Slob Control – Gear Night at The Alley

Bill had gone out to the gay bars around town a time or two, but had generally always been dissatisfied with them. They certainly weren’t like the bars from decades past, seedy little joints where you could get up to a little trouble in the dark, and no one batted an eye. These days they were so bright and clean and…judgemental. Bill had long since given up on trying to go out, but now that he had his spellbook, he had a feeling he could make the bars around town a little more fun. He decided to start that week with The Alley–what might have been closest to the bear and leather bar around town, but it wasn’t really much of either. However, after having a little chat with the owner, and then the bartenders, and then the bouncers one night–along with a little bit of magic pushed into the place itself, he had a feeling it would have a much nicer reputation soon enough.

Kenneth and Evan got out of the uber as it idled in front of the bar, thanked their driver, and hustled over to the sidewalk outside The Alley. Kenneth and Evan were regulars here, usually coming out on Friday nights after work to have drinks with a few other couples, before heading home. Both of them were in their usual dress–khakis and button down shirts. They didn’t usually bother changing after work to go out. After all, they were in their mid forties, it’s not like they were going clubbing. They walked up to the door to the bar, opened it up, and found themselves facing an unfamiliar bouncer sitting on a stool, dressed in leather booty shorts, vest, cap and boots. It was a bit more…kinky than the usual atmosphere, but it didn’t faze them that much. They got out their IDs, and then the bouncer told them it would be a five dollar cover charge.

“What?” Evan said, “Why? There’s never a cover on Fridays.”

“It’s gear night. You’re not in gear. It’s either five dollars each, or you can grab somethin’ off the wall behind you.”

They turned around, and saw a bunch of pegs had been hung there on the wall, with a variety of gear hanging from them. Flannel, leather, hi viz, camo–it was a bearish assortment, but not anything that the two of them would usually wear. Evan sighed, “Fine,” and fished out his wallet.

“Hold on, let’s just put something on,” Kenneth said, grabbing a hi viz vest off the wall and pulling it on.

“Kenneth, you look ridiculous.”

“Come on, it saves us ten bucks.”

“We can afford ten bucks.”

“Here,” Kenneth said, holding out a leather bracelet with a snap, “Even you can pull this off.”

Evan glared at his husband, but took the leather band from him and put it on, then turned to the bouncer, who was just smirking. “That good enough?”

“Sure is,” he said, “Come on in, fellas.”

The bar was a bit more boisterous than it usually was on Fridays, and the crowd seemed a little older, a little gruffer. Kenneth spotted a few other regulars, some of them also sporting gear off the wall, as well as quite a few guys he hadn’t seen before, who looked like they’d brought plenty of gear from home. “Do you see Jamie or Kaleb?” he said.

“No, they might not be here yet.”

“Or they’re out back.”

They settled on a plan, since the line for the bar was fairly long. Evan would wait in line and get them a couple of drinks, while Kenneth scoped out the bar and looked for their friends, to see if they were there yet. Evan agreed, got in line, and Kenneth pushed his way through the crowded space towards the hall that led out onto the patio behind. He quickly got a bit turned around. The place seemed bigger than he remembered it being, the hallway a bit more twisty and windy than before–that, and quite a bit darker, with quite a few guys cruising from the corners. Kenneth eventually found his way through and out onto the back patio, feeling a bit relieved to be out of there. He scoped out the place, but it too was rather thick with guys. He was going to have to push around a bit to see if their friends were there or not. He found himself pushed around the edges of the main mass of guys, checking tables as he went, but there was no sign of the other couples.

“Hey bud, lookin’ good tonight!”

Kenneth spun around, and saw he’d ended up near a table on the edge of the patio, next to the fence. A group of fellows who looked like they’d either just stepped off a construction site, or off a trailer park, were sitting around, smoking cigars, with about a pitcher of beer for each of them. “Huh?” he said, looked down at his own hi-viz vest, and looked a little sheepish, “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Come on, love a guy in gear, and you don’t have a drink! Need a beer?”

“No, my husband’s buying some inside.”

The fellow hadn’t waited for Kenneth’s response, he’d just poured a glass, and shoved it into Kenneth’s hand. “Guess ya better drink up quick then, go on!”

Kenneth looked down at the beer. He wasn’t much of a beer guy–he preferred a nice, sweet cocktail, but he also didn’t want to be rude. He drank some of the beer, and the next thing he knew, it was all gone. Had he just chugged that? He let off a belch, making the rest of the guys all start laughing.

“There ya go fella, have another,” the man said, and pushed another beer into Kenneth’s hand.

“No, I really should go find my husband.”

“Take a seat, he’ll find you out here faster with those drinks. Come on. Name’s Brett, by the way.”

Brett scooched over over the bench, crowding another chubby fellow down the line, and left a bit of bench beside him. Kenneth looked around, desperate for someone to rescue him from this awkward encounter, but as much as he knew he should walk away, a little voice told him to sit, have a drink. Maybe even have a cigar. They seemed nice and fun. It wouldn’t hurt to hang out with them for a bit. Just until Evan found him–that’s all. He took a seat, thigh pushed up against Brett’s, and the big fellow dropped his hand right on Kenneth’s knee. He could feel the blush all over his face, and he downed the second beer as a distraction.

“Man after my own heart, gonna try tah drink me under the table, eh?”

Kenneth looked down at the glass–somehow it had been refilled, but he hadn’t seen anyone pour it. He felt bloated, and gassy. He let off another belch, and found himself laughing along with the rest of the guys. For a while, he kept looking out at the crowd, hoping to spot Evan, but there was no sign of him. It wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. They’d probably found each other inside. He’d go join them in a bit. Just one more beer–and maybe another after that too.

It took longer than he’d expected it to, but Evan finally got a hold of two drinks–one of the sweet cocktails that Kenneth liked, and a whiskey coke for himself–and then set about trying to figure out where his husband had gotten off to. He poked around the main bar, but he was nowhere to be found, and neither were his friends. He managed to find a ledge he could set the glasses down on, checked his phone, but there weren’t any messages from anyone either. Maybe they had ended up out on the patio. He picked up the drinks and began weaving his way in between the bears of the bar, trying to find a path without spilling anything.

The clientele tonight seemed a lot more burly and crude than usual. The Alley was a bear bar, but it was a bar for middle class bears. Professional bears, with jobs downtown and adopted kids, and carefully managed open relationships. The guys he was pushing past seemed quite a bit more lower class than what he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he quite liked it very much. He narrowly avoided some chubby fellow that came barrelling through the doorway, and as he lurched, he stumbled into a wall and ended up dumping both drinks down the front of his clothes. Pissed off that he’d not only wasted a good chunk of cash, but also ruined a good work shirt, he figured he’d find the bathroom and see if he could clean himself up a bit.

The only problem is that the bathroom wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The Alley, like a lot of gay bars, wasn’t particularly large. It wasn’t even a very good cruise bar–there was no circuit, no hallways, no particularly dark corners. There had been two hallways–one that went out to the patio, and another that bent around to the bathrooms. Only the hall to the bathrooms kept going, and got darker. The lights were red, and the men he passed were looking a little more hungry than he liked. He tried to backtrack to the main room and the bar to reorient himself, but found himself turned around entirely. In his panic and frustration, he came around a corner too fast, and ran right into another fellow. He was built wide and muscular–Evan bounced right off him, and would have fallen to the ground, if the man hadn’t reached out, grabbed hold of his wrist, and kept him balanced.

“Easy there bud, what’s got you all in a rush?” the man said.

Evan sized him up–and there was a lot to size. He was tall, broad, muscular, and his whole body was decked out in full leather. Pants, shirt, jacket, gloves, boots. The only bit of skin he could see was the bit above his beard. The fellow’s muir cap was pulled down so low, he couldn’t even catch his eyes. Evan realized he was still holding onto him by the wrist. The grip was just a little too tight to be comfortable. He tugged his wrist free, and in the process lost the leather wrist band he’d put on at the door. It clattered to the floor, but before he could bend to retrieve it, the man’s cap lifted up slightly, and he caught the man’s gaze for a moment, and froze. His eyes, even in the darkness, were like steel. Hard and unyielding. He could have sworn they were metallic. He almost wanted to get a closer look, see if he could find himself in the iris, reflected–

“Careful there cub, don’t want you walking around naked now, do we?”

Evan blinked. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed in that glimpse. It might have been seconds, or it could have been hours. The man bent down and picked up the bracelet from the floor, turning it over and over in his gloved hands. It wasn’t quite a bracelet, in the light. It was too long, and was growing thinner. The snap became a buckle–it was a collar, but Evan was certain it hadn’t been a collar before.

“Here, let me put it on ya,” the man said, stepping close. Evan could smell the leather, felt it on his arms. He found himself cursing the shirt he had on, he wanted to know what it felt like against his skin. The man buckled the collar around his neck, and Evan felt a wave of ease flow over him. That was so much better. No wonder he’d been such a nervous wreck earlier, he hadn’t had his collar on right at all.

“There, that’s better, right cub?”

“Yes…Sir,” Evan said.

“You’re all wet,” he said, tugging at his shirt.

“I…spilled a drink on myself. I was trying to get to the bathroom to clean up, and…”

“Shush,” the man said, “None of that matters.”

Evan’s lips shut tight, and he nodded up at the man.

“The most important thing, cub, is that you thank me for putting your collar back on.”

That didn’t seem quite right, to Evan. In fact, all of this seemed a bit strange. What was he doing here, with this strange man, with a collar on of all things. “I…I need to find my husband, I–”

The brim of the man’s cap slipped up, and Evan could see just a bit of silver there, and his eyes couldn’t look away. “Silly little cub. Walking in here in your leather harness, showing off those muscles you’re working on, that hot, furry little gut. Wearing those hot little chap shorts, that grungy looking jock. You didn’t come here lookin’ for a husband. You came in here looking for a Daddy. Looking for a Sir.”

Evan tore his eyes away and stumbled back. Looking down at himself in the dark, everything seemed wrong. He could remember Kenneth, remember the drinks, but he was wearing a harness, and those hot fucking chap shorts, and his dirtiest jock, because he’s a dirty little cub, fuck yeah, and fuck, if this isn’t the hottest fucking leather daddy he’s ever laid eyes on, and he has his collar on. He put his collar on him, on his neck. Fuck, this leather god collared him, the least he could do is thank him, thank him like a good little cub.Get down on his knees, shove his face in his Sir’s leather crotch, then get down and lick his boots clean, lick them good and clean. Maybe Sir will walk on him, crush him, crush his cub cock under those boots, make him squeal before he fucks him, maybe–

Evan pushed the thoughts away, and he ran. He ignored the voice that called after him, ordered him to come back. His booted feet almost ground to a halt, but Evan knew the truth, and it wasn’t that. He had to find Kenneth, he had to get the two of them out of this fucked up bar, before it was too late.

Kenneth was drunk. Kenneth couldn’t remember the last time he was drunk like this–maybe college, but even that was doubtful. He wasn’t a heavy drinker by any measure. Sure, they liked to uber to the bar together so they could both have their fill, but neither of them was an alcoholic, not like some of the other guys at the bar they could point out, or even a couple of guys in the friend group they usually hung out with. Tonight, hanging with Brett and his buddies though, every time he looked, his glass was brimming with their cheap beer, and every time he took a drink, he somehow ended up chugging the whole thing back.

Brett’s hand was sliding over further and further, and was now openly groping Kenneth’s crotch. When he tried to scooch away, Brett’s arm ended up around his shoulder, his stinking pit inches from his face. When he tried to push away, he found his own hand in Brett’s crotch, groping his cock–his sizable cock, from the feel of it. He was losing control of the situation. He wouldn’t be able to say no, if he wanted to say no, but of course he wanted to say no. These guys weren’t his type at all, as much fun as it was hanging out with them. Besides, he needed to piss real bad after all of that beer, and try as he might, he couldn’t seem to excuse himself. “Fuck guys, I gotta go to the bathroom,” he said, or thought he said. Tried to say, at least, he might have slurred out some of that. He stumbled up from the bench, but couldn’t quite get his foot over it. He would have fallen on his face if Brett hadn’t gotten up first and been there to catch him, pull him close into his warm gut.

He wasn’t sure how exactly his mouth ended up on Brett’s. One second he was trying to apologize, the next his mouth was full of Brett’s tongue, tasting of beer and cigar smoke, and fuck, it felt so good to just let go, and relax, and just stop worrying so much about everything, and just have this one kiss for a moment.

“Holy fuck, Kenny’s fuckin’ pissin’ himself!”

Brett pulled away from the kiss, looked down, and started laughing, along with the rest of the guys at the bench. It took Kenneth a moment to realize that the name Kenny had been referring to him, and that the kiss had apparently broken his focus so much, he’d let his bladder loose down the front of his khakis. He could feel it, the warmth running down his legs. He tried to stop it, but couldn’t seem to manage. It was running down both legs, even down into his socks and shoes. He just stood there, horrified, not at all certain what to do, as the rest of the guys just laughed.

“I…I should go, I need to find my husband and–”

“Hold on, hold on,” Brett said, “You can’t go out there looking like that, here, we’ll take care of you, don’t you worry, right fellas?”

The guys were still chuckling, but they all nodded in agreement.

“Here, first, let’s get you out of that soaked shit.”

Brett started pulling at his shirt, unbuttoning it. Another guy came around and started unlacing his shoes. Kenneth tried to get them to stop, but he was having a hard enough time just standing upright. He ended up sitting back on the bench, totally naked, Brett balling up his piss soaked clothes and chucking them behind the bench. “Now, between all a us, we got enough to make an outfit, don’t we guys?”

It didn’t make any sense to Kenneth, how it happened. None of the guys looked any less dressed than they had been before, but now, on the table in front of him, was a total outfit of grungy looking workwear. None of it was his size of course, since all of them were substantially fatter than he was, but it was there. “I…I can’t, just give me back my clothes.”

“You don’t want those, just put these on already,” Brett said, “Or you’ll be going home naked.”

“He pulled on the stiff, cum stained briefs with a sizable brown stripe up the back, and tried to suppress a gag. Then came the mud crusted hi viz shirt, and the tattered jeans held up by a camo suspenders that were well on their way to losing their elasticity. Two mismatched, but equally grimy boot socks, and a pair of work boots much too big for his feet. Lastly, the hi-viz vest he’d gotten from the bar, and to top it off, a camo baseball cap.

“There, don’t that feel better?” Brett said, and pulled him close, “Have another beer.”

“I shouldn’t, I’m so drunk,”

“Drink Kenny, we know how much ya can handle.”

He took the glass from Brett, and chugged the beer back, but something was off about this one. It was flat, it was warm. The color was a bit too pale, and the taste a bit too bitter. Kenneth drank it all down though, and when he was through, he licked his lips. It was weird, but he liked it. He liked it a whole lot.

“Like that one Kenny?”

“Yeah Brett, that one was different, what was that?”

“Right from the tap, Kenny,” Brett said, took the glass from him, put it under his cock, which he’d pulled out of his jeans, and he pissed into it, filling it up to the brim.

Kenneth looked on in horror at the realization of what he’d just drank–and that he’d liked it. He’d really liked it. He liked it so much that, despite his disgust, he took the glass from Brett and guzzled that one right down too, only for Brett to kiss him right after. This time, Kenneth kissed him right back, the taste of beer, smoke and piss on their breath making him hornier than he could ever recall being in his life.

Evan found his way out of the darkness, and burst out into the main bar. He was relieved, looking down at himself, that his body hadn’t changed–but his clothing had. Just like Sir had said, his work clothes had disappeared, replaced entirely by a leather harness, chaps, a filthy looking jock, and some leather boots. He reached up, tried to undo the clasp of the collar, but his hands couldn’t seem to free it.

Whatever, it would come off later, at home. He looked around, but Kenneth was nowhere to be seen here, so that left the patio. He managed to find his way there this time, and the place was packed with men, many of them smoking cigars. The smell of smoke and musk was making his cub cock throb–no, what the fuck was wrong with him? He pushed through, ignoring the cat calls and the occasional smack on his bare ass, calling out for Kenneth, and finally he found him, sitting at a bench with a bunch of roughnecks, laughing and belching like a heathen.

Then, he doubted himself. It couldn’t be Kenneth. The beard was too long. He was too fat. He wasn’t wearing the right clothes either, or at least, not the clothes he’d arrived in. Then again, neither was he. He was certain it was him though, somehow. It was the eyes, the mouth, and that stupid hi-viz vest that he’d gotten when they’d come into the bar. Something about the stuff they’d been given, it’s like it was changing them! He hurried over, grabbed hold of Kenneth by the shoulder and shook him enough that his husband looked up at him, clearly more than a little drunk. He could smell the alcohol on his breath, and something else, something acrid, something that Evan didn’t want to know about.

“Kenneth, we have to get out of here, come on, this place is fucked up.”

Kenneth just blinked a couple of times at him, his eyes narrowed, and looked a bit confused.

“Friend of yours, Kenny?” the man beside him asked.

“I…Evan?” Kenneth asked. “What are ya doin’ wearin’ all that leather shit?”

“Kenneth, you have to listen to me. Something about the bar, it’s changing us, ok? These roughneck fucks next to you are turning you into some beer swilling idiot. You have to trust me, and come with me, right now, alright?”

“Bud, why don’t you go ahead and fuck off,” the roughneck said, throwing one arm around Kenneth and leaning over him. His pit ended up right in Kenneth’s face, and he let off a moan, before leaning in and licking it. “Kenny here is perfectly happy right here with us, ain’t that right, Kenny?”

“Oh, fuck yeah Brett, fuck ya smell so fuckin’ good.”

“Kenneth!” Evan yelled, and pulled him back. “You have to believe me, we have to get out of here.”

Kenneth just blinked at him, “Do…do I know you?”

“You don’t know him Kenny. You want some more beer, man?”

“Fuck, only if it’s from yer special tap,” Kenneth said.

Evan just watched in disgust as Brett pissed in a glass, passed it to Kenneth, and his husband drank it all down. As he did, Evan swore he saw him grow a bit fatter, and hairier in the process. He licked his lips, belched, and groped his cock in front of all the roughnecks, laughing along with them.

“There you are,” a voice said behind him.

Evan turned around, and found the leatherman from the dark standing right behind him. Before he could run off, the man hooked a leash to the collar around Evan’s neck, and as soon as the latch closed, Evan felt that same pleasurable calm sweep over him.

“Sorry guys, my cub here ran off on me. I hope he wasn’t giving you any trouble,” the leatherman said.

“Nah, nothin’ we couldn’t handle, right Kenny?”

“Yeah…sure Brett…” Kenneth said.

“Come on, cub, let’s go finish what we’d started earlier.”

Evan tried to push back on the dreamy haze enveloping him, but couldn’t seem to fight it. It just felt so good to let go, and let Sir walk him through the bar, show him where to go, back into the darkness.

“That was a very naughty thing, running off like that cub,” the man said, pulling the leash tight when they returned to the spot where they’d met. “Still, I’ll take some of the responsibility–I should have leashed you sooner, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so willful. We’ll take care of that though, don’t worry.”

“Please…I…I have to get out of here,” Evan managed to say, but couldn’t even manage to pull away.

“Now why would you want to do that? Hot little muscle cub like you, walking in here looking like this. You knew what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Evan tried to resist, but he could feel the memories twisting and warping in the dark, just like the wristband had earlier. He thought he’d come with someone, but he’d come alone. Dressed in his leather gear, hot young cub, dirty jock and boots. Yeah, he was hot, but…but he wanted something. He was looking for something. “I found…I…”

“You found a Master, cub. You found a man to collar you. A man who’s going to own you.”

“No…” Evan mouthed, looked up, perhaps to plead, and found himself staring directly into the man’s silvery eyes. He’d been right. They were bright enough to reflect. He could see himself in them. Twenty eight years old, shorter than he’d like to be, but broad and muscular, with a bit of a belly. His harness pulled tight across his hairy chest, pits stinking. He can finally grow a full beard, and he never wants to have anything else, ever again. He looks tough, sure, but there’s something inside him, something he’s always known. He wants to be dominated. He wants to be owned, and controlled, and enslaved. Evan knew that there should be something else there, someone older and wiser, but that was all there was. That was the truth, whether he liked it or not.

The leash tugged him down, he fell to his knees, where he belonged. He pressed his face against Master’s leather crotch, smelled it, felt the warmth, and shuddered. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you for choosing me, for making me your slave,” he said.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Master said. “Now clean my boots, cub.”

Evan knelt lower, pressed his tongue to the leather of Master’s boots, and felt his cock shudder, leaking into his filthy jockstrap. He could feel Master’s gaze resting on him, judging his work. Master let out a quiet little groan, almost like the act of Evan licking his boots was like licking his cock. Knowing that even this could pleasure his Master, Evan dug in, licking up the length, feeling the boot…shudder under his tongue.

“Fuck, that’s good cub, you know how to make a leatherman happy,” Master said.

Evan beamed with pride from the compliment. He’d wanted a Master like this all his life–he wasn’t about to disappoint him now.

“Come on Keggy, wakey, wakey…”

The warm stream hit Keggy’s face, and he let out a moan. His head was pounding, but that didn’t stop him from opening up his mouth, almost by instinct, so he could swallow the piss that was hitting him in the face. He managed to crack open his eyes once the stream stopped, and looked up at Brett looming over him. He was lying somewhere cramped and uncomfortable, with a crick in his neck, and his back. He rolled up, sliding a bit, and realized he’d fallen asleep in a stand up shower. “Fuck, did I sleep here last night?”

“You know the rules, Keggy. You stay over, you sleep in here. I don’t care how many ‘accidents’ you have at home, I don’t need my trailer smelling like a urinal.”

Keggy looked down at himself, at his clothes, which were drenched and stinking. The crotch of his pants were exceptionally wet, like they’d been soaked recently. It all stank of piss, and fuck if that didn’t get his cock hardening against the wet denim. “What…happened last night?”

“Same thing that happens every gear night. You got drunk off your ass, and drank loads of piss and cum from half the guys at the bar. You had a lot of fun.”

That sounded right, but there were no actual memories to go with it. “Think I blacked out.”

“Not surprising. We were both wasted when we got home. You were begging me to get you off, but that dick of yours wouldn’t get hard for shit–mine either. Workin’ just fine now, though. Wanna fuck?”

Keggy wasn’t quite sure if he did or not, but Brett rolled him up onto all fours, his head in the shower and his knees outside it, tugged down his soaking wet jeans, and pushed the head of his cock against his hole. It slipped right in, and Keggy moaned. Brett fucked him slow, reached around, under Keggy’s big gut, and gripped his cock too, fucking and jacking him at the same time. Keggy bent down and started licking the floor of the shower, tasting Brett’s morning piss on it, humping into Brett’s fist at the same time.

“Nasty fuckin’ piss pig, lickin’ it up from the floor of my fuckin’ shower, yer fuckin’ nasty.”

Keggy couldn’t hold it much longer, once Brett started berating him, and he came, blowing a huge load all over the floor of the bathroom. Brett backed him up, keeping him on his cock, so Keggy could lick up his mess, and then focused on fucking his hole, harder and rougher now that they were both warmed up, until Brett came inside him. He pulled out and stood up, catching his breath, while Keggy got up the last bits of his cum, and managed to push himself up after, right in front of Brett’s filthy mirror. He looked at himself, at the long graying beard, the piss soaked clothes, his thick hairy forearms and massive ball gut. It didn’t…seem familiar, but his memory was a blank. There was something he should remember, wasn’t there? Something, or someone, important?

“Alright, get outta here Keggy. I got shit to do today.”

“Wha?”

“Go on, get home.”

“I…” Keggy said, “I kinda…don’t remember…don’t I live here?”

“Man, you did get drunk last night. We live in the same goddamn trailer park, but hell if I’m gonna live with you man. I don’t mind playing with a urinal on occasion, but ain’t no one wanna live with one–I guess, except you.”

“Ya don’t gotta be an asshole,” Keggy said, and Brett chuckled.

Brett stepped close, like he was gonna kiss him, and then spit in his face. “Ya wouldn’t have nearly as much fun if I fuckin’ respected you. Yer a filthy fuckin’ piss pig. Now get the fuck out before my place starts stinkin’ like yours.”

Fuck, he was hard again. He stumbled his way out of Brett’s trailer and out onto the gravel, looked around, and saw he was in a mobile home park. Now that he was out, he did…almost remember, a place. He shuffled off, and found a trailer he imagined he recognized a few lots down. The key fit, he opened the door, and the stink of the place assaulted him. He took a deep breath, cock even harder, and sighed. Fuck, nothing smelled quite like home.

Something told him this was wrong. He stepped inside, looked around at the filthy space, walls and carpet stained with all the times he’d pissed on them–sometimes even on purpose, and felt that this couldn’t be right. He remembered living somewhere else. Somewhere clean. A house. A suburb. There was another hole, person shaped. He ran his tongue around his mouth, trying to feel for a name, but all he came up with was the taste of piss and old beer.

Beer–yeah, he could go for a beer. That would help the hangover. Might even help him remember whatever it was that was missing. Beer always helped, and fuck was he thirsty. He went to his fridge, opened it up, and found it packed full of cheap beer. He didn’t remember buying it. It was just always there, somehow. He thought he should be hungry too, but that didn’t seem right. He couldn’t really remember eating anything. He was too thirsty all the time to eat, after all. Beer, piss, and cum. What more could a urinal like him need, really? He popped open a can, chugged it down, grabbed another, and chugged that one too, letting off a long belch. He thought again about what was missing, but the beer had just clouded it over again. No matter–that was easier anyway. He sat down in his recliner, feeling the seat squelch under him, the stink of old piss wafting up around him. He hauled his cock free, aimed up, and pissed all over himself there in the chair, thinking about what Brett had said, how he’d treated him.

“Stupid, worthless fuckin’ urinal, fuck…” he muttered to himself, as the stream stopped, his cock hardening again in his hand. “Fuck, I’m disgustin’…nasty…sittin’ in my own fuckin’ piss…”

He stroked himself off again, and felt better. Once he got a few more beers in his belly, he got a good idea. He had the rest of the day free, after all. Didn’t have to go back to work until Monday. Plenty of truckers at the truckstop down the road. He could camp out in the bathroom, plenty of ‘em loved a hot mouth to piss in, and Keggy loved gettin’ treated like a urinal, like a fuckin’ object. Maybe that night, he’d head back to The Alley with Brett, but he’d see. Mostly, he was thirsty, and beer only sated him so much. He grabbed his keys, climbed in his truck, which was just as piss soaked as everything else Keggy owned, and drove off down the road to the truck stop to slake his thirst properly.

Evan didn’t know where he was when he woke up, at first. He was on something rather hard, for one thing. He pushed himself up, and saw that he’d fallen asleep on a carpeted floor, with a sheet of leather thrown over him for warmth. His whole body ached, but whether that was from sleeping on the floor, or from the punishments his Master had put him through, both at the bar in the dark, and at his home, once they’d left. That’s where he was, he supposed. He looked next to him, and saw a sizable bed beside him, covered in leather sheets. He needed to take a piss, but when he went to try and find the bathroom, he was stuck–his collar was chained to a hook on the wall, keeping him right next to the bed whether he wanted to or not.

“Sorry for the extra security,” a voice said, “but I didn’t want you running off again.”

Evan looked up, and saw the leatherman was looking down at him from where he was lying on his bed, still in full leather regalia–boots, hat and all. Had he slept in it? That seemed like a curious level of commitment. “I…I just need to pee, Sir.”

“Ah, right. Forget about that sometimes,” he said, reached down and unclipped the lead from the collar. “That doorway over there.”

Evan got to his feet, still in his own leather gear, much to his surprise. At some point though, his jock had disappeared. He went to the doorway, and found the bathroom. He took a piss in the toilet and then went back out into the bedroom, where Master was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Evan was feeling a little nervous now, in the light of day, in a strange home. “I…I think…I’d like to go home now, Sir,” he said.

“The man smiled, and beckoned him over to where he was sitting. “And where would home be, little cub?”

Evan knew that there had to be an answer to that question, but there wasn’t one. He couldn’t remember where he lived. There was a hole there, shaped like a house, like a job, like a person. “I’m not sure…but–”

“Did you like how I made you feel last night?” he said, running a gloved hand down Evan’s chest and belly.

Evan shuddered, and felt his cock rising, pushing against his jock. “I…I did, but…sorry, Sir, but…did you sleep in your gear last night? I…I could have undressed you, you know…”

The leatherman looked down at himself, and chuckled again. “I think you’re misunderstanding, cub. This isn’t gear–this is me,” he said, took Evan’s hand in his own gloved fingers and tugged it over, so it could rub across his jacket. “This is my skin now. I don’t really remember when it happened, or how. I love it though. Feeling you lick my boots last night, fuck, you have a real hot tongue, cub.”

“You…could feel that? I thought, but I didn’t…”

“I could. I can. I’d like to feel it again, even.”

“Wait, how is that even possible?”

Master shrugged.

“Is…do you have…a cock then? Is that why you, uh, said what you did about the bathroom?”

“Yeah–haven’t pissed in a few days. Kinda weird, but also convenient. I do have a cock though. I didn’t want to pull it out last night, I was worried it might…scare you off, but here,” he said, and with his gloved hands, he dropped the fly of his leather pants. Something pushed out, something pulsing and leathery. It was a cock, but it too, looked more like an extension of his clothing, than something that came from underneath. It was thick, and long, and drooling something off the end that wasn’t quite cum. “Go on cub, have a taste.”

Evan stared down at the strange cock, disturbed. “I…I don’t…” he looked up, and found himself caught in the man’s silvery eyes again, and he sighed.

“You love leather, don’t you cub? The feel of it on your skin,” he said, running his gloved hands down Evan’s body, watching the cub shudder at his touch. “You loved worshiping it last night, didn’t you?”

“I did, I…but…”

He got up, maintaining eye contact, and pushed Evan back, so he was lying on the bed, belly up, and then climbed on top of him, pressing his leathered body down on him, giving him as much contact as he could. It was so warm. He could feel it pulsing, it was his skin, it was alive, even if it didn’t make sense. Master’s cock was pressed against his own, his hardon throbbing. “I am leather, cub. If you want to worship leather, then worship me. Be mine. Give yourself to me. Doesn’t it feel good, just submitting? Giving in?”

He ground his leather crotch against Evan’s own cock, feeling how excited the cub was. “I…Sir…I don’t think I can hold…”

“Don’t hold back. Cum. Release all that fear, all that reluctance. Cum, and accept that your only desire is to worship me–to worship leathermen.”

Evan’s cock exploded, pumping cum between his flesh and his Master’s leather cock. He fell back, mind reeling from the sensation, from the desires coursing through him. Master worked his way up, until he was straddling Evan’s neck with his thighs. “Clean up your mess, cub, and then service me.”

“Yes Master,” Evan said, and licked his cum off his master’s leather skin, relishing how it made him shudder, and then took his cock in his mouth. The taste was leathery, but also musky, still recognizable as human. His reluctance was forgotten, his cock already hard again. Master rolled him over after a couple of minutes, and then fucked his hole with his big cock. He expected it to be a rough, uncomfortable fuck, but it wasn’t. It was heavenly, unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Eventually, Master came, flooding his guts with his strange seed, but Evan no longer cared. This was the most phenomenal experience of his life, and he wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Thank you Sir, that was amazing,” he said, when the leatherman rolled off him.

He grabbed hold of Evan and pulled him close. “It sure fucking was. Can you feel it inside you boy?”

There was an odd heat that he could sense. Evan reached around with his hand, touched his hole with one hand, and gasped. It wasn’t skin, not really. It was leather. Supple, soft leather, warm to the touch, and so, so hungry. “What…what did you do to me?”

“You’re a cute cub, but I think you’ll look better as a leatherboy, don’t you think? Gonna take a few more loads to make that happen, and you’ll need some more gear, but what do you say? Wanna go all the way? Be a leather freak like me?”

Evan nodded. “Yes Master–fuck, yes…Yes…”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the leatherman said, “Now, let’s get you properly dressed, boy.”

That night at The Alley, the leatherman and his leatherboy were quite a sight, in their full leather regalia. There were a few differences of course. The boy had a thick leather collar around his neck, and a simple leather ball cap on his head. He hadn’t yet earned the right to wear a muir cap like his Master, after all. That, and his pants. There was no fly on the front–Master decided to keep his boy in a codpiece for now–he didn’t need his cock slipping out and causing problems. That, and a zipper down the ass of his leather pants, so Master could get at his hot boy’s leather hole whenever he wanted–and he wanted it, a lot, from then on.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.17 – Establishing Residency

Jimmy woke up on something soft, but not that soft. It wasn’t asphalt, but it also wasn’t his bed at home, though as he swung his arms and legs, flailing a bit, it could tell it was at least a bed. One foot struck a wall that the bed was shoved up against, the other leg hit air, one arm knocked something off the bedside table that hit the ground with a thud, but not a crack. He was face down still, head pounding, and he rubbed his face with both hands, drilling fingers into his eyes until he saw spots, and then tried opening them again.

Not his room. Nowhere that he had ever been before, that he could remember. He rolled over on the double bed, back to the wall, and looked around for someone who might have found him and brought him here, but he was alone that he could see. There wasn’t much of anything to see, really. There was a kitchenette across from him, bare of dishes but not necessarily clean, a bathroom at one end which didn’t seem to have a door, and in the other direction, a door that he assumed led elsewhere in the apartment. He swung his feet over the side of the bed gave a stretch, and that was when he got the first inkling that something about him was off. The weight of his arms as he reached up, the smell that came from his pits, stronger and rougher than what had been his boisterous, youthful scent. He stumbled towards the bathroom, found a switch that flicked on the beauty lights, though the bulbs in only half of them functioned, and stared at his face with a dull disbelief.

It wasn’t his face. Older, certainly. At least aged into his thirties, if not a bit closer to forty. A thick beard trimmed short all over his chin and jaw, climbing high up his cheeks. A body that looked strong, though not particularly pretty or handsome. A tunic of body hair, running up his chest, over his shoulders and down his back, interrupted by a few fresh scars running across it, from the Warden’s flogger. He ran his fingers over them–that had just been the night before, hadn’t it? They felt healed over, and yet the memory was fresh, and he felt a strange stirring in his cock from the thought of it, the bite of it, remembering how good it had felt laying into the shade, and–

He pushed it away. It was too raw and too close, the emotions all threatening to overwhelm him in a place that he didn’t know, that probably wasn’t safe, in a body that wasn’t even his own. He left the bathroom, not sure how to untangle the emotions swirling in his chest. Not fear, surprisingly. Exhaustion, sure, after the night he’d just had. Horny. A little numb, like something had been pulled out of him, something he couldn’t quite name, the importance of which was only clarified by the shape and size of the hole once pulled free. He went to the other door, opened it up, expecting to find a living room, or some other part of a larger apartment, but all he found was a concrete balcony overlooking a parking lot. It was a studio apartment, more like a hotel room, really, but Jimmy had never been inside one. He’d never known someone who lived in one either. He knew of them, vaguely, like kids in the suburbs knew about “Chicago”, or “London”, places that existed but had no real bearing on their lives. Someone passing on the sidewalk looked up, saw him, gave a whistle, and headed for the stairwell–it was only then that Jimmy realized he was standing there, stark naked under the early afternoon sun. He went back into the apartment, the man knocked on the door a few times while Jimmy cowered on the bed, embarrassed and frightened and angry at himself, before the stranger gave up and left.

There were some clothes on the floor, some torn up jeans and a wifebeater. The pockets had a key–probably to the apartment, but nothing for a car. The thing that he’d knocked off the nightstand was a cell phone, though not the one he’d had. This one was substantially older, and much less functional. The wallet had some cash, no cards, and an expired driver’s license. His name was on it, his picture looked how he imagined a halfway point between his youth of yesterday and face of today might have looked. He was smirking, and Jimmy felt mocked. The address was not his home address, but after throwing on the clothes, along with some socks and beat up work boots, he left. Sure enough, the address on the ID looked to match the apartment number and location. He might live here, allegedly, but he didn’t have to stay here. He left, key phone and wallet in his pockets, and started walking.

It was a few blocks before he could orient himself with a half remembered landmark or two, and determined he was, in fact, in Pigtown. On the outskirts, he supposed, but if Pigtown were a circle, Depot was at the southern end, and his apartment was more to the east, closer to the river and the docks. He headed that way on foot, and after half an hour, pushed open the door to Marshall’s Cigar and Briar, and found Marshall and Kyle chatting with a regular.

“Hey man,” Marshall said, “First time, I–no, wait…” He looked a bit closer. “Oh. Hey Bill, I appreciate the gossip, as always, but this one will need a little attention, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing, Marshall,” the chubby regular said, chuffing away at a massive pipe he held up with one hand. He gave Jimmy a look up and down, then a wink, and slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

The three of them just looked at one another. Kyle was confused, and didn’t seem to recognize him. Marshall was apparently content to let the silence grow as long as necessary. “It’s me, Kyle. It’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy…” Kyle said, like he was trying to recall a regular at the shop, until his brain clicked over, and he realized who it was who had just come in. “Fucking–what happened to you? I just saw you a week ago for fuck’s sake! What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

Jimmy related the story of the day and night before, from filing a report at the precinct, to his dream, and encounter with the shade on the street, concluding with a toned down version of what happened down in the jail. Jimmy didn’t want that to have been something he’d done, he couldn’t yet fold that into his identity, and so he tried to shut it away, edit around the joy he’d taken in flaying that shade open over and over again, for hours. Marshall saw it anyway, but he thought Kyle might have been fooled. There was something else though, something between him and his friend that had formed in the last week since he’d last seen him here. A confidence, maybe, in Kyle’s new persona, but it was also in the way Kyle looked at him, like he was still struggling to recall him, the young men they’d both been before. He thought about how it had felt, forgetting Marlon over the week before, and wondered how much Kyle had forgotten. How much him being here had just dredged forth.

“That’s quite the tale, bud,” Marshall said, “I assume you want to know how to change back?”

“I…yeah.”

“The short answer is, you can’t. You’re a resident now, whether you like it or not. You’re stuck here, with the rest of us, like this, more or less.”

“That’s the short answer?”

“The long answer, is that you don’t have to stay like this, I suppose. Plenty of folks around here will be more than happy to give you a makeover, if you aren’t happy, myself included. The deeper you go, the more…happy they’ll be. Around Washington street, it gets thicker, a couple blocks up from The Hideaway. Guys who go past there don’t come back to these parts after a while. We’ll all make our way there, one day I suppose. Resist, don’t, it’s all up to you. It’ll be easier if you just think of it as a brand new life, and enjoy it as best you can.”

Jimmy looked over at Kyle, who was looking down at the floor. No help then, not even an acknowledgement of his feelings, his loss. He’d expected better of his friend, but then, he wasn’t quite sure Kyle was actually his friend anymore, the one he remembered. He was becoming someone else too, just as he was. Unable to bear it, he turned around and left, breathing hard, full of anxiety, and just walked. He walked south, wanting to get out, wanting to try and get away. He knew how to get home by bus, he could go see his parents, they would help, surely. But he only got a few blocks south of the precinct before the sun felt too harsh, the air too clean. The looks that the businessmen and women going about their day shot at him told him that not only did he not belong here, but that being forced to notice him, to look at him, was making their day actively worse. He tried to get on a bus, but the driver wouldn’t even let him on. He tried to call a cab, but none of them even bothered stopping. He tried walking, but took a turn down an alley, only to find himself back on a familiar street between Marshall’s and the Precinct. He really was stuck.

He was hungry. He found a cafe, ate some dinner, but that didn’t satisfy him. The cock he ended up sucking in the alley next to the cafe was more filling than that. He ended up at Depot for a while, but the bustling youth turned him off. This wasn’t his scene anymore. Depot, he realized, was bait. A honeypot for the district to suck men in–the younger the better. Others hovered around it and inside it, looking for men in moments of weakness so they could swoop in and have their way with them. He left, not interested in feeling like a predator. He walked more, saw the bar that Marshall had mentioned, the Hideaway, and decided it was better than nothing.

He didn’t remember much of what happened inside there. It had been pleasurable, not as pleasurable as his night in the jail, but pleasurable all the same. He awoke in the same position, in the same double bed, alone, in his new apartment. This, then, is all there is for him. He thought about getting up, but couldn’t face it. He stared at the ceiling, the patterns of mold there looking more and more like the silhouettes of cocks, until the need and the hunger drove him out again, into the evening, for more debauchery. This was it then. This was it.

END OF PART THREE

The Haunting of Jason Camwell

So, this is the story that was too much for Patreon to handle, so no surprise to anyone, it’s pretty extreme. Content warnings include: extreme humiliation, incest, dubious consent, rape, scat, and castration. Consider yourself warned if you read any further!

Part 1 – Ghostly Gaslighting

Jason Camwell woke up with a start, the crunch of metal and the sound of the explosion fresh in his mind from the dream–the same dream he’d had for a couple nights now, ever since the weekend. It had been an accident. It was the Thursday of Spring Break, and he’d left the week long party the wrestling team had thrown for themselves at a cabin up in the woods. Jason had been drinking too much, but he’d gotten a real horny text from Amanda, his ex who was back on campus and clearly horny. He figured he’d spend a couple days fucking her before having to go back to school on Monday. He’d left the cabin, been driving down the mountain, when he’d gotten stuck behind a biker who was going rather slow down the steep and winding road, with a sizable ravine to their left. Jason had gotten impatient, gone to pass him on the right, only to misjudge a rather sharp turn that was coming up. It happened incredibly fast. He knocked up against the bike, the fellow had lost control, slammed into the barrier on the corner, and both he and the bike had flipped over into the darkness. As Jason kept driving, horrified but not willing to stop and check, he heard that crunch, and that explosion, but no one had seen him.

That was two days ago now, and so far, Jason had heard nothing about any of it. He’d hooked up at Amanda’s place like nothing was wrong, but that hadn’t been much of a distraction, so he’d come back to the house he shared with one other guy, named Harold, to chill out and decompress before classes resumed. He of course hadn’t bothered filing a report or admitting what he’d seen. Jason had a future after all. He was a senior in college getting ready to graduate, and while he wasn’t exactly the best player on the team, his father was quite wealthy and worked at the school as the dean of athletics. Before that though, he’d worked with several major league football teams, and had used his connections to secure his son a cushy position as a team’s psychologist. He’d be a millionaire in a few years, and wouldn’t have to risk a bunch of brain damage to get there. That biker was probably just some stupid fucking mountain hick, probably drunk himself. If he’d just gotten out of the way sooner, or slowed down before the turn, none of it would have happened like that. Really, it had been the biker’s fault, he’d told himself, but that didn’t make the guilt go away entirely. He sat up in bed, and for a split second, he was certain he saw someone in the room with him–an older fellow, rather grizzled with a long beard, wearing biker leathers and heavily muscled, his eyes just these two hollow pits of anger–but when he turned on the light, he was gone. Just his head playing tricks on him, he was sure, but that didn’t make getting back to sleep that night any easier. He did manage eventually, but he was exhausted when he woke up Monday morning, and he couldn’t seem to shake the sensation that he was being watched.

He went out into the main room of the house, where Harold was already up and drinking his morning coffee at the table, reading the news on his tablet. Harold was, as far as Jason was concerned, a beta, and a faggot, though he knew he couldn’t use those sorts of words around the college–too much cancel culture these days. They were both psychology majors, but beyond that, they didn’t share much in the way of similarities. While Jason was focused on sports psychology, Harold was pursuing a degree in neuroscience, and so he was constantly swamped with insanely difficult classes, spending almost all of his time in his room studying. Jason didn’t see why he even bothered–he’d just end up stuck in some boring, poorly paid academic position, saddled with student debt for the rest of his life. Some guys just didn’t understand how to live, he supposed. He was sure that Harold felt similarly about him in his own way. They weren’t living together out of mutual respect, after all. Jason’s rich parents provided him a stipend for living expenses, which included rent, but he had more cash to party if he didn’t have to pay the whole thing himself. He didn’t want his house to become the party house though–that’s what the frat houses on campus were for, after all. So he opted to rent a room to Harold, a boring, but quiet square, rather than one of his hard partying buddies.

Jason put together his protein shake, when Harold let out a low whistle over his morning cup of coffee. “That’s brutal,” Harold said.

“What?” Jason asked.

“Accident up on one of the mountain highways. Some biker jumped the rail and fell five hundred feet into some ravine. They’re just now hauling up the wreckage.”

Jason’s heart caught in his throat, but he didn’t dare ask Harold for details, worried he might give himself away. He pulled up his own phone, found the article and read through it himself, but heaved a sigh of relief at the end. As far as he could tell, the highway patrol were considering it to be a simple matter of the biker losing control and shooting off the road–there was no evidence of anyone else being involved. His own car had a decent scratch on it, but he drove a cheap beater car out here anyway–his nice car was back home safe with his parents. He was going to be fine, it looked like, and that was enough to make him feel better. He finished his protein shake, got dressed for the gym, with his clothes for class tucked in his gym bag, and left the apartment. As he shut the door, he once again saw that strange figure from before though, that biker standing in the living room, behind Harold, was still sitting at the table, standing and staring right at Jason as he left, nothing but malice in his eyes. Jason refused to acknowledge it, though he considered opening the door again to look, but it had to be an illusion. He knew all about the behaviors of the guilty mind, enough to know how to control himself in this situation at the very least. He wasn’t about to have his final stretch of school ruined by a mistake like this. No one would miss that redneck piece of shit. He didn’t have a future, not like Jason did.

So Jason went about his day, starting out at the gym, working on his chest and shoulders, relaxing in the sauna for a few minutes, and then changing and making his way to class. This semester’s load was light, with just a capstone class and his thesis credit. Even his thesis was almost done–he’d wrapped up the research in the fall using the wrestling and football teams, phoning in some analysis on the effect exercise had on mood–there were tons of other studies like it out there, but he didn’t care about originality. He just wanted to get the degree and get on with his career. By the time he was finished with class, it was time for lunch. He met up with some of his jock friends, listened to how the rest of the party had gone up in the cabin, and Jason expected to feel a measure of guilt again, but now that he was ready for it, he could compartmentalize it, and drive it away well enough. He faked a story well enough, going down the mountain without incident, hooking up with Amanda but breaking it off because she was getting too “serious” again, and then chilling out at home for the rest of the weekend. It was so banal he could almost believe it. He needed to believe it, really. It was the only story that made sense, after all. One of his friends mentioned driving back and seeing all of the emergency vehicles around the accident, but Jason pretended it was the first he’d heard of it. They all agreed that it was probably just some loser redneck that the world was better off without anyway. No real loss, no real reason to even think about it ever again. That was the healthy thing to do, the right thing to do, too.

He needed to get some work done on the final draft of his thesis, so he could be ready to discuss it with his advisor at the end of the week, ahead of his presentation that was scheduled for early May. After that, it would be smooth sailing until graduation, and he wouldn’t even have to think about this place again, at least until he needed to come back for a feature in the alumni magazine. All in all, everything had turned around nicely, and he felt almost back to his usual, cocky self by the time he got home. He was even thinking about calling up Amanda and asking for another go–sexually at least–when he opened the front door to the house, and was confronted by a scene he did not expect at all.

The front door to the house opened right up onto the living room, with the kitchen straight back, and a stairwell leading up to the bedrooms to the left. But there on the couch was Harold, naked, legs spread, with another guy between his legs, Harold’s whole cock down the man’s throat. The two of them had lived together for most of a year, and not once, had Jason witnessed anything sexual from Harold that entire time. He’d never brought a guy home, never mentioned going to see a boyfriend or even going out to hookup with someone. Jason had wondered, at times, if the guy even masturbated at all. He’d always assumed that fags were sex obsessed little freaks, and while he was relieved Harold didnt’ fit that mold, it also weirded him out that he could somehow be so singlemindedly obsessed with his studies. Had he just been having guys over while Jason was out of the house this whole time?

“Hey Jason,” Harold said, putting one hand on the back of the cocksucker’s head, motioning for him to keep sucking, while he spoke, “How was the morning? You’re back a bit earlier than you usually are on Mondays–everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh…could you uh, take this up to your room or something?” Jason said, trying to keep himself from saying something particularly foul, just for the sake of decorum. Really though, he was disgusted. He sat on that couch! He’d had sex with Amanda on that couch! And this faggot had been, what having random guys come over and have sex right there this whole time. One thing was for sure, they were going to be having a long discussion about it once this fucker was gone.

“What do you mean? You never mind when I have a guy over usually.” Harold said, “Come on, sit down–oh wait, before you do, get me a beer, would you?”

That, it turned out, was the last straw. Having sex in front of him, in the common areas of the house was one thing, but this little faggot telling him to bring him a fucking beer–that was enough. “No–either take it to your fucking room, or he needs to get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to watch any of that faggot shit!”

The guy sucking Harold’s cock pulled up, turned around, and Jason’s jaw dropped. This wasn’t just anyone sucking Harold off–it was Ricky, another member of the wrestlingl team, who Jason knew was straight as could be. “What the fuck Jason, don’t use that fucking word, that’s fucking shitty!”

“Ricky, what–” Jason said, “You have a fucking girlfriend! What the fuck are you doing sucking this fucker’s cock!”

“Calm the fuck down Jason,” Ricky said, “Emily and I are open, and we’re both bisexual. Sometimes you just get a hankering for cock, you know? It’s not a big deal, I don’t know why you’re being so dramatic.”

“He’s always like this,” Harold said, as Ricky went back to sucking Harold’s cock, “This is why I never wanted him to find out, you know. He’s always asking about it, always wants tips on his ‘technique’ from me, since he’s a little insecure about his own abilities, if you know what I mean. I’ve always told him that the best way to learn is to watch, but he always freaks out like this when I suggest it.”

“Ugh, I know, he does that with all of us too,” Ricky said, taking a moment to stroke Harold’s cock with his hand, “Always wants to compare how we fuck on the team, trying to get the weirdest details out of us. He’s seen us all naked, but he seems to think about how we all fuck a lot more than a normal guy would, you know?”

“I’m right fucking here, and I do not fucking ask about that shit Ricky!” Jason shouted.

“No need to get so fucking defensive man, fuck, this is why no one likes you, you know, you can never just chill out and have a good time.”

“I…I can be chill, I just…don’t want a couple of…gay guys having sex in front of me, that’s not strange.”

Harold rolled his eyes, and Ricky muffled his somewhat derisive laugh by going back to sucking on Harold’s cock. “Whatever you say man,” Harold said.

Jason fumed on the way to the kitchen, grabbed three beers out of the fridge, and brought them back to the living room. Fuck those two. He could be chill. It wasn’t a big deal, it was just sex. So what if he asked some questions on occasion, he was just curious! He thought that was a normal guy thing. “Here,” he said, and handed Harold a beer, and opened one up for himself, drinking half of it down to get a headstart on his buzz. “I don’t fucking care if you guys fuck in front of me,” Jason said, “You just surprised me is all.”

“Sure, sure,” Harold said, the mockery and doubt well apparent in his voice, popped the top on his own beer, and took a sip, “Whatever you say, Jason.”

Jason reached for the remote and turned on the TV, starting up whatever he could find on Netflix as a distraction, but found himself looking over at Harold anyway. There was something off about him, something that seemed different from this morning, but it was difficult to pin down what it was exactly. “When did you start growing your beard out?” Jason asked.

“What are you talking about, I’ve had a beard all year long,” Harold said, “are you doing alright, Jason?”

“Yeah, yeah, I…don’t know, just thought it was thinner before, or you had shaved it off.”

“Nope, always had it.”

Jason swore he was lying, that Jason had been clean shaven that morning. He’d seen him step out of the bathroom too, with just a bath towel around his waist, and knew he hadn’t had that much body hair, and that tattoo on his arm was new too. He opened his mouth to ask about those, but hesitated, thinking he’d just seem a bit crazy to keep asking about it. But what other explanation was there? None of it made much sense at all, but how could he possibly explain his housemate growing a beard, body hair, and getting a tattoo in a matter of hours, while still managing to plan a hookup with a wrestler that Jason still swore had been totally straight.

“That’s enough of that,” Harold said after another few minutes, “I wanna fuck that hole of yours.”

“Hell yeah, get in me big boy,” Ricky said, stood up and bent over the side of the couch. It was the first good look that Jason had gotten of Harold’s cock, and Ricky wasn’t wrong–it wasn’t quite as large as Jason’s own, but it was a good sized dick. “I’ll just leave you to it,” Jason said, “I need to get some work done in my room.”

“Come on Jason, stick around!” Harold said, “I thought you wanted to pick up some good pointers. You just told me that Amanda had been asking you about anal, and you chickened out. Why don’t you watch how the guys do it?”

“I didn’t tell you that! That’s–I’m not interested, alright?”

“He’s fucking embarrased,” Ricky said, shaking his head. “Dude, it’s 2021, guys fuck, alright? Stop making it a big deal!”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“Then sit down and watch, learn a thing or two,” Harold said.

Jason didn’t really want to, but he was a bit curious, in all honesty. Harold lubed up his cock, ran it up and down Ricky’s crack, and the big wrestler shuddered and let out a little moan each time Harold’s cock caught on his hole for a moment, before sliding up his crack again. “Fuck Harold, just get inside me, I need it,” Ricky moaned.

Harold gave a little smirk, lined the head of his cock up, and pushed it inside, Ricky giving a little moan, Harold feeding his ass an inch at a time until he was completely inside him, before pulling back out and building up to a steady rhythm. Jason was mesmerized by it, he’d never seen a woman show as much pleasure when he was fucking them as Ricky was showing from Harold’s cock. Was he…not as good as he’d thought? He shook his head, not quite willing to challenge his own self-confidence just yet–the two fags were clearly showing off for him. His thoughts began to wander though, as he watched Harold pound Ricky’s ass harder and harder, the wrestler’s moans growing louder and louder. He seemed to really be enjoying it, but it couldn’t feel that good. Or maybe it would feel good, getting…fucked like that, having some guy just bend you over and use you like–

“Fuck, the straight boy popped a fucking boner!” Ricky said, pointing over at Jason’s pants, which sure enough, were sporting a big tent.

Both of them just laughed uproariously at it, and horrified, Jason stood up, and retreated up the stairs to his room, but not before he heard Ricky said, “Fuck just wait until I tell the team about this, they’re all gonna bust a fucking gut. What a fucking pervert.”

Alone in his room, Jason couldn’t figure out what had gotten into him, but he also couldn’t quite stop thinking about it,wondering if it would feel good, wondering…he shook his head, tried to will his cock flaccid again, but it refused to go down. He shook his head, looked up, and there, again, in his room was the vision–the biker staring at him, just for a moment, a mischievous and cruel look in his eye, and then the shadow was gone again–and Jason looked down, saw his cock in his hand–no, not his cock.

A dildo. He was holding a dildo, and his pants were down around his ankles. He stepped out of them, went the chair by his computer, squirted some lube onto the rubber shaft, unable to believe he was really going to do this. But he’d done this before, of course. Fuck, watching Harold fuck Ricky, or whoever else he had over on any given afternoon, always got him thinking about how much he needed to get fucked. But not…but someone. No, he was too embarrassed for that. It was just experimentation. It wasn’t his fault it felt so good, that he could only seem to get hard to fuck a girl when she would reach around, slide a finger in his hole nice and deep…

He sat down on the dildo, stifling his own moan, still listening to Ricky below, feeling horny and confused, and reflected in the computer monitor, behind him, was that same vision, but again, just for a moment. “Just my imagination, just my fucking imagination…” he muttered, sliding down onto his own dildo, listening to Ricky down below as he got louder, Harold too, and when he heard the two of them finish, he did too, shooting a massive load of cum all over the carpet under his desk. Feeling better, he sat back, the dildo still buried deep inside him, and got to work revising his thesis.

Downstairs, Harold and Ricky settled back down on the couch for a little cuddle and kiss session–but Harold couldn’t stop smiling. When Ricky asked why, he said, “Just thinking about a joke I heard earlier, nothing big–I’ll tell you later.”

“Sure thing stud,” Ricky said, “but I have to get to class.”

“Yeah, me too–might as well leave the pervert to his own devices for a while,” Harold said.

“Fuck, I thought he was so cool when I first met him, but he’s just such a weirdo. He clearly wants to get fucked, but doesn’t have the guts to just say it.”

“You should see his dildo collection.”

“No fucking way.”

“God’s honest truth, fucker has like ten of them up there. Claims he’s straight, but fuck if he doesn’t ride one of those every night. Heard Amanda broke up with him because she got sick of always having to be the one with the dick.”

“I don’t know how you live with him, Harold,” Ricky said, giving him a kiss, “I’d go crazy.”

Harold laughed again, and the two of them left the house together, while Jason kept rocking back and forth on his dildo, still wondering what on Earth had gotten into Harold today. He seemed like a different person, almost. Oh well, it wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. He took a break to check his social pages, and saw a message from Evan, another wrestler, asking him if he was still coming to the team poker game tomorrow evening.

“Won’t miss it for anything,” he texted back, and then got back to work.

Chapter 2 – Stripping Away His Dignity

Jason’s teammate Evan was a bit of a gambler, perhaps even an addict, but he was lucky enough to generally stay lucky and flush with cash, or maybe he was just draining his wealthy parents without telling anyone. He usually went to the casinos on the weekends, but that didn’t always scratch the itch he felt, and so he liked to arrange a weekly poker night for the wrestling team and his other friends on Tuesday evenings. It was rarely the same group each week, but Jason had become more or less a regular ever since breaking up with Amanda, when he’d needed something else to fill what had been their regular date night. Evan’s place was just a few blocks over, which he split with a few other students at the college, none of whom shared Evan’s interest in gambling. Jason went around the side of the garage, where a door was propped open, the smell of weed and cigars already thicker than usual. He stepped inside, and saw he was the last one to arrive, judging by the lone empty chair. There was Evan and Will, another player on the wrestling team. Then Ricky, who Jason couldn’t quite manage to make eye contact with after the day before. There was one last person at the table, sitting away from him, that he didn’t recognize right away. The fellow was wearing a leather jacket with short cropped hair and a decent beard, smoking a cigar. When Jason came around to the chair beside him, he realized it was Harold.

He had done his best to avoid his housemate since the incident on Monday evening, and had been more or less successful. The two of them had shared the kitchen for a moment that morning without speaking to one another, before Harold had gone to the science building to work on a laboratory project, and Jason had gone off to the gym, and then class. That afternoon, Harold hadn’t been home at all, which gave Jason a chance to ride one of his dildos in private and jack off, so he could blow off a bit of steam before the poker game that evening. But now, here he was of all places. He hadn’t even known that Evan and Harold knew each other, but as Jason took a seat, the two of them were discussing something technical–Evan’s major was in computer science. Ricky was listening, though not really adding much, and Will, another tech guy, was chiming in on occasion. Jason just listened for a moment, and looked Harold up and down, figuring he must have gone for a haircut that afternoon, and a wardrobe change, and…well, he just seemed different again, in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

The hair was easy to explain, as was the leather jacket. At least those things could change over the course of a day. The jacket did look rather old and well worn–he’d probably picked it up from a vintage shop–and Harold had never cut his hair this short before–which didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it, Jason supposed. But what about the beard? He’d seemed scruffy on Monday afternoon, but the beard he was sporting now was much more than should have been possible to grow in a day. Was it fake? That didn’t make sense. Before he could think of a good way to ask about it, Evan picked up the deck and dealt the first hand, and the game had begun.

They played five card draw, and through the first few rounds, Evan, Harold, and Will kept up their rather technical discussion. Jason tried to track it for a while, but just found it deeply confusing and uninteresting. He tried a few times to shift the topic to sports, or summer plans, and Harold would tolerate the new topic for a moment, before moving right back into the same discussion as before. Mostly it made Jason feel stupid–and he hated feeling stupid. Finally, he said, “Can we save the school shit for school? You’re all putting me to sleep.”

The other four just stared at him–and the stares were not particularly kind. He couldn’t think of any time that Evan or Will had looked at him with such disdain. Ricky he could, of course. It was the same look of disgust he’d seen on his face the night before, and Harold just looked cool and cocky–which made Jason seethe even more. “Jason, just because you can’t keep up doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t enjoying the conversation,” Evan said, “Maybe if you listened a little closer, you’d understand it. None of this is that difficult.”

“I thought we were here to play poker,” Jason said.

Will said, “I mean, it’s just five card draw, we can play and talk at the same time–or at least some of us can. If you’re struggling, why don’t you just focus on the game, Jason? You don’t seem to be doing very well tonight.”

It was true–of the first six hands or so, he’d only won once, while Harold was proving to be quite adept.

“Well, why don’t we make the game more interesting at least,” Harold said, “Why not play strip poker? Losers gotta give one of the guys still in the game a blowjob.”

“What? What kind of faggot shit is that?” Jason said.

“Hey, don’t use that kind of language here man, that’s not cool,” Ricky said, “Besides, I know at least three of us here get up to some kinds of faggot shit, you know…”

Jason paused, and looked from Harold to Ricky. Had Harold said something to him about his dildos? That wasn’t gay–some straight guys just liked having their ass played with, there was nothing wrong with that.

Harold added, “Jason’s just a little embarrassed guys. There’s another reason he doesn’t want you all to see him with his clothes off, is all.”

Everyone looked over at Harold, and then over at Jason, whose cheeks burned. “I have no idea what he’s even talking about.”

Harold just laughed. Ricky smirked, looking like he had a few ideas, but still, Jason had no clue what any of them were even talking about. Harold took another drag off his cigar, and pushed out a clean smoke ring into the air. “Only way you all will find out is if we play.”

“Alright, let’s vote on it then,” Evan said, “All in favor, raise your hands.”

Everyone raised theirs except for Jason, who just sat there with his arms crossed. “Fuck you all, I’m not playing some faggy shit like this. I’m out of here,” he said, stood up, but when he turned to the door, he saw someone standing there, the same vision or figment that had been appearing to him for the last few days, and his head started to swim. He sat down, and Evan dealt out a hand, like no one had even heard Jason’s objection. The rules were relatively simple. If you folded, you had to pay five bucks into the pot, which the eventual winner would collect. If you stayed in the hand to the end of the hand and lost, you had to lose a piece of clothing. Furthermore, the winner also could force someone who folded to take something off, so even if you folded for the entire game, you were still going to end up naked eventually. It became rather clear that the other four players were all more than happy to conspire with Harold to see Jason naked. It didn’t matter who won a hand–if Jason folded, they would always force him to pull something off. Thankfully the evening had been a bit chilly walking over, and so he had on a few layers plus a hat, while the rest of them were dressed a bit more lightly. He started staying in every round, figuring he’d lose something regardless, and managed to hang in pretty well–but no matter how well he tried to bluff, Harold always seemed to know if he had a hand that could beat Jason’s. It was almost like someone was looking over Jason’s shoulder, feeding him information.

Ricky, who hadn’t been wearing that much to begin with, lost first. With a little shrug, he got down under the table, and a moment later, Jason felt someone spread his legs apart, and he jumped out of his chair. “What the fuck are you doing!” he said.

“Those are the rules, gotta give someone a blowjob,” Ricky said, smirking up at him, “What, can’t get it up right now without some…assistance?”

Jason’s face went beet red, but he didn’t want to feed the suspicions. So then Harold knew about his little pegging obsession, he supposed, and must have told Ricky about it. Is that the secret that Harold was talking about? It wasn’t like he’d shown up with a dildo in his ass or anything like that. “Go suck off someone else, I’m not into dudes.”

Ricky shrugged, moved over between Harold’s legs, and started sucking him off instead, which Harold made a big show of enjoying. Jason tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, but when he looked over at Evan and Will, his two friends had their hands at their crotches, groping themselves and watching the scene. “What the hell, are you two getting off on this?”

“It’s just a blowjob, Jason, calm the fuck down,” Will said.

“When did you become such a wet blanket anyway,” Evan added, “I thought you’d be cooler with this.”

“It’s fuckin’ weird, you know, for a bunch of straight guys to start blowing each other during a poker game.”

“I’m not straight,” Evan said, and looked over at Will, who also shook his head. “Ricky, Will and I are all bi–I thought you knew that. Harold’s gay of course. I think the only ‘straight’ one here is you, Jason.”

Jason knew that was a lie, but before he could challenge it, Harold moaned, and filled Ricky’s mouth with a load of cum. Ricky, still naked, sat back up in his chair licking his lips, and the game continued. Jason was down to one sock and his briefs, Evan and Will had four articles left, and Harold lost the next round, peeling off his shirt, revealing a much hairier chest than he’d had the day before. Again, Jason thought about asking how he’d gone from smooth to hairy in less than twenty-four hours, but didn’t. He figured he’d just get a bunch of eyerolls anyway, and Harold would just say he’d never paid very good attention before. In any case, Jason was on a bit of a streak, and managed to whittle Harold down to just his underwear and socks, and Will down to nothing. Without much ado, he got down under the table, and again, Jason felt two hands on his thighs, a face going for his crotch, and he leapt up from the table, while the rest of the guys laughed harder than the first time. “It’s not fucking funny!” Jason said, “You’re all fucking weird assholes tonight, what the fuck’s gotten into you?”

“Into us? I thought you were cool enough to enjoy a blowjob from a bro, but you’re such a fucking cringe loser you can’t even handle that,” Will said.

The rest of the guys laughed more, and Will moved on, sucking Evan off instead and the game resumed. Jason’s luck finally ran out–Harold took the next hand, Jason had to give up his sock, and then took the next hand as well, ordering Jason to take off his briefs. He was going to refuse, throw his clothes back on and storm out, but before he could, he again saw the figure standing behind Harold, one hand on his housemate’s shoulder, and the next thing Jason knew, his briefs were down around his knees, and the rest of the guys were all cackling madly.

“What the fuck–is that a fucking chastity cage?”

“No fucking way, no wonder he didn’t want any of us to give him a blowjob.”

“God, what a fucking weirdo.”

Jason looked down, and sure enough, he had one remaining piece of gear on, under his briefs. There, around his cock, was a metal cage with a little padlock keeping it on, keeping him from getting erect. He reached down and tried to pull it off in embarrassment, but it refused to budge. “I…I don’t fucking know how that got there,” he said.

“Don’t play dumb, Jason,” Harold said then turned to the other three guys, “I locked up his cock because I kept finding all of these cumstains around the house. Dude gets so fucking horny all the time, he’s just been fucking himself on his dildos all day long, everywhere. He just shoots and lets the cum dry where it lands. So I hid all of his dildos until he agreed that I could lock up his cock. Besides, we all know that he really gets off on having his ass worked over anyway.”

“That’s not–I don’t fucking do that!”

“It’s true, you should have seen him yesterday,” Ricky said. “He was so fucking jealous that Harold was fucking me, that he got all uptight, even though he was standing there with a plug in like always. He just stormed off upstairs and we could hear him moaning all evening long, and when I went upstairs, there was a load of cum drying on the steps, where he must have been watching us from above, the fucking pervert.”

Evan and Will just laughed harder, and Jason choked back the urge to cry, or scream, or choke Harold until he was dead. He turned away from them all instead, trying to get control of himself, and they laughed harder when they saw the buttplug he had in his hole as well, which he hadn’t even noticed putting in earlier.

“Holy shit, that thing is thick! All this talk about how straight he is, and he’s got his cock locked up and fat fucking plugs in his ass. What a lying fucking pig,” Evan said.

“Come on, Pervert, you lost, it’s time to pay up,” Will said. “Since the two guys still in have gotten sucked off, that means it’s my turn.”

“I’m not fucking sucking any of you fucks off, you’re all fucking assholes,” Jason said.

“We’re fucking assholes?” Will said, “You’re the one standing there with your cock locked up and a huge fucking plug in your ass, trying to act all high and mighty. What the fuck is even wrong with you?”

“If you aren’t going to fucking play by the rules, then get the fuck out of here,” Evan said, “I only fucking invited you because Harold said it would be funny anyway, but we’ve all had our fucking laugh, so get going already, you’re fucking pathetic.”

Jason went to gather up his clothes, only for Harold to reach out and grab hold of his wrist. “Now, now, I don’t think that’s very fair. The pervert lost fair and square, so he needs to pay the price, and if he’s not going to pay it with his mouth, then I have another idea.” Harold stood up, and with more strength than Jason expected, he bent him over the table, and shoved Jason’s face into the pile of clothes in the center, while he grabbed hold of the plug in Jason’s ass and hauled it out of him. “You’re always talking about how much you miss having Amanda peg your hole, and I’m fucking sick of it. I think it’s time you had a taste of the real thing, don’t you think so guys?”

Jason tried to object, as the other three all laughed and cheered. He looked back, saw that Harold had already pushed his pants down, and there was his housemate’s cock–even larger than it had been the day before, larger than Jason’s was now, if he could have even gotten erect in the cage he wore now. He struggled and cursed, only for Will and Ricky to grab hold of his wrists, while Harold lined up the head of his cock with Jason’s hole, and slid right in.

“No! Fucking stop!” Jason said, only for Evan to grab hold of Ricky’s jockstrap, still fresh from working out in the gym that afternoon, and shoved it in his mouth. “Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ pig, we all know you want this.”

“Fuck, look at how much the pervert’s cock is dribbling out, gonna be a fucking puddle on the floor by the time we’re finished here.”

“Maybe we should make him lick it up, that’ll show him to stop making messes everywhere he goes.”

Jason kept struggling, but it was no use–Harold was getting close, and shot his second load of the night deep into Jason’s hole, pulled out, and Evan slid right in without missing a beat. Harold, still horny and still hard, walked around, pulled Ricky’s ass up, and started fucking him, Ricky moaning in delight, eager for another round with Harold’s cock. At some point, Jason stopped struggling, and just let it happen, hoping that it would all be over soon. Evan came inside him after a few minutes, and then he and Will switched. Will came in Jason’s sloppy hole around the time Harold shot for the third time, filling up Ricky with a load at both ends that evening, and then Ricky, horny after getting another fuck, took the final turn with Jason’s hole. It was loose by then, and Ricky complained about it, wishing it was tighter, but he came as well, and then Harold shoved the plug back into Jason’s ass. “See I told you bringing the perv along wouldn’t be all bad,” Harold said.

“It was fun I guess, watching him squirm a bit, but I don’t think I need the loser in my house anymore,” Evan said, “Time for the pig to take his walk of shame!”

Laughing, the four guys hauled Jason upright, and shoved him out of the door on the side of the garage, naked aside from his plugged home and caged cock. Mercifully, Harold opened the door and tossed Jason’s keys, wallet and phone out to him, which he scrambled to pick up. He pounded on the door, begging them to let him back in, or at least to give him his clothes, but they all just ignored him. Jason didn’t have a choice, other than to sprint home as quickly as he could, ducking for cover behind bushes when he needed to, and thankfully, managed to get home without incident. Humiliated, sweaty, ass aching, he sat down on the couch and cried, horrified at what Harold had done to him, what all of his friends had done to him. What had even gotten into all of them? They weren’t behaving like themselves at all. Sure, they could all be bullies on occasion, but not to each other, and even then, they weren’t usually that mean spirited, even towards guys they hated, like Harold.

Then again, the guys didn’t seem to hate Harold anymore. If anyone around that table had been hated, it seemed to be Jason, now. They’d raped him, all of them had just gangbanged him, and then shoved him out naked into the street. The more he thought about it though, the less angry he was, and the hornier he found himself getting, the cage became tighter and tighter. He went upstairs just wanting to take a cold shower and put all of it behind him, but before he did, he realized that he really had just been raped, and if he cleaned himself now, he’d get rid of all the evidence. As disgusted as he was, he had all of their cum swilling around in his ass right now, he could get them all thrown in prison for what they’d just done to him.

He went to his room, threw on some sweatpants, and went back downstairs. He wasn’t going to let them get away with that, he couldn’t. He didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t know what had gotten into Harold, but he did know that he’d just been raped, and for that, there had to be consequences. As he went to the front door, though, the vision again appeared before him, eyes searing, and froze him in his tracks.

It couldn’t be, could it?

Ghosts didn’t fucking exist.

But why did he keep seeing this thing everywhere? Was it just a manifestation of his own guilt, or was something haunting him, or cursing him? He thought about how Harold had seemed to know what everyone was holding during the poker game, how things had kept changing, bit by bit over the last couple of days, with no one believing him. The guilt welled up, but he shoved it back down. No–it wasn’t anything like that, there was no ghosts, just one dead redneck and a group of asshole rapists that he was going to send to prison. He stepped through the vision, who offered no resistance, got dressed in some clothes, and dialed 911. This insanity was going to stop, right now, and whatever games Harold was playing with him, he was going to get to the bottom of it, tonight.

Chapter 3 – Bearing False Witness

Jason sat on the couch by the window, looking out and waiting for help to arrive. He’d made the 911 call, and the dispatcher had told him a patrol car would be dispatched to his residence to talk to him about what had happened to him. He had thrown on some clothes upstairs, and was fidgeting, now wondering what would happen if Harold got home before the cops arrived.

There was something going on, something having to do with Harold. He didn’t know how he knew it, or what exactly it was that he could sense, but it was off. There was the fact that every time he’d seen him over the last few days, he’d looked just a little bit off–the hair, the clothes, the demeanor. Then, there was the way everyone else acted around him. Jason had always had a natural charisma, a way with people. He’d never had a hard time making friends, never had to struggle to fit in. He just always knew how to get people to like him. But now, whenever Harold was around, it was just the opposite. Everyone liked Harold now, and Jason was cast aside, and treated like nobody. Or worse than nobody, as a pervert, as a buzzkill, as a loser. That’s what hurt the most, actually. Not the rape itself, but the fact that it had been his friends, or guys he’d thought were his friends. They’d turned on him at the mere suggestion from Harold, raped him and been gleeful about it, then gone on to have sex with each other too. Hypnosis, some weird neuroscience mind control, it didn’t matter what it was. This was all Harold’s fault, and Jason would expose him one way or another. Jason didn’t know how powerful Harold’s control was though–could he control a police officer, or anyone else he wanted? The cruiser pulled up in front of the house, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t tell them about it–he would sound crazy, but he had the evidence of the rape right in his ass. Harold’s control didn’t seem as complete over him, and that might be the one thing that would stop whatever plot was going on.

The officer’s came up to the door, and Jason opened it up for them as they approached. “Are you Jason Billings?” One of them asked.

Jason nodded.

“I’m Officer Mattis, and this is Officer Pike.” Mattis looked to be a bit older, probably in his mid 40’s and looked to be eating a few too many doughnuts around the precinct. Pike was younger, and more in shape than his partner, with a cleaner haircut and some tattoos on his arms. “Dispatch said you had a rape to report?”

“Yeah–I was raped tonight.”

The two officers looked at Jason, then at each other, and he could tell what they were thinking. Jason was a sizable guy after all–he didn’t look like the sort who could be forced into sex against his will. Mattis shrugged, “Alright, we need to interview you to file the report. Are the assailants here now?”

“No…it happened at a party tonight. One of them is my housemate though, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Well, if he comes home, we’ll figure it out then.”

The two officers stepped into the living room and took a seat on the couch, while Jason sat in an armchair across from them. Mattis pulled out an audio recorder and set it on the table in front of them, while Pike took out a little notebook and a pen to take notes. They started simply, asking Jason some basic information, and asking him to name the assailants. He did, and once they’d taken that information down, they asked him what had happened. Jason recounted the story of the poker game, or at least, most of it. He told them about how his friends had been acting a bit strange, especially Harold, who had suggested that they switch the game to strip poker. Jason had felt pressured to play along, though he hadn’t wanted to. Mattis interrupted him then, and asked him why, if he’d felt uncomfortable, he didn’t just leave then and there. Jason was caught off guard by the idea, and scrambled for an explanation, saying that he didn’t have a problem getting naked, but what had happened after that was way beyond a simple game.

He continued the story, massaging the truth here and there. He didn’t tell them about the blowjob part of the game right away, saying that Harold had added that in only after Ricky had lost. Ricky had tried to suck him off, and Jason had said no, so he’d sucked off someone else in the circle instead. He saw Pike cock an eyebrow up and exchange a glance with Mattis–that was enough for Jason to pause in his story, wondering what they were thinking. He felt the need to justify it somehow, explain how strange it had been, but now that he was saying it out loud, he couldn’t help but see why they were incredulous. It was a strange story, even he could admit that, but it was the truth. So he skipped ahead a bit to the more important part. He told the two cops that he’d lost, his friends had tried to make him suck them off, and when he’d refused, they’d held him down on the table and each fucked his ass in turn. That seemed to catch the officers’ attention, though it was clear that the two of them were still a bit skeptical. Jason had neglected to mention the cock cage and the buttplug that had appeared on him when he’d removed his underwear, and it was then that he realized he had made a terrible mistake–he was still wearing them both. He hadn’t even thought about removing the buttplug–if anything, he had rationalized it as useful for holding in the ‘evidence’ from the scene earlier. As for the cage, what would these two officers think if they told him to take his clothes off to inspect him or something like that? Sure, just because he was wearing it, didn’t mean that he hadn’t been raped, but it also didn’t really help his credibility. He kept his composure as best he could, and finished his story, how he’d streaked home, called the police, and brought it back to the present.

“Have you showered since you got home, before we arrived?” Pike asked him.

“I almost did, but realized it might be, well, evidence.”

“Yeah, look, you’re story is suspect, but honestly, if we can get a solid rape kit from you down at the hospital, then the story doesn’t matter so much. I believe you, it’s just, well, hard to imagine your friends treating you like that.”

“I…yeah, I don’t know how to explain that part. Harold was the one who suggested everything. I think he put them up to it.”

“And Harold’s your housemate?” Mattis asked, “Do you have somewhere else you can stay in town, where he wouldn’t know where you are?”

“I…kind of thought you would arrest him. Why should I have to leave my home?”

The cops looked at each other, and then back at him, “Look, we will arrest him, but some guys get out on bail. I’d still suggest you spend the night somewhere else, just in case. First though, you need to go to the hospital. Go to emergency, tell them you need to have a rape kit done, alright? It’s not a pleasant experience, but it might be necessary. Now, where’s Harold at?”

Jason gave the cops Will’s address, and as he was about to head to the hospital, and the cops were on their way to find Harold, there was the sound of the front door unlocking, and when it swung open, there was Harold–mostly. Again, he’d seemed to change a bit, in a few subtle ways, but Jason could see it. His hair was a bit longer, his beard as well. He had a couple of piercings in his ears that he hadn’t had earlier in the evening, and one of his arms was now decorated with a tribal tattoo sleeve. He looked from Jason to the two cops in the living room, and started to laugh.

“Are you Harold Shepard?” Officer Mattis asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“We’d like you to come down to the station with us and answer a few questions.”

“Am I under arrest?” Harold asked.

Pike took the handcuffs off his belt, and walked up to him. “Well, you are now bud,” he said, and Jason watched as Harold just let the cop put the handcuffs on him–and as soon as he was restrained, he let out a sigh of relief.

“We don’t need to go to the station,” Harold said, “I assure you, this is all a big misunderstanding.”

“Please, just…take him away, I don’t want to see him,” Jason said, working up some tears–more earnest than faked, but he figured it would help.

Again, Harold just laughed. “God fucking damn it, what did the fucking pervert tell you two? Did he tell you we raped him? You can’t rape the willing, I can tell you that much. Look, uncuff me for a second. I got evidence too, you know. I recorded the whole fucking thing.”

“He’s fucking lying, he didn’t record anything!” Jason said.

“Where’s the recording, on your phone?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll unlock it, and you can watch it,” Harold said, “I have nothing to hide, not like that cockhungry pig over there.”

The cop held the phone up to Harold’s face, which unlocked it without issue, even with his substantial changes over the last couple of days. He showed Pike where to find the video, and Jason was fuming a bit, and trying to remember what exactly had happened. He’d fought, hadn’t he? They’d all needed to hold him down to get their cocks inside him, after all. Maybe he’d edited the video already, but Jason wasn’t sure when he would have had the time, or why he would have had the foresight to do it.

“Hit that button too, and turn on the TV–that way we can all watch it at the same time, and no one will have any doubt that the slut over there wanted all of us to fuck him.”

Jason froze. If he knocked the phone out of the cops hand, that would look like he was worried about what the video would show, but if he didn’t, and if the video did show what Harold said it did, then–but of course the video wouldn’t show that. He was right, he knew what had happened. It had to be a bluff, it had to.

Officer Mattis turned on the TV, and after a few moments, a video started playing, and Jason wanted to throw up. There he was, bent over the poker table, but no one was holding him down. He was gripping it, pushing back as Ricky fucked him, and he was begging for more, oh fuck, but that hadn’t happened, it hadn’t–he’d swear it in a court of law if he had to, it had to be fake.

“Jesus,” Pike muttered.

Jason couldn’t take it, he turned away, the room spinning, feeling like he was going to throw up, and there, behind him, was the vision, the biker, the ghost, he didn’t know what it was, but it was there, staring at him, and he felt time slow to a crawl, the room losing color, leaving just him and the biker there.

“Confess.”

It wasn’t spoken, but it was heard. Felt, really, all through him.”

“One way or another, you will confess tonight–the truth will be your cage.”

“I didn’t fucking see you!” Jason said, “It wasn’t my fault, and who fucking cares about you anyway, some fucking hick, you aren’t even fucking real get out of my fucking head.”

The world snapped back, and when Jason turned around, the two cops and Harold were all staring at him, the video still playing in the background. “Everything alright, slut?” Harold asked.

“You fucker, you fucking did this, you fucking piece of shit!” Jason said, and started towards him, only for Pike to step between them and keep Jason back.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, or what game the two of you are playing, but you’re fucking wasting our time with this weird ass sex shit, or fetish, or whatever,” Pike said, “Tell me the fucking truth then–what the fuck happened?”

Again, the color drained from the room for a moment, and Jason could feel it welling up. A confession. He was going to spill it, he was going to say what had happened on that dark highway, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t admit it, he fucking couldn’t. He knotted up his lips, looked for anything else to say, and what came out was, “I…I was lying, Sir, I was such a horny slut earlier, and I begged them all to use me like the dirty fucking whore I am, and I loved it, but I was so ashamed of it when I got home that I decided to lie, and accuse them of rape so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. I know it was wrong, I know I’m just a perverted whore really, and fuck, seeing it happen to me again, all I want is for you to use me, please Sirs, let me make it up it up to you, use my loose sloppy hole…”

Jason was horrified by what he was saying, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it from pouring out. He looked over at Harold, saw the sneer on his face, and he knew–it had to be him, it had to be. It was a trick, some weird ass psychological gimmick, but he had to fight it, he had to. Instead, he started stripping off his clothes in front of the two cops, dropped his pants, cock cage revealed for them all the see, turned around and bent over the side of the chair, plug still in his hole, and froze in place.

No one did anything for a moment or two. The two cops were red in the face, clearly embarrassed on Jason’s behalf, almost with pitiful looks in their eyes. Then Harold said, “Well, what are you waiting for fellas, the whore confessed, and lying faggot whores like that need to be punished don’t they? Isn’t that your job?”

Jason saw the shift happen in a moment across each of their faces. What had been pity became disgust, and what had been second hand embarrassment turned to lust and sadism.

“What a fucking waste of our time,” Pike said, pulling his baton free of his belt and walked up behind Jason, “Just a fucking whore faggot looking for attention, eh? Well, you got my attention, and now you’re gonna get your fucking punishment.”

He swung the baton against Jason’s ass, making him jump and let out a loud gasp of pain. Pike pulled back, rubbed one leather gloved hand over the red mark across Jason’s ass, and swung again. Instead of a shout, Jason let out a surprised little grunt, as the pain was tinged with a strange pleasure suffusing him, and each hit after that only made him ache for more and more pain. He realized too late that words were still pouring from his mouth, begging for more, asking for the cops to beat him up, to brutalize him, that a lying faggot like him should be left battered and bruised in the gutter. Mattis eventually shut him up, slapping him across the face and feeding him his hard cock–not too long, but quite thick, while Pike hauled the plug out of Jason’s hole, and ran his gloved fingers around the ring, probing inside a few times before pushing his cock in, unlubed. Jason’s hole was still plenty slick with cum from his earlier gangbang, so he had no trouble taking Pike’s sizable cock, Mattis pulling on his hair, slapping his face anytime he felt so much as a brush of a tooth against his cock. Pike reached under, found Jason’s nuts, and pulled on them, tugging them as far away from his body as he could manage, making the whore scream around his partner’s cock.

Harold just watched the scene unfolding with that same cruel sneer across his face. It wasn’t too long before the two cops finished up and stumbled back from Jason’s body, shaking their heads, a little confused by what had come over them.

“Thanks for the help officers, I knew you were just the fellas to show this faggot his place, and teach him a lesson about lying.”

“Yeah…yeah, that…fuck. We need to get back to our, uh, patrol,” Mattis said, “Come on Pike, let’s go.”

The two officers left the house as quick as they could, leaving Jason still bent over the chair, moaning, the welts on his ass from the baton turning into bruises, a puddle of cum all over the chair from where his locked cock had leaked the whole time.

“Clean up your mess, you fucking whore,” Harold said, “Fuck, you’re such a fucking piece of shit. You were really going to smear all of those friends of yours as rapists? You’re that much of a piece of shit? Good fucking thing I took that video, so everyone knows exactly what kind of fucking pig you are.”

Jason stood up, and spit in Harold’s face, “Fuck you, you fucking edited that shit, I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I’m going to fucking expose you, one way or another. You can’t do this to people–what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“All you had to do was confess, Jason, and everything would have stopped–but you couldn’t do that. I guess the guilt will just have to keep eating away at you. But if you cross me again, or call the cops, I’ll just have to make that video public–how does that sound? You want everyone on campus to see you for the whore you are? Now clean up your cum, faggot.”

Jason stood strong. He wasn’t going to concede this so easily. Faster than he could react, Harold wrapped one hand around his neck and squeezed–Jason gasped, and tried to pry the fingers loose, but he couldn’t get a grip on a single finger–there was no way Harold could have gotten so strong so fast. He flung Jason to the floor, and before he could try and roll away and get up, he had one booted foot on Jason’s nuts and crushed them against his body, making him squirm.

“I don’t think they’ve driven away yet–maybe you need some more punishment?”

“You fuck, let me go!”

“Maybe I could get officer Pike back in here, that strong fellow, give him one of my floggers and let him go to town on you, really flay open that back of yours. Is that what you want? Too stupid to give up when the gettin’s good. It’s already going to get so much worse you know, now that you made your choice. You should enjoy what you have while it lasts.”

He pulled his boot away, and Jason crawled away towards the stairs. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“I’m not the monster here, Jason. You are, and pretty soon enough, everyone’s going to see it too. Now–lick up your mess.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, there was a compulsion behind it. He found himself crawling over to the chair, and licked up his own cum where it had dribbled from his locked cock.

“That’s it, faggots love the taste of cum after all. They would never let it go to waste, never ever,” Harold said, grabbed Jason by the hair and shoved him into the seat of the chair, rubbing his nose in it. “Good faggot, now get to bed.”

Jason stood up and limped away, his whole body aching, only for something to clatter at his feet when he reached the base of the stairs. He looked down, and saw that Harold had tossed Pike’s baton at him.

“Looks like the officer left you a new toy–why don’t you go upstairs and play with it until you’re too exhausted to continue.”

Jason bent down and picked it up, and carried it up to his room, shutting himself in with it. He tried to resist the urge, but he lubed it up and slid it into his ass, churning up all that cum from all those men together, fantasizing about all of them, drooling cum all over his bed that he would lap up until he collapsed, exhausted, and fell asleep.

Chapter 4 – Pinning Him Down

Jason groaned, aching all over, and rolled over on his bed onto something hard. With one of his hands, he fumbled it out from under him, opened his eyes, and found himself holding a lube-slick police baton. Fuck, it hadn’t been a dream. He didn’t know whether he should feel more horny, or more humiliated. From the sun coming in through his window, it was already late morning. He tried to figure out what day of the week it was, and ended up fumbling for his phone, which had almost no charge on it–Wednesday, ten in the morning.

He sat up, trying to focus, but everything from the night before felt like a jumble of memories, and none of them seemed to fit together properly. One version, where he went to the party, was raped by Harold and three guys he’d thought were all his friends, and then beaten by two cops after he’d tried to report the rape. But it felt thin and hazy. There was another version that felt more real. How he’d gone to the poker game, lost on purpose so he could show off his caged cock and plugged hole to all of his friends, all so he could out himself as a Harold’s loser faggot. They’d been disgusted, of course–why wouldn’t they be, but the disgust hadn’t been enough to stop them all from using him, bent over the poker table, filming the whole thing so they could show all their friends, all of Jason’s friends, so they’d know exactly what kind of whore he was. Then, he’d gone home, still horny as hell, and phoned a couple of cops he knew who were into some real kinky shit. Harold had walked in on him getting his ass beat by one of them, and filmed that too–and Jason had loved every second of it. The cop had given him the soiled baton as a souvenir, and he’d ridden it to exhaustion. He couldn’t stop thinking about the debauchery he’d experienced, but he pushed it away. He had to–it wasn’t…true, even if it had happened, and somehow he knew it all had. All those videos existed, no one would believe him if he tried to tell them otherwise. Harold, though, was doing something to him. Or…or maybe not Harold himself, maybe something else. He thought of that strange vision that had been haunting him ever since the accident, and while he’d been so sure it was just his guilt playing tricks on his mind, maybe it was something more than that.

He sat up in bed, got up and took a cold shower, which helped clarify his mind somewhat, though everything still felt off kilter. From how quiet the house was, Harold must have left already, which was a blessing. One way or another, he was playing a role in whatever was happening to Jason, and the further away he could get from him, the better. As he toweled himself off, sliding a new plug into his ass, embarrassed but unable, and in many ways, unwilling, to stop himself. He had to get a hold of himself, or rather, he had to figure out what was happening to him. It was clear he couldn’t do it alone though, and he didn’t know who would be able to help him, or who would even believe him if he said anything. Maybe…maybe the best thing to do would be to pretend like it was normal. Try to get Harold lulled into a false sense of security, so Jason could get some answers from him. He didn’t know what else to try, in any case. He was at such a disadvantage, and each time he’d struggled, things had only gotten worse. Maybe, for a few days, he’d just do what Harold wanted, and wait.

He flexed in the mirror, and felt a bit better. At least he hadn’t seemed to change much physically. Reality was warping around him, but he was still handsome, muscular, and strong as hell. In a straight fight, even with his larger physique, Jason was confident he’d be able to take Harold down. He didn’t have class for a few hours, and if he stayed in his room, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of his new toys. Best to find something else to occupy his mind, and one thing he’d always been able to count on was going to the gym.

He threw on his gym clothes and left the house, opting to run to campus, which was only a couple blocks away, instead of driving. He felt good, even with the plug in his ass and his caged cock. He felt in control for just a small moment, and that was enough to give him a little hope. As soon as he set foot on campus though, he got paranoid. Were those girls looking at their phones together and laughing watching a video of him? Harold wouldn’t actually post all of that stuff, would he? Were those students going down that other path to avoid him, or because that’s just how they usually went? He pushed the thoughts out as best he could, and arrived at the athletic facility feeling mostly confident. He found his way to the gym, opened the door, and froze.

There were Harold, Evan, Ricky, and a couple other guys from the wrestling squad, all of them wearing their singlets, and laughing over by the water fountain. Harold, though, was who drew Jason’s eye immediately. He was…massive. Easily a few inches over six feet tall, packed with muscle, the singlet stretched tight over his hairy physique, his huge bulge impossible to miss. He rubbed up against Evan’s own spandex clad ass, and Harold watched as Evan let out a little moan, and ground back against Harold, licking his lips, his own erection apparent through the spandex. He turned to leave, not wanting there to be a confrontation with them all, but he only got a few steps down the hallway before a hand landed on his shoulder and shoved him into the wall. “Well well, look who finally decided to join us for the team workout this morning?” Harold’s voice said, while the rest of the jocks all laughed.

“Harold, please–I was just…”

“You were just what, whore? What were you doing here?” Harold said.

“I…I was just leaving, I don’t want any trouble, come on.”

“Come on now, Jason. Be honest for once in your life. I know its hard for you, but the truth will set you free, once you finally admit it…”

Fuck, he did know, didn’t he? How on Earth could he possibly know about the accident? Jason stammered for a moment, and Harold pulled him away from the wall and spun him around. He found himself surrounded by the members of the wrestling squad, all in their singlets, and all leering at him rather hungrily. “I…just wanted to work out, that’s all. I don’t want any trouble guys…”

“Well we were all just finishing up out workout and were gonna head to our place after–was hoping we’d find you there,” Harold said, “But if you want to get a workout in, pig, fine–we can hang out for a bit and put you through your paces. You can’t wear that though–you know that uniforms are required for team workouts,” Harold said, “Guys, why don’t you head back to the gym, while I get this late piece of shit dressed.”

“Sure thing captain,” Evan said with a grin, and the other jocks all returned to the weight room, while Harold grabbed Jason by the collar of his shirt and dragged him a little ways down the hallway, to the locker room. Jason tried to pull away, but Harold was several inches taller, and nearly fifty pounds heavier than he was now–and the smell of him. He reeked like he hadn’t had a shower in days now, and the scent was making Jason’s cock leak in his cage, as much as he hated to admit it.

Harold shoved him into the locker room, and Jason had to catch himself on some lockers to avoid falling flat on his face. “Harold, please, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you want to do this to me, but I’m sorry, ok? Please, just let me go home.”

Harold just laughed. “Will you admit it then?” he asked, and again, that strange vision appeared behind him, the figment of that biker, but now, they seemed…closer than they’d been before. “You had your chance to admit it last night, you know, and you wouldn’t. I still don’t think you’re ready to come clean just yet.”

Jason looked around, saw the emergency exit, and raced for it–only for the vision to appear in front of him, looming large, time slowing down. He could feel more than just anger coming from it. It was hatred, and loathing. He froze in place, Harold walked over, and literally tore the clothes he was wearing off his body. “Go to your locker, pig, and put on your uniform–now.”

He felt like a puppet, that something was dragging his limbs across the tile, over to where his locker was. He fumbled open the combination, and nearly gagged from the stench of whatever was inside of it. His hands reached in, beyond his control, and pulled out a wrestling singlet–but it was one of the filthiest pieces of clothing he’d ever seen in his life.

The college’s colors were white and gold, and the uniforms matched that–most of the singlets were white, with a gold stripe down the sides. This one, though, was no longer white–it was patchy all over, covered with stains that had rendered it a dull grey in the cleaner parts, and a dark brown around the crotch. “No, don’t make me wear this,” Jason begged, but he couldn’t stop his hands from stretching the neck open, his feet pushing their way down into the still damp spandex and out each leg–and then he realized that the singlet was not the usual size, either. The thighs were stretched out and barely clung to his skin, but were also too short, hiked up a bit closer to his crotch when he pulled the straps up over the shoulders, like it was made for someone shorter than he was. The gut of the singlet was also too big and well stretched out, hanging off him, and the ass would have been as well, it hadn’t been ripped out, leaving his plugged crack exposed for all to see. The usual mascot on the front of the singlet was scribbled out with marker, and a crude, cartoon pig drawn over it with cocks shooting cum onto its face, and on the back, Jason’s last name was scratched out, and the word FAGGOT written underneath it instead. Lastly, a pair of trainers that were much too large for his already big feet went on and were laced up–and they too reeked like a weeks-unwashed socks.

“There, that’s better–now, let’s get you to back to the weight room–you said you were here to work out, right?”

Again, the force guided his body back to the doors of the locker room, but as he walked, he could feel something happening to his body. Almost like he was dissociating from it, no longer quite able to feel it in the same way he should. The walk back down the hallway to the weight room felt like a dream, his body slumping along, not lining up with him, not listening to him, until he was in the middle of the weight room in front of a wall of mirrors, and everything snapped back. He looked at his reflection, and could only whimper in horror.

That wasn’t his body. It couldn’t be his body. But there he was, his face, or almost his face, on a squat, morbidly obese frame that disgusted him to no end. He couldn’t have been more than five foot six, and easily over three hundred pounds, his apron-like gut distending the singlet and swallowing his caged cock whole. His arms were too short and jutted out at a strange angle, pushed up by the rolls of fat around his body, and he could see the thick armpit hair pushing out from across the room. In fact, there was hair everywhere, anywhere there was exposed skin, a pelt crawling up his chest and meeting a thick, bristly beard around his face, his hair long, lank and greasy. His feet had filled in the massive trainers, looking almost like clown shoes on the rest of his body. He would have cried if he hadn’t been so shocked. The crowd of jocks all started laughing at him, and while Jason expected to feel the humiliation course through him, what he didn’t expect was for it to feel good. To feel right, and sexy, and horny. He felt a pulse in his cock, a spurt of precum drooling into the spandex, adding another soon to be stain to the crusty crotch.

“No! I don’t know what you did, I don’t know how you’re doing any of this, but this isn’t me, this isn’t my body. You have to stop this Harold, please, I’m fucking begging you,” Jason said, dropping to his knees in front of Harold.

“Tell you what, Faggot,” Harold said, “If you can chest press the bar–just the bar–I’ll see what I can do about getting some of your body back,” he said with a grin. If the other wrestlers had heard, none of them asked about it, but it was the closest he’d gotten to an admission that Harold had some control over what was happening to him. The bar wasn’t that heavy, anyway. Forty-five pounds–almost anyone could press that. He nodded, went over and laid down on the bench, the team still snickering.

He gripped the bar in his fat hands, smelling the stench rolling off his own pits, even stronger than Harold’s had been, and pushed up–the bar coming free, and after a moment’s hesitation, it dropped and landed across Jason’s flabby chest. He pushed, but could only get it a couple of inches up, before his muscles collapsed, leaving him pinned under the bar, squirming.

Everyone laughed, watching him wriggle. He tried to tip the bar off to one side, only for Ricky and Evan to grab an end and pin him there, while Will came around and sat his ass down right on Jason’s face–and farted. The smell was overwhelming, and Jason couldn’t stop himself. He started grunting and licking at the jock’s sweaty singlet, weakly thrusting his crotch into the air as he leaked a full load of cum into the front of his nasty singlet, snorting and grunting all the while.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Jason knew that voice. The jocks let go of the bar, and Jason could finally roll it off him and onto the floor. He managed to force himself up, heaving for breath, and saw Coach Millard in the doorway to the weight room, glaring at all of them.

“That equipment is not cheap, and it is not a toy–and who the fuck let the fucking Faggot Pig into the fucking weight room! He’s fucking filthy, you know he’s not supposed to be anywhere other than the fucking locker room.”

“Sorry coach, we’ll put him back, we were just having some fun,” Harold said, and together, the squad of wrestlers hauled Jason to his feet and shoved him out of the weight room past the coach, back down the hallway, and into the locker room. There, next to the urinals, was a filthy exercise mat, and a sign over it said, “Pig’s Place.” They all shoved Jason down onto it. Harold stripped down his singlet, hauled out his massive cock, and stared pissing all over Jason where he was on his hands and knees, and the rest of the guys, hooting and hollering, all followed suit, soaking Jason down in their reeking urine while he just froze, disgusted with himself, cock rock hard in his cage, wanting this nightmare to end.

“Alright guys, I think the faggot’s had enough for today, let’s go get lunch,” Harold said, and they all proceeded to their lockers, got changed, and left, while Jason just sat on his mat, soaked to the skin, and tried to understand what had just happened to him. He didn’t dare move a muscle, terrified that if he did, Harold might somehow make his nightmare even worse, and only when all of them were gone, and the sounds of them had faded down the hall, did he heft himself up, waddle over to his locker, and stare at the empty contents.

He had nothing to wear. He couldn’t leave looking like this, he couldn’t let the entire campus see him like this. He managed to find the rags of his old gym clothes in the trash, and fished out his phone, but who was he going to call? Ghostbusters? He returned to his mat and sat down, wanting to cry but unable to find the tears, when the locker room door opened, and Coach Millard rounded the corner.

Before Jason could say anything, the coach slapped him across the face, sending him to the floor, head spinning. “You stupid, filthy, fucking pig, what the fuck have I fucking told you, so many fucking times?”

“Sir, I–”

“You know how fucking filthy you are. Now I tolerate you in the fucking locker room because you have a good couple of holes, and you’re good for team morale, but we all fucking know why you’re here, don’t we?”

That same sensation from that morning, another version tearing itself apart from the life he’d just lived, and somehow becoming more real than the truth. How he’d tried out for the wrestling team as a Freshman, and everyone had laughed at him, his fat, obese, hairy self wanting to be a wrestler, but it soon came out, at the first party, that he’d only wanted to join because he was a horny, perverted pig looking to feel up a bunch of guys in spandex. It had been Harold’s idea, to designate him the team pig, and as humiliated as he’d been at first, it had been everything he’d wanted, in the end. For four years now, he’d been on the wrestling team, but really, he was just their collective cumdump and urinal–and the most brutal of all, was the coach–who found himself enjoying the level of control and abuse he could level at the faggot pig on a daily basis.

The coach got down and started spanking Jason’s ass, making him grunt and snort in both pain and excitement, before hauling the pig’s plug out and driving his cock in. He shoved the pig’s face into the mat and fucked him good and rough, making sure it hurt–he knew how much the pig liked a good rough fuck, and the coach had quickly discovered that sex with his wife couldn’t satisfy him anymore–meaning the pig got the brunt of his attentions every single day. After a few minutes, the coach came, but he didn’t pull out–a minute later, he let out a sigh, and Jason felt a pressure and warmth on the inside of his ass, and realized that the coach was leaving a load of piss inside him as well.

Millard pulled his cock free and quickly shoved the plug back in, sealing everything back up. “Don’t break the rules again, faggot, or I’ll have to bring out the paddles from the office, understood?”

“Yes coach,” Jason muttered into the mat, and listened to the coach leave. Once again, he was alone. He couldn’t go home–he couldn’t. He couldn’t go anywhere that Harold might find him–if he did, things would only get worse, though Jason couldn’t really imagine what worse would look like, after this. But then, he couldn’t really imagine somewhere he’d rather be, either.

His memories were still filling in, how word had spread that he was a faggot pig, and that any man in the building could use him as he saw fit. He spent most of his time in the locker room now, on his knees, waiting for men to come in to use him. Sometimes, they needed a little sweet talking–after all, not many guys found him attractive, but he was good enough at begging that eventually he could convince most of them to feed him a load of cum or piss–or maybe they’d smack him around and tell him to leave them alone, that was just as good in some ways, for a masochistic pig like him.

He picked up his phone and saw that he had a message from Harold. With a gulp, he opened it up and read it.

“Once Coach Millard is through with you, why don’t you hang out there for the rest of the afternoon, until after football practice? We all know you’d rather be in there, begging everyone who comes in to use you as a cumdump and urinal, than going to class anyway. But once you’re done with that, come straight home, and don’t bother trying to change out of your uniform or cover it up either. Everyone on campus needs to know what kind of pig you are, after all. Once you’re here, we’ll get the party started.”

He looked at the clock–it was just now one in the afternoon–and football practice wouldn’t be done until five or six. There was no fucking way he was going to just stay here for the rest of the afternoon. He tried to get up, only to find that his knees would bend, his feet refusing to push him upright. He got more and more frustrated, and when he heard the door open, he tried to call out for help–but what came out instead was, “Hey! Come on, come use me, I’m so fuckin’ thirsty, I know you need a piggy urinal.”

The guy who came around the corner was Max, one of the football players, who was probably getting changed to lift weights before practice. “Fuck, are you in here already? I try to get here before that, so I don’t have to fucking smell you,” Max said, the disgust in his voice palpable. “Fine, since I know you won’t shut up until you get what you want,” he said, came up, pulled out his cock, and pissed all over Jason, who drank down as much as he could, and then scooted forward, and sucked the jock off for good measure.

Once Max was finished with him, Jason was horrified by what he’d done, and by how much he’d enjoyed it. He looked at the clock again, and just wanted it to be evening–but from what Harold had texted him, he had something planned for him back at the house, and it couldn’t be good. He could feel the coach’s piss beginning to leak out around his plug, dribbling down the inside of his thighs, dirtying his uniform even further, and wondered how it could possibly get worse than this.

Part 5 – Father’s Discipline

“So fuckin’ loose, tighten up pig, come on, milk it, or I’ll beat this all fucking night.”

“Pig would probably fuckin’ love that, I bet.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to spend all night smelling him, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”

The head football coach picked up the pace on Jason’s hole, pounding harder and deeper, cum drooling out each time he pulled back–the collective loads of the entire football team, who had already had their way with him once they’d come on off the field. Jason hadn’t been able to stop himself from crawling around the locker room in his filthy piss and cum soaked singlet, begging each and every player to use his hole. Some fucked him, some used his mouth, others just stood around and jacked off on him, but none of them had left without giving him a load in one fashion or other, though none of them seemed too happy about it. They’d all humiliated and ridiculed him in the process, disgusted that they were even using him at all. At last, he’d finished with the team, and all the remained were the two coaches, who were now fucking him together, the head coach in his ass, the assistant fucking his throat. Jason was exhausted, jaw and hole aching, but he did what he could to get the two older men to finish as quick as he could, tightening up and sucking harder until, at long last, they both came within a few seconds of each other, and pulled out.

“Alright, let’s shower and get home then.”

“No kidding, I don’t think I could live with myself if I went home smelling like Pig,” the assistant said.

“Hey, my wife barely ever puts out anymore, always put such a tight leash on that pussy of hers. When you’re a bit older, you’ll understand–hole’s a hole.”

“Fair enough.”

Jason fumbled around beside him, found his plug, and fit it back in his hole, only for it to slide out again almost immediately. He was too loose for it after his marathon afternoon of fucking–he’d just have to go without it. He looked around a moment, considered trying to find some clothes to fit him, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to put anything on. Whatever Harold was doing to control him, it was getting stronger. He hadn’t been able to move from his fuckmat all afternoon, not a toe onto the tile, until the condition that Harold had assigned him had been met. He forced himself up, fat body aching and stinking, and left before anyone else could come into the locker room.

It was seven in the evening at this point, and mostly dark. That made him feel a bit better as he crossed campus back to the house he and Harold shared, but more than a few people saw him. He imagined they’d call the police, but most of them just scoffed or berated him from afar–only one fellow, a security guard on his smoke break, demanded that Jason stop and service him. He sucked him off behind the student union building while the beefy fellow finished his cigarette, then drank down his piss, and was sent on his way with a kick to the ass.

He got to his house at last, and from the number of cars and bikes scattered around, it was clear that Harold had been busy organizing something for his homecoming. He tried to run, tried to go anywhere else, but couldn’t stop himself from walking up the steps, opening the front door, and stepping inside. The living room stank of sweat and sex. There on the couch was the entire wrestling squad, still in their singlets, in the midst of an orgy with one another. Off to the side of the room, were Officers Mattis and Pike, in their service uniforms, fucking the wrestling coach at both ends.

“Hey Pig!” Evan shouted from the pile of wrestlers, “Harold’s waiting for you down in the basement–get the fuck down there already, you’re stinking up the fucking place. It’s gross.”

“S-Sorry,” Jason muttered, happy at least that he wasn’t getting jumped by all of them for round two. He went into the kitchen and down into the basement. It was unfinished, but a helpful storage space. When he went down, though, he discovered that since the last time he’d been down here, things had changed a lot. The exposed studs and beams were now hidden–mostly. The large central room was now a well stocked BDSM dungeon, all number of whips, floggers, paddles, masks and other instruments of torture hung along the walls.

Along one wall was Harold, sitting in a wingback chair, upholstered in black polished leather, with another man between his legs, sucking on his cock while Harold smoked a cigar. Harold seemed to have been the only one from the wrestling team to trade in his singlet, and was now wearing a leather harness showing off his muscular, hairy chest, as well as the tattoos running across his chest, shoulders, and down both arms. His beard was longer now, and showing a few strands of grey. Once Jason reached the floor of the basement from the stairs, he saw other signs of age across Harold’s face–some crow’s feet at the sides of his eyes, a few wrinkles here and there. He seemed to be close to thirty now, if not a bit older than that, even. Something shifted in the light, and what Harold had taken to be a shadow behind Harold shifted, and he saw that it was more than just a shadow–it was a being. The ghost, the vision he’d been seeing, it was there behind the chair, his hands on Harold’s shoulders, but it wasn’t just a vision now. It…existed. The shade’s hands slid down Harold’s body, and he shuddered and moaned, a few more grey hairs appearing across Harold’s chest as it did.

“Harold–you have to stop this. I don’t know what that thing is, but look at what it’s done to you, done to us! I know you don’t want this, I know it,” Jason said.

Harold laughed, “How the fuck would you know what I want? Have you ever once even asked me, Pig? You just ignored me, pretended like I didn’t even exist, because to you, I didn’t. Before this, you never had to care about anyone other than yourself–as long as you had your Daddy here to solve your problems for you.”

Harold pushed the man between his legs off his cock, and when his head came up, Jason realized who it was–it was his father, the school’s dean of athletics, and the only person Jason had told about the accident. His father had helped cover up the damage to the car, managed the insurance claims, making sure that it looked like Jason had never even been near that highway when that biker had been flung off the side of the mountain. “Stand up, fucker. Now that your son’s here, we can get the real party started.”

Eyes dazed and glassy, Jason’s father–Samuel, stood up and wiped the drool and precum from his clean shaven face. He was in his early fifties, and did enough work to keep the worst signs of aging at bay. Only in the last few years had he allowed a bit of grey to creep onto his temples, his hairline receding slightly back. He went to the gym religiously, and kept himself lean and muscular to run two marathons a year. He straightened his tailored suit, still a bit confused as to why he was here, turned to the side, saw his son, and his jaw dropped. “Jason–what on Earth, what the fuck has gotten into you? What are you wearing, and why…why do you smell like a fucking cumrag?”

“Dad, I–”

“Shut up Jason, I’ll explain,” Harold said. “See, Mr. Camwell, I’ve been doing the job that you should have been doing from the start, Samuel–or can I call you Sam? We’ll find a new name for you soon enough, I think. See, my…friend here knows that you know what happened to him on that mountain highway, just like I know, just like Jason knows. You could have confessed, Jason, and stopped all of this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you didn’t, because I wouldn’t be getting what I want too, but all of this was in your hands.”

“Fuck you,” Jason said, pointing at the shade looming behind Harold, “You’re doing this to him. I don’t know what the fuck you are, but I’m not about to let some fucking ghost fuck with us. Harold, listen, you have to fucking wake up! I know you don’t like me, I get it, but this…this isn’t you, I know this isn’t you.”

“What makes you so sure?” Harold said, coming closer now, exhaling a cloud of smoke into Jason’s face, “This is…a mutually beneficial relationship, I assure you. I get what I want–power, authority, a whole collection of men willing to do anything for me, sexual or otherwise. And he, well, you’ll see soon enough. First though, I think there’s a disciplinary problem at home that needs to be addressed.” Harold stepped back, next to Samuel, who was still staring at Jason in horror, barely able to recognize his son under the hair, the fat, and the filth covering his body. “Look at him, look at that faggot son of yours. What a fucking waste he is, wouldn’t you agree? Aren’t you fucking disgusted that thing came from your own seed?”

As Harold spoke, the shade came closer, his dark hands landing on Samuel’s shoulders, and Harold watched his father’s eyes harden towards him, growing cold. “Dad, no–”

“Shut up, pig–don’t speak again until I allow it.”

Jason’s mouth buttoned up, and Harold continued talking to his father, leaning in closer to his ear. “This is your fault, you know. You were never tough enough on him, never gave him enough discipline. You let him turn into this worthless fucking thing, this blob, this slut, this slob, this pig begging men for their cum and piss. It’s fucking disgusting, and you did this, you did this because you should have been beating him every fucking day that you could, making him fear you. You want him to fear, you, don’t you? Doesn’t the thought of terror in those piggy eyes make you so…excited?” Harold reached around and groped Samuel’s crotch, and Jason could see that his father was hard in the front of his suit pants. “Well, it’s never too late, right?”

“Fuckin’ right it’s never too late,” Samuel growled, the shade’s hands tightening down on his shoulders, and the shade shuddered. As Jason watched, his father’s carefully curated grey hair spread across his whole temple, stubble erupting from his face and becoming a short greying beard, body thickening with muscle, the beginnings of a gut pushing out, Samuel’s shirt coming untucked, his undershirt visible between the buttons now.

Samuel stepped forward, and before Jason could try and defend himself, slapped his son across the face. Jason turned to try and flee up the stairs, only for Harold and his father to grab hold of him, drag him to the middle of the dungeon, and secure him into metal shackles hanging from the ceiling, and bolted into the concrete floor. Jason tried to beg, he tried to scream, but nothing would come out of his mouth since Harold’s last order. Harold secured an O gag in his mouth, and shoved a thick cigar into it, lighting it up and clipping his nose shut with a clothespin. “There we go–gotta make sure you enjoy cigars as much as your Daddy will, right?” Harold said, lighting up another thick cigar and passing it to Samuel. He took it, and again, the shade passed over him, his father’s beard growing in thicker, his grey hair now colored yellow from years of smoking.

“Fuck yeah,” Samuel said, taking a long drag off his cigar, “nothing like a cigar to go with a good beating.”

“That’s the spirit,” Harold said, “I think it’s time this pig of yours learns some discipline.”

Samuel went to the wall, took down a sizable paddle, and brought it back. He rubbed it on Jason’s exposed ass for a moment, and then brought it down with a loud smack, and Jason tried to scream through the cigar gagging him, but all that came out was a muffled choke, followed by a round of gagging and coughing as he sucked only smoke back in, tears welling up in his eyes.

Samuel kept pounding away, wrapping one arm under Jason’s gut when he tried to squirm away, pinning him in place as he kept pounding on his son’s ass, harder and harder, all while Jason tried to get away, and failed. He was getting lightheaded from all the smoke flooding into him, and not long after that, he started to get a bit nauseous, head drooping and swinging side to side, the room spinning around him as he struggled not to throw up–that he knew would be unpleasant with the cigar still shoved deep in his mouth. There was the sound of something ripping, and the pounding stopped, giving Jason a chance to get his bearings again. He looked up, and his father had come around in front of him–the tatters of his suit falling away from him. He’d packed on thick layers of both fat and muscle all over his body, along with plenty of body hair, all of it as grey as his long, thick beard. “I, uh…think I wrecked mah suit…” Samuel said, and even his voice was different. Slower, deeper, with a definite rural accent.

“That’s alright Sam, we’ll get you some new clothes, won’t we?” Harold said, and looked over at the shade behind him. Jason tried to shout, tried to do anything, but could only watch as the shade descended on his father, surrounding him, his dark mouth over Sam’s own, pulling smoke and something else, something bright from his father’s throat. Harold walked around beside Jason where he was strung up, and said in his ear, “You thought he was a stupid redneck, not even worth caring about, didn’t you? Both of you thought that. Well, now your daddy there is just a stupid redneck too. He’s sucking all of that out of him, all of his smarts, all of his civilized manner. He’s just going to be a stupid, stinking biker brute when we’re through with him–a biker brute obsessed with brutalizing his stinking pigson.”

The shade pulled back after a few more moments, and Sam staggered for a moment, trying to adjust. The tattered remains of his suit had disappeared, and he’d been dressed in shabby leather and denim biker gear–filthy jeans, dusty chaps, a denim jacket open to let his gut hang out, and a leather vest over it, leather gloves, engineer boots and a grungy red bandana keeping his long grey hair out of his face. “Wha…wha the fuck’d ya do tah me?” Sam said, looking down at himself, “This ain’t me, I ain’t some fuckin’ hick!”

“Oh, we aren’t quite through with you yet–we still need to do something about your memories. Still, at my age, I should be able to take over for you here at the school, and I know there’s some openings in the maintenance department,” Harold said, and the shade seemed to expand, encompassing them both, and after a moment, pulled back–and as Jason laid eyes on his father, he felt a headache, unrelated to the nicotine pumping through him, split his skull.

His father–he wasn’t the dean. How could he ever have been a dean, a stupid, illiterate pig like him? No, he worked as a maintenance man on campus, repairing anything that was broken, and spent all of his free time on his hog riding around the backwoods, looking for dick to suck. Tattoos had appeared all over his body now, trashy looking biker stuff mostly, and across the back of his neck, the word “SKUM”–or rather, his name. Jason tried to pull out his father’s real name, but couldn’t find it. He was Skum–he’d always been Skum, hadn’t he? Skum shook his head, beard flinging around, and took a drag off his cigar. “Fuck, that feel fuckin’ better–now where the fuck was I?” He went and grabbed a whip off the wall, “This’ll teach this pig a proper lesson, I fuckin’ bet.”

He brought the lash down on Jason’s back, and he screamed–properly, as best he could through the cigar lodged in his mouth. Harold came around and admired the welt, the cut where the blow had snapped the spandex apart, leaving a few spots where blood was welling up, even. Harold looked different now–older still, in fact, but distinguished now. A short cropped beard, his leather uniform fitting his muscled body better, but it was his air of confidence and authority that Jason could sense now. He…he was the dean of athletics now. He’d stolen his father’s position in reality, and left him as a worthless, trashy sadistic biker without a moment of regret. Jason felt fear then, for the first time. Another lash came down on him, and he screamed, and broke down, sobbing, muttering nonsense to Harold and the shade, begging for mercy, probably.

The shade drifted over, larger now. Still black, but somehow more tangible. When its hand brushed over him, he could almost feel it there, like a breeze on his shoulder. Then, it clamped down, and there was a rush, a rewiring–he’d felt it before, he realized, but this was so much stronger, so much more immediate. When the shade pulled away, Jason hauled on the cigar in his mouth, but no longer felt sick. The smoke filled his lungs like it belonged, made his little cock drool precum out of its cage. His body had changed again, tattoos filling in all over his body, obscene, filthy, nasty tattoos, all of them–but it was the piercings he felt. The heavy gauge rings in his nose and tits, especially, pulling them down, making him quiver in excitement as his father came around, tugged on them, and made his masochistic pigboy squirm in delight. His father leered at him, pulled the gag from his mouth, gripped Jason’s neck in one gloved hand and squeezed. Jason’s mouth opened, gasping for air, and his father knocked the long ash from his cigar into his mouth–it burned his tongue, but he soaked it in spit as quick as he could, and swallowed it, croaking out a thank you, as his father shoved the cigar back in his mouth, and picked up the whip again.

“We have some more energy that we need, before we’ll be ready for the final phase,” Harold said, “but thankfully, all of those horny men upstairs will provide more than enough for our friend here to start feeling like himself again. You keep that boy of yours well occupied now, Skum, until I get back.”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Greer,” Skum said, and brought the lash down across his son’s back again. This time, the pain was there–but with it a massive surge of pleasure as well, and Jason nearly dropped the cigar, he was so overwhelmed with excitement. “I’ll make sure this naughty fuckin’ pig gits exactly what he fuckin’ deserves.”

“You always have, Skum–I know I can count on you,” Harold said, and with the shade following close, they went upstairs, where the orgy was still heating up. The shade was almost pulsing with delight, and Harold, well attuned to the spirit’s need, could feel it himself. “Not too much from all of them now–I’ll still need a wrestling team when we’re done.”

The shade nodded, and descended on his first victim, Evan, who collapsed from where he was fucking one of his teammates and writhed on the floor in something between agony and ecstasy. Harold smoked his cigar and watched–and when the shade was finished, he moved onto the next boy. Harold pushed his leather boot onto Evan’s face, and the wrestler licked at it hungrily while Harold leered down at him. “Guess I’m more than a nerd faggot to you now, right boy? You want Daddy’s cock in your hungry fuckin’ hole?”

Evan nodded, rolled over, and presented his ass to Harold, who got down and slid right in. “That’s good boy, that’s real good,” he said, and another scream came from below, making his cock even harder. In a few hours, he’d take the shade back down, and finish their revenge together, and then he’d be free to enjoy this for the rest of his life.

Chapter 6 – Rebirth

Harold watched the shade move around the room, to the last couple of men that were as of yet untouched by his dark hands. He had fucked a couple of holes while he waited, but now he was waiting patiently, smoking his cigar by the entry to the kitchen, just admiring the scene unfolding around him. The shade needed energy, if it was going to come back into this world, alive again. A lot of that energy was going to come from Jason, naturally, since he was the target of the curse, but even if the shade sucked him dry, there wouldn’t have been enough. So, they’d spent the week priming a collection of men for tonight’s ritual, taking as much as they could from them all without upsetting the cosmic balance too far against them, and risking bringing the eyes of larger things to bear on them both. Just a few months from every wrestler, a little muscle, a little health, a little body. From the coach, he’d taken a bit more–aged him up into his fifties, given him a solid gut, drained a good chunk of his virility, leaving him with a limp cock and a hungry hole. He deserved it, though–all of the men here deserved a bit of this cosmic justice. Harold, of course, had already paid with two decades of his life, but he felt that he’d received much more in the bargain.

All his life, Harold had wanted power, and wealth, and prestige. He’d come from a poor family–not quite redneck trash, but close enough, that when he’d learned what Jason had done on those winding backroads, his blood had boiled. There were men in his family like the biker, if he hadn’t gone to college, he might have been one of them–or at least, closer to that, than to Jason. But Harold was smart, and he’d gotten his way into college with scholarships, and more loans than he knew he’d ever be able to pay off in his life. No–this future was much better. He was strong, he was powerful, the new dean of athletics at the college. No one could say no to him–especially not any man with a hole that Harold wanted. This house was his now–with a little twist of reality, Harold owned both this house, and what had been Samuel’s home in the wealthy suburbs out of town. Harold needed a place for his orgies, though–closer to campus. Easier for the jocks to get here after practice for their play sessions.

The shade was working on the two cops now. They had been in decent shape to start with, but now they too were aging somewhat, their muscles sagging, guts growing, becoming a couple of fat, lazy, sergeants who had desk jobs these days, but were helpful in making sure any “complaints” against Harold disappeared, provided they got the occasional invitations to the new dean’s parties off campus. Apparently satisfied, the shade drifted back towards Harold, and he could see the change again. The shade’s darkness was thicker somehow–no longer two dimensional, but still quite thin. It didn’t seem like enough–until the shade brushed up against him, and he felt the cauldron of vital energy seethe up beside him that the shade was holding in. If that wasn’t enough, well, then they’d have to see what happened, he supposed.

It had been about a couple of hours since they’d left the new and improved Skum in the basement to work his boy over. They descended the stairs, and found that Skum had moved on from the beating, dropped his son to the floor, and had Jason on all fours in the middle of the room. Skum was behind him, his fist slippery with crisco and lodged deep in Jason’s hole, who was moaning and groaning in discomfort. “Quit yer fuckin’ belly achin! Ya’ve takken Daddy fist plenty a fuckin’ times, don’t know why yer so fuckin’ tight tahnight.”

“Please dad, please stop! This isn’t you, this isn’t–” Jason gave a holler as Skum worked in a bit deeper, his cock drooling out a long dribble of precum onto the concrete below him.

“Alright Skum, give the boy a bit of a break,” Harold said as he came down the stairs.

Skum grumbled, obviously unhappy about being interrupted in his playtime, but did as Harold told him, pulled his hand free, and Jason collapsed to the floor, ass spasming from the sudden removal. His whole body ached from the day he’d had, between the wrestling team, the football team, the coaches, and now this–he wanted to cry, but couldn’t seem to summon the energy necessary to bring the tears forth. Harold came around in front of him, and knocked his jaw lightly with a boot. “On your knees, you fucking piece of faggot filth.”

“Please, Harold–I don’t know what that thing is doing to you, but you have to fight it. This isn’t you, I know this isn’t you,” Jason said, pushing himself up to his hands and knees, and then lifting up. “Don’t let this thing win, don’t…”

“You stupid fucking–this wasn’t just his idea, you know. He wanted revenge, sure, but he needed me to do it. So we made a deal–and the deal was, that he’ll get your life, and you’d end up as a lowly fucking piece of fuckmeat, and nothing more. I’ve been pushed around by guys like you my whole fucking life. You kept a good mask on, but I know how you talked about me in front of those friends of yours–or my friends now, I suppose, since none of them can stand the sight of you anymore.”

Jason whimpered, and saw the shade come around–so much larger, so much fuller and darker and tangible than it had been even an hour before. “What…what are you going to do to me? What else could you possibly do?”

“It’s easy, faggot. He’s going to take your place, in the same way I took your daddy’s place.”

Jason tried to beg, but before he could even get a word out, the shade bent over and pushed itself over Jason’s head. He could feel it, the vital energy the shade had been draining from him, and all these other men, for the last several days, all of it swirling around–but it lacked purpose and identity. It was all power without direction. Then came a horrific sensation, like someone was sucking his eyes out with a vacuum cleaner, or drilling into his ears with a screwdriver, or both at the same time. The shade was removing something from him, but Jason found himself at a loss to even describe what he was losing–as it disappeared, it became unnamable. He realized too late that he had become unnamable. Then, he simply ceased to be entirely.

The shade pulled away, the darkness beginning to bulge and shudder, converting all of that energy inside of it into mass, into life. A wave of heat swept through the room, along with a burst of air enough to send Harold stumbling back into a wall, and knock Skum onto his fat ass. When both of them regained their composure and looked at where the shade and Jason had been, there were now two men–one standing, and one kneeling. The shade had returned to the living.

“Jason…I’m…Jason,” the new man said, flexing his hands and looking down at his body. He did in fact resemble Jason–as he’d looked before, at least. A strong jaw, auburn hair, lean muscular body. A few things were off–he was hairier than Jason had been, and his hair was longer, falling to his shoulders. “Dad–fuck, Dad, it worked…”

Harold looked over at the newly reborn man, and felt a crush of reality push into him. It was his son, of course. His sexy, handsome boy. Jason went to Harold and embraced him, and they kissed–deeply and passionately, Jason’s cock grinding up against his father’s suited leg. “Somebody’s horny already,” Harold growled at him, reached down and gave his son’s cock a playful tug.

“You have no fucking idea dad, watching all that for days, unable to do anything to join in.”

Skum had regained his footing at this point, walked over to his own son, still on his knees, and looked down at him. He was living, though perhaps not alive. His eyes were completely black, mouth gaping and drooling, body slumped to one side and about to tip over in a moment or two onto its side. “What…what did ya do tah him? Where’d mah pig go?”

Jason pulled away from Harold, and walked back over to where Skum was standing with the empty vessel. “Don’t worry–I’m not done with him yet. We’ve spent all week hollowing out a good, deep pit in reality for him to live in–he just doesn’t know who he is anymore. We can fix that though, can’t we?” He crouched down in front of the pig, grabbed hold of his fat face in his hands, and locked his gaze with those dull black orbs. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

So the new Jason told the hunk of flesh a new story, a new reality, a new history. He wasn’t born into a wealthy family of elites, with all of his needs catered for, not anymore. No, a single mother in her early twenties, working as a waitress and living in a single-wide with her own mother, knocked up after a drunken one night stand with a sleazy biker, egged on by his gang at the time, who were wondering if the fag could even get it up for a woman. He managed, barely. And so, the man needed a new name, since the shade had taken his old one. He called him Thomas Peterson, and while he was poor, he had a decent enough life. Normal enough, blissfully unaware of what seed he’d come from, he never had the resources to excel academically, but still managed to become a jock in high school on the wrestling team–though he never quite understood why he got such a thrill from grappling with another young man in tight spandex clothing. Thomas, you see, was quite thick. He had a string of girlfriends in high school, but nothing went anywhere, when they found out he had such a small cock, and that he couldn’t even get it up around them. Frustrated, he focused on his athletics, and managed to land a wrestling scholarship at the college.

The same college, it turned out, where his father had settled down somewhat–no longer a young renegade biker sucking guys off on the road, but now working as a janitor and maintenance worker–though if anything, his perversions had deepened, and he often enjoyed spying on the wrestling team in particular during practice, jacking off all the while. It was there that he saw Thomas–the spitting image of himself–and knew, somehow, that single encounter had yielded a son. A little investigation into the school’s records was enough to confirm it, and Skum knew, then and there, that he had to have him. He ran into him after practice, told him who he was, and Thomas, who had always dreamed of knowing who his father was, found himself appalled that the stinking, ugly, fat janitor covered in biker tattoos was his actual father. Or at least, appalled at first. The more he got to know him over dinner that evening at a cheap diner, the more he found himself warming up to Skum–or Daddy, as he insisted Thomas call him. They went back to Skum’s trailer that night, and once the roofie Skum had slipped into his son’s beer took proper hold, he had him in bed, and popped Thomas’s cherry right then and there.

The next morning, no drug was required. Thomas had never felt anything like that before, and found himself eagerly accepting his father’s cock the next day–all day long. Skum missed work, and Thomas missed class, and the boy’s descent into perversion was well underway. Thomas had never had a father figure in his life, and he found himself helpless against his father’s control and praise. He’d already been failing at college–and Skum seemed to have a way with him, with all the men around him, and it wasn’t long before Thomas was servicing the entire wrestling squad as their collective cumdump and urinal. Already failing at school, Thomas dropped out at Skum’s urging, and got a position with him in the janitorial department–but that was just a cover really. Thomas could usually be found in the locker room getting fucked by every man who passed through, his father’s sexual desires and perversions completely overwhelming him–but that was a decade ago, at this point.

Thomas wasn’t even Thomas anymore. He went by T.P. usually, but if you asked him what it was abbreviated from, he’d tell you it stood for Toilet Pig. It really was his name–Skum had gotten it changed on his ID and everything a couple years back, when he’d confirmed his drunk, stupid pig son couldn’t even remember the name his mother had given him anymore. After all, he wasn’t really her son–he’d always been meant to be Skum’s boy–or at least, that’s what Skum told him. T.P. would do anything for his daddy, after all. Hell, he’d do anything for most anyone, but for Skum, he’d give him the world.

Jason pulled his hands away from the pig’s face, and watched as his black eyes unclouded. They were no longer the pale blue from before–but a dingy hazel grey. He stared blankly for a moment until Jason gave the pig a slap across the face, and he gave a grunt, and shook his head. “Fuck, wha the fuck was that?” T.P. muttered.

“Stupid fucking pig,” Jason said, “I fucking asked you if you were hungry or not.”

“Yes Master Jason, this pig’s always hungry,” T.P. said, licking his filthy, bearded lips.

“Alright then, Toilet, open wide,” Jason said, turned around, and backed his ass up to T.P.’s face. The pig gave a squeal of delight, shoved his face into the young man’s crack and started licking hungrily, prying the hole loose with his tongue, until he felt the first turd slide out. He scarfed it down, well accustomed to the taste of shit at this point. Skum trained him to be his personal toilet years ago at this point, and while T.P. had resisted at first…once Skum had taken care of his son’s nuts, castrating him and replacing them with the two steel balls dragging his sack closer and closer to his knees each day, Jason lost the will to resist much of anything. His father had removed his pitiful nub of a cock a year later, leaving him with just a hole to pee from in the middle of his thick forest of pubes. The surgery had left him largely incontinent, but T.P. was always happy to piss right into his singlet, and if he made a mess, he was always happy to clean it up right away. T.P. finished eating Jason’s load of shit, and the young man stood up, turned around, and leered down at what remained of his murderer–a filthy, middle aged pig in a filthy wrestling singlet, dickless and nutless, licking shit from his lips and already eager for more perversion.

“Thank you Sir, your shit is always so fuckin’ tasty.”

“Skum, why don’t you take that pig of yours upstairs for a while?” Harold said, stepping forward and embracing his own son, rubbing his hands over his muscular body, Jason shuddering at the sensation, thrilled with being alive once again, “I’d like some time alone with my own son, I think.”

“Sounds good tah me, I think the pig here’s been neglectin’ his party duties anyway,” Skum said, dragged T.P. around by the heavy chain collar that had appeared around his neck, and shoved him onto his knees. “Come on pig, I know ya like that boy there’s shit, but give them some privacy.”

T.P. looked back at Harold kissing Jason, the two men groping each other, and for a moment, he felt something familiar about it. A moment of panic, of loss, but he couldn’t explain or express what it meant. By the time Skum had shoved him to the top of the stairs, he’d lost it, looked out at the ensuing orgy, and started to drool at all of his favorite men gathered in one place. For the next few hours, he took any number of cocks and fists, drank loads of piss and ate shit from several men as well. There was always a lingering sense, however, that he was missing something, that something had been stolen from him, but every time he got close to naming it, it would flee at the sight of the next cock to suck in front of his face. Each time it retreated, it grew more and more distant, until the early morning, when T.P. was certain that nothing was wrong at all.

Pleased with his son’s performance, Skum treated him to a fast food buffet on the way home in his old pickup, and arrived at the trailer where they lived together. Stepping inside, T.P. knew it was his home, and yet the stench of the place, the trash littering the floor, all of it seemed new to him somehow. His father stuffed his face with food, gave him his own load of shit for dessert, and then fucked his stuffed boy in the bed–not even caring when T.P. started pissing uncontrollably all over the mattress. But then, it always stank of piss and cum, there was no use trying to resist it. This was their life now–and both Skum and T.P. no longer could even aspire to something more than this.

It was Thursday morning, and they were supposed to be at work, but no one really cared if, or when, Skum and his son showed up anymore. They ended up spending the whole morning with T.P. on the bed, his father working both of his fists into the pigs wrecked hole for an hour and a half, before making him lick his dirty fists clean and then suck him off nice and slow. This really was the life, Skum supposed.

Across town, Jason came home from class–to his real house, not the house he and his father, Harold, had been at the night before, which was just a party house where half the wrestling team lived. Harold was waiting for him, already in his leathers, and embraced his son tight, grinding their muscular bodies up against one another. “Fuck dad, we were already at it all night long. You already want another session with your hot son?”

“You know I can’t fucking resist you, stud,” Harold said–now get that ass of yours downstairs. I’m gonna turn it red with a few paddles I didn’t get to try out yesterday, then breed it just how you like it,” he said, biting down on Jason’s neck playfully.

“Fuck Daddy, you know just what this boy needs.”

“Of course I do–we made each other after all. We’ll always have what we need, as long as we have each other.”

Harold gave his son a passionate kiss, and then pulled him downstairs for an afternoon session. In a few more years, Jason would finish his own training, Harold would give him his muir cap, and he’d be a master in his own right–but as far as he was concerned, he’d always be his boy. For sheltering him as a shade, and in exchange for a few decades of his life, Jason was more than happy to serve him in whatever delightful way his father might imagine. Everything had been made right, revenge had been served, and the two lived their new lives, happily ever after.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 4)

Ken remained at the sex shop into the early hours of the morning, until he’d essentially run out of dick to suck. Mostly satisfied, he let off a little belch and left out the back door–though it took him a second to realize why. He no longer lived at the apartment he could vaguely recall living at, but instead rented out the basement in a rundown house back behind the sex shop, where the owner of the shop also lived. It was convenient to say the least, and given how popular Ken’s mouth and cock were, the owner gave him a steep discount on the rent provided he put in at least a few hours in the hall every night. He was a bit worried about having to show his face at the office the next day, but that, he realized, was fading quickly as well. Phil, after all, thought a filthy daddy like him ought to be working in a dirty job himself, so he’d never gone to college. He worked menial construction jobs, the dirtier the better, and then after gorging himself on fast food, would spend his free time at the shop, or at home, if he decided to get to know someone better.

He descended the stairs and unlocked the door to his new place, and was momentarily disgusted by the state of things, before the acceptance settled in over it. He went in and remembered that he had finally managed to level up on the arctos dating app. He pulled it up, expecting to be as disappointed as he had been when he’d gotten the bronze designation–but found that, at last, the app had given him a much larger range of permissions than before. For one thing, he could see some profiles, finally. Scrolling through a few of them, he realized that they all seemed to be bronze or trial members. He still didn’t have access to everyone on the app, then, including the guys he’d already dated before this. It was better than nothing, though, and when he clicked into a profile or two, he saw that he could request a date with them, if he so desired.

He explored a bit more of the app though, and saw something else–a tab that said, “Edit Profile”. He hadn’t even seen his own profile at all, so he clicked it, and sure enough, there it was–everything about him. His cigar smoking, his porn addiction, his gaining and incest fetishes, his craving for humiliation, his gloryhole hobby. It was…kind of hot, reading all of it, but he didn’t really want everyone to know that, did he? He clicked something to edit, but instead of opening up a text box, he got a little pop-up. Apparently, he could modify some of the changes that had been inflicted upon him, but for each one he reduced–another one would have to increase. As a silver member, he could modify his profile three times before it would lockdown again.

He knew what he’d change first, for sure. He opted to minimize the ugliness that Phil had given him, along with the humiliation fetish, and opted instead for some additional body growth, bulk, and body hair that had been gifted to him by Jack. He accepted the change, and watched in the mirror as his ugly face straightened out into a more rugged look, and his body grew even larger–with his sizable build, he eventually hit six feet eight inches tall, and weighed in at 450 pounds, a good amount of that packed onto his massive gut hanging off him.

Satisfied with that, he looked through the rest of his options. He decided that, as much as he enjoyed sucking cock, he didn’t really want to be known all over town as a gloryhole pig. He reduced that option, and decided that he could afford to lean into the redneck, blue collar persona that Phil had given him a bit more. It didn’t seem that bad, after all. His reality shifted around, and while he still was a regular at the sex shop, usually it was to get his massive, ten inch, uncut cock serviced by a couple of cockwhores in the hall while he watched some porn in a booth. Then, he smelled it–apparently, when he’d opted for increasing his redneck persona a bit, he hadn’t accounted for the loss in hygiene that came with it. He showered–on occasion. Maybe once a week, sometimes with soap even! He had a constant farmer’s tan from years working outside in just a tanktop, and his hair grew out into a ponytail down his back, even as his beard grew thicker and longer.

He had one final change to use, and decided he might as well address the masturbation and porn addictions as well. Looking over the remaining options, he decided he could stand being a bit older–he found that he actually didn’t miss his younger looks from before, and had quite enjoyed the thought of being the “daddy” to another cub or two…or more. His history shifted again, no longer spending much time at all in the shop at all, other than to go down the hall and get himself serviced, if there was a cute young fellow who liked being called “son”. Hell, he didn’t even mind playing with a guy closer to his own age, so long as they played along as his younger brother. Too late, he realized he had also intensified his incest fetish, so that it was one of the only ways to get him hard–and he could remember fondly how, in his youth, he’d played around with his own redneck brothers, uncles, and even his father and grandfather on one occasion. He wished he could have had a boy of his own…though he supposed, with this little app, maybe he could, one day.

He stroked a load out, thinking about setting up a date with an unsuspecting cub, and then warping them into a total pig for daddies, longing for a proper father to set them right, dominate them, train them, abuse them–anything for family really. After he came, he was surprised by how domineering he’d become after those three revisions, but again, it wasn’t unwelcome. He looked around at the cameras in the corner of the room–since the owner of the shop wasn’t making money off his mouth anymore, instead he had rights to the videos he recorded down in the basement, when Ken brought home his young boys to play with. He was quite popular on the internet, and anything he brought in over rent went right into Ken’s pocket. It was late though, and he had work on the construction site in the morning. He collapsed onto his bed for a few hours of rest, got up with his alarm, rolled through the fast food joint for a few bags of breakfast to feed his gut, and got to the site mostly on time. All day long, he kept checking the app, browsing the various bronze and trial members, narrowing down his selection until he decided on one young man in particular that he quite liked the looks of.

He was twenty three, looked like a bit of a hipster with a nice beard for just a young guy, and quite a few tattoos and piercings. He was wearing a nice shirt and khakis in his profile picture, and it looked like he had a job at some tech startup in the city as a programmer. He’d been on one date already, with a rather grungy leather daddy, who had given him a bit of a stink fetish and a definite kink for leather and BDSM. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out some of Ken’s now more domineering nature. He sent the dating request, and told the boy that he wanted to meet him for a drink a rather run down pub near the worksite–some place that would make him feel plenty out of place. Before it sent the request, however, he got a pop up from the app, alerting him that placing a date with this profile would also result in some changes to his own profile, in order to enhance compatibility. He hesitated for a moment, but then figured, why not? It’s not like he hadn’t changed plenty already. He accepted the note, sent the request, and then headed for his truck–except he didn’t own a truck. There, instead, was his motorcycle–an absolutely massive hog custom built for his massive frame. It had cost a pretty penny, but he fucking loved riding it. Looking down, he saw that his clothes had changed as well–adding a pair of leather chaps, motorcycle boots, and a heavy leather jacket. Nothing to object to so far. He climbed on, and rode off to the bar, and parked out front a few minutes early.

He got a beer, and a table where he could see the entrance, and sure enough, there the young man was–named Ryan. Ken gave a wave, and he could see Ryan’s face turn into one of trepidation. The app wouldn’t let him walk away though, and so Ken threw his arms behind his head, leaned back in the chair as Ryan came over and sat down beside him. “Evening boy, how ya doin’ this evenin’?” Ken said in his now heavily accented voice.

“Oh, uh…I think…there’s been a mistake. I tried to delete the app off my phone, and then I still got this notification, but I…I think I should go.”

“But if you go, ya ain’t gonna be able tah git a whiff a these, boy,” Ken said, wrapped one arm around Ryan’s neck, and pulled him into his chest and pit. Ryan moaned in surprise and pleasure, Ken reaching down to grope the boy’s now rock hard cock, and knew that he had him right where he wanted him. He played with him while he finished his beer, softening him up a bit, making sure Ryan knew to call him Daddy, and that every time Ken called him boy, or better, son, he would get more and more turned on each time. When Ken was finished, he suggested they head back to his place. He threw Ryan in front of him on his motorcycle, pulling him close into his sweaty chest, Ken’s massive cock pressed against the small of Ryan’s back, and they drove off to his house, and Ken led his new son down into the basement.

His apartment down there had changed a bit. Half was still a bedroom and kitchenette, but most of the living area was now a well equipped dungeon, with quite a few cameras all around to record the action. Ken undressed Ryan, and while the boy worshipped his grungy body and dirty leathers, he started warping him, twisting him–and especially his hipster tattoos until he was covered with redneck sayings and references–especially trucks, musk and bikers. Then, he got him bent over the fuck bench, and after warming up his son’s ass with a couple of paddles, he hauled out his massive, stinking cock and worked it into his son’s hole, giving him a good rough fuck until they were both sweaty and smelly. Ryan’s own scent was intoxicating, and only served to make Ken even harder and hornier. He came once, unloading a massive wad of cum into his ass, but his cock didn’t soften–he just kept fucking his hole until it was gaping, and dumped in a second load. Ryan could barely stand afterwards, but Ken just led his boy over to the bed, telling him how proud he was of him, that Daddy loved him so much, laid him down and licked his boy clean for aftercare, sucking a huge load from his own uncut cock at the end of it.

Ryan took his leave after that, no longer a programmer, but now a truck driver with a fetish for big dicked bikers–though none of them could compete with Ken. In the basement, Ken felt incredibly satisfied and more than a little drunk with power. He pulled up the app and began poking around in the other profiles, wondering who his next target would be. What Ken didn’t know though, was that there were levels to the app above silver–and someone else had already set their eye on him.

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Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 3)

As with the prior chapters, folks who subscribe to my Patreon get access to the surveys that I use to plan out subsequent chapters. If you want to know more, you can check it out here!

Ken woke up the next morning and surveyed the destruction of his long night out with Eddie. His gut had diminished as he’d slept, but not my that much. He dug out an old scale he hadn’t used in a while from under the bathroom sink, weighed himself, and was shocked to see that he was 280 pounds–and from the looks of it, he had gained another inch or two, putting him at nearly six feet four inches tall. His beard was caked with cum, he stank of musk and cigar smoke, and as much as he wanted to be disgusted by himself, he was just horny–he hauled out his big cock from the stained briefs he’d crawled into bed, sat down in front of the computer, pulled up some porn and got to work on his first load of the morning.

His usual stash of porn wasn’t quite doing it for him, so he poked around for something new, and thought back to what Eddie had put on in the booth the night before–a whole lot of dad/son incest porn. While Ken had always liked the look of older guys, the thought of calling someone else Daddy had always made him a little queasy, but he pulled up some videos, started watching, and his reaction now was completely different. He found himself drawn especially to those videos which were a little heavier on the humiliation–whether it was the son manipulating the horny dad into sex, or whether it was the father catching his son in the act of sniffing his underwear, and humiliating him with the fact his own dad turned him on. One load became two and then three, with Ken licking up whatever didn’t soak into his briefs off his hand, feeling himself getting hungrier and hungrier–not only for food, but also for cum. Finally, he took a break, lit up a cigar and made himself some breakfast–but with those two cravings taken care of, the need to suck some cock was only getting stronger.

He’d woken up pretty late in the day, and thankfully he didn’t need to go to work for another few days, but he made his way back to the sex shop, the guy behind the counter giving him a nod and a welcome by name, like he was a regular. A shameless regular, no less. Ken went around behind the booths, half expecting Eddie to be there waiting for him, but there was just a couple of other pigs waiting for cocks to pop through the gloryholes in need of service. It was slow for a while, and Ken was getting anxious. So much so, that he went out and gave the guy behind the counter a blowjob as well, just to keep his hunger sated. There was a fast food joint down the street, and he went down there and stuffed himself for an hour or so, and when he got back to the shop, business had picked up. He sucked a good number of cocks, and when he was feeling mostly satisfied, he packed up what little dignity he still had and went home, where he stayed up for a few more hours, smoking cigars, watching porn, and jacking off, eventually collapsing into bed, considering a shower, but no longer sure why he would even bother.

The rest of his weekend proceeded the same. He’d hoped that some of the desires would wane slightly, but he found himself only growing fatter, even as his height stopped creeping up. By Monday morning, he was six foot four and 325 pounds, and thankfully, his work clothes had adjusted themselves to his new reality, like much of the rest of it had, and grown along with him, though finding the tent like shirts a bit snug on his massive, hairy frame only made him more self-conscious. Work, at least, would be more normal, he told himself–but when he arrived, and tried to focus on the tasks at hand, it was nearly impossible. He pulled up porn on his work computer, and right there in his cubicle, he rubbed out load after load right into the crotch of his suit pants, even as he found himself wondering what each of his male coworker’s cum would taste like.

He took a long lunch break to stuff his gut with fast food, and took several bags back with him to his cubicle, only to be greeted by his boss waiting for him. He was an older fellow, and gave Ken a bit of a flurry in his gut–though any guy could get that reaction out of him at this point. He berated him in his office about his performance and missed work days, only for things to take a rather…unsettling turn, and the humiliation turned rather sexual. Ken found himself bent over his boss’s desk and getting fucked by his sizable cock, and then fed his big load, before being sent back to his cubicle for the rest of the day, where he ate, and jacked off–and then saw the notification on his phone. Someone else wanted to go on a date with him, from the Arctos app.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal though–the guy just wanted to grab a beer with him after work. If nothing else, it would be another load of cum, right? Ken was a bit disgusted that he was using his cravings as justification for behavior at this point, but if he’d learned anything about dates on the Arctos app, it was that he couldn’t seem to say no to them. So he agreed, the guy sent him the name of the bar, and Ken left work, wondering what sort of hot bear he’d be meeting.

He got to the bar, which was more working class than the sort of place he usually frequented, and scanned around for who he was meeting. The crowd was all guys, but clearly more straight than gay. He looked around at the various grizzled fellows, all done with work at the docks, or factories, or construction yards, but the one who waved him down was none of those–but a burly young fellow sitting in a booth in a corner, who was probably Ken’s age, or a bit younger even. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, as he went over and slid in across from him, the young man waving down a waitress and getting him a beer.

“Ken, right? Howdy! I’m Phil. Glad you could make it.”

“Sure thing, I was just getting done with work myself,” Ken said, loosening his tie, feeling a bit out of place in this more rundown place, noticing how many guys were slipping them glances, or him, more specifically.”

“Yeah, I just got finished with work myself, I work in construction,” he said. “You look like you’ve been stuck in an office all day.”

Ken nodded, and shuffled in his seat a bit. Phil was congenial, looked a bit grimy and dusty in his hi vis gear, but just wasn’t quite his type–or at least, not the type he’d found himself developing over the last few dates. Ken wasn’t going to turn down a load of cum, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“You alright? You seem a little distracted. Long day?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ken said, “I…you just aren’t quite what I was expecting, is all.”

“I get it,” Phil said, “You like your guys a little older. I do too.”

Ken looked at him a little confused. “They why ask for a date with me, if I’m not your type?”

Phil threw him a mischievous little grin, “You’re not my type yet, daddy.”

The word sent a shiver down Ken’s spine. “I, uh, gotta go, I just realized I forgot something at the office–”

“Daddy, sit down. See, you’re a great package already. Big, chubby, hairy, big beard, and a total pig for cock. We just need to adjust your…outlook, is all. Come on, sit down, have another beer with your boy for the afternoon, and let’s chat.”

Ken sat back down, and when the waitress came back by, she dropped off a whole bottle of cheap whiskey, which Phil insisted Ken swig from while he told him what he was going to expect from his latest daddy. For one thing, he wasn’t going to be working in an office–or if he did work in an office, he wouldn’t be wearing a suit, or anything like that. No, he liked his daddies with a bit more country in them. Ken listened, his tie disappearing, his button down swapping out for a grungy undershirt, khakis becoming grubby looking jeans. His daddies weren’t very smart either–no college education, for sure, and preferably a high school dropout. After all, Ken didn’t have much of a brain for smart stuff like that–for all of his life, he mostly just let his big cock do the thinking for him.

Ken was now quite drunk, and couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from his cock, which was not only hard, but quite a bit larger than it had been before. “Yeah, that’s right, just a big fuckin’ donkey cock shoved in those pants of yours, isn’t it? Just a stupid, sex obsessed daddy, can’t keep your hands off yourself, even when your out in public. You like it though, don’t you? Showing off that big fucking bulge of yours to anyone around? The humiliation just makes your hornier–and I think a lot of guys get one look at it, and probably want you inside them. You can’t turn anyone down though. You might be a top, but you’re too stupid to be much of a dom. You like other guys telling you what to do, who to fuck, how long, how hard, how many times. You’re just a stupid, dirty, ugly stud daddy. An ugly fuckin’ pig. No one would even look twice at you, if it wasn’t for that monstrous cock of yours, those huge balls, constantly leaking into your grungy underwear–”

“Fuck boy, ya can keep talkin’ if ya want, but if ya do, this load isn’t goin’ in yer hole, I can tell ya that.”

“What, you wanna fuck my hole daddy? I thought you liked older guys? I guess you don’t. I guess you like young cubs, don’t you? I mean, you’ll fuck anyone of course, if they ask for it, but that’s who you like best, muscular, handsome boys like me. You’ll do anything for someone like me, won’t you?”

Ken nodded, drooling a bit from two ends, and finally, Phil stood up, and led the way into the bathroom, where he bent over the toilet in the larger stall, and pushed his butt out in Ken’s direction. He didn’t need another invitation–he dropped his grubby pants, ran his precum-slicked head up and down Phil’s crack, and then pushed his massive head into his hole.

“Oh fuck Daddy, you’re so fuckin’ big!”

“Eleven fuckin’ inches boy, and you’ll get all of it if ya want it.”

“Of course I fuckin’ want it, you stupid fuck! Get it in me!”

Phil was tight, but then, Ken hadn’t met much in the way of holes that were loose when it came to his cock. He drove it in, focusing on what Phil told him to do, and it wasn’t long before both of them were sweaty, and Ken was getting real close to cumming. He drove his massive cock in up to the root, and filled his boy up real good with a massive load, holding it in there as long as he could until Phil told him to pull out, and then the young man turned around and sat down on the toilet, his own cock rock hard. “Fuck daddy, that was a good one–now come get your reward. You love boycum, don’t you daddy?”

“Fuck boy, I love any cum, but boys like you always taste the fuckin’ best,” Ken said, got down on his knees, and started sucking. Phil didn’t last long, fed Ken his load, and then he was standing up, and out of the stall faster than Ken could do much. It wasn’t surprising–not many guys wanted to be seen with him, after all. He got himself put back together, stepped out of the stall, and got a good look at his new face for the first time, and was a bit shocked. His big ears and nose, heavy brow with sunken eyes, beard climbing up onto his cheeks paired with substantial balding, most of his beard greying now and colored a bit yellow from all of his cigar smoking over the years. He was an ugly fucker–but what a fucker he was, he supposed. He left the bathroom, paid for his drinks, and left–climbing into an beat up old pickup he couldn’t recall owning, and headed for the sex shop. One load couldn’t satisfy him after all, and at least through a hole, no one cared what he looked like. Guys loved his massive cock, and he could usually get two guys to service him at the same time–provided they didn’t have to look up at his ugly mug while they were doing it. On the other side, he could get as much cum as he wanted, and no one needed to know what he looked like either.

He took a little break to check his phone that night, while grabbing dinner at the fast food joint nearby, and saw a notification from the arctos app–he’d received another upgrade! He was now, officially a silver tier member, with new benefits. Most importantly, he discovered that for the first time, he could see other profiles on men on the site–those who were bronze or trial members–and request to go on dates with them. And he assumed, that also meant he’d be able to warp them in the same way he had been warped before this. His mind was rather excited by this–but it would have to wait. He finished his meal and went back to the shop. There were still more cocks to suck after all. In a day or two, he’d find someone for a date, and take the app’s new privileges for a test drive.

Caption: Truer Words #1: Hick

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

“Fuck, I hate it here, I don’t know why we always have to come visit my uncle’s stupid fucking farm. Whole towns just full of a fat, stupid hicks, probably a bunch of incestuous fuckers too, judging by how ugly they all are,” Nick muttered to himself in the guest room of his uncle’s house, just wanting to be back home with his friends.

“Truer words were never spoken…”

Wait, what was that?” Nick said, and felt an odd shiver run down his spine. He could have sworn that something had spoken, but he was alone, wasn’t he? Whatever, he might as well take a selfie and post it to Instagram, do something to show everyone how lame it was out here. He went into the bathroom and gave a bored pose in the mirror, and only when he looked at the pictures after, did he realize he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. He was wearing a set of overalls!

“What the fuck? I didn’t put this shit on,” he said, trying to get the clasps to unhook, but they wouldn’t budge. He didn’t even notice that he was beginning to grow cubbier, a beard filling in across his face, hairline receding as it turned from brown to grey. The room started to spin around him. He dropped his phone and tried to steady himself, and when the room finally stopped spinning, he looked around and he…wasn’t in the same bathroom as before.

This one was…grungier, and smaller. He hauled himself up with the lip of the counter, and found himself staring at a new face–a bulbous ugly nose, scrunched eyes, balding hair nearly white and pulled back into a ponytail. He got his feet underneath him and stood up, now six inches shorter than before.

“Where in fuckin’ hell, this ain’t Unc’s place!” he said, his voice deeper and raspier, with an obvious rural twang, “What the hell happened tah me? I ain’t…some old redneck fuck!”

“Nick, where the fuck are ya?” Came a voice from outside the room, one he didn’t recognize. A moment later, another chubby fellow poked his head into the bathroom, “Come on Nick, we’re gonna be late bro,” he said.

“Nick’s head started spinning again, but this time, it was also growing thicker, and slower. This…this was Billy, his little brother, right? He tried to tell himself that he didn’t have a little brother, but…but that wasn’t right, of course he did. “Sorry Billy, just got distracted I guess.”

“No worries bro, I know ya ain’t the smartest fucker, but yer one of the cutest pigs in town,” he said with a wink, and pulled Nick into a kiss–a full kiss, with tongue, that left him panting a bit, his stubby cock hard in the front of his overalls. Unable to stop himself, he dropped to his knees, hauled out Billy’s cock and blew him. It didn’t take long, Billy could cum ten times a day, but never lasted longer than a minute. Nick guzzled down his brother’s cum, licked his mustache clean, and got up.

By afternoon, all memories of his prior life were forgotten for good–aside from a little corner of his dim mind, where the old Nick was trapped, well aware that he was caught in his own worst nightmare, but no one would hear him ever again.

Commission – Piggy Pizza

Part 1 – Staffing Solutions

It was the sudden rumble that woke Max up. It sounded like a stomach grumbling, but something about it was off. He realized that he hadn’t just heard the rumble, but he’d felt it through his hand, but his hand wasn’t…on his own stomach. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at the back of someone’s neck, and not a womanly neck, either. He recoiled away, nearly fell off the bed in the process, and stood up, looking down at Jeremy, his roommate–or at least, someone who looked mostly like Jeremy, there on his bed, naked.

The main difference was that this Jeremy looked to be fifty pounds heavier than the Jeremy from the night before, not that he could really remember what had happened the night before. They’d gotten home from football practice, completely starving. Jeremy had seen a new pizza place had opened up near campus, and suggested it for dinner. They’d ordered delivery, the food had arrived, and after that…well, he couldn’t recall much of anything. It was then that Max realized he’d been staring right at Jeremy’s uncovered, fat ass, and his cock was…hard. Real hard. Hard enough to climb back into bed, slide his cock right in there and–

He retreated from his room and into the bathroom, turned on the light, and it was the scream that woke up Jeremy. He rolled up out of bed, waddled his way to the bathroom, where he found Max gripping his own larger, hairier gut, horrified. “What the fuck happened to us? What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Did…did you get fatter?” Jeremy asked, then looked down, “Fuck, we’re…both fatter?”

“Do you remember anything from last night that was strange?”

“Just…that pizza bro, it was fucking good, but…I felt real weird afterward, and you were acting strange too, I…I don’t remember anything, though…” Jeremy said, blushing a bit, “Do…do you?”

“No, nothing.”

“Oh, ok, good.”

“It had to be the pizza. What was the name of that place again?”

“Piggy Pizza, it’s just a few blocks away from campus.”

“Come on, we need to go there, and figure out what the fuck was in that stuff, so we can go the hospital and fix it.”

Jeremy’s gut grumbled again, and he grabbed it with both hands. “Can…we have breakfast first?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you fucking think of eating at a time like this?”

Jeremy shrugged, and followed Max’s lead as they got dressed in whatever clothes they could find that mostly fit their changed bodies, got into Max’s car with a bit of a struggle, and drove the few blocks over to Piggy Pizza. They got out, the door said the place didn’t open until eleven, but there was clearly someone inside working away. They pounded on the door until the fellow came out from behind the counter and opened the door for them both. He was an older fellow, wearing a flour and sauce stained apron, easily six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds of beef, with a thick beard braided and tied off against his chest. “Can I help you boys? I don’t open for lunch for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Yeah you can fucking help us, you can tell us what the fuck your pizza did to us last night!” Max said to him.

“Oh fuck, what smells so fucking good?” Jeremy said, his gut growling again, and he pushed past both of them and into the restaurant. The place was sizable with plenty of seating, and a lunch buffet off to one side, where a couple of pies were already resting, ready to be eaten. Jeremy stumbled over there, drooling, grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth with a moan of delight, while Max just stared at him, horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing man, don’t eat that shit!” Max said.

“Oh fuck it’s so fucking good though…”

Max went over and tried to pull Jeremy away, who just slapped at him until he backed off. He turned around, only to find the owner of the shop had locked the door behind them, and was grinning wide. “When I delivered those two pies to you two last night, I had a feeling you were just the couple of pigs I was looking for to help out in the shop.”

“What are you talking about?” Max said.

“Go on, I know you must be hungry. Those pizzas last night would have only scratched that appetite of yours, pig,” the man said, walked over, reached past Jeremy, and picked up a slice of pizza. It was so fresh, Max could still see the grease pooling on the surface, and he realized he was drooling. “Come on pig, let Boss help you out,” he said, pushed the pizza to his lips, and Max opened up and took a bite, moaning as his cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of the sweats he had squeezed into.

He felt his gut growl, and it heaved out as he swallowed, adding a few more pounds. He tried to pull away when he realized it, but Boss just pushed the slice into his mouth, more forceful this time, and Max couldn’t stop himself from taking bite after bite, begging through a full mouth for him to stop.

“I’ll stop pig, but only if you stop. All you have to do is not take another bite. Maybe I’ll even give you that body of yours back, would you like that? Wanna be muscular again? Smooth? All you have to do is stop.” Max tried, turned his head to the side, but he could feel his jaw struggling against him, twisting back, opening up, taking another massive bite, and the owner just laughed at him. “Guess that means you’re mine, pig.”

Slice after slice disappeared down his throat, and with each one, he only got worse. Fatter at first, and then he started getting even hairier. Boss started telling him about his life now, about who he was. Sure, he’d started college on a football scholarship, but that was a few years ago now. He was too lazy to keep up, and after a year, he’d added fifty pounds. He lost his scholarship, had to get a job delivering pizza, and only grew bigger. Now here he was, his late twenties, balding already, too hairy to work the kitchen for sanitary reasons, delivering pizzas for his boss. For his owner. The man shoved Max down onto his knees, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. He took one taste of his owner’s precum, and knew, somehow, this was what was in the pizza, this is what had been changing him. He tried to resist, but he sucked his new Boss dry, and when he came, and Max swallowed it all down, everything Boss had told him, that whole story, it became…real. He stumbled up, now close to 400 pounds himself, hair all over his body, head balding, beard down to his chest, sweaty and greasy and stinking. He knew he should hate it, but he didn’t–he groped his fat, reached under and found his cock and started milking it, grunting while he kissed his Boss, and they turned their attention to Jeremy, who was still stuffing himself silly at the buffet.

He was even fatter than Max now, close to 500 pounds. His eyes were terrified at what he was doing, but there was no stopping, not any more. “What do you think of your boyfriend, Jeremy?” Boss asked him, dragging his face around and showing him the hairy, sweaty pig that Max had become. “Wait…Max? What…what the fuck happened to you?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Max said, groping his fat frame, running his hands through his greasy fur, “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ horny…”

“I bet you are, watching this fat pig stuff himself always gets that cock of yours hard, but not as hard as this fat ass, right?” Boss said, gave Jeremy’s ass a slap, and they watched it inflate, growing wider than the rest of him, Max drooling again, but for a different reason.

“Fuck, he’s got such a hot fuckin’ ass.”

“Come on pig, I know you’re still hungry for dessert,” Boss said, tore open the already weakened sweats on Jeremy’s body. With a grunt, Max got down on his knees, crawled forward and shoved his bearded face into Jeremy’s crack, eating at the sweaty, rank crack, Jeremy moaning in confusion, not understanding anything of what was happening to him.

“I…what did you do to him?” Jeremy moaned, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t think too hard now, we all know you’re the dumbest fuck here, Jeremy. Too stupid to be a driver, and too fat at this point. Lucky for me you can operate an oven, with supervision. Still, you have a few good qualities, right? Well, a few things that disgust everyone else, but Max there sure loves them, like your fucking musk, and those rank ass farts of yours.” The mere suggestion was enough for Jeremy’s new ass to rip off a ripe one right into Max’s face, who moaned, his own cock drooling even more pre onto the floor below him.

“No, no that’s not, I was…big! I was a big, like, football guy…”

“No you weren’t, you stupid fuck. You dropped out of high school, and have been working here for years now. You met Max when he started working here, and you pigs moved in together, with my permission of course. I own your fat asses after all, neither of you thinks a fucking thing without my damn permission. But that asshole of yours is as hungry as dick as this mouth is for my pizza, and Max is a horny hairy freak, so it works out, doesn’t it?”

Jeremy tried to think, tried to remember, but all that came out was a loud fart from his hole, right into Max’s face, who just grunted in pleasure and dug in even deeper. Boss grabbed his head, shoved him down, and Jeremy sucked on his cock, already hard again after feeding a load to Max–but then, Boss could always produce a load for his dough, and his sauce, and his toppings. That was how he had the best pizza in town, after all, and when he saw someone he liked, well, he usually got them to work for him, one way or another. “Max, get up, I wanna see you fuck this fat pig while he swallows my load.”

“Yes Boss!” Max said, hefted himself up, dropped his gut on the small of Jeremy’s back, and worked his cock into Jeremy’s loosened hole. He drove in rough, panting and heaving, the air thick with the combined musk rolling off the three of them in the lobby of the restaurant, until Max came with a squeal, and Boss came too, Jeremy swallowing down a load and feeling everything solidify around him, just as it had around Max.

The restaurant opened an hour late that day, since the two new employees had demolished the lunch buffet. Boss got them into their new uniforms–shorts that were a bit too tight on them both, a polo shirt with Piggy Pizza across the front, neither long enough to disguise their guts hanging out below, and a ball cap with a smiling pig on the front. Then, Boss secured a leather collar around both of his new pigs, reminding him that they were his personal property. Max also got a cage around his cock, and for Jeremy, a vibrating plug in his hole to keep him excited and motivated. If Max got good tips, Boss would unlock him and let him fuck his boyfriend at home that night, but if he didn’t, well, he’d just suffer, hard in his cage from Jeremy’s gas and unable to do anything about it. Neither of them complained, though. Why would they? They loved working at Piggy Pizza–it was the perfect place for a couple pigs like them, after all.

Part 2 – Franchise Opportunities

A year had flown by since Piggy Pizza had opened, and for Max, it had been a bit of a blur. Boss didn’t let his worker slaves have much in the way of time off, after all, and so he delivered pizzas from the time the shop opened for lunch until the evening, snacking on pizza along the way, of course, until they closed at one in the morning. Then, he would drive Jeremy home in his truck, they’d usually have a fuck session if he’d earned one and fall asleep, before getting up, throwing on their still dirty uniforms, and doing it all again.

Boss took a particular interest in Jeremy over that year, feeding him almost constantly in the shop. Six months after they’d been conscripted, Jeremy had packed on another hundred pounds, and was pushing the scales at nearly 600. One evening, after a long stuffing, he couldn’t manage to get into the truck for the ride home–but Boss had a solution all ready for him. He’d made him a little sleeping area in the storeroom of the restaurant–Jeremy would be living there from now on. It would be more convenient.

Of course, Max was still horny as hell, and so he’d rush over when he woke up, get his fuck in before his shift started, and Jeremy only grew larger and larger, and muskier and muskier, since he didn’t have a shower in the restaurant. Jeremy eventually couldn’t even keep up with the baking, but Boss had a new role for him already planned–he hooked Jeremy’s cock up to a milker, and started pumping cum out of him, a new blend that Boss had been encouraging inside him, one that he had a feeling would help them grow their customer base even more. It worked–Boss’s own cum was more potent, but Jeremy’s kept folks coming back for more, and more, and more pizza every day. Business was booming, and they had to pull in a few other guys from campus as delivery slaves for the business, with Max as their general supervisor. One night, while they were tag-teaming Jeremy, the rest of the staff home for the night, Boss told Max how proud of him he was. He was thinking about opening up another franchise soon, and he thought Max might be an idea manager for a new location–under Boss’s strict control of course.

Max was thrilled by the idea. He rode that high for the next few days, until it all came crashing down with a sudden drop, when he delivered a load of pizzas, laced with a bit of Jeremy’s special sauce, to a house he…almost recalled, but one he couldn’t place. He rang the doorbell, the door opened, and he quickly realized he was delivering pizzas to a frat house. A frat house he knew. It had been his frat, a lifetime ago now, before he’d met Boss and started working at PIggy Pizza. He prayed that no one would say anything, but after staring at him for a moment, the jock who had opened the door said, “Holy fuckin’ shit, you’re…Max Grainger! Oh my fucking god, what the fuck happened to you?”

Max’s face reddened. Boss’s magic sauce could twist reality, but there were always these little pockets left behind. “Look man, I don’t wanna talk about it. Have a good night.”

The jock called the rest of the guys to the door, and they laughed, watching the player who had been recruited as a possible star waddled back to his truck, ass crack exposed, now just a loser dropout pig. Max’s face was burning, and he grumbled all the way back to the shop, angry that he was even angry about it. He liked working for Boss! He was going to have his own franchise soon! And a new franchise, he supposed, would need some more labor, wouldn’t it? He grinned then, and when he went back into the shop, he told Boss what had happened, and his idea.

Boss was skeptical of Max’s plan, but decided to give him a chance. He fed Max a big load of his cum, and Max felt something happen to him, his balls swelling and tingling. Boss told him that he had the power to change men like he did now–not nearly as potent, but more than enough for what he had in mind, this evening. First though, he had a few more deliveries to make. It was mostly to regulars around town, those who had been especially susceptible to their special ingredients. As the men opened their doors and smelled Max, they all seemed especially interested in him somehow. Max had fucked around with most of them–after all, now that Jeremy was living at the shop, he had to get his fucks in somewhere, but tonight, he was saving his loads for something special. That didn’t make it any less difficult to turn down the men who would invite him in, try and sneak a sniff of his pits, tell him that he seemed real sexy tonight. In the end, they were all mostly satisfied to take their pizzas, leave him a substantial tip, and Max went on his way back to his truck, sniffing his own pits. Sure, they were rank, but no more than usual. Is this what it felt like being Boss all the time? If it was, he could get used to it.

It was close to one in the morning, the shop was closing up, and Max loaded up a hefty stack of eight pizzas Boss had waiting for him, for one final delivery. He pulled up back in front of the frat house, already leaking into his uniform shorts, and the more excited he got, the more musk he seemed to be putting out–and maybe it was a bit stronger than before. He hefted the stack of pizzas to the door, rang the doorbell, but no one answered. It took a few rings, and a hard pounding, before any of the frat boys inside actually took notice, and one of them came to answer the door. Max grinned. He was showing good progress, a solid gut, a good amount of hair on his chest, and he was half naked, with grease and cum smeared across his face.

“Who the fuck are…oh fuck, you…smell real fucking good man,” the frat boy said, stumbled out onto the step, and shoved his face into Max’s pit, snorting in his stink.

“I got your second order of pizzas, why don’t you help me bring them inside, boy?” Max suggested.

He had to suggest it twice, and haul the young man’s chubby face out of his pit, but he finally got the hint, picked up half the boxes of pizza, and brought them inside, Max following him in and shutting the door behind him, looking at the party already in progress.

The pizzas were demolished, the room was demolished as well, and all of the frat brothers were scattered about the living room, on the furniture or the floor, in various states of fucking, sucking, licking and sniffing. None of them had gained less than thirty pounds, and some, like the one who’d opened the door, had gained more. But the one that Max was looking for wasn’t among them–the one who had laughed at him earlier, that was the one he had some special plans for. He took the pizzas one by one, opened up the boxes and laid them on the floor, calling for the little frat pigs. The smell of him, and the pizza, caught them and pulled them over, all of them grabbing for slices like greedy hogs and shoving them in their mouths, moaning and grunting in delight. That would keep them all busy, and growing, for a while longer. He saved one pie, and started looking through the house for the missing boy.

He found him after a few minutes, holed up in his room. Max could hear him on the phone with someone, trying to explain the situation–probably 911, but they kept dismissing it as a hoax. Why wouldn’t they, after all? He knocked on the door, the voice inside went quiet, and said, “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just me,” Max said, “Got your second delivery of pizzas here, but everyone downstairs was too busy to pay me. Why don’t you open up, boy, and we can settle your bill?”

“Fuck you! You fucking freak, what the fuck did you do to everyone?”

Max just chuckled, hauled off his shirt, took a piece of pizza out of the box, and rubbed it in his pits, soaking it in his stink. For good measure, he wiped some of his precum off on it too from the inside of his shorts, then shoved it under the door.

“What the, fuck why the fuck does it fucking stink!” the voice said, “Oh fuck, it smells so fucking good, and I’m so fucking hungry…”

He didn’t say anything else for a minute, just the sound of someone scarfing on the other side, and then quiet, and a belch. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and open the door, boy?” Max said.

The lock clicked after a moment, and when it opened, he saw a rather zonked looking young man on the other side, grease smeared across his face, drooling slightly. Max pushed his way in, and fed him the rest of the pizza. His name, he found out, was Doug, but Max decided Dough would be a much better name for him. Dough pleaded with him through the first few slices, begged him to stop, but by the time half the extra large pie was gone, he was ravenous. It was only natural, then, for Max to haul out his cock, and give him something to wash all that pizza down with.

Max was so horny, that he came after just a few sucks, and the orgasm was long. He could feel it, all of the corruptive potential he was feeding down Dough’s throat, and when he’d finished, a very different sort of fellow was sitting on the floor. He hauled Dough up by the collar of the shirt that no longer fit on around his nearly 400 pound frame, shoved him in front of the mirror in the room, and he gaped at his new body.

Sure, the fat was a big change for him, but Max helped him notice everything else too. The male pattern baldness that had settled in when he was twenty-five, a few years after he’d dropped out of college, too fat and stupid to keep up. Of course, he was pushing forty now, and had lost most of the hair on his head, replaced by a thick, bushy beard starting to grey, and a forest of hair all over his body–not quite as much as Max, but still plenty.

“Fuck, look at you, you fucking loser,” Max whispered in his ear, “And you thought I was bad when I answered the door, now look at you, long past your prime, don’t even have a job, just spend your days and nights stuffing yourself silly with your friends downstairs, jacking off all the time, like a proper fucking pig.

Dough tried to deny it, but Max tore off his clothes and led him downstairs, where the rest of the boys of the house had finished the second round of pizzas, and were all in similar a similar shape–older, all of them out of college now, fatter, their lives as jocks quickly being forgotten in the haze of lust that followed. He shoved Dough into the middle of them, and they all fell on him, humiliating and insulting him, and Dough found himself more and more turned on by the humiliating, begging them for their loads. Max spent the rest of the night finding the ones with a bit more resistance, and feeding them from his tap, until they too were just happy pigs, eagerly settling into their new lives.

A couple months later, a new franchise of Piggy Pizza opened on the other side of town, with Max as the head manager. Dough took up residence in the back, this location’s sauce supply, just as Jeremy was at the home location. The rest of the boys in the house, after being interviewed by Boss, were all hired on as well–as drivers, and cooks, and cleaners, depending on their personal skill sets and kinks. Business was booming, and both Boss and Max couldn’t wait to see how big this town could get.

Caption: Rest Area Tales #2 – A Helping Hand

CW: Raunch and scat, read at your own risk.

“Hey bud, think ya could help a fellow out?”

“The door? Who the hell knows, these rest areas are all beat to shit.”

“See, the problem is, I really gotta piss, real fuckin’ bad, but I’m also hard as a damn rock–so hard I can’t get this big fuckin’ cock in the bowl. Come here, think ya could help me out?”

“That’s it, just give it some good strokes, just like that–but I really gotta go quick, maybe ya could, ya know, suck on it?”

“Come on, it won’t make ya gay or nothin, yer just helpin’ a bud out! Real quick, ya don’t even gotta swallow.”

“Yeah, see? Fer a guy who says he doesn’t like it, ya sure can take this big dick of mine real easy down that throat of yours.”

“Sorry ‘bout the smell–already dropped a few logs. That’s what got me so damn hard tah begin with, somethin’ ‘bout the smell of mah shit always drives me a bit wild. Judgin’ from the bulge down in those jeans of yers, looks like I ain’t the only one. Go one, haul it out, jack it off–I won’t tell no one.”

“Yeah, fuck, gettin’ real close, here it fuckin’ comes!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck, sorry bud, hosed you down with my piss too, didn’t mean to. But that’s what you get for pullin’ off. Don’t look like ya mind too much, look at how hard that cock a yers is. Anyway, thanks man, that’s real helpful, but maybe…ya could help me out with one more thing? Mind given my ass a wipe for me?”

“I know the toilet paper’s right there, but that single ply shit is so scratchy–I was thinkin’ somethin’ a little more wet, ‘n soft…”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket, really dig on up in there, ya fuckin’ pig. Fuck yeah, I can hear ya snortin’ back there, ya like my rank fuckin’ ass man? Sure sounds like it, bet yer gonna blow yer load all across the fuckin’ toilet, ain’t ya?”

“Fuck bud, my crack’s ain’t been that clean in months! Much appreciated–yer a real helper. Say, how about riding with me for a while? I could use a good toilet pig like you in my cab, wouldn’t have tah stop in run down places like this if I could just use that dirty mouth of yours.”

“On vacation? Family? Ya don’t look like the sort of fucker who’d deal with that shit–have a look in the mirror. Yeah–look at you, grungy, ugly, old pig like that, ya’d love tah help a guy like me out, now what do ya say?”

“I thought so–now come on, I got some cold bottles of piss for ya in the cab.”

“Oh, I forgot to flush? Alright, but scarf that shit down quick, I don’t got all evenin’. We got a load tah deliver.”

Flash Commission – Greene Aged Tobacco

Garowan the tanuki brought the package inside from the porch, his striped tail swishing happily to and fro, excited that his tobacco sampler had finally arrived. It was a new variety of aged tobacco he’d seen advertised online, from a company called Greene’s. Curious, and happy with the low price, he’d ordered one just to give it a try. He opened up the box, and let out a little disappointed growl. What a ripoff! Sure, the sampler had been discounted, but inside the wood box with the Greene label on the front, there had been nothing more than a single cigarette rattling around.

A fucking cigarette! He didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He’d had a couple when he was a teenager, sure, but he preferred cigars. He picked it up, wondering who he was going to have to contact to complain about this, and brought it to his snout to take a sniff. It didn’t smell like the cigarettes he’d had before, actually, which had a sharper, cheaper scent. It was pleasant, actually. A little woodsy, a little rum, a little vanilla. He looked at it, and decided why not? He’d ordered it, he might as well try it. He could still complain about it to the company and get his money back, even if he used it. The box was decently sized, after all–it was probably supposed to have more stuff in it than this, and someone had packaged it wrong. He went into his living room, got his lighter, and lit the cigarette, taking a small draw on it, holding the smoke in, and then exhaling it into the air around him.

It was nice. Really nice. All of those flavors he’d picked up with his rather sensitive nose were still there, blended nicely together, without being too cloying or artificial. He gave his sizable nuts a scratch as he took a deeper drag, inhaling some of it this time, and felt a surprising little zing that went right to his head, making him feel a little light headed and dizzy. Apparently, whatever aging process they used made sure the tobacco packed a punch as well. He enjoyed the rest of the cigarette for a few minutes, that rush suffusing the rest of his body, and smoked the cigarette down to a small butt, before dropping it in the ashtray. It hadn’t been a total waste then–the tobacco was great. Now he really did wish he’d gotten a complete sampler, instead of just that little taste. He started back towards the kitchen, where he’d left the box, but before he could get there, be passed by a large mirror hanging on the wall in the living room, and then paused, staring at his reflection, a little confused.

He looked different. Not…all that different, he supposed. The fur on his cheeks and around his muzzle was thicker and a bit darker brown, looking like a proper beard that older tanukis usually grew. His body looked a little heftier. His arms were thicker with a bit more muscle, and his belly had grown fatter. Not my much, really. Just enough to really be noticeable, and to make his underwear look a little strained, especially since his nuts had grown as well. For tanukis, that was one of their main signs of age–their substantial sacks grew their entire life, and elders in particular often had sacks so large it made it a bit difficult to move around at times, though they usually managed. The fur on his belly had darkened and thickened as well, becoming a substantial treasure trail running up his larger gut. If he had to guess, he looked like he’d aged about ten years or so, into his mid-thirties, but he looked…good, somehow.

He went to the box, wondering if it might have some explanation, but there wasn’t anything like a note or warning. There was something new in the box though, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It was impossible that he could have missed something, it must have somehow just appeared there after he’d smoked that cigarette. It was a sizable smoking pipe, dark brown with a bent stem, and a little pouch of what he assumed must be tobacco along with it. He picked up the pouch, paw shaking a bit, opened up the top, and gave it a little sniff. Sure enough, it was the same aroma, though a little stronger, the flavors a little deeper, melded differently. Aged more. He could just tell from the darker, deeper scent. But if this tobacco was aged more, did that mean that, if he smoked it, he would age more too?

He went back to the mirror and looked at himself again, at his older body. He tried to imagine what he might look like even older and…and why was he even considering this? He couldn’t smoke this shit, who knew what it might do to him, he needed to get help. He went back, intending to throw the pouch of tobacco in the trash, but smelled it again, found himself getting a bit lost in it, and realized when he pulled it away from his snout that his cock was leaking in the front of his tight underwear. Without taking time to second guess himself, he picked up the pipe, dumped the tobacco in it, and tamped it down. The whole pouch fit in the bowl perfectly, and he went back into the living room, got his lighter, and lit the pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the stem, relishing the flavor again, enjoying the subtler notes he’d missed before.

He sat back, took an inhale off the pipe, and again, felt that same surge of energy off the tobacco as before, but while he still felt alert and energized, it was coupled with a rather profound sense of relaxation. He sank back into his armchair, and this time, he felt it as it was happening, his gut grumbling slightly, and then began to expand. Pipe in his mouth, he rubbed it with his paws, groaning a bit from the pressure. The gut was rather soft and pillowy, flowing around him, spreading out across the chair, thighs growing closer together. He could see the fur on his belly that had grown in before thicken further, and when he was about halfway through the bowl, it changed color again, the brown lightening to a steely grey, contrasting with his the prown pelt across the rest of his belly. It was joined by his beard, he realized after a moment, which was long enough to reach his chest now, and the same greyish color–almost the same color as the smoke coming from the pipe itself. His chest was growing as well, packing on fat until he had two sizable moobs resting on top of his gut. His nipples in particular grew as well, and the two piercings he had in them grew as well, from a pair of studs into two sizable gold rings.

He smoked the pipe down to ash, and then sat for a moment, looking down at himself, surprised he wasn’t more horrified. He set the pipe aside, and hefted himself up from the chair, his legs and back aching in ways that he didn’t expect, but which he supposed came with his new age. If he had to guess now, he was probably in his late forties. As he walked into the kitchen, he could feel his nuts swinging against his knees as he walked, the constant stimulation provoking a constant leakage from the head of his cock. Along the way, his underwear finally gave up and shredded away, leaving him entirely naked.

Something had appeared in the box again, where the pipe had been. It was a cigar, and not a small one, either. At least an 80 ring, if not larger, and close to nine inches long. He’d only seen cigars that large in pictures on the internet, never in person. He picked it up, paws shaking a bit, and brought it to his nose. The smell of it made him salivate–he could almost taste it, just from smelling the wrapper…but he shouldn’t, right? If he did, how old was he going to get, anyway?

He resisted the urge for a little while, moving around in his new body, getting used to hefting around his new weight, his sizable balls. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigar though, and come evening, after a sizable dinner to feed his new bulk, he sat down with the cigar in the living room, punched it, and after a moment, brought it to his lips and lit it.

It took some work, getting it started, because it was so large. The thing was so big it stretched his snout uncomfortably wide. At last, he was satisfied with the light, sat back, and took a sizable draw off the end, a bit greedy for the smoke even, and sighed out a thick plume, delighted with the flavor. The cigarette had been just a tease of this depth of flavor. It was the most delightful, savory smoke he’d ever had, in fact. Again, he felt the smoke spread through him, permeate him, and he grew again. Soon, his fat was spilling over the sides of the armchair, which was creaking under the weight of him, his balls sagging lower until he realized they were large enough to rest on the floor in front of the chair, his meaty thighs pushed wide apart by the massive sack. His jaw was aching from holding the cigar, but when he pulled it free for a moment to give it a rest, he realized that wasn’t the only reason. His tusks were coming in, his lower jaw jutting out, growing thicker, and two stubby incisors pushing their way out of his lower jaw. He put the cigar back in, happy to discover that it was much stronger, and could support the cigar easily while his paws explored his growing body.

His fur thicker, and all over his belly, the brownish grey lightened further to a stark white, as did his beard, which now reached down to the massive belly button in his massive gut. His moobs were even larger now, and when he squeezed them, he let out a little grunt of surprise and pleasure when he felt something leak from the nipples. Looking down, he realized he’d matured enough to start lactating, something that didn’t happen to every tanuki, but if it did, it didn’t usually happen until they were in their sixties. It felt…good, and the rings in his nipples grew even thicker, almost as thick as the massive cigar he was smoking. The smell was beginning to permeate him now, and the smell of the tobacco was joined by a scent of his own musk, growing stronger and more pungent, with a definite pang of smoke–but that wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d been a near constant smoker for years now, why wouldn’t he smell of smoke?

He shook his head, but that memory was real, as real as his other ones. He could find himself remembering other things, a whole life that he’d lived now, leading to this new body. He was happily retired, well supported, and didn’t have to worry about anything. He could even sense, somehow, that he hadn’t really lost any years off his life, through these changes. He would stay like this for years now, for as long as the years he had lost, probably close to forty or so, before aging any further. He finished the cigar, set the butt down in the ashtray, and heaved a final, contented, smoky sigh. It was a lot to consider, really, but he didn’t regret any of it, though he was horny as hell after all of that, and his massive balls were aching for release. He pulled himself up, and saw he’d already accumulated quite a puddle of cum around his balls on the floor. No matter, he knew a few cubs around who would be more than happy to clean it up for him–maybe while he had another cigar, or two.

TPC – Chapter 2.10

Chapter 10 – Emptied Out

Richard found himself dragged down some concrete steps into the basement of the house where Barry had driven them. It was not his house–where in the hell was he? He tried to focus on what was going on around him, but it was difficult. He never drank that much, but Barry had just kept filling his glass from all those pitchers, and he was such a good guy, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. Now he was here, in some strange basement, with two guys cutting his clothes off before strapping him down to a table.

“Good evening Richard, my name’s Ian, how are you tonight?” one of the other men said, looming over him.

“I don’t, what are you doing to me? I didn’t want to come here.”

“It’s going to be ok Richard, trust me, alright?” Barry said, coming around to the other side of the table. “You know I would never steer you wrong.”

“I…but what am I doing here?”

“You’re helping me out, Richard. You like being a helpful guy, and you’re helping my friend here out too. It’s just a little test is all, everything will be just fine. All you have to do is trust me.”

Richard nodded, but that didn’t do much to alleviate his fear.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve brought me then,” Ian said, and placed his hands on the side of Richard’s head.

What happened after that was difficult to explain. He felt something push into him, into his mind, and start pulling on strings, poking around into various nooks and crannies. It wasn’t a physical sensation, but it was pleasurable. Richard let out a moan, and when the man pulled his hands away, he was embarrassed to realize that his cock had gotten fully erect right in front of them both.

“Well damn, this is some good stock you’ve brought along. I didn’t think it would be quite this good.”

“So it’s worth something?” Barry asked.

“Oh, I can find a buyer for a lot of this, for sure. You’ll get your cut too, of course. Finder’s fee. Your promotion, and I’ll throw in a little extra too, since it looks like you got a taste of a little bit of what else I can do tonight.”

“Fuck, you can make this…permanent?”

“It won’t be quite as intense, but it’ll be there. What ends up as waste material is the more…intense stuff. I’d explain it if I could, but this is all new, cutting edge shit.”

“No kidding, how…how is any of this possible?”

“Ask Pigtown,” Ian said. “It’s been a wild couple of years.”

“I don’t–did I do ok? On the test?” Richard asked, “Why did that feel so good?”

“You did great,” Ian said, “But this next part is more important, alright? So just relax. It’ll all be over before you know it. If you thought it felt good before, just you wait, bud.”

Richard lifted his head up, and watched as Ian took a strange tube from the cart beside him, and attached it to his cock. It was a flexible silicone sleeve with a tube coming out the top, but the bottom sealed around the base like a vacuum. “Alright, let’s start off with the finder’s fee,” Ian said, flipped a switch, and Richard gasped as the milker on his cock started sucking at it, making him shudder and buck.

Ian came around behind his head, put his hands on Richard’s temples again, and the same sensation happened as before, but more focused. Ian wasn’t looking through everything all at once this time, instead, he focused on Richard’s work at the office. Not just his work, exactly. His promotion. He saw himself in Evan’s office, getting his softball interview, already knowing he was a shoe in for the position. The team congratulating him. It was more than just that though–it was his charisma. His confidence. His trust. All of it was being bundled up and pushed lower. Down into his neck and then his chest, deeper and deeper until he felt all of those memories and emotions and sensations down in his balls, which were churning more and more as the milker tugged on his cock. The pleasure grew more intense then, and Richard couldn’t stop it as he came–and when he did, he felt all of the memories and thoughts he’d had pushed down there forced out as well, and by the time he realized he was losing them, he no longer could remember what he’d even lost.

“And there it is,” Ian said, holding up a vial that he disconnected from the end of the milker. It looked like a load of cum, but it was shimmering in a way that Richard had never seen before. He knew that what he’d lost was in there, but couldn’t articulate what, exactly, it was. “Usually I’d dehydrate it, but it’s just as potent now. Go home, drink it up, and go to sleep. You’ll feel everything in the morning. If you have an issue, contact me.”

“What…what’s gonna happen to him?”

“I already have a buyer lined up, don’t worry.”

“Like…” Barry was thinking slavery, but he didn’t really want to know. “Look, thanks, really.”

“No, thank you–you enjoy that,” Ian said, “You earned it.”

Richard watched as Barry took the vial from Ian, and left up the stairs without so much as saying goodbye to him. “Wait, he’s…he’s my ride,” he gasped out, still riding the wave of that massive orgasm.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound,” Ian said, “But we still have more to get out of you first.”

“What?” Richard asked, but before he could get another word out, Ian turned the milker back on, and he shuddered. “Wait, it hurts, I…”

“Hush now, it’s going to feel so good, just trust me. Now, what next?” Ian said. He placed his hands on his head again. “I know a few closet cases that would love a good beard.”

This time, Richard felt a different set of memories being pulled to the front of his mind. His wife. His two kids. His family. The house where they all lived together, everything he could remember about all of them, their likes and dislikes, family vacations together. This he clawed at, trying to keep it in his head, trying to keep it from sliding down, but the pressure was immense, and the milker on his cock was relentless. He begged and pleaded with him to stop, but Ian just cooed back at him, talking to him like he was a child, telling him everything would be just fine soon enough. Again he came, and he tried as hard as he could to hold onto some of it, any of it, but it was gone, and he was left shuddering on the table, tears in his eyes, trying to remember what he felt so sad about. Ian watched as the wedding ring disappeared from Ian’s finger, all of his marriage now held in a second vial. He detached that one, and put on another.

“No, please, not again.”

“Don’t worry Richard, don’t you want to feel good? This feels so good.”

Ian continued the process for the next hour or so, filling vial after vial with everything in Richard’s head he could turn a profit on. He pulled out his education, and bottled it. He pulled out his upper class background, and bottled that. He started working on his body next. He bottled two decades of youth from him, watching Richard go from 25 to 45 in a matter of minutes. He stole his quick metabolism, and his body expanded, packing on close to fifty pounds of fat in a matter of moments. He stole his brow, jawline, a few inches of his height, and whatever charm he’d had left after giving most of it to Barry, and lastly, he milked away half his six inch cock and balls, leaving him with a modest package buried in a new fat pad. Richard had long since passed out at this point, and barely stirred as Ian pulled the milker off his now thick, short cock, and gave his new chubbier body a feel. Hugh had watched all of this in silence, always amazed at what Ian could do, and feeling a little jealous of the skill that had developed in his friend over the last few year and change. He’d get a commission from this one too, at least, and the job wasn’t quite finished yet anyway.

“Alright Richard, time to wake up, you did great,” Ian said, cracking open some smelling salts and waving them under his nose, making him sputter awake.

“I…what happened, where…where am I, I–” Richard said, his voice deeper and slower now, more ponderous.

“Everything is fine, Richard. You’re dehydrated. Go ahead and drink this up,” Ian said, and handed him a little glass of water. It shimmered a bit–he’d put in a little bit of a mix–some muscle, some construction knowledge, a good dose of submission and homosexuality of course. Pigtown would take care of filling in the rest soon enough, but that would get him ready for his new role come morning. After all, plenty of folks in Pigtown needed bodies for work, and Richard would be doing plenty of that from now on.

He took the glass and drank it down in a few gulps, his eyes sparkled, and then dimmed again as he collapsed back on the table, shaking a bit, and then settling down. Ian pulled out his phone and made a call, “I got your goods, ready for pickup,” he said. Twenty minutes later, they were helping the now much heavier Richard out of the basement, and into the back of a pickup truck, which drove off with him into the early morning.

“Looks like a good haul,” Hugh said.

“Fuck, I haven’t had a guy like that in ages. We don’t get fellows like that around here anymore.”

“Well you sucked most of them dry.”

“Shut up. I have a feeling that Barry could be a very good contact for us in the future. Remind me, next week, to touch base and see if he’d be interested in helping us out with acquisitions.”

“Hunting, you mean.”

Ian glowered at him, “What’s with you, Hugh? You’ll get your cut, and more waste to sell once I process everything.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Hugh said, “I’m just tired is all. Gonna head home and get some sleep.”

Ian waved goodbye, and went back down into the basement. This was the harder part, really–refining the product. He’d given Richard the raw stuff, and it worked just fine, but it could cause some messy situations if you weren’t careful. For a little shift like that though, it wouldn’t be a problem, he was sure.

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