Eddie’s Special Sale (Part 6)

“I can’t believe it fuckin’ happened again,” Ralph said, and peeled the wad of paper towels away from his nose, “How does it look?”

“Broken,” Eddie said, “But here, I know how to help that.”

Before Ralph could tell him no, Eddie grabbed the broken nose in his fingers and twisted it back into place, making Ralph howl in pain, eyes watering, nose gushing blood all over again. “Fuck! That fucking hurt, you fucker!”

“Well, at least it’s straight…er,” Eddie said, “I’ll go get you some ice.”

He’d woken on the garage floor in a pool of blood, Eddie slapping his face and trying to get him to respond. His nose hurt like hell; Eddie had tried to catch him when he’d fallen forward, but Ralph had been too heavy for him. He’d helped him up and brought him inside, where they were trying to get the bleeding under control, and Ralph was trying to figure out what had happened. He’d fainted again, he could remember that…but the events leading up to it were just…blank. He was mostly pissed he’d gotten blood on his leather vest–sure, it wasn’t the first time he’d gotten blood on it, but still. Eddie returned with a bag of ice that Ralph gingerly pressed to his nose, and sighed.

“You know, usually the best thing for an injury is something to distract you,” Eddie said. Ralph wanted to ask what he had in mind, but he felt the hand unzipping the fly of the filth crusted jeans he had on under his leather chaps, and decided he could use a little pleasure after all this…even if this wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind, when he’d come here, planning on getting into Eddie’s pants. That…is what he’d been planning, right? Eddie pulled his cock free of the filthy jock he had on, and started sucking it clean. Ralph moaned, and the pain in his nose did ease up a little bit, and he started rocking forward and back, the dildo lodged in his ass under his jeans grinding against his prostate. He didn’t last particularly long, and Eddie seemed happy to swallow down the full load of biker cum, and then some. He stood back up, and dropped his own pants, letting his own cock loose in Ralph’s face.

“Man, I ain’t suckin’ your cock with a broken nose.”

“I just sucked yours, fucker.”

“I thought that was a pity suck!”

They fought, and Ralph eventually relented to a compromise, bent over the side of the couch, and let Eddie pull the six inch dildo from his hole and give him a good fucking, which did help with the pain too, Ralph decided, though he didn’t admit it out loud. Eddie eventually came, and then slipped the dildo back in.

“Not quite how I thought this afternoon was going to go,” he admitted, getting his jeans and chaps sorted out around his fat ass again.

“Heh, well, I did have something else I wanted to give you…or rather, I thought you might want to give it to someone else,” Eddie said. “I mean, if you like it, go ahead and wear it, but I think that would be a bit of a waste.”

Ralph gave him a confused look; Eddie refused to elaborate, but handed him a small box. He opened the lid, and found a thick chain inside and a padlock, long enough to turn into a necklace–although why that was the first thing he thought of, he couldn’t say. Still…he was wary of touching it, and put the lid back on the box. “I don’t understand…”

“Hey, it’s almost done, and you’ve done so well Ralph, really.”

“I…I never told you my name. How do you know that, anyway?”

Eddie winked. “Look, I hate to cut this short, but I really need to get myself packed up, you know? How’s the bleeding? You good to ride?”

“I’ve ridden with worse,” Ralph said, and with a hand from Eddie he got up from the couch, and handed him the ice pack, “Can I at least rinse the blood from my beard?”

“Hell, take a shower if you want.”

Ralph laughed, “I don’t fuckin’ take showers.”

Eddie showed him to the sink, Ralph carefully rinsed the clotted blood from his beard, and then left through the front door, box in hand, but when he got to the sidewalk, next to his Harley, he looked back, and his jaw dropped. The house…the house was gone. Well, not gone, but…abandoned. It looked like it had been foreclosed on years earlier, and no one had moved in since…but then…how had…

It was like he was grasping at straws. He could remember Eddie, but everything else, it was a blur, including his life. He had a bike, but where was he supposed to go? He didn’t have a home, he didn’t…didn’t have anything, really. Just a box with a chain inside. It was hard to remember, but hadn’t he been…a student? Yeah, he could kind of remember a dorm room, or something like that. It was, he decided, better than nothing at all. He climbed on his bike, revved it up, and drove off towards campus, hoping he might find an answer there.

Eddie’s Special Sale (Part 5)

It was later than he’d figured, and he was even slower than before. Ralph had to stop at that park again to catch his breath, smoke down a cigar, and also take a moment to shoot a load of cum in his pants, before continuing on towards Eddie’s house…but it was becoming harder to remember why exactly he’d been heading over there. Sure, the sale was still on, but he didn’t really feel like buying anything. In the back of his mind he knew that there was something else, some problem that he’d been wanting Eddie to help him out with, but the exact nature of his problem had slipped from his mind. Still, he…did want to see him, badly. He finally turned the corner of Eddie’s block, just in time to see the big man smoking a cigar, folding up his lawn chair, tucking it inside the garage, and lowering the door.

This caused Ralph to panic, though again he wasn’t sure why, and he hurried his pace as best he could, beard and hair soaked to the scalp with sweat, thighs chaffing in his sodden overalls. “Hey!” he shouted before Eddie could duck inside the closing door, and he waved at him. Eddie looked up and over at the fat, filthy man struggling up his driveway, grinned, and slipped back out.

“Ralph! I didn’t think you were coming today.”

“Sorry, I had a late night, and had a hard time getting up this morning. You closing up for the day already?”

“Already? It’s five.”

Five? Really? Ralph looked up at the sky, and saw the sun had indeed slipped much closer to the horizon that he’d thought. Had…had he had another one of his episodes without realizing it?

“It’s not really a problem,” Eddie continued, “If you wanna take a look around, be my guest, but it’s slim pickings at this point.”

“No, I mean…I…I had something I wanted to ask you, but…well, but I forgot, you see. I’m having…oh that’s…look, you know that first day? Saturday? When I fainted? Did…did anything about that seem, I don’t know, strange to you?”

“You mean, aside from you fainting?” Eddie laughed, smoke chuffing out of his mouth, and the smell of the fumes nearly made Ralph groan around his own cigar.

“I mean, did I, like, change at all?”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow and his head to one side, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Hell, I’m not sure what I mean either, but it happened again yesterday, after I left, and…and I’m just a bit worried, is all.”

“Look, why don’t you come on inside, and we’ll…talk about it, eh?” Eddie said. “Plus, I do have some stuff in the garage I think a guy like you might appreciate–not many customers come along with your tastes, you know?”

“My…tastes?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped in the garage, “Come on, I’ll get us a couple of beers, and see if we can sort out your problems.” Ralph followed him, and Eddie pulled the door down after them. Even though the day was brisk, it had been sunny and the garage was stuffy and hot. “Now give me a sec, I gotta dig the stuff out. Take a look around if you want.”

Like Eddie had said, the tables were quite bare, and Eddie, for some reason, didn’t feel much like touching anything on them. In fact, he was doing his best to not touch any of it. He could…remember before, how everything had escalated, how he’d gotten lightheaded before each time here. The only thing he couldn’t resist was a leather biker vest, which was in decent condition even though it was filthy as hell, and some chaps beside it, his heart racing a bit at the feel of the leather in his fingers. Eddie let out a shout, and materialized with a medium sized box and set it on the table. Out of curiosity more than real buyer’s interest, Ralph opened it and started digging through the stuff inside–it too was full of leather…and dildos, and lube, and elbow length rubber gloves and strange looking hoods and masks. He recoiled and stumbled back, his heart jumping into his throat.

“What…what the hell is that shit?” Ralph asked.

“Oh, you know…I was into some kinky stuff when I was a bit younger, I guess I just assumed you were too.”

“I mean, I’m not–”

Eddie set the box down and stepped closer, pushing their guts together like before, Ralph’s cock straining against his jock.

“I know how you feel, how you gotta pretend, but there ain’t no one here now,” Eddie leaned in closer. The air had become choked with their smoke, and Ralph was breathing shallow. He leaned in too, but his face slipped past Eddie’s as he collapsed face first to the concrete floor.

Justin’s Lost Nights (Parts 3 & 4)

Sorry for the missing post yesterday, things are still a little chaotic post surgery. Today will be a double sized post to make up for it. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to take next week off from providing original content so I can finish off some of my monthly commissions and build up a buffer of content again, because I ran dry in the thick of all of this. I’ll still have four posts this coming week, highlighting some other authors and favorite pieces of mine on tumblr, and if anyone has a piece they’d like to submit for a guest post this week, let me know, and we can work something out.

Justin rolled over in the bed, looked over, and saw that whoever he’d brought home the night before was already up and getting dressed in his jeans and shirt. The old radio alarm on the nightstand said it was just shy of five in the morning–he grabbed a cigar from the humidor beside, and lit it, before saying, “Where do you think you’re goin’, so damn early? Get back in bed.”

The guy looked over his shoulder, and buckled his belt up. “Can’t. I gotta get back home–have a meeting at nine this morning, and I can’t show up at work stinking like smoke and sex.”

Justin rolled his eyes–he showed up at work smelling like that everyday. He’d just have to change tactics a bit. “Boy, I said get back over here, and wrap your pretty mouth around this cock, while I have a morning smoke. I’m not going to ask you twice.”

The man gave him a long, impatient look. He was young–probably in his late thirties, well built, but…he didn’t seem very interested. “Look, in the bar, late at night, I get it. You’re some hot biker bear top, whatever, I’m into that. But come morning? You’re just another sorry old bear living in a shithole apartment like this, and I don’t have anymore time for you–

–old man.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Old man, get the fuck out of my way.”

He wasn’t that much younger than he was, but that didn’t matter. Justin had a few double whiskeys in him, and that meant he wasn’t in the mood to take shit from anyone, especially not some sorry looking biker bear wearing a leather vest, chaps and jeans, tattoos…everywhere…No, he knew he shouldn’t but…but some part of him wanted it. Wanted his cocky attitude, wanted that bullshit smirk.

Before the biker knew what was happening, Justin had him pinned against the wall, cigar close enough to singe the man’s handlebar mustache. “What the fuck?” the biker asked, but Justin…Justin knew what he was doing, as he reached down pulled off his shirt, and then with his fingers be pulled away one of the man’s harley davidson logo tattoos, letting the pattern dangle in the air for a moment, before laying it across one of his pecs, where it stuck. The man just stared at him, Justin taking a big breath of smoke, leaning in–

and he locked lips with the struggling man he’d pinned against the wall and exhaled the whole plume of smoke into his lungs, whether he wanted it or not. He coughed it back up, and shoved Justin away–who couldn’t quite remember getting up from the bed. “Don’t you roughnecks know that no means fucking no? Fuck–I should know better than to go out on a fucking Sunday night and think I might meet someone worth two fucking cents.”

Justin didn’t say anything else, as the man pulled on his boots and left the apartment–he was still trying to figure out what he’d just remembered. He walked to his grimy bathroom and looked at himself–sure enough, he had that same harley tattoo right there on his pec, where it had always been…or had it? Was this even his apartment? Suddenly it didn’t seem right–his body didn’t seem right. Sure, he’d had tattoos before, but now–fuck, now he had them everywhere. The smoke on his arms, his daddy bear tatts–both were now interspersed with bikes and motorcycles, all over his chest and down onto his belly–even on his back and down onto his legs. In fact, now he had tattoos all over his body–and he could remember getting them all, but he could also…also remember…

The biker didn’t know what to do, beyond stare, as the rest of his tattoos lifted off his body, crossing the gap of space between them, and settling down onto Justin’s body, their clothes worming around until each of them was dressed as the other had been, but Justin had a few other changes–his beard longer, his head shaved bare, and he was dirty, hands greasy. “Why don’t you do this old man biker a favor, and put your mouth to better use than mouthing off, boy?”

The man got down and started sucking, and Justin relished it–a blowjob and a smoke–what was better? And after shooting, he dragged the man back to his place nearby for some extra fun, of course.

Justin kept stroking his cock in the bathroom, running one hand over his hairy body, before lifting it up and smelling his sweaty pit, feeling his long beard brush against his chest. Fuck him. He didn’t need to fuck some rich business fuck to feel good about himself. Sure, he wasn’t rich, but he worked, and he had his bike, and his fucking freedom. Riding all weekend–that’s what he loved. The highways, the backroads, but especially fucking truckers and bikers in rest areas along the way. He shot his load across the cabinets and the floor, and left it there, climbing back in bed–sleeping another hour before he had to get up for work–throwing on his grungy work gear and riding his bike to the construction site for a day of labor, and afterwards, stinking of sweat and musk, he went right to Pigtown, parking his bike with the others outside. He had a feeling about tonight–he was getting closer to something, to someone. He greeted the bartender by nickname–his drink already waiting for him, and the hunt began again.

Justin was sulking at a small table in Pigtown’s front bar, the seat opposite him empty, smoking his sixth or seventh cigar of the night, the ashtray in front of him piled high and spiling over, a small collection of empty glasses to one side. What in the hell was the matter with him tonight? He usually had no trouble pinning someone down for a good fuck, but tonight, no one seemed appealing, or he just didn’t feel like fucking any of them, or perhaps a bit of both. He heaved a sigh of smoke. It was three in the morning. Pigtown never closed, of course, but he did have work in the morning, and as much as he hated the idea of going home alone, maybe he should just give up. But each time he made an effort to get up, the barcub would bring around another drink, light him another cigar, and park him back down, and so he was still sitting there, getting drunker, and…waiting for something, or rather, someone. He was sure it was a someone, but who?

The bar was moderately crowded–Pigtown had a rather devout clientele, and it was often packed, even on the weekdays. But he didn’t want a regular, he wanted someone…fresh. Someone…blank. Blank? He didn’t quite know what that meant, but the word seemed appropriate. His attention was drawn to the door, and a face he didn’t recognize poked through nervously, his heart skipping. Younger, probably in college. He looked a bit drunk already, and he made his way in. Gay? Did it matter? Everyone who came to Pigtown was gay, so why bother asking? Most important, Justin wanted him, but not just sex.

He felt an odd squirming on his arms, looked down, and saw his tattoos were…moving across his skin, the smoke swirling and ebbing–seething, perhaps. He knew, in his mind, that he should be terrified, but something else told him to relax…take a deep breath of smoke, hold it for a moment, and then blow it in the young man’s direction. The smoke had an odd consistency–dark and opaque, like even as it moved through the air, it remained flat. The tattoos on his arms lost some of their detail, looking older and well worn, but he watched the cloud drift towards the young man, who was at the bar getting a beer, where it wrapped around his neck and shoulders before dissipating, leaving a tattoo around his neck matching the swirling smoke patterns on Justin’s arms.

The young man was clueless, but he took his beer and turned towards the bar, where his eyes glued themselves to the fiery tip of Justin’s cigar. He couldn’t look away, his legs plodding towards him, forcing him into the seat opposite, while Justin just leered at him, and without saying a word, leaned over the table, wrapped a hand around the back of his the young man’s head, and pulled him into a long, smoky kiss. He resisted at first, but after the first lungful he relaxed, accepting the smoke, desiring it, needing it–when at last the pulled away, Justin gave him a cigar, and watched the young man light it like an expert–no, stranger than that, he lit it just like Justin did, like Justin had taught him himself.

“I don’t…what am I doing?” the young man asked, his eyes glassy like a dream.

“Don’t think about it boy,” Justin said, “I don’t need a boy who thinks, you know? Actually, get up, we’re gonna go find someone.”

He hauled Justin up from the table, and together they searched through the back rooms, for someone Justin had seen earlier, a semi-regular, and it was relatively easy–his head stood up over the rest of the crowd, and the bright red hair on his head was obvious even in the darkness. A thick muscle headed brute–but it was his tattoos which had caught his eye earlier. He could feel the tattoos across the room, and he urged them to leave their current master and come join him–they obliged, drifting across the room, darting between bodies, and he turned to his boy, grabbed his shirt by the collar and ripped it down the front with a rough yank.

He tried to object, but the tattoos struck him, adhering and crawling over his body where Justin directed them. Four leaf clovers wound up his arms, red hair sprouting on his relatively bare arms as they did, spreading up onto his chest, where the word “Irish” was tattooed over his pecs. Something else slid over one shoulder and onto his back– “Brawn over Brains”.Justin stepped back and watched his boy start to expand, red hair filling in all over his body, muscle bulking up under his skin, and he began growing taller as well. He just stared down at himself, unable to believe what was happening, his mind turning foggy, but it wasn’t enough for Justin–he pulled in more tattoos from everywhere in the club. “Daddy’s Little Cub” across his lower back, “Jock” across his bulging gut, decorative swirls of leather bands up and down his legs. His clothes were tattered from his rapid growth, but reformed, his shirt becoming a leather bulldog harness, his jeans tattered from a day at the work site just like Justin, and the smell of him, of his boy, of his smoke, and he bent him over, yanked down the back, exposed his cub’s ass and rammed his cock home.

He woke up the next morning, his big, red headed cub snoring loudly beside him. He didn’t quite know when they’d gotten home the night before, but looking at his phone, he saw they had to get ready for work. First things first, however. He lit himself a cigar, feeling the jitters die back, and then slipped his cock into his boy’s loose hole, feeling him groan, waken slowly, and start pushing back as his daddy bear fucked him.

Funny to think that a man as big and burly as Pat could be such a bottom, but something about his old biker bear’s cock just did something to his holes he couldn’t explain. He topped more often than not otherwise, usually him and daddy taking some old bear and both ends in some rest area park on a long ride, but for Justin, he’d always be his submissive cub. Justin could dimly recall the events of the night before, but they were fading rapidly. More than anything else, his life felt…stable for the first time in days. Like he’d finally reached the end of a long slide, or like some strange force had finally left him for someone else. It was relaxing–but maybe he and his boy could go a few weeks without another visit to Pigtown. He liked the place, and he’d always be a regular…but sometimes it gave him the creeps, you know?

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 3)

“It’s just like, doesn’t he understand? I’m a young buck, you know? I’m horny all the time. I guess that makes me needy, but what the hell should I do, Professor?”

“I don’t think you’re being unreasonable.”

“You don’t?”

“No! Certainly not. After all, it isn’t like it takes much effort for him to bend over and let his boyfriend pump a quick load in his hole.”

“That’s what I was thinking! I’m glad I’m not crazy.”

“If anything, it’s rude of him to refuse.”

“But what can I do? It’s not like I can just…force him.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?”

“Aaron, you may be big and strong, but you aren’t very smart, are you?”

“I ain’t too smart, you know that.”

“Look, you like being in control, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you should be in charge, right? You like feeling in charge? Certainly if anyone should be holding the reins in this relationship its you. You’re the one wearing the pants, certainly.”

“I don’t know, he is a professor.”

“Outside the bedroom. But inside he’s your bitch. Your hole. You made him that–and it’s your job to put him in his place.”

“I mean–”

“I can see you, strutting in there, your massive cock hanging out of those jeans of yours. What’s he going to say to that? Even if he says no, you know he’s really thinking yes. So make him say it. Rip down those trousers of his and make him scream. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, you got me hard just saying it.”

“Then do it–you’re a man of action, not a thinker, so go fucking take his hole. Claim, and make him regret telling you no at all.”

***

“It’s over.”

“Now Eddie, be serious–”

“I am being serious! It’s over.”

“You’re just letting your emotions get a hold of you. I could hear you in here, and you were obviously enjoying yourself immensely.”

“You could…you heard us?”

“Oh now calm down, no one else is here this late.”

“But what if someone had been here! I can’t do this, I can’t keep doing this.”

“Look, all subs get cold feet on occasion, and maybe he just pushed you a bit too far. That’s not a reason to throw him away! That’s a reason to give in.”

“I mean…wait, what?”

“Look, Eddie, Aaron is good for you! I haven’t seen you looking this satisfied in ages.”

“That’s not really the point, I don’t think–”

“But of course it is! You need this, Eddie. I mean, look at you. A fat, old, size queen like you, I mean, how often is this going to walk into your life? Just give him what he wants, and you’ll get what you want to.”

“I don’t think you really understand–”

“I understand better than you think. You’re scared, right?”

“Of course I’m scared!”

“You’re scared of giving up control.”

“That’s, no!”

“Please, Eddie. I can tell.”

“I mean, that’s not…all of it.”

“You’re scared of giving up control, but you want to. You like it when he dominates you, when he forces you, when he gets rough with you and rams that huge cock in your hole. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“…”

“And you even like how dirty it makes you feel. How humiliated you feel, knowing someone so much younger, someone as stupid as Aaron, owns your hole.”

“…”

You got very quiet.”

“Shut–shut up.”

“You know I’m right.”

“…Fine…Fine, you’re right, and I–maybe I fucked everything up.”

“Look, you have to stop fighting him, Eddie. Here’s what you need to do. Go to him, find him, and get on your knees, and give yourself to him. You need to stop trying to be his boyfriend, and you need to let yourself become his slave. That’s what you both want.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I know you can. Now go on, before you let your master get away, go find him and tell him what you really want from him.”

“…Alright. Alright, you’re right, I have to…I have to find him, thank you Harold, thank you for everything.”

“No trouble at all, Eddie, no trouble at all.”

***

“All I’m saying Aaron, is that I just don’t think college is the best option for you.”

“Fuck Professor, ya really think so?”

“I do. I mean, to be honest, I’m not quite sure how you got in to begin with.”

“Yeah, I guess I ain’t too good with my head, am I?”

“That’s not to say you don’t have plenty of other redeeming qualities, of course. I mean, that cock of yours, for one thing.”

“Fuck yeah man, fuck yeah, right? This things a fuckin’ beast! Keep suckin’ bitch, I wanna see that jaw stretch!”

“Your slave sure looks happy.”

“Yeah, he gets ideas sometimes. Ideas that ‘cause he’s a professor he should be the one in charge, but I set ‘em straight right quick.”

“Oh…he hasn’t given you much trouble lately, has he?”

“Nah, he’s been real good, right bitch?”

*Mmmph*

“He said yes.”

“Look, as I was saying, I just don’t think college is the best step for you–oh goodness, I forgot to offer you something to smoke! Would you like a cigar?”

“Hell yeah, you know I’m always up for a stogie.”

Here…let me get you lit up…Like I was saying, I think you’re much too free a spirit to be tied down to a school. I think a man like you, big, burly, hairy bear like you, you need to be on the road! Go buy yourself a bike, and take off! Go explore. I think you’ll be happier.”

“Fuck, that does sound nice…but…”

“But what?”

“But what about my slave? I can’t just leave him here.”

“Well, take him with you. He can learn how to ride, I’m sure.”

*Mmmph!* Wait, but I can’t just leave in the middle of a semester, I–”

*Slap*

“Did I say you could stop sucking, bitch?”

“No sir, sorry sir.”

“Eddie, I know what you’re trying to say, but you have to face reality sometime–I just don’t think you’re fit to work here anymore.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“I mean look at you. You’ve been skipping classes. You have reams of papers from all of your classes you haven’t graded. Your head just isn’t in it–your head is focused on your master, where it belongs.”

“But–”

“You have to let it go, Eddie. You have to let this go, so you can be the best slave you can be. Besides, you’re getting on in age now–you’re over seventy, you just aren’t as sharp as you were before.”

“But what about the department?”

“I’ll be happy to take over as chair–on a temporary basis of course. Me and a few others can cover your classes for you. I promise, after a few days on the road, you won’t even remember that you were a teacher, will you?”

“N-No..?”

“Nope. You’ll be so caught up in being a slave that all your memories of teaching will just float away. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Won’t that be freeing?”

“I…I guess so.”

“So it’s decided then. Finish sucking your master’s cock, and then send your letter of resignation to the faculty. Everything will run much smoother when you’re gone, and you’ll both be so much happier, I think–no, I know you will, and you both believe me, don’t you? Have I led you astray before?”

“Nope.”

“I guess not…”

“Good. I think this all worked out for the best, don’t you?”

If you want to read the rest, you’ll have to support me on Patreon! For five dollars a month you’ll also get access to a massive archive of unpublished work, access to patron-only stories (including this one), and plenty more to come. Plus you get to help make sure I can provide more stories and collections in the future. Thanks again to everyone contributing already!

Jockstrap Curse (Sketch)

No one’s first spell is the greatest. A first spell is usually like first sex–awkward, not at all what you were expecting, and something you can’t take back. I was a wizard sure–but before I knew that I was a nerd, and gay, and the target of every bully in my high school. Tim was a linebacker on the varsity team, and he was as cruel as he was stupid. He cornered me after school one fateful day, dragged me into the locker room, and tried to force one of his unwashed jockstraps into my mouth–without knowing what I was doing, the world shifted between us, and suddenly it was him shoving the jockstrap into his mouth…and sucking on it…and…moaning, as he groped his cock. Needless to say, I didn’t want to be anywhere near this scene, and so I beat it as fast as my short legs could carry me.

I avoided him for days, as best I could, but he caught up to me eventually. But while I expected him to bash my head in, instead he was begging me to fix it, whatever I had done to him. I tried to tell him that I had no clue what he was talking about, but he refused to say anything. Just when I thought he might open up, Zane–another linebacker, and well regarded as one of the dirtier guys at school, found us–but instead of them both teaming up to bully me–he ordered Tim to come with him–and sure enough, Tim followed, though from his face he was none to happy about it, and more curious than anything else, I followed after them both. They went into the bathroom and took the handicap stall together–I peeped through the crack, and found myself watching Tim sucking and licking at Zane’s filthy jockstrap–crusted with piss and cum, Zane humiliating him the entire time, before fucking his throat. Zane left, leaving Tim in the stall, face coated with cum and tears in his eyes.

He told me, that at first, it had just been his jockstraps that he was obsessed with, but then, one practice, he’d caught a whiff of Jack’s–the quarterback–and immediately he’d been unable to resist him, begging his team captain to fuck his ass after practice–after worshiping his jockstrap of course. Jack had essentially owned him for a day–until he’d smelled Zane’s even filthier jock, and he’d started worshiping and serving him instead. He’d tried smelling Jack’s again, but suddenly it did nothing for him–he needed the filthiest jock he could find, and he didn’t know what to do. I, of course, didn’t know what to do either. I had no idea I was even a wizard at that point, but I promised him I’d try to do something. That was Friday–but come Monday, Tim had disappeared–he never returned to school again.

The whole town was worried–but clues were scarce. That said, I had more information than anyone else. I found out that Tim held down a part time job working at a gas station frequented by truckers–and I had a sneaking suspicion as to what might have happened to him, but who would believe me? Even if they believed me, what good could they do? I thought about telling the police, but before I could, the guild intervened and took me in for proper training–still, I always wondered what had happened to him. So when I graduated, I tracked him down with the intention of freeing him from the curse I had never meant to cast in the first place.

Now, keep in mind that I might look thirty, but I was training for close to twenty years. Finding Tim was still easier than I had expected–first spells always left a rather strong trail through the world, if you knew what to look for, and so I traced his path. I found the trucker–now in his sixties–he had rode off with that weekend, unable to help himself. After that, he ended up living at a small truck stop diner a few states over for a while, enslaved to the previous owner and chef, before someone even filthier picked him up–another trucker, who he remained with for a quite a few years, before a chance run in at a biker bar brought me to his current home.

A single wide trailer which looked like it had never been cleaned. The man who owned him was unemployed, but made a small living off running drugs with a local motorcycle gang. Tim hadn’t left the trailer in years, by that point. Even if there was someone filthier than the biker, it was doubtful he would ever have a chance to find them and escape. But I also discovered that with each subsequent owner, the spell had grown stronger–eroding more and more of Tim’s mind away until serving jockstraps–and his owner’s cock, was all he could think about. He was chained in the small bathroom beside the toilet, surrounded by a pile of filthy laundry, soaked in piss, that served as his bed. He seemed to be well fed, at least, judging by how large he was–if I had to guess, around three hundred and fifty pounds–his hair and beard long and unwashed. Still, a promise was a promise–I tried to free him, only to discover that this new mind had no interest in being free. I was at least five years too late. I can’t say he didn’t deserve some of what happened to him–but…well, that’s the way curses work, I suppose. Now, are you going to cooperate, or would you like to see what I can do to you now that I know what I’m doing?

Commission: Twenty Years Delayed

CAUTION: This is a nasty one.

“His name is Blake Kingston, bitch! He has to be here, you’re just not looking hard enough, ya dumb cunt!” Freddie said, leaning across the folding table and glaring at the middle aged woman seated in front of a pile of name tags. Above the table at the entrance of the high school gym was a banner that read “Treston High School Class of 1994 Reunion.” He leaned closer; she squirmed away from him as gracefully as she could, but couldn’t avoid the cloud of breath which seemed to be some horrid combination of toilet and ashtray.

“Sir, please don’t yell at me, I still have his nametag here. If he’s arrived already, he hasn’t picked it up. Now…if I can get your name, I can get your registration taken care of…and…and you can’t smoke in here.”

Freddie clenched his teeth down harder on his cigar. “You gonna take it from me?”

She made no further mention of it. He gave her his name when she asked again, and she startled, looked up at him. Freddie Williams? Sweet little shy chubby Freddie? She’d seen him at the last reunion, and he’d been so…normal. Still, she could recognize his eyes, through the plume of smoke, and wondered what in the hell had happened to turn him into…this thing. This leather clad, foul smelling, crude, hairy beast of a biker. Happy that she could feel pity instead of anger, she handed him his name tag with a smile, and waved him into the gym. Suspicious, Freddie took it and clipped it to his ratty leather vest, and lumbered into the gym he barely recognized. The school had been through a remodel in the last few years, and he felt almost no connection to the place anymore. He was only here to see Blake anyway–he’d promised he’d be here. Still, maybe Freddie had just arrived first. He hung around by the door, checking out everyone who came in. But the attendees stopped arriving at around seven, and angry that he’d been stood up, he scarfed down as much as he could from the buffet before someone told him to stop, and then started cruising his middle aged classmates.

Many of them, now almost in their forties, had started to fill out. More than a few had grown in beards. Unfortunately, most had wives and girlfriends in tow. Still, that didn’t mean much, right? Hell, he’d thought he was straight too, before he’d met Blake–both times, in fact. He’d taught him how to please a cock back in high school, and shown him again at the last reunion ten years later. He set his eyes on a few men who didn’t seem entirely disgusted by him. By this point, Freddie was good and drunk–the two drink limit didn’t apply when you had a flask of cheap whisky in your vest. He struck up conversations with a few guys, and eventually followed one of them to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, what drunken Freddie had taken to be sexual arousal was simply an attempt at being polite. In fact, the man had excused himself to the bathroom in an attempt to avoid further conversation. When Freddie clomped into the bathroom, came up to the man at the urinal and grabbed his cock from behind, he was less than pleased.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Come on man, I know yer fuckin’ horny. I got stood up tonight, at least give me a load a cum for the ride home, I’m fuckin’ thirsty.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hell yeah I am,” Freddie leaned in closer, “I’ll be as disgusting as ya want. Drink yer piss, hell I even eat shit. Go on, take a shit, I’ll eat it out a the bowl while ya fuck my nasty asshole.”

“You’re fucking insane!” the man said, tried to get away, but Freddie pinned him up against the outside wall of the stall with his massively fat, four hundred pound body.

“Fuck you man, fuck you ‘n your fuckin’ attitude. I came in here for some fuckin’ cum, ‘n I’m not leavin’ without you fuckin’ one of my holes. So pick one, and feed this pig.”

The man tried to hit Freddie, but his fist just sank into Freddie’s fat body. When Freddie countered with a slap of his leather gloved hand, the man stood there, shocked, giving Freddie the opportunity to drop the man’s slacks, get down on his knees, and start sucking on his soft cock. Much to the man’s embarrassment, it didn’t stay soft for long, and he let off a moan. As disgusting as Freddie was, he knew what to do with his mouth. Figuring it would be better to just let the brute have his way, the man tried to cum as quickly as possible, shot a load down Freddie’s throat, and then zipped up and fled as quick as he could. Freddie savored the taste for a moment, gave a great big belch, and headed back to the gym. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste after all.

He scanned the crowd–still no sign of Blake. Where the fuck was he? Freddie heaved a sigh, and noticed someone across the floor staring at him, someone he hadn’t noticed earlier. He was too old to be a member of his class–short, with a round gut, bushy white beard and wire rimmed glasses, he had to be at least sixty, if not seventy. And something about him seemed…oddly familiar. Still, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be interested in a guy like him, so he steered clear, but as he hunted for another cock to suck, he realized the older man was never too far away, and being more than a little creepy. Still, what could a fat old man do to a pig like him? Freddie managed to scare another ex-jock classmate into a trip to the bathroom, and licking his lips, followed after a minute later. The older man waited a couple more, and then set off down the hall after them both.

Freddie was in the middle of trying to rip open the man’s pants when the older man stepped into the room, and said, “Nasty Slut Pig, trance out.”

Immediately, Freddie’s eyes glazed over, his limbs limp. The man stepped away, not at all sure what was happening, and ran out of the room as fast as he could.

The older man stepped up to Freddie and spoke to him for a couple of minutes. When Freddie shook himself awake, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself compelled to leave the reunion with the older gentleman, and follow him on his hog back to the man’s house. None of this worried him in the least–and that worried him most of all.

***

“I know you don’t remember who I am,” the older man said as he handed Freddie a glass of bourbon, “Maybe in time, I can help you put some of those memories back together, but that will have to wait until I have you under better control. I’m happy the trigger worked for me as well as it works for Blake–hypnosis can be so…fickle at times.”

Freddie just stared at the bourbon, and knocked it back in a few chugs. He needed a drink badly. Why in the hell was he even here, and what did Blake have to do with this old man? “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

“Because this is where you should have been, twenty years ago. You never showed up, and I never pursued you, because I was just happy you never reported me! Imagine my surprise when the issue was that you’d simply had that nasty concussion. Now, why don’t you go ahead and strip for me? I’ve only seen pictures, but Blake has been working so hard on you all these years now–I’d love to see the changes for myself.”

Before Freddie could process the request, his hands were already pulling off his clothes. Trying to catch up to himself, he found that he couldn’t quite control his body. A moment later, he was naked, his clothes strewn about, and the older man came up and started inspecting him. “Goodness, you are a fat pig, aren’t you? How much do you weigh now?”

“Uh…435, last I checked.”

“And your tattoos–absolutely filthy, I love them. Blake chose them well.”

Freddie stepped away from the man, “Alright, who the fuck are you, and how do you know Blake? This shit is gettin’ creepy.”

“Oh Freddie, the three of us have quite a bit of history together–it’s a shame you can’t remember the first part. I was your psychology teacher, Mr. Weylan. You and Blake were…well, you were an experiment–and a very successful one at that.”

The name rang a bell, but it wasn’t tied to any memories–his head started hurting, like it always did when he tried to think of the time before he got that concussion in that car accident just before graduation. He’d been lucky that all he’d suffered was some amnesia. But none of this made any sense at all. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“That’s quite alright–you’re just a dumb pig anyway, no reason for you to trouble yourself. But Blake, well, Blake has been a very naughty slave, trying to keep you a secret from me, and he really must be punished for it. Luckily you’re here now, and you can help me out. Why don’t you come downstairs and into the dungeon with me, and we can see how Blake is coming along.”

Fighting himself the whole way, Blake calmly followed Mr. Weylan down into the basement, where he saw Blake strapped into a chair against the wall, some strange helmet covering his face, pads on his nipples and his cock. Cum was splattered all over the floor in front of him. He was even larger than Freddie remembered–at the ten year reunion a decade earlier, Blake had strutted into the gym, muscle bound, wearing nothing but leather, reeking of sweat and cum. He remembered talking to Blake a lot, but couldn’t much of the conversation. In fact, he’d done a lot of listening, now that he thought about it.

Mr. Weylan walked up to a computer next to the chair, and examined it. “It looks like somewhere between ninety and ninety-five percent trained–certainly enough for a test drive, eh Freddie?”

Before Freddie could ask for an explanation, Mr. Weylan had shut down the program and pulled the helmet from Blake’s head. His friend looked around, trying to process the thoughts streaming through his mind, nostrils flaring, and he dove from the chair to his hands and knees, licking up all of his cum from the cement floor.

“Oh yes, very good Blake, but don’t you see who’s here? It’s Freddie–why don’t you show him some of what you’ve been learning.”

The eyes that turned to Freddie were nearly feral with lust. Blake sprung up and charged at him, sending them both crashing to the ground, Blake burying his tongue and nose in every nasty flap and fold of the pig’s fat body. Freddie tried to push him off and get away, but Blake was on top and much stronger. Seeing him struggle, Mr. Weylan called out, “Nasty Slut Pig, freeze,” and all of Freddie’s muscles tensed in place, allowing Blake to focus on licking his friend’s filthy body clean.

“Goodness, he is an eager little filth slave, eh Freddie?” Mr Weylan said, standing over them both, “I know Blake intended for you to be his bottom. Can you imagine, the two of you running off together? I think this will be much more interesting. Still, I bet Blake is hungry and very thirsty–he’s been down here for almost two days straight! Go on, and piss yourself Freddie.”

The strong scent of his piss streaming from his cock, flowing out from his gunt, attracted Blake down to his crotch, where he lapped up as much as he could.

“Good, now go ahead and shit too–pump out all that nasty crap for Blake to eat, pig.”

Freddie felt his ass loosen beyond his control, his shit flowing out onto the ground beneath him, smearing across his ass. Blake forcefully rolled him over and dove headlong into his brown crack, eating as much as he could, Freddie still frozen in place. He could see Mr. Weylan looming over him, his cock out, jacking off.

“Oh yes, this is going to be a lot of fun, I think. I have so many techniques now! Blake has done a fine job with what he had access to, those subliminals and those skype chats of yours. But now we can continue what we started all those years ago! Why, before long, you’re going to be the nastiest fucker ever–pissing and shitting yourself uncontrollably, dominating Blake here, forcing him to fatten up like you. Maybe we’ll even castrate him together–how does that sound? Make him a real hog. It’s what he fucking deserves, for what he tried to do, the fucker–fuck!”

Mr. Weyland’s cock shot out a load of cum which landed across the back of Freddie’s shaven head. He was terrified, but without any control over himself, all he could do was shake with fear.

“Goodness, I got a bit carried away there, I think. Blake, hold off for a moment, let Freddie here stand up.”

Blake reluctantly crawled off Freddie, and he stood up. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Go sit in the chair, Freddie. I’ve got to get your program loaded up.”

Freddie went and sat down in the chair where Blake had been–the seat had an open bottom, and he could smell Blake’s piss and shit in the bucket under the hole. He was terrified, and yet more turned on than he could even fathom. Mr. Weylan worked at the computer for a moment, Blake dragging out the bucket and scarfing down the contents while their old teacher came over and tightened the straps on Freddie’s limbs.

“Don’t worry, when you wake up in a few days, everything will make much more sense, I promise.” He set the helmet over Freddie’s head, and said something he couldn’t quite make out. Then, the visor exploded in a shock of color, Freddie’s mouth went slack, and his training, twenty years delayed, resumed.

“Hang on, I just gotta take a quick piss,” Nick said to his friend Doug waiting by the truck, smoking a cigarette, heading home from their summer road trip. A biker smoking a cigar watched Nick head into the rest stop bathroom, and followed after him.

At the urinal, Nick felt a hand cup his ass suddenly, a plume of smoke blowing across his face. He looked up, still pissing and saw the biker staring at him. The hand slid up the butt of his jeans and down the back, the biker groping his ass. “Wanna be mine, boy?” the biker asked, leaning in close, “Could make this hole of yours happy as fuck.”

Nick was frozen in place, the man’s hand sliding down his crack, one finger at his hole, “Say it boy, all you have to do is say yes.”

Nick’s breath was quick and shallow, and all he could get out was a stammered, weak “No.”

Still, the biker, chuckling, slid his hand back out, sniffed his hand, and clomped out of the restroom. “Suit yourself. I always get what I want though.”

Alone again, Nick collapsed against the urinal, nearly crying. What in the hell had just happened? A couple of minutes later, Doug popped his head in. “Are you still pissing? Come on, let’s get home before dark.

On the ride home, Nick was silent, and Doug could sense something was wrong, but couldn’t drag it out of him. How could Nick tell him he’d just been molested by an old biker in the middle of his piss? Doug hated faggots—and he didn’t want his friend to think he was a faggot.

Doug dropped him off at his dad’s doublewide and drove off. Nick did his best to forget that anything had even happened, and went inside, told his dad he was tuckered, and went to bed without dinner. Down the block, a motorcycle idled, and the butt of a cigar burned in the dark.

***

It was a couple of days later that Nick came home from hanging out with Doug, and found his dad on the couch, home from work, smoking a pipe. Nick found this odd–his father always preferred to chew, and when Nick asked him about it, his dad didn’t seem quite able to tell him where the pipe had come from, or why he was smoking it. The smoke smelled familiar, and Nick was uneasy all evening until he finally realized it had the same stink as that biker’s from the restroom. Still, it was probably just tobacco from the same brand, right?

His dad was acting strange. He kept…staring at Nick, and not in a normal way. In a…hungry way. When he thought Nick was out of the room, he kept seeing his dad grope himself in his camo pants, but never when Nick was around. His dad broke out the whisky early, and was out on the couch by midnight when Nick went to bed himself. It was several hours later that the door to his room opened, and his dad staggered in, pipe lit, cock hanging out the fly of his pants. He threw the covers off Nick, waking him up, but forced Nick onto his stomach and climbed on top of him. Nick tried to scream, but his father shoved his face into the pillow as he rammed his cock into his hole raw and unlubed. It was quick–four thrusts, and his father exploded in his ass, before collapsing on him, breathing hot smoke and whisky breath onto his son’s neck. Without speaking, he got up and stumbled back to his room.

Nick couldn’t move. At first, he thought he just didn’t want to move, but then he realized, he actually couldn’t move. Another man was in the doorway–the biker, his room full of smoke, but he didn’t say anything. The room was full of smoke now, and Nick realized he must be dreaming. Not all of it was a dream. He woke up, feeling his father’s cum dried down the crack of his ass, but that was normal, right? His dad always liked fucking his hole when he got too drunk. Nick stopped, realizing what he’d just thought. His dad had never done anything like that to him before–so why in the hell had he thought…

The door opened, and it was his dad, morning wood jutting straight out. Nick lipped his lips as his father climbed on him and skullfucked him, blowing his load across his son’s face before getting dressed in his workgear and heading to the construction site. Nick got cleaned up, everything feeling more normal suddenly, and then left and started walking to Doug’s house, when a motorcycle pulled up next to him, the biker smirking at him.

Nick went to run, but the biker grabbed him and pulled him close, one hand twisting Nick’s nipple. “How about now, boy? You’d rather have your hole fucked by your dad, or by me? How about a nice ‘yes’?”

Nick was frozen, but again said no. The biker released him, and drove off, saying once again, “I always get what I want boy!”

***

Nick arrived at Doug’s place, knocked on the door, and was his friend opened it, cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. Nick just stared at him, and asked him where the cigar had come from. Doug told him he always smoked cigars, and pulled him inside. Doug suggested that they take a walk in the woods, but when Nick told him he just wanted to stay in today, Doug instead insisted. His friend had never been so forceful before, and something in Nick…something made him feel compelled to obey.

They hiked out into the woods, and Nick swore that as Doug smoked, something was happening to him. He was getting…bigger. In fact, by the time they reached the river, his friend, who had been an inch or two shorter, was now six inches taller, his body filled out with muscle, and his eyes. His eyes were cruel. They reached the river, and Doug turned to him, “Kids at school–you know, they’re saying your dad’s a faggot.”

“He’s…he’s not a faggot,” Nick said.

“They say he’s a faggot, and they say you’re a faggot too. That you let your dad fuck your ass, that you want him to fuck you.”

“That’s not fucking true!” Nick shouted, but Doug grabbed Nick’s groin in a huge hand and squeezed it until Nick let out a groan.

“Not true? Then I suppose that the thought of your dad’s old cock won’t get you hard eh? I suppose that the thought of him coming in your room doesn’t get you all excited, that you don;t get hard at the thought of sucking his scummy cock? Of taking a load of his in your asshole? I bet you started it. I bet you’re the one who begged him to fuck you, you made your dad into a fucking faggot for your hole.”

Nick was listening, but there, across the river, was the biker. The smoke was flowing over the water like a fog, about to envelop them. He was hard. He was hard, thinking about his dad’s cock, thinking about how he’d gotten his dad drunk and sucked him off that first time, how his dad hadn’t wanted to, but Nick was so fucking horny, he was such a fucking faggot for nasty cock…

“It..it’s true…”

“No shit–I’ve been friends with a faggot this whole fucking time.”

Nick nodded, and was unprepared for Doug’s fist to slam into the side of his face. There was so much smoke, and yet his view of Doug was perfectly clear, the biggest guy at school, he’d wanted his cock forever. He could see the bulge, probably close to nine inches–how would that feel buried in his ass?

“Please…please, I just want…I just want to serve you, please…”

The words were him, but he couldn’t imagine himself saying them.

“Clean my fucking boot, faggot.”

Doug smashed his boot onto Nick’s face, and he licked at the dusty tread, anything for his friend’s cock, anything, he was just a worthless faggot for cock. He licked both boots clean, and only then did Doug reward him, shoving his giant cock deep into his hole, making Nick scream, but it felt so fucking good. Doug came in his ass and tromped off into the forest, telling him he never wanted to see the faggot again, and Nick looked down between his legs, and saw that he’d shot his own load on the dirt trail.

The smoke had cleared. He stood up, and started out of the woods, pleased with himself. Sure, Doug would tell everyone at school he was a stupid faggot, but he’d finally got that massive cock in him. It was worth it. Besides, he was just a worthless faggot, after all, right?

Waiting for him at the head of the trail, he found the biker, cigar burning. Nick approached him, hesitantly, felt the leather jacket–it was too cold compared to the summer air. “What do you say now, boy? You want to be mine? Be my little cubby faggot?”

Nick reached down and felt the biker’s cock through his jeans. Big, but not as big as Doug’s. And he liked his dad. He liked getting fucked by him. And maybe…maybe more guys at school would want to fuck him now. And he knew Doug would want to fuck him again, sometime. No one could resist his faggot ass. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and walked on. The biker looking at him as he left, a bit perturbed, but he got on his bike and drove off.

***

Nick found his dad’s truck in the driveway when he got home, and was excited for an afternoon fuck. He went inside, but the father on the couch was not the one who had left home that morning. The pipe…it was much bigger now, as was his father. Sometime during the day, he’d packed on close to three hundred pounds, and now, heaps of blubber cascaded off of him. Nick could smell him from across the room, the stench of cum and sweat and…piss? He stood in the doorway, not noticing the tendril of smoke curling in from the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, faggot? Get over here and suck daddy’s cock.”

Nick wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted to resist. He didn’t want to serve this fat, disgusting man, but the smoke curled around his feet and drew him closer. He knelt down, feeling the smoke wrap around his body, dissolving his clothes, leaving him naked aside from a set of manacles on his wrists and feet, chained together so he couldn’t walk upright, only crawl. He shoved his face under his father’s apron, searching until he found his short, three inch cock, and started sucking. He hated his father’s cock–mostly because it meant on fuck was satisfying, and his father said his slave’s ass was reserved for him alone. Most fucks were just his father grunting and grinding his tiny cock up Nick’s ass crack until he came–it was miserable. It was difficult breathing as he sucked, but he’d learned some tricks in his years of service, ever since his father had enslaved him. It took some work, but he managed to suck out a load of cum, but he remained, waiting for…something. He didn’t remember until his father released a load of piss for him to swallow; only after could Nick extract himself.

“Footrest,” his father said.

Nick crawled over dutifully and allowed his father to set his booted feet on his hunched back. He remained perfectly still for hours, eventually cramping in his tight position, but he didn’t dare move. Eventually, he heard the grumble of a truck outside; it was Doug’s. What would his friend think if he saw him like this?

That thought struck him as strange. Doug was no longer his friend….Doug was….something else to him.

“Sounds like your trainer’s here,” his dad said, and removed his feet, allowing Nick to uncurl slightly. “Gonna work on your pain tolerance tonight, he said. I do love hearin’ my bitch scream, so be good and loud tonight.”

Doug tromped up and let himself in–now even larger, his body packed with hair and muscle, wearing leather pants and a vest, tattoos covering his body. “Into the dungeon, slave.”

Nick crawled after Doug into the room which had been his, but which now contained a large selection of dungeon gear. He was paddled and whipped until he bled and sobbed. His balls and nipples were stretched, Doug telling him how, soon, his father might let Doug castrate him, and replace his balls with a couple of heavy, iron eggs instead. Doug taunted him with his ten inch cock, telling him he’d never let a slave as worthless as Nick serve it. How Doug would only be serviced by real men, not faggots like Nick.

The room was filled with a haze of smoke, and in the doorway, the biker. Nick pleaded with him silently, begging him to be merciful. The biker simply regarded the scene in silence, until Doug finished training and left, leaving Nick restrained on the table, balls stretched out to the wall, nipples dragged up to the ceiling. Only then, did the biker approach.

“I think…I think I will only ask one more time. Would you rather this be your life? A worthless, castrated pig for your father and his sadistic friend’s twisted pleasures? Or would you rather be my cub? What do you say boy, can I have a yes?”

Nick nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y–yes. Yes, please.”

***

Nick blinked, and when he opened them again, he was back in the rest area bathroom. But now…now things were different. His master leaned over, watching his leather biker cub piss in the urinal.

“I like the look of that PA, cub. Makes you even sexier than you already are.”

“Thank you sir,” Nick said, looking down at the thick ring in the head of his cock, the piss spraying out around it, some of it splattering against the leg of his leather chaps. He took a drag off his cigar–and shared the smoke with his master as he shook piss off the head, and then the biker grabbed his boy by the thick chain collar he wore, dragged him into the stall, and fucked his hole.

Outside, Doug finished his smoke, and felt like he was forgetting something. With a shrug, he climbed back into his truck and started home, but saw a biker and some disgusting fag leave the restroom together. He rolled down the window and shouted, “Faggots!” as he rolled past.

The biker smirked, “Nice friend of yours.”

Nick looked over at him, confused, “I don’t know him, sir.”

“Well, what do you say we follow him, and when he stops next, we turn him into a nasty trucker, who cruises for piss as truck stops?”

“Only if I can make him four hundred pounds with a tiny cock and a hungry hole I can fuck,” Nick said smiling, and they climbed on their bikes, smoke trailing behind them as they drove off down the highway after Doug.

The Fourth Day of Christmas

It was the smell of smoke that woke him up in bed, and Marty thought something must be on fire. He got up and hurried out of his room, but there weren’t any flames in the living room–but there was smoke, and he saw that it was coming from a smoldering cigar on an end table next to the Christmas tree.

He just stared at it for a moment, not entirely sure what to think. He lived here by himself after all, and he wasn’t a smoker. In fact, Marty was pretty boring all around–he didn’t even have a girlfriend, didn’t drink, just went to work, came home watched TV, day in and day out, but that was good enough for him. He wasn’t the kind of person who craved excitement. But then where in the world had the cigar come from, and if it was still smoking like that, wouldn’t that mean that someone would have had to have been smoking it in here…recently?

He looked around the apartment but there was no one there, but the smell of smoke just wouldn’t leave his mind, and part of him really wanted to try it. He didn’t know why really–it seemed like such a dumb, impulsive thing to do–but the more he tried to resist, the more he found himself looking at the cigar, until he picked it up with a shaking hand, put it to his lips, and took a tentative drag.

The sensation of the smoke was overwhelming, and somehow…liberating. It was like the smoke worked it’s way inside of him, loosening him up, undoing the restrictions he’d placed on himself all of these years, and then he was coughing up the smoke, and set the cigar down, he head spinning. “Fuck, that’s some crazy ass moutherfuckin’ shit,” Marty said, using more curse words in one sentence than he’d used all year, and ran his hand through his beard.

His beard?

He felt his face again, and found a thick beard had grown in all over his face, nearly an inch thick, and looking down at himself, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He’d packed on quite a bit of fat as well, and he looked hairier as well.

“Ho, ho, ho–so I did leave my cigar here, eh? Looks like someone took a bit of an interest in it, eh Marty?”

He spun around and saw that the sexiest Santa he’d ever seen had somehow materialized in his living room. No, not sexy, what was he thinking? He’d never been into guys, but damn, the way the harness was stretched across his gut…“How–how did you get in here?”

“You know, you really shouldn’t go sucking on things that don’t belong to you. Still, since you started it, you might as well finish it, eh?”

Santa walked up to Marty and pushed the cigar into his mouth, and he reflexively took another inhale, the same sensation sweeping through him, undoing all of the control he’d worked into his life, and this time he drew it in deeper, before he managed to pull himself away from it. “Fuck, what the hell is in that thing? Makes me feel fuckin’ nuts,” Marty said, but his voice sounded different all of a sudden, with a subtle country twang.

“Yeah, that’s got you looking better already,” Santa said, “You should take a look Marty, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Santa pushed Marty towards the bathroom, and when he saw himself in the mirror, his jaw dropped. His beard had grown longer by a couple of inches, and his hair had grown out as well, the front still short, but in the back it was down past his shoulders. He was even fatter and hairier than before, but none of this could be possible. “Ah don’, Ah mean, this can’t be right, Ah don’t wanna look like this…”

“Oh Marty, you really ought to lighten up–you think too hard, did you know that? You really need to appreciate the simpler things in life,” Santa said, spun him around so they were face to face, and locked lips with him, blowing a huge amount of smoke into Marty’s lungs, deeper than it had gone before, and when the separated, Marty felt like his whole head was full of cotton. He’d changed again, his beard and hair now not only longer, but greasy and unkempt. He was missing a few teeth, and the ones he did have were stained yellow from smoke, and he felt a wet fart rip out of his wide ass, but it felt good. It felt good just letting go, not thinking at all, except about how much he wanted in Santa’s pants. “Fuck Santa, yer so damn sexy…” he said, unable to resist the attraction any longer.

Santa had him on his knees in a moment, his cock shoved down Marty’s throat, and he knew there was something wrong with all of this, but he was just enjoying himself too much. When Santa finished all over his nasty beard, he let Marty take the final draw on the cigar, and he knew what he’d been missing. All this time he’d wasted working, he should have been on a Harley, riding around the country, sucking cock in every rest area, fucking truckers in the backs of their cabs–he’d missed so much! But no more. Santa helped him up, and Marty wasn’t naked anymore–he was wearing his muddy biker leathers, and when Santa handed him the keys to his bike and a few cigars, he grinned. He was just a cigar smoking, cocksucking, redneck biker now, and he’d never wanted to be anything else.

Carefree cigars, that was what the label said. Still, they weren’t too expensive, and Tony still hadn’t really settled on a brand that he especially liked, so he decided to give them a try, and as he walked down the street he found a bar with some outdoor smoking where he figured he could sneak a smoke, ordered a beer, and lit one of them up. Carefree was right–the feeling they gave him was stronger than most any other brand he’d ever had, and they just made him…happy, and not really care about what was going on around him. His beer arrived, and he drink it down a bit faster than he’d intended, and then ordered another one, and downed that too, before starting on the second cigar in the pack.

Three beers later, Tony was feeling good–well, aside from one thing–he was horny. Hornier than he could remember being, well, ever. His cock was rock hard in his shorts, and he kept rubbing it, not really able to stop himself, or even care what people might think about it. He pulled his cock out, discovering it was bigger than he remembered, and started jacking off at the table, making no effort to disguise what he was doing, and he shot a load all over his shirt, before he came to, realized everyone was staring at him, and drunkenly stumbled up and hurried home.

Still, the privacy of his house wasn’t much better, and he stripped down to his jockstrap and started jacking off, unable to contain himself, shooting load after load as he sat on the couch, smoking cigar after cigar, guzzling beer, the other thoughts and cares taking a back seat to his raging horniness. As the night progressed, he started to change little by little, picking up some grey in his hair and beard, tattoos forming across his body, all of them crude and obscene but he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting off.

By morning, it was a very different Tony who stumbled out of his apartment, covered with tattoos, wearing nothing but a leather vest, chaps and some jeans with the crotch ripped open, showing off his ten inch cock for everyone to see, and he hopped onto his motorcycle and drove off. He needed some more cigars first, and then he needed to get to the biker bar. He’d remembered seeing a piggy pipe for sale, and he figured he could probably find someone there to smoke it for him.

It was supposed to be a gag gift, I know that. I was retiring, and my son bought me a leather jacket for my “retirement motorcycle” which we had always joked about. I put it on at the party, and I quickly realized it was used–he’d probably bought it at the goodwill or something–he wasn’t doing the best financially, and it’s the thought that counts, right?

Well, I mean, I put it on, and wore it the whole night–it was just really comfortable, and to be honest…well…I didn’t really want to take it off. I mean, I did, at first, but before long, well…I was just kind of wearing it all the time. But it didn’t really look good with any of my clothing, so I just started cruising around second hand stores, and it was like…like the jacket knew what I should buy to wear with it, and everything I bought, fuck, I just wore it constantly. I mean, it almost hurt, physically, to take it off.

And now…fuck, now I mean…now I’ve actually got the motorcycle–a beat up Harley off Craigslist. And I’m cutting my hair and beard different–it just looks better with the jacket, you know? And sure, the cigars aren’t healthy, but they just complete the look. And…and I know, I know that I would look best at…at one of the gay leather bars downtown, I know that, I really do, it’s just…I mean, maybe I could just go and have a drink? I mean, sure, it would look great if I picked up some leather cub, and we drove off into the backcountry and fucked on the back of my bike–I bet my jacket would look real good if I was doing that…but…

Oh fuck it…I’d better just go get my helmet.