“Drink it—Fucking drink it, faggot!”

“Get it all down his fucking throat—don’t miss a god damn drop!”

***

A dream, but god, what a dream. Troy sat up in his bed, sweating, wondering where in the hell that had come from. The details of it were already fading, but the circle of young men surrounding him, forcing whatever that had been down his throat—what a nightmare.

He got up and went into the bathroom to piss, but stopped when he saw his reflection. CUMDUMP. It was tattooed in huge letters across his chest, and he couldn’t believe it. He ran back into the bedroom and found his phone. Wednesday—how was it Wednesday? He’d gone out on Saturday, and lost three days? What about work? What had happened to him?

Regardless, he had to cover it up and get to the office, and figure out what was going on. He opened his closet, but instead of the usual selection of conservative suits, there was only…leather, and rubber, and…and…

When he next came to, he was kneeling on the floor in front of the door, wearing rubber shorts and a leather harness, waiting. Waiting for what? He didn’t know, for someone to come. There was the sound of a key in the door, and then a group of men came in. “Ready for the party, Cumdump? I brought some new friends for you to suck off.”

“Yes Sir, use me as you see fit, Sir,” Troy answered, almost mechanically.

He wouldn’t be going back to work, he realized. He had a new job—a more important job. He took the first cock presented to him and started sucking, desperately thirsty for cum, his old life slowly forgotten in the haze of sex and service in the years of slavery that followed.

Source: treasureislandmedia.com

I was always a breast man—I admit it. And a bit of a chubby chaser. A woman with curves could get me going like no other, I swear. When I started chatting with her, and she started sending me her pics—oh my god, I would have done anything for her. I suppose I should have found it odd, how I never remembered our conversations in detail—only that I wanted to talk to her more than anything. Still, it was months before she finally relented and sent me a face pic—and my jaw dropped.

It wasn’t a she at all—but a he. I was angry, confused, betrayed—but there was nothing I could do by that point. I came crawling back, desperate for more pictures—he made me apologize, and promise to never desert him again—I had to say yes, I had to.

Still, he wasn’t done with me—every month, it was new pictures, new training. One month focused on his gut, and how much I wanted him to crush me beneath it. One month on his ass, and how I’d worship and clean it. One month on his nub of a cock, and how I’d happily suck it whenever he told me to. One month on how I was an encourager, and would do anything to make him bigger.

I’m his little house pet now, I suppose. I do anything he wants, and I love him—all 500 pounds of him. He had me sell all my possessions and move out to live with him, and now, any separation is physically painful. I’m a slave to his fat now, and will be for the rest of our lives.

No…No this can’t be happening, it can’t. I mean, I sure as hell didn’t take the curse all that seriously, sure. I mean, those fucking “witches” and shit, it was just a bunch of fat goth girls trying to inflate their egos, and when Gina, the ringleader of the bunch, had told me they cast a spell on me, I almost laughed. So what if I had raped one of the bitches in their little coven? When she told me that I would spend my the rest of my life with the next person I slept with, I made a mental note to make sure it was a good one, and got on with the rest of my life.

Well, a few days later, I got drunk—really drunk. Blackout drunk, and now this. “Damn boy, ya sure are a fine lay, how ‘bout ya climb back in here ‘n take care a yer daddy’s mornin’ wood?” the fat redneck said, pulling out his cock from his pajamas. Worse, I wanted to tell him to fuck off and leave, but, well, I couldn’t. “Sure thing daddy,” I said instead, climbed in bed, and sucked off his not very clean cock, and all I could think about was what Gina had said as I scoffed and walked off that day.

“You might also want to know that when you wake up, you’ll be transformed into their ideal partner, so be careful what you sleep with.”

There was a mirror in the bedroom, and I almost didn’t dare look at myself. Young, obese, hairy, goatee—the perfect redneck cub for my daddy…yeah, daddy’s cock tastes so good, god I love all the cheese under his fuckin’ foreskin. Gonna beg ‘em tah fuck mah hole later, breed me real good, aw yeah, life is gonna be real good from here on out, I can already tell…

Source: bonethat

Are you into some of the kinks your write about?

Well, I suppose what you mean by “into”. Do they arouse me? Well yeah, or I wouldn’t write about them, but that kind of seems obvious. So, do I delve into any of these kinks in reality? For the most part, no. My writing is a fairly cathartic–I tell these stories so I feel less inclined to indulge in real life, which isn’t to say I think people shouldn’t indulge if they want to, mind you.

Mostly, I’m happily married, in a closed relationship, and he’s decidedly less interested in the sorts of stuff I write about than I am, which is fine. If he were interested, I suppose I’d have more opportunity to explore. I do find a few ways to indulge myself on occasion, and might keep a well soiled jockstrap around for when I need an extra little kick…

My dad is such a prick. He makes fun of me because I’m not as muscular as he is, and even steals my goddamn protein shakes the time. I think that if he knew I was gay he’d pummel me. Still i think I’ve found a way around that little problem.

See I’ve been messing around with many chemistry teacher at school. He’s this chubby bear of a man, and an awesome bottom. I told him about my father, and he suggested a little concoction he uses to pack on the fat himself. I replaced my protein shakes with it, and dad is already putting on weight. The aphrodisiac is just a bonus, really.

Yeah, he can’t explain why he suddenly needs my cum so bad–but he’s been sneaking into my room every night now at least once to suck me off while I “sleep.” I think he’s starting to notice the weight he’s packing on too, but it’s already too late–the shakes are highly addictive–Hell, I should know, since I can’t stop drinking them either. Yeah, that was part of the deal–my teacher wanted me fat too. Still, I think it’s worth it, just to bring my dad down with me, and my teacher loves my fat cock too much to make me a bottom. Looks like by the end of the year, I’ll have two big piggies to fuck. I can’t wait–even if I’ll probably be over 500 pounds by then too.

Dr. Hendricks’ methods were strange, but Rick couldn’t deny that he was more relaxed than he’d ever been in his life. He’d been skeptical about hypnosis at first, but after the first session many of his concerns evaporated, though Hendricks could tell that the stress in Rick’s life needed drastic reduction.

Next came the pills–so many pills. Hendricks was vague about what each one did, and Rick noticed quite a few strange side effects as the weeks passed. He put on weight, for one, and he noticed that his cock and balls were shrinking, but he was calmer, and maybe even a little…more submissive?

Hendricks still wasn’t satisfied–Rick was the most anal-retentive subject he’d ever seen, and the anal exercises helped alleviate that, but he deemed that full castration was the only real option. Rick had resisted, at first, but why would the doctor lead him astray? And now, whenever the doctor licked his smooth crotch, ramming ever larger dildos into his pussy, Rick knew he’d made the right decision.

Source: bearsandbbwlover

I make a new one every Bear Run I go to–I never get tired of it. It’s the first timers I like the most, the ones who don’t run in the usual circles, the ones desperate for friends and attention. They’re always nervous with me at first, but they so want to be liked–to be needed–and I can give them that, even if it’s never in the way they expect.

I ply them with liquor–with compliments. In turn, they open up about themselves, as though I care one lick about who they are. They come up to my room, and then the fun starts. That first night, breaking them down, destroying them, remaking them–by morning they’re begging for it, and a whole new man walks out my door.

Bareback only. Fistpigs. Painplay. Urinals. Toilets. Nothing is too extreme for the whores I craft. The second day, they endure heavy use, and they revel in it. If there are any doubts, any vestiges of their old selves remaining, they’re wiped out soon enough–the pleasure is too much–and people need them so much, how could they refuse?

The bidding process is silent, discrete. I introduce them to their new owner on the final day, and they leave–happy slaves all. Finally needed, just like they wanted.

Source: jiminwi38

“Yeah, who’s my big bear?”

“I’m *hic* yer big bear…”

“You sure are, god, look how fast you’re growing, love those fucking stretch marks. Probably can’t even zip up these coveralls of yours, but you like showing off your belly don’t you?”

“Yeah, fuckin’ love it, love my belly…”

“Gonna make ya even bigger when I take you home. Got more of my special brew, I’m gonna feed you a whole keg of it, make you so fuckin’ fat you won’t be able to move, so fucking dumb you won’t be able to think about anything beyond eating, drinking and sucking my cock.”

“Fuck.”

“Gonna whore you out too. Gonna throw house parties, gonna let my friends use you as their personal cumdump. Would you like that, slut?”

“I’d…I’d *hic* I’d do anythin’ fer ya, Mikey. I love you.”

“Fucking pig, god you were so fucking easy. Gonna love breaking in that hole of yours tonight.”

“I’m so horny Mikey, I…yeah, take me home, fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

Let’s get home then, pig, and the real fun’ll start.“

He’s looking at me–please wear me today sir, please–it’s been weeks, I’m so hungry. He can sense it, my need, my desperation, and as if too tease me, he pulls me out, running his hand along my mesh, my elastic–his jock, I’m his jock.

I wasn’t always a jockstrap, but those memories are so far away, so distant, I wonder now if I only dream of being human to pass the time between wearings. Still, it wasn’t simply a tease, first one leg, and then the other, and I squirm a bit, so hungry, and as soon as I snap around him, I start working his cock, and my voracious hunger surprises him a bit, because he needs to lean against the wall.

“I see someone was a bit hungry,” he says, but doesn’t tell me to stop. His cock is hard now, distending my pouch, and I milk him, absorbing all the precum I can, and then he shoots, and I suck down his cum as well, and in moments, I am as dry as ever.

“Is that enough, or do you want some more?”

He knows I could never get enough. A moment later, he pisses right into me, but I know better than to let even a single drop escape myself, and when he finishes, I am slightly damp–satisfied for the moment, and pleased that, for at least a day, I will be close to my master, where I belong.

When I told my dad to “Man up,” during an argument we had a while back, I hadn’t expected the universe to take my insult quite so literally. Every day after that though, there was some small change to him, at first nearly imperceptible, but now…well, things are getting extreme–the smoking, the southern accent, the pickup truck.

Worse, I…I think it’s rubbing off on me. My clothes changed along with his a few weeks ago, my Hollister and A&F replaced by flannel, second hand jeans and muddy work boots. I’ve picked up his accent, and when he started smoking cigars, well, I got pulled into that habit too. I’ve tried to tell him what’s happening, but it’s like he doesn’t even notice it. Still we’ve been fighting a lot less, and we’ve become a lot closer, but that’s worrying me too.

I don’t know what changed today, but he keeps…looking at me in the strangest way. Mom disappeared a few days ago, leaving us alone, but that stare…makes my cock jump, and I…I want him, and…I want him to want me too, how fucked up is that? And I’m worried that when he gets home from the construction site tonight, and after we’ve had a few beers and cigars on the couch, he’s going to want my ass…and I don’t think I’m going to be able to say no.