Category: Uncategorized

My new roommate, Rick, he seemed like an alright guy, but he’s just a bit dirty, and I swear he doesn’t take showers, but he says he does. Me, well, I like being a clean guy, and it kind of bugs me that he always stinks. And then the unimaginable happened–it was the middle of summer, the hottest part of the year, and the shower broke. Even worse, the landlord was on vacation, so we were going to be without it for at least a week.

After three days, Rick and I were both sweaty and stinking, him even worse than usual, and I told him how much I wanted a shower, and he said, “Well, I can always give you one of my special showers,” he said, and gave me a smirk.

I was sitting on the couch, both of us in my underwear, and I didn’t know what he was talking about. Still, before I could respond, he was standing in front of me, whipped out his cock, and started pissing on me right there in the living room.

For a moment, I was just shocked, feeling his piss splattering against my chest, but before I could get up and tell him off, the aroma hit my nose, and my whole head just went fuzzy, my body limp, and all I could do was smell Rick’s piss on me. Distantly, I could hear him talking to me, and I know I was agreeing with him a lot, and when I finally came back to myself, I was alone on the couch.

I knew I should clean myself up, but instead I just sucked the drying piss from my shirt and jacked off, moaning the whole time, and then went into the bathroom, laid down in the tub, and pissed all over myself, before jacking off again. Needless to say, Master Rick has given me a whole lot of special showers since then, and even though I always blank out afterwards, I don’t mind it anymore. We never did get the shower fixed either, but why would we? A boy should smell like his Master’s piss anyway–I am his property after all, and I do love giving Master Rick a long tongue bath–in fact, he’s due for one now, I think.

When I saw him go intah the bar, I knew I had tah have him. Still, he was a straight, hot jock, ‘n I was just a old, redneck pig, headin’ intah town fer a hot manfuck like I usually did once a month. It was hard findin’ a good fuck out in the country where I live, but I hated the idea a livin’ in the city. Usually I’d spend the weekend in a bathhouse, fuckin’ the nights away, but this time, well, I figured I could jus’ have a looksie fer a bit, before gettin’ on mah way.

I still don’ know what happened, really. I was sippin’ mah beer in a booth, watchin’ him ‘n his friends at the bar, when he went ‘n tried tah chat up some chick a few stools down–she didn’t take it very well, tah say the least, ‘n everyone heard what she shouted tah him:

“Maybe not everyone you’re attracted to finds you the least bit attractive–did you think of that? Maybe we should see how you like being treated like a piece of meat!”

I don’ know what came o’er me, but I was up, hikin’ up mah grimy jeans, and saunterin’ o’er tah where he was standin’ at the bar. I was tryin’ tah stop myself, I didn’ know what the fuck I was doin’ but then the words were fallin’ outa mah mouth, tellin’ him tah be a good boy ‘n stop harassin’ the pretty lady ‘n git back over tah the booth with me, and he fuckin’ followed me! The chick and his friends gawked, but they couldn’ do anythin’ fer some reason, ‘n I proceeded tah git the boy plastered before he could change his mind.

Now I tend tah be a bit of a bottom in the sack, but with the boy, fuck, I wanted mah cock in every one a his holes all night long, callin’ him all sorts a names, watchin’ him squirm under mah big gut, ‘n I gotta admit, I liked it. Needless tah say, he came home with me, like a good little bitch, ‘n we cut off that mangy hair a his, and got him dressed up in overalls like a proper hick, ‘n he’s already forgettin’ that he used tah live in the big city. Ah don’t know what that witch did, but I ain’t complainin’. I found mah boy, ‘n I ain’t ever gonna let him leave.

“So, do you like it?”

“Like it? It’s great. I still can’t believe you’re only offering it for a thousand bucks a month. I was sure that was a typo,” Derrick said as the older landlord showed him around the room.

“Nope, it isn’t a typo at all–still, I do have several other interested parties, however. Would you like to take the lease? It’s a year long, but if you don’t bite now, I can’t guarantee it’ll be here later.”

Derrick looked around the bare apartment again, and couldn’t help but feel a bit pressured. There had to be something he was missing, but the guy seemed on the level about everything, and he’d given an honest tour, pointing out the deficiencies of the apartment, and the reason it was only one thousand bucks a month. Still, it was better than living with his parents any longer, and so he shrugged and asked, “Where do I sign?”

The landlord helped him through the contract, filled with his initials and signatures, after Derrick had read a summary of what the contract included. Still, when he hit the final line, and added his signature there, he felt a sudden jolt of energy from his pen, and he was blown back, toppling over the chair where he landed with a thud on the ground.

Groaning and aching, he rolled over and hefted himself upright, feeling a bunch of aches and pains that he didn’t even recognize, and looked over at the landlord–or the guy who was where the landlord had been sitting. He looked to be a good thirty years younger–and that was when Derrick looked down at himself, at his flabby hairy belly, and felt his balding head, and freaked out. He ran for the door and flung it open, only to smack right into some sort of invisible barrier keeping him inside.

“What, trying to leave your new home so soon, Derrick? Thanks for the thirty years by the way–I was getting tired of being that old. After a few thousand years, bodies have a way of running out faster than usual–I need young men like you every few months just to stay young. Still I’m sure you’re going to love your new living situation–I’ve even arranged for you to work from home, since you won’t be leaving for a good long while.”

The landlord explained that part of the lease bound Derrick to become a gay gainer–he eat for the cameras he installed in his in the room, as well as consent to being fed by whoever the landlord let into his room. Derrick, of course, was horrified and tried to resist, but the contract was very, very binding, as the landlord ordered then ten pizzas and stuffed every single one down into his growing gut. By the end of the year when his lease was up, Derrick was just another perfectly compliant tennet, weighing in at over 500 pounds. He happily signed a new fifty year lease on the spot, planning on living there for the rest of his life.

Why does the person before the transformation looks bigger than after? I’m confused.

The first photo is shot from below, and the second from above. This gives the impression that the first is larger (towering over the camera) and the second is smaller (the camera towering over him) but there’s only so much I can do with pics when I’m not taking them myself, so maybe a little suspension of disbelief is called for here.

Just keep in mind that everything is bigger in Texas.

Terry looked at the note he’d found with the package he’d dragged in off the doorstep, and set it off to the side, before opening the box and finding a pair of black leather cowboy boots and a black Stetson cowboy hat, as well as a second wrapped package below them, with a note that simple said:

For later.

It was a rather big package too, about a foot long and cylindrical, but he set it aside, and pondered over the boots and the hat. He certainly hadn’t ordered anything like this from anywhere, so why in the world had they ended up on his doorstep? He pulled them out of the box and was struck by something else–they were big–way bigger than anything he could wear. Checking the boots, he saw that they were size nineteen, and out of curiosity he put the hat on his head, and it sat all the way down, nearly covering his eyes, and he had about an inch of room on both sides of his head.

“Aww damn, who ‘n the hell sent me this shit? Ah can’t wear nothin’ this big…” Terry said, and then clasped his hand over his mouth. Where in the hell had that drawl come from? “Wh–Why ‘n tarnation am Ah talkin’ like this, I ain’t even been tah the South…”

He looked down at the boots again, but realized they weren’t just any boots–they were his boots. There was no reasonable way they could be, but he recognized them, and almost like he was sleepwalking, he slipped off his sneakers and slid the boots onto his feet, feeling all of the space down in there, and how wrong it was. “Damn, Ah always thought these fit better ‘n this…” he muttered, but as he did, he felt a strange heat in his feet, and let out a cry as they swelled up, filling the cowboy boots to capacity, and he tumbled back onto the couch, unable to balance, and felt the heat sweeping up through the rest of his body.

His legs pulsed and expanded with muscle, his bones burning as they lengthened, growing longer and heavier, his hips shifting, giving him a naturally wide, slightly bow-legged stance, his shorts splitting at the seams and falling away from his hairy legs, his underwear barely hanging on, even as his cock throbbed and expanded, growing to nearly a foot in length, and as big around as a beer can. “Awww fuck yeah,” Terry drawled, and hauled out his cock, stroking it as the heat raced up his body, his chest and gut packing on muscle and fat as his spine lengthened, making him even taller, and then down his arms, packing on huge biceps and thick forearms, even his head expanding until he had to reach up and readjust his hat, which now perched perfectly on his skull, but now he was so turned on, he couldn’t stop jacking off, but something was missing–something important.

He pushed himself up off the couch, now seven feet tall and close to four hundred pounds of muscle and fat, the entire room out of perspective. He tromped over to the now small package and pulled out the final item, ripping away the wrapping and pulling out a cigar which would have been massive to anyone else, but in his hands it was merely normal. It lit itself as he held it, and he took a deep draw off it, jacking his cock as he smoked shooting a huge load all over the box, and chuckled.

“Everythin’s bigger ‘n Texas, eh? Guess they weren’t kiddin’.”

That song—why in the hell can’t you get it out of your head? You’ve tried everything, listening to something else, turning it up as loud as you could, singing the catchiest thing you can think of, but it won’t leave your brain no matter what. And worse, every time it runs through your head, the feelings just get worse, and stronger, and that makes the song even louder in your mind.

You’d come out to the woods for the peace and quiet, like you did once a year, just to clear your head and refocus on your various projects, and take some time to reflect. You really like hiking and swimming, but in the city there aren’t many places to go, so you usually rent a cabin in a different place around the state, and stay there for a week or two, for some time to decompress. This is, certainly, the most remote place you’ve ever rented, but you’d found that attractive. You’d gone off trail yesterday, exploring deep into a thick copse, and you hadn’t even realized you’d been heading towards the music, hell, you hadn’t even realized it was music until you got closer, and by then it was too late to stop yourself. You’d driven deeper into the woods, and there it was, dancing around a small spring, a satyr, playing it’s pipes along with the birds, it’s huge, thick cock erect and leaking as it did, and you were entranced.

Worse, it knew you were there, it kept looking at you over it’s shoulder, daring you to come out of hiding and dance along with him, but instead you’d turned around and run away as fast as you could, but the song hadn’t left you, it was just as loud, as though the satyr was standing in the room playing to you, and you couldn’t resist anymore. You look down, and realize that you have been dancing to the song in your head now for over a minute, and you try to calm your feet, but they don’t even respond. You have one of your hands around your cock, and you’re jacking it, feeling the primal animalism of the song crowd its way down into your soul, pushing out your rationalism, pushing out your mind, replacing it with these deep urges, this dark, unknowable core, a Dionysian instinct.

You dance all night, jacking off all the while, and finally, with the dawn, the music stops, and you are allowed to collapse. In the mirror, you see your new, wild body, your body coated with fur, beard and hair wild and overgrown, the wild animal in your eyes, your cock nearly a foot long and dribbling cum on the floor of the cabin. You feel so cramped in here, in this small space, and your break out the front door, snorting and wild, and run off into the woods, shedding the last of your clothing and your humanity as you run, eager to find your master, to join his dance, to give him your soul, your mind, your spirit.

“See? I told you you’d like cigars–you’re manly enough for them,” Bruce said, watching his roommate, Phil take a deep drag off the cigar, still dressed in his suit from work, his eyes starting to glaze over a bit as he moaned. A five o’clock shadow sprouted up on his smooth face suddenly, and Bruce couldn’t help but run his hand along it, watching him shiver.

“Fuck–I feel so…”

“Manly? Butch?” Bruce finished. He was slender and smaller than his roommate, and he got down on his knees in front of him, unzipping the front of his suit, pulling out Phil’s cock and he sucked it down. Bruce tried to stop him, he wasn’t gay, and he’d had no idea Bruce swung that way, but when he tried to push him off,  he grabbed Bruce’s hair instead and started fucking his face roughly, inhaling more and more of the smoke. “Fuck…boy…”

“No,” Bruce said, pulling away, and looking a bit annoyed, “Not your boy–I’m gonna be your son.”

Phil just stared at him, his stubble now a beard, his suit fitting awkwardly against his body, which was bulking up with muscle and fat as he sat there. His head was foggy too, and it was hard to think about anything other than how much he wanted to fuck Bruce right now. “Get–Get back down there and finish me off, you fucker…” he said gruffly, in a voice an octave too deep.

“Nuh uh, not until you say it. You know you want to be a daddy, right? You want a son you can abuse, a manly son like you are. You don’t want a skinny twink like me, do you?”

Bruce leaned in closer and ran a finger down the thickening shaft of Phil’s cock, and unable to help himself, he waited until after Bruce had inhaled off the cigar, and then grabbed the sides of his head, and locked lips with him, sucking the smoke from his lungs. Phil didn’t really know what was going on, but he let the smoke pass between them, feeding it to his roommate, and then felt Bruce push back into him, back and forth for who knew how long, until Bruce finally let go and stumbled back.

Phil did a double take–Bruce looked completely different–in fact, he looked like…he did. He was shorter, but much stockier, growing out of his own clothes, and seeing him lick his lips…his son lick his lips, Phil growled and stood up, ripping the clothes off him, and sucking on his son’s neck, marking him, feeling him squirm, and then he shoved him down on his knees. “Suck it, son–suck daddy’s big cock.”