffy, warm sheets, feeling how wet they were. He worried that he might have pissed himself, but it was sticky and tacky like cum, which was almost more worrisome. Again, he was struck by the notion that something strange was going on, but it felt like something at the edge of his mind, easily forgotten if he didn’t stay focused on it.

He pulled his mouth off Don’s cock, deciding to take a break, wormed his way off the bed, couldn’t find the floor with his feet, and ended up falling off onto his ass, looking up at the edge of the bed looming over him.

The room was bigger?

He looked around, trying to decipher his lower vantage point. He stood up, finding it a bit harder than usual, and decided that it wasn’t that the world had grown, but that he had shrunk. A lot. He’d gone from six and a half feet to closer to three feet tall overnight.

He felt like he was going to be sick. He told himself this couldn’t be happening, that he was just dreaming. He slapped his face, which hurt, but nothing changed, and then looked back down at himself, and realized that he wasn’t just shorter–he was also fatter. The gut he’d had the day before was now an apron sagging down past his crotch. In fact, the “sheets” he’d been grinding his cock into hadn’t been sheets at all, but his new gunt and the underside of his gut. Now he really was feeling sick–he ran into the bathroom, something which took longer than it should have–and vomited his breakfast of cum into the toilet, before flushing it away, wiping his chin, feeling a mass of hair there that shouldn’t be. He waddled up to the counter but was too short to get a good look at himself in the mirror; he ended up scaling the toilet, and from there hefted himself up onto the counter next to it, where he huffed and puffed for a moment or two, not used to carting around so much weight.

Standing next to the sink, he got a full view of himself in the mirror, and the sight almost made him feel sick again. Shorter, much shorter. Between the loss in height and his gain in weight, he looked about as wide as he was tall. His gut had taken on the most weight, sagging down past his crotch to his thighs, which had eaten away the space between them and now pushed together all the way to his knees, down to his fat calves and ankles that looked like a solid mass balanced on rather small feet. He hefted his gut up, looking underneath it at his own cock that had sucked up into his fat body–it looked like it had shrunk even more than the rest of him. He could just reach the head with one of his hands, and even just brushing against it was enough to make him groan with pleasure. It had never been so sensitive, and now that he’d felt it, he kept going, unable to stop himself, rubbing the head with his fingers, pushing it down into his fat, getting closer until he was awarded with a burst of cum that covered his fingers…and in the mirror, he saw himself collapse in on himself ever so slightly, his gut grow out a bit heavier. He yanked his hand away; had cumming just made his shrink?

It made sense. He had no idea how much he’d cum over the last day–it felt like hundreds of times. How could he even have cum left in his balls? He…he could keep going. He could keep trying to empty them out, it felt so damn good…

He had his hand back under his gut again, but stopped himself. He had to stop, he had to. He couldn’t shrink anymore. To take his mind off his cock, he tried to take in everything else that had changed since the day before. The mass of hair he’d brushed his hand against was a beard. Marga hated facial hair, but Don had always wanted him to grow it out into a full beard. Now it didn’t seem like he had much choice–in a single day the beard had exploded in size. The hairs were only a few inches long, but with his smaller stature that was enough to reach down to his chest. Running his hand through it, the beard was stiff and crispy from dried cum, and he shivered, feeling the thirst growing in his throat. His beard wasn’t the only thing that had grown hairier either–his entire body had filled in with a mass of hair, so thick in some places that it was hard to see his skin. Almost all of it was grey, if not white. From what he could see of his face, he looked like he’d aged twenty years overnight, into his sixties, his forehead and eyes lined with wrinkles, his hairline receding back past the crown of his head.

He had to get help. Don was still tall, he could drive. Howie didn’t think he’d even be able to see out the windshield, much less reach the pedals. He got back down off the counter the way he’d climbed up, and hurried back into the bedroom. Getting back onto the bed was a bit of a challenge, but he managed by hauling himself up with the sheets, crawled over and realized he wasn’t the only one who had changed substantially over the last few days.

Unable to help himself, Howie was captivated by Don’s balls. The sack had always been average, though it had looked a bit larger under Don’s shorter cock–now it was dwarfed in comparison. The balls inside each looked to be as large as his new fists, and cum was seeping from the head of his cock, dribbling down the shaft…no, he couldn’t look there, he couldn’t. He forced his eyes up, over the rest of Don, and saw that he wasn’t the only one who had changed overnight. Don had always been a bit on the chubby side, but now, like him, he’d grown massively fat, his gut sagging down and out into a thick apron, huge moobs with thick nipples covered with white hair, that flowed up to his neck, where a beard, thick and white, covered his multiple chins, and he saw Don was awake…and staring at him.

“What are you waiting for, lover? I got all this cum for you to lick up. You’re slacking off.” His voice was deeper than usual, more resonant, and…commanding. It took an effort of will to resist. He had to get Don to realize something was wrong. They had to get help, they had to do something.

“Don, you have to realize…look how short I am! We have to get out of here, we have to get to the hospital.”

Don laughed, his fat body shuddering in…in a somehow sexy way. Howie had never been interested in old men, and definitely not in fat ones, but he was so horny…no, even though he was horny, he just liked how Don looked. How big he was in every way. How old he was, the saggy fat, the wrinkly face, all the hair covering his body, the shiny pate of his head. But more than like…he loved him. He really did, he loved him more than he’d ever loved Marga. In fact, thinking of Marga now, all he could feel was a sense of disgust. He never wanted to see her again–the only person he wanted, who he could bear to be with, was…was Don. Don smiled at him, Howie’s heart fluttered. “Oh Howie, everything’s turning out exactly how it’s supposed to. Now get over here and drink some more cum–you’re still too big.”

“What…did you do this?”

Don reached out with one fat hand, but Howie ducked away, nearly tumbling off the bed again. “I said get over here and drink up.”

Again, Howie had to fight himself, his growing desire to do everything Don told him to do. Don rolled over and grabbed at him again, Howie jumped off the bed, scrambled up and ran for the bathroom, locking the door behind him as Don got up, stomping to the door. “What the fuck did you do to us?”

“I know you were gonna leave me!” Don shouted, “I know you were gonna ditch me, I could see how you look at other guys, but you’re mine, Howie, you’re fucking mine! Don’t you see how much I love you? I’ll take good care of you, you’ll be so happy, I promise. Now open the door, Howie, open up and drink some more delicious cum like a good old faggot.”

What in the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t get out with Don waiting, he couldn’t fight him off. He couldn’t even drive the truck–hell, he didn’t even know where he was. A weapon, he needed something to fight with. He looked up and saw the mirror. If he could break it, get a shard or something, maybe he’d have a chance. However, he only managed to climb up onto the toilet before he smelled it–cum. Don’s cum. Looking down, he saw a puddle growing under the door, he could hear Don huffing and grunting and moaning on the other side. It smelled so good, and he was so fucking thirsty. He grabbed a towel, meaning to stuff it under the door crack, but why use a towel when he could just…just lick it up? Yeah, he liked cum, he could just lick it up off the floor, lick up his lover’s cum and play with his cock, the first orgasm sending shivers through his shrinking body, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was cum. Drinking cum, shooting cum. Why was he so worried about shrinking anyway? He had Don to take care of him. He loved Don so much…

“Open the door, Howie…”

Yeah, he should do that. Why had he even locked it to begin with? It was suddenly a challenge to reach it, but he managed to turn it and pull it open. Don was on his knees outside the door, cum flowing down his gunt and dribbling onto the floor. He could see Don’s balls pumping as he twisted his nipples like faucets. He rushed over and started drinking as much as he could, feeling it coat his whole body as it flowed over him.

“See Howie? You’re mine now. You’re mine forever.”

Do You Shrink as You Get Older? – Part 1 (Patreon Commission)

Howie woke up in the double bed, disentangled himself from Don’s firm sleep grasp without waking him, and sat on the side of the bed, wondering if he was getting sick. It was probably just all those drinks last night–they both had to get drunk to fuck at first, it helped cut through some of the shame. Well, it helped him, at least, not think about Marga. He remembered the last time he’d gotten sick on vacation, when he and Marga had taken Tommy to Disneyland and he’d spend three days of the week vomiting–better to not think about any of that, actually.

He got up, rummaged around in the unfamiliar bathroom, found a bottle of slightly expired aspirin, and took them for the headache, along with three glasses of water to quench the thirst that was parching his throat. In the cabin’s small kitchenette he got the coffee maker working, and while it brewed, he went out on the front porch to take a look at the surroundings. Don had talked about his cabin often, but in all the years they’d known each other as friends, and then fuckbuddies, and then something approaching lovers, he’d never once taken Don’s invitation to come join him on his summer fishing trips. Too intimate–surely the wives would suspect, right? Really, it was just his own insecurity and self-loathing. An occasional fuck or suck in the cab of a truck after too many beers felt like an accident. This felt like a truer affair.

The parched feeling was still there, and he cleared his throat, managed a couple of coughs. He didn’t feel feverish, and nothing hurt other than his usual middle-age, overweight, morning-after-hangover, guilt aches. His phone said it was ten in the morning, but this deep in the river valley it still felt misty and cold. It was peaceful though. No one for miles, Don had said. He watched his breath curl out of his mouth in clouds, and suddenly wished he’d brought something to smoke.

The coffee pot was full, he poured some, sat at the table feeling cold and lonely with his hands wrapping the warm mug for a few minutes. With a sigh, he decided he’d rather be back in bed with Don, abandoned the table and coffee and went back to the bedroom, but Don had woken up, pushed off the covers, and was fondling his cock. Howie looked him over in the morning light. He would have preferred someone younger, slimmer, less obsessive and bigger cocked, but any port in a closet. Don stared at Howie with that look that said, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” that could kill Howie’s arousal faster than almost anything. Why couldn’t Don just let it be easy? Why did he always want so damn much from him?

“I think I’m getting sick,” Howie said, cutting the silence.

Don was working his cock a bit harder now. It was one of those cocks that seemed like it just wasn’t trying all that hard. He liked fucking, but couldn’t usually get enough stiffness to work it in. Howie didn’t like letting Don touch his cock, so usually they just jacked off, or Howie sucked him off. The sick comment obviously hadn’t deterred him, and Howie realized this was going to be a longer weekend than he might have imagined.

“Come on, I’m horny, lover.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Don smirked, “You should loosen up, no one knows anything.”

Howie fake-coughed.

“Can’t you just enjoy this for once? Why is it that as soon as we’re alone you just suck the joy from the room?”

Don got up from the bed, one hand on his cock to keep it hardish, and came over to where Howie was standing by the door. They’d met on the job ten years earlier, when they were both a bit firmer and had more hair on their heads. Howie had been excited by the newness. He’d never been with a man before, but now, it felt like a whole second marriage he’d never asked for. Don’s adoration for him only seemed to grow more intense as they got older. Don ran a hand through Howie’s furred chest, down to the top of his soft gut, and then swept down the side and under to his cock. One hand tried to block his, but he gripped the shaft anyway, and saw Howie stiffen and let out a quiet moan. “I really just don’t feel that…that good,” Howie said.

“I’ve heard good sex is a cure-all.”

Don grabbed one of Howie’s nipples in his hand and kneaded it gently. He leaned in, their mouths close, and Howie relented and closed the distance, giving Don a kiss that grew more intense as he lost interest in his shame. He actually was horny, he realized. Horny wasn’t something Howie felt very often these days, and Don’s hand milking his shaft was sending shivers through him. He pushed Don’s hand away and took over, Don pushed his gut into Howie’s and rubbed them together, and then put his hands on Howie’s shoulders, pushing him down onto his knees.

Howie didn’t know if he was gay, or bi, or just in denial, but he did know that cocks were beautiful. Don’s was short, sure, but still lovely, though Don was sensitive about it’s smallness. Howie took the head in his mouth and sucked at it, feeling Don shiver at the sensation. He also had a habit of cumming quick, and it was less than a minute before cum flooded into his mouth, and…and all of his symptoms that he’d felt all morning, the slight nausea, the thirst, the headache, they all started fading away. And the cum, it was so much tastier than usual. Howie sucked it all down, and then he just kept sucking. Don’s cock would usually go limp immediately, but this time it stayed harder, and even seemed a bit firmer than usual. Certainly Don wasn’t complaining about two blow jobs in a row, and he didn’t complain about three, either, after he shot a second time. Feeding Howie his third load, he finally pulled his cock free from his friend’s lips, looked down, and saw he had a dazed look on his face, spit and cum running down into his beard, his hand under his gut, wrapped around his own cock, stroking himself off. He helped Howie up from the floor, and gauged from the puddle there that he must have shot at least three times himself.

“Still…kinda thirsty, Don…” Howie muttered into his friend’s ear.

“Heh, well, if you want more, I got more, come on back to bed.”

Don laid down on his back. Howie climbed up and started sucking, balancing with one hand so he could reach down and keep stroking himself off, guzzling down load after load of cum. Don’s balls had become bottomless. In fact, they almost seemed to be swelling slightly as Howie continued to drain them. It was Don who finally cut him off. Howie sat back on his heels, rubbing his full belly, let off a belch, and noticed the sun was blaring in the west facing window, down valley. He checked the clock, it was after five. He’d just spent close to six hours sucking Don as dry as he could. There was a pool of his cum beneath him, and his cock felt tender and raw from all the masturbation he’d just done. It was certainly the strangest day of sex he’d ever had.

“Heh, guess you were thirsty, eh? Come on, we still have time to get to the river and catch something fresh for dinner.”

Howie wasn’t sure what to say. Those six hours felt like a blur. He did feel better though, and Don didn’t seem at all bothered by it. As he pulled on his clothes, his sack really did look larger, and seemed to be hanging a bit lower. Howie got down off the bed, and while he wasn’t feeling sick, he was feeling a bit out of sorts. Everything seemed a bit…off, suddenly. He pulled on his clothes, but they didn’t quite fit right for some reason–his sleeves too long, loose around the shoulders, the gut and thighs too tight, pant legs pooling slightly on the boots that had a little too much room in the toe.

“Did I tell you today how handsome you are?”

Howie looked over at Don, and blushed beside himself.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m just old and fat.”

“Heh, well maybe that’s what I find so handsome about you.”

Don gave him another kiss, and the horniness flared up again. Howie was back on his knees, fumbling with Don’s fly, licking his lips, already tasting cum, when Don pulled away.

“Heh, someone doesn’t seem very interested in fishing.”

“Sorry, I’m just…horny.”

“Well I’m hungry, so let’s go catch something, and then we can fuck some more.”

The river was a ten minute hike from the cabin. It wasn’t a particularly difficult trail, and yet Howie kept stumbling over rocks and roots, like he couldn’t quite gauge how high he needed to lift his feet to avoid them. It didn’t help that the same symptoms he’d been feeling that morning were flaring up again, and this time they were even worse. At the river, Howie cast a few lines, but spent most of the time on his knees, sucking down more cum, filling the front of his jeans with his own loads. Don caught a few fish, and before night fell they hiked back up to the cabin. Don offered to cook. The fish was nice, but it tasted bland to Howie. It just wasn’t what he felt like eating. But he’d already spent most of the day sucking down Don’s cum–what in the hell was wrong with him? He…he probably just hadn’t had enough cum today was all. He abandoned his dinner plate, got down under the table and started sucking at Don’s rock hard cock some more, and when Don finished, he kept sucking while his lover sat on the couch drinking, and then, once Don was drunk, and Howie felt like he couldn’t drink another drop of cum, they retired back to the bedroom.

Don wrapped his arms around Howie, spooning him. Something about that made him feel so small. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been spooned, but he’d never fit quite so snugly in Don’s grip, nor had it ever felt quite so comfortable. Howie was asleep in a matter of minutes, but Don stayed awake for a bit longer, caressing him. Feeling him up, gauging how much progress they’d made today. He’d waited so long for Howie to come around, but after all these years, he could sense him pulling further and further away. Howie wanted to leave him, but Don wasn’t about to let that happen, not ever. Howie was going to be his for the rest of their lives, whether he wanted to or not.

Rick and The Beast (Part 2)

Another three texts, all from The Beast. Rick ignored them like usual, but he sounded more pissed off than usual. It had been two weeks since he’d been raped at that party, and The Beast had texted him almost non-stop since, demanding that Rick come over and let him plow his hole, or meet him around campus to suck his cock. Rick was so stressed out that he was failing half his courses. He couldn’t report it–who would believe him? And even if they believed him, Jim was a god to this school–if people found out he’d accused him of not only raping him, but of being gay…no, that just wasn’t a possibility. It didn’t help that his obsession with the jock Jim had given him was only growing stronger. The only way he could get a load out was with it stuffed in his mouth or pressed to his nose, and he always imagined the most vile, exciting fantasies. But the texts had turned into threats lately. He did everything he could to avoid The Beast, and anyone else, and in particular had started eating very late at night, or skipping meals altogether, to avoid the crowd of students. That night, when he was sitting alone, and a hulking figure started crossing the room towards him, he realized this had been an error of judgement. He started packing up his stuff, but before he could escape, Jim had slid into the booth, where Rick was seated, pinning him to the wall.

“Let me see your phone, fuckpig,” The Beast said, and when Rick did nothing, he rummaged through Rick’s pockets until he found it, made him unlock it, and checked the text messages. “You have been getting them, you fucker!” he said, “I thought you might have given me the wrong number, but you’ve been fucking ignoring me. People don’t fucking ignore me, pig.”

“Please, I’m sorry, but I don’t…”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t do,” The Beast said, throwing up an arm. The stench of his pit washed over Rick, but he felt that same feeling he’d felt in the hallway, the same feeling when he picked up the jock in his room, his heart in his throat beating fast, his cock hardening, “Lick it.”

Rick already had his tongue out before The Beast gave the order, burying his face in that stinking armpit, thirsty for his sweat. He felt like he was drunk again, even though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since that party.

“Now open up your laptop there, unlock it for me, and then get under the table. We’ve got a couple of hours to waste, and I don’t want to get bored.”

Rick did as he asked, and then crawled under the table. It was a tight fit for him, but he saw The Beast already had his cock hanging out for him.

“Edge me, pig. If I cum, I break your laptop. If I get soft, I break your face–got it?”

The task proved harder than he’d expected. The Beast’s cock ran on a hair trigger, and while he was generous enough to warn Rick that he was getting close, balancing him on the edge took all of his concentration…but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed running his tongue under The Beast’s foreskin. He liked sucking on the head, the feel of it pushing down his throat, the taste of his balls and precum. He had his own cock out and was jacking it off under the table, and while The Beast never came, he shot three loads over the next two hours, until the kitchen closed and the last of the staff had left the building.

By that point, the stench had settled over Rick’s mind like a fog–he would have done anything The Beast told him to do at that point. They got up, The Beast telling him he’d be punished for cumming without permission later, and went around behind the building. The beast stacked up a couple of milk crates and told Rick to sit on them, and then said, “Now pig, as punishment for not responding, we’re going to have a little feeding session. Fresh food’s too good for a pig like you though, so you’re going to be eating trash.”

The kitchen had already tossed the extra product from that day, and it was still tepid from the warming trays. Rick tried not to vomit–The Beast told him that if he vomited, he’d make him eat it all back up. Eventually he got used to it, and when The Beast thought he’d suffered enough, Rick’s gut taut with thrown out food, he told him to get on his hands and knees, and he fucked his ass in the alley. Between the pain of his ass and his stuffed gut, he wanted to just die, but instead, he shot another load of cum onto the pavement beneath him, when The Beast’s massive cock slammed into his prostate.

“God damn it, pig fucker…” The Beast said, after he came and pulled out, “Lick up that fucking nasty cum of yours right fucking now.”

Not that, anything but that, and yet he was scooting back, his tongue scraping the cum up from the asphalt. Why was he doing this? Why was he letting The Beast do this to him? While he licked, he felt The Beast grab his cock and balls, fit something over them, and then heard the click of a padlock.

“As punishment for cumming without my permission, we’re just going to keep you locked up from now on. If you start acting like a good piggy, and respond to my texts, and don’t refuse a single meet up for the next month, I’ll let you shoot once. Oh, and one more thing pig–”

The Beast stood up, aimed his cock at Rick, and unleashed a torrent of piss.

“You’re mine. Got it? Fucking mine.”

He soaked every inch of his clothes down to the skin, and then put away his cock and left without another word, leaving Rick shivering in the cold, wondering how any of this could get any worse.

(To be continued at some later date???)