Tag: ball growth

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 4 (Part 4)

He didn’t tell me much more after that. I pressed him for more, tried to get him to tell me how the bruiser had changed him, how he had accomplished the physical changes, to make the man in the mugshot into the man in my basement, because it just…wasn’t possible. It wasn’t just a matter of years–no one could grow six inches in height. No one’s jaw went from a triangular point, to a flat square. No one’s eyes went from a bright blue to gray. He just laughed, and said that he might tell me more later, if I was good.

I reminded him that I was the one in control here, and he just laughed at me, and told me I owed him five loads for the story…and I refused, but he pulled me close to him, my head to his cum coated chest, and I…I lost it. I couldn’t stop jacking, grinding my cock against him, my dress uniform filthy now, and he whispered in my ear, twisted things, filthy things, and I heard them like my own voice, I heard my own voice shifting slightly, changing inflection, saying more, saying different. Saying how horny I was. Saying what a dirty, filthy, corrupt little copper I was. I came again, spraying a massive load all over his face, the largest load I had ever seen, and realized just how much my body had changed in the course of the night, my balls swelling to twice the size they had been, throbbing desperately, aching to empty themselves onto him, onto the filthy pig I owned and controlled, onto my property, my right.

In the end, I gave him seven loads before I finally collapsed and exhausted, and could crawl away from him–but not without attaching his cuff to the pipes on the wall again. Did it really matter if I had cuffed him or not? Probably not. He could have made me do anything he wanted, probably. He could have escaped, he could have taken me with him. No–he wanted to be here. He was supposed to be here…but I needed the illusion of control all the same. I retreated upstairs to my bedroom, saw myself, and I was…horrified.

My uniform was trashed. Wrinkled and soaked in cum, front and back. I stripped out of it, knowing I should wash it…but the voice told me no. I couldn’t wash it, it had to stay dirty. I was a dirty pig cop, and a dirty pig cop needed a dirty uniform. I snorted at the thought, cock throbbing again in need, and started jacking off–but before I could cum, I had to find…something. Something to catch it, because I couldn’t spill it just…anywhere, now could I? No, my cum had to go on Cumster. I ended up shooting my load into the water glass I kept by my bathroom sink, and I watched it gout from the head of my cock, filling the eight ounce glass nearly three quarters of the way to the top before it finally slowed and stopped. Still naked, I went back downstairs, got some water and food, and took them down to Cumster, along with my cum still in the glass. Before eating or drinking, he drank a mouthful of cum, swished it around in his mouth, and then let it fall from his mouth down into his beard…and fuck, the sight of it made me horny all over again, and I came for the ninth time while he ate, letting it spill on the top of his shaved head, watching it run down the sides and back, coating him, knowing I was sealing him in a layer of my spunk, and I just felt so…powerful. I felt more alive in that moment, than I ever had before in my life, and I was so scared, that when I went back upstairs, I was shaking uncontrollably. I wanted a shower…but I couldn’t. I had to be dirty, I needed it, I deserved it.

Instead, I just went to bed, but sleep didn’t come easy that night. I was too horny, for one thing. I had to keep a bowl beside the bed to catch my cum, when I had to jack off. While I lay there, in between sessions of masturbation, I found myself running Cumster’s story through my head, thinking about what it could possibly mean, thinking about how this rapist could do this, and why he was doing this at all. Perhaps what chilled me most was Cumster’s description of how cold the rapist had been to him. How unfeeling–just rough and brutal, with no compassion, not even speaking to him for as long as he’d been imprisoned there. Breaking him down until…he changed.

I wondered if I was going to change. No, I knew I was changing, but I wondered how far this would go, I wondered what I was becoming. Steven had heard Cumster’s voice there, in the old shop where he’d been imprisoned. Whose voice was I hearing? I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know, because I was worried that knowing would give it even more power over me. That admitting it was real, that separating it from myself, meant that it was more than me, outside of me…that I could…end. End in the same way Steven had ended, somewhere in that abandoned mechanic garage. Steven had died, and Cumster had been born…and the rapist was the connection between them. I knew more than I had, but I didn’t feel like I had any better understanding of what was going on here. I wouldn’t give in, I told myself. I wouldn’t give into this any further–I would find this rapist and end it, whatever he was doing…and he would fix me. I would go back to who I was, who I was supposed to be–it was the only way I would ever get back, I imagined…but is that what I really wanted? Even now, I don’t know what I want, honestly. I know what I should want…but do I have the courage to take it back?

The summer was sweltering, and Jordan was definitely thankful for having a pool out back that he could jump in at anytime he felt like. He’d wake up late, after his parents had already left for work, throw on his swim trunks and after a quick protein shake for breakfast, he’d be out back in the pool.

However, if Jordan had bothered to turn on the TV this morning, he would have found out that a chemical company had accidentally dumped an unknown, untested chemical into the river the night before, polluting the entire neighborhood’s water supply, his pool included. That said, when Jordan stepped out onto the patio, he definitely knew something was up, because the usually clear water was instead a vibrant green.

Still, Jordan wasn’t about to let something like that deter him from his daily pool, and the day was heating up quick. It didn’t smell bad after all, and it even tasted normal. With a shrug, he dove in, swam a couple of laps before his skin started to tingle and he was starting to struggle in the water for some reason. Figuring he should probably get out, he maneuvered over to a side ladder and tried, unsuccessfully, to heft himself up out of the pool.

He just felt so weak all of a sudden, and like his body weighed a whole lot more than it should have. He gave it another try, eyes shut in concentration, and managed to heft himself up the ladder and onto the side of the pool, huffing hard, when he looked down at himself in disbelief. What in the hell had the water done to him? He’d packed on close to a hundred pounds, and his body was covered with hair. His swim trunks were nowhere to be seen; he must have burst out of them in the water without even noticing. Still coated in the water, he rushed inside to get a better look at himself in a mirror, but by the time he’d gotten to the one in the hall, he saw that the changes had progressed even further. The hair on his head was entirely gone, and the beard which had sprouted across his face was now not only several inches long, but nearly entirely white. His gut was now hanging even lower, and the rest of his body was filling out, making it hard for him to walk, and the hair on his skin was so dense he could barely see his skin.

Realizing that he was still coated in the strange water, he waddled back out and dried himself off with a towel, but the damage was done. Weighing in at over 600 pounds, inch long hairs coating his entire body, aged to look nearly seventy years old, Jordan discovered one last side effect of the water–his balls. They had swelled up to nearly four times the size, eclipsing the cock he could no longer reach imbedded in his fat, and unable to help himself, he spent the rest of the day fucking his fat pad, shooting load after load of cum, sobbing and unable to control himself, until his parents got home from work and took him to the hospital.

Needless to say, Jordan received a sizeable settlement from the chemical company, but the changes were irreversible. One silver lining was that, even though Jordan looked to be seventy, he was still as healthy as he’d been in his late teens, and the fat he’d gained appeared to have no health dangers–though he never managed to lose a pound of it. Instead, he resigned himself to a life as a rich, obese old pervert, jacking off nearly constantly–but he never went into a pool again.