Tag: age regression

Peter was a good looking guy in his sixties, sure. More importantly, he could still get the ladies, although to be honest, Peter’s interests ran considerably younger than he was, preferably girls in their 20’s fresh from the two college campuses in the city. They all had daddy issues in the end after all, they just needed a proper older cock to sort them all out, whether they knew it or not. He was feeling particularly on tonight, and he decided to snap a quick selfie in the bar room mirror, but he didn’t know that the mirror sprites had been following his conquests, and decided to turn the tables on the cradle robber.

Peter checked the photo on his phone and looked down at it, puzzled. It looked nothing like him! It was some chubby kid standing in what looked like a bedroom, no hair at all, wearing a pair of briefs. Confused, Peter looked up at the mirror and only grew more confused. He wasn’t in the bar anymore, he was in the bedroom, and the reflection he was staring at was the boy in the picture on his smartphone, and his jaw dropped, unable to believe his eyes. Tentatively, he ran his hands along his heavy gut, amazed at just how smooth his skin was, as opposed to the hurry chest and abs he’d had moments before…right?

Things were starting to get fuzzy, and in his head he was clambering at the old life unraveling away in the mirror–the mirror! He walked up to it and pounded on it. It had to have something to do with that, but all he could hear was a distant chatter of laughter, before a heavy knock came on his bedroom door. “Petey? Are you up?” a deep, rough voice asked, and Peter felt his stomach turn…and his cock start to get hard at the sound of his father’s voice, “It’s late–shouldn’t you be in bed? You have school in the morning.”

“Y–yeah dad, I’m just getting into my PJs,” Peter said, and a second later his dad opened the door, and he barely managed to contain a gasp at the sight of the thick, burly man who came into his room, puffing on a cigar, wearing only a pair of briefs that might have been white the year before but which looked quite a bit more yellow and sour now. The cigar smoke, something he’d always hated in his past life, now felt somehow…comforting. It reminded him of his dad, of being close to him, his cock starting to tent in his briefs, his dad smiling down at him.

“You want me to tuck you in, Petey?” his dad asked, and Peter found himself nodding, walking over to his bed and climbing on it, his dad massaging his fat ass through his briefs. “Can’t believe you’re a senior in high school already. Still, you’ll always be my little boy, right Petey?”

“Yeah daddy…of course,” Peter said, biting his lip as his dad pulled down the back of his briefs and started rubbing the stiff fabric of his filthy briefs against his crack, feeling his dad’s hard cock catch on his hungry asshole, and he started grinding back gently, letting his dad know how much he needed him inside of him. His dad slid his cock in raw, but Peter knew how to take it, knew how to stay quiet, and his dad reached around, rubbing Peter’s short, fat cock until his son exploded in his briefs, and he came soon after, filling up his son’s ass. He stripped off Peter’s briefs and held the cum soaked front up to his nose and inhaled the smell of his son’s fresh cum, and sighed. “Gonna miss you if you head off to college next year son.”

“I…I’d miss you too daddy,” Petey said, “But I can always come visit…you know.”

“Heh, and I bet we can find you some substitute daddies to fuck you while you’re away, eh?” Petey had never been fucked by anyone other than his dad before, but the idea made him…hornier than he might have expected, and after a long kiss with his dad, he slid under the covers and his dad left the room, still holding his son’s soiled briefs in his hand. “Heh, boys and their daddy issues,” he said, and went to his own bedroom for the night.

“Trey, you really need to take a rest man–you make me feel nervous just looking at you,” Bill said on the couch, “Why don’t you sit down and play a game with me? We haven’t had a shooter session in weeks, man.”

“Can’t, I gotta go to the gym or coach will bust my ass at practice tomorrow,” Trey said, throwing his duffel over his shoulder, “You know, you really should come with me, you were in such good shape in high school man, it would be a shame to let it all go.”

Trey and Bill had been friends since high school, and had been thrilled when they’d been accepted to the same college, but since the start of classes, they’d grown further and further apart. Trey had joined the football team and devoted most of his time to working out–Bill had decided to skip athletics, and mostly sat around the dorm playing video games, looking like a bit of a slob. Still, after his workout, when he’d returned to the dorm, he’d felt kind of bad for his jab at his friend, but Bill wasn’t around to apologize to. Still, maybe he should take a break and play a game for a bit.

He loaded up the shooter Bill was always playing, and soon he was engrossed–in fact, he completely lost track of time, and played the game all night long, only coming out of it early in the morning to discover Bill had come home and gone to sleep at some point, he had broken into his friend’s junk food stash and stuffed himself silly, and he’d…pissed his gym shorts? He put the game away and changed, trying to forget it, but he asked Bill where he’d gotten the game the next day, and Bill just smiled knowingly, and suggested they play it for a while.

They played for almost twenty hours straight, both of them stuffing their faces and pissing and shitting themselves uncontrollably. Before the next marathon session, Bill managed to convince Trey to wear a diaper like he usually did, and this time, Trey realized he’d even cum in the diaper multiple times. Worse, he couldn’t stop playing–neither of them could, and when they unlocked the online mode a week later, both of them spent weeks diapered all day with their headsets on, zoned out, listening to the daddies they were playing against tell them what good little boys they were, slowly turning into fat, horny babies, just like they’d always wanted to be.

Everyone on the block called him Nasty Nick, and he was damn nasty–that’s the truth. He never kept up his lawn or his house–it was just a sty. His house was back to back with mine, so I could see into his overgrown yard from all of my back windows, and I can’t tell you how many times I saw him back there wearing nothing other than a filthy jockstrap, beard wild and unkempt, smoking those big cigars of his, just one big filthy mess of a fuckup.

Now, I’m gay, not that I’d ever told Nick–he was as homophobic as they came, but one regret I’d always harbored was that I’d never had any kids. It didn’t help that, even though I was a big bear of guy, kind of like Nick, but chubbier and much cleaner, I was kind of into twinks, and the idea of having a son in his late teens who I could fuck around with–well, it was just a fantasy right? No real problem having a fantasy, until the fantasy generator appeared on my doorstep. I didn’t know what it was to be honest, but I soon discovered that it could make any dream of mine come true, and so the next time I saw Nick in the backyard, I decided to make a son of my own.

I compelled him to climb over the fence into my yard, and I met him back there, before changing him bit by bit. First, making him disgusted by the taste of his own cigars, watching him spit out the one he was smoking, staring at it on the ground like it had bit him. Then, I took away his beard. Oh man, he was so angry at me, but he couldn’t do anything to me as I removed all of tattoos, cleaned up his jockstrap, and aged him back to eighteen. I gave him a smallish cock too, and the most amazing ass–it felt so amazing him fucking him out back, listening to his new high tenor moan in pleasure, begging me, his daddy, to fuck him harder and rougher. So now the house is vacant, but I have everything I’d ever really wanted–a son with benefits.

Birthday Boy

Commissioned by Anonymous

Someone commissioned me to expand this caption from a few months ago. Remember, if you have a favorite caption you’d love to see me expand, I’m still open for commissions!

***

Oliver felt his head come back to him slowly, as he tried to remember what had happened to him. He’d been coming home from work late, on his usual route, when a van had pulled up next to him, and some men had jumped out, drugging him and dragging him inside the van. His head hurt and was very foggy, but he shook himself awake as fast as he could, and got his bearings–but that didn’t help make sense of what had happened.

He was in a small room which had been decorated to look like a baby’s nursery, all bright blues, toys in every corner, and he was in a massive crib, on his knees, with plastic handcuffs holding his wrists to the bars. He was wearing some ludicrous outfit too–a full fleece onesie with his hands mittened so he couldn’t even grab anything, and as he struggled, he realized he had something else on underneath that–a diaper. “What the–what the fuck is this?” he shouted, “Let me out of here, you sick fucks!”

He struggled for a few more minutes, and then he heard a click of a lock and the door opened, and in stepped a massive bear of a man. He was probably in his fifties or maybe even his sixties, and something about him, maybe it was his smiling, beaming face, or his fuzzy beard, he just looked…sweet and kind, and like someone Oliver might have wanted to meet in any other situation than this one. “Hows the baby today? It’s your birthday today! Isn’t that exciting? How does baby like his birthday outfit? I think you look super handsome in it.”

“What the hell, let me go man, come on…” Oliver said, pulling at the cuffs again, but the big man grabbed his wrist hard enough for it to hurt, and he froze.

“Now, now, daddy can’t have his newest baby boy getting out on his first birthday, now can he?” Daddy said, “No, we have to keep you secure for a little while, until I can trust you to stay in your crib like a good baby.”

“I’m not staying in here asshole, let me out, let me–” he said, but the man pulled out a big pacifier and stuffed it in Oliver’s open mouth and strapped it around the back of his head so he couldn’t spit it out.

“Babies aren’t supposed to talk like adults, you know. I think this’ll keep you quiet until you’re talking more like yourself,” the man said, and then walked over to a massive TV on the wall across from where Oliver was handcuffed to the crib, “Now, I can’t play with you until a bit later, so we’ll just have to keep you occupied with the electronic babysitter for now, eh little boy? And I have just the show for a little baby like you to watch, I’m sure it’ll keep your attention.”

He turned on the television, and the bright cheery colors of some toddler’s TV show came on, and then the man gave Oliver a forced peck on the cheek and left the room. Alone again, Oliver renewed his struggles for a few minutes before he tired himself out again, and without really thinking about it, he started watching the show on the big television. It was so big that he couldn’t really avoid it after all, and it turned out to be really soothing, actually. The show was simplistic and relaxing, and the music sounded like Mozart, but a bit too quiet to hear clearly, and without realizing it, he started sucking on his pacifier, his eyes glazing over as they focused on the TV, and then suddenly, it shut off.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and realized he must have dozed off while watching the show, or something. It was obvious that some time must have passed, because his legs were asleep from staying the same position, and he just ached. He looked over and saw that Daddy had turned off the TV, and was coming over to the crib where he was. “Well birthday boy? How are you doing? Did you enjoy the show so far? You’ve been watching for a few hours now. I bet it’s time for a diaper change.”

Diaper change? Oliver had forgotten he was wearing a diaper, and his cheeks flushed as he felt the cold sensation around his groin–had he pissed himself while he was watching the show? How could he have done that? How had he not even noticed it happening? He tried to keep Daddy from undoing his onesie and checking, but it was obvious what had happened, but Daddy just beamed. “What a good boy, going pee pee in his diaper just like he should. Still, no poop yet though. That’s ok, you’re a very good boy for going pee pee just like Daddy wants.”

Oliver tried to fight back as Daddy undid the handcuffs, but he felt so weak for some reason, like he just couldn’t get his hands and feet to do what he wanted. In the end, while he fought as best he could, the big man managed to undo Oliver’s onesie, change his diaper, and get him sitting up in the crib, before removing Oliver’s pacifier.

“Pwease,” Oliver immdediately begged, “Pwease Daddy, please just let me go, I don’t like it here, I’m scared.” After Oliver spoke, he realized that he’d called the big man Daddy, and that…that he thought of his as Daddy too. His Daddy, his big, important, amazing Daddy who he…he loved? No, no that so wrong, what was going on? “Pwease, I won’t tell anyone, I just wanna to go home.”

“Silly baby, you are home. You’re home here with Daddy, safe and sound. Now, here’s baby’s bottle, drink it all down like a good boy.” Daddy shoved the nipple of the bottle between Oliver’s lips, and while he told himself he wouldn’t drink it, for some reason as soon as the nipple was in his mouth, he couldn’t help but suck on it, and it did taste…kind of good. It was milk, but it had some other, slightly medicinal tang to it, but with his Daddy urging him on, he drained the whole thing, and the warm solution left him feeling full, and a bit groggy.

“That’s a good boy, you like being a good boy for Daddy, don’t you?”

Oliver felt himself nod, and agreeing with his Daddy sent a surprising jolt of pleasure through him, and his cock got hard in his clean diaper. He blushed, and was thankful his Daddy couldn’t see what had happened–that would have been embarrassing. Still, he was sleepy–it was hard even keeping his eyes open. He slumped over in the crib, fighting against sleep as long as he could, but Daddy turned on the music from the TV show again, and it was so soothing, so comforting, he couldn’t help but drift off almost immediately.

He woke up hours later feeling…good. Relaxed and happy and just…at ease. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so nicely, and he rolled over, feeling the shit he’d packed into his clean diaper during his nap squish around, but even that felt kind of good. He’d been a good boy, filling his diaper with poopoo like daddy wanted, and he’d even peed too. Daddy would be happy when he came in to check on him, he just knew he would. He loved making Daddy happy, he loved seeing that bearded face smile, it made him feel so good, and made his pee pee hard. Just thinking about, his pee pee was hard even.

He humped the floor of the crib a couple of times before Oliver realized what he was doing, and what he’d been thinking. He snapped out of it and rolled over, disgusted that he’d apparently lost all control of his pissing and shitting for some reason. Still, he had to get out of here. If he could just find a weapon, or something to fight Daddy off with…but he didn’t want to hurt Daddy…did he? He shook his head, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and then…then nothing.

He looked up, and the rim of the crib was so high–how could he get up there? He could…stand? He tried pushing himself up onto his feet, but it was like his body had forgotten every position other than crawling. He managed to make a little progress by gripping the bars of the crib which helped him balance, but he was too weak to pull himself over. He was just a little baby anyway, he needed to stay safe in his crib. If he got out, Daddy would be sad, and he didn’t want Daddy to be sad and disappointed in his little baby, did he?

What was happening to him? He felt so strange. His thoughts felt like they were pushing their way through some sort of thick muck, pushing back against something he couldn’t even sense, something that was crushing the life out of him. He was just…just so scared, and he didn’t know what was happening, and then he was crying and bawling as loud as he could. He wanted Daddy, he wanted Daddy more than anything. Daddy would make him feel better, Daddy would know what to do.

After a couple of minutes, sure enough the door opened and Daddy stepped through, cooing at him, and he hugged Oliver close, patting him on the back and whispering softly in his ear until he calmed down. “There there little baby, what’s the matter? Do you need your diaper changed?”

“Ya Daddy, I went pee pee and poopoo, but I scared Daddy, what wrong wit’ me?” Oliver said, not quite able to get the words to come out of his mouth right.

“Oh, that’s ok baby, I’ll just get you cleaned up, alright?”

“But I scared, Daddy.”

“Sush,” Daddy said, pulling Oliver into a tight hug, “I’ll keep you safe, ok? You just focus on being a good baby for me, and then everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

Oliver nodded, still crying a little, but he started sucking on his thumb, and that made him feel better. It felt good to just…suck, comforting, like Daddy. He laid still as Daddy undressed him and changed his diaper, congratulating him on going poo-poo like a good baby, and seeing how proud his Daddy was of him, Oliver felt his peepee get hard, and a little too late he realized that his daddy could see it.

“Uh oh,” Daddy said, looking down, “It looks like someone’s gotten a little excited. That’s ok, but we’d better diaper you up in case you have an accident, right?” Daddy diapered Oliver back up, his peepee staying hard the entire time, and he felt such an odd mix of awkwardness, embarrassment and happiness that he nearly started crying again.

When he was all set, Daddy decided it was time for Oliver to have some playtime, and Daddy let him out of the crib. Oliver immediately looked up at the door handle, but it seemed…so far away, and he had no idea what might be on the other side. That was scary. He was safe in here with his Daddy, why would he want to leave? He had a very fun afternoon playing with his daddy, stacking blocks and then knocking them over, and they even played with dolls for a little bit in a big dollhouse Daddy showed him, where two big daddy dolls lived with their big baby doll.

“But where’s the Mommy?” Oliver asked, searching for the other doll.

“Silly baby, there isn’t a Mommy, you know that. Daddy’s take care of big babies just fine. You do like having a Daddy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Oliver shouted, and threw himself at his Daddy, hugging him, “I love you Daddy,” Oliver said.

“I love you too, baby,” Daddy said into Oliver’s ear, and felt his Baby give a shudder against him, and Oliver pulled away, redfaced. That had felt so strange, his pee pee had gotten hard, and then, it had peed something into his diaper in big spurts, but it wasn’t pee…

“Did Baby have an accident again?” Daddy asked, and Oliver nodded, letting his Daddy change his diaper again, and after that play time was over. Daddy gave him another bottle to drink, and turned the TV on again before leaving, and Oliver sat in his crib, watching the TV, sucking on his thumb and drinking his bottle like a good Baby.

There was something strange going on, something wrong with all of this, but Oliver couldn’t get his thoughts in order. Every time he did, they’d just sink out of his grasp or scatter, and every time he tried, it was like there were even fewer pieces than before. Still, as he watched the TV, the gibberish the characters had been speaking was starting to become clear, and everything they said was true.

…feels so good to be a Baby. You love your daddy very much, more than anything. Daddy makes your pee pee hard. It feels good having a dirty diaper. Having a dirty, filthy diaper makes your pee pee hard. It feels good to cum in your diaper. It feels good to be dumb. You’re just a dumb baby. You can’t talk. You can’t walk. You’re just a dumb, horny, dirty baby, and you love it…

As he watched, Oliver felt poo flood into his diaper again, and he peed too, but it didn’t scare him–it felt good. In fact, it made his pee pee hard again, and he started rubbing the front of it with his mittened hands until he moaned loudly and felt his body spasm. The same thing that had happened when his Daddy hugged him earlier happened again, and he shot a load of special pee into his diaper again.

“Pee feel goo goo…” Oliver said, and shoved his thumb into his drooling mouth. Daddy would be coming in soon, and he’d change baby’s dirty diaper, but he’d enjoy it for a little while longer first…and maybe…maybe he’d rub his pee pee a few more times. Slowly, Oliver’s mind dwindled until all of his doubts disappeared, and he managed to cum in his diaper two more times before his Daddy came back in and changed him. He was happy to see that in the baby’s empty eyes all of his intellect had disappeared, and as soon as his daddy set him back in the crib and given him his bottle, little Oliver sucked it down, cooing and giggling as he watched the TV set, the final bits of programming implanting themselves into his ruined mind, ensuring that he would remain a baby for the rest of his life. Tomorrow, he’d be put up for adoption, and after some personalized conditioning, ensuring that the new fathers would get exactly the kind of baby they wanted, he would be shipped off to his new home, where he’d make his new family very, very happy–daddy was sure of it.

Identity Crises Part 2

Commissioned by Scot158f

***WARNING*** This has been pretty cleanish up until now, but it’s only going to get worse from here. In this section: inanimate TF (smoke related), farting, and scat.

Terry watched the eight foot tall man tromp down the stairs, his hair mostly grey, a massive, tangled beard stretching all the way down to his belly button, the rest of his body covered in grey hairs as well. He had a massive, taut get, but the rest of his body was packed full of muscle…and as he came downstairs, Terry caught a whiff of his daddy’s musk and felt a shiver and moan rip through him. He loved how his daddy smelled after one of daily workouts, it was the best.

“Hey son,” Caleb asked, “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Just cartoons,” Terry said, and he looked at the TV, a bit surprised. Sure, he was a teenager, but he still liked watching them, right? Then why had he expected it to be some show about food? It was strange, that was for sure. “Are you done with your workout?”

“Sure am–nice and musky, just how you like me, boy. You want my jock?”

“Aww hell yeah dad,” Terry said, “You know I’ll never turn down your stinking jockstrap.”

“Heh, well, I’ll trade you my sweaty jock for a smoke, boy. Get ready, would ya?”

“Sure thing!” Terry said, and got out of the recliner, but his body just felt odd. He was chubby, like always, but shouldn’t he be…well, fatter? And something about his cock and balls, they were…heavy for some reason, and…hard? He reached down out of curiosity, and peered over his small, soft gut and just gaped at his cock and balls–his cigar and pipes, he meant, of course. He didn’t have a cock and balls like his dad…which was…weird, right? Instead he just had a cigar jutting out from his crotch–a long one, almost nine inches, and below that, swinging heavily and clacking into each other, two massive pipes…but that was how things had always been right?

No…No this was too much. This was all too much, and he pushed back against the wave in his mind, but it was too hard, too all encompassing. He knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things should be. He didn’t live with his daddy…he…he was the daddy. And he had a normal cock, and it was small, or was it big? And he’d been–fatter? Thinner? More muscular? But older, definitely older.

“Boy, get smokin’–I ain’t got all night,” Caleb said from where he was sitting in his chair, and Terry blushed, rushing over to his smoking stuff, his worries forgotten in the sudden fear that he might disappoint his dad somehow. He walked over and started packing his pipes full of tobacco, the sensation of the wood and briar both familiar and…so strange. Would it hurt…when he lit his pipes and his cigar? Of course not, it had never hurt before, right? But how would he know–he’d never done this before, but if he’d never done this before, how was he packing his pipes so well, and so evenly, tamping the tobacco down carefully, making sure he could pull an even draw from his lungs once he’d lit them? Still trying to understand what was happening, he walked over to where his dad was lounging back, his jockstrap off, his ten inch cock erect in the air, and before Terry even realized what was happening, his dad had picked him up–all of him, and was dropping him down on his cock. He opened his ass like he’d been trained to, letting all ten inches slide up his ass, making him shiver, and as it did, he saw his cigar grow a bit, like it always did when he was horny.

“Oh fuck dad, that feels so good…” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah? Well go ahead and smell this jock of mine, and tell me what you think,” he said, and pressed the wet mesh into his son’s face, watching him take it in his mouth and suck some of the sweaty grime off of it, the boy’s cigar cock growing a bit longer still, now about a foot in length, jutting up between them. “Yeah, that’s it–now how about we get you lit?”

Caleb picked up a big zippo off the table next to him, and started with his son’s cigar cock, lighting the end until it had a bright red tip, and then worked on his bowls, the smoke already pouring out of his son’s mouth by the time he had them both lit–and then he locked lips with Terry, the jock caught between them, and he inhaled, drawing the smoke up through his son’s body and into his own through the mesh, cigar burning bright orange as he sucked it down, and the same with his boy’s pipes.

“Mmmm…” Caleb said, when he finally pulled away, “Now that’s a nice smoke.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Terry said, “Your jock isn’t so bad either.”

Caleb laughed, and pulled his son close, taking one of his son’s meaty nipples between his teeth and sucking more smoke out through that, feeling his son gasp and clench his big cock with his ass, and he took a moment to admire his boy’s body. He was growing up to be a beautiful cub–not a furry or muscular as his dad, but with a nice chubby gut and moobs, and a hot set of junk, which Caleb used at every opportunity. He leaned in and took another drag off his son’s other nipple, chewing on his nipple a bit and making Terry groan, before exhaling the smoke into Terry’s mouth, filling him to the brim with it.

They stayed like that for a long while, Terry impaled on his dad’s cock the entire time. Caleb would take a long drag off his son’s cock, and relax back, letting his son spend a few minutes cleaning off his sweaty body, the heat of the pipes and cigar resting between them. As Terry’s cock burned down further and further, Caleb started spitting into his hand, lubing it up with the cooling ash and spreading it up and down his body and his cub’s, streaking them both black, and then Terry would lick it off, hungry for the smoke and anything it made. As horny as Terry was though, his cigar cock couldn’t grow as fast as his dad smoked it, but he did his best to keep it as big as he could.

As his daddy smoked him down, the worries and concerns which Terry had been wrestling with seemed to diminish slowly. This–this here–was important, not those imagined things. Being smoked by his dad, fucked on his massive cock, cleaning off his sweaty body like a good boy–those are what mattered more than anything else in the whole world. His dad was getting more and more excited, and started working his cock around in his ass, and then he wrapped his massive hands under his armpits and started fucking Terry up and down on his massive cock. The sensation of being powerless in the hands of his daddy–it was turning him on so much, his cigar was growing almost as fast as it was burning, and smoke was pouring out of his mouth and tits now. “Oh fuck dad, oh fuck! Fill me up, pump your boy full of your daddy seed!” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah boy, burn that fuckin’ cigar down–I don’t want anything left but a fucking nub!”

With a shudder, Terry came, smoke gouting out of his mouth, and Caleb locked lips with him, inhaling as much of it as he could, his son’s sweet smoke pushing his own cock over the edge, and he pumped his load into Terry’s hole, his ass milking him as dry as he could, the cigar, now less than an inch long, burning out between their bodies, the pipes below empty as well. Still, Caleb took a few moments to suck his son dry, getting as much smoke out of him as he could, and then he let Terry pull himself up off his softening cock, and get down.

“Thanks son, that was a real nice smoke,” Caleb said, and then hefted himself up off the chair, and stretched. “Damn, I think I’m too old for this,” he said with a chuckle.

“Ha, you’ll never be too old for me,” Terry said, and gave him a hug. He only came up to his massive dad’s chest, but when the big man wrapped his arms around him too, he’d never felt so safe and secure in his whole life, especially since his wife had left him.

Wife? Wait…no, his…mom?

When Terry pulled away, he realized he didn’t know if he had a mom, and he looked up at his dad, and asked, “Dad, who…who was my Mom? I don’t…” The look of surprise that crossed his dad’s face seemed strange to Terry, almost like he hadn’t even been expecting the question. And why would he, really? It was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He just…didn’t have a mom. That was normal, wasn’t it? “I–I’m sorry, just forget I asked.”

“No! No, uh…don’t worry about it. Look, I have to go do something upstairs for a bit, but then I’ll come back down, and we can talk about it, alright? Why don’t you just get your pipes cleaned out?”

“Sure, dad,” Terry said, and blushed as his dad’s big hand tousled his hair.

The big man tromped off and squeezed his way up the stairs, and Terry thought he heard him say something as he left, “Man, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dad–that was way harder than I thought. Being old kind of sucks–I don’t know how he does it. Still, it’s better than being a teenager.”

Terry just watched him go, wondering what in the world he was talking about. But those creeping doubts came back, and when he reached down and knocked the last bit of ash from his cigar, and worried for a minute that he’d destroyed his cock–but that was silly. All he had to do was get horny, and it would grow back, like always. Always–had it always been like this? Had he always been a teenager, with his big manly dad? With pipes and cigars where his cock and balls ought to be?

It took Terry a second to realize that he was having a panic attack–nearly hyperventilating–and all he wanted to do was run upstairs and find his daddy and make sure everything was ok, but he got a grip on himself, and walked over to his smoke gear, and focused on cleaning himself out, knocking the ash out of the bowls of his pipes, before running big pipe cleaners through them, shivering a bit. He wished he wasn’t so ticklish, but it just felt so strange, running the fuzzy wires up his pipes. It took quite a while for him to get it all clean, and he was just about done with his second pipe, when he heard his dad coming back downstairs. Good, maybe they could talk–Terry had…some questions for him, and he really wanted some answers.

The reality wave hit him again as his son turned the corner, but he barely even noticed it. One second he was cleaning out one of the big pipes stuck to his crotch, and then the next he had the pipe up in his hand. The sudden shift caught him off guard, and he just stared at it for a second, then at himself. Hell, he was normal sized–he wasn’t a short cub anymore–in fact, he seemed to be about seven feet tall now, and the sudden vertigo caught him off guard, as he wobbled a bit, rebalancing to counterbalance his massive gut with his fat ass. Wait, he was fat again? Wait, fat…again? And a cub?

It had happened again, he was sure of it now–things were changing, but how? Why? He looked down at himself, but everything seemed right…didn’t it? The brief moment of clarity was already gone, and he couldn’t hold onto any of what had just happened–this was how he’d always looked. His massive gut ganging down past his waist, several inches falling down below the food and ash stained wife beater he wore all the time, and he reached around and gave his ass crack a good scratch where it popped up over the top of his ratty boxers, and then itched one of his hairy pits for good measure. What had he been thinking about again? He shrugged his shoulders and went back to packing his pipe, and as he did, let off a big belch.

“Hot damn Pa, that was a good one. Taste as good comin’ up as it did going down?” Caleb asked, picking a cigar out of a humidor, before biting off the end and lighting it up.

“Ha, sure as hell did,” Terry said, and then looked a bit puzzled, when he heard the deep twang of his own voice, “What in tarnation…” he muttered, trying to figure out what had happened to his voice.

“What’s up, Pa?”

His son had it too, but he hadn’t noticed…but why should he have? It was normal for a son to talk like his Pa, right? Where else would he have picked it up? “Nah, nothin’, just bein’ thick I guess. Ya know yer Pa, I ain’t too bright.”

“Ha, that’s alright, ‘cause yer damn sexy,” Caleb said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

Terry went back to packing his pipe, and tried to remember what had been bothering him, but couldn’t find it. His head just wasn’t quite working fast enough to keep up with what was going on, but hell, it didn’t matter–he was just horny! He lit his pipe still chuckling, when he let loose a loud, wet fart that surprised both he and Caleb. “Well damn,” he said, “Guess it needs tah come outa both ends, eh son?”

“Sounds like it,” Caleb said, walking over and wrapping his big arms around his Pa and taking a deep sniff of the air. “Damn, it’s a hot, stinky one too–I fuckin’ love those.”

His son still was the same size as his dad had been–wait, his dad? No, he was…well he was big, that was all that mattered. Big, and hairy, and musky…Terry growled low and started grinding his big ass into his son’s legs–feeling the bulge of his son’s cock pressing into his flabby back, as Caleb grabbed both his flabby tits in his massive hands and started squeezing them. His boy wasn’t relly a “boy” anymore, Terry knew. Hell, he hadn’t been a boy in years now. At 27, he was one hot bear, and Terry was just happy to have him in his life. They’d been fucking for so long Terry didn’t think they would ever be apart–he could still remember their first fuck on his son’s eighteenth birthday–that had been one special fucking day. He was so happy to have a son as gay as he was. He reached around and gripped his son’s beard–he was too short to reach much else, and pulled him closer. “Ah fuck son, ya sure know how tah git yer Pa ragin’ horny.”

“Oh yeah? Well ya know what I want Pa?” Caleb asked, “I want a taste a this big, fat ass of yours.” Caleb set his cigar off in a nearby ashtray and shoved his hand down the back of his dad’s boxers.

“Fuck…aww damn boy, ya sure? It’s pretty filthy back there…”

“Just how I like it,” Caleb said, yanking down the back getting down on his knees. He kneaded his dad’s wide ass a bit and then spread the cheeks and started rubbing his greasy, tangled beard up and down his dad’s crack, listening to the fat man moan. Terry leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall and spread his legs apart, still puffing on his pipe, giving Caleb better access to his crack, and felt his son’s tongue start cleaning out his sweaty crack, probing up his shithole, and he moaned, feeling his own large cock start pressing up against his gut.

Again, Terry found himself distracted. Big cock? He hadn’t had a very big cock last time he was this big? Last time? What last time? He’d always had a cock this size…right? Or had he…had he had a tiny cock before? No, he’d always had a cock this size, this big foot long cock. Yeah, a massive foot long cigar sticking out between his legs. How else was he supposed to fuck his son, with this big gut in the way? Yeah, he might not be smart, but he more than made up for it downstairs. Caleb sometimes joked that he did a better job of thinking with his cock than with his head, and he was probably right. Thinking with his cock was a whole lot more fun too.

“Aww yeah son, that feels so good…git that tongue up there.”

“Fuck dad, yer hole’s so fuckin’ nasty–I love it,” Caleb said, and he groped for his cigar, took a deep drag off of it, anf then locked lips with his dad’s hole, pumping his ass full of smoke, the warm air making Terry shiver. He did it a few more times, pumping Terry good and full, and then, when Terry couldn’t hold any more, he bore down, a loud, long, smoky fart streaming right into his son’s face, who inhaled as much of it as he could.

“Aw fuck…fuck that’s nice…” Terry said, smelling it himself, “Yer smoke gives me the best goddamn gas, boy.”

“Sure as fuck does, I fuckin’ can’t get enough of it.”

Terry grinned. “I know somethin’ else a pig like you can’ git enough of,” he said, and stood up, stepping out of his boxers and plopping down into his recliner, putting it up so his feet were level with his son’s face, “Go on, I know how much mah filthy feet turn ya on, boy.”

With Caleb on his knees in front of him, Terry was oddly struck by just how…big his son was. He was big, like…just really damn huge. Even on his knees, his face was still level with Terry where lounged in the recliner, and he had to hunch down to press his nose between his dad’s toes and take a good whiff of the nasty funk that had built up there. Wide too–his son was so big they’d had to keep building out the doorways as he grew up. Even now, he had to fit through them sideways, or else his shoulders would get stuck. It was lucky their house had ten foot ceilings, but he had the curious thought that his son still wasn’t done growing, even though he was probably one of the biggest men on the planet. He was definitely one of the hairiest too–his entire body was covered with curly brown body hair, which was usually matted down with sweat and grime, since he worked out close to eight hours a day. Still, Terry didn’t mind–he loved his sweaty, filthy boy, and when they went to bed, he’d usually give him a nice long tongue bath, before his son took his turn, licking the sweat from between his fatty rolls…

Terry groaned as Caleb ran his big tongue up the sole of his foot and then started sucking on his toes. In his recliner, Terry tensed up for a moment, and then let loose another fart, the stink wafting out right into his son’s face, and the look of desire that shot across it and he smirked. “God, I can’t believe I raised ya tah be such a damn stinkhound.”

“Well, yer so fuckin’ nasty dad, what else would I have grown up tah be?” Caleb said, “Hey dad, ya know, why don’t ya wear those big boots ayers fer the rest of the weekend? Even when yer fucking sleepin’? Then I can clean ‘em out and yer nasty feet too on Monday, after ya git home from work.”

Work. Where did he work again? Wasn’t it…wasn’t it doing like…cooking or a chef? No that wasn’t it, where in the hell had he gotten that idea? He was a forklift operator at a warehouse–sitting on his ass all day in the hot building–his son loved how nasty and sweaty he was after a long day of work, and his booted feet would be absolutely howling by the time he took them off. Just imagining his son sucking on his grimy feet after a long day of work was enough to raise his big cock to over half mast, and Caleb reached up and wrapped one hand around it, so he could worm a finger under his thick foreskin and collect the cheese, which he then smeared on Terry’s feet before licking away.

“Alright dad, I think yer good ‘n clean. I got somethin’ I wanna try though,” Caleb said, standing up to his full height, “Now don’t move, I want tah see if this’ll work.”

Terry watched as Caleb walked around to the side of the recliner, and then in one fluid motion, kicked his foot over so he was straddling the entire recliner, his ass towards his dad’s face. “What’cha doin’ boy?” was all Terry had time to ask before Caleb reached down and yanked on the lever, the chair ratcheting back and slamming Terry’s fat face between his son’s muscular, sweaty ass.

He didn’t have time to breathe, and as soon as he was firmly planted, Caleb let loose with a fart of his own right in Terry’s face, and he gulped it down, his ten inch cock now absolutely rigid, and Terry was lapping up the gunk from his son’s crack and probing down the hole with his tongue, listening to Caleb moan, relishing the sensation of being slammed up his son’s ass.

Then Caleb bent over at his waist, and Terry felt him start sucking on his cock, and the dual assault was enough to send shivers all over his body. It felt like his head just shut down, and all he could think about was how hot it was to clean out his boy’s crack while he got his big cock sucked off. The ten inch monster would have been rough for a normal person, but Caleb’s throat was as big as the rest of him, and he took it without a single gag. Terry waited until he had his face against the base of his cock before he let off another giant fart, listening to Caleb groan in stinky pleasure, and his son followed suit, sending him another fart of his own right into Terry’s face.

Terry was close, and Caleb could tell–his father’s big cock was gushing precum like it always did when he was about to shoot. Terry started to shake, his fat belly jiggling and shuddering as he came, burst after burst of jizz shooting into his son’s mouth, and he swallowed all of it down, and then when he finally relaxed, he let out another massive fart…except it wasn’t just a fart this time.

Terry felt the shit squirt out of his ass and squish between his cheeks as he tried to hold it back, but he wasn’t able to do anything about it, because he was still trapped between the chair and his son’s ass. He groped for the lever and was able to push himself back so he was free, and Caleb unstraddled himself from the recliner, and then took a sniff and said, “Damn that one was stinkier than usual.”

Terry just blushed, and without saying anything, raised the recliner back up and hefted himself out of the chair, and when Caleb saw the brown streak on the chair, he realized what must have happened, and he just looked shocked. Terry didn’t notice, he had waddled off immediately, unable to believe he’d lost control like that, and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, where he lumbered over and sat down on the toilet, unable to believe he’d just shat all over his favorite chair. The same damn chair his dad had fucked him on, and smoked his cigar cock…right?

Terry tried to figure out where that memory had come from, but he just couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense at all. I mean…Caleb had been…his dad? And he’d had a cigar and pipe…

His head was hurting, but instead of retreating, he pushed in further, trying to separate out what had happened to him over the last few hours. He could…remember cooking dinner, but his son hadn’t been as big, and fatter. And before that, upstairs, hadn’t they…fucked? But none of those things actually seemed real–what was real was his massive, hairy and filthy redneck son, and he, his fat, sweaty equally filthy redneck dad…right?

He did his best to wipe his ass, but gave up pretty quick–he was just too big to reach around well enough, and why was he so embarrassed by what had happened? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shat himself on accident–he and his son were trading farts so often that things had a way of slipping out on occasion, he thought with a chuckle. But then why couldn’t he ever remember doing it in the past?

“Hey Pa,” Caleb said, knocking on the bathroom door, “You alright in there?”

“Yeah,” Terry said, jus’ cleanin up.”

“Oh…” Caleb said, and after a pause said, “You…you uh, need any help?”

“No Caleb, I got it,” Terry said.

Then, the bathroom door opened anyway, and Caleb was there in the doorway, a grin on his face that Terry didn’t like the look of…and a massive hard on sticking straight towards Terry. “You sure? I think I know how to help out.”

Before Terry could do anything, Caleb had grabbed him by his fat gut, swung him around, and bent him over the bathroom counter, before slamming his cock up his dad’s ass. “Caleb! What the fuck, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood boy!”

Caleb, however, wasn’t listening, he was just fucking, and from the look on his face…he was down right enjoying the sensation of fucking his dad’s still shitty hole, and all Terry could feel was..disgust. “Caleb! Caleb, get the fuck off of me!” He screamed, and shoved himself back against his big brute of a son, who stumbled back, his shitty cock coming free of his dad’s hole.

“What the hell dad? What the fuck’s up with ya?”

“I fuckin’ said no, boy!” Terry hollered, “Now git up in yer goddamn room!”

“Why the fuck should I?” Caleb shouted back, “You’re not the fuckin’ boss a me!”

“I am yer father, boy, ‘n if I git anymore fuckin’ lip from you, yer gonna fuckin’ regret it.”

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Caleb relented, and left the bathroom, squeezing his way up the staircases to his room, and slamming the door behind him, and then Terry let himself collapse to the floor. He honestly hadn’t expected him to stop–and Terry knew that his son was big enough that if he’d really wanted to keep going–he would have. Fuck, Caleb hadn’t always been like that, what happened to the sweet chubby loner he’d been when he was a teenager? Now, he was this hulk in his mid-twenties, still living with his dad–he needed a damn job, and a life!

Something he’d thought stuck out to Terry though–Caleb hadn’t been a chubby teenager–he hadn’t been chubby ever in his life. But still, he had a…clearish image of a son–his son, sweet hairless face, pudgy body, on the short side…but he couldn’t actually say when the image was from, because…well, it had never happened, right?

No, it had happened–it must have. But when? Again, Terry found himself looking through these impossibly tinted glass walls at the edge of his vision, like if he could turn his head fast enough and squint, he’d see something different, some other reality than his own, just as real as his…but impossible to access. But this wasn’t really right was it? He hadn’t always been this fat, filthy redneck, had he? Fuck, he needed a smoke. He got up and returned to where he’d set his pipe, finding it had gone out, and he relit it. He didn’t sit in the recliner, but just paced the room, puffing his pipe, wondering what to do about Caleb.

They needed to set boundaries–he needed to reassert himself as the father here. Sure, he loved having sex with his son–of course he did, but if he said no…well, Caleb had to respect that. There just weren’t any ifs, ands, or buts about that. And he needed to get a job–no more working out all day every day. And he needed to start picking up after himself, he figured, looking around at the cluttered den–the place was a sty. Sure, neither he nor Caleb were the cleanest guys on the planet–hell, hardly so–but they could still make an effort to improve. He smoked the rest of his pipe down, and then cleaned it out. He’d let Caleb sweat it out enough by now, he figured. Hopefully he’d had a chance to jack off, think about what he did, and realize what he’d done wrong, and they could have a conversation like real men, instead of a tantrum or argument.

He set his pipe back up on the rack, and then sighed, letting out a big belch. There wasn’t any use putting it off any longer. He hefted himself up the two staircases, pausing at the top of the second to catch his breath, before heading to his son’s room, and knocking. “Caleb, are ya in there? I’d like tah have a talk wit’ ya.”

“Sure thing dad, come on in.”

To Be Continued

“How’s my birthday boy this morning? Is he excited for his first birthday?” the man said, opening the door, walking over to where the man was cuffed to his crib on his knees, the pacifier strapped in his mouth. He undid the strap, and pulled it out, and man struggling again.

“It’s not my first birthday you fucker! I’m nineteen, I’m not one! Let me out of here you–”

“Well I guess my little boy isn’t quite ready yet,” the man said, shoving the pacifier back into his mouth and strapping it back in, “Let’s see how you’re doing–I bet you have a wet diaper after that long night though, shall we check?" The man struggled away, but he couldn’t move with his hands cuffed, and his cheeks reddened as the older man checked the front of his diaper and found it wet. "That’s a good little boy, wetting your diaper, just like you should. See? We’re making some good progress aren’t we?”

The man pulled out his hand and started massaging the big baby’s cock through his diaper, and he struggled for a few moments, and then his body went slack, and he started grinding the front of his diaper against his daddy’s hand in a daze, sucking on his pacifier.

“That’s a good boy–you’re gonna be daddy’s little boy soon, aren’t you?”

The baby nodded slowly, still sucking, and rubbed up against his daddy’s hand faster.

“You like wetting yourself and sucking on your pacifier–you love being my big baby–it feels so good, doesn’t it? You’re not nineteen–you’re just a baby, aren’t you?”

The man in the crib gave a shudder and felt his cock unload a massive wad of cum into his diaper, and he gave his head a shake, his eyes refocusing, and his cheeks turned even redder, when he realized what he’d done–again. Whenever his daddy touched him, he always just felt so…so little. No, not his daddy, the man isn’t his daddy…right?

“Why don’t you enjoy that wet diaper a little longer,” the big man said, “Let me go get your bottle, and then we’ll get you changed.”

He left the room, and the man struggled again, but he’d been here for days now–every day a birthday–and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold on. 

The Silent Auction

***Plenty of extreme stuff in this one, I don’t really want to bother listing it. Just consider yourself warned. Check the tags if you’re curious.***

Mitch didn’t know what they were doing to him, the men who’d grabbed him as soon as he’d stepped into the warehouse, throwing a bag over his head and dragging him away, kicking and shouting, but he’d come alone, like the message had said–he hadn’t exactly had much of a choice. But still, he was the god-damn chief of police, and he should have known that this was a trap. The men stripped him down suddenly, cutting the clothes off of him before fastening heavy iron shackles around his wrists and ankles, and shoving him up some stairs and ripping the hood away as they did, but before he could turn around, they’d shut a door, trapping him in a small glass box, barely larger than a coffin, with a bright light in the top casting a harsh light down on his pudgy, old body.

He threw himself at the glass walls, but they weren’t glass at all–just very hard plastic–and even if it had been breakable, he would never have been able to build up the momentum to break it. Instead, he directed his attention to his surroundings, and saw that his wasn’t the only box in the room–there were four others. One was still empty, but in the other three, he saw other men whom he recognized. Sam Raymond, the mayor. Rudy Garrison and Jack Duggery, both members of the city council. He turned to the empty box and saw two men clad in leather police officers disrobing another hooded figure and pushing him into the last box, and he saw Peter McJenson, one of the city’s judges. And him, Mitch Lundon–the chief of police.

“Well well, I see that you all came as I requested,” a voice said, and a small, but beefy figure came out of the darkness, rubbing his gloved hands together, looking at the five men locked in their respective boxes, Amazing how all of you jump when the teats you’ve all been sucking at our threatened.”

The kidnappings, Mitch thought. He’d done his best to keep them under wrap. Five of the most prominent businessmen had been kidnapped two days ago, and the bandit–the man addressing them now, he assumed, had claimed responsibility. Mitch had been furious, to say the least–after nearly a year of no activity, the man he’s sworn to hunt down, after robbing ten banks in half as many months, and costing him twenty of his best detectives, had struck again, and right at the heart of the city’s business community.

The bandit–he was practically legend at this point, a modern robin hood, stealing from the rich and passing on the wealth to the poor faster than the rich could scoop it all back up. The bandit who’d made no attempt to hide his activity or his face, but was still utterly anonymous to him and every other law enforcement body in the country. The bandit who’d…changed every officer who’d ever pursued him. Mitch recognized a few of them now, actually, as some of his most trusted officers just a year ago, before they’d all had their own run-ins with the bandit. In fact, these were the one’s who’d gotten off lucky–others had had their heads so twisted that…well…the sights hadn’t been pretty. And now, seeing what the bandit had managed, well…Mitch was scared to death. He’d only been thinking of himself, when he’d gotten the message from the bandit, telling him to come here, alone, or he’d air out the fact that Mitch had been lining his pockets with personal bribes from every one of the business men that had been kidnapped–apparently the other four had received similar threats.

“So,” the bandit continued, “I suppose you’re all wondering why I asked you all here, and what this has to do with the five upstanding businessmen who agreed to come stay with me for the past couple of days. Yes, I know you thought they had been kidnapped, but I assure you that they all came of their own free will. And now, I’ve invited them all here for a small, private charity auction. Shall I introduce you to them now? How about we bring Ronald out here first.”

The five men all knew him when he came out, Ronald Stein, one of the biggest real estate developers in the city. He was older, but had always tried to look young, but he came out looking absolutely disgusting, clad in a wife beater and boxers, his toupee gone revealing his greying horseshoe of hair. “Say hello to Ronald everyone. In addition to the sweetheart development deals many of you helped him get, Ronald here has also been secretly spying on many of his own tenets. But we’ve helped you out with that, haven’t we Ronald?”

“Oh yes sir,” Ronald said, “I’m not going to spy on anyone anymore, now I just want to watch men strip for me.”

“That’s true–you are quite the voyeur. Now, who’s next? Morgan, come out here.”

Morgan Pullman, the CEO of one of the city’s largest banks, emerged looking very different from his usual self. He’d packed on muscle, for one thing–lots of muscle. And instead of his usual suit, he was wearing leather chaps and a harness, with a whip and paddle hanging from his waist. “Morgan here thought that poor people ought to suffer, but he knows better now, right Morgan?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Bandit,” the muscular man said, “The real men who need to suffer are corrupt government officials, and goodness, am I going to work them over good…”

“I’m sure you will. Now, Berlin, come here my boy.”

Berlin Hamilton was the son of one of the richest men in the world, and had proceeded to do absolutely nothing with the fame and fortune he’d received. At twenty-five, he’d had plenty of time to waste, but not anymore. He emerged triple his previous age–seventy-five–and hobbled over to the bandit. “I suppose youth is wasted on the young, eh?”

“Oh yes, but the younger the better,” Berlin said, shooting the men in their cases a lecherous glance, before shuffling over to join the other two.

“Younger indeed. Now, who’s left…Madison for one, come out here.

Madison Benoit, the investment broker whom the judge in the room had let off scot free on a technicality, after losing millions for his customers in the stock market crash, had a second, darker side that the five men knew about–he was a white supremacist. He’d done a good job hiding it behind his social darwinism and southern roots before, but when he walked out, that wasn’t going to fly any longer, looking like a roided up skinhead, swastikas tattooed on his neck and permanently bald head, wearing bleached jeans, doc martins and a cruel scowl. “No need to hide those feelings anymore, eh, Madison?”

“Fuck no, mate,” Madison said, “Now you promised me a slave, when ‘em I gettin’ my own personal nigger?”

“Soon enough, just be patient–we have one more man to introduce after all. Roger Merdon, our final bidder, everyone.”

Roger Merdon was the wealthiest media magnate in the city, but the obese slob clad in nothing but overalls who stumbled out, apparently drunk, bore almost no resemblance to the smartly dressed man he’d been before. The bandit caught the man as he stumbled, and helped him over to the rest of the group. “Well, I guess he’s just as filthy now as the shit he has his ‘news’ channels shoot out every day, right?” Roger gave a healthy laugh, followed by a long belch, and joined his fellows, Roger walking up to the glass cases.

“What’s this all about, Bandit?” the mayor asked.

“Yeah, you’re never going to get away with this,” Mitch added.

Oh, now this is a silent auction, gentleman, so no comments from the peanut gallery until after the bidding is complete. Now, gentlemen,” the bandit said, directing his attention back to his group of twisted magnates, “You all remember how this works, right? There’s a minimum bid on all these men of…let’s say, fifty million dollars? Just make your bid on each man, and the top bidder on each will get his prize. If you win on two, you only get the one you bid the most on. Still, you’re used to paying for government officials, so I’m sure this will come perfectly natural to all of you. However, I urge you all to be generous, because the person with the lowest bid…well, let’s just say they’ll regret having been so stingy, eh? Now, let’s say, fifteen minutes to place your bids? Starting…now! And remember–silence please, from everyone.”

Apparently, when the bandit said silence, he meant silence. The room was quiet, aside from the occasional hmm or haa from the five bidders, as the men in the cases desperately tried to get their old friends to let them out and escape–but the bandit had apparently been working them over for too long for them to feel any sympathy. Finally, the five of them finished their bids as the clock ran down, and the bandit took a moment to examine the results.

“Alright, it looks like we have our pairings. So, shall we go from highest to lowest? And goodness, what a high bid–I’m impressed. With a winning bid of five hundred million dollars, we have Berlin Hamilton who has purchased the mayor of our fine city as his personal bitch.

The old man grinned, one hand going down and rubbing his cock through his suit pants, as two leather clad officers opened the glass case and dragged the still shackled mayor over to the bandit. “Now now, quit fighting it–you had no problem with these men buying you before, after all. Now, as far as Berlin is concerned, you’re quite simply far too old for him at the moment–he likes his men much younger now. But don’t worry, at eighteen, everything you two will be doing together will be plenty legal.”

As they all watched, the mayor, who’d been in his mid fifties, started regressing rapidly, until he was in his late teens, but his body was so slender and underdeveloped that he probably could have passed as someone younger. Berlin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw his new toy, and he let out a groan.

“Oh, he’s so beautiful, thank you bandit.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet–I know what you like,” the bandit said, and pulled the slender mayor closer, who was still trying to grapple with his own transformation. “Now, Sammy, I have a few things to tell you. You see, your last name isn’t Raymond anymore–It’s Hamilton, and that nasty old man over there is your grandfather, the grandfather whom you want to use you as a sexual toy for the rest of your life. Now, you know what your grandfather likes? He likes little boys, right? So you’re going to have to pretend to be even littler, alright?”

Sammy nodded quickly, falling into his new character, as a tight fitting pokemon shirt appeared on his torso, and around his waist appeared a diaper. He started sucking his thumb, and waddled over to his lecherous grandfather, kissing his deeply, the bandit leaving them to their new roleplay.

“Now, who’s next? Our second largest bid was not nearly so large–just two hundred million, though not a sum to be laughed at. Ronald Stein, please come collect your new toy, Councilman Jack Duggery.” The underwear clad real estate developer smirked, as the officers pulled Jack from his case, and pulled his down to where the bandit stood. “Now, Ronald, what’s your favorite type of man?”

“Oh, I like looking at them all, trust me, but I do love those muscular strippers at all the bars. Just, make him manly–no real twinks, and no body builders either, just, lean and handsome and an unabashed exhibitionist. Oh, and a real big dick.”

“You heard the man,” the bandit said,and Jack felt his body start to contort and grow, packing on muscle, his fat melting away until he could have graced the cover of a muscle magazine, a light treasure trail running up his chest. A short beard covered his chiseled jawline now, and something…a beat inside him…he felt his hips start gyrating, as a pair of extremely tight cut off shorts barely able to contain his nine inch cock appeared around his waist. He looked up and saw Ronald staring at him, and the old man made him feel so dirty, but so horny at the same time, he started grinding his body up against him, making out with him, hungry for his attention and praise, leaving the bandit to tally the next winning bid. “Oh, this is a good one,” the bandit said, “With a bid of 175 million, Madison Benoit has purchased as his new slave the honorable judge Peter McJenson!”

The skinhead stepped forward, and the officers dragged the screaming and struggling judge out of his box and out to the bandit. “No! No please, please don’t do this, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, I sense your sincerity, but alas, it is too late for apologies, I think,” the bandit said, “Still, considering how many young black men you put behind bars, I think your new color will suit you just fine.” The judge whimpered, and looked down at himself, as his skin began to darken to a near pitch black, and he fell to his knees where he continued to beg and plead and grovel, until Madison delivered a firm kick right into the judge’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ niggers. Get rid of that tongue–I don’t ever want to hear another word out of it’s mouth. And it’s balls too. And make it dumb as shit–I don’t need it thinking about questioning my orders. And bigger, a real beast of burden for me and my mates that can take plenty of abuse.”

On his knees, the judge started to grow, packing on pound after pound of muscle as he felt his head empty out, and on his knees, looking up at Madison–no, up at Master, all he felt was fear–primal, terrible fear, and he got down, kissing the toes of his boots, silently begging for forgiveness. It was enough to assuage Madison for the moment, and he dragged his slave away by the chain collar it now wore, where he took his new slave’s cherry.

“Goodness, only two left. Let’s see who our last lucky winner is–Roger Merdon, with a bid of 100 million, has purchased Councilman Rudy Genson. Congratulations.”

The officers hauled out the second councilman and hauled him up front, while the filthy redneck waddled up as well. “So, Mr. Merdon, what would you like?”

“Well, I’d sure as hell love someone tah clean me up a bit–think I sharted a bit sittin’ o’er there jus’ now. Yeah, a nice fat piggy willin’ tah get a little dirty, an’ willin’ tah be mah toilet, I think–that’d save me a lot a trips tah the bathroom.”

“Oh fuck no, you can’t be serious, you *grunt* no, please–*snort*” Rudy said, as he started fattening up, topping 400 pounds before he finally stopped growing, and unable to balance on his feet anymore, he fell forward onto his hands and knees, where he smelled it. Something so filthy and nasty and delicious, he snuffled over to his master and nosed at the back of his overalls. It was in there, it was in there and he needed it, when Master dropped the overalls down, revealing his shitty ass crack he let out a squeal of delight and started licking it all clean, his Master moaning in pleasure as he did, the Bandit walking away and over to where Mitch stood, alone, in his glass case.

“So, Mitch Lundon, it looks like you’re the last one. Well, you and Mr. Thrifty over there,” he said, looking at Morgan Pullman in his leather gear. “Get over here Mr. Pullman.” He tried to resist the command, but there was nothing he could do, and so he walked over and joined him. “So, Mr. Cheapskate, you couldn’t even bring yourself to spend over a hundred million?”

“Well, I didn’t expect everyone else to bid so much–I can pay more, if you want, I have–”

“Oh shut up–I told you before, that the least generous among the bidders was going to get…a less than pleasant surprise, didn’t I? But Mr. Lundon, don’t think that I’m letting you off the hook–why don’t the two of you share the same fate? Take him out boys.”

The two cops pulled Mitch out of his case, and two more grabbed Peter before he could try and run. “Now, I’m thinking twins, and I do love the leather. How about a couple of cute cubs, just desperate for a master?”

As Peter and Mitch looked at each other, they saw that they were both transforming in front of their eyes, shrinking to about five and a half feet, and pudging up, their hair shifting to deep red and shortening, full round goatees accentuating the roundness of their faces. When they were perfectly identical, matching leather harnesses and jocks appeared on their bodies, along with two massive dildos shoved up their holes, and both of them looked at the bandit with unbridled lust.

“So, is there anything me and my brother can do for you?” Mitch said, running his hand into the bandit’s pants and massaging his cock.

“Yeah, the two of us have been looking for a big, strapping master like you who can keep all of our holes satisfied,” Peter added coming in close as well.

“Ha, well, I don’t know about keeping you, but I’d be happy to keep you both well plowed tonight,” the bandit said, leading the twin cubs to his room, and leaving the rest of the men to their pleasures, wiring the millions he’d just made from the auction to the charities he’d chosen earlier. They might all have been selfish whores before, but at least now no one would mistake them for what they really were–and if he could help people in the city, then all the better.

Daddy Juice

A nursing home? Why in the hell was his dealer living in a nursing home? Jaxon looked at the address he’d been given again, but he was definitely in the right place, at least at the place where his dealer had sent him. From the form of the address, he’d assumed it would be a dorm or apartment complex or something, and if the withdrawal hadn’t been so freaking awful, he would have just given up, but he needed the stuff way too bad to not give it a try.

D-Juice it was called. He’d found a few references to it on a bodybuilding forum he lurked on. Apparently it was completely natural and impossible to detect, but the claims that it had no negative effects were obviously garbage. Jaxon had gotten some to help him with his training for football season before heading off to college, and so far it had worked great. He’d packed on muscle quicker than before–not as quick as steroids, but quick enough for him to be happy. There had been some unexpected but not unwelcome changes too–more body hair, a thicker beard and a deeper voice, but the early onset male pattern baldness kind of sucked.  He’d been getting it by mail from some unnamed dealer–a free trial, which he figured was no longer going to be very free. He’d decided to just not buy into the scheme, but then…well, the withdrawal had set in. He’d tried weathering it, but the shakes, the weakness, the fucking nausea–it was awful, so he’d given in and offered to meet him. He’d brought a big wad of cash–the guy had refused to name a price–but he found his way to building B, headed inside, hating that stench of old these places always had in the long, twisted hallways, and eventually found his way up to room 356 and knocked on the door.

“Yeah? Who is it?” an old voice said, and the door opened, revealing an old, chubby man clad in a tank top and some boxers, shorter than Jaxon by a few inches, but much wider. His hair was completely white, and he had a few tattoos that might have been cool in his youth, but before Jaxon could say anything, he smelled it. He could smell the D-Juice in there–no, right in front of him, and he needed it. The old man saw the need in Jaxon’s eyes and smirked, “Oh, the addict–right on time. Get in here, I got what you need.”

Jaxon pushed past the old man into the small apartment, nearly aching. “Where is it? Come on man, I’m desperate!”

“Oh I got what you need alright,” the old man said, dropping his boxers to the floor, and grabbing his massive balls, “It’s in here.”

Jaxon just gaped at him for a moment, unable to comprehend what the man meant, but he could smell it still, he just had to follow the scent, and then he could get what he needed…but the scent was coming from the man, coming from lower, and Jaxon was on his knees, sniffing the old man’s sack, licking at it desperately. It was in there, all the D-Juice he could ever need, and he needed it, but how to get it how to get it out?

“Hey addict, ya gotta suck it out, dipshit,” the old man said, and without even questioning him, Jaxon started sucking on the old man’s short, shriveled cock. It wouldn’t even get hard in his mouth, but apparently his avid sucking was enough for the old man, who unloaded his cum down Jaxon’s throat after a few moments, gripping the door frame for support. Jaxon sat back and sighed–the D-Juice, that was it, he finally had it…and he’d…he’d just sucked some old geezer’s cock in order to drink it down straight…from the man’s old, nasty balls.

He gagged, but didn’t vomit. The older man pulled up his boxers, chuckling, “Well, you certainly were an eager one, I can say that.”

“Oh my…fucking god. What did you do to me? What…oh fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jaxon said, but it wasn’t simple disgust. The room was spinning, and he felt…hot, and strange and he needed to get out of here. He stumbled up, shoved the old man out of his way and charged out of the apartment, but he was so dizzy and weak that he could only get to the elevators before he collapsed in a chair there, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him, which it did do, eventually. He breathed a sigh of relief and ran his hands over his head…only to discover that most of his hair was gone. He felt it again, but sure enough, his hair had receded back past the crown of his head into a true horseshoe. The doors of the elevator were brushed steel, but even in his poor reflection, he could see that his brown hair was now streaked with white, and his beard had grown in full as well. His muscular physique was gone too–replaced by a sagging gut, thin arms, chicken legs and moobs–actual fucking moobs like men got in their middle age–was he…was he middle aged?

He was…wasn’t he? That fucker. That fucking old geezer, what the fuck had he done to him?He was going to kill him. He was going to make him put all of this right, and then he was going to beat his old ass to fucking death for this. He charged back down the hall and pounded on the door, and when it opened again, the man inside had obviously changed as well. He was still quite fat, but no longer as old as he had been–looking to be in his sixties rather than in his eighties. “Oh? Back for more already?” he said, and Jaxon growled, shoving his way in, the older man stepping back.

“What the fuck have you done to me? Change me back, fucker!”

“Oh now, come on,” the old man said, “You like your Daddy Juice, don’t you? That’s what the ‘D’ stands for by the way–Daddy, because that’s what you’re gonna be before long. Well, more like a Grandaddy, but who’s really counting? It’s not the number that counts, but how you feel! I mean, I’m 634 years old–would you believe it? But I don’t feel a day over…I’d say, 58,” the man said, and doubled over laughing.

Jaxon grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him up against the wall, but his body just didn’t have the strength he thought it did to really give it the force he’d wanted. “What. The fuck. Did you do to me. Fucking change me back!”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” the old man said, “It’s a one way street, well, unless you know the spell, but I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Magic, son! Good old fashioned magic, I know, it isn’t very fashionable anymore, but it still works just fine if you know what you’re doing, and I know what I’m doing very well, trust me. I think…two more doses ought to finish it. So, would you like them now? Or would you like to come back later, when the withdrawal kicks in even worse than before?”

“No, I’m not sucking you off again, I’m not. You’re going to fucking change me back, or I’m going to kill you…” Jaxon said, but the sudden exertion had left him…a bit winded, and the nausea was coming back suddenly. He gripped the wall, trying not to look weak, but the old man grinned.

“Looks like it’s hitting you quick. You really shouldn’t over exert yourself in your condition, you know. Now, I have something that will make you feel better, if you just get down and suck it all down like a good man.”

Jaxon licked his lips. It would…taste good, and he’d feel better. It was getting hard to think, with the withdrawal setting in again. He could get out of this if he had some more D-Juice. He didn’t have to drink it all, just a little, just enough to think. He hadn’t even finished his rationalization before he was down on his knees again, the old man gripping the back of Jaxon’s head as he rammed his cock down his throat. He certainly didn’t have any trouble getting hard this time, and Jaxon was gagging quite a bit as the man face fucked him, and he didn’t have any choice but to swallow the whole load with the man’s cock pumping his jizz right into Jaxon’s stomach.

Like before, as soon as it was in his system, the withdrawal pains disappeared, but then he started changing again. His hair turned entirely white, and as he watched, he was now the older in the room, the man’s hair filling back in, and regaining most of it’s brown color, his physique slimming down and filling in with muscle. Kneeling on the floor, Jaxon’s frame exploded, his modest gut gaining at least another hundred pounds, giving him a full apron, his moobs now thick and fatty. He rubbed his body, unable to believe what was happening to him, and the man standing in front of him laughed with glee.

“Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten how good it feels to be young again! Gosh, I always hate this waiting, I hit sixty and I just want to go back, but I wait and wait because I know it’s going to be good, and fuck if I’m not right! Oh, no more aching back, a working dick, muscles! Oh muscles how I’ve fucking missed you!” he said, kissing his bicep.

“Fuck…Fuck…” Jaxon said, not even recognizing his own voice at first. It was gravelly, and weak and he was just so…so damn tired all of a sudden.

“Oh, don’t worry!” the man said, getting down to Jaxon’s level. You’ll still have a good five…maybe ten years left in you, and trust me, this place is posh. Posh–is that word still hip? I loved that word. Absolutely posh, and I’ve paid ahead of time–all you have to do is enjoy it. And I’ll still come and visit you! You’re hot, sexy grandson–you’ll have all the old ladies swooning over me, don’t you worry. And I have the most wonderful obituary written up for you, you’d be amazed at what you’ve done in the last eighty years.”

“Please…please don’t do this, please just change me back, I don’t want to be old! I don’t want to die…”

“Oh, my friend,” the man said, kissing his forehead, “No one wants to be old, and no one wants to die–especially me. The difference between you and me, is that I don’t have to be old if I don’t want to be, and you’re stupid enough to buy some bullshit herbal muscle growth supplement over the internet! Now, I still have one last dose to give you, and I’m thinking…suppository.”

Jaxon did his best to fight him off, but he was just too weak. The man pinned him down and rammed his hard cock up Jaxon’s ass, raping him on the floor of the apartment for a few minutes, before shooting the last load into Jaxon’s ass. He didn’t want to know what he looked like now–he just let the twenty year old man, handsome and fit–his fucking “Grandson” help him up and dress him in the oversized clothes he’d shed, and park him on the couch in front of the TV, sobbing.

“Now now Grandpa, I know you’re upset, but trust me, I’ll do more with your time than you ever would have dreamed. Now, I have to go explore! I can’t wait to give this body a test drive. I heard they’re about to legalize gay marriage–I think I might have to give that a try!” And then he was gone, and Jaxon was alone in his new apartment, in the nursing home, a brand new Granddaddy, and there was nothing at all he could do, except wait to die.

Fairytale – Part 3

This story got put on hiatus a while back, but I went ahead and finished it up. Here are parts 1 and 2. 

***WARNING*** This story contains watersports, scat, raunch and incontinence. Like, a ton of it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

As they left the theater and emerged into the hallway, Jeff turned to Harry and asked, “So, what sort of plans did you have for after the movie?”

“Well, I was thinking we could head back to my place and have a little fun, if you don’t mind hanging around a filthy minded redneck like me,” Harry replied, coming a little closer and sensing Jeff still raging attraction to him.

“Sounds like one hell of a plan to me, but after that drink you brought me, this daddy needs to go take a piss before any of that.”

“You managed to drink that?” Harry asked, “When?”

“While you had your face buried in my gunt, boy,” Jeff said with a grin, but Harry hadn’t really been interested in an answer–he’d only asked it to keep Jeff around for a second, while the spell took effect, forcing Jeff’s bladder to empty itself in the hallway as they stood there. Jeff felt the warmth in his crotch and running down his pant leg a moment later, and his face turned bright red with horror, as Harry grinned wide and quickly pulled him through a couple of doors leading into an empty side hallway, leaving a wet trail of piss behind them.

“Smells like someone couldn’t hold it in,” Harry said.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe…I…oh fuck, are you really…oh fuck, you nasty pig…” Jeff said as Harry got down, buried his face up under his gut and started sucking the piss from the fabric of Jeff’s crotch. Jeff’s hand wrapped around the back of Harry’s head and forced him in deeper, and the sudden assertion of control startled Harry, but also turned him on. Apparently Jeff was already getting dirty enough to assert some dominance in their relationship, but Harry was eager for more of that from him. He worked his way out and back up to standing, and gave Jeff a kiss, before pulling him towards the door out of the movie theater, but Jeff pulled him back and shoved him up against the wall. “Oh no, I pissed myself–I want you to do the same boy…I think that’s only fair.”

“But I already took a piss earlier–”

“Shut up and let it loose–show daddy what you’ve got.” Harry grinned, and decided there was no reason the spell couldn’t work on him as well, and a second later, piss was streaming out of his cock and soaking the front of his shorts, running down his legs and pooling in his boots. Jeff shoved his own leg up against Harry’s, sharing the piss and the two of them made out for a moment longer, before breaking apart and heading for the door, both of them soaked.

They took a moment to get oriented in the parking lot, and before heading for his vehicle, Harry decided it was time to give another one of the fairy’s spells a try. This one could would change the date of the last time the subject changed their clothes and showered, making them either cleaner or dirtier depending on which direction one went–but Harry knew there was only one way for Jeff to head. He decided, for a bit of fun, to make it so Jeff’s “wash date” moved back a day for every pace he took as they walked to Harry’s car…or what had been a car when they arrived.

Suddenly Harry could only ever recall owning a rusted out pick up truck, it’s bed heaped with junk and the cab filthy with trash and who knew what else. Still, they set off in that direction, Harry kept track of their steps as they went–and it took them longer than he’d expected–ninety paces, making it now three months since Jeff had last changed his clothes or showered, and when they climbed into the cab–he definitely looked like it. His shirt and pants were absolutely filthy, the wet sweat marks from earlier now dried under his pits and colored a brownish yellow. The front of his shirt was marked with grease and food stains from his meals, and his navy pants, were stiff with precum and piss. His beard had grown rather unruly as well, and when Jeff closed the door to the passenger side, the suddenly enclosed space was filled with the two men’s combined musk, making them both let out a moan and lick their lips.

“Well daddy, what say we head home and have some fun?” Harry said, went to turn the keys but Jeff lashed out and caught his wrist, stopping him cold. Jeff let go long enough to shove the smaller, younger man up against the side of the pick up, his musk overwhelming Harry’s senses, and making him suddenly feel…like he needed to obey and service this man more than anything else in the world. How powerful was that first spell exactly?

“First boy, I think you and I need to get a few things straight–there’s something funny going on here, and we aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on here. I don’t just accidentally piss myself in hallways very often, and I know I wasn’t think dirty when we left the theater. Now you’re going to fucking tell me, or we’re going to have some problems–got it?” Harry screwed up his lips, trying to keep the truth under wraps, but the sheer dominance Jeff was exuding was too powerful.

“Alright…alright, I’ll tell you everything…sir,” Harry said, “but it’s kind of a long story, so how about I tell you on the way back to my place?”

Jeff stared Harry down for a moment, but relaxed back into his seat, giving Harry a nod of agreement, and so he started up the truck, and drove off to wherever his new home was, and told Jeff everything. About who they’d been, about his trip to the restroom and his run in with the Fairy Grungefather, his own transformation and the dawn time limit, the spells the fairy had given him to use, and how he’d manipulated Jeff with them all night long. Throughout the story, Jeff was mostly quiet, occasionally asking for a point of clarification but little else, and Harry couldn’t tell whether he believed him or not. As he drove, he realized he was heading out of town proper, and after a half hour drive, they turned into a trailer park, and pulled up in front of a rickety and rusted single wide which Harry knew was his home. “That’s…that’s the whole story sir, like you asked for.”

“You realize that sounds utterly ridiculous, right? I mean, how in the hell am I supposed to believe any of that?”

“Well…uh…I could show you. I mean, I could use a spell on you, and you might notice it happening, now that you know about it.”

Jeff thought for a moment, then said, “Fine, give me your cock, boy. You’re not going to be needing it, the way this night is heading.”

“A–All of it? Can’t I–”

“Shut the fuck up, and give it to me,” Jeff said, and Jeff couldn’t resist the order, so he reached over, grabbed Jeff’s hand and swapped their cocks, leaving himself with a half inch nub, and Jeff with a huge cock a little over a foot long. Jeff rummaged around in his gunt in surprise, amazed not only that the spell had worked, but that he’d also noticed it happening. “Holy fuck, it actually worked…” Jeff said, then turned back to Harry, “Alright, now make me dirtier. Make it so I haven’t showered in a year.”

“I don’t…is that a good idea, sir? I mean–” Harry said, mostly worried that if that happened, there would be no way for him to resist Jeff’s sudden dominance.

“Just shut the fuck up, boy, and do as your daddy says, or you’re going to get it.”

So Harry did it, and he wanted to do it. He wanted to see what Jeff would look like if he were that filthy–he needed to see it. And so Jeff felt himself grow filthier, his clothes nearly turning to grungy rags hanging off his body, his pants torn, his shirt missing buttons. As the change progressed, Harry felt his will to resist simply withering away and eventually disappeared altogether. He needed to serve this man, to obey him. It was truly the most important thing for him to do. When it finished, Jeff looked over at the devoted eyes of Harry next to him, and knew he had his date right where he ought to be.

“Alright boy, now…you said that spell could transfer qualities, right? Was it only limited to physical ones?”

“I…I don’t know, sir. I only used it on physical ones, sir, so I’m not sure.”

“Alright, now here’s what I want you to do. I want you to try and transfer your ability to cast those spells from you to me, so that I can cast them all, and you can’t. After all, I think you’d agree that I’m the one who should have all the power in this relationship, isn’t that right?”

“Ye–Yes sir, of course sir!” Harry said, eager to agree, and so he he touched Jeff’s hand again and with all his might, willed the spells to transfer to Jeff, however, he had no idea whether it had worked or not, and neither did Jeff, apparently.

“Alright, how about we give this a try? I’m tired of these fucking business rags anyway–how about something a little more commanding?” Jeff concentrated and tried casting one of the spells Harry hadn’t used earlier, which allowed for the caster to change the subject’s clothes, and in turn, some of their behaviors, based on what they wore. As Harry watched, Jeff’s business casual started to twist and write, turning into a green and brown camouflage fatigues which were in relatively good shape, despite being well worn, with the name “Daddy Sarge” printed over one pocket. Even though his fat frame was stretching the fabric to its limits, Jeff laughed, amazed that it had actually worked, and Harry was next to him, awestruck. “Damn, I can’t believe that actually worked. How about you, cadet? You like the look of your new sergeant?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Harry shouted, not even noticing that his own clothes had suddenly shifted in a pair of similar fatigues and boots, though his name tag read “Cadet Pigboy.”

“Well why don’t you show off some of that enthusiasm and suck your sergeant’s massive cock,” Jeff ordered, and Harry immediately leapt to, and as soon as Jeff had his monstrous cock out, Harry did his best to choke it down, but with the extra gag reflex he’d taken earlier, he could barely get half of the shaft in his mouth, but he tried his hardest just the same. However, Jeff soon reversed that change, and Harry found himself able to deepthroat the cock with no resistance at all, as Jeff started swapping around their attributes once more.

He decided he liked being older, so he kept their ages the same, but he had to do something about this fat–he didn’t feel like it suited him. He dumped off most of the poundage onto Harry, taking his muscle, but leaving himself with a firm gut over his hard abs. He decided that if Harry was going to be his pigboy, then he was going to be smooth, and so he took all of his body hair, expanding his already thick pelt, and also took away Harry’s thick beard and hair, leaving him with a clean shaven, chubby face and a high ‘n tight haircut. To further cement himself as the leader, he stole several inches off of Harry’s height, bringing him down to five foot six, and bringing himself up to six foot seven, and to make sure Harry wouldn’t find some clever way to regain control anytime soon, he stole forty points off his IQ score, raising Harry a bit past genius and making Harry a certifiable, drooling dunce.

Happy with their new looks, Jeff said, “Alright Cadet, that’s enough sucking. Get out of the truck and stand at attention,” but Harry ignored him–and Jeff felt a sudden anger. He shoved Harry off his cock with enough force to slam him back against the side of the truck, and yelled, “I gave you a fucking order, now get out and stand at fucking attention, you piece of shit!”

“Ye–Yes sir!” Harry stuttered out, popping open the door and tumbling out onto the gravel drive below him. He scrambled back up and managed to get into attention just as Jeff came around the front of the vehicle, shaking his head.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that? No discipline, no fucking brain–I mean, look at you, you fucking mouthbreather, you’re drooling on your goddamn uniform!” Jeff shouted, closing Harry’s gaping mouth with one hand, and wiping his slobber off on his shirt. “Hell, I bet you aren’t even potty-trained…”

Harry suddenly felt a pressure on his bowels, and a massive load of shit flooded the back of his fatigues, and his face went red with humiliation, even as his tiny cock tried to get hard from the sheer stench of it, and there was just…so much of it. He felt it pack the back of his pants and then start running down his legs, and then he was pissing himself again, the front of his new fatigues soaked, and he did his very best to hold himself at attention, but his body shook with humiliation and arousal. Sarge came close to him and the sheer stench rolling off him brought Harry to his knees, head bowed, face slammed into his musky crotch, and when he started pissing, Harry started sucking it out through the fabric, lamenting every drop he couldn’t get through the fabric. “Look at you, you fucking piece of work. I don’t think you even deserve the respect of that fuckin’ uniform you have on–how about we give you something a bit more fitting?

Harry shivered suddenly, the cold night air directly against most of his fat body. In fact, the only clothes he was wearing now was a thick, heavy metal collar around his neck, a tag on it reading “Pigboy Baby Slave” and a thick padded diaper, sagging down with the weight of his massive load of shit and piss. As a final tough, Jeff added a pacifier with a six inch cock for a nipple shoved down his throat, and he laughed at Harry’s new look, the idiot just grinning as he sucked the rubber cock in his mouth, his thick mind unable of comprehending what was happening to him. He just felt so happy, on his knees before his stinking Master, his diaper full of piss and shit, this was all he knew, all he wanted. “Come on piglet, we’re gonna go have some more fun,” Jeff said, and walked over to the trailer. Harry tried to get to his feet, but found that he couldn’t walk anymore, and was forced to crawl after his master, oinking and grunting uncontrollably as they went inside.

It was many hours later when Harry, exhausted, finally collapsed and fell asleep. Harry didn’t notice immediately–he was too busy pounding his slave’s filthy hole with his massive cock for the third time, the feel, sound and stench of his slave’s shit squelching around his cock taking up all of his attention. He’d cut open Pigboy’s diaper once they’d gotten inside and forced his nasty slave to slather himself with the contents, before begging his daddy to fuck and fist his loose, incontinent hole, and Jeff had only been too happy to oblige. He came once more with a forceful shudder and heard Harry’s snores, and decided his boy had earned a few hours rest, before Jeff woke him up to eat his master’s morning shit. Fuck–morning–was it coming already? Looking out one of the trailer’s filthy panes, he could see the sky had started lightening, and as the first rays of the sun crested the horizon, Jeff looked back over his shoulder and saw that he was no longer alone.

“Ah, so, Harry, I see you enjoyed yourself tonight,” the fairy said, giving Jeff a wink, “Dang, you sure did do a number on your date, didn’t you?”

Jeff looked down at Harry, and realized the fairy hadn’t noticed the role switch that had happened halfway through the night. Hell, of course he’d think Jeff was Harry–he was the one with the spells as well. Did this mean that their time was already up? Jeff thought about it, and realized he didn’t want to go back to the prissy, uptight cub he’d been just a few hours ago–this sense of freedom, of power and dominance, it was too wonderful to cast aside now. “Is…Look, I don’t want to change back, I don’t want either of us to change back–can’t we stay like this?”

“That wasn’t the deal, Harry.”

“So then make it a deal, what do you want in exchange?”

The fairy cocked an eyebrow, “Well, I mean, since it seems like the two of you are enjoying yourselves, I suppose I could come up with an agreement of some sort. Here’s what I want. First, I want neither one of you to ever shower or clean yourselves in any way ever again. Second, I’ll leave you access to your spells, but only if, every day, you use them to make at least one man filthier and grungier than he was when he began the day. If you don’t follow through on either point, the contract is broken, and your magic will disappear, leaving you trapped in whatever form you might be in at the moment. Is that agreeable to you?”

“I’ll take it,” Jeff said, without a second of hesitation, and the fairy laughed.

“Very well, ‘Sarge’, enjoy yourself now–and I look forward to seeing your work,” with a flash, the fairy was gone, and Jeff grinned, looking over at his pig–this was going to be the start of a whole new life, even if it wasn’t the happily ever after he’d been expecting.

Bait and Switch (Part 2)

He was back in the ether again, facing Bruce bare across the strange space, and this time, he had no hesitations about approaching him. He wanted him–badly. However, this time, their cocks didn’t connect. In fact, their cocks passed right through one another, as though they were ghosts. The contact they did make was at the belly–or their belly button to be exact, the two holes coming together in perfect alignment, despite the fact that Bruce was several inches taller than Charles was. The shock passed through him as before, but didn’t throw him back immediately. If anything, he felt even more drawn towards Bruce…and as he watched, his roommate was starting to change. His chubby frame started pulling in, deflating and shrinking a bit, though the muscle grew more defined as it did. His face uncreased, skin looking younger as his hair turned from grey to light brown. But if Bruce was getting younger, than that meant–

Sure enough, Charles looked down and saw that he was changing as well, though in reverse, packing on fat in a generous belly as his muscular frame sagged with age. He did grow taller, feeling his bones lengthen and stretch while Bruce’s contracted, but when the two of them finally were flung back and away, Charles was no longer the young, muscular cub he’d been the day before–he was now a full fledged daddy bear. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be terrified and angry. In this space, he had a clearer memory of the earlier dream as well. Someone–something was doing this to him and Bruce and he had no idea why, and yet, looking down at his new body, he found himself loving it. He loved bears after all, why shouldn’t he want to look like one too? It was already starting to feel more natural, like this is who he was supposed to be, and the grey ether slowly dissolved away around him. Before disappearing however, he caught sight of someone else in the middle distance watching him. It wasn’t Bruce–at least, not the new Bruce, but he knew that there was no way he could reach the man before the dream faded, and even if he’d had time, the ether’s physics would have thwarted him anyway. Instead, he focused hard, trying to commit the image to memory as he fell back into his own sleep, dreams of sex with bears, all bearing the same half-formed shadow visage.

The next morning, while Charles couldn’t find anything immediately wrong with his new, older body, the rest of reality didn’t seem so accommodating. He started the day with a cigar out on the balcony, watching the staff of the bear convention set up for a pool party scheduled for later that afternoon. He found himself wishing he’d known about the other event so he could have signed himself up for that convention too–still, maybe he’d have a chance to sneak in if he was careful. The first troubles of the morning came when he tried to put on his suits–none of them–absolutely none of them fit. They seemed to have been made for someone the size of Bruce–a twink–not for a big bear like himself. Still, he had to wear something nice to the convention, so he squeezed his way into something and headed downstairs, eating a very large breakfast before heading to the convention.

He didn’t stick around for long. Between his discomfort in the suit, his raging cock, and his constant need to break for a cigar back up in his room, he wasn’t all that present anyway. He cut out early to give himself at least an hour for a hearty, greasy lunch. He knew he should eat healthier–in fact, it seemed like just yesterday that he’d been on a strict diet, but he did need to keep this belly fed. He couldn’t have it shriveling up and disappearing on him after all, he liked having one far too much..didn’t he? He spent most of the hour eyeing the various bears eating there as well, and was pleased to see he got as many appreciative glances as he was giving–and again he regretted the fact that he was here for work and not play. Still…what harm was there in taking a break? That pool party was today, why not enjoy himself a bit?

He headed back to his room, wondering what to do. He didn’t even have a swimsuit with him…or did he? He looked at the two sets of luggage on the ground, suddenly unsure of which was his. He’d surely come with a bunch of suits…but then why didn’t any of them fit? Suddenly, the bag of denim, flannel and leather was looking much more comfortable, and digging through Bruce’s (or was it his?) things, he found a pair of XXXL swim trunks, and he was thrilled, stripping out of his itchy, ill-fitting suit and pulling on the trunks, along with a tank showing off his fur, and a pair of sunglasses. He saw on the table a convention badge for the bear convention with Bruce’s name on it…and he grabbed it. He could pretend to be someone else for a bit–what was the harm? From the balcony he saw that the party was already well underway, and with his borrowed badge in hand, no one questioned whether he was supposed to be there, and he lit up another cigar in celebration.

He mingled for a little while, happy to chat, fondle and be fondled for the moment, though he was mostly interested in finding someone to fuck around with in earnest. It was then that the bear caught his eye. He knew him from somewhere, but he didn’t quite know where. He had a sense that he’d been seeing him…everywhere. Was he the guy he’d seen watching him when he stepped on the elevator? Who’d watched him on the balcony last night? The shadow from his dream? His gut told him that it was, but he had no way of knowing for sure. Still, the man certainly seemed interested in him–as soon as Charles had caught his eye, he’d grinned and started over.

“Hey there…Bruce,” the man said, reading the name off the badge with a grin. “Funny, you don’t seem much like a ‘Bruce’ to me.”

“Hell daddy, you can call me anything you want, and I’ll be happy?”

“Oh? Can I call you Carl? I’d like that.”

Confused, Charles just stared at him, not sure what to make of that response.

“Oh never mind,” the bear said, flashing a smile nice enough to make him not worry about it too much. “Still, it’s nice to see you again. You were looking pretty hot last night, though you’re looking hotter right now. Having you down here saves me the trip up to your room.”

“So that was you watching me. You liked what you saw then? You wanna…get a closer look? We…uh, could head up to my room anyway, if you want.”

“Sorry Carl, but we have to wait until after dark–those are the rules.”

Again, Charles was confused. “Why do you keep calling me Carl? And I don’t see why we need to wait, we could just head–”

Charles was stopped by the bear shoving him up against the fence around the pool and giving him a deep, sensual kiss which he happily returned, though the bear broke it off far too soon for Charles’ liking. “There’s a bar close by–most of the bears are heading to an afterparty at a bigger place, but I think we might need something a bit more intimate. Come after sundown–I’ll be waiting.” the bear said, slipping a card into Charles’ hand, “Oh, and one more thing–don’t play with anyone else before then–I want you all to myself, and virgin.”

Charles had many more questions, but the man had left before he could even get his name. He looked around at the bears surrounding him, still horny, but something about what the man had said–or how he’d said it–made the mere thought of sexing any of them up a bit…repulsive. He had to save himself for later after all, just like the bear had told him to…though he wasn’t sure why he was doing what the strange man said. Still, hanging here wasn’t going to be any fun now if he couldn’t play around, so he skulked back to his room, but found that Bruce had returned at some point while he was at the party–and was trying on one of the suits, staring down at it as though it were the strangest thing for him to be wearing in the world, and looking at the young twink, Charles felt a strange possessiveness take over. “Hey! Get out of that, those…those are mine…” The words didn’t feel right. They felt like a lie, but the confusion on both their faces did more to demonstrate the possessive grey area than anything else. In fact, Charles felt like it wasn’t the suits he was being possessive over, but his roommate’s body…but that made even less sense.

“Look…I was…I was just trying one on. Nothing else in here fits me, so I mean–if they fit me this good, why wouldn’t…why wouldn’t they be mine?” Bruce said, hesitantly, and Charles couldn’t deny the fact that he was probably right.

“You’re…you’re right, I think. I’m just…I haven’t been sleeping well, and everything has just been so weird these last couple days.”

“No kidding,” Bruce said, I’ve been having these crazy dreams, and you’re in them of all people.”

Charles just stared at him for a second. “Dreams…do they…are you in this weird grey place, and we’re both naked?”

“Yeah, and then we always come closer, and touch somehow, and things…change…don’t tell me–”

“I’ve been having them too.”

“That’s nuts.”

They were silent for a few moments, trying to figure out what was going on. It had to mean something, but what?

“Hey…have you–have you noticed a guy following you at all?” Charles finally asked, “There’s this guy, this bear, he’s been watching me, or I think, us. I just ran into him at the pool, and it was so weird. He’s tall, older, full beard with a shaved head?”

“You mean like half of you bears here? Sorry, I don’t swing that way, so I don’t notice you when I don’t have to.”

“You don’t have to be mean.”

“I’m sorry, It’s just some men have no business strutting around half naked in the light of day.” Charles rolled his eyes, and yet…something about the sentiment seemed familiar. Like it was something he’d have said, or had said before. Regardless, Bruce could sense that he’d crossed a line, and he stepped closer. “Look, it’s not really any of my business, who you like. I’m sorry. And…now that I think about it, I might have had a run in with someone like you describe. It was pretty weird too.”

“When was it?”

“Two nights ago, the night the first dream happened. I went out for a drink with some…some friends, and this guy came up and started chatting with me at the bar. He wanted to know where I was staying, and he seemed really curious about…well, about you. It was strange.”

The two of them pondered that for a moment, feeling more unnerved by the minute. “Look,” Charles finally said, “I think something really strange is going on. The guy wants to meet me at this bar near here after dark…and maybe we should both go, and try to get some answers from him. I think he knows something about whatever’s been happening here, and we should try to see what he knows.”

Bruce was obviously nervous, but he agreed. Tonight they would have a date with the mysterious bear, and get to the bottom of whatever was going on here once and for all.