Twelve Months ‘til Christmas (Part 5)

~~April 26th~~

He’d fucked up–he knew that. But the simple fact was, John hadn’t been able to take it anymore. He…wasn’t even sure who he was anymore. It was the middle of March, when his father had picked up a renewed interest in John, after close of a month of paying him almost no attention at all–and from that first day, when he’d taken on a new form…John had known something was different with Stanta. He had never been particularly jolly, of course, but when he’d laid eyes on John that next time, he’d become an old painpig–obese, coated in metal, hair and tattoos, begging for pain and abuse. But inside–unlike the last times–John had still been inside there, and Stanta had known it, had taunted him with the knowledge that he knew John was in there and he didn’t care. That he wanted him to suffer.

John couldn’t think of anything he’d done to deserve such treatment, and in fact, he hadn’t been guilty of anything at all–but punishing him had been convenient. After his discussions with Santapig, Stanta had been furious. Furious with Timmy. Furious with that little pig who had been Marty. So furious in fact that, with Santapig watching gleefully, he’d destroyed every remnant of Marty’s old self still residing in that pig body, as Santapig had requested. After all, Timmy didn’t have to know what he’d done to use the pig as leverage, if he needed it, and having any chunk of Marty still hanging around was much too large a risk for him. So furious at himself, for being sucked into this entire mess, for bringing his son here, the son he’d always hated. It wasn’t surprising that, after a few weeks of that treatment, John had snapped.

Pushing through the persona, he’d gone for the love gun Timmy had left him, and threatened his father with it. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, however, and Stanta had, after disarming him, beaten him even harder, and made John tell him everything that had happened, leading up to him getting the gun, and he had–everything about his strange encounter with Timmy on the porch, and the gift left the next day for him. After Stanta was satisfied, he’d locked John in this room again, where he was still sitting, weeks later. He’d returned to himself at this point, close to a week ago, now, but his father hadn’t returned to check up on him. So here he was, naked on his small bed, wondering what, exactly, his daddy would do to punish him–because that was the one thing he was certain would happen.

But today was different than the other days–today, he heard the lock on the door falling away–apparently his isolation was over, and his punishment was about to commence. He braced himself for whatever he might become when Stanta laid eyes on him after opening the door–he was certain it wouldn’t be anything good. But it wasn’t Stanta who opened the door. Instead, John found himself looking at a massive pigman, standing upright on two trotter-like feet, staring at him with tiny dark, greedy eyes, and with a lurch, he felt his body shifting around him.

A pig? Who in the world was this? He remembered seeing Stanta bringing those two pigs back with him from the workshop months ago, but…what in the world had he done to them? Was he going to become a pig too, thanks to the amulet? He looked down at himself, expecting the worst, but was somewhat surprised to see that he wasn’t losing his human features. He was shrinking slightly, and growing a sizable gut coated with white hair, with a thick white beard as well. He himself looked a bit Santa-esque, but he wasn’t Santa–his name…his name was Claude?

It was similar to what had happened when Timmy had seen him on the porch–he wasn’t simply assuming a form, he was assuming an identity along with it–one which was…slightly warped, it seemed, as his cock engorged itself, growing over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, the pigman (Santa, his new mind told him, but this pig couldn’t be Santa, could it?) started drooling at the sight. “I’ve…*grunt* missed you more than I even realized,” the pig said, walking into the room and embracing John, “Claude…fuck, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“Shut up you pig–I’ve missed you too, and that hole of yours,” John heard himself say, and then shove the pig over the side of the bed, lined his huge cock up with his hole, and slid into him with a long shudder of pleasure, and…and love. Not true love, some strange, warped desire that was close enough to fill in the void, but one which felt…so dirty, to him. John fucked the pig’s filthy hole, disgusted by the sensation, but the pig was pushing back, eager to be filled to the brim. John looked over and saw Stanta in the doorway, watching the scene with a stony face, waiting for them to finish–which took about half an hour. John slid out after he’d shot a massive load of cum deep into Santapig’s bowels, and then the pig whirled around, got down and started cleaning off the massive cock, grunting and snorting while he did, and John looked to his father. “Dad, I–”

“John, you made a mistake, but not an unforgivable one. But my friend here…has been very helpful to me, over the last month or so, and he deserves a reward. That’s going to be you, for the next several months.”

“But–”

Stanta walked over, and put a finger to his son’s lips. “You’re still mine–don’t forget that. He’s merely…borrowing you, right pig?”

There was a disgruntled sound made around John’s big cock, and he felt it bob, as Santapig nodded, reluctantly.

“I have business to settle, and I can’t have you getting in the middle of it. Once it’s settled…” he paused, “I’ll try harder too. I promise. To be the father for you I never was. But for now, I need you to do this, for me, understand?”

John nodded. All in all, it wasn’t that bad, right? He got a cute piggy ass to plow whenever he wanted, right? He was less enthused, when Stanta made them move into Santapig’s room with that…creepy urinal attached to the wall, but he knew, without a doubt, it could have been much, much worse.

A Study in Flannel (1 of 2)

“Hello, Wallflower.”

“Yes, I’m talking to you. Did you think no one had noticed you in here? Everyone’s been talking about you, but everyone gets talked about, their first time in Pigtown. Everyone wants to know, who’s that handsome young man going to be, sipping that beer all by himself against the wall?”

“If you really want to hide that blush, you shouldn’t turn away–just grow a better beard, Wallflower.”

“Wallflower, everyone can tell that you’re trying to. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Look at you–we all know what you want to be. Those jeans, those boots, that…*sigh* flannel shirt. Flannel, such a tired fabric, but it means so much to all of us here, I suppose. No one wants to hear The Beatles, but everyone knows the words when it come on. We all know what you want.”

“Don’t be coy with me–you know what this place is. I know how far the reputation of my bar spreads.”

“Oh, you just now noticed that facial hair of yours? I know I suggested you grow a beard, but that flush in your cheeks is too cute to hide just yet. Shame about the color though…”

“A mirror? Right over there, Wallflower. Go take a look?”

“Not too bad, eh? That mop makes a pretty good flat top, I have to say, and you’re filling out that flannel of yours nicely. How’s that cigar taste? Heh, looks like you hadn’t even noticed it. Big package in the front of those jeans daddy, you’re filling out nice and thick, just how we like them. Still, as handsome as you are, I’m afraid you just don’t quite fit our theme tonight.”

“Didn’t you notice? Second Friday of every month is the hoedown! Got dirty fucks coming from five counties to have some fun around here. Don’t worry, we can get you all fixed up here in a jiffy–won’t take much more than a few tweaks, and you’ll be feeling right at home.”

“Don’t shake your head at me! Don’t you understand the importance of theme nights? Honestly, it’s like why keep a calendar at all, if men can just show up and be whoever they want to be. Now hold still, Wallflower–let’s rip some seams.”

Cigar Dads

“What did you say it’s called?” Gil asked, looking over Frank’s shoulder at the screen of his boyfriend’s phone.

“It’s called Chronivac or something–I got an invite to be a beta tester on my phone–this thing’s amazing! It can fucking change things, Gil. Like, reality.”

Gil just raised an eyebrow at Frank. “Sounds like a scam.”

Frank just smiled…oddly. “Oh trust me, honey, this thing works perfectly well.”

Gil just shook his head. Why in the world was he even dating Frank? He paused a moment. Why…why was he dating Frank, anyway? There didn’t seem to be an answer–they were just…dating. It was just a fact. The two of them certainly looked like they went together–a couple of twinks, but hadn’t he…

“You listening, Gil? I just told you that I can change the world, and you’re just staring off into space.”

“Sorry…I was just…confused for a sec there.”

“Look, here, I’ll show you!” Frank said, “scrolling through the app, “Let’s see–packaged changes, oh here’s a laugh–Cigar Dad! Ugh, can you imagine either of us old?” He laughed, “No, we twinks are never going to have to age again. Still, for a laugh, let’s see, right?” Frank started fiddling with the phone, “Let’s see–aware on, and the rest should be good. Target myself…and maybe…two minutes?”

Frank hit a button, and Gil’s jaw dropped, as he watched his slender, short, hairless boyfriend begin to shift and change right before his eyes. He grew older, his abs dissolving into a gut. There was hair…everywhere, even as the hair on his head balded back. After two minutes, a very different Frank was standing in front of him, chuffing on a cigar. “Fuck…did I…I left the mental on, didn’t I…” Frank muttered, and took a deep, long, inhale of smoke. “Tastes fuckin’ good. Whole thing feels fuckin’ good, actually.”

“Frank, what the fuck just happened to you?”

“Made myself a cigar dad, I guess!” Frank said, his voice a bit gravelly and rough. He crossed the room to a mirror and took stock of himself. “Fuck, I look…fuckin’ sexy as fuck…” Frank started tugging at his cock, grinning at himself in the mirror.

“Frank, what the fuck is going on?” Gil asked again, “I…I’m kind of scared.”

Frank just picked up his phone, chuckling, hit a few buttons, and then looked over at Gil, who had the…strangest sense that things were off kilter somehow. He took a drag off his own cigar, eyeing his sexy husbear Frank across the room. “Fuck, could use that mouth of yours around this cock a mine,” Gil said, stroking his own hairy cock, feeling his gut shake as he did.

“Shit, forgot that part–” Frank fiddled again, and Gil realized he’d misspoke–he only ever sucked and fucked–Frank was the total top in this cigar couple, and Gil the desperate bottom pig. He got down on hands and knees and crawled over, sucking Frank’s cock, taking a moment now and then to blow smoke over the head and shaft, and Frank grinned. It wasn’t what he’d planned, but for now, he had no real complaints.

Source: guido-maffeo

“Hello sir, I’m a representative from Arctos Outfitters. I was wondering if you’d like to try a sample of one of our specialty line of soaps in the showers today,” the young man said, as Rudy approached the gym showers with his towel wrapped around his waist.

“E-Excuse me?” he said, looking around and a bit confused. The man was young, but had a nicely trimmed beard, and a bit of a paunch–but it looked good on him somehow, even if Rudy would never in his life let himself get that heavy. He was also completely naked, which even in this locker room was…fairly brazen.

“Just a sample is all. It’s completely free.”

“Yeah, but…here?” Rudy asked.

“Well, it makes sense doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t you hand out soap at the showers?” the young man said, grinning from cheek to cheek. “No one needs a sample of soap on the street corner.

Wanting to avoid an argument, he just took the little bar of soap the man handed him, wrapped in a little paper wrapper-like a hotel soap. He looked at the label, and it said it was called “Cubble.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite–I use it every day!” the young man said, giggling a bit, “Enjoy your shower!”

He went into the room, surprised to find a few other showers running, and the room quite steamy–so much so it was a bit difficult to see through the room. He went to a showerhead and turned it on, waited for the temperature to stabilize, and then lathered up with the sample of soap. True to it’s name, it was…quite foamy, so much so that it was even a bit…tingly, making him chuckle, and then giggle–a sound which made him rather embarrassed to come out of his usually mature, deep voiced throat. Still, the soap did feel good. He ran it down over his abs again…only to discover they weren’t abs anymore–he had a small round gut, not unlike the young man who’d give him the soap. He dropped it in surprise, and gripped his chubby midsection in surprise.

“Looks like you dropped something boy, let me get that for you,” a voice said beside him, and a massive, older…daddy knelt down beside him and picked up the bar. “You still have about half left–let daddy help you out, get those…hard to reach spots.”

Rudy was helpless as the man scrubbed him down, moaning and giggling as the man washed him, paying extra attention to his cock and balls, before shoving Rudy up against the wall of the shower and sliding his cock into the new cub’s soap slick crack. “Think you ‘n I are gonna pay that Arctos shop a visit tonight boy–we’re gonna need some more soap, and a whole lot of things to get dirty with in between.”

Source: thatonebigchub

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 9)

Waste was surprised that he was still alive. In a sense, he knew that he wasn’t, not alive in the same sense as before, certainly not alive as the same person. He uncurled himself slowly from the ball he crumpled into on the floor, before pushing himself up on shaking legs so he could see himself in the mirror.

What had happened to him? It was like every muscle in his body had been dehydrated and shrunk to a single wire connecting each of his joints. Just from looking at himself, he couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds–the curse had left him as skin and bones. His height only served to exaggerate his new physique, but the loss of muscles wasn’t the most disturbing parts–it was the concave belly with his ribs clearly defined against the skin of his chest. Somehow, the skin seemed both impossibly tight, and also loose and sagging, depending on the angle one looked at. His eyes climbed higher, to his neck, every tendon and vein visible through his much paler skin, and his gaunt face. He looked…old. So much older than he had been, with his now snow white beard growing out in wisps to his chest, his head bald aside from a few errant strands of fine hair that remained. To steady himself, he took a drag off his cigar, able to see his chest inflating with smoke, and then exhaled through his yellowed, crooked teeth, lined with gaps. Cheeks shallow and gaunt, eyes sunken deep. His eyes–he could see clearly, but they were cloudy–eerily so, and he could barely make eye contact with himself for five or ten seconds, before having to look away, but there was nowhere to look that didn’t horrify him. The only part of him that seemed to have any life left was his cock–he gripped it with a bony hand, feeling it’s warmth, feeling alive in some small way, through his shaft.

Waste. The curse had named him Waste, and now he understood. Wasting away, but also discarded by the world. Refuse. That old him, Walter, he was fading faster now, he was dying in the sandstorm, but the curse had saved him from that fate, because he could still be useful. If he didn’t want to suffer the same end, then Waste knew what he had to do, knew who he had to become.

“Sorry about that, Fuglet,” he said, looking over at his slave. His voice was dry, cracking, desperate for water. The shiver that ran down Fuglet’s back was similar to a knife running down a pane of glass. “I got…distracted. You’ve met all my conditions, slave. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re mine now–all mine, forever.”

Fuglet didn’t like this Master. Fuglet liked the old one, the one who he could tell still cared about him, but in those skeletal, cloudy eyes, he only saw hatred.

“Get on the bed–Master wants to use that hole of yours.”

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t disobey. He got on the bed and let his jeans slip from his ass and around his knees, his master coming over, running sharp, claw like nails along his filthy skin, pressing hard enough to leave a red mark, but not a true scratch. His cock was hungry–it was the only part of him that needed anything anymore. As long as he kept his cock happy, as long as that didn’t shrivel away as well, then he wouldn’t have to worry. The curse would be happy, and Waste wouldn’t have to die too.

He raped his Fuglet for hours. When he grew tired of one hole, he would switch to another. If his slave displeased him for some reason, he would take a moment to punish him–sometimes quickly, with a sharp burn from the end of his cigar, or other times longer, with a prolonged paddling. The whole time, he could see his cock and balls swelling larger, feeding on Fuglet’s pain and humiliation until it was over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, ramming deep into his ass as he screamed with each invasion. When he finally finished, and came–filling Fuglet’s ass with a massive load of cum, Waste finally looked around and realized the apartment had completely shifted around them as well, their new life becoming…clearer.

Fuglet worked in construction during the day–it was one of the few jobs someone as stupid and ugly as he was could still manage to do a decent job and not get fired in the first week. Everyone on his crew hated him, of course. Everyone in the world despised him as soon as they met him. They just…something about him, it was clear that he wasn’t right. He had no friends, he had no family. No one knew about his master waiting back at home. No one who noticed his collar had any desire to know the details or story behind it. Still, he did his menial tasks competently, he stayed out of everyone’s way, and that was acceptable. Then, when the day was done, he went home, where Waste was waiting.

Waste never left the apartment. It wasn’t clear that Waste even could leave the apartment. It wasn’t clear what, exactly, waste was, but Fuglet was fairly certain he wasn’t entirely human, even if he had been at some point. He never ate, he only slept a few hours a night. He would abuse Fuglet until he passed out, and when he awoke, Waste would still be fucking him. As gaunt and sickly as he appeared, he was stronger than any man Fuglet had met on any crew. Waste was his curse to bear, he supposed, for some sins in some past life, and he bore him willingly. At least it was someone. At least he wasn’t entirely alone. At least there was something in the world that needed him, even if it only needed him to suffer.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 8)

“Are…y-ya fuckin’ h-h-happy now, s-s-sir?” Donny stammered out, staring at himself. “Ain’t no one g-g-onna want me now.”

“No–No, fuck you, no we’re not finished.”

Donny flinched at the edge in Walter’s voice. It hadn’t been there before–and neither had those steel grey eyes he was looking at him with. Appraising him with, like an object. Like an object, trying to figure out what part of it he hadn’t quite vandalized completely.

“That face,” Walter said, “I still see you in that fucking face.”

With a cry of pain, Donny’s facial features began rearranging themselves. His mouth grew wider and his lips thinned, his nose growing out, the point turning up and flattening, nostrils flaring wide to either side. His brow thickened considerably, hiding his now beady eyes in shadow, even as his forehead grew shorter. His ears flapped out to either side, one noticeably larger than the other.

“Too young too. You don’t fucking deserve youth. No–there’s nothing uglier than awkward middle age.”

His hairline receded, but left a noticeable tuft of hair behind offset to one side, and a few strands of grey appeared in his hair and sideburns–not enough to form a pattern, but enough to be apparent. His gut and moobs sagged a bit further, his skin growing cracked, dry and weathered, spotted with moles and freckles. Donny no longer recognized himself in any part of his body, and yet, looking at his own reflection…he knew this life of his intimately. No one had ever loved him. No one had ever touched him without also wanting to hurt him.

“Fuckin’ ugly pig,” Walter said, giggling for some reason, feeling unhinged in his own mind. What a name for you! Fuglet! The fuckin’ ugly piglet. What’s your name, slave? I want to hear you say it.”

“It’s…Fuglet s-s-sir,” Donny said…and it was true. Somehow, that nickname had followed him his entire life. He’d forgotten his real name often enough, and it was easier just to introduce himself as that–it got the messy business over faster…sometimes.

“Fugglet, oh my fucking christ, what the fuck have I done!” Walter said, still giggling. “I…I knew this was going to…to be rough, but fuck, I can’t even look at you.”

“I k-k-know sir, I’m g-g-g…” he tried to say, but couldn’t get anything past his lips.

“I fucking did this, fuck, I have to get the fuck out of here, I need some fucking air,” Walter said, and stumbled for the apartment door, intending to run and never come back. He’d done what the curse had wanted, hadn’t he? It didn’t need him anymore. He couldn’t stay here, he couldn’t stare that thing in the face everyday and…and not see himself reflected in it. He grabbed the door handle and hauled the door open six inches, but the door slammed against some immovable and invisible force, which slammed it back shut. It was in him. It was in him, the curse was in him, and it was angry. Now he knew what Jack had meant, when he’d told him not to resist, that the curse only wanted to use him. In the end, he hadn’t been the right tool, even if he’d been close. The curse was realizing this now, and decided to fashion him into something which would better suit its needs.

“You have to stay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stay, I’ll be your tool!” he shouted into the room, but he could tell the curse was rather unimpressed, and it was right. He couldn’t do this. He hadn’t imagined it might be this intense, this terrible, watching the man he loved…destroyed like this. This wasn’t what he’d wanted, not really, but it was the curse calling the shots. It was the curse which had seen this in him, deep inside him, and called it forth. This had come from him, but he’d never had to stomach to grapple with it–that the only way he could know–truly know–that someone was his, was to make sure no one would ever desire them.

“You cannot leave. You won’t leave. You don’t want to leave.”

The curse was pulling him away from the door, dragging him back towards the room, back towards Fuglet, back towards the mirror.

“Fuglet needs to be punished.”

“Please, I know, I’ll do it.”

“You both need to be punished.”

“No…no…” he whined, but he could already feel it, his body changing in ways he could barely understand.

“You hate. You hate, it is what you do. You hate, you wound. You are cruel. You are waste. You are wasting. No one would ever submit themselves to someone like you, no one other than someone who no one would want to dominate. You will both be cursed to have no one but one another.”

Thinking back on the moment–often after waking up from nightmares in the middle of the night, trying to scream through a dry, empty throat–it was like he had been set on his knees in a sandstorm, being buffeted by the wind and thousands of sharp, cutting grains of glass. Every cut removed a piece of him–thoughts from his mind, strength from his body, kindness from his soul. He would imagine being buried, but they were simply stripping everything away from him that was no longer necessary. The best tools, after all, were lean and efficient, honed for a single purpose, and obvious in intent. The storm disappeared, leaving him curled up in a ball on the floor, Fuglet backed up against the wall, unable to understand what had just happened, but terrified all the same. He just stared at his Master, wondering if he was dead. It looked like it could be dead, and then there was a rasping breath, and his Master uncurled himself with a groan.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 8)

“What’s the matter, daddy?”

Daddy gave a another growl of frustration, hefted his gut a bit higher on the pig’s back, and kept trying to work his cock into the pig’s hole, but as horny as he was, his cock simply wasn’t responding. “Yer too fuckin’ tight, pig.”

“Oh trust me daddy–after that nice licking you gave my hole earlier, I’m as loose as can be. You need one of your little blue pills to help you out?”

“Fuckin’ piece a shit! If I wasn’t looking at ya I could git hard, but yer fuckin’ grossin’ me out.”

“Don’t lie to me daddy–I might disgust you, but that just turns you on more. Still, if you can’t get hard, I guess we’ll have to figure out some other way for you to make my little piggy cock cum.”

“It’s daddy’s cock you should be fuckin’ concerned with. Ya can cum after I get mah own damn rocks off.”

“That’ll be a while, and you don’t have that much time left.”

“What the fuck do ya mean?”

“Well daddy, if you want to change back, you’re going to have to drink my cum–but the longer you wait, the more this becomes the real you. If I finish my pipe before I cum, I won’t be very happy, and you’ll be stuck for good.”

“Wait…what?”

“Can remember daddy, who you were? That’ll all be gone soon, if you don’t hurry, I don’t have a whole lot left in this bowl. Too much longer, and this little piggy will be gone again, and you’re going to be this disgusting daddy forever.”

He looked at himself in the mirrored doors of the hotel room closet, his 400 pound body covered with hair, matted with sweat, reeking of piss and musk, beard and hair grown long and ragged. That…wasn’t him. He knew that, but he could barely remember who he’d been before meeting this fucking pig hours earlier. “Fine, fuckin’ roll over, ‘n let’s git this over with.”

Carmichael did as he asked, rolling over onto his back, piggy cock jutting straight up into the air. “You can suck all you want daddy, but I simply can’t cum without something in my hole, and if that cock of yours can’t get hard…then again, a perverse, dirty minded, kinky daddy like you can probably figure something out.”

He was still looking at himself in the mirror as the tattoos appeared, snaking up his arms and legs onto his chest and belly, his mind–every empty spot was suddenly filling up with the sickest, most disturbing fantasies he could imagine. His gear shifted–a studded leather harness appearing under his vest, his gloves growing and turning to rubber, reaching up to his elbows. His nipples grew large and inflamed, pierced with thick rings, and his bulge grew as well, his cock and balls pumped and inflated with silicone. But he did have ideas–oh, did he have plenty of ideas for how to get this nasty piggy to nut his load down daddy’s throat.

He went to the closet, dug around for a moment, and returned to the bed with a tub of shortening, slathered one of his gloves, and started working his fingers into the pig’s hole–he’d been right, it was loose, and it swallowed his whole fist in less than a minute.

“Oh fuck daddy, that’s what I’m talking about…”

“Yeah, ya slutty fuckin’ pigs, daddy knows what ya really want…”

He pushed in deeper, up to his elbow, deep enough that he could get his mouth around the pig’s cock and start sucking, hard, milking it for all it’s worth.

“Oh fuck daddy, that feels so good, but I don’t know if I want to cum–just think, I could play with you anytime I wanted.”

The daddy didn’t like just how appealing that sounded to him. He sucked harder, pounding in deeper, before sliding back out a bit and milking the pig’s prostate until at last, with a grand squeal, the pig exploded into his mouth, and he drank all the cum down that he could–but there was so much of it.

“Careful daddy–you really don’t want to miss *grunt* a single drop.”

He could feel it working, feel some of the changes receding, but the flow stopped long before he felt normal again, and looked over at himself in the mirror. He was still at least fifty, with some of his original color back in his hair and beard, both of which were quite long. He still reeked of musk, and only a few of the tattoos had receded–but with some relief, he felt a stirring in his crotch, his cock returning to life and coming to full mast, but the view of it was still obscured by his massive gut–he had to be at least 350 pounds still, and a fucking hairy beast. “Feed me more a yer cum,” he said, “I can git another load out a ya.”

“Sorry daddy, but it doesn’t work like that. But let your little pig take care of you for a while,” Carmichael said, sitting up and pushing his daddy away, feeling his fist slide out of his hole, “After you cum, you won’t even want to go back–you’ll be a good dirty daddy, just how I want you.”

Half an hour later, Carmichael stepped out of the hotel room, and adjusted his cuffs and collar.

“Fuck man, I don’t know what the fuckin’ hell that was, but that was the nastiest sex a mah life,” a voice said behind him. He looked over his shoulder at the leering, bearded daddy grinning through a crack in the door. “When can I fuckin’ see ya again? I wanna play with that little pig some more.”

“Oh my,” he said, blushing a bit, the taste of tobacco still fresh in his mouth, “ Well, I was planning on finding a gentleman or two at the party tonight for another play session. Perhaps I’ll give you a call once we are underway, and you can come join us?”

“Fuck, sounds amazing.”

“I’ll be in touch then.”

The door shut, and Carmichael strutted down the hall, whistling a tune. He had a feeling he would enjoy this new life of his–maybe this had been a good trade after all.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 7)

*Knock* *Knock*

“Room service!”

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

“Daddy…Daddy, that’s your cue. Get the door.”

He just moaned, burrowing deeper into the pig’s shit chute with his tongue.

“Daddy! Get the door!”

He blinked, and sat back on his heels, trying to remember what was going on. He took a suck off his cigar, but realized it had burnt out while he’d been eating out the pig’s hole–how fucking long had he been at it?

*Knock* *Knock*

“Is anyone there?”

He stumbled up, a bit off balance, and stumbled towards the hall, hauled open the door. “The fuck do ya want?” he said, and the young woman who’d brought the two full carts of food up gasped at the sight of him, and backed up a step, at a loss for words.

“T-Thanks,” he said, and pulled the two carts inside, shutting the door behind him, feeling a bit embarrassed at the woman’s obvious disgust. Wondering what she’d seen, he slipped into the bathroom and turned on the light, only to shout at the sight. That wasn’t his face–he didn’t look like that! The beard he’d sprouted had lengthened, running down to his chest, and his hair had grown out long as well. They were both greasy and tangled, more grey than his original brown at this point–well, aside from the area around his mouth, which was slimy with the pig’s juices and his own slobber. His leather gear (was it even his? He’d always despised leather and the fake masculinity it seemed to inspire in the men who wore it) was no longer crisp and new as it had been earlier, when he’d found himself in it. The leather vest was well worn, and now bore a number of biker patches, his chaps and boots equally worn, and the jock–fuck, his jock was putrid yellow and crisp to the touch.

“Oh good choices all around, daddy,” the little pig had gotten off the bed and was inspecting what the woman had dropped off. “I bet you’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, right?”

“What the fuckin’ hell have ya done tah me, ya little fuck?” he exclaimed, pointing at his reflection in the mirror.

“You honestly didn’t expect a dirty, disgusting pig like me to want to play around with the cute little cub you were before, do you?” Carmichael said, grunting and chuckling to himself, “No–I only play with guys who are just as disgusting as I am.”

“No–No, I’m not fucking like you–this ain’t me! I ain’t this disgusting fucker! Change me back, right fuckin’ now, or I fuckin’ swear, I’ll–”

The pig interrupted him, shoving a cupcake in his daddy’s mouth, watching the older man’s eyes roll back in his head in pleasure, his larger gut growling with approval. “That’s what I thought. Come on now daddy–let’s get you fed.”

He laid the daddy down on the bed, propping his head up with a couple of pillows, and then pulled both carts up alongside them, before climbing up and straddling, grinding his ass against his daddy’s bulging jock, listening to him moan. “Be a good daddy, let the little piggy fatten you up, and maybe you’ll get to feel that cock in my hole tonight.”

Before he could respond, he shoved another cupcake into his maw, and the feeding began. It was slow going at first–the daddy was still fighting pretty hard. They took the occasional break to feed each other some smoke, to let the daddy’s hunger catch up, the pig’s pipe so much sweeter than the rough cigars he preferred smoking. The breaks weren’t necessary before too long, and the pig quickened the pace. Cupcakes, pudding, ice cream, doughnuts–all of it went into daddy’s gut–they could feel it heaving up between them until a certain point when it lost its firmness, and settled around him in a pile of soft flab. It was around that point, daddy started sobbing–pleading and begging with the pig to just let him go, refusing to eat another bite.

“Do you want to fuck my hole or not, daddy? Keep eating.”

“No, please, no more. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can too–I believe in you! You can be the biggest, most vile daddy in the world, I know it. Now open up.”

But he stubbornly refused, the little pig letting off a squealing sigh. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this until later, but you’re just not cooperating. Still, this will help move things along.” He fished his piggy cock out, aimed for his daddy’s mouth over his flabby gut, and let loose a burst of piss which landed right in his face. The stench alone made his head spin–he licked his lips and got a taste of it, and groaned. The pig let loose a longer stream then, his daddy chasing the golden piss as the pig soaked him down, watching his daddy’s hair and beard grow longer, his body stinking and unwashed, the musk stronger than most men would be able to handle. The pig started stuffing his face again, helping him wash it down with more and more piss, watching him grow older and older still, his hair entirely white aside from where it had yellowed around his mouth from his cigars, teeth rotten and crooked, eyes hungry and desperate, losing their will to fight. It wasn’t too much longer before the carts were both empty, and while his daddy moaned, the little pig spent a while licking him clean, tasting his daddy’s filth while the older man smoked his cigars, trying to muster some resistance, but…but he wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, he was fighting against anymore. All he really wanted, now that he had stuffed himself, was a turn at that little pig’s dirty hole.

“Alright pig, I did mah part. Now you’s get bent over the bed, ‘n let daddy plow that nasty hole a yers.”

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 6)

“Alright Daddy, *grunt*, how do I look?”

The cub had finished placing the order and was just sitting on the bed, wondering again how in the world he’d ended up here in this situation, when he heard the bathroom door open…but that voice–that wasn’t the same voice of the guy he’d brought with him. The words were distorted somehow, and while the voice was pitched higher, it was more gutteral. He got up from the bed and walked over to the short hall that lead to the hotel room door and the bathroom, and there, blocking the exit, was…he didn’t know what the fuck it was, but he let out a scream and backpedaled into the room. “What…what the fuck!” he managed to say.

Carmichael squealed and laughed and grunted at his sudden fright, holding his pipe in one hand so he didn’t drop it. “The look on your fuckin’ faces! Every fuckin’ time,” he started walking towards the cub, “What’s wrong daddy? I thought you wanted to play with a little pig tonight?”

“Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak.”

“Oh daddy, that’s so fucking sexy, fucking talk to me like that all night long, and we’re gonna have so much fucking fun.”

“I’m fucking serious! I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing man, but we’re fucking done! Get that fucking mask off, and get the fuck out of my room! You’re fucking sick!”

The pig groaned again and gave it’s cock a little stroke, “Fuck Daddy, that’s enough pillow talk–get over here and kiss your nasty pig, and let’s get the fun started,” Carmichael took a deep lungful of smoke and pushed it out into the room, watching it fill up with a grey haze. The cub tried to get to the sliding door and out onto the balcony, but the smoke caught him first, making him cough and wheeze. The smoke was so sweet smelling, cloying even, but he couldn’t seem to get a full breath of air into his lungs, his eyes were watering–he hadn’t even noticed the pig walk over to him, shove him up against the glass. He tried to wriggle away, but not before the pig shoved it’s snout to his nose and mouth and exhaled even more smoke into him–he couldn’t help but inhale it, and once it was inside him…the world spun, and the only thing that kept him upright was the pig pressing into him, groping him, making him moan, making…making him want to…to kiss that snout, and…

He shoved the pig back, and Carmichael allowed him, watching the cub change as he coughed. His shorts blackened, growing longer even as they split along the crotch, becoming a pair of leather chaps, his briefs shrinking into a simple white jockstrap holding a sizable package. His shirt split down the center, and became a leather vest, but it affected far more than his clothes. The cub’s neatly trimmed goatee spread across his face, becoming a beard flecked with the first tinge of grey as the hair on his body filled in thicker, his abs disappearing under a definite paunch, which became a beer gut in less than a minute. Lastly, his shoes morphed into well shined boots, and leather gloves appeared on his hands, one of them holding a thick cigar that flamed into life, the cub bringing it to his lips and sucking in his own smoke. “What…am I doing? I don’t smoke?” he said, exhaled a plume through his nose, and immediately took another drag. His own cigar was harsher than the pig’s pipe tobacco, but that seemed…right. He was rougher than the pig, yeah, a rough daddy fucker. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to do,” the pig said, approaching slowly. The cub’s eyes were still filled with disgust, but now alongside that was a sudden urge to dominate, to fuck rough and brutal. “How’d you like your first taste of your pig, daddy?”

“You fucking disgust me…I don’t…know what you did, but fucking fix this, you fucking piece of shit, or I swear to god I’ll beat your ass to a fucking pulp, hog.”

“Such a sweet talker,” Carmichael said, pressed himself to the cub again and kissed him…and as disgusted as he was facing this ugly pig thing, the cub’s new instincts took over, shoving his tongue into the pig’s snout, sharing and swapping spit, spinning the thing around and shoving him up against the wall, grinding up against it’s belly. The pig’s skin was…soft and supple, but didn’t feel like human skin…it was somehow thicker–it made shivers run up his back, but whether they were disgust or arousal he couldn’t tell anymore, and the more smoke they shared, the less it mattered to him. The pig was disgusting, it made his stomach churn, but somehow that just made him want him even more.

“I…can’t stop…” he moaned into the pig’s mouth, before running his tongue down to his chest, tasting the pig’s hide for the first time, running a gloved hand over the pig’s strange cock, wondering how it would feel in his mouth, but Carmichael pushed him away, walked over, and bent over the bed.

“Now, now daddy–dinner first. How about an appetizer before our food arrives? Show this pig what a dirty daddy you are.”

“You want me to fuck you? You fucking piece of shit?” the cub said, walking over.

“No no, not yet daddy. I said eat,” the pig reached back and spread it’s cheeks, revealing it’s pink hole, curled tail swishing with anticipation, and the cub’s realized what the pig had meant. But no–no, he couldn’t. It would be so…so fucking gross, and…and disgusting, and yet that only made him want it more. Maybe just a taste, just a little one. His knees buckled, and he crawled over to the pig, Carmichael encouraging him the whole way, and after a whimper and groan of fear, unable to process what was happening to him, he dove in and started eating out the pig’s ass like he hadn’t eaten in days–and when the pig let loose the first fart, all remaining doubt disappeared into the ether.

Snake Oil (2 of 2)

“What the fuck did you give us, you fucker!” Nick said, dragging the old man behind his booth at the fair, Anthony beside him. Their changes had progressed further, both of them now approaching middle age, their muscles much weaker–but not so weak they couldn’t kick this fucker’s ass if he didn’t give them an antidote.

“Ah! You must be the young man from earlier,” the man said with a laugh, “I see the sample I gave you is working nicely.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? It didn’t work at all!”

“Oh nonsense–it’s working exactly as it’s supposed to. Looking at you both, you’re here right on time–the second stage should be starting any moment…yeah, look at your friend there.”

Nick looked over at Anthony, but his friend was just standing there, slackjawed, almost like he was in a trance…but the bulge in his friend’s pants drew his attention next. What the hell was wrong with his bulge! It seemed…massive all of a…sudden. Nick’s mind was clouding over, dulling, and he released his hold on the old man, feeling a pleasant warmth in his pants too, but a…pressure too.

“Yes, very good you two. Follow me, and let’s get you both milked.”

Helpless to disobey, both Nick and Anthony followed the man to a trailer parked against the side of the fair and went inside with him. He sat them both in a chair, strapped them in, opened up their pants, and they saw what was the matter–their ball’s had swollen up to three or four times their original size.

“See, I do, in fact, sell a muscle growth serum, but business has been so good this year, I’ve been running out, so I needed someone to help me resupply my wares. All that youthful muscle? It’s in those sacks of yours, and you’re going to give it to me.”

Both men tried to protest, as the man put milking tubes over their cocks, and started the process of sucking the cum from their sacks. “No–you can’t…we’ll…tell…”

“You won’t be telling anyone anything,” the older man said, “You won’t remember a thing when I’m through with you both. Nope, the only thing the two of you will remember is your new lives as a couple of dumb, old, faggot carnies. I’ll help you fit the part of course–grow out your beards a bit, tone down the hygiene, soften your minds, make you both smokers and drinkers–I think cigars and whiskey for you both. I have lots of wares that will be perfect for you both.”

They both tried to fight, but there was nothing they could do–and when they both stumbled out of the trailer a few hours later, in their filthy clothes, smoking their cigars like they’d been doing it for years, the two old men found a bit of privacy and fucked each other for the first of many, many times.