The Family Portrait

This is…technically an older story that I never got around to finishing at the time, and at the urging of a patron, I returned to it, revised it a bit, and gave it a conclusion. Hope you all enjoy it! Also, the new series I mentioned, “Pigtown Chronicles”, is in early access over on Patreon, and I’ll be posting it publicly next week! If you missed the first three chapters, you can go check them out there, or wait and read them here. If you’re still over on tumblr, I created a new blog for this series–that way it won’t be stuck behind the nightmare that is NSFW tumblr, and have a searchable, accessible archive. If you want to follow it there, you can go ahead and follow it here. I’ll also be reposting all of them to my old tumblr as well.

It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed. 

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”


Keith just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying. 

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, were friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Or rather, his dad Gary, a conservative city councilman who couldn’t afford to have a gay son in the news, made his say it, and Keith went along with it. Marty had had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself. 

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly traced back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide. 

Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.

When reality snapped back to order, the effects were seen far beyond the run-down house where Keith now lived with his older brother–his now ex-wife and sons were forced into new realities as well. The two older sons, David and Terrance, were living out on their own, working and renting an apartment together while they attended the local community college, trying to make the leap to a four year college when they could afford it, and both of them avoided their father like the plague. His youngest son, Bobby, split his time between his mother’s house and his father’s house, but only because he was still seventeen for a few more months. In all honesty, he hated every second he had to spend with his filthy uncle and father–he was ashamed to even be related to them. His mother understood, but there was nothing she could do, until he reached eighteen and could legally decide for himself. And so, Marty decided that the next easiest target would be Bobby, when he arrived to stay with his dad and uncle the next week.

That gave him plenty of time to get adjusted to life with his new stupid, lazy younger brother, and he loved every second of it. While he couldn’t make any massive changes to him, now that the picture had become static again, just like his wizard friend had said, he could continue making small changes and suggestions for another few days, all of which Keith was more than happy to obey, and by the end of the week, he reeked of cum and sweat, he hadn’t had a shower in months, and he spent all day and night drunk, passing out on the couch with the TV on every night, when he wasn’t busy in his brother’s bed, servicing his every sexual desire. Still, they both knew that as soon as Bobby arrived for his week of custody they would have to control themselves…for a little while. Marty didn’t think Bobby would be returning to his mother’s house anytime soon, that was for sure. All he’d have to do is get the young man relaxed and focused on the portrait, and everything would be perfect.

However, from the day Bobby arrived, it became clear it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Marty had thought. The boy had some…problems with authority, especially parental authority. He spent almost all of his time in his room, giving his uncle no real chances to exert much influence on him in any way. Marty thought he had him the second night, when he managed to successfully enchant Booby with the portrait, causing a third blurry figure to appear beside the images of his father and uncle, but when he tried to influence the boy, and turn him into a chubby, submissive cub for them both to use, nothing seemed to work–Bobby fought his suggestions, and after an hour, the image of him had faded from the picture entirely.

Angry and frustrated, Marty called his wizard friend, demanding to know what was wrong–the wizard was a bit flummoxed, but said that the reason for Bobby’s resistance probably had to do with his perceived relationship to his family–that is, he didn’t want to perceive himself as Keith’s son, but he didn’t have an easy solution for him. Marty’s mood stayed sour for a few days, until he overheard a fight between Bobby and his father one night. Bobby told him that Keith had never been his father, that Bobby was the only person in the room who could act like an adult–and that gave Marty an idea: if Marty thought he was the adult in the room…well, why not make him one?

The fight ended, Bobby stormed off to his room. Marty waited for half an hour, and then knocked on the door, letting himself in–the portrait had appeared on the wall of Bobby’s room, looming over him. “Bobby, I know you aren’t a fan of us, but you need to accept the fact that we’re your family, and there isn’t anything that can change that,” he said, and pointed at the picture, “Look at us up there, wasn’t that a good day?” Bobby looked at the swirling paint, his eyes drawn in immediately, a fleshy blob appearing in the picture, but Marty could see him fight, see him resist his placement between them, where a son belonged. So Marty tried something different, “But you’re a man now, you know? And you know, we don’t treat you like that enough. You aren’t a boy anymore, Bobby–no, not Bobby–Bob. You’ve grown into a fine young man, haven’t you?”

Bobby resisted for a moment more, but then visibly relaxed where he was sitting on the side of the bed. Marty could see his body changing, hair growing up his forearms, thick like theirs, his body bulking, as he grew older, into his mid 20’s. Finally, finally he had him, and Marty knew exactly what this young prick needed–if he wanted to be an adult, then fine, let him. 

“You know Bob, I’ve always admired you. I’ve never seen you as a nephew, not really. I’ve always thought of you as a real brother to me. And I know Keith gets on your nerves, but he’s, well, he’s younger than us, right? He’s always going to be a bit immature.”

Bob kept growing older, his face growing a bit more lined, hair receding back past the crown of his head, becoming flecked with gray, and he chuckled, “He acts like a fucking child,” Bob said, “I wish…I wish…grandpa had been sterner or…or something, he…why does my head hurt all of a sudden?” Bobby said, rubbing his temples, “I…I feel like I’m forgetting something…”

“You mean dad, don’t you?” Marty said. “You wish dad had been stricter.”

“I…I guess.”

“Look, you’re not one to run away from Keith when he gets on your nerves. You know what he needs–you’ve always known what we both need, as the oldest.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right Marty–you always have a way of…of making so much sense, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, now come on. I think you should go have another word with Keith, don’t you?”

Bob nodded, and turned to leave the room. Marty checked the portrait, and sure enough, there was Bob level with them both–but Marty wasn’t really interested in having another brother. Since Bob wanted to be an adult so badly, why not go a little further? He smiled, and joined the rest of the family in the den.

The now middle aged Bob went and stood in front of Keith on the couch. He looked up at him, confused for a moment, before the magic helped him along. Bobby his son didn’t exist for him now–he was looking up at his big brother Bob. 

“Yer blocking the game Bob, get out of the way,” Keith said, craning around him as best he could.

“Yeah? That so? What’s a fat fucking piece of shit like you gonna do about it?” Bob asked.

Keith glowered at him, and hefted himself to one side, but Bob just shifted along with him.

Marty stepped up, and saw that the family portrait had followed them, and was now hanging above the fireplace. “Come on now Bob, you know what Keith needs, don’t you? Ever since he was a kid, you knew exactly what kind of worthless piece of shit he was going to be, and you never hesitated to put him in his place.”

Bob’s gaze grew a bit harder, and he undid the belt around his waist, pulling it free of the loops with one pull. Keith’s eyes went wide, but he couldn’t move before Bob’s hand was around his neck, gripping tight enough to make him gasp for breath. “Apparently someone has forgotten who the boss is around here,” he said, “get up, knees on the sofa boy, I think you need a good reminder.”

Keith tried to mumble something, maybe an apology, but Bob’s grip tightened enough that he only managed a squeak. He released him, and Keith did as he was told, hauling his fat body up and onto the couch, letting Bob tug the back of his grimy underwear down, and pushing his body over the back of the couch, so his ass was high. The first smack made Keith holler, and that was enough to shake Bob as well, and he looked at the belt–almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“Don’t worry about the screams, Bob–we all know that just makes that big dick of yours even harder. All those years working construction put a whole lot of muscle on you, and you love using it on the pig–even more than the pig likes the abuse. Go on, see how much that fat pig’s puny cock is leaking.”

Bob ran a hand between Keith’s legs, and sure enough, it came back coated with precum that he wiped across both cheeks. Leering now, he brought the belt down again and again on Keith’s ass, stopping only to pop open the buttons on his jeans, letting his own sizable cock free. Unable to resist anymore, He tossed the belt down and drove the cock into Keith’s loose hole, making them both cry out in delight.

“That’s it Daddy,” Marty said, coming close and stroking Bob’s body as he fucked the pig’s hole. “You’re such a good daddy to us boys, aren’t you?”

Bob was too eager to fuck to even muster much of a resistance, as the portrait began to shimmer again, Bob’s image migrating behind Keith and Marty, where the patriarch would be. 

“Retired now, sure. Past your prime, maybe. But you trained the pig well, didn’t you? You knew before he could walk that he wasn’t going to amount to shit, and no amount of discipline would stick, because the pig just wanted more. More punishment, more humiliation, more, more, more. But that’s ok, isn’t it? You do love him, you want to give him what he wants. It just so happens its exactly what you want to, right Daddy?”

Bob swelled larger, body filling out with more fat and muscle as his hair all turned a stark white, beard down to the top of his gut, snorting and grunting in time with his son as he thrust harder and harder, until he came finally with something like a roar. He pulled free, and his cum drooled out Keith’s hole, who was coming down from his own orgasm, having soaked the couch cushion below him. 

“Fuck Daddy–you’re so fucking hot. Take care of me now, come on. I’ve always been the favorite. Your oldest, I could never do anything wrong. You want to make me happy all the time, don’t you Daddy? You can’t resist anything that I say,” Marty said, grabbed his burly father by the shoulder and shoved him down to his knees, Marty’s own cock out. “Come on Daddy, suck your boy off, you love the taste of my fuckin’ cum, you fuckin’ need it.”

Bob swallowed Marty to the hilt in one practiced motion, and he didn’t last more than a couple of thrusts, before exploding in his Dad’s mouth. He could feel the magic tightening around them all as the portrait turned solid again. It wasn’t quite what he’d planned, Marty thought as he pulled free, watching his new father lick his lips and thank his favorite boy for his load, before getting up, grabbing a beer and a cigar, and sitting down next to the still panting and huffing Keith to finish the game. Marty could make this work, though. He’d pay a visit to Keith’s sons soon, once he was sure these two were well under his thumb, and his new family would be nearly complete.

It had been a bigger change than Marty had planned on for Bobby, and he was a bit concerned that he might try and push back against the magic, but for the rest of the weekend, everything progressed smoothly. If anything, Bobby was revelling in his new found authority and power over his new son, humiliating and abusing him all day long, cementing Keith’s new role as the family loser more and more. But much to Marty’s surprise, the change to Bobby was having an impact on him as well.

Apparently, by making him his dad’s favorite son, that changed some of his own past in the process. Over the rest of the weekend, as his dad showed him his new found affection, pleasing his favorite boy as much as he could, while he did everything he could to punish Keith, Marty found he was losing weight, and putting on muscle. New memories came to him of playing football in high school at his father’s urging–it clashed uncomfortably with his other, older memories of being kicked out of school at Keith’s father’s behest. Needless to say, Marty was thrilled that he could be affected as well, and once he realized the effect it was having, he pushed his dad, and himself, to be more manly, more masculine, both of them sprouting thick beards and bigger cocks, ending Sunday night with a family spit roast in their leather gear–father and his favorite son skewering the family pig at both ends, while they both smoked their favorite cigars, before dragging him down into the basement dungeon, where they took turns flogging him until the pig’s puny cock exploded in delight against the wall.

Marty had spent a bit of time trying to work out how to get the rest of the family under the portraits influence as well. Talking to his friend, the portrait was bound to the house–it would only affect people while they were here. That meant he had to figure out some way to get Keith’s other two sons, Jack and Eric, over here–but neither of his older sons wanted anything to do with him. In the end, the situation with Bobby, now Bob, created a solution to the problem. When Bobby didn’t return to his mother’s house on Sunday night, and with no word from Keith, and after a call to the police turned up no record of her son at all, she asked Jack and Eric to check up on Bobby and make sure he was alright, and to bring him home.

And so, Monday evening there was a pounding on the door. Bob and Keith were downstairs taking care of some discipline, and so it was Marty who opened the door, and found both of his nephews standing on the doorstep, looking rather angry. “Marty,” Jack said, “Is Bobby here?”

“Bobby?” Marty asked, a bit confused. He’d almost forgotten that his father downstairs had been a teenager a couple days before this. 

“Stupid fucking freaks, where the hell is he?” Eric said, shoving his way inside and looking for Bobby in the living room and kitchen. Jack followed after him, and Marty shut the door, smiling that his next two targets had entered the web so willingly.

“Boys, I think you’re confused. Who’s Bobby?”

“Our brother, you know who.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I had any boys other than you two,” Marty said, looking up at the portrait up above the fireplace, watching the image of both young men materialize in front of Keith for a moment, but Marty had a better idea. Keith was a loser pig, and these boys didn’t deserve that. No–he had a better idea for both of them, that he’d been mulling over for the past couple of days, and with some focus, he watched the images of them scooch over, and take their place in front of him instead. These were going to be his son’s now, and he would raise them just right.

He saw that slight daze come over both of them as the portrait took hold of them, and smiled. “Come on boys, I know you’ve had a long day at work on the site. Crack open a beer and let’s have some family time, while Grandpa’s taking care of your uncle downstairs.”

“What…no, we….we came here for…for Bobby,” Jack said, trying to push through.

“No, you’ve been working on the construction site all day, like usual. Now you’re home, where you belong, with your family. You’re thinking of Bob, your grandpa. You two aren’t too bright, I know you can get confused easily.”

Marty was a bit worried that they’d put up as big a fight as Bobby had, but he watched as Eric’s clothes shifted to some grungy workwear and boots covered in dust and dirt, and seeing it happen to his brother, Jack changed quickly after that. Apparently, the two of them had a good affinity for each other–Marty could work with that too. The two of them followed Marty over to the sofa and sat down together, while he got the remote, fiddled with it, and found an old boxing match to put on. “There we go, that’s what you boys like, isn’t it? A good bout, right?”

Jack and Eric watched the fight go on, while Marty kept talking.

“Yeah, the two of you have always been fighting each other, ever since you were kids. I was always hollering at you two to cut it out, but that just seemed to encourage you. But you’re both sadists, just like me and your grandpa–it shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose, all the roughhousing. You two were always so easily matched though–identical twins, and damn, did both of you grow big and strong, just like the real men of the family.”

Jack gave a groan, and was the first to pull his cock free of his pants, with Eric following along soon after. The two of them were swelling larger now, packing on a substantial layer of beef across their chest, arms and legs as they grew larger, topping six and a half feet. Their features were melding together–Jack’s hair lightened to the color Eric’s shaggy brown mop, while Eric’s eyes grew more sucken and his brow grew in to match Jack’s own forehead. 

“Fucking inseparable, the two of you. Always have been. Only way I can tell you apart at this point is that Jack, you lost both of your front teeth to a game of backyard football when you were fourteen, and Eric, you pissed Jack off so much a year later he pummelled your face and flattened that nose of yours to your face. But you love each other, deeply. Been catching the two of your fucking around with one another for years now, and I swear you know what the other is thinking half the time. Of course, both of you are such dimwits that it makes sense the two of you would only have one brain between the two of you.”

At the same time, their hands moved and took hold of each other’s cocks, and the two boys moaned simultaneously. One eye each still on the screen, taking in the blows of the bout, obviously excited at the bloodsport, they leaned in and started kissing each other, pressing closer, Eric wheezing through his busted nose, his tongue sliding through the familiar gap in the middle of Jack’s teeth.

“That’s it you two. Fuck, I couldn’t be more pround of my two handsome, dirty, sadistic boys. Hardly ever showering you, pretty much always have a thick cloud of musk and cigar smoke clinging to you, covered in dirt, but not so much that we can’t all see the riot of matching tattoos the two of you have gotten over the years together, all over your arms, your chest, even your cocks have twin snakes down the length of them,” Marty said, came around the front of the couch, and climbed up, one foot between each boy’s legs, his cock thrust between their faces, his twins slobbering all over their new father’s cock as the portrait swirled, coming more and more into focus, the old Jack and Eric fading away, and replaced by the two massive twin bruisers parked on either side of their massive father. “But most of all, you two boys love your Daddy, don’t you? You’ll both do anything for me, without a moment’s hesitation–and your Grandpa too. We’re the only guys who ever fuck you–aside from each other. But that’s what guys in a family do for each other, right? Besides, I know how the two of you love to fight over my cock.”

Jack won the day not long after that, taking his dad’s cock in his mouth while he shoved his brother’s face lower, Eric relenting and lapping at Marty’s balls until he exploded in Jack’s mouth. He pulled free and fed the load to Eric, the two of them sharing it, watching it drool into their tangled brown beards. “Fuck dad, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Eric said when they pulled free, “Can I suck it next time?”

“You know the rules boys, Daddy likes watching you fight for it,” Marty said, getting down from the couch. “Now come on, let’s go see how grandpa’s work on your pig uncle is going.”

They all went down into the basement dungeon, where they found grandpa with his flogger, coated with a sheen of sweat, laying into Keith’s back with a whip. The smell of blood and sweat mingled in the air, and from his sons’ panting, Marty could tell the scent was getting them excited. “Hey dad, Eric and Jack are home from work, why don’t you let the youngin’s take over for a bit?”

Bob looked over his shoulder, confused for a moment, but the magic took hold after a moment, and he remembered his two grandson’s properly. “Sounds good to me–I think the pig’s just getting warmed up, isn’t that right?”

He walked around, and there was a puddle of cum under Keith from where he’d lost any number of loads already, but from the look of bliss across his face and his still rock hard little cock, it was clear he was ready and eager for more punishment. “Fuck yeah boys, come teach your naughty pig uncle a lesson already,” he said, leering at the two of them. Jack and Eric stripped down repositioned Keith so his hands were together and suspended from the ceiling, pulled tight enough he couldn’t quite touch his entire feet to the ground, and then started using him as a punching bag, one twin punching his uncle’s fat gut while the other held him fucking or fingering his ass while he did, and then trading positions. Meanwhile, Marty took a seat where he could watch his boys work, and Bob came over, got down, and started sucking on his son’s cock.

This was shaping up to be a better family that Marty could have ever dreamed of–but it was still missing one last person, he thought. Gary, the old patriarch of the family, was going to have to be given a new position, since Bobby had already taken his. Now with his two sons in place, Marty knew just where to put him, and then, the portrait would be complete.

Over the next day or so, as Marty made sure his twin boys were well cemented in their new lives, he could feel the magic of the portrait beginning to ebb and pull back. If he was going to bring Gary into the fold, he had to do it soon, or he would miss his opportunity. Thankfully, Gary still lived in town, though his years as a councilman were behind him at this point. He’d used his local connections well though, ending up on the board of a sizable corporation, doing very well for himself. It was time, in Marty’s opinion, to take the old man down a few notches. The disjoint between the two realities–between the portrait and how things used to be–made it difficult to see how to get him close enough for the magic to work on him. After making a call or two, he didn’t even recognize Keith as his son, whether that was because of the magic, or because he wanted nothing to do with a pig like Keith, well, it didn’t matter that much.

In the end, the simplest solution proved to be best. Marty told his two sons to go get the old man and bring him back here, no matter what it took. It took a little breaking and entering, and a little bit of a beating, but not long after midnight, Jack and Eric returned with a well bound, and slightly bloody Gary between them, that they dragged into the house. 

“What the fuck is this? Do you fucking know who I am?” Gary shouted when Marty pulled the gag from his mouth. “Is this about money? Well, you’re not getting any, you’ll all fucking rot in jail!”

“No Gary, this isn’t about money,” Marty said, “This is a family matter. You remember your son Keith, don’t you?”

Keith stepped forward, battered and bruised, stinking of cum and musk, covered in hair. Gary stared at the pig, horrified, but after a moment, there was recollection as well. “K-Keith? What…I…what happened to you?”

Keith, on the other hand, didn’t know who this man was. As far as his simple mind was concerned, Bob had always been his father now. An uncle, maybe? He looked over at Marty, unsure of what to do or say, and the pig knew better than to act without direction from his superiors.

“Yeah, your boy,” Marty said. “Or at least, he was your boy. How about me, Gary? Do you remember me? Marty Hackman, that ring a bell?”

Gary shook his head.

“You ruined my life, Gary. Your son gave me a blowjob in high school, and rather than deal with the fact that your kid liked dick, you decided to demonize me, and get me kicked out of school. Now do you remember Gary?”

Gary’s face went a bit pale, then. “I…What is this, what are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I suppose you could say, I’m going to give you another chance, boy, to do right by your family. Boys, pick him up, bring him into the den, so he can see our family portrait.” Jack and Eric dragged him along, following their dad into the family room, where the portrait was hanging over the fireplace. “There, Gary–doesn’t that look like a happy family?” Marty said, grabbing Gary by the hair and making him look up at the picture, “Still, it’s missing something. It’s missing you, Gary…”

Gary watched as the image began to shimmer, and after a moment, a new image appeared in it, behind Keith and next to Bob–his own image, in fact. “What? How…how did…” Gary said, but trailed off, the magic already taking hold, putting him in a light trance.

“Oh, but that’s not where you belong in the photo Gary, not after everything you’ve done,” Marty said. “No, not someone as petulant as you. As greedy. As cruel and conniving. You don’t get to be the head of this family anymore. But there’s always room for another pig, right nephew?”

Gary watched as the portrait shimmered again, and his image in it moved and shifted, moving from the back beside Bob, down to the front row, in front of Keith and next to Jack and Eric. “How…I don’t understand…”

“I know it’s hard for you, pig’s aren’t very good at thinking, right Keith? You wouldn’t expect a pig son of yours to be any good at thinking hard, would you?”

“No way bro,” Keith said, “No son a mine would be a good thinker. He’d just be a stupid, gluttonous, cocksuckin’ pig like me, if I had anything to say about it.”

“Fuck Gary, you hear what your Daddy is sayin’ about you?” Marty said.

“No, I’m not…I’m not…” Gary said, but watched as the image in the portrait began to change–and to his horror, he could feel his own body begin shifting to match it. Gary, as he had gotten older, had spent his time maintaining his physique as well as he could, and he had quite a reputation as a silver fox. But now, the silver was beginning to fade, and his body began to expand with fat. He pushed back with his hands, trying to stop it, trying to cling to his old self, but he was finding it harder and harder to think, as his mind slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t fight it, pig, you know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want,” Marty said. “Just a short, obese, hairy, stinking piggy. Not many good genes on that side of the family. You got your daddy’s tiny dick for one thing–hell, we tried to measure it once, but couldn’t really get a good read because of how fat you both are. Hair all over. Your fucking musk could peel paint off the wall, and it doesn’t matter if you shower or not, it comes back in just a few minutes. We don’t mind of course, as family, it doesn’t bother us. All that hair though, and you’re still balding at…how old are you? Twenty two? Ugly fuckin’ mug too, but that can’t be helped. Not many women were willing to have sex with that pigdad of yours. We found one willing, but he couldn’t even get inside her–we had to inseminate. We paid her plenty, of course, but even she thought you were the ugliest baby she’d ever seen. Never wanted to see you again, if she could help it.”

Gary could only watch in horror as everything Marty said came true. He lost a few more inches in height, even as his weight exploded–ending up at five foot six and nearly four hundred pounds of mostly fat. His skin was coated with hair, aside from his hair, which was balding, the rest of it buzzed short. The thick beard on his face did some to conceal his ugly looks, but you couldn’t hide the big nose and ears, the thick brow, the crooked teeth. His clothes had disappeared, but that wasn’t shocking. Pigs didn’t get to wear clothes in the house, and it wasn’t like Gary got to leave that often. Between the stink rolling off him, and his ugly looks, the family decided it was best if the pig just stayed home and took care of the family. 

“But every generation has to have their pig, right? Yer Daddy was my pig, and that means you get to be my boys’ pig. That excites you, of course. Getting to service two big, burly sadists like them, day and night, doing whatever sick, twisted things they want to you. They’ve been training you real well for the last couple of years. Just last month, they finally managed to fit both of their fists inside you at the same damn time. You make my boys so damn happy, and you’re happy doing what you do best, being a stupid, ugly pig cocksucker for your whole damn family.”

Unable to help himself, Gary gave a snort, remembering how happy he’d been, feeling histwin cousin’s fists deep inside him, pummelling his prostate until his little cock jizzed all over his gunt. Across the room, uncle Marty had been busy working over his Daddy with a paddle, working out some sadistic aggression on his ass, turning it bright red. Every once in a while, Keith would shudder and grunt, adding to the pool of cum drooling off the fuck bench he was strapped to. 

“You like being a pig, don’t you Gary?”

“Yeah Uncle Marty, of course I do.”

“You like being your family’s fist hole? Their urinal? Their ashtray? You like how we treat you like a fucking garbage can and cum dump? You love being humiliated.When my boys brought home that tattoo gun, you begged them to use it on you, to mark you as theirs forever. Of course, the only place they could tattoo you where anyone would see it was your face, since the rest of you was so hairy…”

Crude writing appeared across Gary’s face, scrawled there by his cousins over the last few months. Gary didn’t mind. He loved being marked by them, owned by them. What else was there for a pig like him to do anyway? Too stupid to work, too horny all the time to do anything other than beg for sex, he thanked his lucky stars every day that he had been born into a family that understood what a pig like him needed, and treated him right.

“Open pig.”

Gary did as ordered, opened his mouth, and Marty tapped the hot ash from his cigar into his mouth, then shoved his nephew down to his knees. “Open up boy, let me help you wash that down.”

Marty started pissing all over his nephew, watching the young pig chase the stream all over, the rest of it dribbling down into his hairy body. The rest of the family gathered around–even Keith–and added their own piss, baptizing the newest, and youngest member of the family as one of their own. Marty could feel the magic thrumming around him and through him–this was the last one, he could already feel it beginning to seal, but he had gotten what he wanted. He pushed Gary down, climbed on top of him, and drove his cock into his loose hole, Gary grunting with excitement as his uncle took him for the first time, for the hundredth time, he didn’t know. All he knew anymore was that he was a horny, cockhungry pig, and he was here to service his family as they required. Gary’s hole wasn’t tight, but Marty was so horny he didn’t last long. He exploded deep in Gary’s hole, and felt the magic contract and solidify around all of them. Looking up, the portrait was still there, but perfectly stable now–but a piece of artwork, nothing more. 

“Come on boys, let’s get these pigs downstairs. I think we’re just getting warmed up, right?”

Everyone hollered in agreement, and dragged Keith and Gary down to the basement, for their nightly ritual. None of them could be happier, of course, especially Marty, whose own memories were fading away, and had disappeared by dawn. He had what he’d always wanted, a loving family. A perverted, stinking, roughneck family of pigs, sure, but a family all the same.

(Caption) Pig Rehabilitation Program

October Caption Challenge (9/31)

“MMmm…MMmfffff…” Officer Barrett said, trying to get something out from around the gag strapped in his mouth. A curse, a cry for help, anything at all. He’d woken up here a few minutes before, tied up in his uniform, unable to remember how he’d gotten here, or who had taken him. The last thing he could remember clearly was getting ready to police another one of those fucking protests, but on his way, well…someone must have jumped him.

He heard steps coming down the stairs into the basement, and a couple of young men in black with their faces covered, stood in front of him. “Well, Officer Barrett–we got a hold of your records a while back from an info dump, and we were amazed. I didn’t know someone could wrack up so many complaints from the public, and not face any disciplinary action at all.”

Barrett scowled at them. Sure, he had a rough hand, but it was punks like this that deserved it. One of them picked up a strange looking helmet, and placed it over his head. He couldn’t hear anything in the room, once it was settled in, but noise was piped in through headphones in the sides. “Don’t worry, we’re only interested in rehabilitation. You’re going to be helping us, Officer, perfect our method for turning the most hardened, violent, cops into upstanding, obedient citizens. Now relax, Officer Barrett, just relax…”

There was a burst of color in front of his eyes, a thick kaleidoscope of color dazzling him, making it impossible to focus, streaming in even if he tried to keep his eyes shut. The noise was deafening in his ears, white noise, but he was sure he could hear words too. He tried to concentrate, tried to resist, but he found himself drifting off–and then, eventually, he wasn’t in the basement anymore. He was…well, he wasn’t sure where he was.

He sat up, looked around him, and found he was in an alley. It was dark, there was the sounds of chanting and music not too far off, sounding like the protests that had been happening nightly in his city. He’d…been attending them hadn’t he? He tried to remember more, but it was like there was a blanket of noise, or fuzz, over his memories. He stood up, feeling…younger than he thought he should be. He was shirtless, and just wearing a pair of leather shorts–and tattoos all over as well. What had happened to him, exactly? He left the alley, turned the corner, and found himself face-to-face with a police officer, but not quite right either. His riot gear was gone, and he just had on a leather uniform, a beard longer than regulations allowed, and a cigar clamped in his mouth. 

“There you are, you fucking piece of shit,” the officer said, and before Barrett could do anything, he was on the sidewalk, hands yanked behind him painfully, and cuffed. “Thought you could hide from me, eh? Well, I know what you need, even if you don’t, you fucking pig.”

“Pig.” That word reverberated through him, somehow. He…he was a pig, wasn’t he? People had called him a pig before. But…but that wasn’t quite right, none of this was right. He tried to ask what he’d done wrong, why the officer was arresting him, but all he got instead was the officer’s baton wedged in his mouth and pulled tight, while the officer came up behind him, rubbing his stiff bulge against the back of Barrett’s head.

“I thought you pigs knew to remain silent,” the cop said, “Well, at least until the screaming starts.”

He had Barrett pinned to the sidewalk then, one boot on the back of his neck, pressing hard enough to make him gasp, and with the baton, started pounding on his ass, the sharp sting even penetrating the leather shorts he was wearing. But the pain–it hurt, but it also felt good. It felt good because he deserved it. Because he’d been a bad pig, a naughty piggy, yeah…

When the simulation was done, Barrett’s mind rebooted, processing what it had seen, and then began again, while the two young hackers watched. Starting off with the protest scenario was, perhaps, unfortunate, but the scenario would change slowly, as more and more of Barrett’s mind was rewritten with the code being pumped into his mind by the headset. They anticipated that rehabilitation would take a week, but much to their delight, Officer Barrett–or rather, Pig Barrett, as he preferred to be called, was ready to be reintroduced in just five days.

He thanked the two young men for helping him understand his place in the world, and happily worshiped their cocks, their feet, their holes, and begged them both for loads from their own–his own cock perfectly soft in the chastity cage he now wore. After all, pigs didn’t need release like that. They got their pleasure in other ways, in servicing their betters, in acts of worship. In two days, he was in his new home, servicing a proper Master, and the two young men took their bounty and funneled it into their research. There were still a few kinks to work out, and then they’d have to scale it up–but they had no doubt that before too long, their plan to abolish the police would be well on its way.

Interactive: Time Travel Takeovers (Part 3)

This is going to be the final entry in this interactive. I wasn’t planning on it being substantial, it was more about toying with the time travel story device and seeing if I liked it enough to use it in something else, perhaps something longer, or more twine focused. There’s an alternate version of this one over on my patreon, using a different set of winning options! If you support me, you can head here and check it out.

Needless to say, Jerry never showed up for his wedding. Edwin slipped into his mind that morning, while the bride was off getting her hair done for the ceremony that evening. He packed a bag, hopped in his car and ran. He didn’t quite understand why he was doing this, just that…he had to. It was the right thing to do, or at least, that’s what Edwin was telling him. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life hitched to a ball and chain? No–he knew he wanted something else, but he wasn’t sure what yet. A better life, one more suited to him. He’d just have to drive for a while and find it.

He drove for a couple of days, while Edwin wormed his way in deeper, trying to figure out what made Jerry tick. It wasn’t long before he found a good lead–Jerry had daddy issues galore. He’d been abandoned by his dad when he was a kid, and he’d never really gotten over the trauma of it, always looking for older men to praise him. He’d done well for himself, finding some reliable, older mentors in the company where he worked–where he had been working, rather. But Edwin had a new idea for his little puppet. They’d find him a new daddy, someone more along Edwin’s tastes.

He ended up in a large city, and Edwin decided this would be as good a place as any to begin his search. He took Jerry to the sleaziest, kinkiest gay bar he could find, and decided he’d find him a properly perverse Daddy to show him the ropes of his new life. Jerry had no idea what he was doing there. He wasn’t gay, and he certainly wasn’t into…this, all of this leather and rubber, the air smelling of piss and sex. He was still dressed in his business casual, and had never felt more out of place in his entire life. He ended up compensating by drinking too much, though Edwin remained clear headed–and late that night, he found what he was looking for. 

He was in his late fifties, probably. Still in great shape, wearing a leather harness, rubber vest, and rubber waders. He was smoking cigars, was covered in tattoos and piercings. Edwin slipped into the fetish daddy’s mind and poked around a bit–it didn’t take much convincing for him to start teasing Jerry, since he was cute, though obviously repressed. Jerry didn’t know what possessed him to go home with the old kinkster, but he spent the entire next day in the man’s dungeon, and it was the most exquisite sex of his entire life. By the end of it, he was begging his new Master to keep him, to train him, to remake him into the kinky pig he’d always wanted to be, deep down, without even realizing it. Dan, the old kinky bear, didn’t really want something permanent, but something about the young man’s begging changed his mind–he could do anything he wanted to him, after all. Somehow, he knew that Jerry would agree to anything.

But to test his resolve, their first stop, the next day, was the piercing and tattoo parlor. Jerry ended up with studs in his nipples, in his ears, a PA, and a new tattoo on his ass, which read Property of Master Dan across it. As far as Dan was concerned, that sealed the deal–and Jerry started his training with him that afternoon, with a trip to the local gay gym. Dan forced Jerry–or Cunt, as he was calling him for now, before settling on a more permanent slave name–to work out in just a jock, and he spent the evening in the showers, getting plowed by guy after guy, and drinking more than a few loads of piss as well. He was humiliated, but the act of service, and the delight in his dom’s eyes brought him more pleasure than he could really understand. Dan was impressed at the newbie–to go from being a virgin to gay sex to taking five loads in a public shower, it was quite impressive. All that meant, was that he could push him further.

More and more fantasies began to intrude into Dan’s mind, unbidden. He’d never really been this extreme before, but something about Cunt was bringing the true sadist out in him, and he wanted to see how far he could go. During the day they would work out, and by the last week of Edwin’s control, Dan had started Cunt on a steroid regimen, deciding he was going to be a proper muscle bull–but a total bottom, of course. No, his cock and balls were going to be pumped to an obscene size, too big to be ignored, but also functionally useless. He’d have so many tattoos and piercings he wouldn’t be able to hold down a regular job–he’d be confined to the life of a total kinkster for the rest of his days. 

Towards the end, Edwin made one last shift in them both–in their dreams, he convinced them that they weren’t just master and slave–they were father and son. That Jerry had begged his father to take ownership of him, to turn him into a proper musclecunt of a boy, so that Dan could truly be proud of him. It took like a charm, and only made Cunt more desperate to please his father, to show him what a good pig he could become. Satisfied with those first steps, Edwin returned to the present.

When he’d recovered, he found that Jerry no longer lived next door to him. This wasn’t surprising really, but the fact of it cemented for him the seriousness of what he’d done to him. He had to use the tachyon beam to find him, tracing his path from the point Edwin had left him to the present, and what he found pleased him to no end.

There was no trace of the boring, straight laced man Jerry had been. He no longer even remembered his old name–the only name he responded to now was his slave name, Bullcunt. He was massive–years of steroids and growth hormones had made his body explode with muscle, though as he’d grown older, he’d also developed a bit of a gut. At some point in his life he’d discovered saline and then silicone–his father had decided that Bullcunt’s cock and balls were going to be some of the largest on earth. Nothing could hold them at this point, other than the custom made gear Dan commissioned for his boy. It was expensive, but given his freakish body, covered head to toe in piercings and tattoos, willing to partake in any kind of sex no matter now taboo, Musclecunt made a killing as a porn star, and was lately taking more of a dom role, making young men worship his massive junk while he smoked one of his huge cigars, fisting them with his hands–sometimes both. There were two men who could actually take his massive cock, and several more training to be next in line.

Overall, it was a grand success. Edwin knew he’d have much more fun with his invention in the days to come, but first, he needed a meal from his encourager–twelve hours without a meal, and he was famished.

Horny Hugh (Part 4 – Finale)

WARNING: Like the part before this one, this part has graphic material. It’s more horror than porn, unless you’re into that sort of thing. Mutilation, snuff, pain play, abuse, steroid use, and other bad things below, consider yourself warned.

Josh pushed his way into the apartment, dropped his bag off to the side, heaved a sigh of relief, and shut the door behind him. He hated travelling, especially for work, but it had to be done. Now though, it was time for a drink, a little relaxation, and then a day off tomorrow–something he always insisted on after a business trip. He went into the kitchen to fix himself a drink, and to fix himself some food, when there was a knock on his door. Figuring one of his neighbors must have figured out he was back, maybe with some mail, he opened the door, only to find Kyle, his boyfriend, standing outside in the hallway.

“Hey babe, I missed you!” Kyle said, pushing his way inside and giving him a kiss, “So glad you’re home safe.”

“Kyle?” Josh said, after accepting the kiss, “What are you doing here? I didn’t even buzz you up.”

“One of your neighbors did–I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Josh felt a bit unnerved, not necessarily by his surprise appearance, but because the night before, he’d had one of the strangest, most vivid, and most terrifying dreams of his life. Kyle had been in it, but it hadn’t been Kyle, really. There was something else inside him, and…and he’d fucked Josh, well, raped him. It had been intense, and a bit traumatic, and he’d been hoping to put off seeing him for a few days until the dream had settled. That, and he’d had wanted some more time to mull over what Kyle had asked him before he’d left, about moving in.

Josh liked Kyle, he really did, but he didn’t know if he was ready to move in with anyone right now. Sharing space was difficult, and Kyle could be a bit overbearing at times. Letting him down easy would be a challenge, but Josh didn’t want to say yes until he was sure. 

Kyle pushed into his space again, giving him another kiss, and while Josh appreciated the gesture, he was also a bit put off by how forward he was being. “Come on, give me a few minutes, I haven’t even had a shower.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said, looking a bit sheepish, “I’ve just waited so long to taste those lips, I can’t resist.”

“It’s been, like, five days Kyle.”

“It feels like ages though.”

Kyle slid closer again, giving him another kiss, now grinding his cock against Josh’s leg, Josh telling him to cut it out, asking him to stop, eventually forcing him away, and when he did, he saw…something else flash in Kyle’s blue eyes. A flicker of yellow. Something…cruel, and hungry there that he’d never seen before.

“Look, I know you meant well, but I’m not in the mood, Kyle. I just want to have something to eat and go to bed,” Josh said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Kyle just glared at him–and the air in the room grew a bit chilly, like all the heat was being sucked away. Josh gasped as two horns erupted from Kyle’s head, twisting out like the horns of a bull, their points almost glittering, as the lights in his apartment flickered. “I’ve waited so long for you, Josh, I’m not waiting any longer. You’re mine now. You’ll be so happy, you’ll see. I know just what you want, what we need together. You don’t understand yet, but I’ll help you, I’ll help you see…” Kyle said, his voice contorting into something else, something deeper as he stalked closer to Josh, head lowered, horns pointed right at him. Josh backed away looking for a weapon, certain this must be a dream. Kyle charged, Josh felt the horns pierce his chest–one driving right into his heart–and Josh gasped and choked, tasting blood, waking up from the nightmare in his bed.

He touched his chest, but there was nothing there. It had felt so fucking real, those wounds, but…but it had been a dream? But if it had been a dream, why couldn’t he remember anything else from the night before? How had he gotten into bed? And why could he hear sounds coming from the kitchen in his apartment?

He got up, went to investigate, and found Kyle there, cooking breakfast. “Morning lover–just wanted to surprise you with something nice, now that you’re home again.” 

“Oh…did…did you spend the night?” Josh asked him, “I…My memory is a bit fuzzy.”

“Well yeah, last night and every night, silly. I moved in a few months ago! How fuzzy is that memory of yours?”

Josh just stared at him, confused. He was certain that they’d just been discussing that before, but…but now, now he wasn’t quite so sure about it. Kyle pushed a mug of coffee into his hands and gave him a kiss, and before he knew it, they had settled down and were eating breakfast together. Everything felt normal. Even those two, nightmarish dreams were starting to fade into the back of his mind, feeling less and less important, now that the sun was up. Once breakfast was done, Josh cleared the table, but before he could get anything in the dishwasher, Kyle was on him, groping him, pulling him into the bedroom, and Josh wasn’t fighting him–he was certainly horny after his trip, but then, he was always horny, wasn’t he?

Kyle was more passionate than Josh remembered. It wasn’t that he’d been timid before, but he’d always been so careful with him, like Josh was something he could break. Now though, he tossed and turned Josh into whichever position he wanted, and he found himself enjoying the rougher treatment. It was like he was having sex with someone else, almost. At times, it really did feel that way, especially when Josh was on his belly, Kyle fucking him rough–he could almost…feel someone else on top of him, or…or something else, maybe. That dream came back to him, those horns. He’d seen those horns somewhere before, hadn’t he? The memory was there, but fuzzy. At a…bar one night, but he’d drunk too much, probably. Maybe at a Halloween party, or something.

Kyle fucked him and finished inside his ass, then flipped Josh over and sucked him off until he came as well, savoring the cum, licking his lips, before lying down next to him in the mid morning light of the window. The rest of the day was easy–Josh got the kitchen cleaned up again, and then they got caught up on their shows, until Kyle got randy again in the evening and gave Josh another fucking–though this time he seemed a little less…eager than he had in the morning. Almost like he was a bit bored. Then dinner, then bedtime. Sleep came easily to Josh, despite the bad dreams he’d been plagued with, and Kyle just watched him for a bit–or rather, Hugh watched him, through Kyle’s eyes, trying to temper his own disappointment.

He’d looked so perfect, from afar.

That handsome face, those sweet eyes, a nice bulge. That laugh of his. But now that Josh was his, Hugh found himself…bored. He’d seen so deep inside him with his horns that first night, and everything inside Josh was rather boring–a hopeless romantic, preferring to take things slow and cautiously, rather than rush into anything. He’d taken him apart in desperation, hoping for something deeper, but there was just nothing much. No real kinks or oddities to speak of. Even Sam had been an interesting sort of empty, void enough to fill with something interesting. But with Josh, Hugh just felt nothing exciting at all. Hugh could tell that this had been a perfect day for Josh–after all, Hugh designed it that way, just to try it. But in all honesty, Hugh was bored with it. There was so much more out there to experience. Josh could be so much more, but he limited himself. He was too cautious, too nervous, too worried about what others might think of him. It wasn’t uncommon of course. So many other people Hugh had met, and helped, over the last couple of months felt the same thing, but they all had something to hide. Josh didn’t even have that. Hugh would help him though. He realized that he’d been wrong before. It wasn’t that Josh was perfect the way he’d been, it was that he was the perfect base. A perfect hunk of marble that Hugh could now sculpt into something else–a masterpiece. But first, he would need materials. Tools. 

Hugh got out of bed, and sucked Kyle’s skin back into his body, looming over Josh’s figure as himself now. His true self. Massive horns jutting from his bony face, his forehead studded with several smaller ones that had emerged over the last few days. His skin was raw and inflamed all over, the infection from the horns spreading further now, making his skin rough and leathery. His eyes were yellow, teeth too, and so sharp. Looking at Josh’s throat there, he could…bite into it, tear it out, drink him down…but no, too soon. He slid one clawed finger down Josh’s exposed arm, watching the hairs rise and skin prickle at his touch. A marvelous specimen. Kyle lumbered out of the apartment, sniffed the air, and went to the roof, where he unfurled the wings that had grown from his back, allowing him to glide across the city. He could smell what he needed–he would go take it, come back, and help Josh realize who he was always supposed to have been.

Josh went back to work the next day, but as the week wore on, he had a hard time feeling like things were going back to normal. Part of that was, naturally, because of Kyle moving in with him. He knew it had been a while since it had happened, but it was difficult to feel like it wasn’t rather sudden somehow. It was also strange because Kyle was always there–sending him off out the door, and greeting him when he got home. The only time he didn’t seem to be present was at night, when he would send Josh to bed alone, and he’d be awake before Josh everyday. He awoke one night and found the bed beside him empty, but didn’t think much of it in the moment, but it was the first time in days he’d been alone in the apartment. 

Then, he had another nightmare. The same monster as before (he knew it was always the same monster somehow, whether it looked like Kyle or not) and it forced him to suck it’s massive, barbed cock, until Josh drank down a bunch of foul tasting cum. He woke up unnerved, but the details faded before he could find Kyle and tell him about it–but that morning was different. Usually he went right to work after leaving home, but today, Kyle left with him, and they went to the gym together. This wasn’t new for them, though Josh couldn’t recall the last time they’d gone to the gym since he’d returned from his trip a week earlier. Once there, Kyle proceeded to put him through a grueling workout, focused almost entirely on free weights, rather than the usual cardio they preferred. Josh found himself sliding into the rhythm of it almost immediately, and they worked out for a solid two hours–or rather, Josh worked out and Kyle coached him until he was a quivering, sweaty, aching mess at the end of it.

But he loved it. He felt…so strong, suddenly. Big. And the ache was good too, it felt good in a way that he hadn’t expected at all. They got back to the apartment, and Josh was so exhausted he couldn’t resist as Kyle led him into the bedroom and fucked him, telling him what a good job he’d done, telling him how big he was getting, how strong he was going to be. He needed to be stronger for what was ahead, Kyle whispered to him, he needed to be so much stronger. Only after that did Josh realize he should have been at work the entire time–but Josh calmed him down, fed him a big meal, and put him back to bed. He was just taking a few days off, is all. He’d be ready to go back to work soon.

The next day, before they went to the gym, Kyle took Josh into the bathroom, loaded up a syringe, and injected it into Kyle’s ass. When Josh objected, Kyle just looked at him like it was the most normal thing. Didn’t Josh want to be bigger? Steroids were just the natural next step, after all. Didn’t he want to be a brute? A muscle bull? A giant fucking stud?

Kyle turned him around and fucked him there in the bathroom, with Kyle facing his reflection in the mirror, and he didn’t…recognize his body, at first. He was so much larger than he’d been, then he should have been. Thick traps, massive biceps, a hard roid gut topped with a two pack, pecs so large he couldn’t really see over them at times. He was a giant fucking brute, wasn’t he? And he loved it. 

“Tell me what you are,” Kyle said in his ear.

“I’m your fucking muscle bitch,” Josh heard himself say.

“What else?”

“I’m a roided out muscle pussy, I’m a steroid abusing beast. I want everyone to fucking look at me and know that all I’m fucking good for is my massive fucking muscles.”

Kyle came, and they went to the gym, Josh dressed in a singlet stretched tight over his imposing frame, and just knowing that everyone was looking at him, that they all knew exactly what he was, he found his cock leaking. By the end of the session, the crotch of his singlet was soaked with cum and sweat–Josh made him sniff it in the locker room, suck it clean until he came all over the floor, and then Josh got down and licked that up too, mooing like a fucking bull–because that’s what he fucking was.

The next day, he went back to work like nothing had changed. In fact, nothing had changed, had it? Not that Josh could really remember. No one commented on the fact that he’d disappeared for two full days, and returned with an extra hundred pounds of muscle mass packed into a tailored suit. After work, he went to the gym, where Kyle was waiting, and they worked out as they always did, then went home for a massive meal, and the rough sex Josh had found himself craving more and more, just like he craved the ache in his muscles after his grueling workouts.

Some part of him knew this was wrong. Could sense it. But it was so addled by the changes he couldn’t get its bearings, and the truth was, Josh was enjoying himself. He’d always wanted this, hadn’t he? He hadn’t–a voice said, but with the thoughts raging in his head, Josh couldn’t tell the difference between what Kyle had fed him and his own thoughts. The dreams were still coming, but Kyle found himself less and less scared of the beast in them. He…almost found himself enjoying those as much as the workouts.

Kyle had another surprise for him that weekend, after he’d been back to work for a couple of days. After their evening workout, they took a detour to a piercing and tattoo parlor–Kyle had decided it was time for his muscle bull to start getting some piercings. It was like Kyle had read Josh’s mind–he’d been fantasizing about getting his nipples pierced lately, but hadn’t said anything about it. Needless to say, he was thrilled. He got in the chair, took off his shirt, and the bearish fellow swabbed his nipples, and then the needle slid into him. Josh felt the pain course through him, and he lost track of everything else for a moment. When he came back to the room, the piercing was done, he had a small stud through his nipple, and his pants were soaked with a load of cum he’d lost from the pain of it. Kyle just grinned at him, the man did the other one, and the same thing happened–a few moments of blissful pain, another load pumped out of him, and when Kyle told him that was in for this session, Josh begged him for another–at least one more. Kyle was more than happy to oblige, the piercer did Josh’s septum, and again, the sensation was so powerful that he was left soaked, and hornier than he could recall being in his entire life.

Josh begged the man to fuck him, as a thank you. He was a bit reluctant, but Kyle had a word with him on Josh’s behalf, explaining to the bearish fellow that he was a muscle bull with an aching cunt, who loved pain and loved getting fucked good and rough. Kyle and the artist, a man by the name of Tim, tag teamed Josh right there in the studio, and when they got home, Kyle fucked him again after Josh begged him to, telling him how much he loved the gift, how he couldn’t wait for them to be healed so Kyle could properly torture them.

Apparently, that meant the next morning. Much to Josh’s surprise, when he looked at himself in the mirror the next day, the small studs that had gone into his nipples and nose had been replaced by massive rings. The ones in his muscle tits were 0 gauge, and the barbell hanging from his nose was 00 gauge–and fuck, he looked so fucking hot, he started groping himself, tugging on his chest rings, feeling his flesh pull and ache. Somehow, other piercings had appeared as well, in his ears, in his eyebrows, in his lips and tongue. He could remember having them, somehow, but they felt so new as well, and fuck, if they weren’t sexy as hell too. He called Kyle in to fuck him right then and there, he couldn’t stand it. That night, Kyle took him back to the piercing shop to do his cock as well–though Kyle didn’t recall as much from that session. Tim and Kyle tied him down to the chair and tortured him for hours, and when he woke up, he found himself with a massive PA and a jacob’s ladder running the length of his six inch cock, a multitude of rings in his ball sack, and a ring in his taint as well. He gave his cock a stroke and shuddered–it felt so different, but it felt so…right. Like this is exactly what kind of cock he was supposed to have. Kyle was obviously pleased as well–and since it was Saturday night, he figured it was time for Josh to have his premiere.

He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but Kyle wouldn’t explain more. They went through their usual Saturday routine with an extra long workout and afternoon fuck session, and then, after dinner, Kyle told him it was time to get ready. He put Josh in a bunch of leather gear he didn’t know either of them had–a thick leather harness across his chest, weights and a chain attached to his swollen tits, a leather vest, chaps, and lastly, he took a heavy padlock and attached the PA in Josh’s cockhead to the ring in his taint, forcing his cock to stretch painfully across his balls, held tightly in check. Then, a choke collar, a leash, and once Kyle was dressed in a full leather uniform, he dragged him to the bar, to display him.

Kyle and Josh had been there countless times, but never like this. Josh was horrified, and yet so fucking turned on that everyone could see him for the muscle cow he was now–the muscle cow he’d always been, really. After a few drinks for them both, Kyle started pimping Josh’s muscle pussy out to anyone he took a shine to, and the men would drag him into the restroom, fuck him next to the urinal working its usual shift, and then back out again, until cum was literally running down the inside of Josh’s legs. They went home, and Josh had never felt so satisfied in his entire life–but he could tell that Kyle wasn’t quite as satisfied. He kept looking at Josh in the strangest fashion, like he was trying to see someone else through him, or inside him.

That was because Hugh still wasn’t completely satisfied. The more he twisted Josh, the more he could imagine twisting him further–there was always a level of perversion beyond the one he’d just finished dragging his obsession toward. This should be enough, Hugh told himself, but the beast refused to be satisfied–it knew what it needed to do next. It would be so…exciting, it could barely contain itself in Kyle’s skin that night. It had to slip out the window, find someone to toy with for a moment, let off a little steam before it could continue with Josh. If Hugh pushed too far, he knew it would be ruined. He’d get there, slowly. He’d understand soon enough that Hugh was the only beast that knew what Josh could really desire. He was the only thing in the world that could really help him now.

They started going out to the bars most every night after that. It wasn’t long before Josh was known as the communal muscle pig open for anyone, no matter how old, or ugly. Back in their apartment, Kyle was rougher, training Josh’s flesh in ways he’d never known possible, with a wide assortment of paddles, whips, floggers and other implements of pain and torture that Kyle found himself craving just as much as the exhausting workouts he had on a daily basis. Kyle upgraded to knives, sliding the blades along his skin at first, just enough to scratch, but it wasn’t long before the wounds turned deep, Kyle would end up driven into a blood lust when he tasted it, Josh left certain that the wounds Kyle gave him were sure to be the end of him, though by morning, all that remained of the night’s activities were old scars all over his body. 

Kyle surprised him one evening when they stayed in, and told him he’d arranged a special playdate for them both, something he was sure Josh would enjoy. The fellow arrived after dinner–a muscular skinhead, covered in tattoos and calluses, wearing filthy workgear and smelling like he’d just walked off a construction site. The scene started normally enough, with Kyle and the skinhead working Josh over in various ways, but then the knives came out–or at least, Josh thought it was a knife. He waited, expecting the blade to sink into his own flesh–but he just felt a hot spray of blood across his back, looked over, and saw that Josh had severed the skinhead’s throat–and that the blade was not a knife, but a claw.

A claw Josh recognized. A claw of the beast in his dreams. Was he dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream, but then, his dreams never felt like dreams, until he woke up. Did he want to wake up? He watched the blood pour from the skinhead’s throat, and part of him, a small part, but one that had been growing, wondered what it might feel like. That pain, and that terror. A smaller part was even envious, but it was too small to be noticed yet, just a seed, the blood splatter it’s first watering. Josh was too confused to scream, too uncertain as to whether any of this was real, as Kyle’s skin pulled back, was swallowed away, and the beast slid forth, crawling over the skinhead’s corpse, licking up blood with a long black tongue, sliding one claw along the skinhead’s body, as if contemplating where to cut next. 

“What…why did you do that…Kyle?” Josh asked, though he knew this was not Kyle. He didn’t know who it was, but he had known it wasn’t his boyfriend for sometime now. Calling it Kyle was convenient for them both, but it was not the truth. 

“You’re too pretty,” the beast said, its voice like steam hissing against hot rock. “Always have been too pretty. But I have a new face for you. New skin. Better skin. First though, the old must peel away.”

The pain that came next was indescribable. The beast pinned Josh down to the floor, and with it’s long prehensile tail tipped with a dagger like claw all its own, cut it’s way around Josh’s face. Then, it peeled it away, off the muscle, his entire mind crumbling into hot white agony. What came next, Josh wasn’t certain. He came, several times. Something slid over his head, like a hood. The beast repeated the process on his arms and hands, degloving him, sliding something else warm and wet over them instead, cut away skin in other places too–his chest, his back, applying new pieces there as well. When he was certain he couldn’t take it anymore, the beast fucked him, the cock penetrating him deeper than it had ever gone before, and Josh could feel everything shrinking to him, tightening, constricting, choking him until he passed out–and then, at last, he woke from the most horrifying, dizzying, erotic dream of his life, and puked over the side of the bed.

He stumbled to the bathroom, but it wasn’t his face looking back at him, not anymore. It was the skinhead’s face. His broken nose, his rotten teeth, his boxed ears, his bald scalp, the tattoos on his neck crawling up the sides of his head. They weren’t his hands either, covered with all these tattoos, calloused and stubby fingers, nails caked with grime and dirt. Other bits of the skinhead had been cut away and applied to him, tattoos that the beast had fancied, apparently, and thought would accent Josh’s new look. He vomited again, tugged at his skin, but it refused to come free. It was his now. It had always been his now.

Nothing more than an ugly brute. A muscle bull, aching for pain and for cock. Even now, the thought of that exquisite pain had his cock aching, though it was still locked up, knotted to his own taint, dribbling cum down the inside of his massive thighs. He sobbed–what the fuck was happening to him? What on Earth had he become? Kyle found him there, and Josh tried to fight him off, but there was nothing he could do to resist him. He was just trying to help him, just helping him become who he was supposed to be. Couldn’t Josh see that? That he was so much better now than he’d ever been before?

“What did you do with him?” Josh asked, over breakfast.

“Don’t worry about him, I found a use for everything left over.”

“Not him–with Kyle. Where’s Kyle?”

The thing inside Kyle’s skin looked over at him, and smiled, “He never understood what you needed. I’m the only one who could give you the help you. I helped him too–he’s much happier now.”

Josh went to work, though he had taken the skinhead’s place on the construction crew now. It was aching, back-breaking work, but he loved that too. Loved how sore he was. The other men around him were so sexy and handsome, his cock was aching for all of them. Kyle told him that they might invite them over soon, help them out, give them all a taste of what the beast could do for them as well. The beast just wanted to help. So many people, trapped inside a reality that would never allow them to be what they wanted to be. The beast was free now, and it could free them all too. It wouldn’t stop until they were all free.

But Josh knew he was trapped. Trapped in a nightmare that he’d never really woken from, ever since he’d returned from that trip. Maybe he did want this. He couldn’t tell anymore–but one thing he knew was that so long as he was here, the beast would never be finished with him, and that scared Josh to death. So, one night, he ran.

The beast hunted at night, Josh had long since realized that. The thing couldn’t be satisfied with Josh alone, it had discovered that soon enough–and so it had gone out at night, found other men to help along with their urges, freeing more and more men to realize their darkest desires around the city. Josh knew it was hopeless, that the beast would surely find him, but he had to try. He had to prove to himself that there was still some part of him that was him, and him alone. Not some sick thing planted in his mind, growing into a thicket of thorns and perversion he was more and more lost inside with each passing day. He would run. Leave town. Settle somewhere else. If this was who he was, then so be it, but he wouldn’t be a toy of the beast any longer.

But of course, it found him. Josh ended up cornered in an alley, the beast looming over him, enraged that Josh had left without its permission. Didn’t he understand how much Hugh loved him? Didn’t he understand how much help he needed? Maybe that’s why he had run, because he’d wanted punishment. Perhaps, it was Hugh that had neglected him. Josh fought, but there was nothing he could do–the beast slashed his throat open, and at last, he knew what it would feel like, the blood running down his chest, soaking him like sweat, tasting and smelling nothing but iron. The beast watched life drain from his toy, and contemplated what to do. Perhaps, it had been neglectful. It picked up Josh’s limp, blood-drained body in one clawed hand, and flew into the sky, returning to the apartment–and in the morning, Josh woke again, alive, with a new scar across his neck, and the beast looming in the bedroom.

The beast remained with Josh for a few more weeks, devoting all of its attention to him, and him alone. Each time the beast played with him, Josh was certain that this agony would be the highest attainable, that certainly there was no pain greater than what he was feeling right now. Each time, he would beg, and pray, as the blood drained from him, as his head was crushed in the beast’s claws, as his heart was pulled from his ass, that this would be the final time, but always, he would wake from death, and they would begin again.

Josh began to realize that he was losing something with each resurrection. A bit of his mind, a bit of his soul. His body was coated with scar now, his bones broken in more places than they were whole. There was just the pain, the mutilation, the destruction, the laying out of his flesh until he was no longer recognizable as anything human, and then returned, for it to begin again. He knew it would not last forever. Each time, the joy in the beast’s eyes dimmed slightly–it was tiring of him, as he’d known it would. All Josh could do was hope that the beast would end him, give him just that mercy–but he did not.

One morning, Josh woke, alone. The absence of pain (aside from the constant ache of mended bones, and the network of scars that wound across his body)  was a new sensation, one that was deeply unsettling to him, but one that he knew should be a welcome relief. In the mirror, he looked at his mangled face. One eye remained, the other hadn’t survived–there was just a deep, ugly scar that mangled forehead, socket and cheek. But he was alive–wasn’t he? But then why did he feel so empty now? 

The beast had left without explanation. After a day, the yawning emptiness inside him was terrible. He had lost too much, in the process. There wasn’t enough here to survive on, the only thing that could occupy him was thoughts of pain, and mutilation, and death. Still he survived for a few days, working at the site, going to the gym, getting fucked at the bars, before he gave in, took a knife from his work belt, and stabbed it into his arteries, the orgasmic pain swelling inside him, the only thing close to fullness that he had felt since the beast left him alone. Then he died for the night, and awoke the next morning–still alive, still empty, still aching.

He found others who would use him, eventually. Men who would kill him, maim him, torture him, bring him to the brink of crossing over, but always, whatever magic the beast fueled him with would pull him back, and Josh would come back, emptier each time, with less and less of himself, less and less humanity to ground him. The deaths and beatings and tortures took their toll of course. In time, it was difficult to recognize him as something that might have been human once, but the thing knew what it’s purpose is now. To die. To suffer. Perhaps one day, the beast, its true master, will return and end its existence–but until then, it will suffer, and suffer gladly.

Horny Hugh (Part 3)

WARNING: This chapter includes some abuse, pain play, and snuff elements. If that’s not your thing, I’d suggest moving on to something else.

“Goodnight, babe, I’ll see you in a few days,” Josh said to Kyle outside his apartment. The two of them had just shared a fun night out at the bars, followed by a nightcap and sex at Kyle’s apartment. Now, Josh was heading home–he was leaving on a business trip for a few days, and Kyle was already missing him, throwing him a pouting lip which looked a bit ridiculous on the buff fellow he was.

“Yeah, alright–but give it some thought, eh? What I asked about?” Kyle asked, trying not to sound too pleading.

“I will, I promise,” Josh said, leaned in and gave Kyle a kiss goodnight, before heading off down the hallway.

Kyle stepped back into his apartment and shut the door, heaving a sigh. He’d been anxious to even ask the question, but Josh had taken it well. It was a big step, sure, but Kyle had never felt this way about someone before, and he just hoped Josh felt the same way. It wasn’t a marriage proposal, but asking him to move in felt like the next logical step in their relationship–not to mention it would help them both out with the finances. But now it was late, and Kyle was ready for bed. He took a quick shower, climbed in, and it wasn’t long before he had fallen asleep.

Now, since his encounter with Hugh a week before, Kyle hadn’t thought once of that strange fellow who had hit on his boyfriend. The same could not be said of Hugh, who, after his fling with Sam, had found himself obsessing more and more over Josh–and in turn, Kyle. Hugh knew, of course, that if he wanted Josh bad enough–and he did want him very bad–that he would be his, no matter what, especially with the new powers that had been revealing themselves to him over the last week. But the more he thought about Josh, the more he found himself stewing about Kyle, about the disrespect he had shown him in the bar, about how he didn’t deserve a beautiful, handsome man like Josh. That he needed to be punished first, and then, Hugh would sweep in and show Josh what a true lover was like. 

But Hugh had wanted something special for Kyle. He’d been taking little peeks into Kyle’s dreams, and into his mind, for the last week or so, getting to know him better–what he hated especially. The things that turned him off more than anything else in the world. See, Hugh had made a discovery over the course of the week as he’d been playing with guys at the bars and bathhouses around town–Hugh had discovered that he could draw out someone’s fetish entirely and store it inside him, and then, when someone else blew him, he could feed that fetish to the new person–though it was usually quite a bit stronger after Hugh had held onto it for a while, toying with it, improving it. So for the last few days, Hugh had gone hunting, and he’d found three men with fetishes and lives that were the perfect torments for Kyle. He was going to hate what he loved now, though by the end of it, Kyle wouldn’t want to be anyone different.

And so, Hugh slipped his way into Kyle’s dream…though he was looking quite a bit different from how he had looked back in the bar, when Kyle had confronted him the first time. He was still human, mostly, though the more Kyle looked at him, the more he noticed that certain things about him seemed off. The horns, of course. They were longer though, and their color was darkening from something between ivory and grey, to more of a charcoal. The skin around them on the temples didn’t look great either–there was clearly an infection of some sort spreading across the skin, veins of blue and black spreading out from the roots of the horns across Hugh’s scalp and face. Hugh smiled when he saw Kyle in the dream, and the same was happening to his teeth–they were darker, and also much more pointed than they should be. 

He was naked in the dream, and the proportion of his limbs was a bit off as well–legs too short, arms a bit longer than they should be. Hugh was hunched over slightly, legs wide, fingers longer and the nails were almost…claws. “Found you…” Hugh said, though it wasn’t so much that he was speaking in the dream, so much as the words appearing in Kyle’s mind. In any case, this dream was way too fucked–he tried to wake up, pinch himself, slap himself, but nothing would work. “Oh, don’t think you can get away from me so easily,” Hugh said, “Not until you’ve had your treat.”

Hugh was clearly referring to his cock–and that was something Kyle had no interest in getting anywhere near. It was big, for one thing–eight inches? Nine? It was the barbs that were confusing, and the fact that the head was…it was too bulbous, almost like it was storing something in there. It was a dark purple, and almost pulsating. “Come on now, I’ve found such good treats for you. Get over here, maggot, and drink up.”

Kyle turned to run, but the void around them offered no traction. As fast as he ran, Hugh crossed the space between them in a couple of strides, shoved Kyle to the ground, and flipped him over onto his back. Hugh straddled his shoulders, and gripped Kyle’s face with his clawed hands hard enough to draw blood. He screamed, and Hugh took the opportunity to thrust his vicious cock into his mouth. Kyle struggled, but every time he tried to pull his face free of the cock, the barbs would catch in his mouth and throat, threatening to rip him apart if he resisted. Eventually, he relented, and allowed Hugh to rape his throat for what felt like hours, choking and gasping for breath the entire time, tasting his own blood in his mouth until Hugh finally came–and when he did, it was unlike any load Kyle had ever tasted before. 

It tasted like ash. Like old cigarettes. As Hugh pumped the filth into him, he stared down at him, eyes yellow, wide and manic, while he licked his lips with a tounge a bit too long to be normal. “Oh yes, oh drink the fuck up, you fucking pig. I’m going to enjoy this, and when I’m done with you, he’ll be mine, he’s going to be all mine…”

Kyle was choking now, for real. He kept trying to draw breath, but there was nothing to do other than swallow more and more of the vile cum into his guts–if it was even cum at all. Eventually, he passed out, darkness overwhelming him–and then, when he was certain he was dead, he awoke in his bed, thrashing and gasping for air, but he was alone.

He was alone, it was morning, and there was absolutely no way he would be getting back to sleep before his normal morning alarm went off for work. He laid in his bed for a few minutes, trying to calm down, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He’d never had a dream as vivid as that had been, and as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was somehow certain that it had been…real. But that wasn’t possible. Of course it wasn’t possible.

At least if he got up early, he’d have time to get to the gym before work. He hauled himself up, and after taking a shower, getting his breakfast ready, and dressing for the gym, he felt normal, mostly. With his bag over his shoulder, he took a sip of his usual morning shake, and he grimaced. It didn’t…taste right. He took another few sips on the way to the gym, and less than a third of the way through, he felt certain he was going to vomit–he had to pull into a parking lot so he could throw open the door and hurl onto the pavement. He stared at the shake on the ground, wondering if he should call out…no, just get the gym, and workout. Now that he’d thrown up, he felt fine other than the fact he was still hungry.

But at the gym, all he could think about was that hunger, but at the same time, just thinking about food made him want to hurl. He’d never experienced anything like it in his life, and he was so out of it, he couldn’t even really make it through his workout. He was craving something, something he couldn’t quite pin down–and it wasn’t until he left the gym and saw a couple of guys smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk outside that he realized what he was craving. He wanted to smoke.

He shook his head–no, he was past this! He’d been a smoker for years, since he was a teenager, and quitting had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He hadn’t had a craving in ages, and now, all of a sudden, he’d woken up aching for one? It…made a little bit of sense, he supposed, but he’d fought through all kinds of craving before. He’d just have to fight through this one too. It was easier, really, knowing what it was at least. It didn’t quite tell him why he was so hungry though. In any case, he had to get to work. He arrived, got through the morning well enough, but by lunch, he was nearly doubled over from cramps in his guts. It had never been this bad–if smoking a cigarette would make him feel better…maybe he should at least try it.

He used his lunch to go to the convenience store, bought a pack of cigarettes, smoked one–and it did help, much to his disgust. It took the edge off his hunger, but it didn’t stop it. He needed to eat something, but when he walked to a restaurant, just the smell of the food made him nauseous. Instead, he smoked the cigarette down to the butt. Then, when he should have just dropped it and snuffed it out on the sidewalk, he popped the still burning butt into his mouth, gave it a chew, and swallowed it down.

He realized what he’d done a second too late, feeling it slide down his throat, and he was horrified. Had anyone seen him do that? Looking around, he was relieved that no one had seemed to, but he did feel a bit better, in all honesty. Putting the strange incident behind him, he returned to work, but the gut cramps got so bad he had to relent and leave work early. The hunger was worse, and he could still…taste that cigarette butt, and he wanted more, but this time, smoking it wasn’t enough. He had to force himself to not eat it when he was done with it, but stamping it out on the sidewalk seemed like such a fucking waste. He’d go to the doctor tomorrow, though none of this made any sense to him at all. He got home, and found a sizable package waiting for him, though he hadn’t been expecting anything. He took it inside with him, put it on the table, opened it up–and the contents only confused him more.

Inside, it was like someone had taken the contents of a bunch of ashtrays, dumped them into ziploc bags, and mailed them all to him. There were a few coke bottles too, filled to the brim with a dark, syrupy liquid he couldn’t quite place. There was a letter too–he opened it up and read it:

“Here’s your latest supply–hope you fucking enjoy it you nasty fuck. Been collecting everything from the bar ashtrays as usual, and everything from home. As a little plus, a guy at work on the crew keeps all of his spit in coke bottles. You told me once how much you like the shit, and when I told him your deal, he was more than happy to fork over a few full ones. Looking forward to your next vids, ashtray.”

Who the hell would send him something like this? It didn’t make any fucking sense. He went to throw the whole box in the trash, but before he could even pick it up, the cramps returned, stronger than ever, and he was doubled over on the kitchen floor, panting for breath. He was so fucking hungry, and just…just thinking about all of that fucking ash in those bags, maybe…maybe just a little. Just to take the edge off. 

No! What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t want to eat that shit, that was fucking vile. But it wasn’t that he wanted to eat it, exactly–it was that, somehow, Kyle knew that he had to eat it. If he didn’t, the cramps would get worse, and…and he could somehow tell that the cramps were only the first stage of worse withdrawals to come, if he didn’t give in and…and eat. He told himself he’d just have a little. Just get rid of the worst of it, and then he would call the doctor and figure out what in the hell was wrong with him. But as soon as one of the bags was open, he couldn’t contain himself–he dumped all of the ash, the cigar and cigarette butts, the match ends on the table, and he started licking it up, chewing it all down. It was disgusting–he was disgusting, fuck, he was a disgusting ashtray of a human, fucking hell…

He looked up at himself, and his face was coated in soot. Why was his cock so fucking hard through all of this? Was this turning him on? It was turning him on, knowing that he was nothing more than a receptacle for men’s cast offs, not good enough to smoke the shit himself, only subsisting on the remnants. He wanted to throw up, but instead he took a fresh bag, a bottle of tobacco spit, and sat down in front of the computer, where he filmed himself eating and drinking and masturbating for the next hour, adding it to the collection of other videos he had of himself doing the same filthy shit. Videos he could not recall making, but there he was, devouring all manner of filth. He sent the new video to his benefactor first, and then uploaded a couple more–trying to stop himself, but…but he had to. He had to show everyone what he was, didn’t he?

He let off a belch, and a little cloud of soot erupted from his mouth. He knew he should feel sick. He had to eat something–real food, but he was stuffed. It felt like he’d just had the most satisfying meal of his life, and there was still so much in the box to enjoy later. It was too late to call anyone for help–and he didn’t think he’d be able to admit what he’d just done to anyone either. Exhausted, he crawled into bed, still covered in ash and tobacco spit, and fell asleep almost immediately.

But then, he was back in the void, and Hugh was waiting for him. “Looks like someone had a nice meal today,” Hugh said to him, and laughed, a tail swishing behind him that he hadn’t had the night before.

“You…you did this to me, what the fuck did you do to me?” Kyle demanded.

“I’m just giving you a few new things to focus on, since you won’t have your relationship with Josh for much longer, not when I’m through with you both. I just want to make sure you’re happy, and out of the way for good. Don’t you like being an ashtray? I found that especially for you–the man I took that from didn’t really want to give that up, you know. I had to give him something better, just to calm him down.”

“You’re fucking sick! Just…just make me normal again. You can’t fucking do this to people, how the fuck are you doing this?”

“Let’s not waste time with silly questions. After all, I still have more for you to drink up, Kyle…” Hugh said, and stepped forward. The head of his cock was still swollen large–though the swelling had gone down some. “Get over here and suck it.”

“No–no, I’m fucking waking up! I’m not doing this again, I’m not, I’m n–”

That was all Kyle got out, before Hugh’s tail wrapped around his throat, and squeezed enough to leave him lightheaded and gasping for air. “Less talking now, I’m done talking.”

The prehensile tail dragged Kyle down to his knees in front of Hugh’s cock, and started fucking his face on the barbed member, slamming Kyle’s face into Hugh’s crotch over and over, the massive cock drilling deeper and deeper into his throat with every pound. He clawed at the thing around his neck but it just constricted tighter, until he was seeing spots and certain he would pass out. Then, Hugh came, pumping another load deep into his guts, and when he was finished, the tail relaxed, and Kyle collapsed.

“See you tomorrow–just one more dose…” Hugh said with a chuckle, and then Kyle passed out, and woke up in his bed again, this time in the middle of the night. He sobbed in his bed, exhausted and terrified, wondering what in the world was going to happen to him this time. What in the world was Hugh? He’d been certain, in the bar, that those horns had been fake, but…but all of this was too real now. When the sobbing subsided, all that remained was hunger, but he didn’t dare indulge in his new found vice–he was too ashamed. Sleep eluded him however, until he got up and grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his nightstand. He chained smoked a couple on the balcony, eating the butts down when he finished them, and when he had calmed down at last, he went back to bed, and slept fitfully for the rest of the night.

He couldn’t possibly face work the next morning. He called his boss, letting him know that he wouldn’t be coming into the office, and was too sick to work from home too. He felt better now that he didn’t have to go out, but now he was stuck in his apartment, with that package, with nothing to distract him from the cravings gnawing away at him. They were stronger today, without a doubt. He needed to go see a doctor, but he couldn’t bear the thought of confessing any of this to someone. What could they even do? There wasn’t exactly a treatment out there for demon-men invading your dreams and making you crave filth like this. He passed the time smoking instead, which kept the hunger at bay, though it wasn’t nearly as satisfying. He finished the pack of cigarettes before noon, and was faced with a new dilemma–go get more, or…or eat. He was so fucking hungry now, and the hunger was beginning to win out over his shame. He relented and dug in, chewing down a few cigar butts, relishing them, washing them down with murky spit from the bottles, letting it run down his chin and onto his chest, rubbing it in there, using it to lube up his cock, licking his fingers, recording and jacking off for his patrons, showing them all how much he appreciated their gifts.

The horniness was more powerful today too–he stroked as hard as he could, trying to climax, but it was like the hunger was keeping him right at the edge. He ate more, stuffed himself, and when he was certain he couldn’t eat anymore, he finally came–but what came out of the head of his cock wasn’t cum–it…it was smoke.

Hanging there in the air, around his cock, forming a consistency somewhere between fog and some strange goo, he pushed his hand through it, and felt nothing as he passed right through it. This was it, he told himself. He eaten all of that shit, and how he was hallucinating, and now he was going to die from it, right? He could only stare as the smoke from his cock began to congeal, becoming a hand that wrapped around his cock–and then he could feel it, as it stroked him off, more and more cummy smoke coming out of his cock pooling in the air around the end of the hand until it was an arm, until the arm was connected to a body, until a face appeared at the top, and legs below, and Kyle was staring up at a massive muscle bear that had somehow been formed out of his own smoke-cum, right in front of his eyes.

He felt one last long pulse from his groin, and the man pulled a cigar out from Kyle’s urethra, stuck it in his mouth, where it flamed to life–along with the man’s eyes. “What…what the fuck are you?” Kyle said, standing up from his office chair and backing away from the smoky figure standing in the midst of his living room.

“Me?” the man said in a deep, raspy voice. “You made me, Ashtray–who the fuck do you think I am?”

Kyle didn’t know, but he did know one thing–despite his massive orgasm, his cock was still hard as a rock, and looking at this man, so different from any man he’d ever been attracted to in his life, he found himself…aching for him in ways he couldn’t really explain. He took a tentative step forward, reached out, and tried to grab the man’s thick cock, but his hand passed right through it, the thing becoming smoke as soon he would have touched it, and forming once his hand had passed back out. “How…how is any of this happening?”

“God, you’re fucking stupid,” the man said, “It’s a good think you’re just a fucking ashtray or I’d feel sorry for you.” He reached out, grabbed hold of Kyle’s nipple and gave it a rough twist, making him cry out and pull away from him. “You made me because you need someone to use you, Ashtray–it’s as simple as that. You can’t touch me, but I can touch you all I want–and I’m going to be touching you a whole fucking lot.”

He grabbed hold of Kyle and threw him onto the bed, and then climbed on top of him. Kyle tried to kick him off, but his feet went right through the man’s torso–he scowled at Kyle, took the cigar from his mouth, and slammed the lit end right into Kyle’s forehead, making him scream, the smell of seared flesh in his nose while the man ground it there. “Stop fucking fighting, Ashtray–you’re going to get used, and the sooner you just accept it, the sooner you can start enjoying it.”

He rolled Kyle over, climbed on him, and forced his cock into his hole dry, Kyle trying to crawl away, but the man’s hands were like a vice, cinders kept falling from the cigar over him and scalding his back, while the man laughed. “Look at you, you fucking loser. Can’t get a real man to fuck you rough like you want, so you make your own sadistic fucks instead. Filthy fucking thing, no good for anything other than taking the waste men leave around, their ash, their cum–you’re fucking worthless, and you fucking love it, don’t you?”

Kyle couldn’t reply, he was trying to leave, trying to not think about what was happening to him, trying not to accept the fact that part of him was enjoying this, it was craving it, it needed this just as much as it needed the ash, and the cigarette butts, and the spit. The smoke man came, and not too long after that, his cigar finished–he forced open Kyle’s mouth, made him eat the last bit of it, and then he dissipated around him, settling all over the apartment in a fine layer of soot. Kyle was left to nurse his wounds and his burns. The man had gripped him hard enough to bruise, and the burn on his forehead was…severe. He did what he could to bandage it, but the more he thought about it, the more he…he wanted more. His hole was raw, but his cock was still so fucking hard, harder than he could recall it being ever in his life. He’d…needed that. He’d deserved that. The smoke man was right, he’d never been able to find someone to treat him like that in real life, someone he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to, and now…now he could make someone like…like that whenever he wanted.

He knew this was Hugh’s doing, that he was in his mind, warping him, making him want things he should have never desired in his life. He hated being degraded. He was proud of his life, of his job, of his body, of how he was always in charge. But now, that life seemed so far away, so distant, like a haze of smoke had settled over it and rendered it impossible to distinguish. Now, he wanted to be used. So he jacked off again, but this time, he thought about it, about who he wanted to create. The same man as before, almost. But taller. Bigger cock. Clad head to toe in leather. Thick bushy beard. He had to eat more–he couldn’t cum if he wasn’t full, but after gorging himself, he stroked off, and he didn’t stop stroking when he started cumming, didn’t stop thinking about who he wanted to abuse him, and rape him, and humiliate him, and use him all evening long.

“Fuck Ashtray, now this is what I’m talking about,” the man said, looming over him, ripped right out of his imagination. The man put a boot on Hugh’s neck, and drooled dark spit onto his face while he gasped for breath. “We’re going to have some fun tonight I think–that’s what you want, isn’t it? Tell me what you want.”

“Use me, please Sir, use me…” Kyle said, garbled as his throat was crushed under the man’s boot. 

A few hours later, battered and bruised, coated in ash and soot and spit, Kyle was in his bed, exhausted. His smoky creation had lasted longer this time, a few hours, long enough to beat him into shape, long enough to fuck his mouth, his ass, and his mouth again. Long enough that Kyle’s doubts and anger had been overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of it, but now, in the aftermath, bed gritty with ash, he was horrified with what he was allowing to happen. He couldn’t keep doing this, could he? He realized, when he was done, that the camera on his computer had been filming the entire scene, the massive leather brute throwing him around like a rag doll and punching bag, broadcasting live to all of his fans, urging the beast on, wondering how a loser ashtray like him could find a perfect leather sadist like that to abuse and humiliate him. 

But he was exhausted. Exhausted, but he didn’t dare sleep. Hugh was waiting for him–he’d said there was one more thing he had to give him, and Kyle was terrified. This was already awful. He hated all of this, it was everything he’d always hated, and now he was living his worst nightmare. If he could just stay up all night, maybe he would be safe. He just had to not sleep. And not jack off. Not…make himself some new sexy beast of a man to abuse and humiliate him all night long. Then he wouldn’t sleep a wink, he was sure of that. Maybe a pipe smoker this time, older, fatter, dirtier, using him like a urinal…fuck…

He spent the next few hours caught between hunger, horniness, and exhaustion–but exhaustion did win, eventually. He could have sworn he only meant to blink, but then he couldn’t force his eyes open again. When he could finally see, he found himself not in his bedroom, but back in that inky void, Hugh waiting for him there, tail longer and thicker, his skin…flaking, or maybe peeling off, revealing something raw and angry underneath. Scales perhaps. Kyle didn’t want to look to close. He didn’t want to know anymore of this than he had to.

“You kept me waiting tonight,” Hugh said, “Were you enjoying your new skill? Looks like you made a daddy who treated you right,” the monstrous fellow of his dreams came close, brushing a clawed hand across Kyle’s bruised face. “Don’t worry–they won’t kill you. You’re rather…durable now. After a good night sleep, you’ll be good as new, no matter what kind of damage they inflict–though I do like that burn there…” he added, and pressed a claw against the raw wound on Kyle’s forehead, making him wince and flinch away.

“Please, make it stop. I don’t want any of this, I…I just want to be normal again!” Kyle begged him, dropping to his knees. “I’ll never see Josh again. I’ll forget all about him, all about you–please, don’t make me do this anymore.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Kyle,” Hugh said, close enough that he could smell his breath, feel the lash of his long, blackening tongue on his cheek, “I just want to help you be happy–don’t worry, you’ll be happy soon enough. Tonight is a bit of a trade. You give me something of yours, I give you one last gift–and we’ll be even. You’ll never see me again.”

He felt something tighten around his cock, looked down, and saw that the head of the demon’s cock had swallowed his own. He tried to pull away, but the head clamped down harder, making him feel like he was about to pull his own cock off. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me.”

“Sorry Kyle, but first I need something from you–I need to make sure you stay out of my way, and the only way that’s going to happen, is if Kyle disappears. So you’re going to give me all of yourself.”

Kyle felt the head of Hugh’s cock throb, and it…sucked on his cock, and he moaned, trying to stay on his feet. It wasn’t pain that he felt–it wasn’t anything physical at least. It felt like…a strawberry milkshake, when you’re trying to suck a berry through the straw. Only he was the berry–his mind, his identity, his relationship to Josh–all of it. Hugh sucked again, and he felt some of it slip away from him, leaving just…a hole. He knew that something should fill it, but he didn’t know what–just the vague outline of…of something. Another pull, and more of him disappeared, Hugh pulling him close, holding him up while he watched the confusion on Kyle’s face grow as he sucked down more and more of him, storing him in his cockhead, just like he’d stored those other men, which he’d fed to Kyle. 

When he was satisfied that he’d pulled out enough, Hugh let the man fall, his cock slipping free of his own, and on his knees, the man looked around in horror. “I…Who…What just happened? Who are you?” He asked, looking up at Hugh in terror, “Why…why can’t I remember anything?”

“Don’t worry, I can help,” Hugh said, and pressed the head of his cock against the round burn on the man’s forehead. With a thrust, he shoved his cock into the man’s head, driving right into his skull, the man going limp while Hugh fucked his brains in his dream. Eventually cumming and emptying out the final gift he’d prepared for Kyle into his skull. He let him fall to the ground, a limp doll, and sneered at him before slipping back into the void. Hugh had what he needed now, and Kyle wouldn’t be an issue anymore–well, Kyle didn’t exist, not anymore. The man lying on the ground with a hole in his head, in his dreams–he didn’t have a name. He did have a purpose though, and that was good enough.

When he awoke, he couldn’t do much of anything for a moment, his head ached so badly. His body as well, like he’d come down with a cold overnight, his bones and joints aching. All he could do was moan and toss in the filthy, ash covered bed for most of an hour, until the pain in his skull settled down, his body eased up, and he could finally throw his legs over the side and stand up.

He…didn’t feel right, somehow. His head felt empty–emptier than it should be. He should have a name, right? He…he couldn’t remember one though, but he could remember a…a job. A thing, that he was. Ashtray. It wasn’t a name–it was a category, but did he really need something more than that?

Ashtray went into the bathroom and pissed, before looking at himself in the mirror. This seemed wrong as well–he could…almost remember another reflection. A younger one. A sexier one. But this…this face. He was old. Easily in his fifties, if not sixties, though he couldn’t remember how old he was. A thick beard across his face, stained yellow around the mouth from years of smoking, caked with ash. He was balding heavily, with just a fringe of too long hair around the temples and down the back. The face was lined with wrinkles, and when he opened his mouth, he grimaced–a good number of his teeth were gone, and the rest were…not in great shape at all. 

Ashtray knew that something was wrong. That something had changed, but he didn’t know what. The worry nagged at him, but not as much as the hunger and the horniness did. He…he had to talk to someone about it, maybe they would know. So he ate–he devoured a few bags of ash from the shipment a couple days before. It was…pleasurable, to some extent, but he ate it because it was his duty to eat it. He was an ashtray, after all. What other purpose could he serve? When he was full, he masturbated, thinking…thinking about someone. Someone who would…help him understand, and remember what he was sure he had forgotten. But all he could think about was that image in the mirror, his old, feeble body. The smoke poured from his cock, and formed an older man, quite fat, covered in hair, wearing some shabby clothes and smoking a massive pipe.

“I…Sir…I…I don’t…know what to ask, really, but I don’t know who I am? Do…do you know who I am?” he muttered, falling to his knees before the figure, who just scowled down at him.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are. I do know what you are though–you’re an Ashtray–is that not good enough for you?”

The figure shoved the hot bowl of his pipe against Ashtray’s nipple, holding it there until he cried out from the heat. He spit in his face and then dragged him into the bedroom, throwing the old, fat pig onto the bed, and forcing his fat cock into his ass.

Ashtray decided that it didn’t really need to know who it was. Or more likely, it would have to accept that there wasn’t going to be an answer. It was an object, at the end of the day. It served the filth that men sent it, chewed it down, and ejected it back out into their most violent, perverted fantasies for it to suffer under. It would always be a waste–there wasn’t anything more for it beyond that. There couldn’t be. And so, it accepted itself, as best it could, as the fat pipe bear finished inside it’s hole, hauled out, and started working his fist inside him next. It would be a good ashtray. 

Hugh smiled, watching in his own dreams, stroking the head of his cock, swollen now with the contents of Kyle that it had sucked out. Josh would be back in a day, and Kyle would be there to greet him–a Kyle, at least. But Josh would be Hugh’s before long. He would be his forever–after all, it was time that Hugh helped himself.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 9)

“God damn it, get the fuck back here, you little fuck, I’m gonna fuck your hole and then tear new ones in you and fuck those too!” Ken roared as he chased the imp through the halls, his rock hard, rubberized cock swinging painfully as he ran through the halls, shoving his way through all of the other freaks and men fucking in the dark as the night came to a climax. He saw a clock as he ran, giving him about an hour and a half before the window of escape closed off forever, and he was stuck here. While this wasn’t exactly…bad, he still had no intention of letting that imp get away with his tag–and with his life.

But as he ran, it was getting harder and harder to ignore all of the men–and especially all of the holes–he was passing by. His cock was aching for a fuck, and he…well, he was built to fuck, wasn’t he? He was a hot fucking top, and every hole needed him inside of it, pumping his cum deep into their guts, showing them who was really in charge in these halls, warping and changing them into freaks just like him, and–

He had to stop for a moment, and try and get his head back under control. That wasn’t him, that was this fucking gear trying to think for him. He wasn’t going to be whatever freak this place wanted him to be–he wasn’t! He saw the imp round a corner up ahead in the halls, and took off after him, growling. There was only one hole that he really wanted in this whole fucking place after all, and he wasn’t going to give up until he got it.

He rounded the same corner at top speed, and ran right into another person, sending them both tumbling to the floor of the hallway in a tangle, that Ken struggled to extract himself from. By the time he got himself out, he looked down the hallway, and realized he’d lost the imp in the mess. “Fuck! God fucking damn it!” he shouted, and whirled on the man he’d crashed into, “You fucking piece of shit, he got away! I…why I oughta…F-Fuck! Fuck you!”

The man on the ground looked up at him in a bit of terror. He was a bit older, and a little chubby. He must have entered the area later than Ken had–he still had on his black shorts, and even had his clothes tag around his arm. “Please…please don’t, I just want to get out of here! Don’t hurt me, please…”

Ken growled at him, and kicked him in the gut, sending him to the ground, gagging…and seeing that, Ken smiled cruelly. Fuck…it felt real fucking good, hurting him, and he gave him another kick in the balls, just to make sure he stayed down. “Fucking faggot–fucking pig, I’ll fucking do whatever I fucking want to you–you’re fucking mine, understand?”

The man tried to crawl away from him, but Ken grabbed him by the hips and dragged him back, tearing open the back of his shorts like they were paper, and shoved his rubber cock between the man’s fat ass cheeks. He could feel him…shudder, the fucking bitch wanted it, didn’t he?

“You fucking want this, don’t you? This big fucking cock in your sloppy pig hole,” he growled at him, as he kept fucking the man’s cheeks, his cock starting to leak a thick, black, rubbery cum.

“I…fuck, please Sir, please…fuck this slutty faggot’s hole Sir…”

He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He couldn’t do this–right now, that fucking imp was probably heading for the exit, Ken’s tag in hand, and if he didn’t get there first to intercept him…there was no way he was going to get out of here in his own body. But this…this fucking hole, he needed it. He needed it in a way he could barely articulate, like it was his purpose. He was a fucking top–and when a hole like this presented itself, begging to be used like this, how could he possibly say no? He pushed the head in, and shuddered, the strange cum working as lube, the man moaning in pain, trying to pull away, but that only made Ken grab him by the hips and drag him back, inch by inch, his massive cock slipping inside him.

“That’s it faggot, just fucking take it like a good bitch,” he said.

“Oh…oh fuck Sir, it’s so big!”

“Trust me, you aren’t going to want any other dick other than mine one I’m through with you,” he added…but Ken also knew that if he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t want anything else too. Looking up, he saw…the teeth in the darkness. The Master of the Halls was there, observing, wanting to see his new top’s first performance for himself, and…part of him was excited. Excited that Master wanted to see him, excited that Master…no–no, this isn’t right, it isn’t what he should be, is it?

He looked down, and saw the tag around the man’s arm. He looked back at the Master’s teeth. He thought about the imp, scurrying through the halls. He had to make a decision, but what?

This next one is the last entry! Here’s the bonus patron poll as well. I’ll start something new next week, that may or may not be holiday related–haven’t decided yet.

Business as Usual

An open ended, multipart story following the various tales of a business that has been taken over by a new CEO. However, the men working there soon discover that with new leadership, it is going to be anything but business as usual for them.

Last updated: 10/21/2019 – Part 3 is now public!

Click the button below to see the table of contents, and read the story!

Continue reading “Business as Usual”

The Monastery

Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.

As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.

Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…

He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.

Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.

He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past.

It was a desire for control, that had led Father Nicholas to the priesthood. Control over his own urges, foremost, ones that had haunted him through his youth, ones that God had promised him he would conquer, if he only believed hard enough. To his teachers in seminary, this was a troublesome impulse, one they sought to temper. Control was important, yes, but to err is human. Without forgiveness, then everything they preached was meaningless. Nicholas understood that, but found it difficult to live–and certainly difficult in parish life. But he had found this calling in Rome, rooting out heresy and fraud and crimes against the church. He was a dog on a leash, and Rome held him and pointed him where he needed to go–and he did what was necessary. But this was already…a rather strange welcome. How warmly they had received him, even knowing why he was here, the threat he posed to their order. It felt like, either they knew they were innocent, or that they believed there was nothing he could do to bring them to heel.

Dressed, he felt somewhat restored. A shower would help, but that could come later–mostly he felt that what he needed most was confession–especially after the night before. None of the monks here were priests however–not in this small order. The only one able to hear his confession was the abbot–but that posed other problems. According to the monks, the abbot had fallen rather ill and needed to be confined to his chambers. They were vague about the nature of his affliction, and insisted that serious medical intervention was not necessary. The abbot, they told him, believed that God would heal him, and thought seeking a doctor would be a sign of weakness. It felt like a lie, but without knowing who was to gain from it, it was hard to sense the truth behind it. Was the abbot actually ill, or perhaps dead, the monks covering for some kind of foul play? Or was there something else the abbot desired to hide himself, and the illness was merely a convenient excuse? He found his way to the prior of the abbey, a short, rather rotund fellow named Timothy who had welcomed Nicholas the evening before. He found him in the abbot’s study, apparently taking care of business during his illness. Not unusual, but suspicious all the same.

He asked him if he would be able to see the abbot for confession, and Timothy told him it would be difficult, given the abbot’s condition. Perhaps in a few days, Timothy told him. In the meantime, Timothy promised Nicholas he would help him with whatever documents or records he needed from the abbey during his investigation. Nicholas gave him a list, and Timothy happily turned them over with question or reluctance. He simply told Nicholas that dinner would follow the Vespers service, and they were welcome to join them for both.

Nicholas did. The service was fine–though none of the monks were particularly fine singers or readers. It seemed a bit…hollow, in some ways. Rushed. The monks were seemingly eager to be through it, and Nicholas more than once caught a whiff of something delicious on the air, and he felt that hunger from the morning leap up again. He had promised himself a day of fasting, following his indulgence, but when he told this to Timothy, the prior merely chuckled, and led Nicholas into the hall, where another massive feast, equal in size to the one the night before, was laid out for them all. He was appalled, really. How could such extravagance be afforded so regularly? But Timothy planted him in his seat, the monks urging him to eat. He was so thin and frail! So quiet. Does he not like to live? Appreciate the gifts of the earth that God and Christ had given them?

He tried to excuse himself, but the wine was poured and pressed to his lips. The feast the night before had felt warm and welcoming, but tonight, there was a certain pressure. Outside pressure, from the monks, implying that he would be insulting them, if he refused their hospitality. But that was easy for him to resist–it was the pressure on the inside that was bending him, the hunger building up until it overwhelmed him, and he sat back down, filled a plate of his own volition, and devoured it, all while Timothy urged him on, his wine always full, the monks laughing and cackling around him. His vision was swirling, but there was some commotion at the far end, something he thought was fighting at first, one monk thrown against the table by another, but it was…it was…

He awoke with the same gasping, choking sensation as the night before, but the sensation passed a bit faster–which was a relief. At least until he realized, with some shame, that his sheets were damp with more than just sweat this evening, but that he had, apparently, had a wet dream at some point as well. He could…smell it, and it nearly made him want to vomit. He couldn’t recall the last time he had ejaculated–either on his own, or in the night. Perhaps as teenager, but even then, only once or twice. The dream was fading again, but left him with an even deeper sense of defilement than the one before. He took a shower, and noticed that his thin and muscular body was showing signs of a paunch after his two feasts now–and he was so filled with disgust and shame at his own lack of discipline, that he retreated to his room to pray privately for most of the morning, and then continued his devotions into the afternoon–until Timothy came to find him, and check to see if he was well.

Timothy was kind and gentle with him. Coaxed him from his room, only for Nicholas to find himself seated, once again, in the hall, another massive feast laid out before him, and all he could think to do was vomit–but the hunger inside him welled up once more, betrayed him–and again, the dreams, the vile, choking, panting, aching, dreams! It was the next day, his sheets again soaked with sweat and cum, that he demanded the sacrament of penance from the abbot–or he threatened to go into town and speak with the priest there instead, and not stop until he was back in Rome to tell the cardinals that this monastery needed to be torn down, stone by stone. Timothy consulted with the abbot in private, and was told that the abbot would agree–but he would need a few hours to prepare, and that he demanded that Nicholas not lay eyes upon him. The restrictions seemed ridiculous, but he agreed–and so that afternoon he was seated in the confessional, listening to the raspy breathing of someone he could not see through the screen, and he spoke:

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been…six days since my last confession.”

There was no reply, just the same ragged breathing on the other side of the screen. 

“I…I most confess to mortal sins. I…In my dreams, I fear I have sinned against God. Turned against him. That I have…have given into gluttony, and lust in ways that I do not understand, but which I feel are…are putting my soul in mortal danger.”

It was the truth, as close as he could come to it. The ragged breathing quickened, and became a deep, unsettling chuckle. “I am afraid, you are going to need to be more specific,” the abbot said to him. “If these sins are indeed putting your soul at risk, surely you can…tell me more about them…”

The voice was like oil, sliding over his ears and his skin and under his clothes and into his guts. He nearly fled then, but couldn’t move. “I…I do not remember them, I only…only feel it, in my soul.”

“Shall I tell you, what I saw then?” the voice said, close on the other side of the screen, close enough that Nicholas could…smell his breath, the rank odor closing in on him in the confined space. “How I watched you stuff yourself like a pig at our table? How I wanted you devour more and more into the empty space that you have hollowed out, waiting with all hope that God would come alive to fill it for you, but I filled it first, priest. I filled you up, I did, I filled you to the brim, and when you were full, I watched you fuck–clumsy, so clumsy, fumbling and foolishly, but you fucked. You enjoyed it too, you know. Had you given in, before? I tasted it on you when you arrived, how much you crave men, how it drove you here, right into my arms, where you always belonged, you know. God is empty, you see. I am not–we are not. We are alive! We are alive, and living, and enjoying all that life had to offer–and all you must do, for your penance, my dear priest, is submit, and live with me inside you.”

He hadn’t noticed the hole cut into the side of the screen when he’d entered, but he noticed it now, the thick, bulbous, leaking cock thrust through it, inches from Nicholas’ knees, the scent of the cum heady and creamy, and the hunger, oh the hunger thrumming inside him! He longed to taste it, longed to take it inside him, longed to devour it and everything else, everything that had held him back for so long, but Nicholas pulled away, fumbled open the door and tumbled out onto the stone floor–the monks already on him, holding him down and binding him, as the other door opened, and out stepped the abbot–or what remained of the man that the demon inside him had devoured.

He was massive, easily 600 pounds of heaving fat hanging off his frame in uneven rolls. His robe was filthy, crusted with cum and food, and he stank of corruption. It was his face though, his…massive mouth, and his eyes. The drool hanging from his lips in long sticky strings, His eyes were pitch black–and above them, a row of horns had pushed their way out from his forehead and temples. “I knew it was too soon for you–but I also do not have the time to waste, wearing you down slowly–bring him down into the dungeon, we will see if a few tools of the inquisition might bring our Vatican friend to his proper senses.”

The monks all professed their obedience, and while he struggled, they bound Nicholas and dragged him down into the depths of the monastery, the demon following behind them, down into the dark.

How long had he been down here now, in the dark?

There were no windows, only torches that never seemed to need to be relit, or perhaps they were only changed during his occasional, fitful moments of sleep. Nicholas screamed again as the lash came down upon his back again, heaving for breath, having already lost count of the number of blows this session.

“Can you feel it, Father?” Timothy said behind him, his hands gripping the leather tightly. He had traded in his robes for the garb of his new master–a leather harness strapped tight around his chubby frame, a leather strap knotted around his cock, keeping it fully erect, the color a deep reddish purple in the torchlight. “Can you feel it? Oh, I can. I can feel your pain, how delicious it is. Lean into it, release yourself into it! Your body need not feel as pain what it can feel as pleasure!”

The lash came down on him again, Nicholas tried to scream again, but nothing came out. He was exhausted–spiritually and physically. Down here in the dark, the torture had been unceasing, since meeting the demon in confession. If they were not whipping him, or branding him, or milking him, they were feeding him, forcing more and more of their slop into him, more and more wine, keeping him in a constant state of delirium, all of his senses driven to their limits. 

Sensing that he had had enough, Timothy tossed the lash to the side, stepped forward, and mounted the father, working his own aching cock into the priest’s now well worn hole, rutting against him wordlessly for a few minutes until he came, seeding him with another load, the same as the others he could feel drying on the inside of his thighs. Nicholas sobbed then, as Timothy pulled free, took off the strap and freed his own member. Other monks, dressed similarly, rushed in to care for Nicholas’s wounds, forcing more wine on him, and always more slop–but that…that was welcome. The hunger was only growing more intense now, gnawing away in his very bones at times. The monks no longer had to force him to eat–if food was put before him, he would devour it mindlessly, realizing only after, his face coated with muck, that they were making a literal pig of him.

And always, he could smell him in the dark. The demon. The abbot. Watching him, but in all of these days and hours, he had not once said a single word–even when Nicholas had cried out, demanding answers–even demanding death–he had been silent. And so he ate, and he drank, and his wounds were dressed with a surprisingly human tenderness, and then those monks too left him there in the dim light–and it was the first time that Nicholas had been alone in all of this time.

He tested his bonds again, but the cords were just as strong as before, holding him tight over this horse. He struggled anyway–what else was there to do, in the end? But even that exhausted him quickly, and he allowed himself to hang, the wine going to his head, making him dizzy, wondering if it would be better spent trying to rest in this moment of solace.

“Now, perhaps we can begin again. Confess to me your sins, father. Confess them, and I will strip them of you, and grant you true absolution from guilt, and pain, and hunger. None will trouble you again, so long as you are in my arms.” It was the demon speaking, but his voice seemed to permeate the room. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Perhaps, even from within his own mind.

Nicholas did not know what to say–but he ached. He ached to be free of this, he wanted to feel the sun on his skin, longed for God–and the demon laughed, like he could sense his thought.

“God is silent, don’t you see? God no longer cares for you–not like I do. Toil and labor in the service of him, and you get nothing but doubt and death. I can offer you more, so much more.”

He felt a sharp claw run down his welted back, and Nicholas gasped. It did not hurt–it felt…divine. He shuddered, his cock growing full, the demon continuing to stroke him gently, Nichoas moaning and gasping under his touch. 

“You long for me. You always have. Confess to me, how you turned away from me, Nicholas.”

His life stretched out before him, in his mind. How…things had started so differently for him, when he was young. How…how that first time with his cousin, how much he had loved the touch of men, but in his conservative family, any sort of desire like that had to be starved into nothing. And so, Nicholas ate. He ate, and he ate, and he tried to fill that hole inside him, thinking about him, about so many men, and hating himself for it. God seemed to be the only hope he had left anymore, and so he devoted himself to the church, first as an altar boy, and then finding his way into seminary.

It was there, that the discipline had been driven into him, by his teachers. They were disgusted by him, by his weight and his gluttony, which he had used to cover up his deeper sins. They shamed him, and humiliated him, wore him down and starved him until he was thin and muscular and willing to do anything for God–but what had God ever done for him? In all of this denial, in all of this rejection of the world, what had he gained, really? Happiness? Satisfaction? He was hungry, but he realized now, that the hunger was older–much older than the last few days. He’d been hungry all his life, and now, here he was, face to face with a being that could, at long last, feed him.

“I…please, I starved myself, I…I’m so hungry I don’t know what to do anymore,” Nicholas said between sobs, “Please help me, please, I…please forgive me…”

“I forgive you, priest, now feast on my seed. Join me. Do your penance.”

Nicholas allowed the cock into his mouth, sucked on it, draining it of everything he could. The precum was thick and creamy, coating the inside of his mouth, filling his gut–warm and solid and so satisfying. He drank and drank, letting it all go, letting all of his control drop for the first time in his life, ready to…embrace everything. Everything he could have been. With a roar, the demon’s cock erupted, and he drove his cock deeper down Nicholas’s throat, draining his corrupt balls deep into his guts, and Nicholas felt himself swell, and swell, and swell, so full he was certain he would burst from the love of his new God, but it would be worth it, worth everything to feel full, to feel this divine presence inside him, and just as he was certain he would be able to take no more–

He awoke.

He awoke from the most exquisite dream he had ever had in his life. He awoke reborn. He threw the sheets down, looked and saw his new body, nearly 400 pounds, and with his hands, he groped his fat, feeling his new folds, groaning and moaning in delight from the sensation of so much weight pressing down on him, and he grasped his cock, grunting and snorting, and within a minute, he shot one of the largest loads of his life all over his belly–and he rubbed it in, relishing it, thanking his God for accepting him in all of his folly, for showing him the way to pleasure, for giving him this true gift of a new body.

He rolled up and stood with some difficulty, and just stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He was beautiful, so beautiful. Full breasts hanging from his chest, wrapping around under his arms, with massive swollen nipples on each. Three chins cascading from his now fat, round face. His thighs touching most of the way to his knees, his ass jiggling slightly as he moved. He had already shot once, but he was already so horny…he struggled with his harness, but found his way into it, and left his room to join the monks.

The monastery had dropped all pretenses–the monk’s old robes folded away, all of them wearing the same harness and nothing else. He passed several pairs fucking in the hallways of the abbey–and while Nicholas longed to join them, he…he knew where he was needed, what he needed, and he found his way to the prior, to Timothy, down in the dark, and with their God in audience, Timothy gave Nicholas a proper whipping, and now, every grace of the lash against his flesh brought forth such brightness and pleasure that Nicholas’s cock would spontaneously explode, splattering load after load on the stone walls, until at last, Timothy fucked him roughly, and so pleased with with their devotion, their God allowed each of them to suckle on his milky teats until the time for the evening feast was upon them.

It was weeks later when Nicholas bade farewell to his brothers one morning, climbed into the car that had been sent for him, and left the abbey behind. He had gained more weight now–closer to 450 pounds–struggling to fit in the back of the small car, but it did not matter. He had found himself, who he was always meant to be, and he had a new mission now, one far, far more important than any he had been sent on before. He patted his satchel, a hunger gnawing at him, but he knew better than to feast on these himself–inside, were several vials of his God’s seed, each with a particular target designated in Rome, and in the world beyond. Cardinals, mostly–each of them with a weakness the demon could exploit, and each of them a potential new pope, as this one’s breath was growing ragged. It was time for a new church. A church with a real God, one you could touch. One you could serve. One who would ensure you would never be hungry again.

City of Bears: Series 1 – Big Bears on Campus

Episodes originally published: March 2010 – February 2011

Here it is, the series that started it all! Again, there are the original versions, so there will likely be some editing issues throughout, but that’s nothing new, let’s be honest. These were, as a matter of fact, never meant to spawn such a long series, as they ended up doing–at first, this was just intended to be a light writing exercise, some little fun episodic shorts I could work on for fun. It wasn’t until around episode eight here, that I realized I was onto something a bit larger than I had originally intended, and episode 10 really does set up a future something that I never did get around to posting (so many things left unposted, ugh). Anyway, enjoy!

Table of Contents

Episode 1 – Roommate Troubles

Once again, as Ron lay in his bed, he wondered what had possessed him to go out and drink on a Sunday night. By the sunlight streaming through the window, he had already missed his morning statistics class, and judging by the headache now pounding in his head, he’d be missing the rest of his classes that day as well. There was something else bothering him too: he couldn’t remember how he had made it back to his room last night. Jared and Nate had convinced him to go to that frat party, and he remembered leaving the house late at night, but he hadn’t been that drunk. He seemed to remember some other things too. Some men in the woods on campus, a strange light, but then nothing. Maybe it had been a dream. He shrugged it off, and carefully sat up in bed, but he noticed that his headache was fading already, and in its place, he felt energized. Energized and horny.

His roommate, Harry, was off in class, or at least not in the room, so Ron figured it was safe to jack off quickly. He went over to his closet, and started digging out his titty mags. After Harry had found his last stash, he had lectured Ron for half an hour and then shredded them, making Ron spend the next week rebuilding his collection. Harry, too put it concisely, was a bit of a prude. He didn’t party, didn’t drink, certainly didn’t have sex, and attended class religiously. Ron and Harry didn’t get along very well, and neither of them really understood how the school had ended up pairing them up together as roommates. Ron was thinking about rushing a frat just so he wouldn’t have to put up with Harry next semester. Ron finally pushed aside a pile of dirty laundry and found what he was looking for, the nondescript paper bag where he stored his porn. He pulled it out, opened it up, and said, “What the hell is all this shit?”

Where the latest issues of FHM and Maxim had been the day before, there were now magazines with titles like Bear, all of the covers depicting fat, hairy men in various states of undress. He threw the bag back into the closet in disgust. His first thought was that Harry had replaced them as a prank, but that just didn’t seem like something Harry would do. He would be more likely to throw them in the trash like he had before. It must have been Nate and Jared then, those assholes. Regardless, Ron didn’t feel like jacking off anymore (even though he was still horny) and decided to take care of the other need which had been nagging at him: breakfast.

He walked over to the jeans he had discarded on the floor the night before, and started to pull them on over his boxers, but they were harder to get on than usual, and he had to lie down on his bed and suck in his gut to get them buttoned. Ron assumed that he was just bloated after the night before, and rummaged around for a shirt, but all the one’s he tried on didn’t fit right either. Eventually, he dug up for an extra large shirt his mom had gotten him by accident and put that on instead. He was really glad Harry hadn’t been there to see him and his performance. He figured that his nights of partying and binge drinking were probably getting the best of him, and figured he might want to start going over to the school’s gym. His stomach growled loudly, startling Ron. He looked down at it, and thought that it even looked bigger, but he passed it off as nerves, and headed for the dining hall.  

As he walked, he noticed something else strange, almost like he took up more space as he was walking. There was something strange about his gait too, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The only word that came to mind to call it was that he was “lumbering.” It felt both natural, and very awkward, all at the same time, so he tried to ignore it. As he was walking, he passed one of the football linebackers on the path, and it was all he could do not to stop and stare at him as he walked past. From the hairy arms to the nice, round ass, Ron wanted all of it, and his mind was flooded with all of the things he wanted to do to it, with number one on the list fuck the guy’s ass until they both came.

Ron shook his head and tried to regain his composure. He had never fantasized about another guy like that, but the images wouldn’t stop going through his head, not to mention the fact that his erect dick and making his pants even tighter. He pulled down his shirt in an attempt to hide it, but found that the shirt which should have been too large for him almost didn’t cover the button on his jeans! Panic started to overtake Ron, and in a desperate need to rationalize, figured that his clothes must have shrunk when he washed them in the campus washers and dryers. That was the only explanation he could accept at the moment, and he hurried into the dining hall.

Inside, the smell of bacon and eggs made his stomach rumble again. He grabbed a tray, and asked for a double helping of everything, even though he had never eaten that much in his life. For some reason, he just needed food, and lots of it. He sat down at the first table he found empty, and started cramming his meal into his mouth in large forkfuls. Everything tasted way better than anything he had tasted before, and when he was finished with the entire plate, he found that, while he was satisfied, he could have eaten another helping just as big. Suddenly, he let out a loud belch, without even realizing he had done so, until all of the people at the tables near him turned around and stared at him, making him feel really embarrassed. “Uh…excuse me,” he mumbled, but it came out about an octave lower than he expected it to, and it caught him by total surprise. “Fuck, what is going on with me?” he said, ran his hand over the top of his head, and stared in disbelief at the shower of hair which fell away as he did.

In utter disbelief, Ron stumbled up from the table, and saw that the shirt which had just barely fit him half an hour ago was now even smaller, and rode up on his belly high enough to show off his belly button. He pulled at it in desperation, and then heard a rip come from his armpit, where he had torn the seam of the shirt wide open. There was no way he was going to get it to fit him, and that meant that something was seriously wrong. With all eyes in the dining area on him, he fled out the doors and ran back to his dorm room, hoping against hope that no one who knew him well would see him.

Luckily, he got back without being spotted, (though he had slowed down long enough to watch a cute cub walk by, imagining the boy on his knees and sucking his cock) but he was in for some additional surprises when he entered his room. The half of the room which had been his had been redecorated while he was gone. Instead of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar on the wall, a new calendar was hung with a picture of a hunky firefighter on it. Next to that, was a large flag colored in tans with a bear paw in the corner. Next to his TV there was a pile of DVDs with titles like “Bear Weekend” and “Muscleman Madness III”. The magazines he had thrown in the closet were now scattered across his bedside table, next to a mysterious box he had never seen before, but which his head called, “his humidor,” but he wasn’t entirely sure what that word meant. Even the clothes in his closet were different, or at least, not what he thought should be in there. A bunch of flannel shirts hung next to a collection of leather gear, and there several pairs of boots below them.

He had to figure out what was going on, but first, he had to get out of the clothes which were so tight, they were beginning to suffocate him. He tried to pull the shirt off, but he ended up just ripping it off of his body, revealing a thick pelt of fur which hadn’t been there that morning. He rubbed his hand through it, each fiber as soft as silk, and he let out a little moan. He was so goddamn horny! He yanked at his jeans, popping off the button and wreaking the zipper, so he could finally stroke his rock hard cock. However, his hand was really surprised at what it found, because he couldn’t even reach all the way around it with one hand, it was so big. He tried to get a good look at it, but his stomach had grown so much that he could barely see the dark red mushroom head over his new gut. He stepped out of his ruined jeans so he could walk over and look at himself in the mirror, where he saw that his dick must be at least eight inches long, and very thick. However, that wasn’t all that grew.

He now had a massive gut, but it was firm and muscular, not flabby, and there were two firm, fatty mounds on top of it, with meaty nipples poking out of them. His arms had exploded in size as well, and he wasn’t even sure he would be able to walk through a door straight on anymore, because his shoulders were so wide. Almost all of his hair had fallen out, leaving an empty, tan scalp, but he somehow had over the course of the morning grown a thick goatee without even noticing, which was speckled with gray. His mind didn’t know how to take it all in. It was all so new, and yet felt so comfortable and familiar that he couldn’t help but feel like this was the way things were supposed to be. While he stroked his dick, his other hand reached up and started playing with a nipple, and he let out a deep moan again, but something was missing. There was an itch in the back of his head, like there was something he had forgotten, and the image of the humidor leapt to his mind again.

Leaving the mirror, he walked back over to his bedside table, lifted the wooden lid, and found a large selection of short, thick cigars in the chest. He immediately realized that he had gone the entire morning without having his usual smoke! He picked one up, clipped the end, and puffed it into life with the lighter he always kept on the table as well. He took his first long inhale, and felt the bear in him grow even stronger. Part of his mind was still trying to fight it, the part of him that remembered that he had been a young college student just a few hours ago, not this massive hairy bear, but that part was diminishing by the moment. Rod lay down on his bed, and went back to stroking his massive dick while thumbing through one of the bear magazines. Before long the room was full of smoke, and the old Rod had disappeared from his mind completely. It was about then that Harry returned from class, opened the door, and said, “What is that smell? Is that smoke?” and then saw the fat, hairy man lying on his roommate’s bed, smoking a cigar, and was so shocked that he couldn’t say anything else.

“Well?” Ron said, when Harry didn’t do anything, “Shut the door boy! Can’t you see I’m naked?”

Harry wasn’t one to simply obey an order, especially not from some random man who had broken into his room, but the words carried a certain force which he couldn’t bring himself to go against, and he shut the door behind him. The entire scene for Harry was difficult to take in, and the amount of smoke in the air was making him lightheaded. Tons of questions were running through his mind, but he was having a hard time concentrating on any one of them. “Where was Ron? Who was this strange man, and what had he done to his room? And why was his dick so hard?

“Who…Who are you?” Harry finally managed to mumble, as he let his backpack fall to the floor.

“What are you, dumb? I’m your daddy, boy.” Ron said, and sat up on the edge of the bed, his dick still rock hard, “Now get over here and help me out with this. I ain’t got all day.”

The answer didn’t make any sense, but Harry also knew that he was right. But how could that be? It was getting harder and harder to think, and he was feeling hornier and hornier. It was too hard to think, it was easier to just obey, but that couldn’t be right, could it?

“I don’t want to ask you twice boy,” Ron said, allowing a bit of sternness to slip into his voice. He wasn’t really mad, but that cub of his could be so thick sometimes. Thinking wasn’t really his strong suit, but he was a damn good lay.

As soon as he heard the words, Harry felt a wave of guilt poor over him. “Yes sir, sorry sir,” he said as he rushed over, and his daddy pulled him into his lap. Harry could feel the hard cock running between his legs and rubbing against his balls, and he shuddered.

“There, isn’t that better?” Ron asked, as he pawed at his boy’s rock hard dick through his jeans, making him moan. By now, all of the questions had fled to the back of his mind. Harry just wanted to feel good, and a growing part of him wanted to please his daddy too. He loved his daddy.

Ron pulled Harry’s shirt off of him, and started toying with his nipples, and Harry thought that something was wrong. Where was his slim body? His hairless chest? In their place, was a sizable gut with two small man-tits sitting on top of it, covered by a layer of hair, though not nearly as much as his daddy. He hadn’t been chubby earlier, and certainly not this hairy, but it felt so good, there couldn’t be anything wrong with it. He wanted to touch his dick, but he hadn’t been told he could, and daddy was the only one who could touch it without permission. He could feel his daddy’s dick running along his ass crack, and it made him want it inside of him. He only felt really complete when his daddy was inside of him.

“I’ve been fantasizing about that ass of yours all morning boy. How about you take my cock for a ride?” Harry grinned and nodded, then pulled down his pants. Ron positioned his dick, already slick with precum, at his boy’s asshole, and Harry slowly lowered himself onto it, whimpering a little at its girth, but he’d taken it so many times before that he knew he could handle it. He wanted his daddy to be proud of him and his ass. When the entire shaft was up there, Ron pulled his boy close to him and whispered into his ear, “Why don’t you stroke that cock of yours for me boy? But don’t even think about cumming yet.” Harry was only too happy to oblige, the feel of his daddy’s cock throbbing inside of him was almost enough to make him want blow his load, but he knew it would be better if he waited. His daddy always knew best. Slowly, he began to ride it up and down, loving the feel of his belly bouncing in time with his movements. His daddy kept his hands on his boy’s nipples, rolling them between his fingers, and between all of the stimulation, Harry’s dick started dribbling precum uncontrollably onto the floor.

“Yeah, you like that cock up your ass? It makes you feel good doesn’t it? That’s the only time you cubs are happy, when you have a big bear cock up your ass. God you’re so hot, you make me want to cum just looking at you. Look at yourself in that mirror,” Ron said. Harry could see a young man wrapped in the arms of a much older one, but it was not a man he recognized. First of all, he was much fatter. Not like his daddy, but more like baby fat, with a good sized gut and a second chin. He had buzzed hair, and a goatee as well, and a few piercings of all things. There was a ring through his septum, and he also had a tattoo on his right tit which said “Daddy’s Boy”. He liked the way he looked, but still, there was another voice, somewhere deep inside of him which was shouting that this was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be dumb, or fat, or hairy, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be letting himself get fucked by some random guy and be jacking off while it happened.

“Yeah, look at how hot you are, just begging to be fucked,” Ron said, and without pulling out, he stood up, turned them both around, and pushed his boy onto the bed, “And here, suck on this,” Ron said, and stuffed the half smoked cigar in Harry’s mouth, “I want to see you smoke while I fuck you.” Harry started puffing at the cigar, just like his daddy had taught him, and he heard Ron moan behind him as he started thrusting into Harry’s wide open ass, “Damn boy, this is going to have to be a fast one, because you have me so damn hot right now!” Ron only made it to two full length thrusts before he shot his load up his cub’s ass and collapsed on top of him, Harry still groaning with every pulse of the dick inside of him.

Ron eventually pushed himself up and pulled out, and Harry rolled over and sat up, still puffing on the cigar, and his own dick still rigid. Ron got down and front of him and started sucking at it, making his boy cry out in lust, and before long, he blew his load down his daddy’s throat.

“Damn, I love a good dose of cubcum, tastes like honey,” Ron said, and kissed his boy, feeding him some of what was leftover in his mouth, which Harry accepted hungrily.

“That’s my boy,” he said, and Harry blushed, happy that he made his daddy proud, but they were interrupted by a loud rumble from Harry’s stomach. “Sorry daddy,” he said, “I guess it’s time for lunch.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Ron replied, “And afterwards, I’ll be ready to have another go at that ass of yours. Why don’t you get dressed, and we can go get something to eat, and give me my cigar back.”

“Can’t I just finish this one daddy? There’s only a little left…” Harry asked, and Ron laughed.

“At this rate, you’re going to be a big old cigar bear when you grow up,” Ron said, and Harry grinned, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He picked up the overalls he had dropped earlier and pulled them on, without underwear of course, and slipped on his boots. Ron meanwhile pulled on a pair of jeans, and a muscle tank which stretched tightly over his gut, and revealed the forest of hair at the top of his chest. Before he left, he lit another cigar to tide him over during lunch. When he saw his cub waiting by the door, he growled at him, walked over and gave one of his nipples a tweak.

“I must have the hottest cub on this campus,” he said, making Harry blush again, and smacked his boy’s ass as they went through the door, leaving their old lives behind.

Episode 2 – Research Assistant


This episode contains graphic depictions of violence, bondage, and torture. If any of these fetishes disturb you (and they probably should) I advise that you read no further. This is a work of fiction, and the behaviors depicted in this piece should stay that way.

Carl wanted to get there on time, but not too early. Professor Erikson had announced that he was looking for research assistants for the year earlier that day in class, but Carl didn’t want it to look like he had been camping outside his waiting for his office hour to start. On the other hand, he wanted to get there first, before anyone else could grab the opportunity away from him. He was probably just overthinking it entirely, but this might be his only chance to get to work with the famous “Doctor Erikson” the famous psychologist. Professor Erikson was part of the reason Carl had decided to go to this college in the first place. The man’s neurological research had already made great strides in pharmacology, especially in the field of pain management. Carl wanted to see the man in action, and this research assistantship might be his only chance, “but no pressure,” he told himself as he walked down the corridor towards the man’s office.

He knocked on the door, and a deep, muffled voice came from within, and said, “Come in.” After wiping the sweat off his hands, Carl opened the door and entered the office.

“Professor Erikson? Hi, I’m here to ask about that…” Carl said, and then stopped. There was something odd going on. It definitely was Professor Erikson on the other side of the desk, but something was different. First of all, he was dressed from head to toe in a leather uniform of some variety which shone in the light, as though it had been meticulously polished earlier that day, but he hadn’t been wearing it earlier in class. He even had on a leather cap Carl had only seen on motorcycle policemen. Beyond his clothing, his body looked different too. Before, Professor Erikson had been a portly man at least in his sixties, who liked to entertain his students in class, and was always kind when he passed them in the hallway. However, gone was the potbelly he had sported before, and while his hair and beard were still white, he exuded a sense of confidence which made him seem half his age. He also was much more muscular, the leather sleeves stretched over his bulging biceps, and Carl thought he could even make out the outline of the man’s nipples through the shirt! But it was his eyes which were the most disturbing part. Carl had always remembered them as a bright green, but now they were steel gray, and gazed at him sternly and without emotion. However, a moment later, the feeling began to fade. Hadn’t the professor always dressed like this? What was so odd about that? But Carl was still unsettled enough that he could only stammer, “…about that, uh, research assistantship you…mentioned in class?”

“Shut the door behind you. I like my privacy,” was the only thing Professor Erikson said, and a little scared, Carl immediately shut the door behind him, accidently slamming it in his flustered state.

“I said shut, it, not slam it.”

“Sorry, it was an accident,” Carl muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“I said it was an accident. I didn’t mean to close it that hard,” Carl added, but regretted it, as Professor Erikson’s eyes hardened further and he stood up. His height had changed too. Carl remembered being about the same height when he had talked to the man last, but now Professor Erikson had several inches on him, which made Carl start to feel nervous, and a bit scared.

“I am your superior, Mr. Tramdor, and you will address me as such.”  

Carl wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, but he suddenly felt like he should run for his very life, but those eyes had rooted him to the floor. After a few seconds that felt like hours, his mouth just blurted out, “Yes sir, sorry sir.”

“That’s better, Mr. Tramdor,” Professor Erikson replied, and sat back down in his chair, “Now, you wanted to apply for the RA position?”

“Yes sir. I’ve studied your work a lot sir, and I know that you’re working with computers at the moment. I’m fluent in a variety of programming languages and I think I can be of help, sir,” Carl said, the formalities rolling off his tongue now. How could he have forgotten them earlier?

Professor Erikson sat back, and gave Carl a once over. “Well, no offense Mr. Tramdor, but I’m actually looking for someone with a bit more experience to fill the position.”

“What kind of experience would I need sir? I’m a fast learner, and really diligent. I promise that I would be completely committed to your project if you just gave me a chance sir.”

The professor chuckled. “Do you even know what I am researching at the moment?”

“The last I heard, you were working on a neurological implant designed to help individuals manage chronic pain, sir.”

Well, you do have spirit and know your stuff, at the very least. Strip for me, so I can see the rest of the package.” he ordered, but Carl just looked at him blankly.

“Excuse me sir?”

“I said strip. Get naked. I don’t like to ask twice, Mr. Tramdor.”

“But…why? What’s going on?” Carl said, mostly to himself. The wave of unease which first came to him when he walked into the office was back, but worse now. And he was afraid. Not just of Professor Erikson, though there was plenty in his eyes which scared him. Some primal drive within Carl told him that if he did not step out that door and run as far away from here as possible, he would lose his very soul.

Professor Erikson stood up again, and this time came around his desk towards Carl, who found that he couldn’t move a muscle. There was something compelling him to stay. He wanted to be Professor Erikson’s research assistant. Isn’t that what he had always wanted? There was something else too. It felt good to obey this man. No that wasn’t it. It was that the thought of disobeying him filled Carl with terror. Without another thought, Carl pulled his shirt off and slipped out of his shoes. Before the professor had crossed the short distance between them, Carl had gotten everything off, even his underwear, and stood there naked, at attention.

“Better, Mr. Tramdor. You are a fast learner,” Professor Erikson said, and then proceeded to inspect Carl from top to bottom, a fact that made Carl feel a bit ashamed. He looked like he had had time to master several programming languages. While by no means obese, Carl did have a bit of a potbelly, and he had never set foot in a gym aside from PE in high school. He wondered if he should say something, but decided against it, and realized how quiet the office was, aside from the occasional grunt mumble which came from the professor. When he finished the inspection, Professor Erikson came around in front of Carl. “Well first of all,” the professor said, “you’re out of shape. My assistants have to be in top physical condition if they want to please me.”

“Yes Sir. I’ll start going to the gym, sir,” fell out of Carl’s mouth, but it didn’t seem like something he would say. In fact, he hadn’t even intended to say it. And what had that been about ‘pleasing’? Something again seemed wrong with the professor’s last comment, but Carl couldn’t figure out what it was. He did want to please Professor Erikson, didn’t he? Wasn’t that why he wanted to become a research assistant in the first place?

“I expect all of my assistants to work out regularly. I’ll ask one of the coaches there to help train you personally. He knows how I like them. Other than that, it looks like you’ll do fine. Just one last test,” he said, and then, without any warning, grabbed both of Carl’s nipples and twisted them, hard.

The pain was so sudden and so strong that Carl almost screamed. He tried to pull away, but Professor Erikson wouldn’t let go, and for one terrifying moment, Carl was sure that he was going to rip them off. Just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, he let go, and Carl almost fell to his knees in relief.

“Yes, a very good response. I think you’ll do quite nicely,” the professor said, and then started picking up Carl’s clothes where he had thrown them in a heap on the ground.

“What are you doing with my clothes sir?” Carl asked.

“You won’t be needing them anymore, Mr. Tramdor.”

“But then…what am I going to wear? I can’t just walk around naked…” Carl said, but why had he even agreed to get naked in the first place?

Professor Erikson threw the heap into the trashcan, and then walked over to a closet which Carl hadn’t noticed before, and started rummaging through it for something, without answering Carl’s question. Carl figured he could probably move now, but didn’t want to risk angering the professor. He didn’t want to see those steel eyes turn harsh ever again. He would do anything to avoid that stare.

After some scrounging, the professor pulled out a leather harness, some leather shorts with zippers up the side, some socks and a pair of black leather boots. “Here’s your new uniform. It is what you will wear everyday from this point on. You will be in charge of maintaining the leather and caring for it nightly,” he said, and handed Carl the clothes.

“I…I can’t wear this sir. It’s…” Carl blushed, “kind of revealing…isn’t it?”

“That’s what all of my assistants wear. You’re no exception. Now get dressed, we have work to do.”

Carl just started at the clothes, trying to figure out what to do. Was this a joke or something? He couldn’t be seen walking around campus in clothes like this. He would be a laughing stock.

“Again, Mr. Tramdor, I don’t like having to ask twice. Now. Get. Dressed.”

Carl didn’t need to look in order to know that the eyes were digging into him again. Without another thought, he pulled on the pants, the feel of the leather strange against his penis which he just now realized was rock hard. “How long had it been like that? Why hadn’t the professor said anything?” he thought to himself, and blushed again, in shame. Then he fiddled with the harness, and when he couldn’t figure out how to put it on himself, the professor came over and did it for him. With the man, his idol, that close…Carl realized why he had gotten hard. There was an aura of suppressed power which Carl could feel emanating from Professor Erikson. His muscles pushing against the leather which squeaked softly as he moved. There was a musky aroma, a mixture of sweat and leather that made Carl even more aroused. Then the harness was on, and the professor backed up again. Trembling a little, Carl sat down and pulled on the socks and boots, then stood up looked down at himself.

He thought he would look ridiculous, but that wasn’t what he thought at all. He looked kind of hot. The shorts were tight enough to show off his package well, and he liked the feel of the leather against his skin, but he did wish he was more muscular, like the professor. The professor was one of the hottest, most handsome men he had ever seen. Not only had he read almost every article written by the man, but he also had spent the last few years fantasizing about him, and now, here was his chance to work with him. To serve him.

“One final touch,” the professor said. He walked up to Carl, fastened a leather collar around his neck, and padlocked it shut. “Perfect. Now, we have work to do in lab, assistant. Follow me.”

“Right now, sir? But…people will see me…” Carl said, a small part of him still resistant to the new desires flooding through him.

“I did not ask for your opinion. Come,” the professor said, and walked out the door. Unwilling to disobey, Carl quickly followed him, but instinctually stayed a few feet behind him. The professor was his superior; Carl knew that he had no right to walk beside him.

As they walked through the corridors of the building, every single person they passed stopped and stared at both of them in confusion. Carl was able to ignore the first few, by focusing on his professor ahead of him. But by the time they were walking past his fellow students he couldn’t help but turn red in shame. It didn’t help that his flabby stomach was on display for everyone to see, barely held in check by the leather straps of the harness. At least if he had bothered to take care of himself he wouldn’t feel as self-conscious. He couldn’t wait to get started at the gym, so he wouldn’t have to feel so ashamed. Then he could look more like his professor too. He loved his professor; he was perfect in every way. If he was a good assistant, his professor would reward him, and if that meant he had to wear this uniform for the rest of his life, he would do that for him. However, there was still another voice screaming in the back of his mind, telling him that he had been caught in some sort of trap. This wasn’t what a research assistant was required to do. He was behaving more like a slave, than a research assistant! But the words rang a bit hollow within him. This is what he’d fantasized about, wasn’t it? Working with the great Professor Erikson? Serving him? Sucking his cock, getting fucked? That was what he wanted. His dick hadn’t softened the whole time he had been walking, but now, he didn’t really care that people saw him. He loved his professor, his master.

He followed Professor Erikson down to the basement, where they entered an unlabeled room together, which Carl assumed to be the lab. He was half right. Along one wall of the room, there was a bank of computers running a variety of programs. However, the other looked like it belonged in a dungeon, not at a college. There were a variety of things which Carl had never seen before, but which didn’t look very comfortable. Along one of the walls, he could see a collection of paddles and whips hanging, as well as an assortment of other objects designed to cause pain. Carl began to wonder what kind of research Professor Erikson was doing down here, and what he had gotten himself into. That voice was back, and it was stronger. There was something strange going on, something very wrong, but for the life of him, Carl couldn’t figure out what it was.

The professor led him over to a table, where a variety of objects were laid out, the strangest being a metal crescent which looked like a headband. While Carl was looking around, the professor had picked up some wrist and ankle bracelets and had begun to fasten them onto Carl’s limbs. He then led him over to the middle of the room, where some chains were suspended from the ceiling. Without speaking, the professor attached the chains to the restraints on his hands, and did the same with Carl’s feet on the ground. By the end of it, he was spread eagle in the middle of the room, his cock bulging obscenely against his tight leather pants, wondering what was going to happen next.

“Now, as you know, I specialize in research about pain,” the professor said, “and I’ve needed an assistant to help me test my latest device. Before we do that though, I need a control sample.”

He picked up some metal clips from the table, and walked back to where Carl was, and clipped them onto his nipples. They pinched him much harder than the master had in the office, and it felt like they were on fire. Carl tried not to yell, and twisted in the chains, but that just made the clips whip back and forth, making his nipples hurt more. Carl didn’t know how long he would be able to take it. He had never experienced much pain in his life, and to suddenly have it inflicted upon him without pity…what was he doing here? He hadn’t signed up to be some guinea pig.

“How does it feel, assistant?”

“It hurts sir.”

“How much? On a scale of one to ten?”

“A lot sir. Please take them off.”

Give me a number.”

“Five. Please, I don’t like it.”

The professor laughed, “Five? Already? But we haven’t even gotten started yet.” He walked back over to the table and returned with some metal balls, which he hooked into the metal clips, causing them to pull harder on his nipples, and bringing out a groan from Carl. His dick was no longer hard, and he didn’t think he would be able to take much more of this.

“Please, no. It hurts…”

“Of course it hurts. It’s supposed to hurt. How can we do research on pain without inflicting it?”

The argument was ludicrous, not to mention unethical, but part of it made sense. Hadn’t he read about this in all of the studies he read? Isn’t this why Professor Erikson was so famous? Something still didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t figure out what.  He decided to just try and fight through the pain, as long as he could.

The professor took a moment to undo Carl’s leather shorts at the sides, and then took them off entirely, before returning to the table. By now, Carl’s nipples had started to go numb, which was a bit of a relief. While he waited for the professor to come back, Carl just tried to stay still, so that the weights wouldn’t shift and send a new spike of pain through him. When the professor came back, he had a metal cylinder about an inch long and more metal weights with him. “I’ll be nice and start you out small,” he said, and then unhinged the cylinder and latched it around Carl’s balls, pulling them away from his body. That wasn’t the worst of it though, because the professor then began to attach several weights to the cylinder, causing the pain to skyrocket as his balls were stretched downward. It was an entirely different kind of pain, as well, the kind of pain which almost made him want to throw up, and which only got worse as time wore on.

“Please sir, take it off. It hurts…” Carl moaned, but when he looked up, he saw Professor Erikson staring at him with those steel gray eyes. But they weren’t angry, they were happy. He was enjoying inflicting this pain on him. Carl also saw that the front of his leather pants were tented out.

“It hurts? How much?”


“My goodness, someone hasn’t felt much pain before. This is nothing, compared to what I could do to you.” The professor walked over to the wall and returned with a wooden paddle. Without any warning, he brought it down on Carl’s ass, making him cry out in pain.

“This is pain. This is your life now, boy. I do what I want to you, when I want to, and you take it because I give it to you, understood?”

“Please…no more,” was all Carl could utter. Tears were already streaming down his face just from that first hit, “no more pain.”

The professor hit him again with the paddle, harder this time, and Carl broke down into sobs of fear, “I said, is this understood?”

“Yes…please, yes. No more. I understand, sir.”

“Good,” Professor Erikson said, and came around in front of Carl, “I think that’s enough for a control sample.” First he took off the contraption from his balls, and then removed the clamps and returned them to the table. Blood rushed back into his angry red nipples, making them sting, but at least he could relax for a moment.

Professor Erikson came back from the table carrying the strange metal headband Carl had noticed before. After everything he had just been through, Carl had no idea what might be next. When the professor saw Carl tense up and try to pull away from him, he just chuckled, “Don’t worry, boy. After this, everything will be all better.”

After a bit of fussing, he managed to get it onto Carl’s head, so that it sat on his ears and went around the front of his head like a pair of glasses. He tried to shake it off, but the professor had secured them on somehow, and they wouldn’t budge.

Carl heard the professor’s voice over by the computers, “Initializing program ‘painpig’ in 3…2…1…” but before he could really grasp what was going on, a blaze of white light opened in front of his eyes, and Carl felt his mind shudder. For the next few minutes, he was entirely aware of what was going on in the room, but he couldn’t move, and he could feel something odd happening in his head. The dance of light before his eyes never stopped in that entire time. By the end of it, his senses had been so overloaded that he had started to drool without realizing it. After what felt like hours to Carl, the lights finally dimmed, and the professor removed the device.

“So, how do you feel?”

It took Carl a moment to remember how to speak. It felt like his very synapses have been rewritten, and he wasn’t quite used to the new connections yet. “Strange…sir. What did you just do to me?”

“Allow me to demonstrate. That will be easier than trying to explain it to you,” the professor said, and before Carl could react, he grabbed his nipples and twisted them violently. However, it wasn’t pain that Carl felt this time. Or, more precisely, it was painful, excruciating really, but he loved it. He let out a moan and felt his cock grow in his pants, and when the professor let go, all Carl could do was pant. “See? I told you everything would be fine.”

“Oh, God,” Carl moaned, “Please…do that again. I want more.”

“Really?” Professor Erikson grinned, “but just a few minutes ago, you were begging me to stop. I thought you didn’t like pain.”

“I…” Carl muttered, but couldn’t get anything out. He just wanted to hurt. He wanted his nipples twisted, his ass paddled, his back whipped. He wanted to feel all of it. “Please, sir. I was wrong. Please.”

The professor smirked, and retrieved the nipple clamps from the table and waved them in front of Carl’s face, “Are these what you want? What do you want me to do with them?” he said, and then rubbed them slowly on Carl’s raw nipples, making the boy shiver.

“Please, put them on me, sir. I need them, sir.”

“If you insist,” Professor Erikson said, and then clipped them onto Carl, who immediately moaned in lust.

“Oh yes. Yes! More…please…”

“Yeah, you like this, don’t you? You want to be my little painpig? You want me to beat you, and fuck you raw, and you’re going to love it, aren’t you?” He said, and twisted the clips, making Carl pant and his hard cock start to dribble precum on the floor, “I could brand you with a red hot iron, and you’d just ask for more. You’re all mine now, and we’re going to have a long semester together.”

Professor Erikson let go, and Carl, his body nearly pulsing with lust, just mumbled and begged quietly while the professor retrieved the ball stretcher and weights from the table.

“Just be patient, slave. You’ll get what you want—what you need,” he said, and secured the ball stretcher around Carl’s balls again, and added the weights as well, then watched as Carl’s eyes rolled back into his head in pleasure. Then he added the weights to the clips on his nipples as well, and started stroking his boy’s cock, making him go even more crazed with lust. “Yeah, look at what I’ve reduced you to. I could cut your balls off, and all you’d feel is sweet, sweet pain,” still stroking Carl’s dick with his gloved hand, the professor put his mouth right next to his ear, and started to whisper into it, “Let me tell you all of the things I’m going to do to you. I’m going to stretch your balls until they reach halfway to your knees. I’m going to stretch that ass of yours so wide it’ll take both of my arms at once. I’m going to pierce your nipples and pump them up until they look like little sausages sticking out of your chest. In fact, you’ll have so many piercings by the time I’m through with you that your head is going to look like swiss cheese and your dick and balls will look like a pincushion. I’ve already made some appointments at the tattoo parlor for you. You know what your first one is? It’s going to be the word ‘Painpig’ across your back, so everyone is going to know what you are, and what you love. You know what else? The whole time, you’re going to just beg me for more, and more, and more. Isn’t that right?”

Carl could only nod. He just wanted to feel that hand stroke his cock forever. To feel this exquisite pain forever.

“And that’s not all my computer can do. I can rewrite your entire personality. I can turn you into a sniveling little worm if I wanted to. I could make you piss yourself uncontrollably. I could make you horny twenty-four seven, but make it impossible for you to cum. I own you boy, body and mind. You’re mine, and you love it.”

With that, he walked away, back to the table, leaving Carl whimpering in need. He returned with one of the largest dildos Carl had ever seen. “Oh…sir. Please. Please let me cum.”

“All in good time, boy. But first, what do you think I should do with this dildo? Think it would be very painful if I shoved it up your ass?”

Carl could only nod, and imagine what it would feel like to have that massive black tube ripping his ass apart. Oh the pain! The pain would be beautiful!

“Tell me you want it boy. Tell me you want it, and I’ll shove it up there. I’ll drive it home, and when I do, you’re going to cum without even touching your dick. So tell me, do you want it?”

A small part of Carl, the same part who had told him to flee way back in the office, told him that he should say no. That if he didn’t say no, he would be this man’s plaything for the rest of his life. But the rest of him, all it wanted to do was serve this man. This handsome master who had given him so much painful pleasure. And he wanted that dildo up his ass. He wanted to know what it would feel like. How much it would hurt. He wanted it to hurt bad. He nodded, and said, “Please sir, put it in me sir. Shove that thing up my ass and make me scream.”

The professor smirked, and went around behind him. Carl could feel the rubber tip poking at his hole, and a second later, it was in. His ass cramped down on it, but the professor was merciless, and before he even knew what was happening, Carl was shooting thick wads of cum all over the floor in front of him, and the massive dildo was crammed all the way up his ass, and it felt good. It felt right. It felt horrific.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, you fucking pig?”

He was a pig. That’s what he had always been, he had just needed Professor Erikson to show him that. The professor was a god among men. Carl would serve him until the day he died, if only so he could become like him. When the professor came around to undo his restraints, his gray eyes no longer terrified Carl. They were beautiful. Hard and cold like a steel blade, merciless, utterly devoid of pity or remorse, and Carl loved them.

When all of his restraints were undone, Carl tried to walk, but was so weak, he fell to his knees. But that felt right too. He belonged on his knees before this man who had given him everything. He stared up at his professor, and saw that he had unzipped his uniform, and his large dick was sticking out. Without him having to say anything, Carl took it into his mouth and started sucking, twisting the clips on his tits while he did it. He was finally Professor Erikson’s research assistant, his painpig, and it was everything he had ever wanted it to be.

Episode 3 – The New Football Coach

“Hey Gorger! Catch!” Jason yelled across the locker room, and then threw his dirty jockstrap at George, where he was sitting on the bench. He had never had very quick reflexes, so he looked up too late, but right on time for the sweaty fabric to smack him right across the face, causing the rest of the football jocks in the room to start laughing their asses off. George’s ears turned red, and he peeled the jock off, only to find that everyone else in the room had joined in on the fun. He just cowered in a ball, and by the end of the barrage, he was surrounded by dirty practice uniforms, jockstraps and a collection of naked athletes, all laughing at him.

Their laughter was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Coach Davis from his office, and when he saw the scene, he just smirked, and said, “Glad to see you’ve already gotten started on the laundry, Mr. Redman,” which made all of the jocks laugh even harder, and George turn redder. He hated this job so much. He had no idea why he of all people had been forced to work as the assistant manager to the football team. Really, he was just a glorified towel boy. He did the team’s laundry, managed their equipment, and was Coach Davis’s errand boy, all for a measly nine dollars an hour. It didn’t help that he was fat, a fact which had earned him the nickname “Gorger” in the locker room. Of course, the stress of the whole situation had just made him eat more, and he had been gaining weight steadily since the beginning of the semester. All of his attempts to get out of the job had been unsuccessful, because he had a contract with the school which lasted until the end of the season, two long months away. Two long, excruciating months of daily humiliation. He had learned that it was easier just to try and ignore them all, so he got up and started picking up the laundry, while the jocks, still laughing, headed over to the showers.

When he had gotten all of it into the hamper next to him, he started over towards the laundry room in the gym, but he heard coach Davis call out behind him, “These too, Gorger,” and the coach hurled his own balled up laundry at the back of his head, causing the jocks to laugh even more. He hated them so much, but he didn’t have any power over them. No one in the administration had cared when he told them about how they treated him treatment. Coach Davis was the best thing to happen to the football team in years, and the school couldn’t afford to let him go. So George just picked up the clothes where they had fallen, added them to the pile, and left before anything else could happen.

It was already seven o’ clock, but George was used to being the only one left in the building at night. Besides, it wasn’t like he had any pressing engagements to get to that night. He was a freshman this year, and had hoped that college would give him a chance to start over. Instead, it turned out to be more of the same. More jocks making fun of him for his size. Still not able to make any friends, because he was too shy. It didn’t help that he was gay as well, and too afraid to tell anyone, because, if that the football team found out, the abuse would only get worse. Actually, it was worse than high school. At least in high school, he could go home and get away from everyone. Here, he actually had to live with these assholes.

He got to the laundry room, put the hamper on the table, took a deep breath, and sighed. Then, he took a deep breath again, through his nose. There was a smell in the room, something really…good. Something he needed. And it was coming from the hamper. George began rummaging through it, giving everything a sniff, but it was only a few of the items which had that smell on them, and he separated them out. When he finished, it turned out that he had laid out a sleeveless shirt, a jockstrap, some athletic shorts, and two socks. It took George a second to realize that they had all come from the same person, and that was from Coach Davis.

Ignoring his cock, which was now tenting in his pants, George paced the room, trying to figure out what was going on. The smell was still there, and he unwittingly took deeper breaths every time he passed by the coach’s clothes laid out on the table. What was going on? Sure, the coach was pretty handsome, but George hadn’t been attracted to him before; he was too much of a jerk to be likable. And he still wasn’t attracted to him. The thought to doing anything with the man made George’s skin crawl, but then why had he just been able to pick out all of the coach’s clothing out by smell alone? What in the world was going on? George stopped in front of the clothes, and a stray thought entered his mind. He wanted to try the clothes on. He wanted to get that smell on him, he wanted it to be his smell.

George shook his head, went over to the sink in the laundry room and splashed his face with water. Where had those thoughts come from? He’d certainly never had a thing for sweat, dirty laundry, or anything like that before. In fact, George preferred to keep himself clean, but something about putting on the coach’s clothes was turning him on big time. The feel that sweaty shirt against his skin, to smell the musk coming off of it, it would be so hot. And that jock…it was enough just to make him want to rip his clothes off.

George shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on something else, and realized that it felt a bit colder in the room. He looked around, and saw that he was naked. Startled, he looked around for where his clothes had gone, but they were nowhere to be found. He needed to get something on, in case someone walked by and saw him, and that was all the excuse his mind needed. He walked over the table, and started pulling on the coach’s clothes where he had laid them out. He pulled the shirt on first, pulling it down as far as he could. It was an extra large at least, but it still wasn’t enough to cover all of George’s gut. He didn’t care, it was on him, and that’s what mattered. Next came the jockstrap. He couldn’t help but smell it first, reveling in the scent of the coach’s crotch, and then stepped into it. It was a bit difficult to get on, because his legs were much bigger than the coaches, and he had to pull the pouch up and under his gut. Following the jockstrap came the athletic shorts, which were almost skin tight on him, and he couldn’t quite get them up to his waist. He could feel the top of his ass crack sticking out over the waistband, but he didn’t care. He was almost there. He sat down, pulled on the socks, stood up, and nothing happened.

Well, something happened. George immediately felt ridiculous. Why in the world had he wanted to try on these clothes so badly anyway? However, it felt like the next thing he should do was go look at himself in a mirror, but there weren’t any in the laundry room. The closest ones would be in the locker room, but he couldn’t go back there and risk being seen. His best bet would be the bathrooms down the hall. After checking that no one was coming, he hurried down the hallway as fast as he could, praying that no one should turn the corner and see him. As he walked, he noticed that the shorts were getting looser, and George figured that he had just managed to stretch them out. The same with the shirt. By the time he got to the bathroom, they almost felt comfortable, natural on him. And he could make out that smell again, stronger than before, and his cock was even harder than it had been in the laundry room. Inside, George rushed up the mirror, and looked at himself.

He was still fat, not that that was surprising, but the fact that the coach’s clothes fit him so badly just made that fact all the more apparent. His gut, or really, his apron, hung down out of his shirt (although hadn’t it been a bit bigger that morning?). His flabby shoulders pushed against the open sleeves, pinching his arms like sausages. His second chin completely obscured the collar of the shirt as well. The athletic shorts looked like they were pasted to his thighs, and while George couldn’t see the jockstrap, he could feel the elastic straps chaffing at his skin. The overall effect was laughable. It looked like a short fat kid trying to pretend he was an gym rat. He was about to take the shirt off, when he noticed something in the mirror. His gut was actually shrinking, visibly. Over the next few seconds, as he watched, it shrank, inch by inch, until it didn’t hang past the shirt at all anymore. George didn’t know why it had happened, but for whatever reason, he was overjoyed. However, that joy was cut short when he suddenly felt a deep ache start in his bones and radiate outward, causing him to bend over and moan. It grew in intensity, almost as though his bones were lengthening within him, and the rest of his body had to make way for their new size. His fat was melting away faster now, and he could see in the mirror that the clothes no longer looked too tight. In fact, they looked a little baggy.

The pain in his bones began to ease away, and carefully, George stood up straight again, and found that he must have grown six or seven inches at least, because he was seeing the entire room from a new, higher, perspective. Most of his fat had disappeared as well, leaving him looking quite slender. However, that look didn’t last for long, because his muscles began to ache and cramp, first in his legs, and then spreading up his body. He looked down and saw that his calves were quickly doubling in size, the muscles gaining definition, the same with his thighs. By the time the sensation had reached his waist, his legs where massive, every individual muscle bulging outward, and the shorts were back to being almost too tight on him, but stretched around two muscular thighs rather than two fat ones. His ass had built up definition too, and from the side, it looked like two hot slabs of muscle. The sensation rose higher, George lifted up his shirt and watched as a set of rock hard abs appeared where his gut had been just a short time ago. However, there was also a bit of fat built up there too, but it just pushed the muscles out, into a solid muscle gut. He ran his fingers along the ridges and shivered at the new sensation. On top of his gut grew two massive pecs as well, which stretched the shirt tight across them, so tight that he could make out his nipples through the fabric. His arms followed suit, biceps bulging out, veins popping up, even his forearms and wrists expanded to twice the size, and his hands became big, meaty paws. His neck expanded until it was lined with thick cords of muscle, and even his face became harsher, and more angular. By the end of it, he had obviously surpassed even the coach’s size, based on the way his clothes fit George’s body.  It really was his body too. George knew he had been fat just minutes before, but it had faded like an old memory. This was his new reality, and he couldn’t have been happier.

However, his transformation wasn’t finished yet. His skin tingled, and hair began to sprout all over. George had been moderately hairy before, but now he saw that even his forearms were covered. What was even stranger was that it was the wrong color. His hair had been brown, but the new stuff was a bright, ginger red. But as soon as he thought that, he realized that was wrong. He’d always had red hair. After all, that was where he had gotten his nickname, “Red.” It wasn’t very creative, since his last name was already Redman, but all of the boys on the team usually just called him “Coach Red.” He kept his hair clipped short, in a flat top, and had a short, but well trimmed beard on his face. He liked how rugged it made him look. Sure, he was getting on in years, and starting to show some grey too, but he was still a horny fucker, and didn’t mind showing it. He cupped his crotch and surveyed himself in the mirror. Yeah, he was fucking hot, a tall, hulking muscle bear, just like he’d always been. Tattoos appeared on his arms as well, but they looked a bit faded with age, as though he had gotten them years ago. There were twin snakes running through flames on his forearms, a bear paw on his right bicep, and a ring of barbed wire around the other one.

He lifted one of his arms and took a deep sniff from his hairy pit, reveling in his musk. He loved that smell. In fact, he loved the smell of men in general, especially right after they’d finished working out on the field, that powerful smell of grass, dirt, sweat, and good old masculinity. He could smell it all day, and never be satisfied. He hauled his cock out as well, and started stroking all nine inches of it. He loved a good jack off session after a day on the field. However, he liked a good fuck better, and as a matter of fact, there was someone in the building who could use a good fucking at the moment. Red shoved his cock back into his shorts, and stormed down the hall towards the locker room and the coach’s office, which, if he had his way, would soon be his office.

The first thing he heard when he got into the locker room was a moan coming from the coach’s office. Curious to see who was enjoying themselves so much, Red snuck over (far more gracefully than he thought he would be able to in his new body) and opened the door quickly. Inside, he found Coach Davis on his knees in front of Jason, sucking his cock, while the young athlete moaned loudly. When the door burst open, they both looked up, and saw an imposing redheaded musclebear dressed in Coach Davis’s clothes from earlier, filling the doorway. They could smell him too, and the sheer strength of it made them both swoon. Coach Davis felt his mouth start to water, and immediately imagined himself sucking that cock instead of Jason’s. Wasn’t that the cock he was supposed to be sucking anyway? He shook his head, wiped up his mouth, and embarrassed to have been caught in such a position, shouted, “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your replacement,” Red said, and then pointed at Jason, “You, out. Go lift some weights and wait for me. Be sure to work up a sweat by the time I get there.”

Jason wasn’t one to take orders, but the witty retort he had prepared died on his tongue, and that disturbed him. He was someone who liked to be in control. He had whittled down Coach Davis’s defenses for months before the man had finally relented and sucked his cock. However, this new guy (coach, his mind told him) had a natural sense of authority about him. Jason not only couldn’t disobey him, he didn’t even want to. Without another thought, he high-tailed it out of the office, putting on his gym clothes as he went, and headed for the weight room, leaving Davis and Red alone.

“Quite a show you were putting on there. You suck off all of the players on the team?” Red said, and Davis blushed.

“Shut the fuck up and get out of my office. I don’t know how you got in here, but don’t make me throw you out the door.”

Red laughed, “Excuse me? This is my office. As I said earlier, I’m your replacement. But that means we need to find an opening for you…” Red started rubbing his bulge, and Davis watched it for a moment, transfixed. Then he shook his head, and stood up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now get out.”

Red took a step closer, and watched Davis’s knees tremble, being so close to him, but the man still resisted. Some part of Davis’s mind told him he was in mortal danger, that this was a time to either fight, or flee, and he had never been someone to run from a fight. So he took a swing at Red’s face.

Without any conscious thought, Red’s body grabbed the incoming fist, redirected the force and threw Davis out of the office and onto the rough concrete of the locker room floor. A moment later, Red was on top of him, trying to pin him to the ground. Davis fought, and he fought well, but there was no way he could have won. Red was not only larger and more skilled than him, but with every breath Davis took, he took in more of Red’s musk. The musk which told him to give up, obey, and let the superior man dominate him. It would feel so good, it would feel right, if he just submitted. A minute later, Red had him pinned face down on the ground, and was lying on top of him, grinding his rock hard, nine inch cock up the crack of Davis’s bare ass.

“Yeah, you feel that? That’s a real man’s tool. Did you see how fast I pinned you? How fast I beat you? You don’t deserve to be top dog around here, do you?”

Davis just moaned, and started bucking his hips in rhythm with Red’s thrusting. He was so horny. All he could smell was Red, all around him, and he wanted him. He wanted him to dominate him. He wanted that cock up his ass. A real man’s cock up his ass. It was what he needed, what he deserved. “Please…please, Sir. Fuck me. I need it,” He heard himself say. He couldn’t help it. He needed release, and Coach Red could give it to him.

“You want me to fuck you?” Red asked, and pulled his cock out of his pants, “Do you want me to ram this entire dick of mine up your ass, to make you scream for me? Is that really what you want?”

Davis could only moan, and weakly nod his head. Red spit a few times into his hand, and rubbed it up and down the shaft until it was slick, then lined it up at Davis’s hole. He applied some pressure, and Davis’s virgin cherry gradually gave way to Red’s monster. The man beneath him grunted at first, and then shouted out as the head slipped past his inner sphincter and started to rub up against his prostate. He felt so full, it felt so right. How could he have avoided submitting for so long? Why had he not immediately knelt down and kissed the feet of this god, this man who was giving him so much pleasure?

Red started slowly, and then began to work his dick in deeper, inch by inch, into Davis’s asshole. As he did, he watched the man beneath him change. He started to lose some of his mass first, though it wasn’t so much muscle as mass in general. It was almost like he was becoming more compact. As Red became more aggressive, though, Davis did start to lose some muscle, as well as some of his body hair as well. He also noticed that the bald spot on his head filled in, and assumed that Davis was growing younger as well. His moans were also increasing in pitch, moving up from the deep bass he had had to a low tenor, with a hint of a lisp. By now, Davis was actively pushing back into Red, begging him to show his boy how much of a man he was, and Red just fucked him harder, pulling his entire cock out and then ramming it back in. On one such thrust, he heard Davis give a low moan, and felt his ass spasm, signaling that he had just shot his own load onto the concrete floor without even touching his dick. The thought of that drove Red wild, and he began pounding his boy’s ass even harder.

“Yeah, feel that?” Red said, “That was you shooting with a man’s dick buried up your asshole, you little pig. You want daddy’s bearcum up your ass? Cause that’s what you’re going to get!” he plunged his cock in as far as it would go, and let loose. With every pulse of his cock, he could watch Davis’s figure begin to bloat, and fill up with fat. The thought that he had just taken a fellow coach, and fucked him into a little ass pig made Red even hotter. He was going to enjoy having his new towel boy around, and from the moans coming from the boy beneath him, he wasn’t the only one who was going to enjoy their new relationship.

When his dick finally shrank back, Red pulled it out and stood up. A bit unsteady on his feet, the cub who had previously been Coach Davis stood up as well. While nowhere near as fat as George had been not even an hour ago, he was still quite chubby, with a round face, neatly trimmed goatee, and hair matted and sweaty from the fuck he had just gotten. He was also quite short, and only came up to Red’s chin. The weight looked good on him however, and he had a solid build, which told Red he would be a hot, fireplug of a man one day. Red was surprised to find that the anger which he had felt for Davis was suddenly washed away in a tide of adoration. He pulled his cub into him and kissed him passionately, an act that Davey was happy to return.

They lingered together a bit afterwards, and Davey couldn’t help but sniff at his coach’s pit, reveling in the stink of his daddy, “Daddy Red, you smell really good.”

“Well, when you grow up, you’ll smell just as good as I do. But for now, why don’t you go finish up the laundry. If you do a good job, I’ll let you sleep with my dirtiest jockstrap tonight, how does that sound?”

Davey just grinned, and hurried off, walking a bit bowlegged and still naked, to the laundry room, and Red chuckled. He did love his cub, and with a little work, he’d grow up to be as big a man as his daddy. For now though, Red had one last person to see before he could call it a night. He tucked his now soft dick back into his shorts, and headed for the weight room.

When he got there, he found Jason at the bench press, working away, and as per Red’s orders, he had managed to work up quite a sweat. When he saw Red come into the room, Jason put the barbell back on the rack, and sat up. Red strode over, laid him back down on the bench and kissed him, while Jason reveled in their combined sweat and musk. He loved his evening sessions with Coach Red; they were the best part of his day. They were even better when the whole team stuck around, and they partied in the showers for a few hours together. Red always said that team bonding was important, and no one questioned what Coach Red said.

“What do you say we up the weight a bit?” Red said, and got up, adding a couple of twenty pound weights to the bar, “I’ll spot you.”

Jason laid back down, and found himself face to face with his coach’s bulge. He could smell it through the athletic shorts, and it made him feel hot, and horny.

His own cock began to tent in his shorts, at the thought of slathering away at his coach’s cock. “I don’t know if I can handle that much, coach,” he said, “What’s my incentive?”

“Ten reps, and you can suck my cock. How does that sound?”

Jason just picked the bar up in reply, and started pumping it up and down. The first five were easy, but then he started to get a bit winded. When Red say this, he started giving Jason a bit of encouragement, “Come on Jason, what are you, a weakling? You want to suck my cock or not? I mean, if you don’t really want to, I’m sure I can get Mitch in here and he’ll bench this no problem. Maybe I should just take you off first string. Mitch can suck my cock if you aren’t man enough to get that barbell up. Come on, you got two more to go. I know you want it, you always want a taste of my hard, sweaty cock, don’t you boy? But maybe you’re heart isn’t in it tonight. Push through, you only got one left. You can do it, there!”

Jason made it up on his last rep, arms shaking, and got the barbell back onto the rack with Red’s help. He was rewarded a moment later with Red’s cock slammed down his throat. He started sucking at it while his coach rammed his meat in and out, fucking his throat. By the first week of working with Red, Jason had already lost his gag reflex, and now coach’s cock just went down easy. He started rubbing his own cock through his shorts, while Red bent over the bar and started tweaking Jason’s nipples. Even though he had just cum a few minutes ago, the sight of the top jock choking down his meat was too much for Red, and he shot his second load of the night down Jason’s throat. When he came down from his orgasm, he saw that Jason, too, had changed, though not as drastically as Davey. He looked like he had packed on a bit of muscle, just from drinking his coach’s cum. Jason licked his lips, and smiled at his coach, still stroking his own cock, and said, “Now what are we going to do about this thing?”

Red came around, and sat on the bench, “Keep strokin’ it for me. And while you’re at it, clean out my pits for me. I know how that turns you on.”

Jason didn’t need to be asked twice. Red lifted up his arm and Jason buried his face in his coach’s pit, took a deep breath, and moaned. The smell was so strong, so masculine. He just wanted to lose himself in it. He started licking away, and as he did, he stroked his dribbling cock faster and faster, while Red whispered in his ear, “Yeah, lick that pit. Get that smell all over your face. You like that, don’t ya? You like the smell of a real man? Boy, I haven’t showered for days, and you’re just lickin’ up all that sweat and grime like it was the tastiest thing in the world. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—none of you boys can resist my stink. You all fight in the locker room for a chance to lick out my grimy pits, don’t ya? Cum boy! Cum with your face buried in your coach’s pit!”

Unable to take it anymore, Jason shot his load all over both of them, his face never leaving Red’s armpit until his dick had gone soft, and then, only reluctantly. He was panting, and exhausted, but Red was just getting started. That show had gotten his dick all hard again, and he figured he would have to give Davey another fuck that night, before they went to bed.

“I think that’s enough for the day, Jason. But don’t hit the showers. I want you to be good and sweaty for our practice session tomorrow morning,” Red said, and winked.

“Sure thing coach,” Jason replied, grinned, and then left to go get changed.

Alone in the weight room, Red took a moment to catch his breath. He lay back on the bench press, one hand behind his head, the other idly stroking his cock, fantasizing about all of the players at practice tomorrow. He figured they could use a day inside on the weight machines, naked of course. It was good to be the coach.

Episode 4 – Rumor Mill


This episode contains graphic depictions of raunch, fisting, and light scat. If any of these fetishes disturb you (and they probably should) I advise that you read no further. This is a work of fiction, and the behaviors depicted in this piece should stay that way.

It was the first party he had gone to since breaking up with Rachel, and Henry couldn’t have been happier. Now, he could go to the parties he wanted to go to, talk to people he wanted to talk to (including other women, which Rachel had forbidden) and be happy as a single man once again. He’d forgotten how good it was to be free. It was a good party too, and that helped. It was being thrown by some of his football buddies, partially as a celebration of the fact that he had finally broken up with that witch, but no one had said so explicitly. But that wasn’t really important. At that moment, all he was really interested in was Jamie, and she seemed as interested in him, he hoped.

Henry was one of the rising stars on the varsity football team, and that was one of the reasons Rachel had been so attracted to him. He was handsome, smart, and for the most part, a genuinely nice guy, which didn’t happen very often in the same package. Of course, given the fact that the night had started so well, it could only have ended badly. It all started when Paula, Denise, and Maddie spotted him across the room, glared at each other, and started over towards where he was chatting with Jane.

Around campus, Rachel, Paula, Denise and Maddie were known as the fierce four, and they had earned that name. Rachel was the ringleader, and the only reason those three would have been at the party was to make Henry’s life a living hell. All four of them tried to look as much like one another as possible, but they all had defining characteristics. Paula, for example, had always been a bit thicker, even though she worked out more than the others. Denise was the cruelest, and liked to humiliate people for the fun of it. Maddie was the most athletic, and was on the rowing team. She was also the craftiest, and the second in command behind Rachel, so she was the first one to speak as they neared, “Girl, what the hell are you doing talking to him? Don’t you know anything?”

Jane didn’t. In fact, she didn’t even know who these girls were. “Excuse me? Who are you?” she said, getting a bit defensive. Henry felt his stomach turn into an empty pit. Who in the hell had let these three in?

“Look,” Denise said, putting her hand on Jane’s shoulder, “We’re just looking out for your best interests, girlfriend. This guy is nothing but trouble.”

“Haven’t you heard the rumors going around about him?” Paula chimed in. Henry knew that if he didn’t say something fast, he would have no shot of stopping this.

“Look, don’t listen to them. They’re only here because I broke up with their friend.”

“Oh, don’t listen to him, girl. You know what I heard about him?” Maddie said, and whispered something in Jane’s ear, who recoiled in disgust.

“What? That’s disgusting!”

“No kidding,” Denise said, “But that’s not the worst of it. I heard that…” she whispered something else, and Jane just looked at Henry in disgust.

“You’re fucking sick,” she spat, and stormed off, leaving Henry surrounded by the three bitches from hell. They looked at him, waiting for him to beg for their forgiveness, to go crawling back to Rachel, but Henry was so angry, he didn’t even care. “You know what? Say what you want. It just proves that you’re the jealous bitches that everyone knows you are. Besides, just because you say something doesn’t make it true,” he said, and then stormed off.

He heard them laughing at him as he walked away, but Henry didn’t care. He wasn’t about to go apologize to Rachel. Besides, she was the one who had cheated on him! He figured that the whole thing would just blow over eventually if he waited it out, so that’s what he would do. He headed back to the keg for another beer, and while he was pumping, he thought about just getting out and going home. But why should be cancel his plans just because those three bitches had shown up? That wouldn’t solve anything. He should just try to have a good night, even if by the end of it everyone there thought he was a scumbag.

But despite his attempts to have a positive outlook, his mood was irreparably damaged. He thought about dancing a bit, but he just didn’t really feel like it. He knew a beer pong game was going in the basement as well, but he didn’t really feel like getting smashed. Instead, he found an empty chair in the corner of the room, and nursed his beer for a while. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the massive guy making a beeline for him until he was halfway across the room. He was tall, even taller than Henry, and definitely a lot wider. He had on a flannel shirt which was unbuttoned, and under that he had on only a wife beater, stretched over his substantial gut that extended out in front of him like a beach ball. Two suspenders ran up on either side, that held up a pair of grubby looking jeans and made his stomach look all the larger. He was balding badly, and had a thick beard on his face as well. He couldn’t have been less than forty years old, and definitely didn’t belong at a college party. But as he approached, a name came to him. This man was Paul, though Henry didn’t know how he knew that. And for some reason, he knew that he was supposed to be here, even though that didn’t make any sense at all either. By the time his head had managed to sort this out, it was too late to get out of the way, and Paul had him cornered, his massive belly blocking any exit out of the chair.

“What do you want, Paul?” Henry asked. He was annoyed at him, but he didn’t know why. Where did he know him from, and why was he so familiar? It seemed like he had just talked to him moments ago.

“Oh, not much. I just wanted to tell you something.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I’ve been hearing some rumors about you, Henry.”

Henry just rolled his eyes. Apparently things had been spreading faster than he thought, “Yeah, well you can’t believe everything that you hear.”

“Well, I’ve heard that you’ve really been letting yourself go lately. Eating massive amounts of food at all-you-can-eat buffets, pigging out on pizza at home. You’ve been getting so fat, that they threw you off the football team last year. You’re even beginning to look like a pig.”

Henry said nothing, and just waited for Paul to finish. It obviously wasn’t true; he could look down for himself and see his ripped abs and tight pecs. How low had Rachel gotten to spread such a blatant lie?

“I also heard that you’ve been letting your hygiene slip. You haven’t cut your hair or beard in months, and you don’t even wash them, that is, when you can even be bothered to take a shower. You also quit shaving yourself, and all of your body hair has grown in. You don’t even bother to wear clothes that fit you properly anymore. You’re a fucking slob. The funniest part is that you apparently like it.”

“I think you can see, right in front of you, that none of the things you just said are true.”

Paul just laughed, “Well, we’ll see, Henry. We’ll see,” and then he turned around and lumbered off.

What a prick, Henry thought, and chugged the rest of his beer, and let out a loud belch, making some of the people nearby turn and stare at him. He just glared back, but felt his stomach rumble. Dang, he was hungry all of the sudden! Good thing the guys planning the party had ordered a bunch of pizza. With a little more effort than he expected, he hefted himself out of the chair, and wandered into the kitchen, where a collection of pizza boxes littered the counters and table. He grabbed a plate, and started piling slices on top of it. He knew he shouldn’t eat this much, but who would know? It’s not like he was eating all of the pizza, there was still plenty left. In fact, he could probably afford a few more pieces, even, so he piled on a few more. Then, he sat in a nearby chair, his stomach now growling audibly at him, and started cramming slice after slice into his mouth. He didn’t even care how it tasted—he just wanted it in him. He slammed down five pieces in about ten minutes, and was still hungry. No one had come in during that whole time, so Henry just grabbed a nearby pizza box and started eating the remaining half right there and then.

As he ate, some part of him was telling him that this was wrong. He shouldn’t be behaving like this, he had football to think about! But the next moment, that thought seemed really strange. Hadn’t he gotten kicked off the football team? That thought made him remember what Paul had said just minutes ago, and Henry stopped eating long enough to look down at himself, and freaked.

Sometime in the last ten minutes, he must have gained close to a hundred pounds, or maybe more. Gone were his ripped abs, replaced by a gut, or rather, an apron which hung down between his legs where he sat. On top of that, two massive man tits stretched his T-shirt tight across them, so tight that he could see his nipples, which had expanded in size as well. His thighs had lost most of their definition, and had doubled in size, not to mention his flabby, ham like arms. He threw the pizza box back on the table, and pushed himself up. He had to get to a mirror. He hustled as fast as he could to the closest bathroom, his hustle actually resembling a quick waddle. As he walked, he could feel his fat thighs rubbing up against one another, and his belly shivered with every step. He could also feel a bit of a draft against the lowest hanging part, which he could only imagine meant that at least a couple of inches had to be hanging past the bottom of his tightly filled shirt. He could also feel his pants slipping down as he moved, exposing his ass crack for everyone to see. A couple of times, he stopped and tried to pull it back up, but he eventually just gave up and hoped they wouldn’t just fall down around his ankles. As he passed the other partiers, they invariably stopped and stared at the fat ass passing by them, and this just made Henry feel even worse. He got to the bathroom, and thankfully found it empty. He rushed in, and locked the door behind him, before looking at himself in the mirror.

Of all the things he saw, what drew his attention wasn’t his new, fat body, it was the massive mane of hair which now surrounded his head. His hair now fell past his shoulders in thick waves, and looked greasy and matted, like it hadn’t been combed in weeks. His beard was a similar length, and looked equally unkempt, and hung down almost to his chest. Even his face looked fatter, with two puffy cheeks, and it looked like his eyebrows had grown thicker as well. He could also see that a massive second chin had formed around his neck, but most of it was obscured by his beard, thankfully. Something he also hadn’t noticed earlier was that his entire body was covered with a seeming forest of curly brown hairs, even on his knuckles. He hadn’t been that hairy before. He also hadn’t been fat, and hadn’t looked like a total slob…or had he?

Sure, he’d let himself go a little…ok, he’d let himself go a lot. But who cared? He gave his belly a scratch, and watched his shirt ride up a little higher, revealing a deep, wide belly button. Sure, he wasn’t attractive in any sense of the word, but who wanted to be attractive? All those practices and hours in the gym, why did it matter? Especially when what he really wanted to do was get drunk and eat until he felt like he was going to burst. He had mostly come to the party tonight because he had heard about the pizza and near bottomless beer. He’d already demolished two pizzas without anyone noticing, hadn’t he? And what was the deal with Paul earlier? Everyone could see that he had turned into a total slob, but why should he care? Henry pulled up his shirt, which was looking frayed, and had quite a few stains on it, and let his gut fall all the way out, and started rubbing it. It actually felt kind of good, and in his dirty jeans, he could feel his dick start to get hard. He knew that it shouldn’t feel good, but so what if it did? He had always been so uptight before, why not just let it all go? His stomach gurgled a bit, and Henry let out a loud fart, but even that felt right. He liked being a slob, and he wasn’t about to stop just because some people didn’t like it.

He pulled his shirt down, happily leaving some of his hairy apron exposed, hiked up his jeans a bit, and decided to go demolish another pizza, just because he could. He unlocked the door, and opened it, but found his way blocked by a man. Henry’s first thought was that no man could look that muscular. Well muscular didn’t really describe it well enough—steroid ridden would have been a better word. He had a shaved head, though it was scruffy, along with his face, as though he hadn’t bothered shaving for a few days, and his entire body looked like it had been blown up to Popeye proportions. He wore a tight shirt which looked like he could burst out of it at any minute, and bleached jeans stretched tight enough that Henry could easily make out the sizable bulge within them which snaked down one of his pant legs. On his feet he wore tall doc martin boots, the leather shiny and newly polished. However, it was the eyes which filled Henry with unease. They were exceptionally cruel eyes, the irises nearly black. And they were leering at him. At first, he didn’t recognize the man, but as with Paul earlier, his brain supplied a name for him: Dennis.

“Get out of my way, Dennis,” Henry said, trying not to sound scared, but part of him was scared. This guy could cream him to a pulp, if he wanted.

“Nah, I’ve been waiting to talk to you, Henry. See, I’ve been hearing some things about you recently that I thought you should know about.”

Henry felt his stomach drop. Hadn’t this just happened a bit earlier? Part of him wanted to plug his ears, but he couldn’t. All he could do was ask, a bit nervously, “Oh yeah? What?”

Dennis smirked, and leaned in close to Henry, “Some people have been saying that you’re gay Henry.” He waited for a reaction, but Henry didn’t give him one, so he just continued, “Not only that, but they say you’re a total pervert. All you think about is sex, all the time. You hit on every guy you talk to, just to try and get them into bed. Of course, not many guys want to have sex with you, so you just beg them to fuck you, or to let you suck their cock. Not to mention the fact that you’re so fat, and your dick is so small, that you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone anyway!”

“That isn’t true,” Henry said, but he found his voice wavering a little. Dennis was suddenly not just a brute, but a really attractive brute. And Henry was feeling really horny all of a sudden. Henry tried to force the thought away, but every time he tried, it just became stronger. He wanted Dennis to fuck him, and he wanted it badly.

“Not only that,” Dennis continued, “You’ve also gotten all sorts of lewd tattoos during the last few months, not to mention a ton of piercings. I’ve heard that you did it because you’re a total exhibitionist—you love showing off your fat body, so you started wearing all sorts of revealing leather outfits, just to get people’s attention. You’re a sex pig, and you want everyone to know it.”

Henry tried to listen to what Dennis was saying, but was too busy thinking about that massive cock, and what it would be like to suck on, or feel it up his ass. He needed that cock, no matter what it took. “Shut up, get in here, and fuck me already,” was all Henry could say. He couldn’t resist it anymore. He hadn’t had sex in hours, and he was so god damn horny!

Dennis just laughed, “You? Why would I want to fuck a fat, filthy ass like yours? If you want my cock, you’re going to have to be more polite than that.”

“Please, will you fuck me? God, I’m so horny,” Henry said, his dick now rigid.

“Get on your knees and beg, then I’ll consider it,” was all Dennis said.

Henry knelt down, and licked his lips. He was so close to that cock, he could almost taste it. “Please, fuck me Dennis, I need your hot cock up my ass. I’ll do anything you want, please.”

“Clean my boots, you fucking whore.”

Without a second thought, Henry got down and started licking at the leather, the only thing on his mind how much he needed this skinhead’s cock up his ass. It was so empty, and his dick was so hard. He’d do anything for it.

He finished one boot, and got started on the other one, while Dennis rained abuse down on him from above. “Look at you,” he said, “you’re so desperate for cock that you’ll do anything, won’t you? You’d drink my piss, be my toilet just so I’m pump a load up your ass, isn’t that right? You’d be my slave, obey my every order, just to feel my dick slamming down your throat.”

Henry just nodded, never taking his tongue away from the leather. A moment later, Dennis pushed him off with his foot, making Henry sit back onto the floor, the linoleum cold on his bare ass, which was shown off through the leather chaps he was wearing.

“I suppose I’ll give you a fucking, since you need it so much. Get up,” Dennis said, and Henry stood, turned around, and braced himself against the counter, face to face with himself in the mirror. Dennis pulled out his dick, spat in his hand for lube, and then in one push, shoved the entire shaft up Henry’s ass.

He screamed, half in pain, half in pleasure. This is what he wanted, what he needed. He’d do anything to feel this all the time. He could feel his own three inch dick rock hard in the pouch of his leather jockstrap, and wanted to jack off, but knew he wouldn’t be able to reach it past all of his fat. After the first few painful moments, his ass adjusted to Dennis’s dick, and every thrust past his prostate just made Henry shiver in pleasure. He looked at himself in the mirror, and noticed that something looked different, but he couldn’t figure it out, through his sexual haze. He examined the tattoos of fleshy penises braiding themselves up his arms, past his shoulders, and all the way to his fat tits, where they were spurting puddles of cum onto his chest. Across his belly, written in bold letters were the words “SEXPIG” large enough that they could be read across a large room. On his back, he remembered, he had gotten a tattoo of a man fucking an ass, as seen from the top down. All he had on was a leather harness, chaps, jockstrap and boots, which did nothing to obscure all of the explicit images which covered nearly every part of his body.  

Besides the tattoos, he was heavily pierced as well. Through his nipples, he had two massive rings which he loved guys to pull on while they fucked him. Both of his ears were heavily pierced with a multitude of rings and studs. He also had on earrings which were sculptures of a cock and balls hanging from his lobes. He had a massive septum in his nose, as well as several piercings in his eyebrows and lips, not to mention his tongue stud. Guys loved it when he ran it along the underside of their dicks while he sucked them off. He also had quite a few piercing in his dick and balls, and because it was so small, some guys had compared it to a key ring. When someone gave him a hand job, you could even hear it jingle.

Behind him, Dennis was grunting like an animal in heat, and pounding Henry’s ass harder and harder. He had finished with his insults, and was focused on reaming Henry’s ass as hard as he could, and Henry loved it. With a loud groan, he felt Dennis’s dick start pulsating as he came deep within his ass, but that didn’t stop him from continuing to fuck Henry until his dick was too soft to continue. Bring out a final moan from Henry, he pulled out, zipped up, and started to leave the bathroom.

“Hey, what about me?” Henry gasped, still not fully recovered from his fucking.

“What about you? Who said I was going to help you cum?” Dennis said, “You’re a slut. No one cares if you cum.”

Henry turned red in the face, and a thought came into his mind. It was a risk, but why not give it a try? “You know, Dennis. I heard a rumor about you, too.” Dennis stopped in the doorway, frozen, and Henry took that as a sign that he should keep going, “I heard that you love sucking dick more than you like breathing.”

“Shut up pig,” Dennis replied, but he turned around and glared at Henry, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “Sure I do. I know that you love hanging around rest areas, sucking off all the guys who come in. You only feel happy with a fat cock down your throat, but size doesn’t really matter to you. You’ll suck anything. However, what you really love are fat guys. You love worshipping their bellies, digging through their gunt and finding their cocks to suck. You love being smothered by them. In fact, you have to obey the orders of any guy fatter than you, don’t you?”

“Shut up you fucking whore, I’ve heard enough from you!” Dennis yelled, but Henry could hear cracks forming in his stern demeanor. He was panicking.

“No, you shut up, get over here and suck my cock.”

Dennis tried to resist, but licking his lips, he came over and knelt down in front of Henry, lifted up his apron, and after a bit of digging, Henry felt Dennis’s hand pull out his little rigid cock and start sucking away at it.

“Yeah, that’s right. Suck my cock. You know what else I heard? You hate being a muscle man. In fact, what you want more than anything is to be fat. A tub of lard. Morbidly obese. You won’t stop until you hit five hundred pounds of skinhead slut. But that’s just going to make you even hungrier for cock. You aren’t very fat now, but that’s going to change pretty fast, isn’t it? With all those drugs you’re taking to slow your metabolism and get rid of those muscles? Hell, in a couple of months, you’ll already be three hundred pounds!”

Dennis didn’t say anything, he was too busy sucking hard on Henry’s cock. Henry was getting off on his newfound power, and he felt his balls contract and blow his load deep down Henry’s throat, who took it all, groaning and moaning in pleasure. When he stood up a minute later, he looked at Henry with the deepest hatred he could muster. Henry noticed that many of his muscles had lost their definition, and he was looking a little chunky around the middle not to mention the wet spot on the front of his jeans where he had cum while taking Henry’s load.

“Quit moping and enjoy it,” was all Henry said as Dennis walked out, leaving him alone again. Henry couldn’t wait to see Dennis in a few months, when he would be even bigger than he was. Damn, would that be satisfying. And speaking of satisfying, he was horny again. After readjusting his leathers, and admiring himself in the mirror, he headed out of the bathroom, intent on finding more cock. What he found instead, waiting in the hallway, was a muscle bear blocking his way. While Dennis had been a mass of muscle, this man was much more toned, and natural looking. He was dressed in a sleeveless tank and gym shorts, with a short trimmed goatee. His name, Henry suddenly remembered, was Matt.

“Hey Henry,” Matt said, “I heard a rumor about you tonight.”

Henry just gulped, and waited for what he knew was coming. But, things couldn’t get much worse. He barely remembered the life as he had had just hours ago, but they were wistful memories just the same. He had had such potential. Of course, he was happy as a fatass slut too, but that was beside the point.

“I heard,” Matt said, walking closer, “That you are a total asspig.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Henry said, though he already had a good idea of what it meant.

“It means you’ll do anything to get a cock up your ass. In fact you might well be addicted to it. You keep a dildo up there 24/7, well, except for when you’re getting fucked or fisted. Yeah, you especially love it when guys line up to shove their forearms up your ass. But it isn’t really your ass, is it? It’s your cunt. It’s also the only way you get hard anymore, with someone beating on your prostate with their cock or fist. It’s also the only way you can cum.”

Henry wanted to call him a liar. He wanted to say that it wasn’t true. But he said nothing. What good was it to hope for the impossible? “Just leave me alone, Matt. I’m not interested.”

“Really?” Matt asked, and reached around behind Henry, and found the shaft of the dildo Henry kept shoved up there, “Would it interest you if I start doing this?” Matt said, and started pulling it out and pushing it back in, making Henry moan.

“Oh yeah, fuck my cunt, that feels so good.”

“Of course it does,” Matt said, and shoved the dildo in as far as it would go, “And I think you deserve a good reaming, don’t you?”

Henry could only moan and nod, and let Matt pull him into a nearby bedroom. Once there, Matt pushed him onto the bed, and pulled out the dildo. A second later, he replaced it not with his dick, but with his hand, slowly drilling it into Henry’s ass, unlubed. Henry just moaned, and tried to open up as much as he could, and before long Matt’s thick fist was buried up Henry’s ass.

“You like that, you fucking asspig? You like my fist up your cunt?”

Henry moaned, and nodded, while Matt began to work his arm in further, “You know what else? You’ve been fucked so often that you’re totally incontinent. You couldn’t clench your ass shut if you wanted to. So if you didn’t wear a dildo all the time, you would shit uncontrollably every time you sat down. You don’t have a fucking choice, unless you’d rather wear a diaper, that is.”

Henry’s ass immediately opened further, as it became stretched out, and Matt shoved his arm in even farther. All Henry could do was buck back, desperate to get as much of Matt up his cunt as he could. He couldn’t help it. With a cry, he blew his load into his jock, making Matt laugh.

“Is that all it took? You’re a total pig, did you know that? You even grunt and snort like one when you’re getting fucked. Guys make fun of you for it all the time, but you can’t stop.”

Henry felt himself snort loudly, and felt his face turn red, it was time to turn the tables, he thought.

“You know, Matt,” he said, between snorts, “I heard a rumor about you too.”

Matt stopped fisting Henry, and said, “What did you say?”

“I heard that you have a taste for ass.”

Matt shook his head, and just whispered, “It’s not going to work, asshole.”

“Oh yes it is. You love ass. You love rimming it, eating it out, it’s your favorite thing. You especially love cleaning up dirty dicks and fists that have been up guys’ holes. The dirtier the better. In fact, you’ll ask guys not to wipe, just so you can clean up after them.”

“Shut up,” Matt said, but he was beginning to doubt himself. He was so close to Henry’s ass, and it looked delicious. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but the new desires just built up inside of him.

“Even better than that, is sucking out the cum some guy just shot up another guys ass. You can’t resist that, can you?”

Henry felt Matt pull his arm out, and when he looked back, he saw that Matt was licking everything he could off of it, moaning in pleasure the whole time.

Henry got up chucking and snorting as he did. He shoved Matt around so that he was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, then bent over, and shoved his ass in Matt’s face. “Eat it fucker! Eat my nasty cunt!”

Matt didn’t need any more prompting. He dove between Henry’s ass cheeks and started licking. Below him, Henry could see he had his cock out, and was jacking it wildly. A moment later, Henry felt a fart coming, and blasted it at Matt’s face, pushing back so he wouldn’t be able to escape it. It was too much for Matt, who blew his load all over his shirt and shorts, grunting the entire time, and then fell back, reveling in his orgasm, totally oblivious to the brown stripe painted on his face.

Henry was exhausted, but he still had one last score to settle. He shoved his dildo back in his cunt, and left Matt sitting on the floor. Back in the living room, he saw that the partiers had changed. There wasn’t a single woman in the room, and nearly all of the guys looked too old to be in college. Most were in various states of nudity, and couples and threesomes were making out in every corner of the room. Over in one chair, he saw Dennis in front of a cub, choking down his dick, while a few others stood around, egging him on. While he wanted to join in, mostly because he hoped that some of them would want to fuck him, he had his eye on only one person: Paul. He spotted him along the wall, chatting up a cute cub. He could tell that Paul was making a move on him, so he decided to break up their conversation, as he had been so rudely interrupted earlier. He made his way over, and said, “Hey Paul! Glad I found you. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Paul wheeled around, and found himself faced with Henry, but just laughed, “Move along pig, I don’t have any time, or cock for you.”

“You know what I heard Paul? I heard a rumor about you recently. I heard that you’re the dirtiest guy on campus.”

Paul just glared at him, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Well, first of all, you never shower, and you certainly have never cut your hair or your beard. You don’t brush your teeth, and you wear the same clothes for months before you even think about changing them. And you love being a nasty fucker. Half the teeth have rotted out of your mouth, and you just think it makes you hotter. You sweat all the time, and you have awful B.O., not that you mind. You sniff your pits constantly, and it always gives you a hard on.”

Paul just started at him, dumbfounded, but Henry just watched him change as they stood there. His beard and hair grew even longer, and more matted, than Henry’s own. His clothes became dirty and stained, with a few tears and holes in places. You couldn’t even tell what color his jeans had been. And the smell! It even surprised Henry, with how strong it was. Paul though, was enjoying it. He sniffed at his pit, and Henry could see his bulge grow in his jeans.

“But that’s not all. You have a bad habit of pissing yourself. Most of the time, you don’t even notice until someone else points it out. You even shit yourself occasionally, usually when you’re passed out drunk, and you never bother to wipe your ass. But you don’t mind, because you love digging in your shitty ass, and smelling your fingers afterwards. You’ll even lick them clean, if you’re especially horny.”

The stench of urine filled the room a moment later, and a dark stain appeared on the front of Paul’s jeans. When he noticed that both the cub and Henry were looking down at his pants, he realized what had happened and turned red. “What…What are you doing to me?” he said, totally confused.

“Hey, I know it’s hard for you to understand, after all, you aren’t very smart. In fact, I heard you aren’t even literate, you’re so stupid. All your mind can do is think about sex, but since almost nobody wants to be around you, and they certainly don’t want to have sex with you, all you do is masturbate all the time. It doesn’t even matter if you’re in public. If you’re horny, you whip out your cock and go at it, and eat the cum off your dirty fingers when you’re done.”

Henry watched Paul’s eyes dim, and what was left of his mind realized that if he didn’t get away now, he probably wouldn’t have a mind left at all before long. “Yeah, well…” he started to say, but couldn’t come up with a retort, so he just left without saying anything else. The people in the room moved out of his way, giving him and his stench as much space as possible. Near the middle of the room, he stopped and reached down the back of his filthy jeans, and gave his crack a good scratch, then sniffed his fingers. As he got to the hallway, Matt stumbled into him. With one sniff, he knew what he wanted, and pulled Paul into the nearest room, intent on cleaning out the filthy ass of his friend. Henry figured it was a match made in heaven.

“What was that about?” a voice said next to him, and Henry remembered that he wasn’t alone. The cub was still there, watching him.

“Oh, just some payback. Do you think I went too far?”

The cub just shrugged, “Depends on what he did to you, I guess.”

“Actually, for the life of me, I can’t remember what they did,” Henry said, and shrugged as well. It must have been important, but not as important as getting another cock up his ass sometime soon.

“My name’s James. What’s yours?” The cub asked.

“I’m Henry. Henry Gavin.”

“Henry Gavin? Hey, I heard something about you,” the cub said, “You’re a professor, right? In the sexology department? I heard some guys talking about taking one of your courses. They said it was awesome. They even told me that you can take three fists at once. I was planning on enrolling in your fisting 101 course this spring.”

Henry felt a whole new set of memories flood into his head. Thoughts of lesson plans about how to get fucked, about different types of lube, fisting, and all sorts of other topics filled his mind. He also remembered that getting fucked by most of his students was just one of the job’s perks. He looked at James and nodded, “Yeah. Henry Gavin, professor of sexology. Anal studies is my specialty.”

“I’ve always enjoyed anal studies,” the cub said, half serious, and half innuendo.

“Well, how about some extra credit? We can get you started on some of your coursework for next semester, if you’d like,” Henry replied and winked.

James grinned, and asked, “Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” Henry replied, and they headed towards the door. On the way out, Henry said to him, “You know, I heard a rumor about you too.”


“I heard that you have a huge cock.”

James looked down at his jeans, and smiled, then followed the professor out into the night.

Episode 5 – Books of Lives

The library was the only place where Jeff had ever felt truly at home. A true bookworm, he would often read through several books a week, and he was a nerd not only in interests, but in looks too. Jeff had never really emerged from the awkward stage of puberty. His limbs were still a bit out of proportion with his body, and his voice still cracked occasionally. For much of his time in high school, he had been ridiculed as a geek, but he had never cared all that much about what other people thought of him. Generally, when a bully saw that he couldn’t get a rise out of Jeff, he would just leave him alone. When he came to college, he had struggled to prune down his collection of books to just five boxes, and he had to buy a bookcase just to fit them all in his small dorm room. Now a junior, he had long since gotten his own room, and filled every wall with books.

Of course, Jeff also didn’t have many friends, other than a few voracious readers, but he had always liked being a loner. Books were better company that people ever could be, in his opinion. However, he had never really wondered why he liked books so much. In truth, he found a voyeuristic pleasure in them. By opening the pages of a book, he could see into the mind of the author for a moment and look at their most private thoughts. Novels were even better, where entire characters were revealed for him on the page, who he could analyze with glee. He felt closer to these characters than anyone he had met in real life. They were easier to pick apart and understand, as well. He didn’t have fantasies about Angelina Jolie—he fantasized about Daisy Miller and Elizabeth Bennett. Though in his mind, they weren’t nearly as prim or proper as they were on the page.

On this day (as was usual on Tuesdays) he had an hour break between two of his English Literature classes, and so he walked over to the library to browse the shelves for a while, to see if he might uncover some hidden gem, but as he was walking towards the library, he noticed that something seemed strange. There were a lot of men on campus, which isn’t something he would notice usually, but most of them didn’t look like they belonged on a college campus at all. Half of the guys he passed were far too old to be college students, and most looked like they had just come from a bar, or some blue collar job of some variety. Jeff just figured that there was some conference or something happening on campus that he hadn’t known about, shrugged his shoulders, and made his way up the library steps, but things were strange in there as well. Again, there were simply too many men, but more strange than that, was that quite a few of the library shelves around him were simply empty. Feeling a bit distressed, he walked over to the circulation desk to ask what was going on.

Jeff didn’t recognize the man at the desk, which was odd, given that he thought he had gotten to know all of the staff by now. Even stranger was what the man was wearing. He had on a leather harness with two metal rings accentuating his pierced nipples, which Jeff could barely see through all of the fur covering his chest. The guy had a full beard and a shaved head, but the strangest feature was the leather collar around his neck. Jeff knew that something was wrong with this picture, but it also seemed completely normal, almost as though he was walking in two different worlds. He shook his head, and asked, “Hey, do you know what they’re doing with all of the books?”

The man looked up, and shrugged, “I don’t know. Ya should probably ask the librarian.” He talked like an imbecile, or someone who had never bothered to read a book in his life. Jeff knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him.

“Great, I’ll ask Ms. Netterny. Is she in?”

“Don’t you mean Mr. Netterny?” The bear replied, staring at Jeff blankly. He choked back the quick retort, as doubt plagued his mind. Why had he said “Ms.”? Of course the librarian was a man, what had he been thinking?

“Right, Mr. Netterny, I mean,” Jeff mumbled, trying to recover from his obvious mistake. The bear lumbered back into the office behind the circulation desk, and Jeff saw that the harness certainly wasn’t the most revealing thing the man was wearing. Below, he had on only a leather jockstrap. The sight brought back the feeling that something was very wrong, but he still couldn’t pin down what it was. He was still mulling it over when the bear came back, followed by an portly man in his late sixties. Mr. Netterny had a significant gut which was barely held in by his expensive looking suit. A set of small round eyeglasses were perched on his wide nose, and the pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth left behind a faint trail of smoke. As soon as he saw Jeff, his eyes lit up, “Oh Jeff, how good of you to come by. Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Jeff had no idea who this man was, but he could also recall having long talks about books with him. It was all very strange. He tried to ignore it, and just continued with his original question, “Yeah, Mr. Netterny. Could you tell me what they’re doing with all of those books?”

“Why, we’re moving them into the storage, and bringing in whole new collections which will be much more beneficial for the new direction the college is taking. I assumed that you would have already known about this by now.”

“Well, I don’t. What kind of collections are you bringing in?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. It’ll be much more fun for you to discover it yourself,” Mr. Netterny said, and then winked, “In fact, if I know your tastes, there’s a new collection we just added on the third floor which would interest you greatly. Why don’t you head up there, take a look, and tell me what you think of it later? It’s in the first room on your left when you head up the stairs.”

Jeff was still confused by what was going on, but something told him that he should just try to forget about it and move on. Besides, the thought of a new collection to peruse was too interesting to pass up. “Uh, sure. I’ll go check it out,” he said, waved goodbye to Mr. Netterny, and headed for the staircase.

At the third floor, he took a left, and found himself in what had been the music section. However, the CD storage was gone, replaced by several shelves of identically bound, hardcover books. Jeff wandered down the row in front of him, and found that the spines had no titles, only authors, and were listed in alphabetical order. Out of curiosity, he took one off the shelf which bore the name “Hal G. Rogers.” On the cover, there was an embossed image of an eighteen wheeler, which was remarkably detailed. As he stared at it, he could almost hear the growl of the engine, and feel the book vibrate in his hands. He opened it, and found that the text started on the very first page—no title, no copyright, nothing. Just story. He began reading, and after a few pages, unable to tear his eyes away, he wandered over to a nearby armchair, tossed his backpack to the side, and sat down, utterly absorbed by the book.

It turned out that it wasn’t written by Hal G. Rogers at all. Rather, it was about Hal G. Rogers’ life. Jeff wouldn’t call it a memoir—it was far too factual, and lacked the literary grace which most authors used to twist their lives into art. But he was hesitant to call it a biography, because there didn’t seem to be a point to what was being written down. Rather, it was like Jeff was reading the unfiltered memories of this man named Hal, who had been abused by his father as a child, dropped out of high school at sixteen, became a trucker at eighteen, and started cruising rest stops and sucking dicks for the next thirty years. The detail was remarkable, almost as though Hal was an actual person. Usually the characters in a story were obviously fake—they didn’t go to the bathroom, they had unreasonable expectations about the world. . It was like he had his own little world in this book, one only he had access to, and it satisfied his desire to know others intimately in a way he had never thought possible. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that this was no ordinary book, and that there was something strange going on. It might have been the fact that the words seemed to drill themselves into his head through his eyes as he read. It might have been the headache which had been growing since he sat down, as though his brain was packed with too much information for one person to contain. It might also have been the graphic sexual descriptions, the disgusting references to Hal’s overgrown beard and hair, or the man’s constant cigar smoking and drinking.

However, these reservations didn’t stop him from finishing the book in a single sitting. When he finally turned over the back cover and set the book on the table next to him, he did nothing for a few minutes, as he tried to process what he had just read. None of the words had faded away; in fact, they had only seemed to grow more real. He wanted to pull down another book and read it too, but he didn’t think he would be able to manage another experience like that. Besides, his headache had gotten worse, and he was starving like he hadn’t eaten in days. It wouldn’t hurt to take a break, go grab some lunch, and then come back. After all, the books would still be here waiting for him. Before getting up, Jeff reached into his backpack, pulled out his hipflask, and took a long swig. The whisky was cheap, but the headache receded, and his hands stopped jittering. Totally forgetting about the English class he was two hours late for, he headed towards the dining hall, with lunch on his mind.

As he left the building, Jeff couldn’t help but stare at the bear he had spoken to earlier behind the circulation desk. He just looked so sexy in that leather harness, and Jeff imagined getting down behind the desk and sucking the bear’s cock for the rest of the day. Without finding this thought odd, he took another long drink from the flask, and felt the alcohol start buzzing in his head. He felt mellow, and he felt good. He let out a loud belch, scratched his belly, and left the library. Outside, there was even more eye candy walking along, and Jeff happily stared at the package of every guy he walked past, and some stared back at him even more hungrily. Jeff was now openly nursing his flask, and his headache was mostly gone, replaced by a pleasant stupor, though he was growing hungrier by the minute. He reluctantly put his flask away as he entered the dining hall, grabbed a tray, and started loading it up with everything he could find.  One of the stations had chicken fried steak, one of Jeff’s favorite dishes (it always reminded him of the greasy spoons he had eaten at when he was still on the road) and he had them pile on some extra gravy and mashed potatoes. Satisfied, he found a seat in a somewhat secluded booth, pulled out his flask again, and tucked in.

He ate like a wild man, slopping gravy all over his beard. Occasionally he would take a break long enough to down another hit of whisky, before shoveling some more potatoes or steak into his mouth. Occasionally, he would take a moment to survey the other diners, and he noticed that he had attracted the attentions of a cub across the way. The boy had been watching him since he sat down, and in Jeff’s opinion, he was quite cute, with a nice goatee and a thick, stocky frame. He smiled at the boy, while he mopped up some gravy with a biscuit. The cub got up, sauntered over, and slid in next to Jeff.

“Hey, I like a guy to can eat. My name’s Nate—what’s yours?” he asked.

“Hal. Hal Rogers,” Jeff heard himself say, but that was wrong…wasn’t it? It was hard to think. He was really drunk all of a sudden, and felt himself swaying a bit as he sat there. He also noticed that his dick was hard, but why wouldn’t it be, sitting next to a nice looking cub like that?

Nate grinned, and said, “Well, you want to go somewhere a bit more private? Maybe I have something you’d like to see.”

Jeff just leered, “Why don’t we do it right here?”

The cub balked, and said nothing for a moment, “What…here? In the dining hall? I don’t know—that’s a bit…public, isn’t it?”

Jeff said nothing and slid under the table. After a bit of maneuvering, he was face to face with the Nate’s crotch. He unzipped the fly, hauled out the cub’s sizable piece of meat, and started playing with it, slowly running his hands up and down the shaft.

“Oh, fuck…” he heard Nate say, and Jeff found himself grinning.

“What do you say now? Still want to go somewhere more private?”

“Suck it, just suck it,” was all the boy could muster, and Jeff obliged him, swallowing his thick cock to the hilt, making Nate shiver. They always came around if you took the initiative, he thought. He could also tell that the boy wouldn’t hold out for very long, so he might as well make it quick. Jeff kept milking Nate’s cock with all of his energy, making him groan and pant in need. After less than a minute, the cock exploded in his mouth, and Jeff happily drank down the entire load, tucked the cock back into the cub’s pants, and then crawled back up to his seat, having a bit of a hard time fitting between the table and his gut. He didn’t remember it being that hard getting down, but it also wasn’t as easy to do things like this as when he was in his twenties.

Nate was still panting next to him, unsure of what to say, so Jeff spoke for him, “Well, get under there and do me now. I ain’t got all day.”

The cub looked at him, gulped, and slowly got under the table. While he did so, Jeff reached under his gut, and pulled out his cock. He felt Nate take a taste, and then heard him gag and spit, “Damn fucker, don’t you clean this thing?”

“Shut your pie hole and suck it, pig,” Jeff said, grabbed the boy’s head under the table and rammed his dick into his mouth. Nate sputtered and broke away from Jeff’s grasp, then crawled out from under the table, still sputtering and trying to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth.

Nate stood up and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, “Sorry man, but you’re too fucking gross. Go take a shower, or maybe two, and then we’ll see what happens.” Without any further acknowledgement, he turned around and walked quickly away from Jeff, leaving him with a hard cock and nothing to stick it in. He thought about following the cub back to his room and finishing his business there, raping him if he had to, but he didn’t really feel like it. Instead, he took another drink of whisky, and decided that he might as well head to the one spot on campus where he knew he could get his cock sucked. After zipping up his pants again and trying to ignore his horny dick, he got up and left the dining hall. When he got outside, he pulled a cigar out of the pocket of his shirt, and lit it with his zippo lighter. The first puff was fabulous, like he had gone ages without a good smoke, and he exhaled through his nose, loving how the smoke twined through his long bushy beard.

With almost all of his needs satisfied, he headed for the nearby public bathrooms. They weren’t too far away, and as he approached them, he had the strange feeling that they hadn’t been there the day before, or at least, that he didn’t remember them being there the day before. On the other hand, he remembered hooking up with all sorts of nasty guys in there innumerable times. Everything in his head just felt so confused. Like why had he sucked that guy off in the dining hall? That wasn’t like him at all. And wasn’t he supposed to be in class right now? Jeff took another drag on his cigar, and headed into the restroom, trying to push the thoughts aside, and tried to focus on what was really important—getting off. Since lighting up his cigar, he had only gotten hornier, and he hoped that some sick bum was in a stall, ready and waiting for a cock to suck, but after checking all of the doors, he found that he was alone. Still feeling horny, he decided to wait for a bit and see if anyone would show up who was also looking for some action.

He caught a look at himself in the mirror, and saw that he still had a few bits of food stuck in his beard, so he turned on the sink and started rinsing out as much as he could. Maybe the cub was right—he probably could stand to take a shower. In fact, when was the last time he had taken one? He couldn’t recall…or could he? Something told him that he had taken one this morning in his dorm room, but that couldn’t be right. He didn’t live in a dorm; he lived in the cab of his truck, like he had since he was eighteen. Even though he wasn’t driving anymore, he still didn’t feel at home anywhere else. Again, he felt the headache returning, went to take a swig from his flask, but found it was empty, and he didn’t have a fifth on hand to fill it back up with. He swore, and took another long puff off his half smoked cigar, but that didn’t really help.

Suddenly, somewhat alien thoughts began to find their way into his head. Thoughts that told Jeff that none of this was right, that the reflection in the mirror wasn’t his. He took another look, and found that he suddenly didn’t even recognize himself. He was supposed to be a young, thin nerd, but what he was looking at was someone else entirely. First of all, he was massive, with a huge gut that hung over the waistband of his dirty jeans by several inches, just barely kept in check by a dirty white T shirt tucked in below that. He also had a pair of bright red suspenders going up on either side, which just accentuated his size and made him look even bigger. Even that wasn’t the largest shock, however. What scared him most was the thick, tangled beard that stretched down until it hit his gut, and long hair to match flowing down his back. Both were matted, dirty, and looked as though they hadn’t been washed or cut in ages. Even worse, was that they were colored a light grey, though the area around his mouth was stained yellow from his constant cigar smoking. At the thought, Jeff tried to throw the cigar that he was still holding in his hand into the sink, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He needed it too much. Instead, he took another drag deep into his lungs, like he had been doing for ages—and it had been ages. His new memories (or were they the old ones?) told him that he was somewhere around sixty years old and he looked like it. He had deep wrinkles around his eyes, and he also had the bright red nose and spider veins of a long time alcoholic. Jeff was so engrossed in his own image, that he didn’t even notice the hulking biker enter the rest room until he came up behind him, and started grinding his hard cock into Jeff’s ass.

Jeff tried to push the man away, but the man just wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, so that he could whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry daddy, I got what you’re looking for.” The man snickered and started tweaking Jeff’s nipples, making him moan. In the mirror, he could see the man was even dirtier than he was, though much younger, with short cropped hair and a thick, bushy goatee. He could also see that the man was missing quite a few of his teeth, and the man’s breath smelled rancid. To his horror, he found the stench and filth turning him on as his cock hardened beyond his control. With a moan, he started to push his ass back into the man’s cock. Slowly, he pulled down his suspenders and undid his pants, all while the biker kept pulling at his nipples even harder.

“Well, go on then. Get that hot cock of yours up my ass,” Jeff heard himself say, but that wasn’t what he wanted to say. He wanted to scream “Fire!” or tell the guy to get the fuck off of him. He wanted to do anything but spread his legs apart to the biker could start poking his dick at his open asshole. He watched the biker hock a wad of spit into his hand, slick up his dick, and a moment later, he felt the head push past his sphincter. It felt so good—this is what he had been looking for all day. He reached down and started jacking off his own cock as the biker worked his dick deeper into his ass.

“Yeah, you truckers are all the same. You’ll do anything for a piece of biker dick,” the man pushed his cock in to the hilt, making Jeff moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure, “Yeah, look at you jacking that puny cock of yours. I want to see you shoot that load of yours all over the fucking floor. Do it, and I’ll be kind enough to shoot this load of mine up your ass, where I know you want it.”

Jeff didn’t need any more encouragement. Still puffing on his cigar, he pumped his cock for all he was worth, as the biker rammed his cock harder and harder. Then, the biker changed his position, and with a series of short, quick strokes started milking Jeff’s prostate. He couldn’t have held back if he wanted to. With a yell, Jeff felt a wave of cum shoot out of his dick and onto the floor, while the biker chuckled. “Yeah, shoot that old sour sperm of yours. You like this biker’s cock up your ass?”

Jeff could only nod, but that wasn’t good enough. The biker rammed his dick deeper, making Jeff moan in pain.

“I said, do you like your biker daddy’s cock up your ass?”

“Yes! Yes, I do,” Jeff panted back.

“Yeah, you fucking trucker slut. By the time I’m finished with you, you’re hole is going to be rubbed raw. You’re going to be remembering this fuck for weeks!”

Jeff felt his dick start to get hard, even though it was still leaking cum from his last shot just a minute before. He couldn’t help but wonder about what the hell was happening to him. He should just push this dirty biker away and get the fuck out, but he couldn’t let that dick go. It felt too good up his ass. He started meeting the biker’s thrusts, desperate to get as much of the man’s cock up his ass as he could, one hand still nursing his semi-hard cock. “Yeah, fuck me. Give me that load of yours. Shoot it up my old, fat ass!” he said, grunting in lust. They continued that way for a while longer, and Jeff could feel his ass start to ache, and he groaned with every thrust of the biker’s dick, but his moans of pain just drove the biker into a frenzy. Suddenly, he pulled out, turned Jeff around, and forced him onto his knees, “I know I said I was going to shoot this up your ass, but I’d rather see you wear it. Here it comes, bitch!”

The biker pumped his cock a few times, and then sprayed his load all over Jeff’s beard and face, who just opened his mouth and drank in as much as he could get. “Yeah, take it you fucking cumwhore! Take daddy’s load!” The biker cried, and then spit into Jeff’s open mouth, “Nothing but a nasty pig,” he added, and chuckled.

When the flow finally stopped, Jeff started wiping the cum up with his hands and eating it off of his dirty fingers. It tasted so good, he couldn’t resist it. The biker just laughed again, zipped up his fly, and left Jeff there, pants around his ankles, licking up another guys cum, his dick still hard and aching despite his earlier release.

Slowly, he began to get his body and mind back under his control. First of all, he had to get out of the bathroom, before someone else came in and decided to use him in the same way. Jeff knew that if someone did, he wouldn’t be able to say no, and at this rate, he might never get out. Using the sink for support, Jeff got back on his feet, pulled up his pants, and got his suspenders back on. As he left, he discarded the now spent cigar butt in the trash, and fired up another one unconsciously. He had to figure out what had happened to him. One minute, he had been his normal bookworm self, and the next he was a filthy trucker with a fetish for public sex! Jeff searched his brain for any clue as to how this might have happened, when he remembered the name he had given the cub earlier. He had called himself Hal Rodgers, the same Hal Rogers he had spent most of the morning reading about! Somehow, he had become that very man, and Jeff figured that if he had any hope of returning to his old form, he would find it back in the library, and that he had better get there quick, before he forgot about his old self entirely.

Again, he set off across campus, passing all sorts of men, and the desire to get down and suck their dicks was even harder to resist. It didn’t help that those he passed were leering opening at him. Some even yelled catcalls, though Jeff couldn’t figure out why. He was spending all of his energy just trying to keep Hal’s thoughts at bay, remember that he was actually Jeff Grenderson, and that if he could just get to the third floor of the library, he was sure that he could find some way to recover his old life and get the hell away from this crazy college.

When he got to the library, he saw that the shelves that had been empty just hours before were filled again, though with a much different selection of titles than had been there before. Among the books, he saw a wide assortment of sex manuals, histories of homosexuality, porn literature, and many other books of that variety. However, he didn’t have time to look closer, and see what else had changed. After dashing up the stairs as fast as he could go, he found his way to the room where he had found Hal Rogers book earlier that day, and saw that someone had beat him there. In the armchair, puffing smoke from his pipe, sat Mr. Netterny himself. He looked up, saw Jeff in the doorway, smiled, and stood up.

“I was beginning to wonder how long I was going to have to wait for you,” he said, “I see that you found the collection alright, Jeff. Or should I call you Hal, now?”

“How…Do you know what happened to me?” Jeff asked, “Please, tell me how to fix this!”

“But why would I do that?” Mr. Netterny replied, “I happen to like you just the way you are now. I’ve been reading about your old life, and believe that this one is far more suitable for your new role here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, look here,” Mr. Netterny said, and held up the book in his hands for Jeff to see. On the cover was an embossed image of an open book with some glasses lying across it. On the spine, he could see his old name, “Jeffery T. Grenderson” written in gold lettering. “It’s all right here. Your childhood, your dreams, your memories. Everything.”

Jeff made a grab for the book, but Mr. Netterny pulled it out of his reach.

“Now don’t be so impatient,” Mr. Netterny said, “I already told you that I think your new role on campus suits you. Don’t you agree, Marco? Carlos?”

Jeff looked behind him, and saw that the way out was blocked by two men. The first he recognized as the bear he had seen at the circulation desk earlier, and the other was dressed in an identical leather outfit, though a bit shorter and fatter than the first. Both of them had their cocks out of their leather jocks, and were stroking them slowly. They were both monstrous—at least ten inches long, if not more, and the sight made Jeff’s mouth water.

“In fact,” Mr. Netterny continued, “It looks like you’ve already been enjoying yourself quite a bit, judging from the amount of cum stuck in your beard.”

Jeff immediately felt his face turn red, as he realized that that had been the reason why so many guys had been staring at him. But even the humiliation couldn’t make the rock hard cock in his pants deflate. If anything, it just aroused him more. “Why are you doing this to me? Please, just give me my book, and I’ll leave. I won’t even tell anyone. I promise,” Jeff said, but he could see by the grin on Mr. Netterny’s face that he had no intention of helping him.

Mr. Netterny just picked up a hip flask off of the table, and tossed it to Jeff, who caught it instinctively. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he needed a drink to steady his nerves. He unscrewed the top, and only intended to take a sip, but guzzled it instead, some of it dribbling down the front of his grubby shirt. When he finished, he felt a lot better, and his head was clearer.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it Hal?”

He knew that wasn’t his name, but it felt right. Everything was a bit foggy, and Jeff wasn’t even sure where he was anymore. He kept stealing glances at Bruno’s and Marco’s cocks, wondering if they would let him suck them off, or if they would be willing to fuck him. He was even more aware of how painfully hard his own cock was. It felt like he hadn’t cum in weeks. Confused and bewildered, he just nodded numbly, making Mr. Netterny chuckle.

“You don’t even know what’s going on, do you? Well let me help you. Hand me the flask, and I’ll make it easy.”

Cautiously, Jeff tossed the flask back to Mr. Netterny, who laid Jeff’s book down on the table, and proceeded to pour the drink all over it.

“No!” Jeff cried, and moved toward it, but Marco and Bruno held him back.

“No?” Mr. Netterny replied.

“Don’t…you shouldn’t…you shouldn’t waste booze like that…” Jeff muttered.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not wasting it. Besides, I have plenty more where that came from,” Mr. Netterny said, and then addressed his two boys, “Boys, go stand at attention against the shelf.” Bruno and Marco circled around and stood off to Jeff’s side, their dicks still erect, and Mr. Netterny continued. “Now, Mr. Grenderson, or Mr. Rogers, if you prefer, I’m going to give you a choice. I’m going to countdown from ten, and when I reach zero, I’m going to set this book on fire, just like all of the other useless books in this place that I moved into ‘storage.’ But if you really want to save your old life, you can walk over here, pick it up, and I will allow you to leave the library…unmolested. Or, you can suck my boy’s cocks, like I know you want to. I can see that cock of yours throbbing in your jeans as I speak. So make your choice.” Mr. Netterny took out a box of matches, and started counting, “Ten…Nine…Eight…”

With all of his willpower, Jeff tried to make himself walk over to the table, pick up the book, and run away as fast as he could, but like a dream, he found himself moving in the opposite direction, towards the boys. Mr. Netterny had now taken one of the matches out of the box.


“No, not this. This isn’t right!” He tried to tell himself, “Just grab the book! It’s easy!” but by then he was already on his knees, trying to decide which lovely cock he was going to suck first. He heard the match scrape the side of the box and crackle to life.


God, his cock was so hard. It had never been this hard before. He pawed at it with one of his hands while he started sucking on the cock to the left. Was it Marco’s? Bruno’s? It didn’t matter. He wanted cock—any cock—in him. He’d do anything for it.

“One…Zero.” Mr. Netterny finished. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw him lower the match over the book. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember why that book was so important, he needed it, but he just couldn’t stop himself. The match dropped, and the book burst into flame. At the same time, Jeff felt a searing pain blaze through his head, making him scream, and crumble to the ground. It felt as though his mind was on fire, eating away at his thoughts and memories, everything that had been Jeff. He tried to hold onto something—anything—but everything was stripped away from him.

He writhed on the ground until the book was nothing but ash on the table, and Hal was little more than a quivering soul on the ground, wondering what had just happened to him. Mr. Netterny picked up the flask, knelt down next to Hal and helped him sit up, “Here, take a drink. You’ll feel better in no time,” he said, and raised the flask to Hal’s shaking lips, who drank down as much as he could.

“What…what happened?” Hal gasped, but Mr. Netterny just chuckled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” he said, then signaled Bruno to come around in front of Jeff, his dick still slick from where Hal had been sucking on it earlier. Almost instinctually, Hal opened his mouth and swallowed it to the hilt, moaning while he did so. Already, he was forgetting the pain from just moments before—and it felt almost as though it had happened to someone else entirely, but he still felt a lingering sense of unease. There was something which he needed, but what was it? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been that important; what really mattered was this long, hot cock in his mouth. He got on his knees so he could get a better angle, and started running his tongue along the base of Bruno’s cock, making him moan.

“See? That’s much better. No more of that pesky academic drive or amassed knowledge. Now, all that really matters is sucking cock, right Hal? Come on, let’s get you into a position where Marco can play too,” Mr. Netterny said, and helped Hal stand up. He walked him over to the table, undoing his suspenders as they went, pulled down his pants, and pushed him over the table. Bruno came around to Hal’s head and started fucking his face again, while Marco came up behind him and started running his own cock up and down Hal’s crack. A moment later, he felt it push into his still open whole, and he felt utterly complete, plugged at both ends.

“Yeah, look at you, you fucking slut. Why don’t you show my boys some of those tricks you learned during your years sucking cock in rest stop bathrooms?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Mr. Netterny had his own cock out and was jacking it wildly, with huge amounts of pipe smoke pouring from his nose and mouth, “God, I love turning all of you straight laced students into fucking pigs. It gets me so hot. You know Bruno here? He was a computer science major just yesterday, but now he can’t even type his name! Marco was a fucking brilliant psychology student, but now all he cares about is sex. Oh fuck, just watching you taking it from both ends—“ He moved closer to Hal’s head, and unloaded all over his hair, and then rubbed it in until it stuck in his matted hair.

From their panting, Hal could tell that Bruno and Marco were getting close as well. Hal started working overtime, tightening up his ass for Marco, and sucking harder on Bruno’s cock. This is what he was meant for. At nearly the same time, both of them blew their loads in his holes, while Hal felt his own cock shoot all over the floor, without even touching it. Panting, the two boys pulled out, and let Hal regain his bearings, stand up, and pull up his pants.

“Well, thanks for the fuck boys—you too, Mr. Netterny,” he said, and pulled the old man into a kiss that left Mr. Netterny weak in the knees. This was definitely one of his best. “Now, I gotta go get to my class. Those fuckers ain’t gonna learn how to drive a truck without my help, but maybe we can do this again sometime.” Hal grinned, pulled up his suspenders, and left the room, taking a healthy swig of whisky as he did. As he left, he fantasized about the students in his advanced trucking class which he was heading towards now. Most of them hadn’t showered in months (good trucker hygiene was part of their grade, after all) and today was their glory hole practical exam. Hal planned on being so full of cum by the end of the day that he wouldn’t be able to move. Well, maybe he would find his way back to Mr. Netterny’s office in the evening. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he owed the man a good, rough fuck. Hal would show him that he still knew how to use this old cock of his. With another grin, he lit up a cigar and headed over to the nearby restroom. His students were already gathering together, and Hal’s mouth was watering already.

Episode 6 – Legacy Student

“Randall, quit dragging your feet and come on. We’re already late for our appointment!” Randall’s mother, Liz, said, as she checked the time on her phone. Next to her on the steps in front of the admissions building his dad, Blake, nodded.

“You really out to give the school a chance, son. Your mother and I had a great time here,” he said, and smiled, as he reminisced about his school days. Randall was sick of it. All weekend he had been subjected to his parents’ nostalgia, and their constant urging to attend their old legacy college, despite the fact that he had already gotten several better offers from much better colleges based on his athletic success on the soccer team in high school. However, he knew better than to fight with them over it—after all, it was still his choice. That didn’t mean that he had to like doing it though, he thought, as he trudged up the steps after his parents and into the building.

As if Randall didn’t have enough reasons to dislike the place already, the man who was waiting for them at the reception desk was certainly not the kind of person he would ever want to meet at college. Behind the desk, where most colleges like to have a young, attractive woman, there was instead an older man who looked like he had never even seen the inside of a college classroom, if he had even managed to graduate from high school. The man was heavily muscled, but not in the way someone who works out at the gym looks. Rather, he looked more like someone who had been performing manual labor for years. His face was brutish, with a heavy jaw and small squinty eyes. Even his nose looked like it had been broken in a few places. And as if he could have been made less attractive, he was covered from the neck down with tattoos, and his ears and face were pierced in numerous places. He looked more like a thug, or some construction worker, than a college student, or anyone who should be anywhere near a college, unless he was a janitor or something.

Randall’s parents, however, didn’t seem the least fazed by the receptionist, and walked right up to the counter. “Hi, we’re the Wilson family? I believe we have an appointment to meet with Mr. Bixby.”

The thug looked at her, and then at the appointment book in front of him. He squinted a bit, as though it was taking him a moment to figure out what she had said to him, and then said, “Yeah, I got yer name here. Let me see if he’s in his office.” He got up, and walked through a nearby door. After a moment, he reemerged, following a chubby man in a three piece suit.

“Ah, you must be the Wilson’s,” the man said, in a voice that made Randall feel a bit sick to his stomach. The man was obviously a fag, and when he looked at Randall and grinned like a complete pervert, he wanted to throw up even more. He hated fags, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit in an office with one that was going to spend the whole time ogling him. But again, his parents didn’t seem to notice anything, and walked over and shook his hand happily.

“Yes, I’m Blake, and this is my wife, Liz,” Randall’s dad said, and then waved Randall over, “and this is Randall, come over here. I hope we didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Oh don’t worry about it. I was just catching up on some paper work. Now, you wanted to discuss Randall’s financial aid package?”

“Yes, we just wanted to talk with you about your legacy program,” Blake said, and Randall groaned.

“Oh, I’d be happy too, if you’d all like to step into my office for a chat,” Mr. Bixby said, and ushered Blake and Liz in, but Randall held back.

“Uh…actually, why don’t you guys chat business. I think I’d rather take some time to look around the campus for a little.”

Blake started to say no, but then thought better of it. His son had been so difficult all weekend, but maybe he was finally taking an interest in the place. He shrugged, and said, “Why not? Why don’t you come back in half an hour or so? I’m sure we’ll be done by then.”

“I’m sure it won’t take that long,” Mr. Bixby added, “But I’d love to hear some about your experiences at our college,” he smiled, and closed the door behind them.

Randall flipped off the door, and then turned around, and found himself face to face with the receptionist from the desk, who gotten up and come around behind him while they were talking. When he didn’t move, Randall just said, “You got a problem, buddy? Get out of my way.”

“You sure do have a big mouth asshole,” The thug growled, and added, “Didn’t anyone ever teach ya tah respect yer elders?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Randall muttered and tried to push past him, but the thug just pushed him back a few feet, and grinned.

“You know, before you take a look at campus, I got something a lot cooler for ya tah look at,” he said, and raised one of his arms and flexed his bicep.

Randall grimaced, “What, are you a fag too or something? I’m not about to let you suck my cock or anything, you fucking pig.”

“No, really, look here, right here,” the man said, and pointed towards his bicep, where there was a picture of a lion roaring with his mouth open, “See? When I flex, ya can see his mane ripple, but only if ya look real hard.”

“I’m not going to stare at your bicep, you faggot,” Randall said, but when he tried to walk away, he found that he couldn’t, because his eyes were locked on the thug’s arm. He did want to see the mane move, and he thought he could almost see it, but not quite. The thug beckoned him with his other hand, and Randall took a couple of steps closer. His head felt funny, and he knew that he should look away but he couldn’t. When he got about a foot away, and squinted really hard, he did see it. The mane started moving like there was an invisible wind in it, and he muttered, “I…I do see it.”

“Cool, huh? Why don’t ya have a seat over here,” the thug said, and motioned Randall over to a nearby chair in the waiting area, “I don’t think I told ya my name, mate. The name’s TJ. What’s yours?”

“Uh…Randall,” he said, as he took a seat. He was feeling pretty tired all of the sudden, but he couldn’t stop staring at TJ’s arms. Now that he had seen the mane move, it looked like all of the tattoos on his body were shifting and moving with him. The effect was very calming, and made Randall feel even more relaxed. It felt like he was sinking into the chair, and when he tried to get up, he found that he couldn’t move more than an inch. Every part of him was simply too heavy.

“Well Randall, why don’t ya tell me what yer problem is. Do ya like it here?”

“No…” Randall murmered, “My parents went here…they…they want me to…too.” It was getting harder to speak, all he wanted to do was listen. It was nice listening to TJ. He had a good deep voice, and it was a little sexy too. In fact, he was really hot, Randall admitted to himself. The muscles on his arms were huge, and he could see a thick patch of hair under each armpit. He felt the urge to shove his face in there and start licking, and if he hadn’t been so weighed down, he might not have been able to stop himself. In fact, it didn’t matter what TJ wanted him to do—Randall just felt like he was supposed to serve him. He wanted to serve him—just obeying him would make Randall happier than he had ever been.

“Really? Well, maybe it could be good for ya. What do ya like tah do?”

“Play…soccer,” Randall said, but it was barely a whisper.

“What?” TJ asked, and leaned in closer, “Sorry, I couldn’t hear ya.”

“Soccer. I do…soccer.”

“Really? Ya did the whole soccer team? That’s quite an accomplishment.”

Randall shook his head slowly, “No…what? That’s…I didn’t…” he started, but faded off. It was too hard to think, and even harder to talk. He wanted TJ to talk so he wouldn’t have to.

“Do ya like my tattoos Randall? Maybe ya’d like to look at some more,” TJ said, and took off his tight wifebeater. More colors swirled in front of Randall’s eyes, all of the patterns so vivid that he couldn’t even differentiate the shapes, but it was incredibly beautiful. All of TJ was beautiful though. “Now, ya said that ya did the whole soccer team?”

Randall weakly shook his head, but he couldn’t even talk. He just wanted to listen. That wasn’t a problem, because TJ was perfectly happy to fill in the blanks for him.

“Sounds like yer a fuckin’ slut, if ya ask me. I bet the whole team found out ya were a fag, and organized a gangbang just for ya. Remember? Ya were filled at both ends by all of the players so many times, ya lost count of how many loads ya took. By the end of the night, yer stomach was so bloated that ya wanted to puke, and ya couldn’t even shut yer asshole. Man, I bet yer daddies were so proud of ya after that.”

Strange thoughts were filling Randall’s brain, and he found that he could vividly remember everything that TJ was describing, even taste all of the cum shot down his throat, and feel those hard throbbing cocks up his ass. That had been a hot night indeed. But daddies? He only had one dad, he thought. Randall saw TJ beginning to unbutton his jeans, and anticipation built up inside of him. He wanted to see more tattoos, but there was something else. He felt a desire to see TJ’s cock, but not only that, he wanted to suck it. He wanted TJ to fuck him with it. Anything. He wanted TJ to do anything, and everything to him. God, he was just so horny. The only thing about him which wasn’t weighed down was his cock, which was tenting out the front of his athletic shorts.

“Yeah, yer daddies,” TJ continued, “They were real hot, struttin’ in here, with ya followin’ behind them on yer lead. I bet they set that orgy up for ya, didn’t they? That was yer test, to see if ya were the slut ya’d claimed tah be when ya were chattin’ them up online. Ya had tah submit tah all of yer teammates on the team, serve them. Yeah, ya didn’t want tah at first. The first few cocks, ya fought, but then ya gave up. Ya knew ya wanted it, that ya needed it. Yeah, ya need cock, don’t ya?”

Randall just nodded. TJ had his pants down, and wasn’t even wearing any underwear. Forgetting all restraint, Randall fell forward and swallowed as much of the thick shaft as he could, but TJ pushed him off. “Please…please, I need it,” Randall pleaded, but TJ just laughed. It was then that the door to Mr. Bixby’s office opened, which surprised Randall enough to break his gaze away from TJ’s tattoos. Immediately he felt his head clear up somewhat, but he did a double take when he saw the two men walking out of the office, with Mr. Bixby following them.

The first must have stood at least six and a half feet tall, if not more, and had to duck a little to get through the doorway. He was heavily muscled, even more so than TJ, and had quite a few tattoos running all over his body, not that they could be seen very easily through the thick forest of hair coating his body. Beyond that, he wasn’t wearing much. He had on a leather vest and some leather chaps with some ragged jeans underneath that. Randall looked a bit harder at the man’s face, and realized that if he took away the fu-man-chu and added on some hair, he was looking at his father, or at least the man who had once been his father.

Behind him, the second man was not quite as tall, probably only six foot, but much more massive, with muscles bursting in every direction, and a neck so thick than it looked like his head had simply been attached at the shoulders. He too was as furry as a beast, but had a thick bushy beard and a completely shaved head. After taking a deep drag on the cigar he was holding in his hand, and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke out his nose, he said, “Now what exactly is goin’ on here?”

Randall immediately felt guilty, and he could hear the disappointment in Daddy Larry’s voice. He didn’t want to be a disappointment, but…well, he couldn’t really remember what had happened. Every seemed to be foggy in his head. He couldn’t even remember why he was here. However, TJ was quick enough to speak up for him. “I’m sorry sir, but he started hittin’ on me, and well, one thing just led tah another I guess,” he grinned sheepishly, and quickly pulled up his pants, and returned to the reception desk.

Blake turned to Mr. Bixby and sighed, “See? This is what I’m talkin’ about. He has plenty of ambition, but no self-control. Back when I attended Bearman College, I know you were ranked as one of the top trainers in the country. Do you think you can help us out?”

Randall shook his head, and couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What had happened to his parents? Quietly, he started heading towards the door, but Larry crossed the room in a few steps, grabbed the lead trailing on the floor, and pulled Randall back by the collar padlocked around his neck. “Where do you think your goin’, pup?”

“Nowhere sir, sorry sir,” was all Randall could say, and followed his daddy back to where Blake and Bixby were standing. “You best keep a good eye on him,” Larry said, “if you give him an inch, he’ll try and take a mile.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to pair him up with some of our advanced students in the Masters program,” Mr. Bixby said, “and as I discussed with you, given your legacy status, your pup is entitled to a full ride scholarship. In fact, it isn’t too far into our semester now, if you’d like to enroll him for the fall.”

The two bears looked at each other and nodded. “Well, take good care of him. And no modifications without our approval, got it?” Blake said, and Larry handed the lead to Mr. Bixby. Blake then crouched down in Randall’s face, “Now listen, pup. If you want to be our dogslave, then I’m expecting a lot from you. If you don’t graduate top of your class, then I got some friends I’ll be happy to sell you to, and they are not nearly as kind to their dogs as I am, got it?”

Randall nodded, and croaked a “Yes sir,” and then went to Mr. Bixby’s side.

“Don’t either of you worry, he’s in the best place he could be,” Mr. Bixby said.

The two bears nodded, and then left, holding hands the whole way, confident that in a year’s time they would have the perfect, obedient dog for their household, and would be the envy of all the couples in the neighborhood. When they had left, Mr. Bixby grinned at Randall, and then pulled him over to where TJ was sitting.

“Now,” he said, “We had better get you started on your aptitude test, and I see no reason why we shouldn’t start with the oral section,” Mr. Bixby said, and pushed Randall to his knees in front of TJ, who had already unzipped his jeans and pulled out his semi-hard cock. Randall immediately swallowed as much of it as he could. He had a lot to learn if he was going to please his daddies.

Episode 7 – Gym Pig

Clay was the quintessential gym rat, and he was proud of it. All he talked about was his new diet or his latest exercise routine, if you could manage to get him past his constant bragging about how much he could bench press and bicep curl. Of course, the muscle served him well in the wrestling ring, where he had quickly risen to varsity level and was one of the top competitors in the state. That didn’t mean that he was very popular on campus, not that he really cared. All that really concerned him was his own image, and he refused to work out anywhere other than in front of a mirror based on nothing more than vanity. He had just finished his classes for the day, and it was time for his evening workout. One of his workout buddies had told him earlier that day that some new gym equipment had arrived, which had been ordered by Coach Red, and Clay was excited to give it a shot.

He got into the locker room and changed into his workout clothes, which consisted in a pair of shorts which were stretched tight over his bulging quads (and substantial package, of course), and a sleeveless shirt one or two sizes too small for him, which emphasized his massive arms and shoulders. No one was in there, so he was at liberty to take a minute or five and throw some poses in the mirror, while he admired his overall image. He had gotten his hair cut a few days ago, and he liked how his wavy hair framed his strong chin and jaw. He had also been working on growing a chin strap beard, which he had finally managed to get trimmed to where he wanted it. He was a hairy guy below the neck too, with a substantial treasure trail and a decent coat of hair on all of his limbs. He liked the masculine look, and overall he was satisfied, but there were still some bits of fat which refused to surrender no matter how hard he worked. If this gym equipment was as good as his friend had told him it was, then maybe he could finally trim up those last few problem areas once and for all.

When he walked into the fitness center, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t just a few machines which had been added during the day, but that a whole new wing had been added, all stocked with various equipment manufactured by a company he had never heard of, called TrueImage. However, the designs were all ergonomic, and looked like they emphasized range of motion, so he figured he might as well give them a try. If he didn’t like them, there were always the old machines in the main room to use.

He walked in and found the room empty of people, which was a bit strange. Granted, he always tried to come during off peak hours, but usually there was at least one of his fellow workout freaks who would be willing to help spot him. That meant that he was going to have to settle for a slightly less strenuous workout, but that was probably good, since he was working on some unfamiliar equipment. Even more disappointing was the fact that there were no mirrors anywhere in the room, and all of the machines were positioned such that they faced into the room, rather than out of it. There weren’t even any windows, so the whole room felt a bit dark and dreary, despite the fact that the fluorescent lighting left nothing unlit. Still, he could manage one workout without eyeing himself he thought, as long as the machines were as good as they were rumored.

Clay decided to start off with a pretty standard warm up on the treadmill, so that he could get his heart rate going and his muscles limber. He climbed on, and started playing with the computer, but as soon as he hit the start button, a red light clicked on, and a series of lasers began scanning his body, from his head to his toes, while the screen flashed, “Calculating ideal TrueImage setting. Please remain still.” This continued for about a minute, until the light flicked off, and the tread started moving, catching Clay off guard for a moment, until he could get the stride right. It settled at a light jog, and Clay immediately noticed that it seemed to be paced at the ideal warm up speed—not too fast, and not too slow.

He was impressed that the machine could have calibrated all of that off of a laser scan. In fact, he hadn’t imagined that was even possible in the first place, but apparently it worked. However, the computer wasn’t telling him much about the routine it had planned for him—it didn’t even have a timer counting down to the end of his work out. All it said was “TrueImage workout in progress,” over and over again. As he was running, Clay tried hitting a few of the buttons, but nothing happened at all to the speed, incline, or anything. Out of curiosity, Clay tried to get off, but there were rails on both sides, so he couldn’t just step off, and when he stopped running, planning on just falling off the back, the tread stopped moving too, and when he tried to walk backwards, the tread moved under him, keeping him in one spot.  He was a little freaked out, finding out that he was trapped on the machine, but he figured that he might as well run, and wait for the program to cycle out by itself.

The workout program stayed easy for a little while, but then Clay began to notice that he was huffing and puffing a bit more than usual, and certainly far more than he had ever before when he was running. He assumed that the machine much have changed something—increased the speed or raised the incline—but everywhere he looked he couldn’t detect any difference at all. If anything, it seemed like the treadmill was going slower than it had when he had begun. He also wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been running either. The machine was facing a wall, and there wasn’t a clock anywhere in the room. No one had come in while he had been working out, so it couldn’t have been that late, but it was disconcerting to say the least.

Eventually he knew that the machine was slowing down, because what had been a jog a little while before had slowed to a fast walk, and then slowed even further, to what should have been a relaxing stroll, but Clay had never been as exhausted as he was then. He had come to the conclusion that the treadmill must have had some means of increasing the resistance of the tread itself—it was the only way this workout could have become so strenuous at such a slow speed. It was quite ingenious, actually, because that meant he could achieve a harder workout at much slower speeds while reducing the risk of injury, but he figured that it would take a few weeks before he was used to it.

Just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to walk any further, the treadmill clicked off, and the screen flashed “Program complete.” With legs like rubber, Clay stumbled away from the machine, and over to the drinking fountain in the main room. After a good, long drink, he checked the clock, and was surprised to find that he had only been running for ten minutes, even though it felt like he had been on the tread for at least an hour. He certainly needed a rest before he even attempted to lift some weights. While he focused on slowing his breathing, he wandered over to the mirror, so that he could have another look at himself, but as soon as he saw his reflection, he felt that something was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

His gut was there, though it wasn’t one of those saggy things those chubs at the school had. It was hard, with a solid mix of fat and muscle. In fact, that was how he would have described most of his body. Sure, he was stocky, but most of his muscles were covered by a healthy layer of fat. It certainly didn’t give him much cardio strength, but he could bench press 250 pounds easy. He felt his tightly trimmed goatee and close cropped hair, but those felt both wrong and right as well. He felt like he should have been more muscular, but this was how he’d looked for years, so there was no reason he should feel like he was looking at a new person, but he did. He noticed that a bit of his gut was hanging out from under his shirt, with a light treasure trail, and he self-consciously pulled it down, and looked around to see if anyone had seen him, but everyone in the room seemed absorbed in their own workouts.

As he was looking around, he saw that a familiar face had wandered into the center while he was jogging, one of the members of the football team named Jason Yelman. Clay waved at Jason, and started over towards where he was sitting on a weight bench, doing some bicep curls. As he walked over, he felt the five inch cock in his pants begin to harden as he stared at Jason’s crotch, and imagined himself down on his knees in front of him, sucking his cock while he rubbed his own through his pants. The image was so powerful that Clay felt his lips grow dry, and he licked them anxiously as he approached. Jason finished his reps on the machine where he was, and wiped his face off with a towel. “Hey Clay, what’s up?” he said.

“Oh, you know. The usual. You try the new machines yet?” Clay said, trying to sound casual, but is just coming off sounding nervous. What was wrong with him all of the sudden? He wasn’t gay, was he? Granted, he’d never been very interested in women before either, but why did his gaze keep drifting back to Jason’s crotch?

Jason shook his head, “Nah, coach said we aren’t allowed to use them. He wants us to build our bulk the old fashioned way. You try them?”

“Yeah. Not sure if I like them yet or not…” Clay said, and then they both lapsed into silence.

Jason looked where Clay was looking and smirked, “Come on man, enough with the small talk. I know what you want, so suck it already.”

Clay felt his face heat up, and he looked around nervously, “What, here? Out in the open?”

In response, Jason just pulled down his pants, revealing his rock hard nine inch cock, and that was all Clay needed to see. He got down on his knees, and started sucking, slowly at first, and then more vigorously. Jason just sat there with one guiding hand on the back of Clay’s head, and enjoyed the ride. No one else in the room paid any attention to the at all, as though one jock giving another one head was completely normal. Clay meanwhile, couldn’t resist reaching under his taut gut and fondling his own member which was leaking an amazing amount of precum into his shorts. Slowly he could feel his orgasm building, and with a massive surge, exploded a massive load in his shorts, saturating the front of them so much that his cum began leaking through and dripping onto the floor. Jason, however, was completely oblivious to Clay, as though he was just another machine in the room to be used. With no warning, he shot his load down Clay’s throat, who swallowed all of it, and sat back, satisfied in ways he couldn’t even fathom. Jason just pulled up his pants, stood up, and went back to his bicep curls as though nothing had happened, leaving Clay to lick his lips and savor the jock’s cum on his tongue.

Clay knew that he should have felt humiliated, but instead he felt rejuvenated, and was ready for his weight program. With one last look in the mirror, and happy that his earlier doubts had seemingly evaporated, he walked back into the TrueImage room, and examined the weight machines more closely. When he had looked at them earlier, he had thought they were all different, but on closer inspection, they were actually all identical machines. Curious, Clay walked up to one and sat down in the seat there, and as soon as he did, another set of lasers sprang to life, and began scanning his body yet again. A screen lit up next to him, again saying “Calculating ideal TrueImage setting. Please remain still,” but the lasers lasted much shorter this time, and the screen flashed, “Recognizing previous program…program loaded,” and a few ankle and wrist bracelets were released from the machine. Clay assumed that he was supposed to put them on, and did so, figuring that, as soon as he did, he would be locked into the program like before. Indeed, as soon as the last clasp was locked in place, the cords attached to the machine pulled taut, and began maneuvering his limbs around to different positions, while the chair tilted with them. The whole effect was disorienting at first, but he adjusted to it quickly, and he liked how it saved him the effort of moving from machine to machine in the old room.

Unlike on the treadmill, the screen on the weight machine gave him a bit more direction, usually telling him the general motion he was supposed to make with his limbs. Also similar to the treadmill, the weights were very light, but he did not have the stamina it seemed like he usually did. Again, he figured that there must be some device which was adjusting the resistance, but he never witnessed it operating. The machine was very thorough, and worked him through every muscle group on his body. As soon as one group was exhausted, the cords and chair positioned him anew, and another exercise was begun. By the end, every muscle in Clay’s body was on fire, and he was so relieved when the straps released him, that he pledged he would never go near one of these machines ever again. They were simply too exhausting.

He waddled back to the main room, absolutely drenched with sweat, and caught another look at himself in the mirror, all of him, and his jaw dropped in horror. He was fat, but not just fat, he was disgustingly obese. I mean, sure, he had never been skinny, but he now had a soft apron which completely obscured his crotch, and fell at least five or six inches further than that, so that his huge thighs bumped into it when he walked. His way too small shirt didn’t even begin to cover it, and just made him look even chubbier. His face was almost perfectly round, with puffy cheeks and a second chin which hung down over his neck. All of the hair on his head was simply gone, which only emphasized how round he was. He didn’t even have any facial hair—everything, even his body, was baby smooth. He reached up and felt his face and neck, and was surprised with how soft and pliable the fat was. In fact, all of his body was like that. He gave his belly a tentative shake and watched the fat ripple all around him, and the sensation was surprisingly pleasing, and even erotic. As he stood there, he could feel his massive thighs rubbing against one another, feel the flab hanging off of his arms where he was certain there had been bulging biceps not minutes ago. It was wrong, all of it, and he had no idea how it had happened, and the scary part was that some part of his mind was trying to tell him that this was how he was supposed to look, and that he liked looking like this.

He turned away, certain that it had to be some illusion or something caused by the exhausting workout he had just gone through. What he needed was some water. He walked over to the fountain again, panting and stumbling the whole way, and drank as much water as he could. When he was finished, all he wanted to do was sit somewhere and rest, so he plopped his fat ass down next to the water fountain. When he sat, it was even more obvious how he had changed, but the more he thought about it, the less shocking it became, and though he tried to remember how he had looked earlier that day, he found that all of his memories—every single one—was of him obese, even all the way back into childhood. And he liked it. He wanted to be fat. It made him happy, as disgusting as that should have been. As he sat there, he had unconsciously begun massaging his belly, and he could feel his short, stubby cock growing underneath his apron. However, he knew better than to try and find it—he couldn’t reach it. Of course, that didn’t stop his massive balls from producing a massive amount of cum whenever he was aroused, which was pretty much all the time.

Clay looked up, and saw that Jason was taking a drink at the water fountain, and he began expecting that something was going to happen, something he really wanted, and without missing a beat, Jason pulled down his shorts and shoved his cock into Clay’s mouth. This is what he had been needing. He hadn’t sucked a cock in a good fifteen minutes, and he needed a massive dose of cum, and he knew exactly how to get it. He sucked as hard as he could, and in less than a minute, Jason couldn’t hold back any longer, and shot his second load of the day down Clay’s throat, and then walked away without even acknowledging him, not that Clay cared. He just lay back against the wall, and felt the happy gush of cum soak his groin. “Hey Gus,” Clay called, “Are you going to hook me up or not?”

From around the corner, a stocky bear came running over, grinning. “Back for more, Clay? Man, you already were here for hours this morning,” he laughed, but was just as familiar with Clay’s routine as Clay was. He pulled a pump out from the side of the water fountain next to Clay, and after a bit of fiddling, managed to get the vacuum pump fastened over Clay’s tiny dick. He then flipped the switch, and Clay felt the pump start sucking at his cock, and he moaned, pinching his fat nipples through his shirt. “Yeah, you fuckin’ pig. Man, I heard the whole football team is going to be working out together tonight, so you had better be ready for some good facefucks,” Gus said, as he massaged the cock in his own shorts. However, it was so long that the entire head pocked out the bottom when it was entirely hard. Unable to hold back any longer, Gus pulled down his pants and shoved his cock into Clay’s mouth, who started sucking away at as much of it as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the clear tank next to the fountain began to fill with his precum that the pump was sucking up. Immediately, some jocks lined up and began taking good long drinks from the fountain, now spouting Clay’s precum, which they all drank it down like gluttons. Afterwards, they were happy to make their own donations to Clay’s gullet, and he soon lost track of how many cocks he had sucked. Occasionally, guys would get down around him and play with his fat, which only made Clay hornier, occasionally leading him to a massive orgasm which filled the tank to the top every time.

Clay was in heaven, and nearly all of the jocks came back for second and thirds. For the next two hours, until the center closed, Clay was never without a cock in his mouth. When the last jock had left, Gus came back to help him stand up, then turned him around and pushed him against the wall. With the push of another switch, Clay began pumping his cum into the reserve tanks, while Gus reamed his ass with his massive cock for a good hour. Turning on the pump to its maximum setting, so that by the time Gus was halfway through, Clay had already had five screaming orgasms, and was weak in the knees. They had been lovers since their first meeting during orientation a few years ago, and it had been Gus’s idea to install the pump in the fountain. In fact, the additional protein had helped all of the athletes at the school pack on pound after pound of muscle. When Gus finally reached his climax and shot his own massive load up Clay’s ass, they cleaned him up, put the pump away, and headed back to the locker room.

Clay stripped out of his “workout” clothes, and sucked some of the excess cum from his shorts before throwing them into his locker with the shirt. Gus was taking a long piss in the bathroom, so Clay took a few minutes to admire himself in the mirror. He really was the hottest cum dump in the school, and every man on campus knew it. Wherever he was, guys would line up for a blow job from him, and most guys couldn’t last for more than a minute when he was working his hardest. He played with one meaty nipple, and fantasized about all of the cocks he had seen that afternoon, and felt his dick start leaking again. The night was still young, and he figured Gus might be willing to hit one of the bars on campus before they headed home and went to bed. Gus came out of the bathroom and gave his love a big hug and kiss, which soon turned into another blowjob. As Gus blew another load all over Clay’s baby smooth face, all he could think was that this was what he was meant to be—this was his true image.

Episode 8 – The Master’s Program

Warning: This episode contains scat, abuse, and BDSM content. This is a work of fantasy.

Today was the day, and Tim was having a hard time staying calm. He had been preparing for this for the past year, as a student in the preparatory courses of the masters program at Bearman college. He had passed the theoretical test the week before, and his placement in the top 95th percentile granted him a place in the practicum—the final exam before admittance to the program. He was dressed to impress, putting on his most expensive uniform, the well cared for leather stretched tight over every muscle on his body. He was wearing no underwear, and the feeling of being encased in leather all over his body was enough to keep his cock half hard as he walked. He had spent a good half hour this morning polishing his favorite knee high boots until the glinted like steel in the sun, and as he crossed campus, everyone stepped out of his way, recognizing the confident authority which Tim exuded. He was a master, and everyone around him already knew it. The only people who didn’t were the professors proctoring the exam, and he was bound and determined to prove to them that he belonged there. He pulled his cap down a little lower over his eyes and ran his gloved thumb along his perfectly trimmed fu-man-chu, and walked into the Harrison Mastery Building, where the test was being administered.

As he entered, he saw any number of other would-be masters students also in the building, waiting for the door of the exam room to open. The test was scheduled for four-thirty, and the doors would not open until then. All of the candidates were expected to arrive early, and they had all been warned that the doors would open promptly, everyone present would be allowed in, and then they would be locked behind them. No one arriving late would be admitted. Tim looked around the room and recognized quite a few of his fellow students from previous classes, all of them dressed in their finest gear, like him. Marcus Wallenburg had on his tartan kilt and combat boots, beautifully shined, and his beard was tied into three long braids which reached halfway down his chest. On the other side of the room, Keith Sunderland was dressed similarly to himself, in his finest leather uniform. They nodded to each other, but the intent behind both of their looks was crystal clear—stay out of my way. Micah Harris was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and dressed in his bike leathers. His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and he too was sizing up the competition. To Tim, they were acquaintances, nothing more, and inside that room, no one would be holding anything back, especially not him.

Of course, there were also some people he didn’t know. Off in a corner, a short stocky bear dressed in leather chaps and a harness smoked a massive pipe, chatting quietly with a skinhead, whose heavily muscled body was completely covered in tattoos and piercings. There were others, but most of them were forgettable, wearing mostly leather and quite a few of them smoking, probably to help with the anxiety all of them were feeling at the moment. There were also a few people who didn’t look like they belonged there at all, the best example being a man standing right next to the exam door. He was dressed in dirty and tattered jeans, with suspenders running over his shoulders, though they were stretched taut by the force of the man’s massive beer gut and man boobs. He had no shirt on, his entire stomach was covered in a massive forest of hair, and he had a wiry beard which seemed to stick out from his face in every direction, and climbed high up on his cheeks. Not only was he far less fit than anyone else in the room, he was also quite older, with a good amount of grey hair, just as unkempt as his beard. It looked like he had gotten lost on his way to a hillbilly country fair. There was also a short scrawny guy, dressed in khakis and a polo looking around nervously at the muscle hunks surrounding him. Tim smiled—the guy was definitely out of his league. He might have passed the theoretical exam with flying colors, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to do very well here.

He checked his watch, and saw that it was one minute to four-thirty, and a few seconds later, he heard the clock tower on campus begin to chime. On cue, the doors swung open, and all thirty some candidates filed in through the door. Tim felt some nerves begin to form in his chest, but he pushed them away. He had this—there was no way he was going to lose now.

As soon as they were all through the door, it closed shut behind them and locked. All of the chairs in the large classroom had been moved away towards the walls, and the middle had been loaded with all sorts of gear. From where he was standing, Tim could make out a center table loaded up with all sorts of whips, dildos and restraints. A bit further out there were slings, suspended chains, and even a few Saint Andrew’s crosses. There was enough gear to stock at least five top of the line dungeons, but there was one thing missing—there were no slaves in the entire room. There was just one man waiting for them all, Professor Erikson, head of the masters program.

Tim had had an interview with the man once, during his preparatory year. He was also the only man whom he had ever addressed as “Sir”. Erikson scared the crap out of him, not that he was dumb enough to show it. The fact that he would be proctoring the exam just made the entire experience more real to him. He was really here, at the test Tim had been preparing for what felt like his whole life, ever since he had taken down and dominated his first slut. He felt his usual confidence return at that memory, and even felt his mouth turn up into a smirk, as he made his way with the rest of the candidates to the center of the room.

As they assembled, Erikson’s newest TA slave walked up to each candidate and handed them a leather collar. He had a chastity device encasing his cock, and a fresh tattoo across his back which read “PAIN PIG.” With every step, the complex series of weights and chains pulled and tugged on his pierced nipples and scrotum, and he looked almost delirious with lust and horniness. The whole sight was turning Tim on, and he couldn’t wait to get started, but Professor Erikson hadn’t told them what they would be doing yet. In fact, he hadn’t even moved. While he waited, Tim examined the collar in his hand. While the outside was leather, inside a thin band of flexible metal ran around the entire length of the collar. Tim tried moving the ends together and found that they attached by their own accord, as though they were magnetically charged. It was certainly one of Erikson’s original designs, but that meant he had no real idea of what it was capable of. However, it couldn’t be too dangerous, could it? He laughed, when that though came to him. Of course it was dangerous. Everything the professor had ever invented had been dangerous, but that was part of the fun.

When everyone had a collar, the TA returned to Erikson’s side and bowed his head. Only then did the professor deign to speak. “Welcome, candidates, to your practicum. I’m sure you are all very eager to get started, so I will get my explanation over as quickly as possible, I promise.

“Now, all of you are here because you have shown remarkable potential in your desire and drive to dominate and control those who desire and deserve to be controlled. I have personally interviewed all of you, and am confident that you would all be highly successful in our master classes. However, over the years, the other faculty and I have found that there is a certain drive which separates the successful from the exemplary, and we are only interested in educating the exemplary at Bearman.

“All of you have the drive, or else you would not have entered into this program in the first place. All of you have the skills, or you would not have scored the highest marks on your theoretical exams. However, not all of you have the pure primal instinct of domination running through your entire being. Not all of you are true masters. It is not something which can be learned, nor is it a frivolous talent. It occurs when the dominant will is the only will—it is indomitable because it is alone. This final test is designed to separate out those whose mind is of this rare nature.

“Now, to explain what you will be doing. Each of you has been given a collar. On that collar, you will find a number. Each of you has been paired at random to someone else in this room. When I tell you to begin, you have three tasks to complete. First, you must overpower your opponent and place the collar around his neck. Be aware that it can be taken off again if he is not completely subdued. Any other task completed while the collar is disconnected will not count towards the completion of your test. After you have collared your opponent, you must make him orgasm in a position of submission, and he must bring you to orgasm in a position of dominance. It does not matter in what order you complete these last two tasks, so long as you accomplish them while the collar is around your opponent’s neck.

Those of you who are successful will be admitted into the masters program. For the next two years, my fellow colleagues and I will educate you in the art and manner of masterly conduct. For those of you who are, less successful, you will be removed to my lab, where you will be reconditioned and returned to your dominator as his training slave.”

He paused in his explanation, in order to let those words sink into the men surrounding him. Suddenly, this was no longer just a test—it was a battle for survival. Tim felt those nerves return but he pushed them away again. He had to retain his focus, or he would surely lose.

“Now that you all understand the seriousness of this matter, I have a few final notes to add. There are no limits here. Use any skill, any knowledge, and any power at your disposal to force your opponent to his knees, begging for your forgiveness. Show no mercy. All of you will be competing at the same time, but keep in mind that you may not interfere in another contest. If you do, you will be automatically disqualified, and I will take you as my own slave. And trust me, I will be infinitely crueler than any of you can possible imagine. Now, find your opponents, and then I will give the order to begin.”

Tim inspected his collar again, and found that his number was eight. He called it out loud, and heard a deep drawl sounding out the same number. His initial fear was that he had been paired with Marcus, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he found himself paired up with the dirty redneck he had noticed in the hall earlier, and Tim couldn’t have been happier. There was no way a fat, old slob like him would be able to top him—simply no way. The man grinned, and extended his hand as Tim approached. “The name’s Jack, fella. What’s yers?”

“Tim,” he replied, and then smirked, “But you can call me Master Tim, or Sir.”

Jack winked at Tim and said, “Well, ya can just go ahead and start callin’ me Daddy Jack then, my boy.” Jack let out a loud, rumbling laugh which made his his gut shake, disgusting Tim immensely. They shook hands, and as Tim came closer he noticed that Jack smelled awful. He probably hadn’t showered in weeks, and he reeked of sweat, piss, and cum. However, Tim knew better to show any sign of weakness, so he ignored the odor as best he could. The first order of business when he bested this slob would be to get his fat ass on a treadmill and get that nasty hair shaved off, after he had showered him off with a fire hose first, of course.

Tim wanted to say something but he heard Professor Erikson call out, “Begin!” and Tim figured actions always speak louder than words. As hard as he could, he sucker punched Jack in the stomach, winding him and sending him to one knee. Tim immediately tried to get the collar on him, but Jack ducked away faster than Jack figured he would, and stood up a few feet away.

“So, it’s gonna be a dirty brawl eh? That’s fine, I can play dirty,” Jack panted, and then charged Tim. Both of them were driven to the ground by the force of the hit, and they began rolling around, both of them trying to gain the upper hand. Jack was much heavier than Tim, but he refused to let him use it. Jack spent most of his time trying to get Tim’s arms pinned at his sides, but was having no luck. It seemed like a stalemate, until Jack spotted some rope hanging from the table they had rolled towards. He grabbed it with his hand, and managed to get a quick knot around one of Jack’s feet. At that point, Tim knew that he had him. He began wrapping Jack up, limb by limb, binding him as tightly as he could, so that the rope cut deep lines into Jack’s fat. Before long, all Jack could do was roll around on the ground, and Tim was free to stand up, and take a look around at everything else going on, while he retrieved the collar he had dropped in the tussle.

He was the first person to subdue his opponent, and that thought filled him with a bit of pride. Out in the audience, Professor Erikson was watching the entire scene with glee, his TA on his knees before him, sucking on his cock. Tim picked the collar up from the floor, walked back over to Jack, and secured the collar tight around his fat neck. “Ready to give up slave?” Tim asked, and Jack just grinned.

“Ya haven’t broken me yet, cowboy. I’d like tah see ya try.”

Tim immediately realized that he had gotten himself into a bit of a problem, because his bondage work had been far to haphazard. While Jack was secure, there was no way he’d be able to get to work on him on the ground. But Tim was also realizing that he hadn’t really thought this far ahead. He had simply imagined that he would get Jack on the ground, get the collar on him, and that would be the end of it. Now, not only did he have to fuck him, or get him to suck his cock, Tim had to find some way to get him to cum as well, which wasn’t really his style. He much preferred to dominate and run, generally leaving his victims crying and whimpering on the bed, but then Jack wasn’t his usual prey. If he was going to get anywhere, he’d first have to find a better way to secure Jack.

He wandered over to the table and took a moment to think, eventually settling on some locking wrist restraints that he thought he could attach to Jack’s wrists with a bit of effort, and some chain which he could then use to connect them together. He returned to Jack, and after quite a bit of fiddling, realized that his idea wasn’t going to work like he had hoped. As he struggled, Jack started laughing, and Tim snapped, “What’s so funny, you fucking fatass?”

“You are, boy. Ya don’t know what yer doin’ do ya?”

The comment struck Tim at a weak point he hadn’t even been aware of. He didn’t really know how he was going to manage this. Sure, Jack couldn’t hurt him from where he was, but a stalemate wasn’t going to be an adequate solution. However, he knew he couldn’t show any weakness now, so in his roughest voice, he ordered, “Shut up, faggot.”

“No,” was all Jack said in reply, and in response, Jack kicked him in the stomach, but Jack was ready for it this time, and rolled with the kick, minimizing the force of the blow. “You really don’t know what yer doing!” he laughed, “How in the hell did ya get this far, boy, if ya can’t manage tah exert a little control over a man bound up on the ground?”

Again, Tim felt his confidence shake, but he fought against his doubt harder. In frustration, he yelled, “Shut the fuck up,” and tried to stamp his boot on Jack’s face, but Jack rolled away again, and deftly stood up, the ropes falling away as he cut through them with a knife he had been hiding on his belt. Jack began chuckling again as he took the collar off his neck and stalked back over towards Tim.

Tim’s face heated up and turned red. This fucking redneck was laughing at him. He pulled back his fist, but in a surprising move, Jack swung his own at Tim’s face, striking him hard and fast. Stars blew up in his face, and the next thing he knew, he had hit the ground, holding his nose in pain. No one had ever hit him that hard before–hell, no one had ever hit him before at all, and that alone shocked Tim more than anything. His entire image had been fabricated around the assumption of his invincibility, and this hard, throbbing pain was not something he had been prepared for, but he struggled up to one knee anyway, but Jack didn’t give him a chance to recover. He delivered a knee directly into Tim’s mouth, sending him to the ground again, and Jack immediately sat down on him, hard, pinning Tim’s arms at his sides with his bulky legs. Tim could feel Jack’s massive cock jabbing him in the chest, as he reached down and put the collar around his neck. Immediately, Tim panicked. He had never even imagined that someone would manage to collar him. It had simply seemed impossible. The fact that it had happened, and that it had been accomplished by an old, fat ass like Jack, stunned him so much he stopped struggling for a moment.

“Now boy, let me tell you a story,” Jack said, “I had myself a daddy once. He used tah fuck me every night, make me drink his piss, clean out his ass, all since I was a babe. I know what it’s like tah be a slave, but I escaped from that. I took my drunkass dad intah the bedroom, hogtied him, and fucked him ‘til he couldn’t walk. Ya want tah know what I did then? I cut his fuckin’ balls and dick off. I made him a bitch, and then sold him tah the dirtiest fuckin’ redneck in the trailer park, who trained him to be his toilet. Hell, just last week I visited him and took a massive shit all over his face, and he loved it, and begged me for more. Ya never had tah do anythin’ like that. Nah, ya just think that because yer big and butch ya deserve tah top any guy ya run across. Ya might walk the talk, but ya have no clue what yer doin’ here.”

Tim started to say something, but Jack just backhanded him, hard, across the face, and then did it again for good measure. “Ya don’t say nothin’ less I say ya can, got it boy?”

“Fuckin’ pig!” Tim growled, and then spit in Jack’s face.

Jack wiped the loogie away, grinning all the while, and waited for Tim to say more. When he didn’t, Jack said, “If ya got something tah say tah me, say it. I’m listenin’.”

“You’re a dumbass redneck pig, that’s what! You’re a slob, you’re dirty, you’re fat…I mean, you expect me to submit to that? What a fucking joke.”

In reply, Jack grabbed the back of Tim head, and forced his face into his hairy, smelly gut. Tim tried to push back, but he couldn’t break away. He also couldn’t breathe, and after a moment he felt his lungs begin to burn. “Yeah, yer daddy is a pig, boy, and he’s proud of it too. Ya wanna know somethin’ else? Yer gonna be a pig, too. I’m gonna have ya so fat by next summer that yer gut will be draggin’ on the floor as ya crawl around my trailer.”

Tim managed to catch a quick breath, but then Jack had his face buried again. “Ya like it, don’t ya boy? Ya want tah suffocate in yer daddy’s belly. Just admit it.” He pulled Tim’s face out and added, “Say it. Say ya want yer daddy’s belly!”

No, fucker!” Tim yelled, and then recoiled as Jack backhanded him across the face again. And then again.

“Say it!” Jack yelled as he continued raining blows down on Tim, “Say it pig boy! Say ya want yer daddy’s belly!”

Tim couldn’t take it anymore. He was so frustrated, powerless and angry that he just wanted it to be over, so he caved. “Fine, fucker. I want your belly, happy? I want your damn disgusting belly!” It made him feel better for a moment, but as he said it, he felt the collar around his neck heat up, and a sharp jolt of electricity run up his neck and into his head. His vision blurred for a moment, and when it cleared, he had a horrible realization. He did want Jack’s belly. Unable to resist, he shoved his face into it, and even started licking it, loving the way the hairs felt on his tongue and the dank flavor of stale sweat.

After a moment, he managed to pull himself away, but Jack was already grinning above him, and began taunting him, “Well, don’t stop now, boy. It’s ok that ya want it, in fact, ya need it, don’t ya?”

“No. No, I don’t!”

Jack hit him again, and Tim yelped, “Say it boy, or I’ll really get rough with ya.”

Tim knew that he couldn’t let it anything slip out again, or he would lose even more ground. He redoubled his struggles to unpin himself, but Jack just shoved his face back into his fat, and Jack felt himself melt. He was also aware that his dick was hardening in his leather pants, and he hoped that Jack wouldn’t notice.

“Lick it boy, taste it, like ya were before. It tastes good, don’t it? So why’d ya stop?” Jack said, and Tim relented. He wanted it. He just couldn’t stop himself and as he began licking again he realized that not only was his cock hard, it was also leaking precum. Even worse, he felt Jack reach around and start massaging it, which just made Tim moan and lick faster. Just as he was really starting to enjoy himself though, Jack pushed him away, and Tim felt like he had lost his favorite toy.

“Please. I want it.”

“I know you want it. But do you need it?”

Tim was silent for a moment, and then, against everything he had ever been, he gave a small nod. However, this wasn’t enough for Jack, who said quietly, “I need tah hear ya say it, boy.”

Quietly, hoping that the collar wouldn’t recognize it, he whispered, “I need…I need your belly.” Again, the collar heated, another shock went through him, and his desires just built up even stronger. When Jack released his head, Tim didn’t even try to stop himself. He just threw himself into the wall of fat in front of him, reveling in its softness, the forest of hair, the deep belly button. He was in love, he was obsessed, and he never wanted to be anywhere else. When Jack pushed him away again, he let out a whimper.

“Yeah, that’s right boy. This is what ya’ve always wanted, isn’t it? A daddy tah own ya—control ya. Yeah, ya think I’m a disgusting pig? Boy, ya ain’t got no idea what’s in store for ya.”

“Please, let me lick your belly again. Please, it’s so…I…” was all Tim could manage before he dove for it again, but Jack slapped him away.

“If ya want my belly, ya better ask nicely. Now, what do ya say?”

“Please, can I lick your belly…daddy?” Tim couldn’t believe the word had actually come out of his mouth, but he’d do anything to be buried in that fat.

“Yeah, that’s a good boy. Ya want tah be a good boy, don’t ya?”

Tim nodded, but Jack slapped him again, and Tim realized what he wanted, “Yes daddy, I want to be a good boy.” Another shock came, but Tim didn’t really notice. He really did want to be a good boy, because good boys got to lick their daddy’s bellies.

Jack laughed, knowing that he had won. Now, he could have some real fun.

“Well, good boys always want tah please their daddies, right?”

Tim nodded, “Yes daddy, I want to please you.” Another jolt hit Tim.

“Well ya know what makes daddies really happy? Daddies love little boys who love their daddy’s cock up their ass.”

Again Tim nodded quickly, “Yeah daddy, I want your cock up my ass. Please, will you put your cock up my ass?” Another jolt. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted his daddy to fuck him. It filled him up and pushed every other thought from its path.

“Well sure boy, if ya want me tah, I guess I can.”

Tim felt his heart leap with joy. Jack got off of him, and Tim quickly undid his pants and got on his hands and knees in front of him. The air was cold against his twitching asshole, but Jack came around in front of him first, his own pants unbuttoned, revealing a thick meaty cock with a thick PA pierced through the head that was partially covered by an overhanging foreskin. It was at least eight inches long, and not even fully hard. “Ya better get it good and lubed up, boy. Good and wet.”

Tim immediately started licking the shaft up and down the entire length, trying to get as much spit as possible onto the surface. It was a challenge, because the entire tool tasted absolutely rank, but Tim knew that if he stopped, his daddy would be angry at him, and he couldn’t imagine how horrible that would feel. So he licked anyway, even under the foreskin, which was thick with foul smelling cheese.

When he had coated it the best he could, Jack nodded, “Ready, boy? Ya still want yer daddy’s giant cock crammed up yer asshole?”

“Yeah, I want it. Fuck me, please,” was all Tim could pant. He couldn’t bear having his ass empty any longer. Jack walked around behind him slowly, tantalizing his pig. Tim felt Jack put his hands on his ass, and that alone made him quiver with excitement. Then the head of his cock was pressing against his hole, and it hurt so much, because Tim had never been fucked before, but he wanted his daddy to fuck him so bad, he could barely control himself. He wanted to be a good boy and please his daddy. He moaned and cried as the beast pushed its way in, inch after inch, but his pain just seemed to turn Jack on even more, and he began shoving it in as fast Tim’s ass could take it.

“Yeah, ya waltzed in here lookin’ like a butch leatherman, but all ya really are is a slave. Ya never really wanted tah be a master, have ya? All you’ve ever really wanted was tah be a slave, isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” Tim moaned between Jack’s thrusts, “I’m a slave. I’ve always wanted to be a slave! Please, fuck me sir!” The jolt that came with that was even stronger, and made Tim black out for a few seconds. When he recovered, he remembered seeing Jack before the test and wanting him to dominate him so badly. When they got paired together he had never been happier. Why had he fought for so long? Jack slid his cock all the way out, and then slammed it all the way in, making Tim scream in pain, but he also loved it. He had never felt so full before. Where there had been absolute emptiness not moments before there was now throbbing life and power. His daddy had completed him and filled him up, and Tim knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to repay him.

 “Yeah boy, but you’re more than that. You’re a fuckin’ pig, is what you are. You ain’t happy unless yer ass is stuffed with cock, and ya got another one down yer throat. You’re a dirty, filthy pig, and ya love it.”

“I’m a pig. Yeah daddy, I’m your pig,” was all Tim could say, and after another jolt, he heard himself begin to snort and grunt in time with Jack’s thrusts. It was so big, but he needed that cock, and started bucking as hard as he could, determined to get it as far up his chute as he could, and Tim could hear Jack wheezing and grunting behind him, getting close to blowing a massive load in his ass.

Lost in lust, Tim looked around at the other pairs in the room. It looked like Marcus had managed to come out on top, with the skinhead licking at his boot, his cock hard and leaking as he cleaned it. Tim fantasized for a moment about crawling over there, sticking his head up his kilt and sucking on Marcus’s cock, but he wasn’t sure his new daddy would like that. Across the room, He could see that Micah, the biker, had been stripped naked, bound tightly with some rope, and had a ball gag stuck in his mouth. The little man in the khaki’s was pounding his ass with a paddle while he rained verbal abuse down on him, and as he watched, Micah blew a massive load all over the floor in front of him, and then collapsed on the ground, exhausted. Keith was gagged and tied to a cross, his cock jutting out in front of him while the stocky pipe bear blew smoke clouds around him, which Keith eagerly sucked up, well on his way to becoming a pipe pig. It dawned on Tim that he was a pig too, and he liked it. He was going to be a fatass redneck’s pigboy, and he had never been happier in his life. He felt Jack bury his cock as deep as he could and spew his load deep into Tim’s ass, and the very knowledge that his daddy had just marked him forever made Tim feel his own orgasm begin building, but it was cut off by Jack grabbing a hold of his balls and yanking on them, hard.

“Oh no little piggy. Ya ain’t getting’ off that easy. I’m not close tah bein’ done with ya yet,” Jack said, then pulled out his still leaking cock and came around in front of Tim, where he shoved his filthy dick into Tim’s mouth. “Clean it all up piggy. Get a good taste of yer shit covered daddy’s cock—you’re going to be eating a lot of it from now on.”

The taste disgusted Tim, but he sucked at it anyway, desperate to please his daddy. When he had cleaned as much as he could, he pulled his mouth out, and began to gag from the taste.

“Bad pig!” Jack yelled, and gave Tim a smack, “Ya take yer shit and ya swallow it, got it?”

Tim controlled himself, and then nodded, “Yes daddy, I’ll eat it. Sorry daddy.”

“Well, for that, I think ya need tah eat some more,” Jack said, and pushed Tim onto his back, but Tim was afraid. He tried to scramble away, but Jack pinned him to the ground with his boot, mashing his balls against the floor and making Tim yell.

“Never, try to defy me boy!” he yelled, and pressed harder. Tim tried to push the boot off, but he couldn’t, and the pain was growing worse with each passing moment. “Now repeat after me, boy! I love the taste of a man’s shit!”

“I love the taste of a man’s shit!” Tim yelled, and the taste in his mouth was suddenly delicious, and he found himself wanting more, and hating himself for it. What was he becoming?

“I eat my own shit, and my daddy’s shit, every chance I get!” Jack yelled.

“I eat my shit and my daddy’s every chance I get!” Tim repeated, and felt Jack’s boot lift off his groin.

“One more pig. I can only cum with a big log of shit in my mouth,” Jack said.

Tim paused for a moment, knowing that he shouldn’t say it. Some shred of dignity still remained, but when he saw the boot start to come back down, he spouted out, “I can only cum if…if I have a big log of shit in my mouth.”

“Now boy, tell me what ya want me tah do tah ya.”

Tim said nothing for a moment, and then quietly said, “I want to eat your shit, sir.”

“I didn’t hear ya, pig.”

“I want to eat your shit, sir.” Tim said loudly, utterly humiliated, but hungry, “Please feed me your shit, daddy. Please.”

With an evil grin, Jack pulled down his pants, went over and squatted down over Tim’s face. His entire crack was crusty and brown, but that only turned Tim on more. He happily began lapping up and down, and shoved his tongue up Jack’s hole as far as he could. After a moment, he felt a log begin to push back, and he carefully guided it into his mouth, swallowing it down as fast as he could. He realized about two spurts too late that he was cumming as he chewed it down, and continued to do so until the log disappeared down his throat. He licked up and down the crack, hoping for a bit more to eat, but had to stop when Jack got up and stood over him. Tim just laid there, savoring the taste in his mouth, looking up at his handsome daddy, happier than he had ever been in his life. His afterglow was interrupted suddenly by a final heating of the collar around his neck, and Tim grabbed at it in pain. He soon found that not only had the collar bonded to itself permanently, as though it were a single piece, he also couldn’t even pull it away from his skin, as though it had fused with his very body. A moment later, Erikson’s TA came up to him, attached a magnetic lead to the collar, and led him out of the exam room. Tim turned around, not wanting to leave his daddy, and saw Jack being congratulated by Erikson. He knew that could have been him, but that was no longer the life he wanted.

The TA led him in silence to a nearby laboratory, where a whole set of chairs had been lined up in rows, and quite a few of were already filled with the defeated. All of the new slaves were slack and relaxed, with strange visors covering all of their eyes, each of them connected to a computer terminal next to their seat. Tim was led to a chair next to Micah, whose face was coated with a massive load of cum, and whose cock was tenting out in his pants.

As he sat down, Tim vaguely remembered the man he had been less than an hour ago, and he could not believe how far he had fallen, and how happy he was to be there. He could still taste the load of shit Jack had dumped in his mouth, the load Tim had begged him for, and the load which had made him cum harder than he ever had. Was he really just a pig? Is that all he would be for the rest of his life?

The TA latched some restraints on Tim to keep him in the chair, and then placed a visor over his eyes. The last thing Tim clearly remembered was the man saying, “Initialize program ‘Jack’,” and then Tim was gone. A massive eruption of light exploded in front of his eyes, and he lost control of his body, and mind.  He could feel the light rewriting his brain, filling it up with all sorts of information about his new daddy, and what he expected from the perfect slave. After a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, Tim realized that he was not just learning what it meant to be Jack’s perfect slave—he was becoming Jack’s perfect slave. Eventually, he just fell into a stupor, fantasizing about crawling around his daddy’s trailer, sucking his cock while he watched TV, licking his dirty pits, drinking his piss, and eating out his ass—all day, every day. Occasionally, as he dreamed of chewing down a log of his master’s shit, his cock would explode in his pants, making his entire body shudder. He was Jack’s filthy pig, and soon he couldn’t comprehend being anything else. Sure, he still had his old memories of being a dominator, but they were somehow hollow, or less real, now that he had been remade.

When the visor was finally lifted from his eyes, there was fresh morning daylight streaming into the room, which meant he had been there all night. However, Tim had eyes only for the man a few paces away—his daddy. As soon as the restraints holding him to the chair were undone, he got out of the chair, but found he could no longer easily stand on his feet, and instead fell to his hands and knees, where he belonged. He crawled forward and nuzzled his daddy’s cock through his dirty jeans, and took a deep whiff of his musk. “I love you daddy Jack,” was all Tim could say, and looked up into his new owner’s eyes with all of the affection in his being.

Episode 9 – The President and the Board

Joseph Taylor pulled into the parking lot of the Waldorf administrative building, the engine of his BMW purring quietly, just one of the many luxuries which he surrounded himself with at all times. He parked the car in his parking space, the one reserved for the president of the university, got out, and adjusted his tailored suit and tie in the reflection of the car window. He looked good, but then again, he always looked good. Sure, it was a struggle trying to maintain his figure while working in an administrative position but he was the youngest president in the history of Bortman College, and he certainly wasn’t about to start behaving like an old man. He began each morning with a five mile jog and maintained a rigorous exercise regimen all to keep his six pack stomach firm and toned. He was, above all, a man who believed in efficiency. His body must be agile, his car must be well tuned, and his college must produce the brightest students with the least amount of resources expended upon them. It was a strategy which had worked great for him before—thanks to his intelligence and ingenuity, he had managed to start his own company which made him a millionaire by the age of twenty-five. Of course, this drive towards efficiency only made the reason for his visit that morning all the more irritating.

Every meeting Joseph had with the board of trustees was carefully scheduled, usually six months to a year in advance. However, he had received a call yesterday alerting him that the board was being called for an emergency meeting due to some disturbance on campus. Frank Longen, the dean of students, had not been very clear about what these disturbances were—merely that Joseph’s presence was required, and he had refused to take no for an answer, despite Joseph’s very busy schedule. Frustrated, Joseph managed to catch a flight and arrive just in time for the meeting, but he had not slept for a good eighteen hours, and whatever was going on had better be important, or there would most certainly be some pink slips being handed out in a week or so.

He pulled a comb from his jacket pocket and rearranged a few loose hairs back into place, and then headed along the sidewalk and up the steps into the building, where after two steps on the marble floor, his Italian leather shoes slipped out from under him, sending Joseph crashing to the ground. He lay there stunned for a moment, and then realized that his pants were damp, as was the entire floor. The culprit was across the room, a fat, middle aged janitor running a sopping mop over the tiles, totally oblivious to Joseph’s plight. Using a nearby bench for support, Joseph got himself up, and when he felt sure on his feet, called across the room, “Hey! Janitor!”

The man stopped working, and then looked over at the man in a suit standing by the door, but said nothing, having not noticed Joseph’s fall. The lack of an immediate apology just made Joseph even angrier, and he lashed out, finally happy to have something to vent his anger at. “I just slipped on this floor,” Joseph seethed, “What have you got to say for yourself?”

The janitor just looked at him, and then shrugged, “Hey, sorry buddy, but I put up the sign,” he pointed over at the little yellow “wet floor” marker, and then continued, “it ain’t my fault you didn’t see it.”

Joseph just stared at the man, shocked at the callous response. “Do you even know who I am?”

“No,” the janitor replied, “and I don’t particularly care. I’m just doin’ my job, buddy.”

“I am not your buddy,” Joseph said, as he stalked across the wet floor, barely maintaining his balance, “I am the president of this school, and maybe you should care about that a little more, because I’m pretty sure that means you aren’t going to have a job tomorrow, if I have anything to do with it!” He looked down at the man’s name tag, and then added, “So you can bet that as soon as I’m done with my meeting, there’s going to be another one with campus services to discuss your insubordination, Nate.”

The janitor’s face turned red, and he shrunk even lower, making him look like an even more of a shrimp next to the six foot three president, “Oh, uh…sorry sir. I…I didn’t realize—“

“No shit you didn’t realize, you fucker!” Joseph screamed, “Now get the hell out of my sight!”

Without another word, the janitor scurried away down a side hallway, mop in tow, leaving Joseph alone in the lobby. Well, not entirely alone. There was another man sitting on a nearby bench who had just witnessed the entire scene, and did not look very happy. In fact, he was glaring at Joseph with eyes that looked like cold steel. He was a broad, muscular man who looked like he had been packed into a body a bit too small for all the mass he was carrying. However, what drew Joseph’s attention was the obsidian bear claw pendant hanging around the man’s neck and resting on his hairy chest. The pendant seemed to reflect no light, and as Joseph stared at it, he felt as though he might fall into its depths and never escape. He quickly looked away and headed up the staircase to the second floor, looking back only once to find the man still staring in his direction. Joseph just tried to ignore him, and headed down the hall to the boardroom, where he assumed the trustees were already waiting.

As he entered the room, all of the trustees who had been talking to one another in hushed whispers turned to look at him and were immediately silent. Joseph awkwardly sat down in the chair at the head of the table, but still, no one said anything at all. Joseph looked around but no one met his eyes, staring out the window or into their laps instead. Something wasn’t right, that was for sure. After waiting for a moment to see if anyone would say anything, Joseph turned to Frank, who was seated next to him, and asked, “So, what is this ‘disturbance’ which requires my immediate attention?”

Still no one said anything. If anything, they just looked more sheepish, and Joseph had a sinking feeling that something wasn’t just wrong, but that something was very wrong.

“Ok, come on. I don’t have all day. Just spit it out.”

Next to him, Frank cleared his throat for longer than he needed to, and then spoke, “Well, Joseph. To put it simply, the college has decided to move in a new direction, and we feel that this new direction requires a few changes which we feel should be implemented as soon as possible. In any time of transition of course, there are bound to be a few hiccups here and there, but our primary interest is that the college get through this period with the least amount of distress we can manage.”

Joseph just stared at him for a moment, unable to believe that such a mountain of bullshit had just poured out of Frank’s mouth. Joseph had specifically hired him because he was a no-nonsense, hard working character who never hesitated to call out what he saw. This obtuse speech didn’t seem like it should even be coming from his mouth. “Look, cut the shit, Frank,” Joseph said, “I am not in the mood, nor do I have the time to play games. Just tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“What is going on, Mr. Taylor, is that you have been fired,” a new voice said from behind them, and Joseph whirled around to find himself face to face with the man he had seen sitting on the bench in the lobby.

“And just who, exactly, are you?” Joseph asked.

The man didn’t answer, he just nodded to, Frank who stuttered an introduction. “This is…is Tristan Newbeary, the new, uh, president of the college,” Frank said.

Joseph looked from Tristan to Frank, and back again, and noticed the uncomfortable silence still hanging in the air, “Wait a second…is that what this is all about? You all want me gone, so you don’t even have the common courtesy to tell me? I flew all the way out here just so you could tell me that you voted me out? Don’t I get a chance to defend myself?”

“No, you don’t. And you’re sitting in my seat,” Tristan stated, matter-of-factly, and pulled Joseph’s chair away from the table, with Joseph still sitting in it. That pissed Joseph off even more, that someone would dare move him beyond his control. He was the supposed to be the one that made people move, not the other way around. A curt retort began to form on his tongue, but he thought better of it. It wasn’t worth it. The whole college president thing was really just a way to make his company look better, and it wasn’t worth expending his energy on any more. “Well, fine then. I guess I’ll just show myself out,” he said, but Tristan said one last thing to him as he walked out the door.

“Don’t worry Joe, there will always be a place for you at Bearman,” he winked, “but it isn’t in here,” and then shut the boardroom door in his face. Joseph’s first thought was that he had said the name of the college wrong, but he must not have heard him correctly. It didn’t matter anyway—He just wanted to get out of there while he still had some shred of dignity remaining.

He started walking down the hall, but stopped after a few steps, realizing that something felt different, but he couldn’t figure out what. He took a few more steps, and noticed that his footsteps were also echoing down the hallway differently than they had earlier. He looked down at his feet, and was shocked to find that where his expensive loafers had been, he was now wearing a pair of dirty work boots which looked like they had been worn for a few too many years. He blinked a few times, and then shook his head, but it wasn’t an illusion. The boots had simply materialized on his feet, and Joseph had no recollection of how it had happened. One thing was for sure though—that he had no interest in being seen with them on his feet, so he hurried into the nearby men’s room to get them off, so that he could then look for his actual shoes.

For lack of a better option, Joseph went into a stall and sat down on the toilet. He reached down and tried to untie the knot at the top of the boot, but found that he couldn’t, as though the knot had been glued shut. Next, he tried to simply slide the boot off his foot, but it was tied too tight to allow for that. Growing ever more frustrated, Joseph reached into his pocket, looking for the pocket knife which he carried around with him everywhere so he could cut the laces off, but found nothing in his pocket. Terrified, he felt around all of his pockets and found that they had all been emptied without his knowledge. He didn’t even have his wallet, or his car keys. He then noticed that his pants weren’t even the same pants he had been wearing earlier. What had been luxuriant khakis woven from Egyptian cotton were now cheap, navy polyester pants. Unable to comprehend what had happened to his clothes, he got out of the stall and went to look in the bathroom mirror. There, he saw that his jacket and tie had disappeared just like his shoes, and that his shirt had been replaced with one made from the same material as the pants, though this one a light blue. As he watched, a small oval nametag appeared sewn onto the shirt’s left breast with the name “Joe” on it, and that alone was enough to send Joseph into a panic. He tried unbutton the shirt, but couldn’t, almost as though he know how a button even worked, and the same with his new pants. He couldn’t even get the zipper to move up and down. Next he tried to rip them off, but what should have been frail fabric seemed to be made from steel, and not even a seam popped, no matter how hard he pulled on it.

He was starting to hyperventilate, so he leaned on the counter and tried to calm down. There had to be some rational explanation for what was going on. Clothes did not just magically change shape, and things did not just disappear into thin air. There were hundreds of scientific reasons for why that shouldn’t happen, and yet every time Joseph looked in the mirror, it seemed that that was exactly what had occurred. He tried pinching himself, but if this was a dream, he wasn’t waking up from it. He took a moment to examine his new clothes a bit better, and felt like he recognized them from somewhere. After a moment of thought, he remembered that the janitor in the lobby had been wearing a uniform similar to the one he now had on. Of course, that still didn’t explain what had happened to his clothes, but it seemed like an important piece of the puzzle.

Joseph was so focused on his reflection, that he didn’t hear the bathroom door open, or notice the man approaching him until he saw him reflected in the mirror. He spun around, and found himself looking up at a massive man, even larger than Tristan. The man was dressed in the same uniform he was, with a nametag that said “Nate,” but if this was the same man he had yelled at earlier, he had changed radically since then.

First of all, Nate was no longer short and fat. Rather, he had grown at least a foot and a half taller, so that he even towered over Joseph. His fat had also disappeared, replaced by a hulking frame packed with muscle, a chest as thick as a barrel and arms which had muscles bulging forth almost as large as his head. He looked a bit younger too, with hair short cropped brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee on his chin. However, Joseph was suddenly mired in a feeling of déjà vu. His brain was telling him that the janitor hadn’t changed at all since he had seen him earlier, but he also couldn’t deny the memory of the old fat man he still had in his head. Soon the whole confusion began giving him a headache, and he just accepted that his memory must have been wrong. It wasn’t like people’s bodies could just transform over the course of a few minutes.

“There you are,” Nate rumbled in a deep baritone, “I was wondering where you had run off to.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Joseph said, “What’s going on here?”

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that, little buddy?” the man said, “After all, I’m your boss now. I just had a meeting with the new president, and he put me in charge of all janitorial training, and that means I have the pleasure of training you.”

Joseph was starting to get a little freaked out, and he tried to run away from the man. However, he only got a few steps away before the man shouted, “Stop right there, Joe!” and Joseph froze in his tracks, unable to move an inch. He felt the man come up behind him, and start feeling him up, and Joseph suddenly realized that he was not only unable to control his body, but that for some reason he had to obey the orders of this faggot rubbing his hard dick against his back. That just made him struggle harder, but there was nothing he could do. Nate came around in front of him, and much to his surprise, began unbuttoning the front of his shirt like it was the easiest thing in the world. Joseph found that he had nothing on beneath his shirt, which gave him a perfect view of what had happened to his skin. The entire surface of his chest had been tattooed a light blue to match the color of his new uniform, but it was more than that. The whole tattoo was a meticulously crafted replica of the janitor’s uniform, complete with buttons, seams, pockets and a little white name tag with the name “Joe” stitched on it. Nate then unbuttoned Joseph’s pants as well, and pulled them down, revealing that his legs had been tattooed similarly, though in a navy color this time. In fact, the only place which wasn’t tattooed was his cock. The tattoo had been designed to look like his cock was jutting out from the open fly of his uniform, making the entire image even more lewd and disgusting.

“See? You’re a janitor now. It’s imbedded in your very skin.” Nate said, and buttoned Joseph’s shirt and pants up again, “I’m the only one who can take these clothes off now, bud, but even when you’re naked, you’ll still be nothing more than a janitor, although, you don’t look much like a janitor now, do you? Maybe we can fix that.”

Joseph realized that if he didn’t get away from this madman, he had no idea what was going to happen. His mind began racing through any number of possible escape routes, but his body still wouldn’t obey his commands to move. He couldn’t even blink his eyes. Unable to do anything to stop him, Nate put his hand on the top of Joseph’s head and began to apply downward pressure, and Joe realized that slowly but surely, he was shrinking. His eyes, frozen in their sockets, drifted down, past Nate’s chin and pecs and the top of his stomach, until he was no higher than Nate’s waist or so. When the man released him, Joe stumbled back, hit the counter, and spun around. He could no longer see most of his body in the mirror in front of him, he had shrunk so much, but he also saw that his uniform had shrunk with him. He still had his physique from before, but all of him looked like it had been miniaturized. Looking in mirror, he had to guess that he was only about five foot two, maybe five foot three now—meaning he had lost about a foot in height, but that was impossible, people couldn’t shrink, he told himself, just like clothes couldn’t disappear or tattoos couldn’t appear on a person’s body without them knowing it. He had to be dreaming—there was simply no other explanation.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good height for you. Easier for me to keep you out of trouble, too, right little buddy? But I think you need a few more improvements, starting with your hair,” Nate said, and grabbed a good chunk of Joseph’s hair in his hand, and yanked on it. Joseph flinched, expecting him to pull it out of his scalp, but instead saw, and felt, his hair lengthen, even where Nate wasn’t pulling, until it hung down past his shoulders. Next, Nate grabbed the sides of his face and pulled again, until two fuzzy mutton chops popped out of his cheeks, sticking out about three inches making his face look wider. Finally, he reached down the front of Joe’s shirt, pulled on a few chest hairs, and Joseph felt a massive amount of fur sprout all over his body, even on his back. The sensation of it rubbing against his shirt was new, and for some reason, kind of erotic, not that he could think about sex at a time like this. He grabbed hold of his hair and pulled, but it was his real hair, the same with his new sideburns. The feel of all his new facial hair was especially strange, with the area around his mouth still smooth, and he caught himself enjoying the way he looked, but he pushed that thought away.

He looked like some midget Sasquatch, and it was more than he could even begin to take in. Joseph felt his body begin to shake all over, and began mumbling, almost like he was going to sob. The frustration, anger and fear which had been boiling up inside of him began spilling over, and with all of his mental will, he screamed at the top of his lungs, louder than he had ever heard anyone scream in his life, and swore that he heard something in reality itself crack. In that one moment, he found himself free of Nate’s control, and sprinted from the restroom. He didn’t even look back to see that Nate was on his knees, clutching his ears in pain.

Out in the hallway, Joseph looked both directions, and then ran back to the boardroom. All of the trustees had been his friends at one point, and when they saw what had happened to him, they would help him—they had to help him. It was strange running along at his new height, and it felt like it took forever just to get to the boardroom door. He glanced over his shoulder once to see if the janitor was following him, but he wasn’t. He pushed open the door and crashed into the room, only to find that everyone in the room had been changed, just like him.

All of the trustees had grown some form of facial hair and copious amounts of body hair. Even their clothes had changed, their beautiful suits replaced by flannel, denim and leather in various combinations, but that wasn’t even the shocking part. No one had even noticed Joseph push his way in, because all of them were far too interested in each other. They had all gotten together in groups of twos and threes, where they were sucking each other’s cocks, fucking each other on the table, or simply making out roughly in a corner. All of these men, and a few women, had been happily married, and here they were—having sex openly at a board meeting. The one person who hadn’t changed was Tristan, and Tristan was also the only person who had noticed Joseph’s entrance. He was seated in the president’s chair facing the door with Frank on his knees in front of him sucking his cock, who looked like he had never been happier in his life. Frank had grown a bit huskier, and was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of jean cutoff shorts. Occasionally, he would take a break from sucking cock to take a long drag off the cigar he was holding in one of his hands, and then swallow the cock down to the hilt once again, with little tendrils of smoke drifting out from his nose.

Tristan looked at Joseph and sighed, “Goodness, you just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Joseph started to respond, but then he noticed that the bear claw amulet around Tristan’s neck had begun to shimmer, and his eyes were drawn to it like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He stumbled a few steps closer, and gravity shifted to the side so that he began falling into its pristine blackness—deeper and deeper into its very essence. As he fell, Joseph began to feel parts of his mind, or his soul, being sucked into the empty void, drained directly into the amulet only a few feet from his face. With horror, he realized that he was being drained of everything that he was, but by then he couldn’t tear his eyes away, as the vortex increased and his brain emptied faster and faster. He lost his desire and taste for luxurious clothes, high rise apartments and fancy cars. He lost his ambition, drive to achieve and dominate, making him perfectly happy to serve others and obey their orders until the end of time. He lost his heterosexuality, replaced by an overwhelming desire to suck cock and get fucked up the ass. Last but not least, he felt his intelligence being drained away, which took the longest of all. It was almost like Tristan was working backwards through his life, erasing everything Joseph had learned in that time. As it happened, it became harder and harder to simply think, and string words together into sentences. Every time Joseph though he was finished, Tristan found something else, and took that too. Mentally, he began to cry, “Stop! Don’t take any more, I have nothing left!” but Tristan didn’t stop. Even when Joseph was sure there was nothing else he could take, three more things were lifted, the “s”, “p” and “h” from his name, leaving him only with “Joe.” he no longer even remembered being called Joseph. When the pendant finally returned to its normal black, Joe blinked a few times before mumbling, “Wha…What you do to me?”

He looked beside Tristan, where Frank had stood up and unzipped the fly of his shorts, revealing a massive ten inch cock. The very sight of it made Joe’s mouth water, but he wasn’t sure he was supposed to suck it, and looked from Frank to Tristan to see if they would let him. Eventually, Frank said, “Well, ain’t ya gonna suck it, fucker?”

Joe didn’t need to be asked twice, and he fell to his knees and inhaled the massive cock to its root, making Frank moan. Beside them, Tristan just laughed, and began jacking his own cock, still seated in his chair. Frank, having been so turned on by sucking Tristan’s cock, didn’t hold out for very long, and blew his own load down Joe’s throat, but that didn’t dissuade Joe at all. He just kept sucking until Frank’s cock had gone soft in his mouth, and then he released it, licking his lips as he did.

Joe stood up and saw that Nate had come in at some point and witnessed most of the scene, and had his own dick out and was rubbing it slowly with his hand. He walked over, grabbed Joe by the arm and pulled him away, “God damn it Joe—you don’t belong in here. Now come on.”

“But didn’t…” Joe started to say, but he didn’t have the words to express what he wanted to and gave up, letting Nate drag him from the room. How could he begin to formulate the thought of what had happened to him? He remembered his previous life, but all of it seemed so unreal. Besides, Nate was so strong, it would have been pointless to resist anyway. It was easier just to follow, and let everyone else fill in what was supposed to be in his head. It was so empty—it needed to be filled with something, but he didn’t know what. He looked up at Nate and asked, “Why my head so empty, Nate?”

“Because I haven’t filled it up yet, buddy. Just be patient,” Nate replied, and pulled Joe back into the restroom, still stroking his cock with one hand, “But before that, we need to do something else, because that whole scene got me all horny. How about you take care of this for me?”

Joe didn’t need any coaxing. He got down on his knees again, and started sucking, and a moment later, he felt a large amount of pre-cum start flowing into mouth. Nate chuckled, “Drink it all down Joe, it’ll help you fill out your figure.” Joe wasn’t sure what Nate meant by that, but he swallowed it down happily, loving the taste and texture as it rolled down his throat, and Joe heard his stomach gurgle as it filled to capacity. Having a cock to suck was turning Joe on big time, and he reached down to get his own dick out, but found he still couldn’t work the fly, so he had to settle for massaging it through the polyester material of his pants. However, he soon found that his arm was running into something else. With both his hands, he felt his stomach, and where there had been his meticulously honed, rock hard abs, there was now a small, but noticeable gut.

He was so shocked, Joe almost let Nate’s cock fall from his mouth, but Nate put a hand on the back of his head and shoved it back in. “Oh no you don’t, little buddy. I’m not finished yet. Keep sucking.” Joe wasn’t one to disobey a direct order, so he continued, and noticed that the precum was flowing even faster, and that it was becoming harder and harder to keep up with all of it, some seeping out the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. Joe kept exploring his body, and found that his gut was growing faster now, pulling his shirt tight across it, though for the most part, his clothes seemed to be expanding at the same pace as his body. Two man boobs replaced his toned pecs, and sagged down on top of his very full gut, and they eventually grew so large that they forced his arms away from his body, and couldn’t hold them straight down at his sides. The rest of his body was gaining mass too, and he could feel a large amount of gunt absorbing inch after inch of his cock, until he could barely find the head within all of it. His ass filled out the back of his pants and pushed them down, revealing a healthy plumber’s crack as his thighs grew and pushed together. His arms began to puff out, and even his hands became thicker, his fingers resembling little sausages. Still, though, Nate’s flow of precum didn’t stop, and he didn’t seem anywhere near ready to cum, so Joe sucked harder and faster, with more and more pouring out of his mouth and down the front of his shirt.

Joe also realized that he was growing hungry—desperately hungry in fact. So hungry that the deluge of precum wasn’t nearly enough to keep him satisfied. As his hunger grew, though, his growth began to slow, and eventually stop, and Nate began to moan loudly as he unloaded a final wave of jizz down Joe’s thirsty throat. Again, Joe didn’t stop sucking until the dick went soft in his mouth, when he finally licked his lips and pulled away.

Immediately, Joe stood up looked at himself in the mirror as best he could. At first, he couldn’t really take in the sight—he was simply too massive. His face had certainly gotten pudgier and rounder along with the rest of him, and his massive sideburns only made him look wider. His lips and chin (well chins, actually, since he could count at least two extra folds of fat under his face) were coated with Nate’s cum, and a good amount of his collar and chest hair was soaked as well. Unable to help himself, Joe wiped up as much as he could, even digging down in the creases of his massive second and third chins, shoveling as much of the cum as he could into his greedy mouth. When he had gotten up as much as he could, Joe felt around the rest of his fat as best he could, amazed at how much he simply couldn’t reach, and said to Nate, “How…how you do that? Why am I fat?”

“What do you mean?” Nate replied, coming up behind Joe and massaging his fatty shoulders, “You’ve always been fat, little buddy. You love being fat. You eat massive meals all of the time at all-you-can-eat buffets, and it’s a good thing you have a union wage, or else you would never be able to support your massive bulk.”

As Nate talked, memories began to flood into Joe’s empty head, filling it up slightly. He remembered some of his more recent meals, where he often ate far more than one might imagine he could, and he always walked away rubbing his belly contentedly, and the front of his pants soaked with precum, which constantly leaked while he ate. As he hefted his belly, Joe felt his cock grow even harder in his pants, and admired the way his chest hair tufted up around his collar. He was also amazed that his shirt and pants could still contain his massive bulk, though he could feel a light breeze on his hairy crack every time he bent over. He let out a big belch, and grinned up at Nate, hoping he would smile too.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Nate said, “You’re much more docile now, aren’t you? Being ambitious takes way too much energy—it’s easier just to let yourself go,” he started tweaking Joe’s nipples from behind him, making him moan in pleasure. It felt as though they were connected directly to his cock, and every twist made his dick throb with lust. He reached under his hanging gut the best he could and started massaging it again, but just couldn’t get a good grip on it. “Here, allow me,” Nate said, turned Joe around, and with no real effort, lifted Joe, all of him, up onto the counter. The feeling of powerlessness in another man’s arms was new for Joe, and he found himself liking it. He was also astounded that Nate could even lift him at all—obviously all of that new muscle was for more than just show. After a moment, Nate managed to pull down Joe’s pants a bit and fish out his dick, which Nate began toying with, causing Joe to shiver in delight. With his other hand, Nate unbuttoned Joe’s shirt, revealing his distended belly for Joe to play with. The tattoo of the uniform was still there, but it had enlarged as Joe grew and retained the proper scale for his new size, though it was hard to see all of the details under his thick pelt of fur. Joe’s hands naturally gravitated towards his nipples, which he started twisting and pulling at, amazed at the pure eroticism of the act.

Nate just kept jacking Joe’s cock, a bit faster now and pulling on it a bit more than necessary. Joe realized that his cock was actually getting longer as Nate tugged on it, and every pull made the nerves in it even more sensitive. Nate’s other hand had fished out Joe’s balls and were toying with those, pulling them away from his body and making them larger, until they fit comfortably in the palm of Nate’s massive hand. Nate bent over and sucked the head into his mouth while he kept running his hand up and down the shaft, which made Joe gasp in pleasure, and he could feel his now massive balls churning, preparing for his orgasm. Joe heard himself gasping, “Oh…fuck, yeah. Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” and with a groan, he shot his load down Nate’s throat, who managed to swallow every drop. The orgasm was like nothing Joe had ever felt with a woman, and he felt feelings for Nate begin to blossom forth in his chest.

“Aw yeah, bud. That was a nice hot load. You may be dumbass, but you’re a sexy one,” Nate said, and Joe grinned, happy with the compliment. He really liked Nate. He was really good to him, helping him out like this. He thought they made a nice team. No, he thought again, they made a good couple. New thoughts filled his brain, memories of living with Nate, of their wild sex and deep affection for one another. Nate didn’t have to do this job. He also didn’t have to take care of Joe like he did, but he loved him, and when Joe looked into Nate’s eyes, still in the depths of his orgasm, he saw the adoration there, and that made Joe’s heart feel like it was going to explode with joy. He was just so happy, he thought, as Nate bent down and gave him a deep, sensual kiss that left Joe breathing heavily, his mouth still tasting of Joe’s cum.

After they had caught their breath, Nate helped Joe down off the counter, and the first thing Joe did was reach under his belly to feel his new cock. While it was only a modest nine inches, at least compared to Nate’s foot long beast, it reached halfway down Joe’s much shorter thigh. He also felt his massive bull balls swinging low beneath his gut, and was amazed to find that he could barely palm them in his hand. Nate got down and helped him button his shirt and pull on his pants, carefully stuffing Joe’s now massive tool down one of his pant legs, where it bulged out, not to mention his balls, which distended the crotch of his pants obscenely, not that they could be seen easily under the overhang of his massive gut. As Nate tucked his shirt in, Joe realized that this uniform was who he was know—completely inseparable from his very identity, and he couldn’t even imagine himself wearing anything else. His tattooed body no longer scared him, but filled him with pride that he had a job, and that he could do it well. Well, not really all that well. It would have been impossible without Nate’s help. He owed Nate the world. “I love you, Nate,” was all Joe could say, as he felt a tear run down his cheek, the sight of which made Nate smile warmly at him.

“Hey, I love you too, Joe. I always will. Now, there’s just one more thing to take care of,” Nate said, pushed Joe down on his knees in front of him, and pulled out his cock, “You look like a janitor, and you think like a janitor, but I don’t think you quite smell like one yet,” he added, as he unleashed a torrent of yellow piss all over Joe’s face and hair. At first Joe was disgusted, but when some got into his mouth by accident, he found that it tasted delicious, and he began drinking down as much as he could. However, Nate kept moving the stream, soaking every inch of Joe. Eventually the stream slowed to a trickle, and Joe sucked the last few drops off the tip of Nate’s dick, and licked his lips, “Damn, Nate! That was hot.”

“Damn right it was,” Nate replied, “and go take a look at yourself now.” He helped Joe get up off his knees, and showed him his image in the mirror. For some reason, the piss Nate had covered him with seemed to dry extraordinarily fast, so by the time Joe got in front of the mirror, his clothes had gone from being soaked to a bit damp. However, Joe was mostly focused on his face and hair. His hairline had receded, leaving him with only a horseshoe of long hair which was mostly gray. It was also very tangled and matted, like no one had combed it in ages. His mutton chops had grown quite a bit thicker and changed color to a dark gray, and some wrinkles had appeared on his brow and around his eyes, making him look forty, if not fifty or sixty years old. His clothes were filthy, the shirt reeking with the odor of sweat, and the crotch of his pants stiff with cum and piss stains. He couldn’t see it, but his ass crack was stained brown from those times when he hadn’t gotten to the toilet fast enough, since he couldn’t take off his clothes without Nate’s help. He took a little whiff of his armpits, and the stench made his cringe, it was so strong. “Fuck…I just…nasty.” Joe asked, and Nate chuckled and got down behind him.

“I think it makes you even sexier, buddy,” Nate said, and took a deep smell of Joe’s pit stench, “And I know for a fact that you think it’s damn hot too. Man, just getting a good whiff of your funk is getting my cock all hard again,” Nate said, and pulled Joe into one of the bathroom stalls, where he pulled down his own pants and sat down on the seat, his hard cock jutting out from his thick pubic bush. Joe got down to start sucking at it, but Nate just shook his head, pulled down Joe’s pants, turned him around, and lifted him up and onto his lap. Joe felt Nate’s hard cock rubbing against his exposed ass, and moaned. “Yeah, you want my hard cock shoved up your shit chute?” Nate asked, and Joe nodded. With a bit of maneuvering, Nate managed to get his cock positioned at the entrance to Joe’s ass, and lowered the fat man onto it, making him cry in pain at its girth. “Shush,” Nate whispered in Joe’s ear, “Just relax. You’ve taken my cock before—you know what to do. Just let it all go.”

Joe took a deep breath and relaxed his ass, allowing Nate’s thick mushroom head to slide the rest of the way in, making Joe moan. Inch by inch, the shaft slid in too, Joe’s ass hungrily accepting all of it, until he was again sitting snuggly against Nate’s bush. Nate hugged Joe to him tightly, both of them relishing the period of closeness between them. “Yeah, that’s a nice ass, little buddy,” Nate said, “Drives you crazy, doesn’t it? Having my hard cock up there?”

All Joe could do was nod quickly, as he tried to deal with the waves of new sensations overcoming him. It was too much, so Joe just went with it. Unconsciously, he began rocking back and forth, like he had done countless times before, delighting in the feeling of his lover’s cock rubbing up against his prostate.

“Yeah, that’s right. Your ass gets my cock so hard, I could just spend days up there. Why don’t you take a good long whiff of your pits? You like that stink, don’t you, Joe?”

Joe sniffed at his pits again, and the smell which had disgusted him before was suddenly sexy and enticing. His own cock was hard again, despite the fact that he had just cum a few minutes ago, and he leaned back against Nate’s muscular chest so that he could better maneuver his cock, and started jacking it as fast as he could with one hand, unable to reach all the way around it, while he held the other one and licked out his nasty pit sweat.. As his cock hardened, he found that the head peeked up over the top of his gut, it was so large.

“Yeah, that’s right bud, jack that old cock of yours and take a good look at yourself. You’re nothing but a short, fat, smelly, dumbshit janitor now, and that’s all you’ll ever be ever again. Can you even remember when you walked in here in that fancy suit, and that asshole attitude? Nah, I bet you don’t. You can’t remember being anything other than a janitor. You’ve worked here ever since you were in high school, because you were too stupid to do any good in class. But you’ve always been happy here, haven’t you? You know there will always be a place for you here at Bearman, and that place is in my lap with my big cock shoved up your shitty ass, isn’t that right?”

“Aw fuck yeah, Nate. I love you. I love you so much. Fuck my fat ass!” Joe yelled, almost wild with lust. He felt Nate grab him by his love handles and started lifting him up and down on his cock. The thought that this massive muscle man was literally picking him up and fucking him was too much for Joe, and he let loose another load all over the front of his shirt and the bottom of his bare chin. After another few thrusts, Nate shot his own load deep into Joe’s ass and let Joe collapse on him, holding him tightly in his arms, loving the feeling of his fat, old, janitor sitting in his lap.

After a few moments, Joe started squirming a bit because he was uncomfortable, and Nate let him get off, his cock sliding out with an audible pop. Nate saw that his cock was caked brown with Joe’s shit, but he zipped it up into his pants anyway, knowing that it would be a good treat for Joe to suck off a bit later, after he cleaned out his dirty ass, that is. Meanwhile, Joe was trying to pull his pants up, but couldn’t get them up around his massive genitals, so Nate helped him like he had been doing for years, and zipped him up tight. Joe looked at him a bit sheepishly and said, “Thanks, Nate.”

“You’re welcome, little buddy,” he replied, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, making Joe blush, “Now, how about we actually get some work done today?” he added, chuckling a bit.

On most days, they’d get some cleaning done, but mostly they just spent their time having sex in the bathrooms on campus, but that was fine with both of them. Sometimes, guys would even come and join in on the fun, or use Joe as a urinal, which always made him blow a huge load in his pants.

Suddenly, Joe heard his stomach gurgle, and he let out a massive fart, feeling a load of cum and shit spray out his hole and into the seat of his pants. He looked up at Nate, blushing, and said, “I…I think I shit my pants, Nate.”

“Oh, you dirty fucker,” Nate said with a laugh, “You like filling your pants with a load of shit, don’t you?”

Joe just nodded, thought for a moment, and added. “I think…I think I gotta piss too,” Joe said, and thought about it a bit more, “Yeah, I’m gonna piss.”

Nate just grinned, and Joe could see his pants tenting out in front of him. “Yeah, and what do you want me to do about that, buddy?”

“Please Nate? I can’t get pants off and I gotta go bad,” Joe said, but then it was too late. His dick let out a spray of piss, soaking one leg of his pants and puddling around his feet in the stall. Realizing that he had wet himself, Joe felt humiliated, embarrassed, and turned on all at the same time.

“That’s quite a mess you’ve made, Joe, and I think you’re going to have to be the one to clean it up.”

Joe nodded, got down on his hands and knees, and started lapping his piss up, feeling his shirt start to soak up some of it where his gut brushed against the floor. His dick was painfully hard again, and when he looked up, he saw Nate still seated on the toilet over him, jacking his cock. Listening to them from the doorway, unnoticed by both men, Tristan chuckled. Sometimes, it was just too easy.

“Come on, you sexy beast,” he heard Frank call from the stairwell, “The bar’s already been open an hour, and you know how I get if I don’t have my morning beers.”

Tristan thought about calling him back and joining in on Nate and Joe’s fun, but thought against it. It would be better for them to get to know each other a bit better first. He headed towards the top of the stairs, where Frank growled at him and gave him a slap on the ass. Certainly the trustee meeting had gone better than Tristan had expected—in fact, the whole conversion of the campus had gone quite smoothly indeed. Perhaps too easily.

Frank followed down the stairs and out to his open top jeep, parked in his reserved space as usual, but he couldn’t shake the unease collecting in his bones. Magic always had to balance itself, every black created a white, every noise a place of silence. Tristan knew that there was nothing he could do about it but wait. He climbed in, and Frank hopped in next to him, and gave him a big kiss, before they headed off to the bar.

Noticing the frown on his friend’s face, Frank asked, “Hey, what’s the deal man? It’s a beautiful day, and everything is turning out fantastic! Was my blow job that bad?”

“No, nothing like that,” Tristan replied, but felt a smile creep over his face, unbidden. Frank never failed to cheer him up. Tristan may not know what storm was brewing, but he could at the very least enjoy this brave new world until it came.

Episode 10 – The Last Holdout

It had been a very lonely two days for Matt. He had slept only a few hours each night, and had awoken at the slightest sound, ever vigilant against the corruption which had spread across campus over the past few days. He had already barricaded the door with most of the furniture in the room, but he knew that they would stop at nothing to get at him, or anyone else left unchanged. They wanted everyone, but he wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of making it easy. However, the room wasn’t getting any larger, and he was starving. He had a bit of candy left over from a care package his mother had sent the week before, but other than that, nothing. Of course, fasting was part of a pure Christian lifestyle, but his stomach didn’t find that argument very compelling. At some point, he would have to leave. He was lucky enough to have a single in one of the dorms with an adjacent bathroom that only he had access to. He had easy access to water, but he was getting desperate.

He tried to focus on the bible in front of him, but nothing could distract him from his stomach for long. The other thing he kept glancing at was his cell phone perched on the windowsill next to the bed, waiting for a message from anyone who might still be “normal.” There had been quite a few of them to start with, but one by one, they had all tried to leave their rooms in search of some safe haven, but Matt hadn’t heard from any of them again. The last of his friends, a fellow Christian named John, had slipped from his room about an hour ago, and had promised to text Matt if he found somewhere safe. He had also promised to check in every fifteen minutes, and it had been almost thirty since his last message, and Matt was about ready to give up hope, when the phone buzzed and chimed. Matt lashed out for the phone, and read the message from John which had just appeared on his phone.

“Found safe haven at the chapel. Come quick. Don’t let yourself be tempted. They are everywhere.”

Matt gulped down the anxiety which had suddenly manifested in his throat, and thought over his options. He was close to the chapel—all he would have to do was get out of the dorm, walk down a short path, and he would be at the door to the sanctuary. However, thinking about it and doing it were two entirely different things, especially with all of the corrupted wandering around out there.

Matt felt a little silly calling them that, but he didn’t really have a better word for it. He had thought it was just people passing through the campus, but soon, he noticed that some of them were living on his floor. Where there had been perfectly normal boys and girls, now there were only fat, rough and dirty men who were constantly having sex—with each other no less! The very idea of it disgusted him in the vilest way. Not only was it unnatural, they were sinners before God, and doomed to hell, and most likely beyond redemption. Like it or not, they were corrupted, and they were the enemy, and he wasn’t about to join their ranks if he could help it. His only option then, was to get to the chapel. If he could make it there, maybe there were others who had escaped. Together, they might even be able to take back the school! It was a long shot, but it was the only hope left for him.

He texted a reply back to John, telling him that he would try and get there, if he could, and then gathered up everything around his room which might be helpful, which wasn’t much, and began to move the furniture away from the door. Before he left, he took a look around, wishing he had a weapon of some kind, but didn’t see anything which might be very useful. Besides, it’s not like he would be able to hold anyone off for long, if they decided to come after him. Matt had always been a bit of a shrimp, and while he was thin, he had never been muscular. He stood a better chance of using stealth to escape than anything else. With a final text to John, telling him he was leaving, Matt opened the door, checked to make sure the hallway was empty, and slipped away. He checked back over his shoulder every few steps, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be behind him in the hallway, and he got to the stairs without incident. Coming up, though, was the difficult part. The stairs came out directly in the common room, and Matt doubted that he would find that empty too. Still, there was no other way out—so he took a deep breath, and headed down as quickly as he could.

The best thing to do, he figured, was to simply get through the room as fast as possible. He hit the base of stairs, made it two or three steps into the room, and was suddenly absorbed by the most delightful odor he had ever smelled. He looked around the room quickly, and found the source in a nearby corner, where a table of men were getting ready to play a game of cards, laughing uproariously. Most of them were wearing dirty and shabby clothing, and one had a hardhat next to him, as though they had just gotten off a construction site. But what really drew Matt’s attention, was the smoke wafting over from the cigar one of the men was smoking. He looked over, saw Matt staring, and winked at him, sending a little thrill through Matt’s body, focusing on his groin. “Hey man,” the guy said, “You wanna play with us?”

He shouldn’t, Matt knew that, but there was something just so enticing about the whole scene, and that smoke—he didn’t want to stop smelling it. He cautiously made his way over to the table, and asked, “What…what are you playing?”

“Strip poker,” one of the others said, and motioned to an empty seat, “Go on, have a sit down. The more the merrier, I always say,”

“Yeah, you would say that, Butch,” the third player said, “Hell, just last night, I heard you had five other guys in your room.”

“Liar!” Butch shot back, “I had seven, which is way more than you’d ever be able to get.”

They were crude, but Matt found himself intrigued, and took a seat. He wondered what exactly he thought he was doing, but even he wasn’t quite sure. It just felt like the right thing to do. He knew that he should get away from these sinners, and get to the chapel, but they didn’t seem all that threatening. If anything, they seemed nicer than most of his other friends, or at least more fun to be around. “Well, do you mind if I watch?”

“If you’re at the table, you gotta play,” the cigar smoker replied, sitting down in the chair across from Matt, which creaked under his weight. He had a massive gut which pushed up against the table, and a set of wide suspenders barely keeping it under control. “My name’s Tom by the way. This is Butch,” he said, pointing to the short stocky bear to Matt’s right. He was very muscular, but not in any ‘toned’ sense. Muscles bulged out in odd places due to uneven exercise, and he had massive hands, so that the cards nearly disappeared when he picked them up from the table. “And he’s Leon,” Tom added, motioning to the man to Matt’s left. He was tall, though no less massive, and looked older than the other two, with a silvery beard and balding head. He nodded to Matt, and took another swig from the can of beer in his hand.

“I’m…Matt. But I don’t really think I should play. Isn’t gambling against the rules on campus?”

The other three exchanged a glance, and then broke out in laughter, making Matt’s face turn red. “Really? Come on Matt, where do you think you are? Prude University? Man, what’s next? No drinking?” Leon said, “Speaking of which,” he added, “Here, have a brew. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Thanks,” Matt said, “But I don’t drink.”

Leon rolled his eyes, and shoved the can into his hand anyway, “Well, at least give it a try. Who knows, you might like it.”

Matt gave him a suspicious look, but decided one sip couldn’t hurt, and figured it might make his very empty stomach feel a bit better. He popped open the can, and took a sip. It was bitter, but not all that bad. When he had managed to swallow it down, he took another drink, and relented. “Alright, it isn’t that bad.”

“Great,” Tom said, puffing on his cigar as he shuffled the card, “Now how about we get to the game? Everyone, ante up.”

“Wait,” Matt said, “I still don’t know how to play.”

“It’s easy,” Butch said, as he took off a dirty work boot and set it down in the middle of the table.

“Yeah,” Leon added, “If an idiot like Butch can figure out, I’m sure you can,”

“Oh shut the fuck up, Leon. You’re just jealous because I get more cock than you do.”

“You wish, asslicker.”

“Guys,” Tom interjected, “Give it a rest, alright? Man…” he sighed, and then dealt five cards to each person, including Matt, “The game is five card draw. All you have to do is get the highest hand, and you win the pot of clothes. You can discard any number of cards once, and get the same amount from the deck.”

“Which cards should I discard?” Matt asked, and all of the guys rolled their eyes.

“Man, you are a newbie, aren’t you?” Leon said, “Just try to get pairs and triples of cards, or runs if you can manage that. It’s better if your straights are all the same suit. Now let’s play—you’ll figure it out as we go, but you still need to ante up.”

Matt still didn’t really know what was going on, so he took off one of his shoes and put it on the table, like Butch had. Leon threw down his hat, and Tom added a boot as well. Matt looked at his cards, but he still wasn’t sure what he was trying to do exactly. He kept a pair of aces, figuring those were good, and gave Tom the three other cards. When he got three cards back, he found another ace, and then everyone turned over their hand. “I got three aces,” Matt said, “Is that good?”

The other three just stared at him, and then Butch said, “God damn beginner’s luck,” he mumbled, and then shoved the center pile over to him.

Matt still didn’t know what he was doing, but winning gave him a thrill the same thrill he’d felt when he’d first smelled the smoke in the room.

“Man, you were bullshitting us, weren’t you? You know how to play poker,” Tom said, and Matt laughed.

“Nope, this is my first time, but come on. Let’s keep playing,” he said, and took another swig of the beer in front of him, and threw Butch’s boot into the center of the table.

“Hey, you can’t bet that,” Leon said, “You have to bet something of yours.”

“Who says?”

“Hey, house rules,” Leon said, “Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

Matt grumbled a bit, put his shoe back into the pot, and waited while everyone else added something else, Leon pulling off his sweaty tank top revealing a hairy and muscular chest, Tom adding his suspenders, and Butch adding his other shoe to the pot. To everyone’s surprise, especially Matt’s, he won again, with a full house no less. The other guys grumbled as he collected another pot, and asked, “What exactly am I supposed to do with all of this stuff, if I can’t bet it?”

“Well,” Leon said, “If the guy who owns it wants it back, he has to do something for you,” and grinned over at Tom, who was busy lighting a second cigar, “Yesterday, for example, Tom had to lick out my ass so he could get his favorite shirt back.”

“Yeah, and it was nasty too. He didn’t wipe for a good three days just so he could get one over on me. But don’t worry Leon, I got something all planned for you.”

“Bring it on fucker,” Leon replied, “Let’s play.”

Matt knew that he should be disgusted, but he was feeling kind of giddy, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the beer, the second hand cigar smoke, or his unexplained success at poker. To his surprise, he won the next round as well, picking up a few more boots and a pair of dirty socks. However, that was the last win of his for quite a while, as he plunged into a massive losing streak. One by one, he lost his socks, his jacket and his shirt, all without winning anything back. Of course, everyone else was getting pretty naked as well. None of them had shirts on anymore, revealing their hairy and sweaty chests, and Tom had been forced to bet his jeans. Butch was doing worst of all, having just bet his boxers, and was sitting next to Matt, stroking his short, thick cock, with a metal cockring secured around the base. Matt was already on his second beer and feeling a bit woozy, mostly due to the fact that he hadn’t eaten in several days. More than once he found himself watching Butch jack off, realizing his own cock was growing stiff in his briefs. He shook the thought away, focuing on the round at hand. He bet and lost his pants, leaving him sitting in the chair wearing nothing more than his briefs. “So, what happens when I don’t have any more clothes?” he asked.

“You have a whole pile of clothes next to you,” Leon replied.

“But you told me I couldn’t bet those.”

He sighed, “Man Matt, you don’t catch on very quick, do you? Look, if you lose all of your clothes, then what you have to do is put on all of the clothes you’ve won so far and make a new outfit. It’s not that complicated.”

“But Butch is naked, and he hasn’t done that yet,” Matt said.

“Hey,” Butch said, “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, just you wait.”

Matt looked at what he had won so far: a hat, a sweaty tank top, two boots and two socks. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He stripped out of his briefs, and threw them onto the table, eliciting a few chuckles and grrs from the guys at the table. Tom laughed, and threw his own dirty jockstrap on the table as well. Leon added his ripped and torn jean shorts, and then they looked at Butch, who none of them thought had any clothes left, but Butch just grinned. He stood up, reached around to his ass, pulled out a filthy butt plug, and threw that on the table as well.

“God damn!” Matt said, “What the fuck is that?”

“Damn Butch, you fuckin’ pig,” Leon added, but Butch just laughed.

“Hey, I was wearin’ it, so it’s fair game, right?”

Tom sighed, and dealt out a new hand, which Matt was actually hoping not to win. He had a pair, which he threw back to Tom, but when he got the two cards back, he found that he had accidentally given himself a flush, making him the winner of the round. He kept his own underwear in the center, as his next bet, and pushed everything into his pile, trying not to touch the still shitty butt plug. Much to his disappointment, he lost the next round to Butch, who had bet his cockring, leaving Matt with nothing to wear other than the clothes on the table.

“Well mate,” Butch said, “Looks like it’s time to put on your winnings.”

Matt gulped, not really happy with the thought of wearing the dirty clothes in front of him. He downed the rest of his third beer, and started with Tom’s dirty jockstrap. The other three were all watching him intently, as though waiting for something great to happen as he slid the damp fabric up his legs, where they fit loosely around his waist. As soon as he had them in place, his package began swelling in size as his cock doubled in length to ten inches, and his ballsack grew to the size of an orange. The pouch now bulged out obscenely, but Matt hadn’t noticed any change at all. He scratched his balls, unhappy with the damp, itchy fabric, and picked up Butch’s stained tank top next.

The men around him were all giving each other knowing looks, and Matt asked, “What’s up guys? You went quiet all of a sudden.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Tom said, “Just keep on getting dressed, Matt.”

Matt didn’t understand what was going on, but he did as Tom suggested and pulled on the shirt, which was far too large for him. As he examined the other clothes in the pile, he noticed that he felt really heavy all of the sudden, and was having kind of a hard time standing up. He blamed it on the alcohol, but it had less to do with the fact that he was drunk and more to do with the muscle filling in his upper body. It started with his chest and belly, his pecs growing hard and firm, and his abs becoming more defined as they pushed out into a bit of a belly due to a healthy layer of fat behind them. Next, his neck and shoulders inflated, packing his frame as tightly as they could, tendons growing thicker to better manage Matt’s new shape. His adam’s apple also grew and dropped, turning his voice from a mid range tenor to a deep bass like the men now surrounding him, now licking their lips and massaging their cocks in their chairs, all of them enjoying the show. Lastly, Matt’s arms bulged out and grew taut with heavy muscle, his hands growing as well, so large that one of them could easily reach around his now massive tool. Lastly, a swath of thick, black hair began growing across his chest and down his arms, which Matt lazily scratched at, still unaware of his transformation.

However, he was now so top heavy, it was difficult to keep his balance, so Leon got up and helped him stay upright while Butch got him into Leon’s jean shorts. Again, as soon as they were buttoned and zipped, the lower half of Matt’s muscles began to expand, bulging out against the worn denim. His legs lengthened as well, so that the shorts barely covered half of his massive thighs. His calves grew more defined as well, and after Matt slipped on Tom’s socks and Butch’s boots, his feet grew to fill the size fifteen shoes. The hair spread down there too, nearly thick enough to obscure his skin. The suspenders went on next, and were accompanied by a substantial amount of fat, causing his muscular pecs to sag a bit and his abs to round out into a firm muscle gut, which Matt started rubbing contentedly. Leon added his own hat onto the top of Matt’s head, and his face shifted slightly, becoming more rugged and worn. A substantial beard grew in all around his face, and his hair shrank into his head, looking like it had been run over quickly with a clipper and nothing else. Matt burped, and said in a new, deeper voice, “There. You guys happy now? I’m dressed.”

The others just chuckled, and Butch pointed to the one object remaining on the table, “Nope, you still have one thing left to put on.”

Matt saw the dirty butt plug, and shook his head, “Oh no fucking way am I putting that thing up my ass. Can’t I at least wash it off first?”

Butch picked the dildo up, and Matt started to back away, but Leon and Tom each grabbed one of his arms, and pulled him back over to the table, bending him over and pinning him down.

“Well, well, well, Leon,” Butch said, “I didn’t know you had a hole in your pants back here. That’ll make this really easy.” In an effort to avoid the incoming shaft, Matt started moving his ass around, but Butch held him still, and shoved the head in quickly. He expected it to hurt, but it was almost like his body had been expecting it, and wanted it. It slid in, and his asshole closed down around the end, trapping it in, not that Matt minded. It felt really good up there, and he felt his dick begin to harden in his pants. The others let go of him, and Matt stood up straight, and gasped. The head of the plug had rubbed against something in his ass, and it had felt really good, he bent over again, enjoying the sensation, oblivious to the fact that Leon, Tom and Butch were chuckling, while then rubbed their own cocks.

“You alright there, man?” Tom asked.

Matt moaned, and reached around, pushing the dildo in a bit farther, “Fuck…I just. God, it feels so good…”

Tom pushed his hand away, grabbed the end, and started thrusting it in and out of Matt’s ass, while he just gripped the table, focusing only on the feeling of the hard rubber massaging his prostate.

Leon had his own dick out of his dirty boxers, and was quickly massaging it to full staff. When it was perfectly stiff, he shoved Tom out of the way, and pulled the dildo out, dropping it on the floor, “Fuck that little thing. Let me give you something to really moan about,” he said, and shoved his cock deep into Matt. Again, his ass just accepted it, as though it was perfectly used to taking shafts as thick as a beer can. Matt began pushing back, meeting Leon’s thrusts, stars exploding all around his vision. How had he managed to never feel this before? In his head, he knew it was sin, that he would never be able to reclaim his soul if he gave it up for this worldly pleasure, but was he really so far from heaven now? Could God have created something this pleasurable, only to deny it to his creatures?

Tom came around in front of him, took the half smoked cigar from his mouth and stuck it in  Matt’s gaping maw, “Here, suck on this. It’ll make it even better.” Matt took a deep inhale, and the aroma which had first attracted him to the table was suddenly inside of him, heightening every sense and nerve in his body. Smoke poured from his nostrils, and Tom took the cigar back, took a deep inhale, locked lips with Matt and blew the smoke deep into his lungs. The smoky kiss hung between them for what felt like ages, driving Matt wilder and wilder with lust. He didn’t even notice as Butch crawled underneath him, unzipped his fly, and start sucking on his massive cock.

None of them noticed that their sex games had also begun attracting the attentions of every bear passing through the building. Some of them hung around them in a large circle, jacking their cocks or playing with others they knew, or didn’t know. A few joined in on the fun, a young cub coming over and playing with Matt’s nipples, while another came up and shoved his own cock up Leon’s ass, sandwiching him in the middle until he finally shot a massive load up Matt’s ass. In turn, when Matt felt the cum flood his ass, and leak out around the base of Leon’s cock, he sent his own sperm down Butch’s hungry maw.

One load didn’t stop anyone in the room, though.

When Leon pulled out, the bear fucking him pushing him up against the table to continue his own work, and Matt started making out with the cub tweaking his nipples. He was shorter than Matt, and for some reason that made Matt feel strong–forceful–dominant. He grabbed the back of the cub’s head and pushed his tongue deep into the boy’s mouth, feeling the cub melt against him. In turn, the cub turned Matt around until his back was to the table, then pushed him back until he sat down on it, the wood creaking from the added weight, but holding. Satisfied, the cub started sucking on Matt’s already recovered member, “Yeah boy, suck your daddy’s cock. Fuck yeah…” Matt moaned.

The cub, with a twinkle in his eye, got a big mouthful of Matt’s precum, then kissed him, depositing the load into Matt’s mouth, which only drove him wilder. “You want to be my daddy, eh?” The cub said, “Well, I need a daddy who can fuck me, and fuck me hard. You up to that?”

“Don’t just stand there talkin’ about it,” Matt growled, “Climb on and I’ll show you what kind of daddy I am!”

With strength he didn’t even know he had, Matt turned the cub around, picked him up, and slid his cock up the boy’s ass, making him gasp. When the entire shaft was planted up there, he hugged the boy close, “How about that? Is that ‘daddy’ enough for you?”

“Fuck yeah daddy, fuck me with that massive cock!” The cub cried, and began bouncing up and down on Matt’s cock. Meanwhile, Matt reached around with one of his big hands and started jacking the cub’s cock, already slick with precum.

He brought his hand back and licked it clean, “Sweet as honey, cub, sweet as honey. Now, how about I give you a taste of mine?” With that, Matt grabbed the cub around the waist, stood up from the table with a roar, and began fucking the cub in the air, the boy’s feet hanging a good foot off the ground. The show of strength surprised even the cub, whose own cock shot its load after only a couple thrusts all over the floor in front of him. Matt lasted a few more before blowing his own load and collapsing back against the table, which finally broke under the strain, sending both of them crashing to the floor. Not even this gave Matt or the cub pause, who slid off his daddy’s dick and began kissing Matt sensually for a moment, before sliding a business card into Matt’s hand. “That was hot daddy, real fuckin’ hot. Look me up later, got it?”

Matt could only nod weakly as the cub got up from the wreckage of the table and wandered off, Matt’s cum leaking profusely out of his ass onto the floor. Matt stood up himself, a little bruised from the fall, but still hornier than he had ever been in his life. But he was hungry for something else as well: a post sex cigar. He didn’t have any on him, unfortunately, so he started looking around for Tom, hoping he would have one to spare, but didn’t see him anywhere. He thought he might have some in his room, so he gathered up his clothes (after stripping out of everyone else’s) and headed up the stairs before anyone else caught his eye in the growing orgy.

He threw his clothes on the bed, and realized that nothing in the pile looked like something he would ever be caught wearing. He picked up the shirt, stuck his hand in the sleeve, and found that he couldn’t even fit his arm in it past his elbow. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong, so he tried putting his pants on next, but had just as much difficulty. He could barely fit his foot down one leg, not to mention his calf. The only thing which Matt could imagine having happened was that his clothes had shrunk somehow—he still hadn’t realized the change which had occurred to him over the past hour. He grabbed up the shirt, and walked over to the mirror, where he held it up in front of his new hairy muscular body, and tried to figure out what in the hell was going on.

There was no way the button up shirt he was holding could have fit him only an hour before. Everything that he was seeing was telling him that, but if he hadn’t been wearing this shirt, then what had he been wearing? As if to answer his question, the fabric in his hands began to writhe in his hand, the fine cotton becoming what had probably once been a plain white, T-shirt. White probably wasn’t the best way to describe it now, considering the number of stains on it. It’s sleeves had been cut off crudely, and large cuts had been made through the armpit down half the shirt. Matt looked at the new piece of clothing in his hand and hesitatingly tried it on, and it fit right. Through the larger armholes he could see wide swaths of the side of his belly when he lifted up his arms, but he thought it looked sexy. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that he had just watched his clothing change form right in front of his eyes.

He turned around and looked at his other clothes on the bed, or what had once been his clothes, or which were now his clothes. The khakis had changed into some overalls, and the tennis shoes he had picked up from the table were now some leather work boots with some dirty wool socks stuck in them. Even though he knew that they weren’t the clothes which had been there before, they seemed so much more natural—more right—like they were what he was supposed to be wearing. Almost in a daze, he pulled on the overalls, hooking up one of the buttons, but leaving the other undone, like he usually wore them, and then looked at himself in the mirror, letting out a low growl of approval. In the mirror, he saw the room shift and change behind him like his clothes had, his set of bibles becoming a collection of bear magazines and porn DVD’s, which he would watch with some of the cute cubs he brought home with him on the small TV that appeared in place of his prayer altar. His bed grew to a queen sized one, reinforced of course, covered with a set of dirty, cum stained sheets that he hadn’t changed or washed in ages, but that was alright. The smell of cum helped him sleep, especially when he had the cock of a hot bear buried up his ass at the same time. However, most important was the humidor which appeared on the bedside table. Matt quickly opened it up, took out a cigar, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He could still hear the orgy below him, and that, combined with the cigar, was making him horny all over again.

He reached around through the hole he had cut in his overalls and started fingering his ass. Yeah, he could use a good fucking again, he thought, and rummaged around in his “fun” bucket for his favorite dildo, a nine inch shaft of pitch black rubber. He lubed it up with some of his spit and started working it into his ass, moaning all the while. He laid down on his bed, one hand working the dildo in and out, the other working his massive cock to another roaring orgasm.  

Why was he so horny all of a sudden, he wondered as he slid the dildo up to the hilt and stood up again. He had never been like this before. Matt paused for a moment, thinking hard. What had be been like before? He hadn’t been this muscular, hairy man, dressed in overalls and fucking himself with dildos. He had been a righteous Christian trying to escape from this nightmare of a campus, and now, he realized, he was stuck right in the middle of it. He had been corrupted. He had fallen, and he had no idea whether he would ever be able to climb out of the pit he had fallen into, but if he was going to have a chance, he was going to have to get to the chapel, and get there fast.

First things first though, he needed to clear his head. He pulled the dildo out of his ass, and threw it in the trash can in his room. He checked his closet, but didn’t see anything better to wear than what he had on, so he put on his shoes, and left his room. He didn’t get two steps away before Tom pushed him against the wall and gave him a smoky kiss, which Matt broke away from, hacking the smoke out of his lungs.

“What the hell man?” Tom said, “I heard you in there, fucking yourself. I know you want it.” He tried to get close to Matt again, who took a step away, trying to sort out his feelings as fast as he could.

Matt did want it. He wanted it bad. He wanted to apologize, and then kiss Tom for hours, make him choke on his fat dick and then take his fist up his ass while his whole room filled up with cigar smoke and any number of other things, but he had to resist the temptation. “No Tom, I…I can’t right now. There’s somewhere I gotta be.”

Tom took another puff on his cigar, and looked away, obviously hurt, “Oh, sure man. Whatever,” shrugged his shoulders and walked away down the hall.

Matt felt awful, watching Tom walk away like that, but he forced himself to turn around, walk down the stairs, and out of the building. He joined the rest of the students on the path, if you could even call them that, having no trouble fitting in now. It took all of his mental effort not to stare down every guy he passed, but the only person he really wanted right now was Tom. He pushed that thought away, just barely stopping himself from running back to the dorm and up to Tom’s room (which he was intimately familiar with in his memory, for some reason) and making love to him then and there.

As he got closer to the chapel, the urge got stronger and stronger, almost like something didn’t want him going there. He couldn’t let himself be tempted away though. That had already happened once, and look at what had happened to him then. He forged ahead on the path, stopping only when he found the entire place swarming with campus security, the doors to the sanctuary laid open. He was too late. All was already lost.

He went over to a nearby bench and sat down, unable to believe what had happened. They had to have escaped—there was no way that they had gotten caught. They were smarter than that. John was smarter than that, smarter than him. Still, the fact that they weren’t there meant that there was still hope. Maybe he could find them, and they would be able to fix him—change him back. Maybe they could still reclaim the school. He had to find them.

Looking down, he realized he still had the massive cigar he had lit in his room clasped in his massive hand. He took another drag and part of him stirred wildly, the part of him which wanted him to go back to Tom’s room and fall back into a haze of satisfied smoke, beer, and sex, but he couldn’t now that he had reclaimed some small bit of his sanity. He needed to get away—away from campus. He dropped the butt of the cigar to the ground. There must be normal people somewhere, and he would find them. The whole world couldn’t have been changed like this, there must be others who remembered what had happened. He would save them, he would save all of them.

He walked to the edge of campus, but there, he was stricken with an severe sense of unease. It was not that something outside of him was preventing him from leaving, but rather a fear and anxiety coming from within of what might lie beyond the safety of campus. It overwhelmed him with nostalgia, and he couldn’t help missing his cigars, his messy room, but more than anything, he wanted to be with Tom. He knew it was wrong, but perhaps it was he who had been wrong. Perhaps it was the things “out there” that he ought to be afraid of. Here he was safe and happy, satisfied with who he was. No longer willing to risk it, he turned around and half walked, half ran back to the safety of his dorm. He knew that he was turning his back on his true friends, but he could not deny the sense of peace overwhelming him. He was happy here, like this, though he had been loath to admit it. Perhaps he had been meant to be corrupted. Perhaps this is what God wanted, and had not turned his back on him after all.

Archive: Sinful Revenge

Originally posted 3/3/08

Continuing on with some older stories, is this one. It was incomplete for quite a long time, with only the prologue and the first four episodes posted, with two final episodes left off. I finished it years later, but I’m not sure if/where I ended up posting it, though I was never quite happy with how they turned out, but I suppose no story is ever quite what you have in your head to start with. If last week’s story, “The Dangers of Smoking” was indebted to peircedskin, then this one is my tribute to Onix’s BMOC series, as the thematic similarities would indicate. So, here’s the original episodes of the story for you all along with the two unpublished episodes to finish it off!

Table of Contents



Micah was not happy when the doorbell rang interrupting his research on a new invisibility spell. Micah was even unhappier when he saw that the people who were gracing his front porch tonight were Rod and five small college nerds. He did not know who they were, and did not particularly care. He may go to college there, but Micah completed most of his learning at home. And the fact that they were accompanied by Rod was even worse. Likely, something was awry, and he would most likely have to spend the rest of the evening resolving it. “What’s wrong Rod?” he asked.

“These five twerps would like you to cast a spell for them. They say that if you don’t, then they’ll haul you down to the police station.” Rod smirked. Micah could tell he found that amusing, considering that no jail cell could hold him for very long, and he’d likely disappear before it ever came to that. That meant there was something larger going on here. Since Rod could erase their memories if he so chose, Micah figured he might as well play along.

“Hmm…And what evidence do they have?”

“They say that they know about Mike.”

“Mike, eh? Well, I guess I don’t have much choice. Come on in, and I’ll see what I can do.”

The group hesitantly wandered in, just beginning to realize that they may have gotten in over their heads, but Micah wasn’t about to let them back down now. He was going to teach them the penalties of trying to blackmail a wizard and his sidekick. Technically Rod was his apprentice, but they both preferred sidekick instead. Considering how quickly he progressed the few years prior, Micah was beginning to worry about whether or not Rod was going to be able to fully control his powers. He closed the door behind them and asked, “So what kind of spell are you looking for? I specialize in curses, but I have a wide variety to choose from, but from your gumption, I’d say you already have something in mind.”

Timidly, one of them stepped forward, named Peter. He answered, “We want revenge. On these guys.” He handed Micah five plastic bags, each containing a photo and a sample of hair. They were nothing if not thorough. The five pictures all showed fairly athletic men in their twenties.

Rod looked over his shoulder and said, “Targeting the football team eh?”

“Of course,” Micah thought, “Nerds always want revenge on the football team. The envy of a nerd is matched only by the athlete’s vanity. They’re all idiotic.”

“Ok…but first I need to know a few more specifics,” he said after studying the photos. He tore a few pages out of a nearby notebook, and gathered a few scattered pens. “I’ll need each of you to pick one of these fellows here, write down what exactly you would like to happen to them, and then I’ll need a few drops of your blood on the sheet.”

“Our blood? Why?” The smallest one stammered, Bryce.

“Well, I have to have some sort of connection to your hatred. That’s what fuels revenge after all. And I don’t hate these people, so your blood will have to do.” Micah passed out the sheets and then told Rod to go down to the basement and fetch the ceremonial blood knife.

One of the nerds, Evan, piped up and said, “No way are you getting my blood. You might use it on a spell against us.”

Micah turned towards him, “Of course I’m using you fools in the spell. You’re the ones with the motivation that can move it. You think I care about some stupid football team?”

“Hey, these guys are jerks!” A different one said, Orson I believe, “Are you defending them?” He was shorter and wider than Micah, but he still got as close to his face as he could, attempting to look intimidating.

Micah laughed, “Are you threatening me? Your little plot of blackmail is cute certainly, but I could disintegrate your right here with a thought and an incantation. I’m helping you five out of the good of my own heart. So if I could get your requests and your blood, I’d like you to be out of my hair as soon as possible.”

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea guys,” Evan said.

“I don’t think you have much of a choice but to follow through. I have agreed to your request, and I will have your blood, whether it be by force or not. You will hold up your end of the contract.”

They all looked fearfully from one to another, and then scribbled down a few lines on the sheets. When Rod got back, he pricked each of them, squeezed their blood onto the sheets, placed them in their respective bags, and then ushered them out the door. Micah told them that they could expect results the day after next, Thursday, and he would contact them Friday for a follow up.

After gathering up the papers and the bags, Micah turned to Rod and asked, “Is there any particular reason you felt that this intrusion was necessary?”

“One of them was resistant to mind wipes, so I figured you should handle it.”

“I see. Well, I think I know just the thing for those twerps, and the football team they are so resolute on destroying. I should have everything so I can finish by tomorrow evening.”

He sat down to look at the sheets, and the childish curses they had devised for their alleged tormentors. Of course, they didn’t know that the spell he had in mind, at least after some modification. “Such pitiful curses,” he thought, “a waste of my talents really, but I will fulfill them none the less. And they will certainly be in for a surprise come Thursday. Quite a surprise indeed.” Micah handed Rod a list of ingredients and the bags, “Start boiling these in water. I’ll be down after I change.”

“What exactly are you planning?”

“Why, to exact their revenge of course, but they should have thought about the burden revenge places upon their souls. So I will place the burden for them. I’m planning an old pagan curse my Grandmother taught me. Very potent, but the person who casts it receives a piece of the revenge they enact as well, in proportion to the sin they hold within their own souls.”

“Which means what exactly?”

Micah sighed. Rod may be talented, but he wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about the intricacies of spells. “Basically, those nerds are about to get a massive dose of ‘what comes around, goes around,’ courtesy of Micah the Magnificent.”

Rod nodded, and then asked, “But what about their redemption?”

“I think we’ll handle that at the Friday follow up session.” Micah said, and then went upstairs to change.

After a shower and donning his robe, Micah met Rod downstairs in the basement, stirring the boiling cauldron. I walked over to where he had placed the bags and the matching sheets, and tried to decide whom to start with. After a moment of consideration, he picked up Evan’s sheet. “He had been so worried about the state of his blood, I may as well get him done first.” he thought. The sheet said that Evan wanted George Grisham to become a 400-pound glutton. “Probably envious of his muscles,” he thought, “but I have feeling that as much as George is going to enjoy his new body, Evan might like it even more.”

Episode 1 ~ A Taste of Gluttony


Evan didn’t like that wizard one bit, but as he sat in Biology looking at George’s toned muscles, he felt the old anger rising in him again. He’d seen the way George treated himself. He was a pig. He ate no vegetables, tons of fat, and drank four or five beers every night, yet nothing covered his ripped six-pack. Coming from a childhood of weight-watching and excruciating diets, Evan wanted George to know the pain of ridicule because of one’s weight. That’s why he was training to be a nutritionist; hopefully he could get rid of obesity once and for all, so no kid would have to go through what he did. But people like George deserved to be fat. They deserved to be ridiculed for their poor diet. But all that would change tomorrow. In the morning, George would be a 400-pound hog with no control over his gluttony. He wished he could be there to see his shocked face, but imagining it was almost as good.

As the professor finished up the lesson, Evan rounded off his daily notes, and then packed up. It was the last class of the day, and he wanted to see how the other guys were doing. They had decided to head over to the football field to watch the last practice any of those five would have.

He ran into Bryce in the hallway, a black eye still fresh on his face, “Who was it this time?” Evan asked as they walked towards the normal meeting place.

“Kenneth. He ‘accidentally’ swung his hand into my face. Apparently, I’m so short he didn’t see me there.” Evan saw a tear well up in his friend’s normal eye, but he knew better than to comment on it. Bryce preferred to suffer in solitude. “I’m just glad Sam’s gonna get it tomorrow. Let’s see how he likes getting picked on and beaten up.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. They’re all gonna get it.”

The walked out into the sunlit quad, and started off towards the stadium. Orson was already there on one of the upper levels, watching the team warm up. Bryce and Evan sat next to him and waited for Peter and Daniel to arrive. They sat in relative silence, and when Peter and Daniel sat down next to them, they didn’t speak either. They all just watched their targets, eagerly anticipating the next day’s change. Evan watched George sprint down the field, ball in hand, and imagined him waddling between the refrigerator and the couch. “How sweet revenge is,” he thought.

They all got bored before the practice finished and set off on their separate ways. Evan went back to his dorm room, and got into some gym clothes, looking at his body before he left. He wasn’t unattractive by any measure, but there was still that last bit of gut he couldn’t get rid of no matter how he tried. Cursed with a slow metabolism, he had been the fat kid most of his life, until he resolved to end it in high school. He’d changed a lot since then, but he’d never been able to measure up to George.

After working out in the gym for an hour, he headed back to his room to do a little studying before he went to sleep, but organic chemistry couldn’t hold his attention. All he could think about was how great it would be to finally see George get his comeuppance. He turned in early, eagerly anticipating his first taste of revenge.


      Evan startled awake, and looked around the room for a moment, unsure of where he was. It seemed like he should be in a dorm room, but that didn’t make any sense. He’d never been to college. He got a job at the local bakery right out of school. Cooking was his passion, especially when he could cook for men who loved to eat.

      He heaved himself up, and staggered into the bathroom. After taking a piss, he took stock in the mirror. For some reason, he kept thinking things had been different. Like he had been thin, and pretty muscular, but he hadn’t been thin in years. He wasn’t exactly fat, but at 230 pounds with a healthy gut, he was definitely husky, not that there was anything wrong with that. The fatter the better he thought. Any man without a little fat on him was a waste of space.

      He passed his unease off as a lingering dream and back in his bedroom he got on his uniform, then went out into the still black morning. Climbing into his car, he drove over to Kathy’s Bakery so he could get help out before the morning rush. His famous doughnuts were known city wide, and some people would travel miles out of their way to get one. Everyone at the bakery knew how to make them, but he still liked to supervise and help out. He pulled into a spot at the back of the parking lot, and headed over to the small bakery. Kathy was in the front of the store, wiping down tables for the first customers. “Hey Evan,” she said, “How are you doing this morning?”

      “Same old, same old,” he replied, “So who’s working today?”

      “Donald, Michelle, Gary and Larissa. They’re in the back finishing the morning goods. Would you mind running the register today? Fran’s sick, and no one else is trained but you and me.”

      “I can do it,” Evan replied, a bit grudgingly. Register wasn’t all that bad, but he’d rather be baking. “At least I’ll get a good look at the fat businessmen on their way to work.” he thought, and then stopped himself, unsure that he should be thinking something like that. He was gay, wasn’t he? Why did he suddenly think he was straight? He passed it off as unease from the dream he had, and headed back to the safe to pick up a till, admiring Donald’s overhanging gut on the way as he was mixing some dough. Evan had had a crush on him ever since he had started working there six months ago, and as his waistline steadily increased, which is usually the case for bakers, Evan was having a hard time not staring at Donald as he worked. He probably wasn’t quite 300 pounds yet, but with a little encouragement, Evan was hoping to see him even fatter. He opened the safe and pulled out two hundred bucks, marking the deduction in the account book, and then headed out to the front again. Michelle was unloading the first batch onto the racks, and just in time for opening. After booting the register, it was time to open the doors, and business was good for the first few hours. A steady stream of men and women came in for breakfast, usually to go, and Evan knew most of them by face, and all of them knew, and complimented him on his work. As much as he disliked working the register, he did love getting compliments on his baking.

      It was about nine-thirty when a new customer walked into the shop. Evan’s mouth dropped open at the sight the massive man as he squeezed through the doorway. He tried his best to memorize every detail of that body for a later jack-off session. A full beard covering cascading chins, at least three if not more, leading to the fullest man-tits he had ever seen, stretching the t-shirt he wore tight enough to get a glimpse of the large pert nipples beneath. Below that a massive apron that overhung his waist by at least six inches, if not closer to a foot, descending just enough that Evan could just barely see the belly poking out the bottom. His arms jiggled, his hands like overstuffed sausages. He could imagine himself sucking on every single one of those for hours, licking every inch of that fantastic gut. He wished the man would turn around so he could get a glimpse of his ass. If his massive thighs were any indication, it was a beauty. He lumbered up to the register, Evan’s eyes glued to his body the entire time, staring unabashed. “You ok buddy?” the guy said, and Evan felt his cheeks redden.

      “Oh sorry about that…I was miles away.” Evan stammered, “What can I get you?”

      The man rattled off his order, but Evan was distracted by the thought of suckling on those massive tits. “Did you get that?” the man asked when Evan didn’t respond.

      “Oh sorry. Tell me again.”

      The man grinned, “On second thought, make that order ‘for here’. I’d like a baker’s dozen of your doughnuts. One chocolate bar, two maple bars, one twist, two glazed, one chocolate with sprinkles, one cinnamon sugar, one powdered sugar, two of those frosted and jelly filled ones, and two custard éclairs.”

      Evan finished scribbling the order down, and then went about collecting the order in a box, before he’d realized the man wanted them for here, “Do you mind a box? I’m not sure we have a plate that can fit all of these…”

      “A box would be fine,” The man said.

      Evan brought the selection and put it on the counter, then rang the man up. “I hope you enjoy these, they’re my own personal recipes.”

      “Oh? Are you the baker?”

      “Yeah, I want to open my own place eventually, but this is good for now.”

      The man paid with cash, and Evan gave him his change, then he went as sat down at one of the tables scattered around, facing Evan at the register. He opened the box, and looked at his selection like a fine connoisseur, and finally picked up an éclair, and eyes right on Evan, slowly took a huge bite out of it. If Evan wasn’t hard enough before, this new show almost made him cum in his pants. He was mesmerized by this massive, beautiful man and his erotically charged gluttony. He watched the man lick the custard off his lips sensually, and then take a vicious bite out of maple bar, never taking his eyes off of Evan, and Evan watching him the entire time, rubbing his cock through his jeans. When he had finished licking his fingers clean, the man said, “Like what you see Boy?”

      Evan could only nod, and take a gulp.

      “You want to feed me one? You do, don’t you? You want to feel this belly of mine don’t you? Yeah, I know your type.” The man picked up the box, and headed into the bathroom, winking at Evan as the door shut behind him.

      Unable to resist it anymore, he called back, “Hey, Kat! Could you man the register for a sec? I gotta take care of business.”

      Kathy yelled a yes back, and Evan took off for the bathroom, a single occupancy with a locking door. The man was already sitting on the toilet, his shirt off, an éclair in his hand. He held it out to Evan, and said, “Well, come on then. You know you want to.”

      Evan approached, letting his rock hard cock out in the process and throwing his apron on the floor. “I could get fired for this you know,” he said, but started rubbing the man’s massive gut anyway. It was harrier than he expected, not that he minded.

      The man laughed, and then forced the éclair into Evan’s mouth. “Shut up and feed me Boy.”

      Evan lowered the other end into the man’s mouth, and the both started eating away at it, their lips meeting in a warm mash of pastry, custard and spit that drove Evan mad. He couldn’t stop running his hands all over the man’s body. Kneading his massive tits like they were warm, just risen dough.

      When the éclair was gone, and they had licked the remnants of each other’s face, the man asked, “You want some more of that boy?”

      “Oh god do I.” He buried his face into the man’s massive gut, reveling in the soft flesh that surrounded him.

      “When do you get off today?”

      “At ten, in about fifteen minutes.”

      “I can wait that long. You should get back out there so you don’t get fired. Can’t have my little baker boy jobless now can I?”

      Evan quickly put his apron back on, wiped off his face, and headed back to relieve Kathy. The store was still empty luckily. Kathy went back to supervise the bakers, and the man came out of the restroom a minute later.

      “I didn’t even get your name. I’m Evan,” he said, as the man sat back down, eating another doughnut.

      “George Grisham,” the man said, and slowly stuffed half a doughnut into his waiting mouth.

      The name seemed to resonate with Evan for some reason, as though the name had been in his dream too, but that was nonsense. It was just a case of déjà vu. The clock read five till ten, and he called back, “Kathy? Is it all right if I take off a little bit early?”

      She said it was fine, and after she came up front to man the register, he stripped the till back to 200 dollars, deposited the rest in the safe, and when he came back, the man was gone. He hurried outside, and saw him down the walkway in front of a store window, the doughnut box in hand, another one halfway finished. “I picked up a few more for the road.” George said, and then led Evan towards his waiting truck.

      “But I have my car over there. Someone might think it’s suspicious if I leave it here.”

      George turned around, got up close to him, and traced Evan’s lips with the remaining morsel, before depositing it into his mouth, “Do you really care?” he asked.

      Evan lunged in and kissed him, doughnut still in his mouth and then followed the man to his truck.

      Before he started the engine, George pulled out his cell phone and placed a call, while Evan explored his massive belly further.

      “Hey Sally, this is George…Yeah, I’m still coming today, but I have an unexpected guest. Could you increase the spread?…I know its short notice…Greg can handle it, he’s fantastic in the kitchen…Yeah, I can wait another hour…Thanks Sally, see you soon.”

      He hung up and turned towards Evan, who was still rubbing George’s gut. “Well, Boy, we have an hour to kill, and all these doughnut that need eating.” He opened up the box and Evan saw that it was packed full of pastry. “How do you propose we resolve this?”

      “I think I know a few places we could keep these.” Evan said as he grabbed a cinnamon twist and shoved it into George’s mouth. They began alternating their feeding, sometimes breaking the rhythm to make out, their lips and cheeks covered with sugar and frosting. Evan had never been so hot for a man his entire life, as though George fulfilled every gluttonous fantasy he had ever had, but was too frightened to actually do it. And there was something else too. For the other men he had been with, he had usually been on the top, feeding them, encouraging them, but with George, he was completely submissive. Even as he began to reach the bursting point, every time he told himself that éclair or that doughnut was the last one, he would willingly open up his mouth and receive another at one word from George. His cock had never been so hard in his entire life. Eventually, they both depleted the box, and Evan lay back, gasping for breath and holding his stomach.

      George laughed, “Looks like my new boy isn’t used to being stuffed.” He bent over and kissed him, licking the last bit of frosting from his lips, “I think that’s something we’ll have to fix.” With that, he started the car, and they drove across town to a neighborhood Evan didn’t recognize, George massaging his gut at every red light. The massaging helped relieve his aching gut a little. He almost felt like he would be able to eat again in a few days. But when George pulled up into a “reserved” spot in front of an all you can eat buffet, Evan felt an ominous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

      “What are we doing here?” he asked.

      “We’re going to have lunch, my Boy. I own this chain of restaurants, and I come here often.” He winked, got out and went around to Evan’s side.

      “But I don’t think I can eat any more food…”

      “Lesson number one,” George said as he helped Evan down from the cab, “is to never think. Just eat. I won’t steer you wrong. Do you trust me?”

      Evan nodded, and together they waddled through the front door of the restaurant, where a woman was standing behind a desk, sending people off to their tables. “Morning Sally. Are you guys ready for us?”

      “Sure George, just finished, even with your last second addition.” She winked at Evan, “It’s all in the back room, as you prefer.”

      “Thanks again Sally,” George led Evan to the back of the restaurant and through a door. Inside was the largest collection of desserts Evan had ever seen.

      “All of this is for the two of us?” he said, eyes bulging at the size of the spread, “I can’t eat that much food.”

      George came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, burying him in his flab, massaging Evan’s belly, making him moan. “I told you before. Don’t think, just eat.” George led him over to the table, picked up a slice of chocolate cake, and put it up to Evan’s mouth. He knew he shouldn’t eat it, but he couldn’t resist it. He took a big bite, and then another, and before he knew it, the piece was gone, and his cock was pushing up into his belly. “Yeah, that’s a good boy. Eat for your Daddy.” George brought another piece of cake to his lips and he scarfed that down too, sucking on George’s chocolate covered fingers as well. Unable to resist, Evan picked up a bear claw and began chewing on that as well, all while George kept massaging his gut, and stripped out of his clothes.

      With his boy eating contentedly, George dug into the buffet as well, devouring an entire cherry pie, while Evan watched, eating two dozen cookies and rubbing his Daddy’s gut all the while. Then George took another piece of cake and smeared it all over his gut, and rubbed Evan’s face in it. He loved the feel of the rich cake and frosting and the hair mixing together. He began licking it off, unable to stop himself, and when George topped it all off with half a bowl of whipped cream, he ate that too, slowly working his way down to his Daddy’s dick, poking out from his fat. George spread chocolate sauce all around beneath his gut, and Evan dived into it, lapping at the sweet nectar dripping down, and eventually finding the massive rock hard dick, started sucking on that. It was so big, that even though several inches were burring in fat, Evan still couldn’t take it all. His stomach was full to capacity, but he didn’t care anymore. All he wanted to do was serve this man, his Daddy, feed and be fed, grow and encourage. He wanted that dick so bad, just sucking on it made him want to blow a load.

      George told him to take off his clothes and then lay back on the tile. After he did, Evan’s cock pointing straight up to the ceiling, George began slathering him with a carton of ice cream, the cold refreshing against his hot feverish skin. The George began licking it off of him while he lowered his cock back into Evan’s mouth so he could continue sucking, They sixty-nined for a while, each one tasting a wonderful mixture of ice cream, chocolate and precum, before George hauled him up, pushed him back onto the table and lifted his legs up into the air. After greasing his asshole with some butter, George shoved his dick up Evan’s hole, muffling his moans with pieces of apple pie, chocolate chip cookies and huge handfuls of cake, rubbing the remnants all over Evan’s body, which Evan used to lube his cock, lost in the throes of gluttonous desire. With a yell, George shot a massive load up Evan’s ass, while with a muffled moan, he shot cum all over his chest, both of them scooping it up and shoving it into their mouths with whatever dessert they could grab.

After George pulled out, they both laid on the tile floor, licking each other’s bodies clean in the afterglow, Evan had never felt so full and so hungry at the same time. He dove into his Daddy’s belly, cleaning it with a gusto he had never felt for another man. He wanted this man to be happy, he wanted his cock up his ass, he wanted to feed him and be stuffed so full that he couldn’t move, and then eat some more.

      When they were more or less clean, the meager remains of the table scattered across the floor, Evan happily suckling on his Daddy’s tit, wishing it would fill him full of milky cream, George said, “I have a job proposition for you, Evan.”

      “Anything Daddy.” Evan moaned, and then went back to rubbing his face into George’s chest.

      “I want you to be my private pastry chef. You will live at my mansion, cook in the morning and then we will stuff ourselves for the rest of the day. All of your needs will be provided for; all I ask for in return is your absolute loyalty.”

      “It sounds like a dream come true.” Evan said, and then kissed his new partner deeply.

      When they were done, George said, “Well, then I guess we should get you moved in then.”

      Evan nodded, and after they donned their clothes, they left, Evan hanging onto the arm of the man who had taught him all the pleasures of gluttony.

Episode 2 – The Age of Lust


      Micah scribbled a few more lines down on Evan’s sheet, and then handed it to Rod. “Throw this in, but stick a doughnut in there as well.”

      Rod stopped stirring and looked up at him, “A doughnut? We don’t have any I don’t think…”

      Micah sighed, “Then get a stick of butter, a cup of flour and two cups of sugar. That should do the trick.”

While Rod ran upstairs to the kitchen for the supplies, Micah turned back to the remaining bags. “Orson, I think, will be next,” he said. He pulled out the paper, and read that Orson wanted Lenny Silverton to become a gay prostitute obsessed with sex. When he had peeked into Orson’s mind earlier, he had saw that he had a massive crush on Lenny and hated himself for it, but Micah figured it was time to let some of those feelings out. He went over to his shelf of reagents and poured in a few tablespoons of the sands of time, and a seed of lust. “I think I know just how to solve this problem, but before that, I think Orson has some growing up to do,” Micah thought as he tossed the whole bag into the cauldron.


      Hefting the towels into the washer, Orson threw in a scoop of soap and turned it on. Checking his watch, he saw that he still had fifteen minutes until his shift was over, so he sat down in the laundry room, hoping to avoid his supervisors so they wouldn’t give him something else to do, and gave a heavy groan. It was bad enough that he was fat and short, but being assigned a work-study position in the athletics department was just cruel. Not only did he have to pick up after jocks all day, but he had to put up with their ridicule too. The only solace he could find was the eventual hope that when he was older, he’d be the boss of these jokers and not the other way around.

      That was the story of his life. Every teacher had told him and his parents, “Orson will fit in better when he’s older,” “He’ll have more friends when he’s older,” “He’ll get taller when he’s older.” So far none of them had been true, he was still the short, overweight outcast he’d always been. But he knew someday it would come true. One day, he would be a successful CEO, and all of these jocks would his janitors, cleaning up after him. At least when he was older. He heaved another sigh, and decided to go sign out with his supervisor.

Orson headed straight over to the football field and was the first one to get there. He climbed up the bleachers, hoping the football team wouldn’t notice him or his friends as they arrived. He was sure that they would receive a whole new round of teasing, people pointing at them behind their backs, calling them a bunch of faggots who watched the football team to get off. It wasn’t the talk that humiliated him really, it was the fact that they were right, or at least they were in Orson’s case. He did love watching the football team, and they had been in many of his fantasies, but none of them would ever so much as look at him. He was too short, and too fat, and there was nothing he could do about that.

      Evan and Bryce, sporting a fresh black eye, arrived a few minutes later, but Orson didn’t say anything. He just watched Lenny, the quarterback, run back and forth, his ass encased in those spandex pants that left so little to the imagination. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Part of him just wanted to revel in the irony. Finally, instead of Lenny conquering woman after woman, men would start conquering him. But really, Orson knew that what he really wanted was to find Lenny tomorrow, pick him up, and fuck his ass, while Lenny bit his pillow and squealed with lust. Just the thought of it gave him a hard on. Not that he could ever let anyone know. The idea of his friends finding out about his fantasies scared him more than anything. If he couldn’t have a man like Lenny, at least he could have friends. So he endured the name calling, hating it even more because all of it was true, and he couldn’t stop.

      One by one, they all got bored of the practice, but Orson stayed for the whole thing, thankful that none of the jocks noticed him. Secretly, he kind of wished they would notice. At least then he could be honest about his infatuation. But they all left practice oblivious, or if not oblivious, no one cared what a nerd like Orson thought about them. Lenny’s latest catch, one of the cheerleaders named Harriet, came running up and planted a huge kiss on his lips, at which point they started making out in front of the entire team. After they had gotten tired of the catcalls, Lenny pulled her over to his car, where they took of for his apartment. Frustrated and lonely, Orson wandered back to his room, laid back on his bed, and jacked off imagining Lenny as a gay bottom boy. After he came, he rolled over, still unsatisfied, and went to sleep.


      Orson woke up, cursing, and pulled down the shade of the window next to his bed. He didn’t need the sun making his hangover even worse. He rolled over and tried to fall back asleep. He had been having an amazing dream about this hot college football player. In the dream, the jock walked up to him, pushed Orson over his motorcycle in the middle of a parking lot and started fucking his ass. As the memory came back to him, Orson reached around and felt the end of the dildo still in his ass from his jack off session the night before. It was kind of hard with his gut in the way, but he began fucking himself, trying to get his dick hard as he imagined the hot jock reaching under and jacking him off. But of course, it wasn’t cooperating this morning; between his blood pressure, his weight, and his age, the old guy just wasn’t working like he used to. With a grunt he pulled the dildo out of his ass, and rolled up to a sitting position.

Once the world had stopped spinning, he got up and lumbered into the bathroom to piss. He thought about taking a shower, but his pits didn’t smell that bad. His graying beard was tangled and dirty, but he liked it when it looked a little nasty. Looking in the mirror, he was amazed at how the years had really taken a hit on him. He was just pushing fifty now, and the large number of wrinkles showed it. He had once prided himself on being a heavily muscled biker, but his muscles had long been covered with a layer of fat, stretching his already fading tattoos. He went back into the room and pulled a cigarette out of his jeans pocket, opened the window, and watched the traffic below, mentally undressing all of the young studs enjoying the early fall sunshine. When he had flicked the butt out the window, He went back inside and looked at the time. It was only early afternoon and he was still horny, so if he hurried, he could make to the local college before the football team started practice.

He picked up the clothes he had worn the day before and put them on: a stained fading and worn Harley Davidson t-shirt, some jeans, his leather chaps, and a leather jacket. As a last second thought, he got the dildo and shoved that in place too. Picking up his helmet on the way out, he hopped onto his bike and took off for the nearby campus, enjoying the vibration of the dildo the whole way.

Dumping the bike nearby, he snuck into the stadium and crawled underneath the bleachers just in time for the first few guys to arrive. Orson started rubbing himself through his jeans, but as he did, he felt an odd sense of déjà vu overcome him. He thought he recognized a few of these guys, and it seemed like he had taken classes with a few of them, but that was impossible—he was probably twice their age if not more. Putting the thought out of mind, he sat down on his jacket, pulled out his dick and started rocking back on the dildo, shivering every time it rubbed up against his prostate. Soon the rest of the team arrived, and they started practice.

As he was trying to bring his flaccid dick to life, Orson noticed that they had left their bags on the first few levels of the bleachers. He quietly snuck up there, careful to make sure no one was looking and pulled one of the bags underneath with him. Scrounging through it, he found exactly what he had wanted: one of the player’s dirty jockstraps. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the sharp musk of sweat and piss, and felt his cock start to rise underneath his gut. After putting the bag back, he hurried back to his jacket, dropped his pants, and slowly started fucking himself with the jock draped over his face, moaning quietly. The jocks on the football field began a scrimmage, and Orson watched their tight asses as they ran across the field.

Taking a deep breath of the jock, he imagined that he was in the locker room with all of those muscular men in their prime. Then one of them pushed him onto a bench, and rammed his dick up his ass while another one started fucking his face, calling him an old pig as he ground the smells of stale cum and sweat, the essence of their youth, into his face and beard. Then the other players started rubbing their dicks all over him, taking their turns at either end, the rest of them laughing at his age and shriveled dick. Then one of the linebackers came up behind him, and shoved his hand into his hole. Orson started pistoning up and down on the dildo faster, imagining the man’s fairy forearm scrapping against the sensitive tissue of his ass. With his other hand the linebacker started slowly stroking Orson’s cock as he squirmed on the bench, aching for release. Then with a muffled grunt he rammed the dildo up as far as he could get it and shot all over his shirt and beard. He scooped up what he could and ate it, wishing he could be eating the loads of all those young masculine men instead. His old, slightly sour cum just didn’t compare to their sweet semen.

Keeping the dildo in, he pulled his pants back up, shoving the jock into his pocket, but kept his dick out, creeping farther forward to watch the rest of the practice. But as he did, he couldn’t help but be struck by feelings of recognition and nostalgia. The idea that he had attended this school wouldn’t get out of his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he felt. His body began to feel a little unnatural, as though he hadn’t always been old and fat. But that was silly. While he might have been young once, he had always been a biker traveling the country, looking for hot masculine men to fuck him. But with his increasing age, he couldn’t work like he used to, and money was becoming a little tighter. He had a friend that was trying to set up a job for him at a local steel mill, but he didn’t have very high hopes. He thought that it might be time to move on, but something held him in this town. It might be the two college campuses, and its large population of single men. He’d always been attracted to young college stallions and muscle bears, and this seemed like the best place to find guys to watch, and even a few who would fuck him. But sadly, not many people were interested in him now that he was getting older. He might pick up a trick every now and then, but it was getting harder and harder to get anywhere with that either.

The coaches called an end to the scrimmage and Orson retreated back out of sight. The team packed up and was on their way a few minutes later, one of the members puzzled by a missing jock strap, but figured it would turn up eventually. When the field was clear, Orson climbed out from under the bleachers, took another sniff of the jock, then headed back to his bike. The sun was just beginning to set, and he figured he could probably make his way over to Pigtown. Out of curiosity, he picked up a free magazine of job listings and flipped through it. His savings was getting low, and unemployment was going to run out on him the next month. Food stamps helped, but he figured he could go look at a couple of construction yards the next day, but it was hard working with so many hot young men. His leers had already gotten him fired from several jobs, but he couldn’t help it. If they didn’t want to be stared at, they shouldn’t be wearing those wife beaters and those tight jeans showing off the bulges in their crotches. They wanted people to look, as long as they weren’t him. He kicked a mailbox as he walked by, frustrated and angry. “The world is meant for the young,” he thought, and threw the booklet into the gutter.

He hopped on his bike and started it up, and considered going out on the road again, but he didn’t know where to go. Hoping to at least drown his miseries in a couple of beers, he decided to head over to Pigtown anyway. At least watching a bunch of masters manhandle their slaves might make him feel a little better. He sped off towards the harbor, imagining that he might be able to find some hot guy willing to fuck his ass too.

He pulled up into the near empty parking lot half an hour later, and saw that even though the club was open, it wasn’t very busy and given that it was early on a Thursday, he wasn’t very surprised. As he hopped off his bike, another biker pulled up as well with a massive man sitting behind him. It was one of the sluttiest pigs Orson had ever seen. Almost every inch of the guys body was covered in tattoos and piercings. The guy wasn’t wearing a shirt, and on the guy’s back he could see the top of a forearm pointing forwards his ass, and the words “BIKER SLAVE” printed across his upper back. They got off the bike, the biker taking a leash attached to the pig’s collar, and started over towards the entrance, but the biker stopped when he say Orson staring.

“You want a piece of him man?” the biker called, startling Orson and making him blush.

He tried to stammer and answer, but the biker just laughed and hauled his slave over towards him.

“How about feeding him some piss? He said, then looked over at his slave, “Would you like that Pig? You want this guy’s piss?”

Pig nodded anxiously and got down on his knees in front of Orson, who tentatively pulled out his dick. Luckily, he did have to piss, so after that imagining he was standing in front of a urinal, he let the stream go into the pig’s mouth, who drank it down like it was the best thing he had ever tasted, licking around Orson’s cock and kissing the tip when he was finished.

With that, the biker hauled him off again saying, “That’s enough of an appetizer Pig. I’m already renting you out as a urinal, so you’ll be getting plenty more of that.” The pig snorted in reply, and Orson swore that if he had had a tail, it would have been wagging back and forth. He finished securing his bike, and then followed the pair inside.

The front room was pretty much empty. The music was playing, but quieter than it would be later that night. Orson wandered over to the bar and greeted Jim, the bartender, who poured him a pint of beer and set it in front of him. He took a long swig set it down, and then looked up when a stud he had never seen before sat down a few stools away. The man was massive, and Orson imagined that he probably could have competed as a body builder. He was clad in a tight fitting spandex top that left very little to the imagination, his biceps bursting out of the armholes and every line of his pecs and abs standing out. He was wearing jeans that looked a few sizes to small and sported a bulge that made Orson’s mouth water just thinking about it. But the best part was the green handkerchief that was hanging out of his left pocket, which meant that if the price was right, the stud would go down for anybody. He wasn’t too boyish either, with a strong chin covered in a day’s worth of stubble, his head shaved, and a smirk that showed he knew he was in high demand. The bartender set a shot glass down in front of him and filled it with some rum. He caught Orson staring at him, downed the shot and then winked at him. Taking that to be an invitation, Orson got up and took a seat next to him.

“Hey, I’m Orson.” he stuttered, unsure of what to say, “I haven’t seen you around here before. You new in town?”

“Nah, I just never knew about this place. The name’s Lenny. So, from the way you were staring at me a moment ago, I take it you see something you’d like?” he winked, watching Orson’s face turn red, “Well, if you want a blow job, that’s one hundred, fucking me is two hundred, and everything else is negotiable.”

Feeling more brave, Orson replied, “That all sounds fine and good, but what I really want is your dick up my ass. How much for that?”

Lenny thought for a moment, and then answered, “I’ll do it for seventy-five with a first time discount. Cash, up front of course.”

Orson pulled out his wallet and dug out a few wrinkled twenties, and handed it to him. “I want it right now, in the backroom,” he said and then led the way. The backroom was also relatively empty, aside from Pig, who was chained to the wall, eagerly awaiting his treatment that night. Orson shucked his clothes and then hopped into a sling. Lenny saw the dildo still up his ass and laughed, “Well I guess I don’t have to worry about opening you up.” The dildo came out with a pop, and Lenny took his dick out of his jeans. “So, big spender, who would you like it? Hard and fast? Slow and gentle?”

“Long. Fuck me longer than you’ve ever fucked anyone.”

Lenny laughed, “That’s a tall order, but I’ll do my best.” He came around to Orson’s head and added, “How about you lube this guy up for me?”

Orson was flabbergasted. The bulge had been huge, but he hadn’t expected the monster staring him in the face. The thing must have been at least ten inches long and as thick as a beer can only semi-hard. Just the sight of it filled him with lust. He sucked as much of it as he could into his mouth, and ran his tongue over the parts he couldn’t swallow, and the more he licked it, the larger and thicker it got. When it was good and hard, Lenny went back around and slowly drove it into Orson’s ass, making him moan as it touched places he had never felt before.

“Man you have a nice ass. I can’t wait to fuck it.” Lenny said as he started pulling in and out. “Yeah, a mighty fine ass.”

Orson started trying to push as much of the dick into his ass as he could, swinging himself to meet Lenny’s thrusts and clamping down on the dick, loving how much it stretched him out. He started jacking off his dick in time with the thrusts, stopping only to lick the precum off his fingers. Lenny started pounding harder, and all Orson could think about was how much he wanted this amazing cock up his ass forever. He had never had such a fantastic fuck before.

Before he knew it, he came all over his chest, but Lenny just kept on pounding away, “Cumming already?” he said with a chuckle, “I’m just getting started down here.” And he slammed into Orson’s ass, sending a blast of pleasure to his groin. Amazingly, he felt his dick twitch and start to harden again—an oddity since he hadn’t cum twice in a row since he was thirty. Just being fucked my Lenny made him feel like he was absorbing some of his youthful essence into him, and all he wanted was more. He wanted that cock to grow more, fuck his guts into knots, maybe even long enough come poking out of his mouth. Lenny slowly increased his speed, and by this time, Orson’s cock was hard and dribbling again, the pleasure from his ass resonating everywhere in his body, the blood singing in his ears. With a grunt, Lenny slammed into him and shot a massive load of cum up his ass, Orson could almost imagine it coating the insides of his body as his dick came a second time, an even larger load that shot him in the face. With a groan Lenny pulled out, wiped off his dick and pulled up his pants, thanked him for his business and left Orson to recover in the sling.

His ass empty and dribbling cum onto the floor uncontrollably, he tried to catch his breath. The afterglow was fantastic, never had he felt so alive and young before. He needed to feel like that again. Getting out of the sling, he checked his wallet and saw that he had spent almost all of his cash on Lenny. But as the euphoria ebbed away he was left feeling only exhaustion and age, and too tired to even consider more sex, he dropped a few bills at the bar and headed back to his apartment.

Laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his largest dildo crammed up his ass, he tried to stop thinking about Lenny, but the lustful voice in his dick was demanding more. Orson knew he couldn’t afford it; there was no way he could keep shelling out that kind of money for sex. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was the hope that he could find an alternative means of payment. Orson tossed and turned the whole night, images of Larry dancing just out of reach, a new victim of unfettered lust.

Episode 3 – A Slothful Seduction


      Rod came back downstairs, the ingredients added to Evan’s bag and added it to the cauldron, then went back to stirring. Meanwhile, Micah was hunting around the shelves looking for something. “What are you looking for Micah?” Rod asked.

      In response, Micah tossed him Peter’s bag. Rod read what the guy had written: “I want Samuel Haverick to lose all interest in hygiene and have his IQ drop to 80.”

      “So what are you trying to do?” Rod asked, looking for clarification.

      Micah stood up and sighed, “I’m not really sure. Nothing here seems appropriate for what I have in mind.” He snapped his fingers, “Of course. Rod, go get one of your dirty jockstraps.”

      “Am I going to get it back?” he asked, “I don’t have very many.”

      “I’ll buy you some more personally. Now hurry. I’d like to get to bed sometime soon. I promised those guys that their spell would be done by Thursday. I certainly wouldn’t want them to be disappointed.”

      Rod rolled his eyes, and headed upstairs. As a final thought, Micah tossed some urea and dried pig feces in Peter’s bag as well. “That should be dirty enough for him.” he thought, and then turned back to the remaining bags.


      Running his eyes down the list, Peter checked the test scores one last time for his class in Differential Equations, and saw what he expected. He had the second highest score with a 93, and the highest score was a 98, which of course belonged to Samuel. Peter sighed, and then took off for the student union building. Daniel needed someone to buy him a few meals because his meal plan had run out, and he couldn’t afford to eat until he got paid on Friday.

      He kept trying to tell himself that he shouldn’t be dissatisfied with a 93. The next highest score was a 77, but he tried so hard to beat Samuel, but nothing ever came of his efforts. It wouldn’t have hurt so bad if Samuel hadn’t been overshadowing him since Middle School. They were both from Havensburg, and decided to go to HU, and stay with their parents, and as such they had known each other for a long time. They had even been friends back in middle school, the two smartest kids in their grade. But when Samuel went out for football, suddenly he wasn’t interested in being Peter’s friend anymore. He also wasn’t very interested in academic excellence. He stopped studying for his classes and took reasonably hard classes, most of them with Peter. But the worst part was that no amount of slacking seemed to dent his 4.0 GPA. The greatest embarrassment for Peter was being beaten out for valedictorian by Samuel by a narrow distance.

      Even worse was Samuel’s laziness in other departments. He was never that interested in being presentable—he would let his hair grow out for months in order to avoid getting it cut, and sometimes you could smell him across the classroom. He showed up for graduation drunk, and made a fool of himself during his speech, but where Peter would have been mortified, Samuel just laughed and went out for more parties. Nothing mattered to him except instant gratification. Peter kept hoping he would get his comeuppance in college, but he had excelled as always, and fell right in with the football crowd, while Peter struggled just to find a group of outcasts and misfits that would take him in. Of course, he had never been very social, and his tendency towards obsessive neatness tended to weird people out, but everyone had their quirks. But he couldn’t help but hate Samuel for hanging him out to dry and turning his back on his potential. It wasn’t his higher grades that frustrated him, but the fact that Samuel did it without any effort or caring. It was a waste of his potential, and Peter wanted to see him lose everything he had, but didn’t care about at all. It was only just.

      Daniel was waiting outside the student union building, shivering in the cold. Peter wished he would just take one of Evan’s old coats or something; it was going to get cold soon and his little threadbare sweatshirt didn’t look like it would last another year. But ever since his parents had disowned him after coming out of the closet, he had been determined to make it on his own. Even taking meals from others left him in a sour mood. Peter waved to him, and they went inside, picked out some food, and then went to go eat. Peter tried to start several conversations, but Daniel would just nod and look off to some faraway place.

      “Are you ok? You seem down?” he finally asked after a silent moment.

      “Yeah, I’m alright…I just got another email from my parents. They want me to go to this…center. They say it can fix me.” He squeezed his fist hard enough to make his knuckles pop, “Cause, you know, something’s broken, and only through the power of Christ can I be repaired.”

      “Why don’t you just get a new email account?”

      Daniel sighed and relaxed his hand, “I really should, but…you know. I just keep hoping they’ll change their minds. I’m just not ready to turn my back on them yet.”

      Peter looked at his watch, and saw it was a little past four. “Hey, we should probably go meet the guys over at the stadium. Maybe imagining the surprise those jocks are in for tomorrow will cheer you up.”

      Daniel smirked, and they walked over to the field together. Evan, Orson and Bryce were already there watching the practice, and Peter and Daniel joined them. It wasn’t hard to spot Samuel on the field. His hair was almost down to his shoulders and tangled. He obviously hadn’t shaven in a few days, because he had a layer of thick stubble on his face, another thing Peter couldn’t stand. When he saw him take a sniff of his armpits while they were resetting, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He didn’t want to be anywhere near this place anymore. Quickly he stood up and took off for his room, indulging himself with a nice long shower. After studying for his German class the next day, he went to bed, anxiously imagining how different things would be for Samuel when he woke up.


      Peter woke up to a raging headache and an odd rumbling noise. His first thought was that he should be in his dorm room at school, but that didn’t make any sense. He was 28, and had never gone to college. He might have been smart enough, but it just wasn’t what he wanted to do. He tried to move his hands and legs, but found that he couldn’t. Opening his eyes, he saw he was in a dark place, with two windows at either end. It dawned on him that he was in a truck bed with a canopy, hogtied and gagged. Thinking back, the last thing he remembered with any real clarity was the fight he’d had with his parents on Wednesday. They’d found his stash of ecstasy in his room, and tossed him out on the street. Its not like he used it all the time, it was just for parties, but they didn’t understand. They’d never understood him. After they had taken his keys and thrown him out, he had decided to get out of town. There wasn’t anything left for him anyway. So he walked around that night looking for a car he could take. He set his eyes on an old pickup. It wasn’t in very good shape, but it would work, and he could get the ignition taken out pretty easily. He set about picking the lock, and that was the last thing he remembered.

      Looking out the back window, he saw that if it wasn’t morning yet it was close to dawn. It was hard to make out, but the truck was definitely out of the city, and traveling down a windy road. He struggled for a few minutes until he was sure he couldn’t get out, and then sat there, increasingly nervous. He figured that the owner of the pickup had knocked him out, but he figured a normal person would just take him to the police. This was a whole lot worse, and it filled him with unease. After the sun had fully risen, the vibration of the truck increased, and Peter could hear gravel and dirt crunching under the tires. After another lengthy period of time, his whole body now sore from his bonds and rolling around in the back, the truck finally came to a stop.

      After a moment of silence, he heard the door of the cab open and shut, and heavy footsteps walk away. A few minutes later, they came back, and the back of the cab opened. It was the smell that hit Peter first; the man stank like he hadn’t bathed in months. The man was dressed in overalls without a shirt, and his whole body looked like it was caked with dirt, grease and grime. While his head and beard were shaved, both were covered in a few days of stubble. The man leered at him, his smile missing one of its front teeth, and then yanked Peter out of the truck. He tried to fight back, but the man was heavily muscled even if it was covered in a thick layer of fat, and easily hauled Peter over to a clearing. Peter looked around and saw that he was in the middle of a field, a trailer off to one side with a few pieces of furniture scattered around it. There was no one else around though, and his hopes of rescue were dashed, but he struggled anyway.

      The man slapped him across the face and said, “If you don’t calm down boy I’m gonna cut off your balls and make you calm.”

      Given that the man had kidnapped and carted him out to the middle of nowhere, Peter decided to take the threat seriously and stopped fighting. The man let go of him and stood up.

      “That’s better,” he said, “Given the circumstances, I don’t think you should be complaining much. Trying to steal my truck…if my Pa had caught anyone stealing his truck he would have killed him with his shotgun. I could do the same to you if I wanted. You deserve it, trying to take my property.”

      Peter started shaking, vowing that if God let him get away from this madman redneck, he would never do drugs or steal a car again.

      “But you’re here, and since I could take your life if I wanted, I might as well use it for my pleasure. How does that sound boy? I’ve been needing a new pig around here.”

      Peter didn’t really understand what the man meant, but almost anything was better than death in the middle of nowhere.

      The man continued, “Now, first of all I need to get you all dressed up, and to do that I’m gonna have to untie you, so I figure we might start by setting a few ground rules.” He picked Peter up and showed him the surrounding area, “The first thing is that I like my privacy. As you can see, I live out here alone. The nearest neighbor is probably fifteen or twenty miles away, and not even a little girl can scream loud enough for them to hear, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care. They know better than to mess around in my business and I stay out of theirs. So no one is gonna be rescuing you, got it?”

      Peter felt his heart sink, and nodded.

      “Second, if I tell you to do something, you can do two things. One, you can do it. Two, you can not do it, get beaten on, and then do it. The first one is easier, the second is more fun for me. Your choice.”

      Peter gulped and nodded again.

      “Third, I am bigger, stronger and faster than you. If ya’ll try to run, I will catch you, and the first thing I’m gonna do after I catch ya is cut your balls off. If you want to stay a pig and not become a sow, I suggest you cooperate.”

      Peter nodded again, and the man dropped him.

      “Lastly, my name is Samuel G. Haverick, but you will never call me that. You will call me only Sir or Master, and then, only if I give you permission to speak. If you do speak out of turn, you’re likely ta lose a tooth or three. Your name is Pig. Don’t even bother telling me what your previous name is. That life is over, got it?”

      Peter nodded, but figured he would still make a break for it when the man untied him. He didn’t want to know what this fatass redneck had planned for him. Sam came over then brought over a pile of miscellaneous equipment and dropped it next to Peter. The first thing he pulled out was a piece of thick chain that he put around Peter’s neck and padlocked into a makeshift collar. It wasn’t too tight, but it was heavy and he knew he wouldn’t be able to squeeze his head through it. Then Sam took a heavy iron ball with a chain attached like had been used in old prison chain gangs and fastened that to his collar with a locking carabineer. The chain was long enough that Peter could crouch and crawl, but much too short to stand unless he carried the ball in his hands.

      “This is to keep my new piggy on the ground. For the first few weeks I’m sure you’ll want to stand up, but that ain’t the proper place for a pig.”

      Peter let out a little squeak when the man said the word weeks. He hadn’t imagined that the man would actually keep him here. What had he gotten himself into?

      Next the man untied Peter’s hands. As soon as they were free, Peter tried to punch him as hard as he could, but Sam deflected the blow, “Now I know you’re scared boy, but you brought this upon yourself. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” Peter took another swing at him, and Sam punched him in the gut hard enough to knock all the air out of Peter’s lungs, “I warned you, boy.”

      While he was stunned and trying to get his breath back, Sam latched two leather fist mitts onto Peter’s hands. “These might come off occasionally to let your hands air out, but pretty soon your fingers will be so numb you’ll forget you ever had opposable thumbs.”

      With that newest humiliation over with, Peter resigned himself to the rest. Even if he could overpower Sam, he would be stuck padlocked to a ball and chain that he couldn’t haul around with him for twenty miles without his fingers. He was stuck there for the time being. Sam took the rest of the ropes off of Peter, and then cut his clothes off. After he was naked, Sam completed the ensemble with two leather bags over Peter’s feet and two leather knee guards. As a final addition, he placed a ball gag in Peter’s mouth, commenting that it would help curb his want to talk.

When he was finished, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. Peter looked at himself and blushed with humiliation. Not only was he completely powerless, but he was at the mercy of a dirty hick and whatever he wanted. It was then that Peter noticed Sam was rubbing his hard on through his overalls, leering at him. He tried to back away, but the ball hindered his movement more than he expected.

“I think it’s time I broke my new piggy in,” Sam said as he grabbed the ball and started hauling it around the back of the trailer, Peter following him as fast as he could crawl, grateful for the leather shielding him from the rocky ground. Around there, in the morning shade, Peter saw that there was a fenced in depression in the ground. Sam opened the gate and hauled him in. Peter cringed away from the large mud puddle, but Sam came around and pushed him in further, and then came up behind him, his large, uncut dick poking out of the front of his overalls. “Yeah, I think you’re going to make a fine pig, but let’s test that ass of yours. It looks like a great fuck,” Sam said as he advanced on Peter who tried to get away but couldn’t crawl fast enough. Sam grabbed his hips and started running his dick between Peter’s cheeks. “Feel that Pig?” he said as Peter fought, “This is the dick that’s going to break you, and break you good.” With a slow push, Sam rammed his dick into Peter’s ass, making his yell in pain. He tried to pull his ass away, but Sam pulled him back until he was fully impaled on his dick. He started to fuck him doggie style, Peter no longer struggling against the inevitable. When Sam noticed he had stopped fighting, he started slowly stroking Peter’s dick in time with his thrusts. Peter couldn’t help but let out a quiet moan, and Sam laughed. “I never said this didn’t have to be pleasurable for you Pig. The more you cooperate, the better it’ll be, trust me. In a few weeks, you’ll be begging for this I bet you.”

At the mention of his prolonged sentence, Peter started to struggle again, but Sam grabbed onto his nipples and gave them a savage tug, making Peter cry out in pain. “I see I got me a feisty one,” Sam said as he began thrusting faster, “I always like breaking the feisty ones.” He scooped up a handful of mud and spread it on Pig’s back, who yelped at the sudden chill. “Get used to it, you’re going to be living in it,” Sam said as he spread some more on, rubbing it into Peter’s hair, “You look even hotter all dirty. Can’t wait to see you in a few weeks, you’ll be one fantastic pig.” At the thought of his new Pig frolicking in the mud, Sam thrust deep into Peter’s ass and let his load loose. Collapsing onto Peter’s back and pushing him deep into the mud, even covering his face. Sam rolled off, and Peter picked himself up, trying to scrape some of the dirt off while Sam laughed.

“Like I said, get used to it, this is your new home. Now, I got some slop for you inside, but it’ll be a little while before it’s ready. Now comes the moment of truth,” he said, and squatted down so he was eye to eye with Peter, “I’m going to leave you alone out here. I already explained the ground rules to you, but you can try to run if you want. But God knows that if you do, I will catch you, and I will cut off your balls. I like sows as much as I like pigs, and I have no problem with turning one into the other, got it?”

Peter nodded, and Sam left the pen and went into the trailer. After scrapping of as much dirt as he could, Peter hefted the iron ball with his fists to test its weight, and the thing was pretty heavy, at least thirty or forty pounds. He could lift it, but running would be a challenge, especially without the use of his hands. He also had no doubts that Sam could catch him, and that if he did, he would become a sow as he so crudely put it. Depressed and humiliated, Peter found the driest spot he could and laid down, looking up at the sky. It was a beautiful fall day, and it was nice in the morning shade. He made shapes with the clouds while waiting for Sam to return with whatever slop he came up with.

About half an hour later, Sam came back out of the trailer hauling two buckets of brown mash. Peter crawled over there, tugging the heavy ball be hind him, and looked at it while Sam undid his ball gag and poured one of the buckets into a trough. It seemed to be a combination of oats and something else he couldn’t quite figure out, and it smelled strongly of alcohol.

“This is what you’re going to be eating from now on Pig,” Sam said, “Go on, give it a try.”

Peter really didn’t want to, but he was starving. He tentatively went to stick his fist into the slop but Sam batted it away. “That’s no way for a pig to eat. Pigs don’t use their hands.”

Humiliated, but not seeing any solution, he lowered his face towards the muck and licked it. The stuff was kind of bitter, but not all that bad. He could definitely taste some sort of alcohol in there, so the stuff would probably get him drunk as well, not that he really minded. At least getting sloshed would take some of the edge off of the situation. Trying to avoid getting any on his face, Peter began lapping at the slop, but he couldn’t get any in his mouth. Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved him face first into the trough. He coughed and sputtered, and shook his head when Sam let him up, trying to get the food off, but it shuck there pretty good. Sam laughed and said, “You’re a pig now boy, you don’t need manners. In fact the dirtier you are, it just makes me hotter.”

Peter shuddered at the thought, but dug in anyway, his face burning with humiliation as Sam stood over him yelling encouragement. When Peter was eating at a good pace, Sam said, “I’m gonna go get you some water now, and I want that slop gone by the time I get back.” He picked up a half barrel over by the trailer and then headed around the front to where Peter had seen a spigot before. As he kept eating, Peter began to feel a little floaty and even more ravenous, and he started chowing down without any regard for etiquette. Even though it wasn’t all that tasty, it was satisfying, and he’d finished most of it before Sam returned. He sat back, feeling really relaxed all of the sudden, and distantly wondered what had been in that slop. Surely just alcohol wouldn’t affect him like this. But even if he could have figured it out, his brain wasn’t moving as quick as it had, and he just kind of sat there in a stupor.

Sam came back, looked at the trough and laughed. “Well, I guess the slop worked, you’re looking more like a pig already.” He hefted the second bucket up and poured that into the trough as well, and then hopped the fence and joined Peter in the pen. “Now that you’re feeling good, how about we start lesson one?” He stuck his dirty index finger into the trough and put it up to Peter’s mouth. “Suck it off like a good little piggy.”

Peter pulled his head back, but most of the fight had gone out of him. He felt too happy to fight. He reluctantly opened his mouth and allowed Sam to stick his finger in his mouth. It was ok until he’d gotten all the food off, but then Sam made him lick the grime off too, which tasted awful. When it was good and clean, Sam dipped another finger in and Peter sucked that one clean to, but this time, Sam started jacking off his dick too, making Peter moan and suck harder. The faster he went, the faster Sam jacked his cock, and pretty soon he was sucking off Sam’s fingers as he put them up to his mouth without dipping them in the slop first. The next thing he did was put his armpit up to Peter’s mouth, and he started licking that too, not caring what it was as long as Sam kept a hand on his dick, and as he stroked faster, Peter began to lick into a frenzy, and found himself starting to enjoy the smell and taste of Sam’s raunchy armpit. As he continued to clean up Sam’s grimy body, Sam kept jerking Peter’s cock, keeping him on the cusp of orgasm. Along with the aphrodisiacs, alcohol and euphoric drugs Sam added to the slop, Peter wasn’t going to be complaining for a while, as long as Sam kept him fed and content.

When Peter finished giving his armpits a good cleaning, Sam grabbed the back of his neck, pulled out his cock and stuck it in front of Peter’s mouth, but he balked, and lazily tried to pull away. “Aw come on Pig, you know you want it. All pigs are hungry for their master’s cock. Here, let me make it taste a little better.” He grabbed a handful of the slop and lubed his dick up with it. “Now go on, eat it.”

Peter reluctantly opened his mouth to receive it, and was rewarded with Sam continuing to jack his cock. The slop did make it taste a little better, but it was still foul. He could still taste what must have been the remnants of shit from his ass from when Sam fucked him this morning, and there was a ton cheese and dirt stuck between the head and the foreskin, but as he fell back into his drug addled bliss, he began sucking with vigor, bucking his dick up and down in Sam’s hand, anxious to cum. When the dick erupted in his mouth and he finished swallowing Sam’s load, Sam pushed Peter back into the mud and started sucking of his cock. Peter moaned in ecstasy as he shot the largest load he had ever felt into Sam’s mouth, who then kissed him deeply, feeding Peter his own load.

As Peter laid back in the afterglow, Sam picked himself up and got out of the pen. “I’ve got some work to do on the truck, so you’re going to be a good little pig and stay here, right? I don’t have to tell you what would happen if I found you missing, right?”

Peter vaguely nodded his head, and stared up at the sky for a while, before wandering back over to the trough and finishing up the rest of the slop. The sun came over the top of the trailer and Peter wished he could find some shade. Instead, he rolled around in the mud to help cool him off and block some of the sunshine. He also drank a lot of the water in the barrel. It was really cold and refreshing, and he used some of it to wipe off his face a little, but became frustrated when he couldn’t use his fingers. Eventually he just sank back into the mud and lounged around, not really doing anything at all, and relaxed. Sure, he was at the mercy of a madman, but it really wasn’t all that bad. It was certainly better than his parent’s house. The morning wore on into afternoon and the euphoria began to wear off a little. He had already pissed and shit over in a corner of the pen, and was feeling bored, even preferring Sam’s taunting to nothing at all.

A little after noon or so, Sam came back around the trailer with two more buckets of slop. But instead of pouring them into the trough, he set them outside the pen and climbed in with Peter. “Ok Pig, time to see what you remember from lesson one,” He said as he raised his arm and brought it close to Peter’s face, “Come on, you know what to do.” When Peter tried to back away, Sam grabbed his collar and yanked him closer, and rubbed his face in his pit. “You were getting off on it earlier, you remember that. You liked licking my dirty pits. I’ve never felt a harder dick in my life than yours this morning.” Sam grabbed Peter’s dick and started stroking it gently, “You know you want to.”

The smell of sweat was overpowering, but what disgusted Peter most was the fact that a small part of him did want to lick out that pit, the same part that loved the feeling of Sam stroking his dick slowly. He tentatively stuck his tongue out and ran it through the hairs there, and even though it was humiliating, he couldn’t help but feel a little aroused. He tried to tell himself that it was just the situation, but he knew that was a lie. As he started licking more thoroughly, Sam kept stroking his dick and nibbled on his ear, whispering encouragement into his ear: “Yeah, that’s a good pig. You like that taste don’t you? You like your master’s sweaty pits. You put up a big fight but I know you want this. You may not think you do right now, but you’ll learn. I’ll teach you how to be a good little pig.”

After Peter had cleaned out both pits, Sam hopped back over the fence, picked up one of the pails and poured it into the trough, and let Peter start eating. He dove right in this time, and even though his breakfast was massive, he was still ravenous. As he ate, he felt the euphoria sweep over him, and felt his dick getting hard as he ate. Sam saw this and laughed, “Well I guess you really are starting to enjoy yourself, aren’t you Pig?” Sam climbed back into the pen and got behind Peter and started fingering his ass and stroking his dick as he ate. It wasn’t long before Peter started bucking back to meet Sam’s hand. Then he felt something cold hit his hole and he yelped, but Sam just pushed his head back into the trough. “Just a little suppository. Nothing serious. Gotta keep my pig healthy.”

Peter could feel the substance creep its way up his colon and disappear. He knew he should be more worried, but he felt too good to care all that much. When the first batch was almost gone and Peter was feeling happy and horny, Sam suddenly dragged him back and stood between him and the trough. “It’s time for lesson two Pig,” He said as he dropped his overalls, turned around and presented his ass to Peter, “Something else you’ll be cleaning out regularly.”

Peter balked at the pungent aroma and grime incrusted crack, but he ended up flat on his back. Sam took advantage of the situation and straddled Peter in the mud, his ass pushed up against his face. Peter tried to push him off, but he felt too weak, and the smell was making him gag. Sam pushed back relentlessly until Peter’s mouth was trapped deep in Sam’s crack, coughing and sputtering from the stench. “Come on piggy, I ain’t gonna let you up til its good and clean, and if you puke, you’re going to be eating it back, even if I have to force feed it to you.” Peter stuck out his tongue tentatively and started licking up the crack, appalled by the taste, but knowing he had no choice. He was rewarded by Sam rolling his nipples in his fingers and stroking his dick slowly. He descended back into the drug induced euphoria and tried to distance himself from the situation. All he had to do was clean it as fast as he could, and he could go back to eating. At least eating made him happy. Suddenly, he felt something warm splash against his chest. He felt his face burn with humilation as he realized Sam was pissing on him. “Yeah, now you’re getting really nasty, aren’t ya? You like the taste of my ass Pig, and now you’re covered in my piss. You’re all mine now, marked and everything.”

When he was satisfied with Peter’s cleaning, he scooted forward a little so Peter could get a few breaths of fresh air, but he didn’t get up and Peter started to struggle as much as he could. “Now hold your horses. I’ll let you up after you piss on yourself. I want to see just how dirty my little piggy can get. Peter struggled a little more, but Sam started pushing down on his lower abdominals and he could fell his bladder wanting to release. Come on Pig, you’re already covered with mine…what difference is a little more going to make?” Resigned, he relaxed, and after a few moments his piss splashed up his chest while Sam gently pulled on his nipples. When he was empty, Sam got up, turned around and laughed. “Now that is a hot piggy. Your master’s shit smeared all over your face, piss everywhere else.” He hopped back over the fence and poured the second bucket into the trough. Humiliated, Peter got back up and dug in, hoping to drown his anger in what little pleasure he could get. Suddenly he felt Sam ram his dick up his ass without warning, and he cursed at the top of his lungs, and Sam wrapped his hands around his neck. “What did I tell you about talking Pig? Pigs don’t talk. They might oink and squeal, but if I ever hear another word come out of there there’s going to be hell to pay.”

Relishing his moment of rebellion, Peter managed to whisper out, “Fuck you,” at which point Sam pulled out and pinned him to the ground, face up.

“I know you’re scared Pig, everyone’s scared at first, but this is your life now. I told you before, you can do this the easy way or the hard way. You’re getting awfully close to the hard way.”

“Get off me you fucker,” Peter said, spit at him and started to slur, “I’m not gonna be your—” but before he could finish, Sam’s fist smashed into his mouth, making him scream.

“I warned you fucker.” Sam said as he laid into Peter, “I warned you but you’re gonna make me hurt ya. I don’t want to do this, but it’s for your own good. If you don’t behave there must be discipline.”

Peter began screaming “stop” at the top of his lungs, tears streaming from his black eyes, the words mangled by his bloody mouth and broken nose. When Sam didn’t stop, he began grunting and squealing, and when that happened, Sam sat back and said, “Good you’re learning,” then wiped the tears away from Peter’s eyes. “It doesn’t have to be like this—you know that. But I’m not going to hesitate to use force if you resist…got it?”

Peter nodded, still crying silently. Sam got up, dragged Peter back over to the trough and said, now finish your lunch. Peter spit the teeth he had lost next to the trough along with a mass of bloody drool, and then started eating, moaning in pain at the alcohol stinging his bloody face and mouth. When Sam started fucking him, he started crying even more, but didn’t resist, just lost himself in his slop. He didn’t even notice Sam jacking his hard dick until he realized he was approaching orgasm, and he shot his load into the mud beneath him with a loud grunt as Sam came up his ass.

With that, he pulled out, and looked Peter right in the eyes. “Are you going to behave now Pig?”

Peter nodded slowly, sniffling through his bleeding nose. Sam reached out and pushed it back in place, making Peter wince, but at least he could breathe through his nose again. Sam went into the trailer and came out again with a rag and a bottle of vodka, and sat down in front of Peter, dabbing at his nose with the alcohol and making him wash out his bloody mouth. “I’ll take care of you Pig no matter what. You’re my property, and I take care of my property. But if you start getting ideas, I will not hesitate to beat them out of you, got it?”

Peter nodded, and then began sobbing, and Sam pulled him into a hug, Peter clinging to him. Even though he hated everything that had happened, he couldn’t help but feel a little gratitude, and maybe even love for Sam. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, leaning on him, but he didn’t know what else to do. When he had stopped blubbering, Sam got up and went back into the trailer, leaving Peter in the pen alone.

He ran his tongue along his remaining teeth, and figured he had lost quite a few, most of them in the front, and those he hadn’t lost felt crooked or loose. Tired and scared, he laid down in the mud, and cried himself to sleep.

He woke to a foot nudging him in the side. After rolled over, he saw Sam standing over him in the evening light. “Come on Pig, time for dinner.” Peter struggled up, his whole face aching, and crawled over to the trough. But as he crawled, he felt a sudden need in his bowels, and before he could even think about clenching, he felt his shit start shooting out of his ass and onto the ground behind him. His face turned red in embarrassment while Sam laughed, and then dragged him back towards the trough, saying, “guess that laxative worked. Don’t worry, pretty soon that will be normal for you, shitting and pissing wherever ya happen to be, just like a regular Pig.” Sam hopped out of the pen, dumped one of the buckets in and said, “I have a special treat for you tonight.” He pulled out his cock after Peter had dug in, and started pissing on Peter’s head, making his recoil. Sam just kept pissing into the trough. “Time for lesson three pig. Come on, eat your dinner.” Peter crawled closer, and sniffed at it, unsure, and was totally surprised when Sam pushed his head down into the slop. He struggled, but his only choice was to eat or drown. The piss made it a little more bitter, but he couldn’t really taste it much, so soon he was eating without Sam’s encouragement. When he had finished that, he was in his usual high, and feeling really good.

“Time for the next part of the lesson.” Sam said, and squatted over the second bucket, and squeezed a massive pile of shit on top of the slop. Peter felt a lump of dread in the pit of his stomach that his high couldn’t fully alleviate. Sam then stuck his hand into the bucket and began mixing it all up. Then he took his hand and stuck it into the pen at Peter, who backed away towards the center of the pen. “Now, Pig, don’t make me come in there and force it down your throat,” Sam said, waving his hand at Peter, “ You know I will if I have to.” Peter didn’t want to, but he realized it might be better to go the easy way than the hard way. Reluctantly, he crawled back over to Sam and started licking the shitty slop off his fingers. The taste made him gag, but he knew he could either eat it, or puke and eat that too. When his hand was clean, Sam dumped the slop into the trough, and Peter started eating that too. It really didn’t taste that different from usual, and that made him wonder whether shit had been a regular ingredient already. He knew he should stop, fight, or at least something other than just take it, but he was too tired of resisting. It was so much easier to just go along with it, be a Pig. It couldn’t be that bad. He would have a caring master, all of his needs provided for, and no responsibilities. When Sam climbed in with him and started slowly jacking Peter’s cock slowly, he started thrusting into his fist, grunting as he kept eating the slop, soon almost enjoying the extra flavor the shit gave it.

When he was finished, Sam grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back over to where he had shit earlier. “And now for your final test for the day,” Sam said, “Eat your shit Pig. I know you want too, with the way you were chowing down on mine. So eat it.”

Peter balked at the prospect. It was one thing eating the slop, but eating his own shit out of the mud? He paused and realized that it really wasn’t any different. He looked up at Sam, begging him with his eyes to not make him do this final act of humiliation, but Sam just pointed towards the now cooling pile on the ground. Resigned to his new role, Peter bent down and picked up the smallest piece he could and choked it down. After he was sure it would stay down, he began eating the whole pile log by log, even more humiliated by the realization that his dick was now rock hard. He began crying realizing that he really was a pig, a shit and piss eating, lazy ass sex toy meant only for pleasing his fat, nasty owner, and that only made him even harder. When he finished, Sam pushed him onto his back, and thrust his tongue into Peter’s mouth, jacking Peter’s cock until he shot all over his chest. Sam got up, said good night, and went into the trailer, leaving Peter in the chill darkness. Peter flopped over in the mud, and realized he had to go piss. He thought about getting up and peeing in the corner, but instead he just pissed where he was in the mud. He was Pig now, and that was the way things were going to be from now on, he thought as he fell into a fitful slumber.

Episode 4 – A Sadistic Wrath


That left only two bags. Micha still wasn’t sure what to do with Daniel’s bag, so he went and picked up Bryce’s, and read his request. It seemed that Bryce was tired of William Norton flaunting his muscles everywhere, and wanted him to get knocked down a few pegs on the manliness scale.

“What is it with meeklings that they think, ‘If I get rid of their muscles, they’ll have to be nice?’” Micah laughed, “Well, maybe I can give Bryce a little demonstration that anger can come in small packages too.”

Rod was standing over by the stairs just watching Micah and yawning. “Anything you need my help with, or can I go to bed?”

“Why don’t you figure out a fitting curse for the last bag while I fix this one up? I haven’t had any good ideas yet.”

Rod nodded, and then went over to examine the bag while Micah collected ingredients from around the room. He started with a few steroids and powdered mace, added a few fibers from a whip, and then tossed it into the cauldron, which frothed bright red for a moment before dropping back to a simmer.


      For the first time in months, since the semester started, Bryce finally had something to be happy about. By the next day, William would be just another weakling, and the man who had caused him so much torment would finally be neutralized. Bryce could imagine the surprise on his face as he woke up almost a foot shorter, with almost no muscle mass. That would teach the bully a little bit about size.

      Bryce, more than anyone, understood that size really does matter. He had been five foot three inches since the seventh grade. Not a midget by any means, but walking through the hallways was more akin to a forest hike, and by the end of the day, his neck almost always hurt from looking up all day. It was a miserable existence, and one that had led him to cloister himself away for most of his high school years, but he had hoped college would be better, that people might at least be more mature and kind. He was right in most cases. At least instead of constant ridicule he received cold disregard from most of the campus. But of course, some never lost their liking for inflicting high school humiliation. The worst was William, one of the linemen from the football team—all six foot three and 285 pounds of him. Bryce did everything he could to avoid him. If he so much as caught sight of him, it would lead to a never ending cascade of taunts, and if they should be alone, the least he would receive was a few cuts from being pushed into walls.

      The professor dismissed the class, and Bryce slowly packed up his things and slipped into the hallway, making sure to keep to the sides rather than get caught underfoot. He rounded the corner, lost in his dreams of revenge, and didn’t even recognize Kenneth, one of Sam’s lackeys, coming down the hall towards him, or the fist swinging towards his face. He tried to flinch away, but Kenneth hit him square in the eye and sent him tumbling to the ground.

      “Oops!” Kenneth said with mock regard, “Didn’t see you there little man! Maybe you should wear stilts or something.”

      Bryce blushed, but what he hated more was that no one came to his defense. In fact most people were chuckling at him if not simply looking away. He hated them all sometimes, but it didn’t ease his sense of powerlessness. All he could do was bottle it up, and get away from Kenneth as quickly as possible, clutching his throbbing eye with one hand to block the tears streaming from it.

      Up ahead, he saw Evan waiting for him at the usual spot, and he quickly ducked against the wall and took a moment to get himself calmed down, balling up everything and tucking it away in the back of his mind. He felt his tender eye, and then strode over and met up with Evan. As he walked up, Evan asked, “Who was it this time?”

      “Kenneth. He ‘accidentally’ swung his hand into my face. Apparently, I’m so short he didn’t see me there.” Evan saw a tear well up in his friend’s normal eye, but he knew better than to comment on it. Bryce preferred to suffer in solitude. “I’m just glad Will’s gonna get it tomorrow. Let’s see how he likes getting picked on and beaten up.”

      “Yeah, they’ll see. They’re all gonna get it.”

      They started off towards the football field, silently contemplating their own revenge. Up on the bleachers, Orson was already watching the team practice. Bryce sat down next to him and watched. The offensive line was practicing on one end, while the defensive line did drills on the other. William was with the other linebackers practicing tackles on sleds, and hitting each other on the helmet between runs. Bryce didn’t like admitting it, but more than anything he wished he could be one of those big muscular guys out on the field, but he was stuck as a little shrimp. He could feel the tears welling up again, and so he quickly excused himself from the group, but no one really noticed. He retreated down the stairs, and then wiped his tears away.

“Everything will be different tomorrow,” he told himself, as he walked over to food service for a quick dinner. Hopefully he wouldn’t get his tray knocked out of his hands again, and then perhaps he wouldn’t get tripped on the way to his dorm. He set off from the stadium, knowing that his hopes were probably no more than wishful thinking.


      Bryce’s alarm went off, and he swung his arm against it and heard a smash, and felt a sharp pain in his hand. The struggled awake, and could only register the crushed remains of his alarm clock on his bedside table. He gawked at it for a moment, and then saw the arm that had crushed it. It was the biggest arm he had ever seen. The bicep bulged out as he moved his forearm back and forth, but he was still not really connecting what was going on. He was a short little wimp last night, wasn’t he? How in the hell did he pack on this much muscle overnight? He sat upright, and was met by another surprise: his feet reached the floor. Not only that, but they reached the floor easily! He got up, and looked down at himself in the morning light, astonished at the sudden appearance of huge pecs, rock hard abs, and toned thighs and calves. He quickly dashed to the room’s mirror and gawked at his new appearance. Everything, even his face, was harder and more chiseled.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, he began running his hands up and down his body, feeling every ridge and every muscle in detail, marveling in its tightness. In particular, he found that his nipples were particularly sensitive and puffy. Every touch sent a wave of pleasure right to his dick. That was the only regret in this new body. His dick seemed shorter than it had been before. But on the other hand, his balls were bigger and more sensitive. He gave them a little tug and let out a little moan. He started to slowly stroke it while his other hand slowly twisted one of his nipples, working it harder and harder until he almost couldn’t take it, and let out a groan as he shot his load all over the mirror, buckling over from the sheer force of it.

When he stood up, he tried to remember what he had been thinking about, but he couldn’t remember. That usually happened when his hot body distracted him. Bryce knew that most men would die to have a body as hot as his, but they never would. Sure, he couldn’t please the ladies much with his four-inch dick, but he could beat up any man who got in his way, and rape a chick if he really wanted her. He’d certainly done it before and was sure he would do it again. He was the cream of the crop, and he’d push through anyone smaller than him to get ahead. He threw a couple of mock punches at the air, feeling angrier than usual for some reason. He quickly got out his gym gear from the closet, pulled on his gym shorts and shirt, particularly loving how the material felt against his nipples, and then hurried off for his morning gym routine.

When he got out of his apartment building, he started walking along his usual route, eager to start working out. Up ahead, he saw a man approaching, and Bryce quickly stretched down and touched his toes, giving the man a perfect view of his perfect ass, knowing that the man wouldn’t be able to help looking. When Bryce saw him notice, he quickly stood up, and pushed the man against the wall, “What the fuck are you looking at?” he yelled at the man’s face.

“Hey man, I wasn’t looking at anything…” the man stammered, trying to unpin himself and escape, but Bryce just pushed harder.

“Listen fairy, I know this body turns you on, but that doesn’t mean you can gawk at it.” Bryce picked the man up by the collar and threw up to the side, “If I see you again, you’ll get the beating you fucking deserve, pervert!” he yelled as the man fled down the street.

The encounter took the edge off of Bryce’s rage, but he still wanted to vent more. He walked the rest of the blocks to the gym, casting wicked glances at those passing by, making them quicken their stride a bit faster to get away from him. He walked into the gym, flashed his ID at the guy at the front desk, and jumped right into his routine. The man looked like a total fruit, between the blonde highlights in his hair, to the light pink shirt he was wearing. The man followed him with his eyes the whole way, and he felt the rage start boiling up again, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it during business hours. Thursday was back and shoulders, so he headed over to the free weights and started with the upright bench. With every pump, he felt his anger decrease a bit, but he still couldn’t help but look around at everyone in the gym for someone to harass. In particular, he caught sight of a small guy over on a rowing machine across the room. The guy couldn’t be more than five foot four, and maybe 120 pounds. Guys like that shouldn’t even be allowed in here, Bryce thought to himself. In the mirror, he saw the man get up and head towards the locker room. Bryce finished his reps and hurried after him, eager to take some of his anger out on the little man, and maybe teach him a little lesson about size.

The locker room was empty, but he could hear the shower going. Bryce quickly shucked his clothes and walked in. Sure enough the little guy was showering in the corner. Up close, Bryce could see large amounts of lean muscle, but he was nowhere near as massive as Bryce. Bryce moved up behind him and asked, “What exactly do you think you’re doing small fry?”

Without missing a beat, the little man spun around and grabbed Bryce’s balls in a grip like a vice, causing Bryce to squeal. He tried to back off, but that just felt like his balls were going to tear off. “Small fry? Really asshole? You think I don’t know how to deal with dumb jocks like you?” he said, and then added, “For your information, my name is William, and I think you’re the small fry in the category that really counts.”

Bryce just moaned and tried to swing at the man, but buckled when the man squeezed even harder. As he lay on the ground, holding his aching jewels, he saw the man stand over him holding his ten inch member. “See what I mean? This is a real nice piece here, unlike your little thing down there.”

Bryce let out a yell of rage and tried to grab the man’s ankle, but he was incredibly fast. He lifted his foot, and brought it back down square on Bryce’s wrist making his scream. “Don’t interrupt me fucker, or next time I’ll break it.” Will spat, and then continued, “As I was saying, you should be ashamed of that thing. I’m surprised you even consider yourself a man.”

Bryce was trying to wriggle his hand free, but Will just pushed down harder. “Let me go you fucking bitch, or I’ll mess you up so bad you won’t know what day of the week it is!”

The man let up his arm, but promptly stomped right down on Bryce’s neck. “I have two rules for you to follow bitch. One, you only speak when given permission, and two, you address me as Sir, got it?’

“Fuck you!” Bryce yelled as he struggled up, only to be caught off guard by a sucker punch.

“I asked whether you understood? Do I need to clarify a bit more?” Bryce started to struggle up again, but hit to the jaw brought him back to his knees. Will grabbed him by his hair, “Do you understand, or do I have to keep beating some sense into you?”

Bryce spit in his face again, and the man hit him in the head with his fist. It didn’t knock him out, but it did leave him senseless and dizzy. As he tried to get up, the man quickly locked the door of the still empty locker room, and returned to Bryce with a line of rope.

“Good thing I didn’t unpack, or this would have been a lot more difficult.” While Bryce was recovering, the man quickly grabbed his hands and bound them, and then tied his feet together with the same line. “Now then, here comes lesson one bitch.” Bryce had finally recovered enough to realize he was tied up, and realized Will was about to fuck his virgin ass.

“Get off me you fucker!” He yelled as he struggled, but the man yanked on his balls making him groan, and then rammed his hard cock into Bryce’s ass up to the hilt, making him scream in agony.

“Yeah bitch.” Will said as he plowed into Bryce’s ass, “Go on and scream, it’ll just make me even harder. I love a tight ass after a work out!”

Bryce continued to struggle, but couldn’t get away with his hands and feet tied together. Fully humiliated, he felt himself start crying from the pain and humiliation of it all.

“Aww…now the big mean jock is crying? Guess you don’t like being on the receiving end so much do you? But you know what would be even worse…?” Will said as he pulled out with a pop. Bryce breathed a sigh of relief, but then felt a finger enter his hole and start stroking his prostate, making his penis jump to life.

“Ah…shit. No, don’t do that…” Bryce gasped as Will continued invading his ass, “Please stop!”

“Why?” Will asked as he started stroking Bryce’s dick, “Afraid you might start to like it? I’m sure it feels good…”

Bryce felt his orgasm mounting as Will increased the pressure and speed on his prostate. He kept pleading, but was soon reduced to sobs as he felt his cock start leaking all over the locker room floor. He tried to hold back, but with a moan sprayed his load all over the shower floor, and collapsed, completely exhausted.

“Just as I thought, a total bitch,” Will said as he got up. He washed his hands and left the locker room without another word, leaving Bryce hogtied on the shower floor. He tried to loosen his hands, but they were tied so tight he was steadily losing feeling in his extremities. After about 15 minutes, the door finally opened, and Bryce called out for help. The man from the front desk came rushing back, but stopped short when he saw the bloodied Bryce, hogtied, and lying in a puddle of cum.

“Oh thank god. Please man, you gotta untie me.” Bryce begged. The man looked from Bryce to the door, and then walked over to him.

“Ya know, I knew you were cute, but I didn’t have you marked as a complete slut.” he said, and chuckled.

“You don’t understand! Some guy named William tied me up! I swear!”

“Oh I get it. Another guy ‘beat’ you up, ‘hogtied’ you, and came all over you like a five cent whore. And a big guy like you was totally overpowered? Please…someone your size doesn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Bryce felt his face turn red from the humiliation. “Please could you just untie me?”

“Well I could…but word of this might get around somehow. I might need something in exchange to make sure things stay quiet…” the man winked. “How about a turn at that nicely used ass of yours?”

Bryce felt his mouth go dry, “No…please, not that…”

“Well then I might just have to go tell other people about this whole unfortunate incident, and we can’t have that happen, now can we? A Big straight-acting guy like you? Could destroy a reputation like yours.”

“You’re lucky I’m not beating your face in you fucking fairy!” Bryce yelled, and renewed his struggles.

“Careful,” The man said, “It’s words like that that would make me go call a few of my friends and invite them to a gangbang.”

Bryce sputtered a bit, but finally said, “Damn it! Fine. Just untie me.”

“Sure babe, but I get my payment first.”

Knowing he had no choice, Bryce rolled up and presented his ass to the man. After lubing up with some spit, he felt the second dick enter him today.

“Oooo…You have a tight ass for a hogtied slut. Not sure I’m going to last very long if you keep that up…”

Bryce stayed silent as the man slammed into him, and tried to avoid crying. With horror, he felt his spent cock start to rise again from the renewed attention.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying himself.” The man said as he started stroking Bryce’s dick, making him moan, “Yeah, you are enjoying this, aren’t you? Big muscled man like you gets off on getting all tied up? How about you cum for me? Show me how much you love my dick in your ass.”

Try as he might, Bryce felt himself cum for the second time as the man rammed his cock deep into Bryce’s ass. When the man’s dick stopped pulsing, he pulled out and untied the knot on Bryce’s hands.

“Ok, you can get yourself out now. And thanks for the great fuck. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” He said as he left the locker room.

Bryce quickly loosened the rope around his wrists, and then untied his feet, and quickly got his clothes back on. Sitting next to them, he found a note scrawled on a paper towel, “I better get my rope back, bitch. —Will” followed by a nearby address. Bryce felt his anger rising again, and figured he’d do more than return the rope. He had some payback to administer. He quickly packed up his things, washed off the blood from his nose and chin, and then left the gym as quickly as he could, ignoring the wink he got from the man at the front desk as he passed by.

The address was only a few blocks away, and Bryce sprinted over there, not caring who he pushed out of his way. The address led him to a house on a side road. After waiting a few minutes to catch his breath, he went up and knocked on the door, ready to punch as soon as the door opened. When no one answered, he knocked again, and called out, “Hey faggot! I know you’re shaking in your boots but it’s payback time!”

Still no one answered. Angry, Bryce tried the door and found it unlocked. He pushed it open slowly, checking around the doorway, and cautiously entered the house, finding himself in a small foyer. Shutting the door behind him, he called out again. “I know you’re here faggot! This is no time for hide and seek.”

He cautiously explored the downstairs, but found it deserted, curious, he ventured upstairs, but that was empty too. Bryce wondered whether he had gotten cold feet and escaped somehow. He went back downstairs, and saw a door he hadn’t opened before, leading down into the basement. It was pitch black, and he couldn’t find a light switch anywhere on the walls. He called out again, but didn’t hear anything. Cautiously, he crept down the stairs one at a time. When he hit the bottom step, he felt a pull chain for a lightbulb hit him in the face, but before he could reach up, something slammed into the back of his head, and he fell, out cold on the ground.


He woke up to a throbbing headache, and a light shining right into his eyes from above. He tried to move his arms but found himself unable to move. Looking around, he saw that he was shackled to a table, and he was dressed in some sort of leather harness with a metal pouch over his dick, and a collar around his neck. He also had something around his hand that was stopping him from using his fingers. He called out for help, but got no answer. After struggling for a few minutes, he heard a nearby door open and close, and footsteps on some stairs. “Let me go you motherfucker! You can’t keep me here!”

“Hey, you’re the one I caught breaking and entering. I just made a citizen’s arrest,” Will said as he approached Bryce, “Of course, I still haven’t totally decided what to do with you yet.”

Bryce renewed his struggles, but the collar suddenly gave him a strong electric shock that made his yell.

“All puppies need discipline. But for a puppy this big, I figured the shock collar would work best. Any disobedience will earn you a shock, so I’d be careful if you don’t want to get hurt.”

“You can’t do this asshole!” Bryce yelled, but was answered with another shock.

“Now, now, is that any way to talk to your new Master? Besides, you forgot rule number one: speak only when given permission.”

“Fuck you! I’ll speak—“ but he was cut off by another shock.

“I can do this all day, just so you know, but trust me, you’ll be unable to speak from the shocks alone before too long. They don’t really approve the use of these on humans, and I got the highest voltage they had.”

Bryce seethed, but stayed quiet.

“Good boy. Now that we have our introductions out of the way, we have a little session to finish up I believe. I’m going to unshackle you now, and remember what happens if you misbehave.”

Will came over to the table and undid the shackles. As soon as both of this arms were free, Bryce flailed out with his enclosed fists, but as soon as he moved, Will gave him a shock making him cry out in pain. “If you’re going to be difficult, I can do much worse things to you, and I don’t think you want to go there, so just lay there like a good boy.”

Bryce complied as the last shackle came off, when he tried to sit up, but was shocked again. “I didn’t say you could sit up, did I?”

Bryce fought through the pain, and stammered, “Fuck you,” before falling onto the ground in pain, and falling back into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was, “I can see you’re going to be more difficult than I figured.”


When he awoke again, he found himself standing between two bars, spread eagle, his hands and feet chained to the bars. “You know it doesn’t have to be this difficult, right? All you have to do is submit.”

“Never! I submit to no one!”

“We’ll see about that. For now though, we’re going to be playing a game called questions. I’ll ask you questions, and you’ll answer them. Every wrong answer will earn you a lashing, while every right answer will get you a reward. Let’s start with an easy one. What is my name?”

“Faggot.” Bryce replied.

“Wrong.” Will brought the whip across Bryce’s back, causing him to scream in pain. “Did I forget to mention that I use a bull whip for this game? That was a light stroke by the way. They’ll only hurt more as the game goes on. Now what is my name?”

Bryce didn’t answer right away, but eventually he stammered, “William…?”

“Wrong again, bitch,” Will said and swung the whip against Bryce’s back harder, raising a harsh red welt and making Bryce scream even louder.

“I don’t know! I don’t know what you want me to say! Stop hurting me!” Bryce screamed, now sobbing.

“I’ll give you a hint. It starts with an ‘M’. Now, what is my name?”

Bryce thought for a moment, and then replied quietly, “Master?”

“Good. You’re not as slow as you look. Here’s you’re reward.” Bryce suddenly felt something in his ass begin to vibrate right next to his prostate making him slump over and moan as his dick tried to get hard within its metal confines.

“Next question. What’s your name?”

Bryce, was silent for a moment. He knew what he was supposed to say, but didn’t want to, but the thought of another lashing wasn’t too appealing. “I…I don’t want to say it.”

Bryce screamed as the whip struck his back again. “That sentence wasn’t finished.”

“I don’t…want to say it…Master…”

“Better. But the wrong answer still.” Will said and struck Bryce with the whip again. Making him cry out, “Next wrong answer will draw blood. What’s your name?”

Bryce struggled to speak through his sobs, “My…My name is…Slave?”

“Good, Slave, and here’s your reward.” Bryce felt his prostate go into overdrive again, and he moaned with pleasure. “Feel’s good doesn’t it?”

“Ye…Yes…Sir. It does Sir.” Bryce replied.

“You want to feel it again…don’t you?”

“Yes…Yes Sir.”

“Next question. What is the square root of 225?”

Bryce, tried to look back at Will, but couldn’t see if he was joking or not. “I…I don’t know…Sir.”

“Wrong answer Slave, another lashing.” Bryce cried out and tried to move, but he felt the whip tear into him even harder than before. “I didn’t expect you to know that, I just wanted to whip you.”

Bryce was now sobbing and shaking, as he felt something warm dribble down his back, and realized it was his own blood. “Please Sir…Please…don’t hurt me anymore…I’m sorry…”

“I’ll only hurt you if you answer wrong Slave—you know that. The choice is up to you. Next question. Will you suck my dick?”

“Yes Sir.” Bryce answered, just wishing this nightmare would end.

“Correct.” This time the vibration was even stronger than before, and made Bryce cry out in pleasure. “Next question. Do you want to suck my dick?”

Bryce opened his mouth to answer, but stopped, and was silent, waiting for some cue from his Master as to what the right answer would be, but got nothing. Eventually, he whispered quietly, “Yes…?” and then cried out in pain when the whip struck his back.

“I told you to answer my questions, not lie, Slave! I can tell when you lie, bitch. Now what’s the answer?”

“No Sir. I don’t want to suck your cock, Sir.”

“Then why would you suck my cock, if you don’t want to, Slave?”

Bryce paused, “Because I don’t want to get hurt, Sir.”

Will brought the whip down on Bryce’s back even harder than before, leaving his gasping for breath. “Wrong answer Slave. You only get hurt when you disobey. Your fear isn’t the cause. Why would you suck my dick if you did not want to?”

“Because…Because you told me too Sir.” Bryce cried in exasperation, and moaned loudly when the plug in his ass began to vibrate again.

“Very good Slave. You do what you do because I tell you too, that is the only reason. My directions are your reason for existing. But first, let’s see how good of a cocksucker you are.” Will quickly unlatched Bryce from the bars, and unsupported, he fell forward onto the ground, and then struggled up on his hands and knees. When he looked up, he found himself staring at Will’s raging hard dick. “Now suck it, and if I feel any teeth, you’re going to lose them.”

Bryce tried to get up, but Will brought a paddle down on his already painful back, making him cry out again. He looked up at the face of his tormenter, and was more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life. He saw a face so enraptured with sadistic rage that Bryce knew he would not hesitate to inflict any amount of pain to make him comply. Slowly, he opened his mouth and took the head of Will’s dick into his mouth and began sucking. As he took more of the shaft into his mouth, he felt the plug in his ass begin vibrating again. Eager to feel the only bit of pleasure he had had all day, Bryce began sucking harder, careful to keep his teeth well away from the flesh.

“That’s it slave, eat that dick. Swallow that fucking thing. Worship that piece of meat, because that is going to be the focus of the rest of your life, from this moment on.”

Suddenly, Will thrust the entire length into Bryce’s mouth making him gag, he tried in vain to unimpale his face, But Will easily overpowered him, as he continued to violently fuck Bryce’s face. Will pulled out and shot his huge load all over Bryce’s face, making him spit and sputter. As Bryce made to wipe it away, Will said, “Leave it there and stay on the ground. If you move an inch, you know what will happen.”

Will then went to a nearby table and came back with a digital camera. “Memories in the making. My slave’s first facial.” he said as he began snapping photos. “Now scrape it off with your mitts and eat it, Slave.”

Bryce gulped, but complied, trying to avoid puking it back up, figuring that if he did, Will would make him eat that too. When he finished, Will rewarded him with another shock to the prostate, and then came over and removed the metal pouch allowing Bryce’s throbbing dick out into the air. “I think my bitch has earned a little release. Go get on the table, Slave.”

Bryce quickly complied, and laid back on the table while Will shackled him with the chains. “Now it’s time for a new game. This one is called Pain and Pleasure. The rules are simple. All you have to do is cum, and the game is over. Until then, I get to do whatever I want to you, got it? Let’s begin.”

Will went over to the table and fetched a cat ‘o nine tails and brought it back, and began running it over Bryce’s chest, making him shiver. Then the vibrator kicked on, making him moan and bringing his erection to full mast. Will reached into his pocket and pulled out two clips that he clipped onto Bryce’s nipples. Will started flicking the clips with the whip, bringing out a number of moans from Bryce as he cranked the vibrator even higher. The amount of stimulation was making Bryce’s head spin, he almost couldn’t tell the difference between the pain and the pleasure, when Will started whipping him with the cat ‘o nine tails he cried out in pain, but then moaned when the vibrator started going full blast. He couldn’t hold back anymore, as he let lose the biggest orgasm of his life. As his dick pulsed wildly, Bryce fell back exhausted, and passed out, aware that, for the very first time, he felt at peace.

Episode 5 – An Euphoric Greed


Micah looked at the final bag, and read the note attached: “I want Greg Troyer to be poor and unemployed.” It was by far the least interesting off them all, and wasn’t entirely sure what he should do with it. At a loss, he tossed the bag to Rod, “Here, Mr. Apprentice, make yourself useful and figure out something for the last one. I’m worn out.”

Rod stared at it for a moment, shrugged, and started collecting some stuff from the shelves. After adding a ripped up one dollar bill, he turned to Micah and asked, “Do you have any ecstasy or cocaine? Maybe both?”

Micah just cocked an eyebrow, but just reached up to the top shelf where he kept his stash, “Just don’t use too much, a little goes a long way, and I wouldn’t want to waste it.”

With a glove on, Rod reached in and added a tablet of ecstasy and a pinch of cocaine, then added a few drops of addiction brew and concentrated pleasure to finish it off, and threw it into the cauldron with the rest. The concoction flared brightly for a moment, then the entire room went black. When they managed to relight the candles, the entire basin had emptied, aside from a bit of smoke swirling around the bottom.

“Come on, let’s go to bed. We have a lot to figure out for Friday, and I’m exhausted,” Micah said, and led the way out of the basement, Rod blowing out candles behind him.


Daniel knew that he could wait inside just as easily as out, but the cold helped him forget how hungry he was. He hadn’t had breakfast, and after three classes where he had barely been able to concentrate, he had finally relented and given Peter a call, and asked if he could buy him lunch. This was made worse by the fact that he had gotten another email from his parents, begging him to attend “a center” where they could cure him of his sin. It was unnatural, they wrote, he needed help. Without Christ, he would be condemned to hell for all eternity, and if they didn’t get him there, they would burn to.

Of course, they were simply being good christians when they cut off his meal plan in an attempt to force him to quit school and come home, but he was making it work. He didn’t exactly come from a rich family, and was the first to even go to any kind of college. His father hadn’t even finished high school, dropping out when he was fifteen to work at the local service station. They had always said that they were poor of pocket but rich of spirit, and that the Lord would guide them through, but a lot of good that had done Daniel.

A group of jocks came out of the door behind him, led by Greg Troyer, and Daniel immediately stiffened up as though he had been smacked across the face. Of course, Greg didn’t pay any attention to him, why would he? Daniel was just a poor nobody, barely scraping through college with scholarships and expensive student loans. Greg had everything, but mostly he had money. His father owned Toyer Industries, which was responsible for employing about ten percent of Havensburg, and his great grandfather had actually been on the original board of trustees at the university, every successive generation of Toyer had been on it as well. Greg didn’t have to do anything to graduate from Havensburg University. He didn’t have to go to class, he didn’t have to follow university guidelines, so long as his father’s grant was funding the brand new science building being built across the way. It was a four year joyride for Greg, so why would he even bother to pay attention to someone like Daniel?

But Daniel knew Greg, oh did he. It was Greg’s father who had instigated the layoffs which landed Daniel’s father on unemployment right before Daniel was going to start college. If he hadn’t managed to score that final scholarship, he would have been waiting tables to help keep his family afloat. But Greg didn’t care about that, and Daniel was going to change that, oh was he ever.

He saw Peter approaching on a nearby path, and Daniel waved to him. They went inside, and Daniel loaded up a meager portion of food, just enough to keep him going until Friday when he got paid again from his work study position. Peter tried to convince him to get more, but Daniel said nothing, feeling it was better than getting into an argument. They went and sat down, where Peter asked, “Are you ok? You seem down?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “I’m alright…I just got another email from my parents. They want me to go to this…center. They say it can fix me.” He squeezed his fist hard enough to make his knuckles pop, “Cause, you know, something’s broken, and only through the power of Christ can I be repaired.”

“Why don’t you just get a new email account?”

Daniel sighed and relaxed his hand, “I really should, but…you know. I just keep hoping they’ll change their minds. I’m just not ready to turn my back on them yet.”

Peter looked at his watch, and saw it was a little past four. “Hey, we should probably go meet the guys over at the stadium. Maybe imagining the surprise those jocks are in for tomorrow will cheer you up.”

Everyone else was already in the bleachers, and Daniel watched Greg run back and forth, generally making a fool of himself. It was pretty obvious that even his teammates hated his antics, and only put up with him because of his connections. In the back of his mind, Daniel began to think that maybe they were being too hard on all of them, but it was too late to go back now. He left early, unsure whether the pit in his stomach was from doubt, or hunger.


Daniel woke up the next morning, somewhat disoriented. It seemed like the ceiling was too high above his head, that his bed was too big and soft, but those were standard in his father’s guest house. He sat up and stretched, figuring it was just lingering confusion from his dreams. For some reason, he had dreamed that he was a poor college student or something–as if that would ever happen! He was Daniel Brascoe the IV, the only son of the wealthiest family in Havensburg, had never struggled a day in his life, and that’s the way he liked it. Easy work in the day as a vice president of his father’s company, and partying late into the night with his friends–other trust fund babies of his father’s corporate executives. Hell, other than the housekeepers and waiters his father employed, Daniel had never even dealt with anyone with a yearly income less than 250,000 dollars a year. As far as he was concerned, anything below that was sheer poverty.

As he tried to wake up, he realized that he did have a bit of a hangover from the night before, and a strange craving for…something. Mick had brought a new drug to the party the night before that he’d gotten somewhere, and convinced Daniel to give it a shot. It had been a blast, at least, everything he could remember about it had been a blast. It had made him so horny, he had basically forced the girl he was with to have sex with him, as if every girl he met didn’t want to have sex with him already. Apparently his maids had already gotten her up, fed her and made her leave. He was never one for conversation the morning after, and the emergency contraceptive snuck into their breakfasts always took care of any other complications that might arise. Still, he tried to shake it off, got up and showered, dressed, and made his way to the dining room for his breakfast, which was laid out on the table for him by the time he got there.

He figured that some food and coffee would make him feel a bit better, but everything was a bit bland. He sent that food back, threatening to fire the cook, but the second round was just as unsatisfying. He still had that itch in the back of his head for whatever Mick had given him, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was. Of course, Daniel was no stranger to party drugs, and figured nothing bad would happen if he got a bit more to play with. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was already one in the afternoon, so obviously the office hadn’t missed him all morning. Figuring he could use a day off, he gave Mick a call, leaving his breakfast half eaten.

“Hey, what’s up Daniel?” Mick answered.

“Man that was pretty wild last night. You have any more of the stuff you gave me? I want some more of that shit.”

“Nah man, I’m all out. I’m stuck at the office though, so I can’t get any. You could go see the dealer though, if you really…uh…want to…” Mick said, and coughed nervously.

“Sure. Where’s the guy at?”

“I’ll text you the address and a map. It’s a bit shady, but the guy’s legit. Just tell him Mick sent you, and he’ll deal with you.”

“Sure thing, thanks for the tip.”

“’re welcome, I guess.” Mick added, then hung up quickly.

Daniel felt that something was off, but a moment later Mick’s text message arrived, which automatically programmed the new destination into his GPS. He figured he could go ahead and pick up some of that stuff and then find a girl to fuck, and fuck, and fuck all night long. Funny, he hadn’t asked Mick what the name of the drug was; he’d forgotten to do so. Oh well, he figured the dealer would know what Mick had gotten if he asked.

He got into his BMW convertible and sped away from his father’s estate, taking various turns as the GPS directed, and didn’t really notice where he was going until the final few turns. Somehow, he’d ended up out of the city and driven into the local indian reservation dotted with smoke shops and trailer parks, certainly not somewhere Daniel would want to be seen with his shiny BMW. Still, he needed that drug, and the craving was getting worse. Thoughts of addiction occasionally entered his mind, but that couldn’t have happened already. It took heavy use for stuff like that to set in, and Daniel used drugs purely for recreational purposes. Still, what had Mick given him exactly?

The GPS took him into one of the rundown trailer parks and stopped him at a beaten down trailer with a rusty sedan sitting outside of it. Daniel could hear the sounds of a TV inside, but little else. Still a bit nervous, and not really wanting to abandon his car even for a minute or two, he went up and knocked on the door.

The volume of the TV dropped, and a raspy voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”

“My name’s…uh…Stewart.” he lied, “I’m a friend of Mick’s. He said I could get some…stuff here.”

A number of locks were slowly opened, followed by the door itself. A middle aged man stood in the doorway, in far worse shape than anyone Daniel had ever seen before in his life. He didn’t even know that people could look like that. The man was skinny, but had a large gut hanging over his faded, stained jeans, a bit of which could be seen hanging out from his grimy wifebeater. He had a few days of stubble on his face, and it looked like he hadn’t bothered to cut his hair in months, and he might not have washed it since then either. He grinned when he saw Daniel on his stoop, revealing several black holes where teeth used to be. “Well don’t just stand there,” he said, his breath reeking of tobacco smoke, “Come on in. I got what you’re looking for.”

“Is my car going to be ok here? I’m a bit worried–”

“Hey, I don’t care about your car. You want the stuff, you gotta come inside. What’s it going to be…Stewart?” As the man said the alibi he smirked, not that Daniel noticed. The craving was becoming too much to handle now that he was so close to the source.

“Yeah, fine. Let me in,” Daniel said, and stepped inside as the man shut the door behind him. It’s not like he couldn’t just buy another car if that one got stolen.

The man walked over to a drawer and started rifling through it. Daniel could see that it was filled with tupperware containers and ziplock bags containing all sorts of powders and pills, some of which he recognized, but a whole lot that he didn’t. He pulled out a small bag containing a few small red pills. “Here’s the stuff,” he said, “Big Red, I call it. This what you’re looking for?”

Daniel took a hard look at the pill, but couldn’t honestly remember what he had taken the night before, “Uh…yeah, I think? I…forgot to ask Mick what he’d given me, actually.”

The man rolled his eyes, undid the bag and cut a tablet in half before handing Daniel one piece, “Here, give it a try and see how it feels. If it’s the same, we’ll know soon enough.”

“Are you kidding?” Daniel asked, “I’m not going to take that here.”

“Would you feel better if I quarter it?” the man replied, cutting the piece again, “You’ll feel just enough to know whether this is what you took or not. Give it a try, it’ll help you feel better. I know how you must be feeling at the moment…”

Daniel knew he should refuse, but the possibility that this could make his itch go away was too tempting. He took the bit from the man’s hand and dry swallowed it, and waited for something to happen. The pill metabolized quickly in his empty stomach, and soon everything began to look a bit hazy, and the itch disappeared. However, the pill from the night before had felt like the world was rushing at him. He had been horny and angry…vicious even. This just made him feel…empty. Light-headed, he sat down in a moldy chair behind him and felt his head loll backwards. He was exhausted, and it felt as though everything he touched was made from the softest pillow he’d ever felt, even the air against his face.

“Feeling good?” the man asked, “Here, go ahead and take the rest, my treat.”

Unable to resist him, Daniel felt the man force open his mouth and slip the other chucks in his mouth, plugging his nose until he swallowed. A minute later, Daniel couldn’t focus on anything.

“Now,” the man said, “I don’t think I introduced myself. My name is Greg Troyer, and until a few years ago, I was employed as a chemical engineer at your father’s company. Yes, that’s right. I know you’re Daniel Brascoe the Fourth. I know all about you. See, my boss at the company didn’t like me because I was gay, so he told a few nasty lies about my work which led to me receiving a pink slip one day, signed off by none other than yourself, not that you probably knew, or cared, what you were signing. No problem I thought, I’d just find another job, except I soon discovered that I had been blacklisted out of work. My house was repossessed and I have been on welfare for months now, and did I complain? Not really. Why complain when you can get even? Why complain when you can bring down the entire Brascoe family with a few well-placed chemicals? Now, you just make yourself comfortable–I have a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it,” As he walked away into a back bedroom, Daniel felt consciousness finally slip away from him.


When Daniel woke up, it felt as though every part of his body ached. He moaned, and nearly rolled off the couch he was lying on onto the floor.

“Hurting?” He heard Greg say, “Give this a try,” he stuck a lit cigar in the corner of Daniel’s mouth.

Unable to do much else, Daniel took a deep inhale and felt some of the ache subside. The next few breaths he took were only cigar smoke, and after demolishing a good half inch of the tobacco, he finally felt well enough to sit up on the couch. “What…What did you do to me?” he muttered, still inhaling as much smoke as he could.

“Well, one of the drugs I gave you was highly concentrated nicotine, supplemented by a compound known to speed and intensify addiction. You’re a smoker now, and will be for the rest of your life. Oh, and cigarettes won’t cut it. I mean, you’d have to smoke, like twenty at a time, all day and night, just to feel satisfied. See, I like a man who likes cigars.”

Daniel knew he had to get away, and he had to do it fast. He tried to stand up from the couch but was still so dizzy he fell to the floor, the cigar flying from his fingers. Terrified that the pain might resurge, he clutched at it and took a few more puffs, desperate for any relief, but no matter how hard he sucked, he still didn’t feel well. He needed something…else.

Greg came around the back of the couch, and Daniel noticed for the first time that he was naked. A moment later it registered that he was naked himself, lying on the ground of a poor man’s trailer, smoking a cigar like his life depended on it. Greg’s body was just as ugly unclothed as it was clothed, covered with hair and smelling of smoke. As he came closer, Daniel could catch whiffs of his body odor as well, which only made him sicker. Greg’s cock was erect and standing out from a wiry bush of pubic hair, and he stroked it for a moment or two in front of Daniel’s face, grinning. “Suck it,” was all he said, and stood there, waiting.

Daniel didn’t, but found that as he did he began to ache again. He took a few more puffs from his cigar, but that didn’t help. Finally in desperation he got on his knees and took the dirty cock in his mouth, only to be rewarded with a burst of pleasure that made him sigh. All of it was gone, for a moment, all of the aches. He began sucking, eager to be free from that haunting pain, stopping only to take the occasional puff from his quickly disappearing cigar. Above him, he saw that Greg had a small digital camera and was taking photos of him. “Look at the camera, boy. Look at the camera like you’re having the time of your life. Look like all you want to do for the rest of your life is suck a man’s cock–suck my cock.”

Daniel looked up, and the wave of pleasure washed over him again. He sucked vigorously, loving the euphoria of the moment, despite the unpleasant taste of the cock in his mouth and the scratchy pubic bush Greg kept rubbing in his face as he snapped photo after photo.

“See, another drug I gave you permanently rewrites your brain so obeying someone’s orders gives you pleasure, while disobeying them gives you pain. See, this is tied to a person’s voice. Now, not only are you compelled to obey me, or suffer. I took the liberty of doing the opposite to the voice of your father. No matter what, you’ll have to disobey him, and obey me, not that you’ll mind doing it before long. Soon, it’ll just be instinctual.”

Daniel was horrified, and began to fight against the feeling. Greg allowed him to break away and struggle to his feet, only to have the aches descend upon him again. Unable to face it, he got back down and resumed sucking. He couldn’t help it, it just felt too good.

“Yeah, feel’s good, don’t it bitch?” Greg said, “Stop sucking, I want your dad to see his prized son with a load of my cum splattered all over his face. Jack your cock while I do it, and cum when I do, all over the floor.”  

Daniel sat back, the stub of his cigar shoved in the corner of his mouth, jacking off gleefully, the pleasure of obeying a far more powerful aphrodisiac than anything he had ever experienced ever before. Greg was still taking photo after photo, and before long shot his load with a grunt all over Daniel’s chin. Daniel shot his own load as soon as he saw the first spurts of cum emerge from Greg’s cock. The orgasm paired with the act of obeying made him cry out in pleasure. Barely registering the flashes from the camera, He fell back exhausted, cum covering his face as well as the floor in front of him.

“Now, for one last demonstration,” Greg said, and then in a loud voice, added, “Listen up!” At those words, it felt as though the entire world faded away until all Daniel could hear was the sound of Greg’s voice. “You love sucking cock,” Greg said to him, “You find me and all men who look like me irresistibly attractive. You love the taste of cum. Now, back to reality!” With that, Daniel snapped back, somewhat disoriented. It felt like something had changed, but he couldn’t figure out what. He also had a hard time remembering what exactly Greg had just said to him.

Greg pulled out a video camera next and started taping, “Now, it’s time for your interview segment. Tell me Daniel, do you like sucking cock?”

Daniel wanted to say no, that he was straight, but what came out instead was, “Hell yeah I love sucking cock! It’s the best.” Strangely enough, Daniel found that he did believe it–he didn’t know why he had wanted to say the opposite a moment ago. Sucking cock was awesome, and he wanted to do it every chance he got.

“What kind of guys are you attracted to?” Greg said next, unfazed by Daniel’s response.

“Well…” Daniel said, blushing, “Guy’s like you, I guess.”

“So you like poor, dirty rednecks? That’s the kind of guy who turns you on?”

Daniel nodded in reply.

“Last question Daniel, do you like the taste of cum?”

“Are you kidding? Cum is fantastic!”

“Then how about you go ahead and eat the stuff that’s plastered to your face?”

Daniel immediately began scooping Greg’s cum into his mouth, as obeying another order brought him another boost of pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s a good cum-whore. Go ahead and lick everything up off the floor. And while you’re doing it, tell everyone that you’re a raging slut for cock.”

Daniel got on his hands and knees and began licking up his own cum from the carpet, “I’m a raging slut for cock!” he said between licks, “I lock sucking cock!…I love the taste of cum!”

Greg stopped taping, and handed Daniel a new cigar, which he immediately began sucking at, but nothing happened.

“You have to light it, you idiot,” Greg said, and threw a lighter at him. Daniel ran the flame under the cigar for a moment until it burned red and released the sweet fumes he desperately needed.

“The last drug I gave you induces a hypnotic state in which the subject is highly suggestible. Another concoction of my own. Now, I laid out some clothes for you to in the bedroom. Go put them on.”

Daniel raced off, already responding to the subtle command. He wanted the pleasure, sure, but he was also afraid of what would come if he disobeyed. Pleasure was his new wealth. He was greedy for it, wanted any little bit he could scrounge up, but even more than that, he feared poverty. This is how he had been raised, and it had taken little effort to shift him to this new currency. Greg could give him what he wanted, and in a far more pure form than his father’s money ever could. Already, he felt his will to fight back shrinking.

In the bedroom, he saw a pile of leather on the bed. quickly pulled on everything as best he could, though it took him a moment to figure out how the harness went on. The final touch was a thick metal collar which he put around his neck and then padlocked shut. There was no key in sight, which kind of worried him, but he was dressed, and the happiness returned. In a mirror on the wall, he saw a person which bore little resemblance to the man who had gotten up this morning in his father’s mansion. Daniel looked ragged, exhausted, but more than anything, hungry for more. The leather was well worn and dull, but felt pleasant against his bare skin.

“You done? Then get back in here!” He heard Greg yell, and he rushed back into the living room. “Now, listen up!” Greg said, and Daniel fell back into the same void as before. “You love being fucked up the ass. You love begging other men to fuck you. You love begging men to let you suck their cock. I am your master. You love your master. You will refer to me only as master. The only name you will respond to is slave. Being called slave makes you aroused and horny. You can only cum after your master tells you you can. Return to reality!”

Daniel felt his head ache as it tried to take in the new information and commands. However, after a few more puffs on his cigar, everything was perfectly clear. He was Slave. That was Master. HIS Master. He loved cock. He loved getting fucked by cock, sucking cock, anything with cock.

“We’re going to have some company over slave, and you are to please them as best you can, understand?”

Daniel nodded, eager to obey. A moment later there was a knock at the door. Greg opened it and Mick stepped into the trailer. Daniel was shocked, but couldn’t help fulfilling his new commands. He got on his knees, cigar smoke all around him and said, “Please sir, will you let me suck your cock? Please, I need it. I need your cock, I need your cock up my ass!” He saw that his Master was filming his performance again, which shamed him.

Mick smirked, “Sure, I guess I can do that. Bend over the couch, slave.”

Daniel knew he had been betrayed, but he got up and bent over anyway, his ass twitching with need. Mick took out his cock and without any mercy jammed it into his former friends virgin hole, making him yell loud enough that the cigar fell from his mouth. Master was kind enough to put it back, and Daniel was able to relax as Mick began thrusting in and out.

He knew he should want to know why Mick had done this to him. He knew he should care that his Master was filming this, and would probably send it to his father. He knew he should be trying to escape, but he was in too deep. He had fallen too far. He had become too greedy, and could only go further down into the pit of ecstasy his life had become.

Epilogue – Tokens of Redemption


George lolled in bed, listening to the sound of his new chef cooking up something in the kitchen a couple of rooms over. His massive belly growled, already hungry after having no food for eight hours, but George was used to that. He pretty much had to eat constantly just to feel the least bit satisfied, and he hoped that Evan would be able to keep up with him, in more ways than one. He rolled onto his side, his massive apron sprawled in front of him, then pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging under his five hundred pound bulk. It was only then that he noticed the young man sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room.

“Good, you’re finally up. Now, I’ll make this quick because I have four other stops, and because I’m sure you’d like to get to breakfast. Now, see that tub of lard you have for a body? You weren’t like that two days ago.”

George, still confused, replied, “I…I’m sorry. But who are you? And what are you doing here.”

“Look, just listen to me,” he said, “Two days ago, you were a jock with a fantastic body. Now, I cast a spell on you, as requested by an…enemy of yours, but no magic is permanent unless the subject is offered a chance for redemption, so here it is. You are a glutton, and an unabashed one at that. All I ask of you, if you’d like your old body back, is that you refuse one meal today.”

George tried to interject, but the man suddenly disappeared, leaving only a trail of smoke and a disembodied voice, “One meal George, that’s all. Shouldn’t be too hard for a big guy like you.”

Unsure whether what had just happened was real or simply a figment of his imagination, George shook his head, pulled on a very large pair of boxers while he was still seated, and then hefted himself up. Surely what the man had said couldn’t be true; George had always been fat, and he loved it. But some part of him in the back of his mind insisted that these memories were a lie. As a ball of doubt began to form alongside his growing hunger, he exited the bedroom into his personal dining room, where servers and assistant chefs were hustling about, preparing the table for his breakfast. Evan flew in through one of the double doors, his white chef coat splattered with sauces and flour, his face red and flushed as he tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t worked this hard on a meal in years, but it was the most satisfying work he had ever done, or at least it would be, once he sat down to eat the fruits of his labor with his new lover. He spotted George across the room, and rushed over to give him a kiss, and was a bit surprised when George didn’t return it with the same vigor he had the day before. “What’s wrong love? Sleep badly?”

“Huh? Oh…nothing like that, I think,” George said, “Say…you didn’t…see anyone go into my room, did you?”

Evan eyed him, “No…was someone in there?”

“I…Look, never mind. It must have just been a dream I had.”

“I’m sure a good breakfast will help make everything better,” Evan said, pulling out a massive chair from the table, “Have a seat. Everything is just getting set out for us.”

“Actually,” George said, backing away, “I…I’m not feeling well. I think I might go back to sleep for a bit.”

Evan looked confused, and then the redness in his face deepened, “You…You don’t…like it? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, it’s not that,” George said, “I’m…I’m just not feeling like myself right now. Look, I’m sorry, but I’m just not hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“Well, I’m not hungry right now!” George yelled, a bit louder than he meant to, and the look of utter disappointment which spread across Evan’s face just made him feel worse. “No…No, I didn’t mean it like that. See, I’m just not doing well this morning. Let me sleep it off, and we’ll have a great lunch together, how about that?”

Evan looked away, and then back at George, anger now filling his eyes, “No. No, I made this for you, and you’re going to fucking eat it, you fucking asshole!” He grabbed a muffin from a passing tray and advanced on George.

“What…What are you doing?”

“We’re going to make sure you’re good and full. Trust me, you’ll sleep better with a full stomach,” Evan said, then motioned to some of the servers, “Hold George down for me. I think he wants his breakfast ‘rough’ this morning.”

George fought against the first tray of food that Evan forced down his gullet, but his rock hard cock couldn’t be ignored, especially when one of his servers took it out and began milking it just how he liked it. Before too long, he was sharing food filled kisses with Evan as though nothing strange had happened, the memory of his morning visitor having long since passed.


Lenny was hot, and as he walked down the street, he knew that every man he passed was thinking the same thing. They all wanted him, and he didn’t care, as long as they paid for the privilege. Pigtown was already open however, and while it would probably be a ghost town for a few more hours, he sometimes picked up the occasional early fuck. Hell, it wasn’t like he had much else to do.

Behind him, a voice called out, “Hey! Hey, there you are.” Lenny turned around and saw a young man running up to him, “I need to talk to you.”

“Hey, you want some of this? You gotta pay.”

“That is definitely not what I wanted to talk to you about,” the man said, finally stopping and catching his breath, “Man, you’re a hard guy to track down, you know that?”

Lenny was now a bit worried. What was this guy, some kind of cop? He didn’t want to get busted or anything.

“Listen, who you are right now, isn’t who you were two days ago. You might think it is, but its not. You were a jock, and an enemy of yours asked me to place a spell on you. However, all magic requires a chance of redemption, so here’s yours: You need to not have sex today–with anyone, but especially not that biker, Orson, you fucked yesterday.”

He had mostly forgotten that, it simply hadn’t been the most important transaction of the day, but how had this guy known that they’d fucked at all?

“Yo, I don’t know what you’re getting at here, but I’m not a prostitute, alright?”

“Yeah, sure you aren’t,” the man said, and then rushed off again, appearing to disappear right before he turned a corner down the way. When Lenny continued walking and passed where the man had gone, he saw that it was a dead end alley, and the man had simply disappeared. Had he ever been there in the first place? Still, even though he tried to put the words out of his mind, they came back. Some part of him kept yelling that they were true. That he had been a jock, and that this was all wrong. By the time he got to Pigtown, he was decidedly not horny, but figured a drink might steady his nerves a bit, so he went in anyway.

As soon as he did, he wished he hadn’t. The biker from the day before, Orson the man had called him, was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and watching the door. Lenny tried to back away, but couldn’t before Orson spotted him and got up.

“Hey, you. I need that cock of yours up my ass again. Please, I’ll do anything. I even got money. More of it. 200 dollars if you’ll fuck me all afternoon, what do you say?”

Lenny had never been offered that much to fuck someone, and under any other circumstances he would have happily agreed, but given what the man had said, he didn’t think it would be a good idea. The voice in the back of his head agreed vehemently. “Thanks for the offer, but uh…I actually got plans already.”

Orson looked surprised, then dejected, “Is…is it not enough money?”

Lenny didn’t know what to say, so he just shrugged, and pushed his way into the bar. He ordered a light beer for himself, then took a seat at a nearby table, drinking half the brew on the way, hoping it would help clear his head. Orson, disappointed, sat back down at the bar and asked the bartender for something harder.

Lenny felt sorry for the guy, and wasn’t sure why he was turning down the offer, but maybe the guy he’d run into was right. Maybe something strange was going on here. As he drank more of his beer, his eyes kept wandering over to Orson, or more particularly, Orson’s ass, propped up on the bar stool. It looked bigger than it had the day before, meatier and hotter too. Lenny readjusted his crotch, trying to keep his hardening dick down, but suddenly the encounter he had barely remembered that morning stood out clear as day. No ass had ever felt like that one. Every thrust, every movement was intensified. Not too loose, not too tight, it had been all he’d ever wanted in a fuck, and now he was just going to give that up?

He downed the rest of the beer, feeling a bit floaty from the alcohol, but mostly from the pure lust coursing through him, and stalked back over to Orson, “You know, maybe I was too hard on you before. I’ve…I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said, squeezing one of Orson’s ass cheeks. “Damn,” he muttered, “I…I just gotta see that ass of yours one more time…” he said, mostly to himself, but Orson couldn’t believe what had just come out of his dreamboats mouth. He stood up, grabbed Lenny’s hand and pulled him into the backroom. Lenny knew he shouldn’t, but watching that ass move…he had to have it again. It had to be his.

“So, this ass?” Orson said, moving it around in Lenny’s face, “This is the ass you want?”

“Oh hell yeah…yeah, let me see that ass,” Lenny said, openly massaging his cock now. He need to fuck. He was desperate.

“You want it? I need something for it then,” Orson said with a smirk, “A little something green maybe? To make up for your harsh words earlier? 75 dollars ought to lift my spirits enough. I know you got that much.”

Without really thinking, Lenny pulled out his wallet and stuffed some bills in one of Orson’s back pockets, cupping that sweet ass as he did. “I have a better idea. How about we head back to my place and get to know each other on more…intimate terms?”

Orson couldn’t resist that offer, and they both left the bar giddy with lust. The voice cried out in dismay, but Lenny just squished it out of existence. Sex was everything–no, Orson’s ass was everything. It was everything he would ever need.


Sure there were things Samuel could be doing. He could clean up his trailer, or go play with his pig, or any number of things. But why do something productive when you could just sit on your porch, drink a beer, and listen to the radio? He didn’t get any TV channels out here in the country, so he had to settle for a single country station that came in alright from the next town over, but that was fine with him. Sam didn’t ask for much from the world. He just wanted to be left alone.

Of course, not everyone understood that, he thought, as a lone figure came around the curve in the long driveway back to the rural road. From a distance, Sam couldn’t make out who it was, but it sure as hell didn’t look like any of his neighbors. Besides, they knew well enough to keep out of his business. As the man approached, it definitely looked like someone from the city. Sam grabbed his shotgun and stood up, “Ya can go ahead and turn around and git the fuck off my property, whoever ya are!” He yelled, “I ain’t got nothin’ for ya!”

“All I want is a word, Samuel,” the figure called back, and continued walking until he was about fifty feet away, and then stopped. “Who you are now is not who you were two days ago. You were a college student and a brilliant student. A spell was cast on you by an enemy, but all spells must offer a chance at redemption. So cleanse yourself Samuel–cleanse and be cleansed.”

At that, the figure vanished, and Samuel was no longer sure anyone had ever been there in the first place. Cleanse himself? What did that mean, that he should take a shower? Samuel sniffed his pit out of curiosity, and it sure did reek. When was the last time he had taken a shower? He couldn’t even remember. Did his shower even work? He got up and went into his trailer, wading through piles of junk he collected off the side of the road. Why did he have all of this stuff? Something told him that he needed it, but maybe he should just get rid of it. Maybe he should just burn it to the ground. That would cleanse it, wouldn’t it? Something told him that would work, but why was he thinking about this anyway? All of this thinking was making Sam’s head hurt. Still, out of curiosity more than anything, he made his way to the filthy bathroom and found the basin of the shower filled with trash he had thrown there. If he wanted a shower, he’d have to clean it out first, but that seemed like too much work. All of it was too much work.

Out the bathroom window he saw his new pig in his pen. He’d put up a bit of a fight the day before, but had settled in quite well. He hadn’t even tried to talk when Sam had taken him his morning slop, he hadn’t even complained when he’d cleaned out Sam’s shitty ass after he took a shit. Sam rubbed his cock through his filthy jeans, thinking about all of the hot pig sex he could have later. Hell, why not have some of it now? Cleaning could wait.

Pig sat up as his master approached, and Sam saw fear and loathing, but also a growing desire in his eyes. He liked being a pig, he just didn’t really know that yet, but he was learning, and he was learning fast. “I’m horny, Pig,” Sam said as he clambered into the pen, “So let’s play.”

Pig tried to crawl away, but Samuel got down behind him and grabbed his ass. Looking down, he saw that the crack was absolutely caked with filth. Hungrily, Sam buried his face and began licking at the crack, relishing the taste of shit, mud and his own cum from the day before, and shot his own load of cum in his shorts, just from the sheer eroticism of the taste. Pig eventually joined in, grunting as his master fucked him and he fucked Sam in return, drinking each other’s piss, and scarfing down shit. Before they realized it, it was well past sunset, and the night was growing dark. Looking at himself, Sam found that he was dirtier than he had ever been before, and that he loved it. He loved rutting with his pig, no, he loved being a pig. Instead of going into his trailer, Sam curled up with his pig in the mud. He was happier here, happier as the pig he had always known he was.


Will could hear his slave moaning in the basement as he watched TV, which probably had something to do with the fact that Will had strapped some billiard balls to his nuts earlier and left him standing there, chained to some posts. The thought of his slave suffering made him happy, but the sounds were interrupting his show, so he got up during a commerical break, ready to gag the fucker so at least Will wouldn’t have to listen to him. But when he got up, he saw that a stranger standing in the doorway, blocking his path.

“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled, looking around for something to use as a weapon, but there wasn’t anything nearby.

“ Man I’m sick of doing this,” he mumbled, and then spoke louder, “I come bearing a message, nothing more. A spell was cast upon you by an enemy. Who you are now is not who you were two days ago. However, every spell comes with the possibility of redemption. So, if you’d like to reclaim your life, all you must do is perform an act of mercy,” with that, the man stepped back and vanished into the wall. William ran over to see where he could have gone, but there was nothing. It was easier to assume he had imagined it all, so he forgot about it, and headed down into the basement.

“Man, for a slave who thinks he gets it, you sure to make a lot of noise,” William said as he entered the dungeon. The slaves balls were purple from their stretching, but looked like they were making good progress. “So, since you can’t shut up, I guess I’ll have to gag you so I can hear the TV.”

“Please Sir, please. I can’t take anymore, please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone I swear!” The slave blurted out.

Will nearly blurted out a quick retort, but didn’t. Mercy was what the man had said–did this man deserve mercy? Did everyone deserve mercy in some sense? Will shook his head, confused to find that he might be caring for a fellow man, a feeling he had never experienced before.

“Please Sir, I beg of you. I’m sorry…” The slave continued, and then began to weep.

“So, you don’t want this?” Will asked, walking around his slave, “You don’t like the pleasure I’ve given you?” The slave gasped as Will ran his hand across the barely healed cut from yesterday’s whipping. He grabbed a remote of the table and added, “You don’t like how this feels?” as he turned on the slave’s prostate massager, making him groan, “because from the sound of it, you like it a lot.”

“Sir…I, I…” The slave began, but didn’t finish. William hated his weakness. He hated his inability to decide what he wanted. He hated this man, and everything he was. Mercy? No, he did not deserve mercy. He did not want mercy, but he did not know it yet. He wanted to feel pain–it would be his only pleasure before too long, and Will would take him there.

He hefted a studded paddle and brought it down on the slave’s ass, making him cry out in pain, “Repeat after me, ‘I am a slave!’”

“Please…Please no…” The slave muttered, but his erect, dripping cock revealed what he really wanted. William hit him again, harder, “Say it! Say it or I’ll fucking make you regret it!” The anger rushed out of him, pure, unfiltered.

“I am a slave!”

William hit him again with the paddle, “Repeat it!”

“I am a slave!”


“I am a…I am a…oh god!” The slave cried, as his cock erupted uncontrollably.

“You fucking bitch! Who said you could cum? Who said you could? You’re going to get it for that one,” William said, then came close, getting ready to fuck his slave into oblivion, only to find that is cock was completely soft. This only made him angrier. Why should the slave be able to cum, but the master unable to? He jacked it a few times but his dick didn’t even react, and this only made Will feel hornier.

“Please sir, I was a bad slave, I was. Please fuck me sir, I deserve it!” The slave said, which only made William angrier at himself.

“I’ll fuck you when I feel like it, bitch,” he said, then attached a chastity device to his slave’s cock, “And that’ll keep accidents like that from happening again, and this will keep you quiet,” he added, shoving a large ball gag into the slave’s mouth, then storming up the stairs, still soft.

He tried jacking off upstairs, but no matter what he did, his cock wouldn’t respond, which only increased his ire. “Well,” he said to himself, “if I can’t release, I sure as hell ain’t going to release my slave,” but that didn’t make him feel better, just restless. All he knew was anger, and now that he was so horny, he couldn’t stop. He returned to the basement, but the more he beat Bryce, the more the slave loved it, the hornier they became, and the more distance both of them put between themselves and the release they desperately craved.


Looking through the pictures he had taken so far on his computer, Greg was picking out which ones he would send first to Mr. Brascoe, and which ones he’d send to the Havensburg Times. Thinking about the slave fucking himself with a dildo in the bedroom, Greg couldn’t help but admit that it had really seemed all too easy. Sure, it had been hard finding someone like Mick to betray one of his best friends, but when all you really care about is money, what value does friendship have? Mick’s father was next in line to take over the company and Mick wasn’t one to be second best, not anymore. With Daniel out of the way (and most likely his father, after he had a stroke from witnessing the depths of his son’s depravity) Mick would likely be the next owner of Havensburg’s financial district.

“Finally, the last of ‘em,” A voice said behind him. Greg whipped around in his chair and found a man standing behind him who he did not recognize. “Now, I’ll keep this quick, because I’m tired,” the man said, “Who you are today is not who you were two days ago. A spell was cast upon you by your enemy. However, you still have a chance to redeem yourself, if you forgive, and let go.” With that, the intruder vanished, and Greg was alone again.

Had his dream the night before been real, Greg wondered? He had dreamed that he had switched places with Daniel, that he was the rich son of a billionaire, and when he woke up it had seemed more real than the abandoned trailer he was squatting in. He looked back at the photos, and a tinge of guilt collected in his mind. Who was he to destroy these peoples’ lives for revenge? But then again, what gave them the right to so callously destroy his own? Conflicted, his thoughts were interrupted by his slave moaning through the thin wall that separated the office from the bedroom. Most likely he had tried to cum again, but failed. Maybe George ought to pay him a visit, to see how he’s doing.

The bedroom was full of cigar smoke, and from the pile of butts in the ashtray next to Daniel, it looked like he had smoked ten, if not fifteen already that day. Seeing his master come through the door, he increased the speed of his thrusting, the thick dildo in his ass far more massive than most men’s fists. Still, Mick wanted to borrow his “friend” for a party tonight, and wanted to make sure that the guests would be able to abuse their new toy in any way that they wanted, so he’d requested that Daniel be prepared to take anything up his ass they wanted him to.

But who was Mick to order Greg around? In pursuing revenge, it seemed that he had come full circle, and returned to being a pawn of the rich men he hated. He hated them, all of them, they all deserved to pay. Looking at the now destroyed Daniel, he couldn’t disguise his disgust. Forgiveness? He didn’t deserve it, none of them did. “Suck my cock, bitch,” Greg ordered, and eagerly, dildo still wedged high up his hole, the slave got down on his knees, shaking from the need for his new drug.

Sure, Greg knew he could stop. He could let Daniel go, he could even cure him of his addictions, but the power was too tempting. He owned Daniel, not the other way around, he was his. Mick needed to learn that, they all did, but Mick most of all. In fact, there was no reason why Greg shouldn’t own Mick as well. And all the other rich boys that he hung out with. Greg should own them too. He would own them all.


Rod materialized back in the basement, and Micah was nowhere to be found. Climbing the stairs, he saw that he was sitting on the couch watching TV, and working on some school work during the commercials. “How’d it go?” he asked as Rod stumbled in and slumped down in an armchair.

“Well, I found them all, but it wasn’t easy. I mean, Samuel ended up all the way in the Ozarks for some reason, and even then I had to hike halfway across the county just to find his trailer.”

“Aww…poor baby.”

“Oh shut up. It’s that stupid transportation spell. If you’d just teach things to me the easy way–”

“There is no easy way. There’s only people who learn easily, and those who take a bit longer. You’re just on the far end of the curve. You’ll pick it up, eventually.”

The two of them sat is silence, watching some crime show, before Rod spoke up again, “Aren’t you curious what they chose?”

“Not really. Besides, I’m sure they all fell for it. Not a strong will in the bunch of them. They asked for it.”

“Well sure, the nerds did, but the jocks too? Isn’t that a bit unfair?”

“Life isn’t fair Rod, but magic especially isn’t fair.”

“But I thought magic had to give you an honest chance for redemption? Isn’t that why I spent all day missing class and running around the country?” Rod said.

Micah, for the first time in the conversation, sat up and looked over at Rod. It was the eyes that still scared him the most, those grey steel eyes. “Redemption. Redemption is a token, a promise, if you will. The magician can make it as easy to access or as difficult as he’d like to. I mean, none of these guys really had a chance of changing back–the spell was too good. Did I have to offer them a way out? Well sure, but that doesn’t mean I had to make it easy. Hell, I had no interest in making it easy,” he added, then sat back turned up the volume. “Now, I’m trying to watch this show, so go have your moral crisis somewhere else. You’re here to learn magic, not how to become a good person.”

Rod wanted to say more, but decided against it, and headed up to his room to look through the grimoires Micah had lent him to study from. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with what Micah had done, and had done many times before. That football jock that he turned into a sex pig was just the first he’d heard about, and since he’d become Micah’s apprentice, he’d witnessed at least a dozen more. But what could he do? He was just an apprentice. If nothing else, at least he was on the stronger side, but was he on the right side? That was a different question altogether, and one he wasn’t ready to answer for.