Tag: body swap

Movie Night (Part 2)

Wade and Phil had been using Matt as a clueless fucktoy for close to a year now, after discovering that spell book in the attic of the house, shortly after moving in. As soon as Matt–or Jess–set foot in their house, neither one of them could resist a command from either man. But Matt…had never been very exciting in bed, and that was when, perusing the book one evening, a spell had appeared which Phil thought might be the answer to their problems. They’d tried it the next week, casting it on Matt and their TV, so that whenever Matt saw a person on the screen, Phil and Wade could make him believe he was that character until dawn that next morning–or at least, that’s all they thought it would do.

In fact, they discovered quickly, the spell did more than make Matt think he was that person, he actually became a complete copy of that character in the movie. Over the weeks, Matt had been any number of different porn stars–Wade and Phil had wide ranging tastes, and almost always liked their sex kinky. Matt had been a massively fat pig slut, a twinky stripper, a stupid muscle faggot, several different bear slaves, and when Wade had found this film online the week before, they’d both known for sure that they needed Matt to be this guy next.

The more Matt watched, the more and more his body copied the appearance of the guy in the film, the tattoos coating his body as his hair shrank away, and that hunger in his ass was becoming more and more difficult to deny. Pretty soon, Matt’s memories of his life with Jess had completely faded away, replaced with new ones–how he spent his days and nights as a skinhead slut pig, begging rough and dirty men like the one on the screen to fuck and fist his holes. He moaned on the couch when Wade’s fist slipped into his ruined hole, and when Phil pulled his cock free from his pants, his mouth watered. He kept one eye on the screen for a while longer, until his transformation finished, and then the new skinpig devoted his attention to the cock in front of him, worshiping it happily for the rest of the night, down in the dungeon below the house.

The next morning, Matt left, his old self again, no memory of the night before aside from a pleasant evening watching a movie with his two best friends. Still, he…really wasn’t very happy with Jess–maybe she did have a point. What if he really was gay? Maybe next week, he could talk to the guys about these new feelings he was having. They might be able to help him sort things out.

VIP Package (Part 6)

Jeremy woke up the following morning–or at least, what he assumed to be the following morning–in an unfamiliar room. After dinner the night before, Mr. Bishop had taken him to the Salon, a sprawling complex in the tail of the cruise ship–though he could remember almost nothing of his time spent there. The staff had told him that the experience was proprietary–in order to maintain secrecy, not even VIP guests were allowed to remember the inner workings. The two of them stepped inside, and then he was here, lying in what seemed to be a very small bed, in a room quite a bit smaller than the one he’d been staying in with Samuel–and he was alone. He tried to get up and sit on the edge of the bed, but the first couple of attempts were thwarted by some massive weight that seemed to be dragging him back down. At last, he managed, and he felt…his own flesh shift around him in the most uncomfortable, disturbing fashion–and looking down…he was no longer in his body, or more accurately, he was no longer in the body he remembered being in.

But where he’d expected to feel some measure of shock, there was…just a recognition. He knew this body wasn’t correct, and yet, he also couldn’t clearly every remember looking any different. With two hands, he hefted up the massive apron of hairy fat which hung down between his thighs, pushing them apart, and let it fall, the flab smacking against his thighs. Her knew, in his mind, that he’d never felt anything like this, and yet his body…already knew what it would feel like. With the help of a night stand, and quite a bit of grunting and groaning, he managed to get up on his feet. He felt disgusting, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was appalled at his sudden size and body. He felt greasy, and when he lifted a flabby arm, he actually stank–more than just simple body odor, and more like someone who hadn’t bothered to wash in quite a while. Again, the disgust was muted–it simple seemed…right to him, that he be like this. In any case, he needed to piss. There were two doors in the room, and the first he tried did lead to a small toilet–no shower–with a mirrored wall on one side. He had to sit down to piss, when he discovered he couldn’t even find his cock buried inside his own fatpad, and as he released, feeling…piss pour out from his gunt, and run down his balls, he stared to the side at himself in resignation.

He was old. At least sixty, if not seventy. Most of the hair on his head was gone, aside from a wispy horseshoe around his temples, though he had a massive beard hanging down to his chest and a thick mustache which nearly hid his mouth. Grey hair coated him wherever he looked–in fact, he looked rather similar to Mr. Bishop–although his current standard of hygiene was quite a bit lower, and he certainly hadn’t graced Jeremy with his endowment. Once he’d finished pissing, he continued searching for his cock, and was able to feel the presence of a nub, though he had no ability to grab it. His balls were sizable, but seemed to have been absorbed into his fat. He got back up with some effort, relying on the metal bar installed on the other wall, and went back into the bedroom. There were no clothes anywhere that he could see, so he opened the other door and stepped into a massive suite–and on a king size bed below a bay window, he saw Samuel, or Sammy, getting plowed by a muscular bear, with the kind of body he’d always wanted to have, but between work and his own limits, he’d never managed to realize it.

At the sound of the door opening, the muscle bear looked over at him, and Jeremy recognized him by his face–it was Mr. Bishop. “Ah, there’s the sleepyhead. I was worried you’d sleep the day away, you fat, lazy fuck.” He pulled out of Sammy, who moaned in displeasure. His cock seemed to be even larger than before, if that was possible–perhaps it was the same size, but more had been buried away in his previous body. “I trust you slept well? How are you adjusting?”

“This–what, you turn me into a fat old fuck like you were?” Jeremy asked, “And you get the kind of body I can only dream of. What the hell is any of this for? I don’t fucking get it–why not just do this to two of the ship’s muscle fucks?”

Mr. Bishop laughed. “I’ll tell you what I told your husband, the first afternoon we spent together, before he rode my cock for the first time. My fantasies are complicated.”

“Daddy? Daddy! My boyhole’s still so fucking hungry, please fuck me some more, daddy…” Sammy moaned, one hand reaching back to the rosy crater his hole had become, probing it, aching inside for more.

“Boy, you’ll get plenty more in a bit. But come here and tell me what you think of your husband. Do you think he’s sexy?”

Sammy looked over, and his face twisted up in a grimace. “He looks…kind of dirty. And where’s his cock?”

“He has a microcock buried up in that gunt of his, that’s all,”

“What good is a cock like that?”

“It’s not good for anything boy. But suppose he had a cock that was worth something. Would you want him to fuck you?”

“A fat old man like that? No, he’s gross–I want you to fuck me some more daddy–come on!” he said, and wagged his ass to and fro.

Jeremy just scowled, “That’s not Samuel–that’s some fucked up toy you turned him into. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying.”

Mr. Bishop smiled, but it conveyed no warmth. “True–he doesn’t. But I play a long game, and it’s quite satisfying. So Jeremy, why don’t you fuck off to the depths of your brain for a while. I’d rather play with Gerald.”

He’d been so focused on his bicep curls, that his six pack had already disappeared by the time he set down the weight, and went to flex at himself in the mirror. He realized the reflection seemed off, but it took him a moment, and another ten pounds gained, before he realized what was happening, lifted up his shirt, and nearly screamed in the middle of the gym floor.

What the fuck was happening to him? He grabbed the flab in his hands, just to see if it was real, and discovered that…he could feel it growing and expanding. He looked around in a panic, unable to understand how something like this could even be happening, and then he ran for the locker room. He had to get to a doctor or something, he had to figure out what was wrong with him!

But by the time he got to the locker room, his clothes no longer fit. The changes had accelerated, and he pulled on his jeans just in time to have the seams ripped apart my his expanding ass. He stared at his new, hairy body in the mirror hanging over the sink, disgusted with himself, when he noticed someone watching him with a smirk…someone…he thought he should be able to recognize.

It wasn’t until he was bent over the sink, the stranger’s cock buried in his fat ass, holding his hair back, filming the video to post later, and he realized it was Ian, a massively obese guy he’d bullied for years in college, now looking slim and trim after transferring all of his fat to his old bully, and taking his muscles for himself. He was nice enough to leave him some 4XL clothes once he was finished, but for his old bully, getting clothed was only the beginning of his problems. His hole was still itching for a cock…and if he didn’t find something to plug up there, he felt like he was going to go insane.

“Who’s the fat ass faggot now?” was all Ian said as he left the locker room, and the ex-jock to his new life.

Source: hotchubsblog

This isn’t my body. I have to remember that; this isn’t my body, this is fucking Lenny’s body, that fat fucking freak down the hall. I always saw him looking at me, that fucking envious glare of his, but I’d always assumed he was just a pervert. I’d never imagined that he’d do something like this. I don’t even know what this is–one night I go to sleep, the next I wake up in this filthy bed, in this disgusting body, but fuck, I’m so horny! So horny, I can’t keep my hands off my cock, off this…this flabby gut, these nipples. His cock’s puny, but every touch is like electricty–fuck, I’m cumming, I’m fucking cumming!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 30%. Permanence level, 15%]]

What the fucking hell was that? Some voice inside my head? At least that raging need to jack off is passed, I swear, feeling this fat of mine gets me so amped up sometimes–

No, what? I don’t…I mean…I gotta get up, but I’m fucking tired as hell. It would feel better just…to lie back down and jack off again, but I gotta get to my old apartment. Is…that a note there, on the table?

Morning Lenny,

Feeling good yet? If not, just keep jacking off. Fuck, I hated being that old, fatass, but the best thing about these nanites I stole? They can fucking rewrite anyone’s brain if you give them enough energy. So you’re going to love being me, I guarantee it. You wouldn’t want to change back even if we could–not that you’ll remember much before too long. If everything goes according to plan, you won’t even be able to read this letter soon enough! Thanks for the young muscular body–you’ll never see it again, I can promise you that. Have fun and enjoy yourself!

Garrett

That fucker, what the fuck does any of this even mean? I feel like my head’s trying to move through mud all of a sudden, and damn I’m horny again–that was fucking fast. Might…as well jack off again I guess, felt so damn good the first time.

Yeah, fuck, feels so good, this fat jiggling around me. I never imagined it could feel this fucking nice. These meaty tits, fuck, here I go again!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 55%.]]

Cum tastes damn good. Gonna have to eat more cum. Wonder where I can get some? Suck some cocks maybe, but first think I’ll jack off again. Feel like a lazy day today, I think, yeah, just fat pig like me lolling in bed, jackin’ off, sounds fuckin’ amazing. Feels so damn good, so sensitive, this puny fuckin’ dick. Never usually this horny, you know…was…was I different before? I kind of remember but its so foggy. Maybe if I cum again I’ll remember better, yeah, just gotta bust another nut–fuck!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 85%.]]

Nah Never fuckin different. This is me, fat fuck pig, horny motherfucker. Damn could use a cock in me, wonder who I can find? Yeah, some stud buryin’ his dick in my hole, my flab flyin’ back ‘n forth, or givin my tits a fuck, damn yeah, gonna fuckin’ blow again!

[[Orgasm energy conversion complete. Mental shift towards target levels 100%. Program complete—Entering standby mode]]

Whatever. Lenny horny fucker. Gonna find a cock and get fuckin’ bred like the old pig I is, gonna be fuckin’ awesome!

Breaking Point (Part 6)

All Leon could do was watch. Watch as the homeless bum he’d picked up out of some alley sucked down all of his old life. The years on the street hadn’t been kind to him, but the exhaustion, the hunger, the addiction, it began to fade away. His hair and beard pulled themselves back into his face, which was becoming less lined with wrinkles, turning firm as the bones of his jaws and cheek grew harder and masculine. His flabby belly shrank as his chest expanded–not with fat, but with all of Leon’s lean, developed muscle from his years in the gym and out on the field, or rather, Ned’s years.

Those were his memories now–that was his life. I’d given this man a second chance, and from the look in his eyes, the hope there, I knew that he would do something better with it than Leon ever would have in a hundred years. The cigar was dwindling; my cock had revived and I was taking a second round on Leon’s hole, harder and faster this time. The pig still couldn’t believe what he was seeing, that his hopes had been dashed so utterly. I could see him struggling to reassemble that broken ego, but he could no longer convince himself that this would be temporary. I could feel him freeze up as I thrust into him, trying to not enjoy himself as I’d conditioned him to, trying to reject this body, this life I’d given him. It was only supposed to be temporary, a midsummer’s dream. How could this have happened to someone like him?

The cigar burnt down to the size it had been back in the trailer, when I’d taken everything Leon had ever held dear, and extinguished itself. Ned, blinking like waking from a trance, pushed off the lethargy and stood up from the chair, running his hands over his hard muscle, feeling the youth and power in his chest and gut, walked to a mirror, chuckling–then laughing. A happy laugh, if a bit maniacal. You’d be a bit crazy too, if it happened to you. I finished for a second time in Leon’s pighole, pulled out, and undid the chains holding him in place. I told Ned that he was free to go, but that if he still wanted that second thousand dollars, all he had to do was allow this fat, worthless pig to service him–one last taste of the life he’d taken for granted before saying goodbye to it forever. Ned was more than happy to take the money–Leon was resistant, but an order from me was impossible to deny. He sucked down the young hunk’s load, and then I caged him up, leaving him there in the dungeon while I drove Ned home, so he could get ready for college that next week. He was…incredibly thankful. I told him to just appreciate it–to treasure it as a true second chance. Then I returned home.

In the cage, Leon was sitting, knees pulled to his belly, eyes hollow and and distant. When I came down the steps, the tears started again, but I could tell, this time, finally, they were fearful. Good. He should be afraid. He finally asked, through the tears, what was going to happen next–I unlocked the cage, ordered him out, bound him to a chair and put the mask over his head. He knew the mask well, from the hours of forced smoking before–when I would pack cigar after cigar into the air tube, choking him out with smoke. Once he was secure, I was–for the first time–honest with him. I was going to destroy him. I had destroyed him, in fact, but now I was going to erase him, eradicate him, pulverize his entire personality, all of his memories, to dust. All that would remain, at the end, was a perfect, disgusting, loyal pigslave.

Oh, he fought, of course. No one can help fighting their death. I had selected the cigars ahead of time–two dozen of them. The first seven would obliterate him–his memories, his will power, his ego–the rest would build something marvelous in their place. And marvelous he was–no more inhibitions, no more shame, no more petty humanity. He could behave normally enough at work and in public, but as soon as he was alone with me, he’d collapse to his knees, oinking and squealing, begging for food, piss, cock, filth–anything to validate himself in my eyes. A perfect pet–but I’ve grown a bit bored with him over these last four years, to be honest. Still Ned is finishing college next month, and I think he deserves a proper graduation present. Who, in their right mind, wouldn’t want the perfect pig, after all? Perfectly broken, that is.

Breaking Point (Part 5)

It was the end of August–the Friday night when, in his old life, Leon would have been finishing up all of his college packing, and getting ready for college orientation next week. Instead, after spending the week working on the site, finishing up friday completely coated with mud and filth–as usual–the guys on the site gathered around him for his weekly shower, pissing some of the muck away while he grunted and snorted, trying to deny the fact that he was enjoying this, sucking down cigar smoke as he did. But he was grinning for a different reason–I’d been hinting that I’d felt like he’d seen the light, that I’d be willing to give him back his life. When he was done with his shower, I went into my trailer, opened the safe, and pulled out the cigar that contained all of his old life, and slipped it into my pocket. He saw me, of course–he thought better than to ask when I’d let him smoke it, but the way he held his head high…he was certain everything was going to sort out right in the end. He’d have his old life back, the one he “deserved”–yeah right.

He expected us to drive straight home; instead, we drove into town. He probably thought we were going to a club–I’d started taking the pig out in public, to a few bathhouses and leather clubs, where I’d rent out his mouth and ass. I have to give him credit–as much as he hated his body, this life as my pig–he relished the attention. He’d found…a bit of a calling, in fact, in his new desires, not that he dared admit that to me.But tonight, we kept going, past the club district, down to a…less friendly part of the city, and I gave him a task–that the first thing he’d have to do, his first task to prove to me that he was ready–was he’d have to find a some poor homeless soul willing to let Leon suck his cock, and bring him back to the car so I could talk to them.

Finding guys off the street willing to get their cock sucked wasn’t difficult–but I had veto authority. Each one he brought back that I didn’t feel…fit the picture I had in my mind, I’d make Leon suck them off as promised, in the cab of my truck, and then send him off to find another. Finally, he returned with someone I felt was worthy. He looked like he’d been on the streets for quite a few years, hair and beard overgrown and ragged, but in the old man’s eyes–I could see…worth. It’s difficult to explain, perhaps it was just intuition. I told the man that I’d like him to come home with me for a thousand dollars up front, for a night, and a thousand dollars more if he helped me with my pig. He was wary, but he wasn’t willing to turn down an offer like that. He piled in–it was hard to decide who stank more–Leon or the derelict–Leon of course couldn’t figure out why this guy was returning home with us. This weekend, after all, was supposed to be about him. About his redemption. This fucker had nothing to do with him, so he thought.

Back at the house, I got the guy’s name–Ned–offered him a drink, and said I had to get my pig ready. He was happy enough to drink a straight from the whisky bottle, and I led Leon down into the dungeon in my cellar, where I told him the next part of his final punishment would take place. I got him bound standing, arms pulled high, legs spread wide, and gagged him quiet. Then I went back upstairs and invited Ned downstairs. I pulled a chair over in front of Leon, had Ned sit facing him, and he was obviously confused. I reassured him–and offered him a cigar. He tried to refuse, but I insisted, placing it between Ned’s bearded lips, and lighting it for him. He took an inhale, and it was clear he enjoyed it–then again, who wouldn’t enjoy the taste of youth and vitality when you’ve had neither in decades?

Ned slouched back in the chair a bit, breathing deeply off the cigar. Each time he exhaled, there wasn’t nearly enough smoke–he was absorbing almost everything he took in, just like I’d hoped would happen. Now that he was relaxed, I took some scissors and began cutting his clothes away from his body–it was a few minutes into that process that Leon, behind me, began to realize that something was amiss, and started struggling and snorting, hoping to get my attention. I made him squirm for a few minutes, until I made sure Ned was comfortable, and then walked over to where Leon was rattling his chains like a needy prince.

He couldn’t speak, but I knew what he wanted to ask, from his gestures and the desperation in his eyes. So I told him the truth, finally. That I didn’t think he’d earned his life back, but that I hadn’t wanted his opportunities to go to waste, languishing away in my safe. So I figured I might as well give them to someone else, who would probably get more out of them than Leon ever would.

He was sobbing, he was yanking on the chains hard enough to bruise his wrists, and all I could think about was how hard my cock was, watching him crumble–I walked behind him, and slipped my cock into his ass, fucking him slow while we watched Ned suck down Leon’s life in that cigar…and he broke. He broke…completely, into tiny pieces. He couldn’t even hold himself up–he just went limp in his chains, staring at Ned, tears streaming down his face, making paths through the mud crusted there, and dripping onto the concrete below. He was mine. I’d broken him, and that made him mine, and when I came, oh fuck, but I wasn’t done yet, oh fucking no, I wasn’t done yet–

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?

Justin’s Lost Nights (Part 2)

Cornered, he was cornered. The heavyset man pushed his firm gut into Justin’s flat stomach. “What do you think you’re doin’ smokin’ cigars like a daddy bear, boy? Don’t you think you’re a bit young for that?” He leaned in, and through the haze of their cigars and they started sharing smoke, Justin saw the man’s tattoos shifting and moving, bear paws walking their way down the man’s chest and onto Justin’s body. Suddenly…he was feeling…aggressive. He pushed back, shoving his tongue into the man’s mouth, feeling the large man respond with both surprise, but also submission–

Justin forced himself awake from the dream, panting, his head aching. Fuck, he was too old for this Pigtown one-night-stand bullshit, he fucking knew better than to drink like he was twenty again. He heard snoring next to him in his bed, and was happy to see that the ache was worth it–he’d brought home one handsome, soft, pudgy cub. He pulled back the covers, admiring the young man’s smooth, lightly furred skin, his full, round ass. His cock was already hard again–what cub didn’t want to wake up to daddy cock, anyway? He took a moment to grab a cigar and light it, sucking it deep, stroking himself hard, lubing up, and then slid it into the cub’s hole. It was still a bit loose and greasy from the night’s activities, and the slumbering boy whimpered a bit, Justin pushing in–

Rough. Yeah, fuckin’ rough. The men were watching them, the older, chubby bear bent over, begging for “daddy’s” cock, the twink behind him, trying to imitate a gruff, older voice, making the bear beg for his thick bear cock. Justin didn’t know what had come over him–looking down, he could feel the tattoos pressing into him, see the fur starting to sprout around them, but all he could focus on was his “cub’s” ass, working a couple fingers in, sucking down smoke, and then he got to fucking. Rough–his boy needed to be taught a lesson. Across his upper back, Justin could see the thick, bold lettering of the word “DADDY”, but it seemed to be fading. At first he thought it was just the smoke, but then he felt the tingle on his back as he fucked him harder and deeper, felt the words on him, worming into his skin. The hair was all over him now, growing in thick, but rather than brown like his hair, it was looking grey like the smoke he was chuffing from his cigar. He felt bigger too, stronger, more in charge, dominant, in control. A daddy bear, through and through.

And his cub! Fuck, he couldn’t be much older than 21. He was a bit shorter now, and had lost much of his muscle, all of it packing itself onto Justin’s thick frame. Now he was chubby and soft, moaning and begging for daddy’s cock.

“Fuck yes, deeper Daddy! – Oh god, fuck, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum!”

The cub ground his cock into the bed, spasming around Justin’s cock as he dumped a load into his daddy’s sheets. “Yeah, that’s a good bitch cub, you want daddy’s seed in your guts boy?”

“Fuck daddy, you know I do…”

“Well here it fuckin’ comes!” Justin said, buried his cock in deep, and let loose, pumping the young man full, gripping his soft flab in his old hands, and then collapsed down on him, panting, letting his cock go soft in him.

“You’d make a great alarm clock, you know.”

“Fuck boy, all I wanna do now is go back to sleep,” Justin said with a laugh, and rolled off him. The cub followed, snuggling up to him, running his hand through daddy’s thick, grey chest hair, over his hard pecs, and through his inch long beard. “Did you…tell me your name?” he eventually asked, “I don’t remember…”

“You’ve just been calling me ‘cub’ and ‘boy’ all night, not that I mind. But it’s Evan, if you want to know. Can I have some of that cigar? I need a smoke.”

Justin handed him the cigar and watched the cub puff for a moment, certain he could remember a different face, an older face, but it must have just been a trick of his head and the smoke. Once they’d smoked it down to a butt, they got up finally, shared a shower, and Daddy couldn’t resist one more turn at Evan’s cub hole, not that the boy was helping, fondling Justin’s thick cock every chance he got. Justin also sucked him off in the shower and savored his cum–nothing tasted quite as good as cubcum to him. By then it was early afternoon, and Justin had avoided looking at himself in the mirror. Something about his reflection was unnerving him–he seemed…too old for some reason. Not just a little older, not like his age was creeping up on him, but like he could almost remember being Evan’s age–that dream kept coming back to him. Hadn’t he had something like that the day before?

He grew a bit distant after they shared a meal. Evan probed, but Justin said he wasn’t looking for anything serious, and the cub, a bit disappointed, left. Without him there, however, he grew a bit antsy, and wished he could have kept him there for another night or two. He jacked off, exploring his body, looking and admiring his tattoos–his smoke sleeves, the bear paws on his chest, “DADDY” across his back. He could always head to Pigtown again. He did have work tomorrow of course, but something…something told him he needed to go back again. That something wasn’t finished. He got dressed up in jeans and a tight shirt and headed over, greeting the bouncer by name, and the bartender already knew what Justin wanted to drink when he got to the bar.

My Boys (Part 3)

Both boys kept sucking for several minutes, until first the fat cook shot his load, and Sean gulped it down, still unable to believe what his body was doing. He just felt…trapped inside, unable to stop himself, even as the smoke grew thicker around them…and there was so much of it. The cook’s fat gut kept spasming against Sean’s face, and it seemed like he was emptying the entire contents of his balls right into Sean’s belly.

“Yeah, that’s right boy, you’re fuckin’ thirsty, ain’t ya?” Bruce said. The gripped the table, his fat frame shaking…and shrinking, growing smaller and slimmer as Sean sucked him drier and drier, until his now much thinner, almost wasted arms fell slack at his side. Bruce had to reach over and forcibly separate Sean from the cook’s cock, feeling the cum settle uneasily in his gut, which rumbled, and he let forth a loud belch, which got a laugh from his father across the table. The cook, however, just stood there–eyes glassy, body limp, mouth slack and drooling.

He had been quite obese–probably close to 400 pounds, and quite tall. His body was mostly hairless and smooth, and his hairline was receding back over his crown, the messy curls only accenting it, but now his body was slender and pale, his breath shallow Sean looked down, and his eyes went wide–underneath the cooks short, thick cock, where there should have been a couple of balls, there was…nothing. Had he really just drained all the cum from the guy’s body? Bruce pushed Nick off his cock and got up from the booth. “Sorry, my boy was thirstier than I thought! Let me go ahead and fill you back up, if you don’t mind helpin’ me out in return. Got a lot of work to do, and I’ll need someone to keep an eye on my boys while I do some work for the next few days, you see, but I’ll need someone a bit…closer, you know?” He took his own cock’s thick, overhanging foreskin and slipped it over the cook’s semi-hard cock, “and I certainly can’t just leave you all empty like, now can I, and you were so good lookin, as a big guy–luckily I got just the thing to perk you back up.”

He started pumping his cock with one hand, and both Sean and Nick watched the cooks balls start to reinflate, as their father’s shrunk, and as he did, the cook’s skin grew healthier, his eyes returning to life, and his slender frame began to pack on fat once again, though he wasn’t nearly the size as before–that said, but Sean saw that the growth continued, even after Bruce pulled away, his heavy sack swinging. Their father’s sack was simply massive–larger than either could imagine someone’s balls being, and they had only shrunk slightly by the time the cook’s balls were at least normal looking again. “There, you feel a bit better, bro?”

The cook shook his head side to side, looked at Bruce, and nodded. “Yeah…yeah bro, th-thanks…”

Before their eyes, Nick and Sean saw something strange happening to the cook’s body–small changes, a tweak of the nose, his eyes turning green, his hair lightening and growing a bit straighter, and together, they saw that this cook, who seconds ago Sean had simply emptied, had become someone much closer to them–their own fat uncle.

“What do I owe you, bro?”

“Ah shucks, you…you know family eats free ‘round here. ‘N I always appreciate a tip or two from my nephew,” He reached over and ruffled Sean’s hair, the young man replying with a loud belch.

“When do you get off tonight?”

“Five A.M., like usual.”

“Well you’re gonna come stay with us, right? We’ll just be right here at the motel.”

“S-Sure thing, bro…”

“Come on boys, let’s get a room. Give your uncle a kiss before we go, though,” Bruce said, Nick and Sean getting up from the booth, each of them giving their fat uncle a long, deep kiss, before leaving the diner together. They got a room at the motel, both Sean and Nick desperately trying to will themselves free from whatever strange form of control their father’s smoke had over them both, but Sean in particular found himself feeling strange. He never ate that much food, of course, but his gut refused to stop grumbling, and he kept belching loudly. When he managed to ask his father why he felt so odd, Bruce gave him an answer that didn’t make him feel much better at all:

“Well you can’t think that you’d drink that much cum and nothing would happen, right? Don’t worry, you’re just gonna be taking after your uncle, I think, but you’re always gonna be my boy.”

Still, he let Sean have one bed to himself–Bruce and Nick took the other. “Yeah boy, your brother might have gotten a bit of a head start, but don’t you worry none–I got all sorts of cum stored up in here–we’ll have you lookin’ better in a few days time too. But I want that ass boy–works better that way anyway–so get on up there, and try not to scream too loud either.”

Nick tried to say no, he tried to resist, but his father pulled down his jeans and underwear, and got him up on the bed on all fours, where he first groped his son’s ass, spread the cheeks, and started licking at his son’s ass, still sweaty from sitting in the hot car all day long. Nick’s stomach retched at the thought of it, at the sensation of his father’s wiry beard scraping against his ass, at the sensation of his tongue probing deep inside, trying to try his hole looser. He was crying, but his tears weren’t doing anything for him–he couldn’t move, all he could do was whimper, and watch his brother Sean groan and belch and writhe in the next bed, groping his gut, Nick watching it expand in his hands.

“Fuck you’re tight,” Bruce said, and stood back up, gonna need a little somethin’ else, I think…” He grabbed his pipe, which he had set aside and let go out, and started cleaning it and getting it ready for another round, “Go on boy, give yourself a little finger while your Pa gets his pipe together.”

Nick reached back and started probing his hole with a finger, unable to believe what he was doing. It hurt, and Bruce scolded him, telling him to get it wet first. Nick didn’t realize what he meant–his father had to tell him to lick his finger first, so it would slip in better. Nick gagged at the taste of his ass already on his finger, but did as he was told. When Bruce had the pipe ready, he leaned back over, took a deep breath of smoke, pressed his lips to his son’s hole, and pushed the smoke into him. Immediately, Nick sighed–nearly screamed, really, at the pleasure. His ring went slack, and when his father resumed his tonguing, he was pleased to find Nick offered no resistance at all. In fact, judging by his boys eager whimpers, he was rather enjoying the treatment all of the sudden. Yeah, his boy was good and ready, and he could already feel his big balls churning with excitement.

My Boys (Part 1)

It certainly wasn’t somewhere the three of them wanted to stop at for the night, but it was best they had seen for miles. Besides, this far from a city–not that they were really certain how far away from a city they were, at this point–a single story motel, an all-night diner and a small convenience store was obviously the best they would be getting this late at night. Bruce turned off the engine, exhausted after driving nearly the entire day–his two sons climbed out of the car, stiff and frustrated that their dad was so bullheaded when lost. They’d given up trying to get him to ask for directions, they’d just have to do it behind his back in the morning. Of course, for Bruce this was part of the fun of road trips. If you didn’t get at least a little lost, then how would you ever find something interesting?

Still, he was getting a bit too old for this, and his sons were a bit too old to keep humoring him for much longer. It had been fun, when they were little, to take these road trips–all three of them had sworn that they’d reach all forty-eight states together, but with college and internships and sports they’d been putting off this last leg for years–a trip through the upper midwest, from Iowa up through the Dakotas and Montana. It was clear to him, halfway, that he’d misjudged his now adult sons’ enthusiasm for the trip. They were just humoring him, really, and maybe he was just humoring himself too. Ever since Brianna had died a few years ago, he had to admit that he’d been in a funk. The road trip had seemed like…a way to get his old, younger self back. See something new, maybe. But in the end, he had to admit he was just fooling himself. They’d get back home in a week and a half, and she’d still be missing, the house too empty, his sons’ avoiding him.

“Do you want to get something to eat, Dad?” Nick asked. He was a year or two out of college, holding down a decent job. The younger son, Sean, was going to be a senior this year.

“You two go on and order me something, I’m gonna have a smoke.”

“Dad–”

“You won’t let me smoke in the car, so I’m gonna have a damn smoke.”

Sean was about to say something else, but Nick just dragged him along, knowing their dad well enough to let him be. The two of them had been trying to get him to stop smoking for years, especially after their mom died of cancer. Bruce knew he should quit, but he’d done it for so damn long–he was just happy his sons had never started–not that they’d taken after him much at all. He suspected that the reason he never saw them much was because neither of them had much love left for him, beyond that minimal amount that draws you back for the occasional holiday or two, with quiet dinners (quieter now, without Brie filling the vacuum with inane chatter he’d always hated, but which he now missed more every passing day) and this nagging expectation that things had always used to be better than this.

Nick and Sean stepped into the diner, he waited by the car for a moment, lighting one of his cigarettes. He only had a few left in the pack, so he might as well buy a few more. He walked towards the convenience store connected to the gas pumps, a few semis parked among them filling up, and a couple of rusted out, dirt crusted pickups, most likely owned by the farmers around here. As he walked, his nose caught a strange scent on the wind–it was smoke, but strangely sweet and floral. Curious, he began circling around to try and find the source of the smell, circling back behind the convenience store, where he found an older man smoking a large pipe.

The man had to be in his sixties or seventies, with a long white beard reaching town to his ample gut, his hair receding back into a overlong horseshoe of hair reaching the nape of his neck. He wasn’t particularly clean either–wearing just a grungy wife beater and a pair of jeans which had seen better days, and as he approached and got a better look at the short, fat man, he only grew more disgusted. Why was he even approaching him at all? The man had noticed him at this point, but paid Bruce’s approach little care, aside from a slight smile, revealing more than a few missing teeth.

“Howdy,” the man said when Bruce came close enough for a handshake, “Don’t see families like yours around here very often, that’s for sure.”

“I–I’m sorry,” Bruce said, “Who…are you?” His words felt silly and sluggish as the rolled out his mouth, and his cigarette tumbled from his slack lips. The old man stepped forward and put it out with a stomp of boot, coming closer to him.

“I just couldn’t help noticing what fine looking boys you have there,” the man said, “Handsome, strong. Always wanted boys like that of my own, you know. They don’t seem too fond of you. In fact, you don’t seem like a very good father figure at all, to me.”

Bruce wanted to storm off, get away, but the slackness had spread to the rest of his body, his mind increasingly numb. He was helpless as the old man unzipped each of their flies, reached in, and carefully freed both of their cocks. The old man was already hard, and with a few strokes Bruce was hard as well.

“It got me thinking–maybe you don’t deserve those boys. Maybe you can’t love those boys enough, the way they deserve to be loved. But I can, so why don’t I take things over from here?”

The old man pressed the heads of their cocks together, grabbed his long loose foreskin and stretched it out, so that it covered Bruce’s head, linking them together. Bruce had never felt anything like this before, and when the old man started stroking his cock, he felt…something start pumping from his balls, through his cock, directly into the old man’s sack. He tried to pull away, but the smoke had him tight within its clutch, and all he could do was watch as the old man’s face started to grow younger. No, more than younger, the more he pumped, the more he was certain that the old man was beginning to look like…him. That same broad nose, the man’s chin growing more angular. He was growing younger as well–his hair growing back in, though it remained the same semi-long, tangled mess as before–the same with the man’s beard, which turned to match Bruce’s own hair color, but remained just as long. All the while, Bruce was feeling weaker and weaker, smaller, like he was shrinking, his head…something was wrong with his head…

“Yeah, an old faggot like you, you don’t have sons. Hell, you don’t have anyone.”

Old…faggot? He tried to shake the words, but struck some odd, deep truth that he couldn’t avoid. Bruce shuddered, pumping the last of himself into the stranger’s heavy, full sack, and he stepped back, disconnecting them. When the man commanded him to strip, he did it without hesitation, putting on the man’s nasty clothes, which fit him better than the baggy things he’d been wearing. The man sucked on his pipe and examined the wallet he found in the back pocket of the jeans. “Bruce, eh? I can be a Bruce.”

“But…Bruce…my name.”

“Your name ain’t Bruce. Your name is Faggot. Now get out of here–go find some trucker dick to suck, and don’t come near me and my boys ever again, you hear me?”

Bruce watched the new old man, now nameless, totter off towards the trucks parked off by the gas pumps, and then walked towards the diner to join his new sons for dinner.