The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.8 – The Hole in the Wall

Samuel pushed his way out onto the street, taking a few deep breaths of the cold night air. He hadn’t even gathered his coat from the studio before he’d abandoned the young man he’d picked up from Depot, but he hoped that the chill might settle him, ground him for a moment. He flexed his hands, and tried to shake the sensation of that young man’s flesh, how it had bent and twisted, how fresh it had felt, throbbing and alive and it could be so many things, so much more than it was. He picked a direction and walked away from his studio, hands shoved down deep in his pockets, both for warmth, and because he was afraid that simply brushing up against any of the men sharing the sidewalk with him would draw the desires and sensations right back to the surface, where he might not be able to stop himself from doing something beautiful.

Despite the hour, the sidewalks of Pigtown were bustling. He made sure to give them a wide berth, but found himself looking past the gear, the clothes, to the flesh beneath, wondering what it would feel like, what it would look like, what it could look like. He had moved through so many mediums as an artist before this, both in two dimensions and in three, looking for something that could effectively communicate the visions he had in his mind, and now, each person passing him looked like a pigment. He thought of what he could do with them alone, he wondered what might happen if he took those two, and perhaps a bit of that third, and blended them all together. That skin, covered with that hair, stretched over those muscles, with the bones hollowed and shortened, perhaps. He had to forcefully remind himself that they were people. People! He slipped into the mouth of an alley to avoid a couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, and followed them with his eyes, their two hands melding together. They were close; they could be closer. They could be one, or many. He could articulate their desire with their own bodies. It would be an exquisite artwork.

There was a sound behind him. He turned, and there against the wall, one leather clad fellow had shoved a young cub up against the brick, yanked down his leather shorts, and was driving his cock into his hole. Helpless, Samuel just watched them fuck He had many of these sorts of acts on these streets and in these alleys, and yet, he had never seen them like he now did. The physicality of it, the pistoning, the sound of the flesh meeting and undoing and opening and leaking and crashing. He wanted to walk over and strip them of their clothes, push them together and pull them apart again, different, put them into perpetual motion, a testament to this one moment. 

He wondered what might happen to them, their internal lives. Perhaps the spirit inhabited the flesh, some separate thing that would be expunged in the process. Maybe the mind simply was the body itself. He could pry open the skull, peel it back, crack it open, spread it apart, pick and choose the bits he desired and discard the rest. Perhaps something new would come forth, some new consciousness, a new being, glad to be alive, the synthesis of flesh giving birth to something more than the sum of its parts. Sex was a desire for closeness, after all. Intimacy. To be inside someone, because the mind could never fully penetrate another, not as one could with their body. As he watched, and thought, the man came in the cub’s hole, pumped a sizable load inside him, and without a word, detached himself. The union came apart and he slipped out the mouth of the alley and down the sidewalk, not even giving Samuel a glance as he passed. 

The cub lingered a bit longer, still recovering, and turned around to lean against the wall, his own cock hard and excited. He glanced around, saw Samuel staring at him, and flashed him a smile, turned around and bent back over against the wall. An invitation, it would seem. He knew he shouldn’t. It was too risky, too dangerous, but there, he saw something, again. Something like the throbbing, undulating flesh in the VIP suite of Depot, something like that vision of Parker in the restroom, that moment he had experienced as terror at the time, but which he now thought of as something else entirely. He stumbled forward into the dim light of the alley, reached out with his hands, and felt the hot, young flesh, kneaded it, groped it, the young man moaning in pleasure and excitement. He wanted it, the flesh wanted it, wanted to be taken and used and warped and satisfied. 

Samuel didn’t know how he did it, exactly, any of it. He came around behind the young man, reached up, laid his own hands on the young man’s, and pushed them against the brick, and then pushed the flesh into the brick itself. The flesh did not disappear, and neither did the brick–you could say, perhaps, that bits of the wall came alive, you could see where the skin began to flake and turn red, almost like a sunburn, where the stone began to give slightly. The young man felt it happen, without pain, tried to pull his hands free, but couldn’t. Samuel ran his hands down his arms, pressing them against the wall, merging them together, the stone and mortar warm and flexing, hard and rough to the touch, yet with give, all the way to his shoulders, the young man’s face pressed hard against the rough surface now. Samuel stepped back for a moment, considered it, then picked up one leg, while the young man tried to kick, but rather than deal with resistance, Samuel simply pushed it, warped it, muscle and bone and tendon all melting down into one mass inside a now floppy leg, then shoved it against the wall, into the wall like the young man’s arms. First one, then the other, leaving him suspended there, horrified and confused.

Samuel pressed a hand against the man’s head, gently, but he wanted him aware. If he simply pushed his head and brain into the brick, he would mostly understand himself as a wall–but he wasn’t a wall. He would be a hole in a wall. He pushed the man’s head down instead, shoving it down into his neck, into his chest, down deep into his guts and groin, then pushed the upper part of his body against the brick, continuing the process, angling the body up, arching the small of the back, ass now available and eager, cock and balls still hanging below. Those it wouldn’t need, as a hole. He gripped around the base of the cock, tighter, the flesh constricting then coming away. He pushed the now detached member into the eager hole, then hollowed it out, feeling the flesh shudder as the nerves joined, growing more sensitive now. He pushed his hand into the hole, pulled the testes up from the inside, rewired them, and when his hand came free, so did a gush of precum drooling from the hole onto the asphalt below, the flesh shuddering from its new orgasmic pleasure. He laid the hands on the small of the back, the head inside still addled and terrified and confused. He eased it, simplified it, converted the bits of the mind dedicated to that which no longer mattered, and turned all of its attentions to the hole that it was now. No need for higher order thinking, no need for those old senses of smell, sight, or hearing. All was touch and taste now–nothing else mattered, nothing else could even be experienced, or understood. 

He stepped back, admiring his new work of art. There, suspended in the brick wall of the building, was simply an ass, gaping, winking and drooling precum, eager to be filled, meant to be filled, flesh with no other purpose beyond that simple drive and desire. The pleasure and excitement that Samuel felt now that the deed was done was impossible to articulate, but as it eased and settled, it curdled into shame and horror as forbidden pleasures often do. He stepped back up to the hole, ran his hands over it, wondering how he could reverse what he’d done to the young man, bring him back, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t see it. He had erased that old form from existence. It was gone, he was gone, and now, there was just a hole in the wall, nothing else.

“You’re a new one, since I’ve been away,” a voice said, and terrified that someone had observed what he’d done, Samuel whirled around, an explanation forming on his lips, as a leather clad fellow stepped out of the shadows at the deep end of the alley. The brim of his muir cap was pulled low, casting most of his face in shadow, aside for the sly grin of his mouth. “Don’t mind me, now. If you need to feed, feel free. I was going to take him once he was alone again, but this has been much more exciting.”

“Look, I…I don’t know what I was doing, alright?” Samuel said, “No one would believe you if you said anything anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me telling on you, I’m no friend of authority. We’re compatriots, really. A couple of aberrations, as they like to say. Not my favorite word, really, but rarely do we get to decide what we are called.” The leatherman stepped forward, sniffed the air, and then his mouth turned down slightly. “No, not…what are you? I’ve never smelled something like you before. Something very new, it would seem.”

Samuel turned away from him then, reached the sidewalk and headed back towards his studio, but ahead of him, from a shadowed doorway, the darkness condensed, and out stepped the leatherman from the alley–though there is no way he could have gotten there so quickly. Samuel came up short. “How did you do that?”

“You walk away from me when I’m asking you questions, and then have the nerve to expect answers of your own? That seems rather rude,” the man said.

“I don’t have an answer for you! I don’t–I’ve never done something like that before. I’m an artist, I…it just…happened, like that. I saw it, and I made it, and…”

“And you got nothing from it?”

“What?”

“You didn’t…feed on it? Take something for yourself?”

“I don’t–no! It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Curious.”

They looked at one another for a moment, and then the leatherman said, “To answer your question then, since you were kind enough to give me what you could, my name is Shadow. I thought we were…similar, and while I think we still are, we are not quite the same. Still, I find you interesting, and won’t be eating you anytime soon.”

Another man came down the sidewalk, passing close, and the same darkness that had collected in the doorway, opened up around him and Shadow, and they seemed to disappear–at least from sight. There was a scream, though it seemed rather distant, and after a few moments, the darkness fell away, and Shadow remained, though the man was gone. A flat thing of darkness seemed to scuttle off into the night, but it could have just been a glamour in the light. “Much better–I was rather famished. It was a pleasure to meet you, in any case. I’ll be interested to see how you…develop.”

Shadow stepped back into the darkness, and when the light faded back in, he was gone. Samuel hustled his way back to his studio, wondering how much of that had been some nightmarish hallucination, or if he was dreaming on the mattress in his studio with that young man, or if perhaps all of that had in fact happened. Inside, the young man was gone, as Samuel had known he would be, somehow. Exhausted, and yet sleepless, he sat down at his desk, looked out the window to the streets below, hands quivering with excitement. He’d made it. Art–a true art, from deep inside himself, for the first time. He sent a text to Rod, just a location, nothing more, and that was the last thing he recalled clearly before waking up in the morning, alone on the mattress in his studio.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.5 – Side Effects

Parker swore that it had been a normal workout–usually a couple of hours from when he started stretching to his cool down cardio. When he looked outside though, he was confused to see that it was night already, and he had been lifting weights for close to five hours straight, cycling through arms, back, legs, chest, core and back again, over and over, desperate to try use up the energy that was suddenly thrumming through him. He was a bit addled at first, soaked in sweat, trying to piece together the hours that he had apparently spent here without even realizing it. Not long after that, he realized that more than a few of the men around were staring at him, some lustfully, but more than a couple just looked confused or concerned. He wasn’t quite sure why, until he turned again, saw himself in one of the mirrored walls of the gym, and did his best not to let his own jaw hit the floor at the sight.

The workout clothes that he had on, which he liked a little tight, so they could better show off his bulge and physique, were about to tear themselves off his body, if he flexed a bit too hard. In fact, one of the straps on his tank top had done just that at some point, revealing one massive, hairy pec with a nipple on the end of it larger than some men’s cocks–and was it leaking? He reached over with one hand, and sure enough, it was. That was enough to send him into the locker room for a moment, so he could get a better handle on what he was looking at. 

He went around the corner to the sinks, and there, he realized that he hadn’t just grown more muscular over the course of a single afternoon, he’d also grown taller. The sinks that usually hit right at his waist, now met the middle of his thigh, and he needed to stoop down slightly just to get a look at his face in the mirror. “God damn, what the fuck,” he said, looking at his thickly bearded face, heavier jaw and bro…the receding hairline. He ran a hand through his usually thick hair, only to watch a good chunk of it fall away, leaving him with a substantial bald patch. He splashed some water on his face, tried to stop himself from hyperventilating, got out his phone, and called Hugh–but the dealer didn’t answer.

“God fucking damn it,” he said, face feeling flushed, looked down, and saw another reason the guys had been staring at him. He’d been so focused on his face and upper body, he hadn’t bothered to notice that his cock was simply massive–long enough that the head and a couple inches of the shaft were hanging out of the leg of his shorts, only half hard, and drooling the same viscous, milky substance his pecs had suddenly started producing. He dropped his shorts, and his balls were swollen to easily the size of a bowling ball–he held them in his hands, and he could feel them aching. Not just aching. They were churning. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d last cum? The skin of his scrotum was pulled taut–he couldn’t even feel his testicles inside them. It was like they were swimming in the goo now flowing out of him.

“God, some guys are such fucking freaks, they’ll shoot themselves up with anything. What do you think that fucker’s on, anyway?”

“Who the fuck knows, some of the shit on the street these days can be real fucking shady. Steroids, sure–who hasn’t done them? But I sure as hell don’t want to look like that.”

“Did you catch a whiff of him? Dude fucking reeks too.”

“I bet–looks like he’d be better suited in a fucking barnyard.”

Parker’s face flushed red. They were fucking talking about him, they had to be. The shame he felt surprised him. He loved seeing guys stare at him, but this…what the fuck was happening to him? He needed to get to the hospital or something, needed to figure out what the hell this stuff even was. He went to take leave, only for the shorts he was wearing to finally give up the fight, tear open from crotch to waist, and his massive genitals spilled out, the sudden drop causing a massive burst of milky cum to ooze their way out of the head, making a sizable puddle on the floor. Parker hefted his monstrous package, but just pressing on the swollen sack made even more of the gunk spew all over his hands, and the smell of it, fuck, it smelled a bit rank, but it was making him kind of horny too.

Maybe it was just a minute or two, but when Parker came back to himself, he had both hands wrapped around his cock, milking it with long strokes, grunting and moaning like some fucking animal, just flooding the floor with his precum. He regained a bit of control, just in time for the two men who had been talking about him to round the corner, heading for the showers, and stopped dead in their tracks. “Fucking, hell, what the fuck is that stench?” one of them said, throwing his elbow across the face.

“Christ, you fucking pervert!” the other said, but Parker could see something happening to them both, their eyes going a little glassy. The other one gave a little snort, got down, crawled towards the puddle of precum he’d just made and started lapping it up. The first put up a little resistance, tried to run–but Parker had had enough. He grabbed him, dragged him back, and flung him face first into the puddle with his friend, watched him try to resist for a moment, but he soon gave in and started licking as much of it up from the filthy gym floor as he could. Parker didn’t quite know why he was doing this, but he was so…so full. He needed someone to empty him, didn’t he? He got down on his knees with them, grabbed the back of their heads, and pulled them to his teats, both of them sucking down Parker’s milk right from the source, and as they did, he could see them both changing. 

Their guts grew first, filling up with Parker’s milk, but it soon became obvious that it wasn’t just a full belly–they were actually getting fatter. Their hair was next, both on their heads and their bodies, falling away into the puddle below them. Parker felt something happen to his cock–it moved in a way he didn’t quite understand, in a way he couldn’t even really control, slithering between him and one of the men latched onto his pec, like it was seeking something out. It found it, the head of his cock swallowing up the man’s cock, and it started sucking on it, and both he and Parker let off a moan in unison. He could feel it, feel himself draining the man’s vitality, his muscles, even his youth, his now hairless face growing a bit wrinkled, his muscles atrophying as they were sucked out and added to Parker’s own massive frame. The other man tried to pull away in horror, but his mouth wouldn’t let him detach from the other nipple. When his cock was finished, and had sucked away the man’s cock and balls until the only thing that remained was a piss hole buried in his new fat, the now larger cock snaked over to the second man, and repeated the process, draining him completely dry as well. When he was finished, he stood back up, the two men’s mouths coming away from his tits with a loud sucking sound, and he looked down at them, barely even recognizable as men now, just two short blobs, their mouths sucking up everything they could of their new master from the floor under them. 

He, on the other hand, was even larger. His head was mere inches from the ceiling, the rest of his clothes fell away from him as he stood up and flexed, and he tore the rags away from him. There was no reason to hide this body now–he was superior to every other man, how could he have ever doubted himself before? One of the thralls below turned around and raised its hole, now loose and more than capable of taking its master’s cock, but before he could accept the invitation and fuck the thing, there was a cramp in his arm, and then in his guts that made him double over in pain. 

He didn’t know what could be causing it, but his whole body was screaming out for…for something. Something it needed. He stumbled over to his locker, fumbled it open, and carefully extracted the extra vial of BHB he’d taken from Hugh. Manipulating the syringe with his massive body was difficult, especially with the muscle spasms, but he managed to get himself injected, and after a couple of scary minutes, he felt the pain recede, and the horniness flood through him all over again–but that could wait. Hugh’s place wasn’t too far from here, and if that was how his body was going to react to withdrawal, he couldn’t afford to go without a dose again.

When the staff came to investigate the smell in the men’s locker room, after the emergency exit had been tripped, they found the strange pool of goo, the tattered remains of three sets of men’s workout clothes, and nothing else. Parker was busy strutting his way through the darkness of pigtown, his two thralls lumbering and wobbling their way after him, stopping one after another to slurp up their master’s precum that was still seeping its way onto the sidewalk. It was time, now, to have another little chat with Hugh, and after that, it was time to settle things with Samuel once and for all, and show him who was really the boss in this relationship.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.4 – Creative Block

After Parker had slapped him around back at their apartment, Samuel had spent a few minutes brooding a bit about it, and then packed a bag so he could stay overnight in his studio. It was over between them, unofficially at this point, but he wasn’t stupid enough to wait for a brute like that to come back and break the news to him. He doubted that Parker even remembered where his studio was, he’d only taken him there once, early in their relationship, so Samuel could do a study of him for a piece he’d never bothered to finish. He should have known then he was just an uninteresting piece of meat, and ditched him. He’d wait a night or two, and then go back and settle things with some back up if it got violent again. In any case, he had work to do anyway–if he could just figure out what the work was supposed to be.

There were few things worse to Samuel than a creative block. Later that day, hunched over the desk in his studio, he crumpled up another piece of paper with some worthless sketch on it, tossed it with the others all around him, and then sat back in the chair. The space around him was a mess, not that it wasn’t in some perpetual state of chaos on any other day. Some days though, the mess verged on claustrophobic–abandoned models, canvas, old unfinished work, all of it looming over him, taunting him. None of it was good enough. None of it was what he’d wanted to say, and now, even worse, he had someone who wanted to say something through him, and he couldn’t begin to fathom what it was.

He went to the window and was a bit dismayed to realize it was evening, the summer light already golden on the sides of the buildings. Hours had passed, and he hadn’t anything to even show for it, not even the memory of the time passing. The room was too tight, he needed to get out for a bit, and walk. He bundled up in his coat and slipped down to the sidewalk, not really sure where he was heading, but it was better than whatever he might do in that stale room. 

It was a weeknight, and the crowds were much diminished from what they were on a Friday or Saturday evening. Fewer normies coming in from the suburbs, more regulars in their leather and rubber milling from club to club and alley to alley, partaking in whatever pleasures they might find. He spent a while spying from the sidewalk at the mouths of alleys, a favorite pastime of his, an opportunity to watch flesh work in person. There was still too much light though, and so not much in the way of action, so it didn’t hold his interest for long. He ended up passing Depot, and on a whim, turned around and went inside. Perhaps Rod was there. This was all his fault, he rationalized in the moment. His money had sapped his creative spirit, just like he’d known it would. Until he was free of his patron, he was suddenly certain he wouldn’t make anything again.

He found a couple of bouncers milling by the bar, chatting. The bar hadn’t been open for very long and the floor and nooks didn’t require constant patrolling yet. “Hey, is your boss here? Up in the VIP room?” he said to one of them.

“What?”

“Rod, your boss. Is he here?”

“Do you have an invitation?”

Samuel rolled his eyes, exaggerated it enough to make sure the bouncer knew that what he was about to do ought to be wholly unnecessary, turned around, spotted one of the cameras and gave a wave. The bouncer received something on his earpiece, and shrugged. “Go on up, he’s expecting you, apparently.”

Samuel did not want to be expected. That alone was almost enough to send him back out onto the sidewalk. Instead, he took a drink from the lower bar, and headed up to the VIP lounge, fully planning on throwing it in his face this time. The lounge was nearly the same as when he’d been there nearly two weeks earlier–the same bartender, Rod sitting on the same barstool, perhaps not the same folks having sex among the cushions, but interchangable ones all the same. He resolved to throw the drink before Rod could even get out a word, but the sight of his eyes was enough to stall him, and when Rod pulled out another stool for him, told him to sit, have a chat, he found that same sense of camaraderie overwhelm his good, volatile sense. He sat, and when Rod asked how he was, he was honest about everything–from his artist’s block to financial struggles and recent fight with Parker. Rod was a good listener. Never interrupting, asking good questions but never trying to lead him to a given conclusion. When Samuel had exhausted himself, Rod took a sip from his drink, placed a hand on Samuel’s knee, and said, “I’m glad you confided in me, I really do understand, you know. We are not so different really, I knew that from the moment I saw your art hanging in that gallery. What you’re missing is the correct medium, I believe.”

“What?”

“You have these ideas, yes? And yet, as soon as they are committed to paper, they seem flat and empty. The problem is not the idea, but the paper.”

“I always sketch on paper.”

“You always have sketched on paper before.”

Samuel narrowed his eyes at him, “What are you saying, really?”

Rod looked over at the undulating men on the cushions, who for the extent of their conversation, had not ceased their activities with one another, not even for a drink. Samuel followed his gaze, but as he swung his head, he felt the sharp headache that had struck him that night in the club, right before he’d seen what he’d seen there, something he hadn’t even dared try and sketch, something he hadn’t told Rod about even. But there, on the cushions was something inhuman. A writhing mass of flesh, raw and pure and ripe. The distinctions between their bodies had dissolved away, face became cock became ass became chest. There was no distinction between or within any body, and when he blinked, it snapped back, and once again, he was looking at the men, at the sex, but he couldn’t unsee that either. He couldn’t be convinced that the vision was less real than the image his mind was showing him now.

“You saw?”

“I…did you?”

“Oh, all the time. It’s all I see these days. But then, the struggle has never been seeing it myself, but getting others to see it too. You’re the first. That’s why I have no worries about you, Samuel. I want you to take all the time in the world. You’ll create exactly what you need to, soon enough, and if you ever need a sympathetic ear, you will always find me here.”

“Can…I see it again?”

“Whenever you want.”

Samuel waited, expecting Rod to do something to make it work, but his patron just took another sip of his drink. He looked back at the bodies there, focused, unfocused, cocked his head, but couldn’t seem to slip behind the veil again. “It’s not working.”

“Then you don’t really want to see it again. That’s alright, I know it takes time, and courage.”

He had another drink. He wanted to talk to Rod further, but didn’t know what questions to ask yet. The orgy behind him unnerved him now, and eventually, he bid Rod a good evening, and went down to the club floor again. He stood at the edge of the dance floor, now busier than it had been when he’d walked in, watched those bodies crush and squeeze and float and drool against one another, but while it was another mass of bodies, it was nothing like the mass of flesh upstairs. A young body peeled its way free and spun off towards him, into him really, and looked up at him, stary and drugged and hungry.

He looked up, and saw that Rod had left the stool, and was staring down at him from the VIP lounge above. He nodded to him, and Samuel understood, somehow, that this man was a gift to him. So he took him away to his studio. He was out of his mind on drugs or Pigtown itself, pliable and soft and eager. Samuel thought about sex, but decided against it. He stripped the man down, threw him on the mattress he kept in his studio for naps and long nights, and dug into his body, smelling and tasting, bending and scraping and kneading. The man passed out before too long, and Samuel studied the curve of the man’s back, before taking a marker from his desk, and drawing a line along the man’s spine, feeling a strange shudder through him. The wrong medium, Rod had said. Another line. A shape. The same thing he had struggled to sketch for days flowed right from his hands onto the man’s back. He sketched for hours, across the young man’s whole body, but it still wasn’t enough. He thought of the flesh again, the raw flesh. He pressed against the man’s rib cage, and felt it bend with his pressure, and he was so surprised, he fell back, and it snapped back into place. Samuel didn’t touch him after that, just stared at the man, at the marks he’d scrawled across his body, threw a blanket over him and left him there. He knew, somehow, he would be gone by morning–but Samuel couldn’t be here. He was afraid, not of what the young man might do when he saw the marks. Afraid of what he himself might do, if he touched the man again. He threw on his coat, and headed back out into the night.

TPC – Chapter 1.10

Chapter 10 – Visions of Flesh

As Samuel crossed the club floor, he found himself blinking a bit too much, his eyes still watering and stinging after that odd moment in the VIP lounge upstairs, where his eyes had met Rod’s. The club was dark, but each time a spotlight swung around him he would freeze, like it might reveal something other than the other horny men around him. Something monstrous, but once he processed it again, he saw that it was just men engaged in the usual sort of acts that Depot inspired. But the sense that something was wrong with him continued to plague him as he found his way to the bathrooms. Had there been something in the drink? He hadn’t really seen the bartender mix it, and Rod had seemed rather…familiar with him, verging on obsessed, even. He stumbled down the hallway into the bathroom, and found a continuation of the scene he’d watched unfolding on the small TV set upstairs. 

Patrick had a twink up on the bar between the two sinks, legs up on his shoulders, dick deep in the young man’s hole. Samuel found himself feeling a little jealous at first–Patrick hadn’t been that hard during one of their fucks in a very long time. The smell of musk and cum and sweat hung heavy in the air all around them, and while it had seemed…rougher on that silent screen, it was clear from his moaning that the twink was rather enjoying himself, and that Patrick was getting close to orgasm.

But something else was off too. The two of them weren’t alone in the bathroom, there was a small collection of men all around Patrick’s feet, rubbing and groping him, all of them moaning and pleading, and from the cum drooling out of their holes, it seemed easy to conclude that Patrick had fucked all of them in turn–and all of them were aching for more. Samuel felt his head start to throb, his head pounding in time with the music–no, not his whole head, his eyes, what the fuck was wrong with his eyes? He gripped them in pain, and fell back against the wall, groaning, and when he opened them again, he swore that he had torn his eyelids apart–but it wasn’t that. His body wasn’t ripping, it was everything around him, some giant tear across the room, cutting across Patrick, across the twink, across the men fawning at his feet, and it was growing larger, it was consuming everything, and all Samuel could do was look.

Were they still in the bathroom? It hardly mattered where they were. It was Patrick that had changed the most. The tear opened wide, and revealed a massive figure where Patrick was standing, easily a foot taller, head close to the ceiling that couldn’t really be seen through the tear. The twink was groaning, coated in a sheen of sweat, and swelling. As Patrick fucked him, or the thing behind Patrick, the thing inside him and beside him, the twink was swelling, belly expanding, filling with cum, perhaps. It was difficult to know what it was, but it was inflating him, pumping him full, his face turning fat and pudgy, letting off a long moan of delight as his own cock was swallowed up inside his growing body, and with a massive thrust, Patrick…split the young man open, his skin shredding like a popped balloon in slow motion, pulling away and shrinking away, and underneath, coated in some sort of mucus, was another man, the same man, something born from that moment. Slick with gunk, soft and turgid, with a mouth that seemed too fluid, a body that didn’t have quite enough bones, both skinny and flabby at the same time, the moans and groans coming from it curdling in the air. The beast that was Patrick fucked harder and came at last, pumping a massive load into the thing’s hole, and when he had finished, he pulled his massive cock free, and the thing slumped off the counter and onto the floor, where the others had all pooled similarly, a tangled, throbbing mass of flabby things, mouths sucking at their god, crawling and sliming over one another, hungry for more, no longer hungry for anything else.

Patrick, or the beast beside him, turned to look at Samuel, smiling. It beckoned him. Samuel didn’t know how to get there, didn’t know how to cross the void between them. Black was enveloping him, clouding his vision. He thought at first it was another tear, another break, and terrified, he thrashed about in the dark until he flung over and found himself in his own bed, Patrick splayed out on top of the covers beside him, naked, snoring heavily himself. Samuel heaved himself out of bed, squinting, made it to the bathroom in time to get most of the vomit into the bowl of the toilet, and when he was sure his guts were empty, or at least no longer threatening revolt, he turned around and sat on the floor of the bathroom, against the cabinets, catching his breath and trying to push that image in his mind further away, but it was there. Impossibly close, burned into him, somehow. He rubbed his eyes, feeling them aching still. He had to have been drugged, what other possibility could it have been? He must have freaked out in the bathroom, maybe Patrick managed to get him home somehow.

He had made enough noise that he could hear Patrick rousing himself in the bed, and after a moment, he stumbled in, stepping over Samuel on the floor, so he could take a long piss into the toilet beside him. “Fuck, rough night, huh?”

“I…Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

“I don’t remember shit man, fuck,” Patrick said, “Hugh gave me a sample of a new steroid he’s selling, that shit is…fucking hell, it’s wild…You…you must have gotten me home last night, I guess?”

“Uh…I figured you’d gotten me home, I don’t remember.”

“Huh…”

Samuel thought about trying to explain what he’d seen the night before in the bathroom, but where would he even start? Besides, it wasn’t like Patrick to really empathize with the inner life of someone else–that was labor he usually left for Samuel to pick up.

“I’m gonna hit the gym, I’m still feeling fucking pumped, you know?” Patrick said, stepping back over Samuel on the floor without offering to help him up.

After another couple minutes, Samuel flipped around and used the counter to pull himself up. In any case, that fucker Rod could take his offer and shove it. If his idea of patronage was drugging someone without even giving them a heads up, there was no way he was going to have any further dealing with the guy, no matter how much money it meant. But while his resolve started out that way, three things happened that made him waver again.

The first was his eyes in the mirror when he pulled himself up. His eyes had always been green, but in the mirror, they weren’t…entirely green anymore. The color was darker, and leaning in to look closer, he saw that there were swirls of the same cloudy grey that Rod’s had been. He couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t always had that coloring, and yet, he had never noticed it before in his life. Looking closer, he also was certain he could see the colors swirling about slightly, but that, he knew, was ridiculous.

The second, was when he dug his phone out of his pocket, he had a message from an unknown contact, that said, “What did you see?” He found the card Rod had handed him, and the number matched. He thought about replying and telling him off, but every time he tried to start the message it fell flat. Too angry, or too apologetic, or too many questions. He pictured Rod up in the VIP lounge, watching him freak out in the bathroom, and he felt like a fool, but the question was still there. He wanted to know. He knew that Samuel had seen something, and that it was important to him. If he had drugged him, it was because he wanted this from him. That made Samuel madder, of course, but it also made him feel important, and special, and he had a weakness for flattery.

The third, was that for the rest of the morning, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling from his bones that what he’d seen hadn’t just been a wild trip–it had been real. Beyond real. Something and somewhere else. He just couldn’t stop seeing it, no matter how hard he tried to push it away, it was always just there, a heaving, pulsating image; a horror. He ate a little, but felt the gorge rise again, and instead left the apartment, for a constitutional that he hoped would clear his mind a bit. His feet took him past the gallery where he’d started his night, and he looked at his work. Work he’d been so proud of, it all felt so empty now. He had seen something true, and before this, he’d been painting around the edges of another world, another existence, and this was a vision right into the heart of it, he was somehow certain of this. He resisted the urge to pull it all down and tear it up–instead, he went to the studio and tried to paint it, tried, desperately, to force it out of him, to sketch it, to mold it, to paint it, to pin it down as something outside of himself at last.

Every hour or so, he would stare at that text again, and ponder it. The art wasn’t coming, but he had to know more, he wanted to know what he’d seen. 

“Can we meet again?” he texted back.

They arranged another meeting in a few days, and Samuel sat back in his chair, rearranged patterns on the ceiling, thought of the tear, thought of stepping through it, of what he might find. ‘Flesh’, his mind replied without prompting. Flesh–he would find true flesh.


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Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 7)

“You really are quite handsome you know, it’s a shame I can’t take you with me,” the imp said as he fucked Ken’s hole in the dark room, “but someone is going to have to stay here and take my place with all of these freaks. You won’t mind that though, will you?”

“No Sir!” Ken cried, “Just…just please, don’t stop fucking me, please…”

“Yes, that is a good idea, I would like a memento of some sort, after all. I wasn’t quite sure what, but I think I know exactly what I’d like to take with me.”

The imp pulled himself free of Ken’s hole, making the man gasp in need. He pulled something new out, a little bottle of something like lube, and started squirting it all over Ken’s body. “Rub that in for me, my little slave. This will help you be a bit more…flexible, and I don’t want to touch it myself.”

Ken did as he was commanded, and rubbed the strange substance all over his body–down to his feet and his toes, massaged it into his cock, all over his head and hair, even fingering himself with it, and coating the inside of his mouth–being sure to swallow a little too. It felt…gummy and rubbery at first, almost like a thick silicone lube, but it absorbed into his body, and after it did, his skin felt…strange. Hot for a moment, but then…well, he didn’t quite know how to describe the sensation at all. 

When the imp was sure it was dry, he decided to give it a test–he reached around the base of Ken’s cock and balls with his fingers, and started tightening them into a ring. It didn’t…hurt, really, but it was oddly uncomfortable. Ken could see his entire cock and balls pulling free of his body, just a strand of flesh connecting them–and then they came away in the imp’s hands. Ken could somehow still…feel them, which was even more disconcerting, as the imp turned his cock and balls over, gave his shaft a stroke, making Ken shudder in confusion. “Hmmm…I think I need one more thing though, if I’m going to keep fucking you. Roll over Slave.”

Ken did, one hand going to his now nullified crotch, confused by the smooth, rubbery skin there instead, wondering what exactly his Master was going to do to him now. The imp did the same thing around Ken’s asshole, pulling it off of his body entirely, and sticking it to the root of Ken’s cock and balls–then, while Ken rolled back over, the imp slid his cock into Ken’s rubbery hole, and he moaned in delight. He could feel the imp’s cock sliding deep into not just his ass, but inside his cock as well–it was…fuck, he’d never felt anything like it before in his life.

“There, that’s a nice gift for me, Slave. When I’m living your life for you, I’ll be sure to use your hole and cock often, to make sure you know I’m thinking about you in here. For now though, why don’t we make you fit in with this monstrous place a little more?” the imp cackled, and started working Ken’s body under his hands, pulling and twisting and stealing and stretching him into all sorts of new shapes, until he found one he liked most.

Ken’s head was forced into his body entirely, his arms twisted and warped until they were another set of arms and feet like the others. He could now only walk around on all fours–though slowly, because both sets of feet were pointed away from each other. Where his head had been, was now his mouth–his teeth pulled out like little rubber plugs, and his tongue grown to insane proportions. It hung from his gaping mouth now almost a foot, and was fully prehensile–and covered with drool.

For his other end, the imp had to improvise, and built a second hole out of his nose–two gaping, hairy cavities perfect for fucking–or whatever else the strange beasts of this place would use him for. The imp shifted one eye to each end, so he could mostly see where he was going–and then added an ample supply of hair all over his new form, making him look more like some hairy beast than the man he once was. Ken wanted to thank his master, but could no longer speak–so he ate out the imp’s hole with his long tongue while his Master fucked his new toy, making Ken shudder and grunt until his cock sprayed cum all over the floor–but then, it was time for the imp to leave.

Ken still wanders the halls, though he no longer has a name. He’s just another freak among many, always looking for bodies to service, relishing those moments when he feels the imp’s hands around his cock, his cock sliding into his hole–happy that he can still be of service to his Master.

An End


Alright, that one was a bit shorter, so we have time for one more! Here’s some options on spots to restart from, some are the same as last time, some are different! Here’s the bonus poll for Patrons too.

Danny’s Bad Day

The day had not gotten off to a good start for Danny. He’d woken up late, struggled to get himself together on time, and now was just making it to the gym a half an hour after he had agreed to meet Matt there for their workout together. Knowing him, he’d probably gotten started, and now Danny would have to catch up or get left behind again. He pushed his way into the gym, and as he did, he felt…something odd. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, actually, like there was some strange film in the doorway, something he’d pushed through that was more than air. The sensation was gone in a moment, but as the door shut behind him, he realized he couldn’t hear the traffic or the sounds of people in the street outside the building, and the sounds coming from inside the gym didn’t seem normal either. 

He stepped up to the desk to sign in, and saw that someone he didn’t recognize was sitting there. Usually one of the owners of the gym, Sven or Taylor, were at the desk, greeting people as they entered, but today there was a tall, lithe fellow sitting in the chair, wearing a polo shirt, and looking friendly. Still, Danny didn’t have time or a desire to chat with a stranger, not when he was already running late, so he just scanned himself in, as the man said hi, and tried to introduce himself. Danny knew it was rude to just ignore him…but if he ended up working here for a while, there would be plenty of chances for them to get to know each other soon enough. Danny knew what it was like to be ignored anyway–and he kind of relished the opportunity to turn the tables on someone, especially someone as tall as this fellow, who was easily an inch or two over six feet tall.

Danny, on the other hand, was short. Very short. Five foot, two inches short. He was used to people looking over him, or looking down at him, or treating him like a kid. He’d started going to the gym with Matt, hoping he’d at least be able to bulk up a bit, but so far all he’d managed was to get a bit more toned, which honestly didn’t help his image much. He compensated by wearing some shoes with thick soles, but even that didn’t help a whole lot. Most days he was a nice guy–but with everything that was going wrong for him, he just didn’t have the patience. It was a shame really. He could have gotten what he wanted. But it was a bad day for Danny, and it was only going to get worse.

The guy at the desk, after all, wasn’t a exactly a new member of the staff. He was the new owner, in fact. Of course, the gym wasn’t even really a gym anymore, and it didn’t even really exist on earth–not like it had. The man sitting behind the desk had gone by many names over the eons–though the one that had stuck the longest was Loki–though even that name was old and somewhat forgotten at this point. Humanity didn’t really have the imagination for magic, or gods anymore, or for naming the things beyond them. It made things easier, in some ways, for Loki to have his fun. He was a trickster after all, a joker, a force to be reckoned with. He’d asked Danny how he could help him today–which he had asked everyone so far, as they’d arrived at his gym. He’d given everyone what they wanted–mostly, in one way or another. But this one–this short, impatient fellow–he was strong willed, Loki could tell already. There was always at least one. Loki sat back and decided to just watch for a bit, and see how long it took him to realize how different things were already. These ones were always the most fun, after all.

Danny got to the gym floor and scanned it, looking for Matt, figuring he would be working out already, but to his surprise, he wasn’t there, that he could see. Maybe he wasn’t as far behind as he’d thought. But then he saw something strange. Something that he just…stared at for a moment, certain he had to be seeing things. That it couldn’t possibly be happening, right in front of him.

It was a regular at the gym, but not an acquaintance of his. Matt would probably know his name–he was here more often than Danny. He had interacted with the man a few times–and it hadn’t been the best experience. The guy was a bit of a clean freak, and if you left a machine and didn’t wipe it down, he would walk over and berate you, and then drag you over and make you clean it while he watched, to make sure it was to his standards. Everyone had their pet-peeves of course, but…but now, he was watching this man, looming over a bench on his hands and knees, licking the leather clean.

Danny just stared, because it was so absurd. He looked around, wondering if anyone else had noticed what the guy was doing, but it seemed he was the only one that noticed it at all, and he looked back at him, and noticed something else–the man’s tongue…it wasn’t normal either. It was too long, his tongue stroking the surface with such careful caressing strokes, thick, and slimy, and…and Danny looked away, confused and disturbed, but now that he had noticed one odd thing, more began to stand out to him.

Over there, by the power racks, were a couple of brothers who were in here often and usually working out together. They were both handsome, tall, and if they weren’t actual twins, they consciously styled themselves to seem nearly identical–often even wearing matching tanks and shorts when they were here. But the brother’s weren’t working out–they were making out with each other, their clothes off and discarded around them…but that wasn’t what made Danny question his own sanity in that moment. It was that there were only three legs between the two of them.

He had to count them twice, just to be sure. Then he looked for four arms, and he could only find two, one on each brother caressing the other, pulling each other closer, and as he stared, mouth open and jaw nearly on the floor, he could see that their bodies were fusing together, bit by bit. Even the third leg between them was beginning to atrophy, and pull up into the rest of their body as the two brother’s mindlessly kissed, two heads sitting on one set of shoulders.

Then there was Anton, standing over by the mirrors and the free weights. He was flexing, as he did often enough–but his body wasn’t right either. His arms were too long, and there was more hair than Danny recalled him having. In the mirror, his face didn’t look right either–the brow too defined and heavy, his eyes looking a bit empty, mouth hanging open and panting, one of his arms moving down to stroke his cock, even as the other went up, and he started sniffing at his pit, like the stench coming from there was heavenly.

Danny just stuttered, unable to believe what he was seeing. Was he having a stroke? Was this some dream, or hallucination? Was he dead?

“Everything alright, sir?”

Danny spun around, and there behind him, was the man from the front desk, looking down at him with a rather impish grin. “I…I don’t…are you seeing…any of this? Am I insane?”

“Oh no–this is all real. Allow me to introduce myself–I’m the new proprietor here, at this gym. You would be Danny, right?”

“How…who the fuck are you?” he demanded, but Loki just grinned down at him.

“Is there something I can help you with? Maybe…with your height? Give you…yeah, I see what you want, you want to be noticed, don’t you? Well I can make everyone want you–would you like that?”

Danny didn’t know what the stranger was talking about, and he backed away slowly, realizing he had stepped into a place that was not what he was expecting. “I…where’s Matt? And where are Sven and Taylor? They’re the ones who own this gym.”

“Ah, I facilitated the sale earlier with them. As far as I know, they’re still in the locker room. We were discussing price when your friend came in…half an hour ago?–and helped us reach a solution. I’m sure they’re all still occupied. But I’ll ask the more important question again, how can I help you?” Loki bent down, looming over Danny, “I’ve helped everyone so far–he wanted a gym that was cleaner, and I’ve helped him take it upon himself to make sure every bench is so clean you could eat off it,” he pointed at the man still licking the bench. “Those two wanted to be even closer–and I would say it’s difficult to be closer than that,” he indicated the two brothers–their bodies now almost entirely fused. “And he, well, he fancied himself a caveman, in his mind, a mindless muscular brute. I’m just helping him look more like he sees himself on the inside. But you–what can I do for you? Just ask, and I’ll give it to you.” 

Danny backed away some more, and then fled in the direction of the locker rooms. He had to find Matt, Danny told himself. He had to find his friends! Maybe together, they could sort out what this creepy fucker was doing, and figure out how to put things right again. Loki just laughed–this fellow was a strong one! No matter–he would settle him in sooner or later, in one way or another. He followed after him at a leisurely pace, knowing that there was nowhere he could run. Maybe once he found his friends he’d have a change of heart.

Danny made his way into the locker room but slowed down as he did, not quite sure what to expect–especially after what he had seen out in the rest of the gym. He thought about his friend Matt, a massive bodybuilder who had spent years perfecting his physique so far. Danny had always been envious of him–of not just his height, but also of his sizable cock, which was longer soft than Danny’s was hard. His personality was electric–he was always cracking jokes, and toying with people, and flirting, and he had such confidence. Danny felt lucky to be his friend, but now…well, what could this man have possibly done to him, and to Taylor and Sven too? Taylor was tall and lanky, and loved to play basketball, while Sven was shorter and stockier–thickly built and powerful…and what could all of them possibly want? They all had what Danny desired after all–he couldn’t really fathom what this man would have done to them, what he might have given them that they didn’t already have. But he could hear the moans coming from around the corner, smell musk, and sweat, and other strange odors on the air. He knew he should run–but he had to see. He had to try…and help them, he supposed.

He turned the corner, and there were three people there–but none of them were immediately recognizable as any of his friends. The scene unfolding was so absurd, that if he hadn’t known it was real and that all three of them were his friends, he would have laughed at the sight of it. One of them–she was beautiful, really. A transwoman with a stunning face, gorgeous hair cascading down past her broad shoulders, two muscular breasts jutting out, and there, below those, was one of the largest cocks he had ever seen. The woman was moaning, a deep, sensual voice echoing around the tiled room, as a second…thing was hunched over, suckling on one of her breasts while she stroked her cock. Danny had to creep around a bit to get a look at the second person, just to make sure he really was seeing this…beast.

It wasn’t a man–it was…a minotaur? That was the closest thing he could imagine for the beast suckling on the woman’s tit, lips frothy with milk, eyes gazing up at her face in awe and lustful worship. He was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, but large parts of his body were no longer human at all–his face was already contorting into a short, broad snout, his eyes were vacant and bestial, he had two horns pushing their way out from his skull, and there was a thick metal ring through his wide nose to complete the image. Below the waist, he was similarly changing–brown and white fur running down his massive legs, to where his feet had become heavy hooves–and his cock, emerging from a sheath, was easily a foot long, and no longer the least bit human in shape, with a flared head mottled skin. Behind him, a tail was even flicking back and forth, growing longer with each swing, a tuft appearing on the end as well. 

And that left the third figure–some sort of massive blob of a man lying nearby, watching the other two while stuffing his face with food. Danny had no way to even guess how much the thing might weigh–probably close to a thousand pounds, if not even a bit more. The man’s body was more slug like than anything else at this point–Danny could see small, vestigial legs on the end of his body, slowly withering away to nothing, while the rest of his body just became a singular, pulsating mass, pushing itself forward, moaning as he did–Danny realized it was because the fat slug man was dragging his cock against the ground–and whatever it looked like, it was probably large, and it left a scummy trail of white cum behind his body as he moved. He no longer had a head–or at least not one that could be separated from the rest of his oozing body. The man’s neck was too fat to really differentiate the head from the shoulders, or from anything else. His eyes were small and beady, the nose wide, but it was the mouth–the massive, gaping maw, droll running out of it and down his flabby chest–it was the mouth that he just stared at, unable to fathom how something like that could even happen.

It had to be a lie. These couldn’t be his friends, it was impossible. It had to be impossible. 

“Let’s see,” Loki said, coming up behind him, “Sven was more than happy to give up his share of the gym, once we had a chat. He’s always secretly thought exercise was too much work, and resented the fact that he couldn’t just eat–well, eating is what he does best now, and he’s so much happier now. As for those two, they were a bit more difficult. See, Matt didn’t want to change–not really, but he did have this fantasy. A strong woman, huge breasts, a massive drooling cock, milking her, suckling from her, getting fucked my her and then fucking her back. Taylor–well, I don’t know if she was really willing, but she seems to be enjoying herself now, don’t you agree? Still, Taylor needed something too–a real beast, a monster to fuck her, hungry for her milk–well, Matt will be her bull from now on, worshiping her entire body and keeping her oh so happy. Matt did love having everyone call him ‘Toro’ after all–doesn’t it suit him? I think they got quite a bargain for this place. More than money could buy, certainly.”

“I’m…this is sick! What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you do this to people?” Danny asked, and Loki just looked at him, eyes lax, like he was bored already.

“Because when you have lived a life like mine, and when you can do what I do, why would you do anything else? Why not give people what they want?–which brings us to you, little man,” Loki said, and squatted down, emphasizing just how low he had to get to look Danny in the eyes. “I can give you what you want too. Big man–bigger than all of them, and no one will be able to look away from you. Big cock too, you’ll be so happy here, with the rest of my toys. Isn’t that what you’d like? That’s why you come here after all–to change yourself. Because you aren’t happy like this–none of you were happy, this is not a place where happy people come. But this–this is true happiness, what I can offer you.”

Had things gone differently that day already, Danny would have said yes. After all, he wanted so much more than the rest of them, had wanted for so much longer, but this day, he balked. He balked, because he knew that what Loki was offering wasn’t really what he wanted, and looking over at his friends, all of them warped beyond their humanity, he knew that he would not fare any better than them, in the end, no matter what Loki promised him. “No–No, I’m getting out of here, and I’m getting them out with me. I’m not going to let you do this to him you fucking freak!”

He charged at his friends, first to Matt, tugging on his shoulder, shouting in his ear, but he didn’t even seem to notice him. Taylor, too didn’t so much as turn her eyes down to look his way, as she pushed Matt down to her cock, “Come now little Toro, suckle on your mistresses’ cock you fucking beast,” she whispered to him, and Matt didn’t need anymore urging. He took her cock in his mouth and started to suck, drinking down her milk, and Danny could…see his body bulking up even more, piling on more muscle as he mooed gently around her cock like it was a teat. Danny backed away in horror, and then turned to Sven–but he had no luck with him, either, not even when he pounded on his flabby body, trying to do whatever he could to get their attention. His anger turned to panic, and he started shouting louder, desperate for anyone to see him, or pay attention to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist to them anymore.

“It was rude, you know, what you did when you came in,” Loki said to him, and Danny turned around and looked at him. “You ignored me. Not many men have ignored me, in my life. But you enjoyed it in the moment, I could feel it. You felt justified, because you thought I was just someone working the desk, not someone you had to care about. Perhaps I should make it so no one will notice you ever again?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. How fucking dare you do this to us? You nasty fucking–” but that was as far as Danny got, as something happened to his mouth. It happened in a moment, his teeth dissolving as his lips contracted tight, feeling like they were caught in a tight pucker. He couldn’t speak, or breathe, and he clawed at his throat for a moment, until he realized he didn’t need to breathe, and he probed his face, cautiously with his hands, and felt that his mouth had…become an asshole. His nose had disappeared as well–and when he tried to scream, all that came out was a loud, noxious fart–and Loki burst into an uproarious laugh.

“Curse me, will you?” Loki said, “I’m the one with the curses around here, little man. If you can’t show me a little respect, then I don’t see why I should even give you the privilege of having a mouth any longer.”

Danny looked around for a moment, looked up at his friends–and realized the only chance he had to help any of them, would be to try and save himself. So he ran. He ran out past the still laughing Loki, fled the locker room, but as he ran, he could tell something else was happening to him. The ceiling was looming higher and higher above him, and the ground was coming up closer. He was running at the same speed, and yet felt like he was going slower and slower. Still he pressed on, slowing to a waddle, and he reached the doors to the gym, gave a mighty push, but while he could feel them rattle–he no longer had the strength to move even one of them, in order to escape.

In the glass, he could see himself reflected dimly. Now only two feet tall, if not a bit shorter still than that, his arms and legs had shrunk–his legs especially, now two thick stumps only a few inches long, that could barely carry his thick trunk of a body. Even now, he was wobbling slightly, unable to really keep his balance well without something to lean against. His new asshole took up most of his smaller face now, and he just had two smaller eyes–and his hair and short beard were different as well–curly and thick, more like pubes, than like actual hair. He looked around in terror, not sure what to do, or where he could hide, when he heard–and felt, footsteps behind him, and saw Loki casually sauntering towards him, not a hurry or a care in the world, knowing as well as Danny knew that there was nowhere he could go.

“Well–is it what you wanted, little man? Little asshole? What do you think–should I just leave you like this–everyone oblivious to you, just running around this place, trying to avoid being stepped on by all the brutes around here, now really just the runt under their feet you always feared you light be? Or are you going to cooperate? Give up, let me in, and I’ll make you happy–I promise.”

What choice did he have, really? Danny nodded, and relaxed, and he…could feel it. Feel the place permeate him somehow, like he belonged here. Behind him, the door sealed itself shut–perhaps it was still there, but for Danny–as for Matt, and Sven, and Taylor, there was no escape for them now. They were permanent residents in Loki’s kingdom here–for better or for worse. He braced himself, wondering what it would feel like, growing larger…but it became apparent after a moment that nothing was happening. He opened his eyes, looked down at himself, and saw that he was the same strange freak he’d been moments ago–Loki said he would give him what he wanted!

“No–I said I would make you happy–that is a very different thing,” Loki said, turned, and walked off back into the gym.

Angry, Danny waddled off after him, trying his best to keep balance on his tiny legs and feet, but Loki easily covered more ground than him, leaving the little asshole in the dust. Danny got tired quickly, and leaned against a bench to rest, looking around the place, at the freaks surrounding him. The man cleaning the benches was stuck on all fours, his tongue several feet long and very wide. The ape man was now beating his chest before grabbing weights and lifting them–massive amounts, really, obviously pleased with his new form. He looked around for the twins, but didn’t see them–then he turned around and saw them looming over him, obviously aware of his existence.

They were massive–easily nine feet tall, and as broad as two men. Their skin had taken on a greenish, greyish hue, and thick curly black hair was sprouting all over them. Their heads and faces were still identical, but had taken on a monstrous edge, thick tusks and short horns, like a rhino, were jutting from their forehead.  But closer to him, he could see a pair of foot long cocks, jutting out from the same root, and below that, a massive sack with four, churning balls inside. “Look bro, a little asshole!” one head said to the other. 

“Oh man bro, let’s put my cock in him.”

“No, mine! I saw him first.”

“Oh fine bro, but I get to fuck him after you.”

Danny tried to run, but the ogre’s arms swept down and picked him up like he weighed nothing, and holding him in both hands, they forced one of the cocks into his new mouth. It didn’t hurt, like Danny expected it to–instead, a massive wave of pleasure surged through him, and he shuddered, his insides rearranging, pulsing and vibrating around the ogre’s massive cock.

“Fuck bro, this little asshole feels great!”

“Kiss me bro, come on.”

The two ugly heads turned and made out, both hands working together to fuck Danny up and down on the cock, the sensation overwhelming Danny’s mind, and he wanted more. Wanted them to fuck deeper, wanted them to fill him up with their seed, wanted to please them, because pleasing them made him so happy too. 

One cock came, pumping a massive load of cum into Danny’s body, and he felt…full, a hunger he hadn’t even noticed brewing inside him feeling more sated. The ogre pulled him off one cock, and impaled him on the other, and repeated the fucking. After a couple of minutes, that cock too was spent, and the ogre gently set him down on the bench, where Danny rubbed his belly, full of cum, feeling…so happy. Content, even. He was a little asshole–and little assholes needed to be fucked.

The simple idea of it made what remained of his rational, human mind begin to short circuit and wither away. He knew what he was. He knew what made him happy. He needed to get fucked, of course–what else was there for a little asshole like him? He thought about Taylor in the locker room, wondered how it would feel to be wrapped around her massive cock. Matt, too–his new bull cock was so long that it might even come out the other end, leaving him impaled on it, sliding up and down…

Danny shuddered, and he carefully got down from the bench, even more unstable on his little legs, but he crossed the gym floor as quickly as he could, heading for the locker room. The day had started out terribly–but it was already looking brighter, for a little asshole like him.

The Worst Luck – Part 2

***Warning*** Extreme violence, castration, torture, extreme body modification and amputation. Probably shouldn’t be read by anyone–I’m in a weird mood this month. 


Ivan awoke. He couldn’t quite be sure, but he thought he was probably somewhere else now. That said, he had only fuzzy memories of the night before, of being raped. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were secured, spread eagle on some hard, metal table. He could lift his head, however, to look around, and he noticed something terrifying. His cock. His balls. They were so blue that they almost looked black.He could see tight rubber bands around them, he could feel them cutting into his skin, but they must have been on so long he’d begun to go numb. He started shouting for help, desperate, muttering to himself in terror, and he heard a door open behind him–something heavy, a steel door scraping against concrete–more than one person entered, and the door shut again.

“You’re finally awake. Good, I was hoping you’d get to see this.”

It was the man’s voice, from the club. Master, or at least, that’s the only name Ivan had for him. He pleaded, but the man just talked over him.

“You know, I was only going to use you for a night, and then send you on your way. Just a bit of harmless fun had at your expense. But then you had to go and bite my fucking cock, you fucking bitch! You’re fucking lucky you didn’t do any real damage, but fuck you, I’m gonna fuck you up anyway. I didn’t really want another slave in my life, but I’d say that you fucking earned it.” He came around into Ivan’s field of vision, and there was a second man with him, a short, pudgy man in a polo shirt, glasses and a mustache. “This here is Trevor. He’s trained as a veterinarian, but that’s all the expertise we really need here, don’t you think? Now, how about one last shot of cum before we nut you for good?”

Master wrapped one gloved hand around Ivan’s cock, but much to his terror, he couldn’t feel him. He could see the hand moving up and down the stiff shaft, but it might as well have been a piece of literal wood–he had no sensation at all. He was sobbing now, and Master kept at it, taunting him.

“No? You don’t want to cum one last time? Are you sure? Or is it that you can’t? Trevor tells me that at some point there is simply too much nerve death for the penis to be stimulated enough for orgasm. If so, you must be one unlucky whore. Still, if you won’t cum, we might as well get on with it.”

There was no anesthesia. His nerves were dying, but not so dead that he couldn’t feel the scalpel cutting into his sack, his balls tugged out and cut away from his body, the excess sack skin trimmed away, and what remained was sewn up tight. Then the vet began on his cock, cutting through it at the base, saving a bit of skin as a graft. It would be like he’d never had a cock or balls at all, just a mutilated genital scar where his manhood had been. Master watched all this in a rather detached manner. As Trevor was finishing up, he finally spoke.

“Now, here is my offer, slave. You can either eat your own dead cock and balls, raw, in their entirety, or Trevor and I will extract every single one of your teeth, one by one.”

Ivan begged and pleaded. He denied it, he attempted to bargain. Master held the bloody head of his cooling cock to his lips, suggesting he give himself a blowjob, that if he thinks cocks are meant to be bitten, then he should bite his own to bits. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to, he tried, but he vomited to the side, gasping.

“Pity, I wanted to see you eat it so badly,” Master said. Trevor handed him a set of pliers. “If it’s any consolation at all, we were going to pull out your teeth no matter what.”

Trevor held Ivan’s screaming mouth wide, Master got a good grip on a tooth and yanked it free by the root, and then another, and another. When he grew tired, the two men switched positions. All Ivan could taste was blood. Finally, two hours later, their work was finished. Ivan was lightheaded from the blood he’d lost, and Trevor was hard at work stitching up the worst wounds in his mouth. Master leaned over him, speaking.

“Part of me wants to go further, you know. Take out your tongue. Snap off your fingers. Cut off your nipples. But I think I’m done for now. I feel…much better. But if you displease me, or any man I order you to serve, like Trevor here, who will be fucking that toothless maw of yours tonight I think, then know that the cost of disappointing me is losing yet another bit of your body–and they will be bits of body you will miss dearly.”

Ivan nodded eagerly. Master pulled on a rubber glove and adjusted his slave’s legs so that they were hauled up into the air.

“Now, since I can’t very well fuck you with five stitches in my cock, I suppose the only option I have left is to fist your hole, slave. Hole–heh, I like that. How about we make that your new name? Tomorrow I’ll have a tattooist friend of mine come over and etch it across your forehead.”

He didn’t use lube. The worst part, for Ivan, was that the act of having his hole abused was still intensely pleasurable, but now he had no outlet. He could feel his body trying to spasm some phantom cock, but with no hope of release, he only became hornier and hornier, ever more desperate for more of Master’s arm to be buried in his ass. Trevor eventually finished his stitches, and then he did, as Master had suggested, fuck his toothless mouth. He was gentle, to keep from ripping open the wounds he’d just closed, but he seemed to care little about what he’d just done. Truely, his luck had been terrible, but certainly it couldn’t be worse that this, right?

He was wrong. A year later, Master finally decided to sell him to a permanent home. Hole had had his eyes plucked out. His fingers, and then his hands, and then his arms up to his elbows had been removed. His legs had been lopped off at the knee. He hadn’t done anything wrong–Master had simple become obsessed with how much he could alter. He had no idea what his new Master looked like. He sounded old. His cock was thick, but short. He enjoyed Hole’s mouth more than his loose, well worn ass, but many of his friends preferred to fuck him, passing him around the room at the orgies he could hear but never see, just a toy for sexual perversion. And that was the worst luck, and woe to any man who is cursed by the wizard on Friday the Thirteenth.