Tag: body swap

Master of Men (Part 2)

Craig opened a trapdoor in the floor of his garage, revealing a staircase which descended into the ground below. Paul followed him, no longer able to think of doing anything beyond following the stink of the older man’s sweat down into the depths. The stairs gave way to a ramp, the tunnel linked up with other tunnels, and soon they emerged into a broad, high ceiling cavern. In the center of the room was a dias poised a story and a half off the ground–it looked ancient, and far too well crafted to have been made by anything crude–rather, it seemed to have erupted from the ground as a fluid mass, before something froze it in place. Paul reacted instinctively, tugging back when he saw it, but Craig yanked the lead, and he followed him up a winding stair to the surface above.

The men of the neighborhood were already there, milling about, finding their places around the circle. Paul saw Jason there, limping, but he wouldn’t look at him. Unlike the other men, who all bore plain robes, he was naked aside from a solid ring of steel around his cock and balls. Paul wanted to cry for help, but his jaw was slack. He didn’t think he could even muster a single word. The surface of the dais was perfectly even, yet bore an intricate pattern of metal inlay, winding around the black rock, glinting in the torchlight. However, as soon as Craig stepped into the circle, the metal began to glow a dull red, the other men hurrying to the edge of the circle, where they knelt in a ring around them both.

He waited for them to settle, and for the cavern to return to silence, before booming out, “Welcome, my Men.”

“Glory to the Master of Men,” they replied, in unison.

“Today, my men, is a very special day! A day all of you know well, a day when we welcome a man into our midst, the day we elevate another to our height, a day when we add another to our service. Jason, come here, come, stand tall and be joyful! Today is your day, a day you have been working toward for such a long time.”

Jason stood, he limped into the circle, head bowed away from his brother, and stood on the other side of Craig.

“You have completed your duties, as an initiate, and you have provided a worthy sacrifice. Today, you will claim what you seek, the true manhood you desire. We shall witness your re-manning, and we shall welcome you into our midst.”

Craig waved his hand over the floor, and the metal shimmered, slithering up as though it were alive, before grasping Paul’s neck, ankles and wrists, tugging him down to his knees, and then all fours, holding him in place on the floor. He tried to fight against the enchantment addling his brain, but he couldn’t, just drool on the stone, as Craig turned to his brother.

“Your brother has failed to use his gifts. You shall make better use of them than he has. But the Beast in him will not give up easily–a true man must be firm of hand and strong of spirit. If you want to join us, you must take from him what he has abused.”

Craig stepped to the edge of the circle, leaving the two brother’s alone in the center of the platform. Jason stood still for a moment, and then walked around behind Paul, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I…I can’t…”

“Ja….son…” Paul managed to force from his slack mouth, but it dissolved into a moan, as his brother’s thick fingers slid into his sweaty hole, loosening him, and then he felt Jason’s cock push into him. It was hot, it was so hot, and he wanted to crawl away, but the metal held him tightly in place, as Jason fucked him. Craig began a chant; the men around them were soon following him, and floor began to glow a brighter red. Jason was panting, but he was close. The chant grew louder, and he groaned loudly, cumming into his brother’s hole, and Paul felt a searing force push it’s way into him from his brother, twisting him, destroying him. He fought it, he but it was so strong–it ripped his defenses to shreds. His body was gurgling, and his muscles began to fade as fat filled up the place they left behind, his barrel chest dissolving into a heavy gut and two pendulous moobs, and his knee. His right knee, it hurt–a desperate, searing pain. Is this what Jason had felt? Is this what he’d suffered with for so long?

The force ebbed, the tatters of himself settling within him, and Jason withdrew, standing up. Craig approached, “Welcome! Welcome, my newest Man!” he said. Paul couldn’t turn his head with the metal clamped around his neck, but Craig led him around his fat body, and he could see his brother–he was huge. At least seven feet tall, and packed solid with muscle, far more muscle than he could have simply stolen from Paul. He was sobbing. He was sobbing, and he fell to his knees before Craig, “Master…Master, thank you. It doesn’t hurt. The pain–”

“I know,” Craig said, caressing his bearded face, “I know, and you are a Man now. Your sacrifice was great–you should be proud.”

“I promise…I promise to serve you, to obey, anything, anything for you Master, anything, I swear, for what you’ve given me…” Jason tried to continue, but he dissolved into wrenching tears, and Paul could only watch. Craig stepped away, the men of the neighborhood came forward and helped Jason stand, bringing him back out of the circle. But what about him? What about his sacrifice? Paul was broken too–why should he be forced to carry Jason’s burdens as well as his own? How was that fair?

Craig walked back to him, and kneeled in front of Paul. His face was kind, and that only made Paul angrier. “You provided your brother with a great thing, you know. You should be proud.”

Anger. Anger greater than anything he’d ever felt in his life, greater than anything he’d felt in war welled in him, pushing Craig’s musk from him. He screamed and cursed at him, his body tensing, but the metal refused to give an inch. In that moment, he felt like all of the layers of himself were being stripped away, and he was simply an animal. Craig didn’t flinch, he waited until he stopped, heaving for breath, before standing up and turning to the men behind him. “All men are broken. All men are flawed, are deficient. They are prone to vice and sin. This man, is more than broken however. He was welcomed the Beast into his heart. It is not his fault–he has been trained to shurg off empathy and fellowship, to replace them with hatred and rage. This, my Men, is no man at all, but a beast in the guise of a man. But I am the Master, and I can free him of his self-imposed illusion. Bear witness to my miracles.”

“We are the men who witness,” the men reply.

You check back over your shoulder, and sure enough, he’s still following you. You can hear him panting, and the occasional whine. You’d seen him earlier in the leather bar, dressed in nothing beyond a skank jock, blowing some rough looking guy off in a corner, but once you’d left to walk the several blocks home to your apartment, he’d slipped out after you, and had been following you since. A couple of times you’d turned around and yelled at him, or thrown a bottle, and while he backed off for a bit, he still persisted.

A gay guy playing pup is following me home–you couldn’t make this shit up. Maybe it was just his thing or something? The guy hadn’t even put on any clothes–he was just wearing that same jock, ass naked. Luckily the streets were deserted, and the few people around didn’t give either of you a second glance. Odd how some things can start to seem normal. He just isn’t your type though, and while the persistence is flattering, you get into your building, make sure he stays locked out, and head up to your apartment, happy to be alone–at least until you hear scratching at your door, and a familiar whine behind it.

You check the peephole, and there he is. How in the hell did he get in the building and find your apartment? Still, you’re worried that someone might see him outside your door–and the last thing you want is the building supervisors on your case, and so you open the door a crack. He refuses to leave. In fact, he just seems thrilled to see you, and licks your face when you lean in too close, trying to shoo him away. He’s making such a racket that you eventually just let him in, rather than risk being seen with him in the hallway.

He bounds around the room, barking and panting, jumping up on you and nearly knocking you to the floor, rubbing his face against your crotch. You try to tell him no, but your cock is saying different, and he knows it. Relenting once more, you let your cock out of your jeans and he starts sucking on it–finally calming down once you feed him a load of cum. However, he refuses to drop the act, and when you try to force him to leave, he barks and whines outside your door loud enough to wake the entire floor, and you let him back in again. Worried he might take the pup thing too far and piss right on the carpet, you make him use the toilet, which he does begrudgingly, and then, exhausted, you head to bed. After much effort expended in keeping him out, you eventually let him up and under the covers with you, where he spends the whole night hogging the bed.

When morning comes, you hope that you can finally put an end to this ridiculous charade, but several things happen which complicate matters. First, you realize that if you force him out during the day you will be sure to be noticed by your neighbors, and second, you see that something new has appeared on the pup in the course of the night–a leather dog collar with a tag hanging from the D-ring with your name and phone number on it. As soon as you read it, it’s like a strange veil lifts from your mind, and you realize that of course this is your pup–Spike. How could you have forgotten that? And while forcing him to leave would be impossible, you also realize that you have no real desire to make him leave. After all…where would he go?

He eats the human food you give him, though he refuses to use his hands. He presents his ass to you regularly, whining and begging until you relent and fuck him. By the end of the day, you’re fucking him rather willingly, and at night, you make him beg for your cock, like a proper pup should. This shift is just obvious enough to be noticeable, and yet too slow to be worrying, but that evening, he refuses to settle down, and instead is pawing and barking at the door, like he wants to leave, but you no longer want to see him go. Still, he grows louder and more insistent, and unable to stand it, you open the door and let him out–but he doesn’t bolt. He stays in the hallway, bounding and barking…and you realize that now he wants you to follow him.

And with that, you realize that you don’t know where you are. This isn’t…this isn’t your home, or your stuff. What are you even doing here? You throw on some of the clothes around–they aren’t yours but they’ll have to do, leave the apartment and head for the elevator with your pup, and out of the building, onto the city street. It’s the middle of the night and the streets are dead, the pup takes off at a run heading south, and you shout at him, racing to keep up. His path zigs and zags a bit, but you neither lose him nor have much of a sense of where you’re both going. The apartments turn slummier, and messier, and things begin to look a bit more familiar to you. Your pup eventually stops in front of an old tenement and waits for you to catch up. Your pup noses a lose brick–you move it and find a pair of keys, one that opens the door, and the other that opens the door to a rundown studio apartment–home.

You feel safe here–comfortable. It smells like your brand of cigarettes, and you recognize the filthy clothes strewn around the room as yours, and smell your musk. Spike is happy to be home too, and you reward him with a fuck for being smart enough to lead you here. Still, looking at the clock, it’s almost time to get to work at the construction site…right? Something about all of this still feels off, but you pull on a nasty jock, a pair of camo pants, and a white wifebeater stained brown with sweat, and take a whiff of your pits, feeling your cock harden at the stench. Looking around for your wallet, you find an empty, ornate glass bottle on the table, along with a note:

Follow your master home, and you will be his forever.

Have him follow you home, and he will take your place.

You have no idea what to make of it, but luckily pup knows where your wallet is, and brings it to you, happy to finally have the master he’d always wanted.

***

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Commission – Anything?

“Not fuckin’ generous–what the fuck? Jus’ cause I don’t feel like buying her shit, ‘n eating out her nasty pussy–bitch…” Alan kicked at a bottle, and sent it skittering down the alley and himself  teetering into the wall, not quite able to keep his balance after…how many drinks? Who really cared–not enough by any means. Suzy had broken up with him earlier, after another screaming fight, not that he cared. He was sick of that bitch, and done with all her nagging. She was into some crazy stuff anyway, with all that occult crap in her apartment, and always talking about witches this and spells that. Why can’t he just find some normal girl, just once? Why’d they all have to be so damn crazy?

A gust of wind blew down the alley, and he swore he heard a voice on the wind. He perked up his ear, trying to make out what it was saying, and found himself stumbling down into the alley for some reason he couldn’t quite figure out. There was something…something down here that he needed…no, there was someone. He owed someone something, yeah, or…something like that. He came around a dumpster, and found a middle aged derelict sitting with his back against the wall, bundled up in a blanket, but even then, it was clear from the way he was moaning that he was masturbating. Disgusted, Alan went to turn back down to the street, but instead, his mouth opened and words came pouring out unbidden. “H–Hey, you wanna suck my dick? If…If you suck my dick, I’ll give you anything you want.”

The older man looked up at him, but didn’t stop jacking off. “Heh,” he said, “You can’t give me what I really want.”

His gaze made Alan uncomfortable, but his feet wouldn’t let him walk away. If anything, he found himself standing up a bit straighter, flexing his arms and his chest slightly, highlighting his youthful, toned body. Almost like he was showing off to the man bundled in front of him. “I got money.”

“Don’t need money,” the man said, and licked his lips, “Money just makes problems. Nah, I’m happy on the streets–I can get booze, scrounge up enough food–I’m always fuckin’ horny though. Man, I bet if I had a body like yours, everyone would wanna have sex with me. How about that? You wanna give me that hot body of yours?” He laughed.

Alan didn’t answer–instead, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his cock. What the hell was he even doing? Sure, he was horny, but he wasn’t actually going to let this creepy old dude suck him off, was he? The man licked his lips again, and got up onto his knees, the blanket falling away, and Alan got a better look at the man’s body. He was amazingly fat–how in the hell could he be homeless and so obese? Filthy too–his hair and beard were long and completely unkempt, and he stank. He did, however, know a thing or two about sucking cock–and he took Alan’s dick all the way to the hilt immediately, making him groan with pleasure…and in the cold night, he felt his body fill up with a strange warmth. It felt really good, and he wrapped his hands around the back of the derelict’s head and started fucking his throat. Something strange was going on though–he was usually pretty quick to cum, but after a couple of minutes, even though he was hard as a rock, he was nowhere near an orgasm. He had to keep shifting his grip too, like something was making it harder to fuck the guy’s mouth. Both of them were in the zone however–it wasn’t until Alan looked down and saw the big gut bulging out where his abs had been that he let out a yell, and stumbled back into the opposite wall.

“What the hell man? Why’d you stop?” the derelict asked, and Alan just stared at the man’s slim figure. What the fuck was happening to him? How in the world had he gotten fat…while the derelict looked almost…muscular. “Man, you’re cock tastes so fucking good, I can’t wait to see what that cum of yours tastes like,” he started crawling across the alley to where Alan was, but he retreated back towards the mouth of the alley, stumbling awkwardly between drunkenness and his new size.

“Fuck, fuck no–what the fuck did you do to me?”

“I’m just suckin’ your dick like you asked!” the man said, “Now come back here and let me finish.”

Alan really wanted him to finish. His cock was rock hard and he’d never felt this horny in his whole life. But this was insane, he shouldn’t be this big, he had to get help. His house wasn’t too far from here, he should get there, and figure out what to do then. He yanked up his pants, but couldn’t even get them buttoned, so he held them up with his hands and lumbered out of the alley, and off towards his house. Luckily it was the middle of the night, and no one was around to see him try and jog home, his new fat body sweating profusely, while the derelict chased him, begging him to let him finish, seemingly unaware that he’d lost close to one hundred pounds–though keeping up with the much fatter Alan was surprisingly easy for him.

They reached the house, and Alan got inside and shut the door, locking it, the derelict knocking, and then pounding, desperate to finish the blow job. Alan tried to think about what to do, but his cock was insistent. He needed to cum. He tried jacking off, but couldn’t get anywhere–it only made him hornier. He was fantasizing about the derelict’s mouth, thinking about how nice it was, and he was at the door, knowing he shouldn’t, but he let the man in anyway. The derelict was on his knees before Alan could shut the door, ripping down Alan’s pants, the hard cock back in his mouth, and the warmth returned, Alan feeling even more fat piling on his body, the derelict’s frame swelling with his young muscle. Alan couldn’t look away, he found himself obsessing over the changes he could see. The older man’s hair and beard started pulling back into his head, and Alan felt his scalp itch as his own hair and beard grew out to match, turning slightly grey as it did, matting and tangling with filth. He could feel the years start weighing down his body, his skin wrinkling, fat sagging, his cock shrinking up as the man’s grew longer. He was so close to cumming now, but he was exhausted. The derelict was doing most of the work now, while Alan slumped against the door, groaning in a deeper, raspy voice, his balls tensing up, and he was finally cumming, feeling his youth spew from the head of the cock, swallowed down by the derelict in his body. He slumped down, looking at his old face, not at all sure what to say. He was tired–so tired. He tried to get up, but ended up collapsing onto the floor by the couch, snoring heavily, while his old body examined itself in the mirror, jacked off, ate his own cum, and then slipped out of the house and into the early morning, grinning wide.

***

Alan woke up blearily hours later on the floor of his house. With a groan, he rolled over onto his back, feeling his huge, fat body pressing down on him, and felt like vomiting. What in the world had happened to him? This shouldn’t be possible. He rolled up onto his knees and stood up, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was old. He was fat. He was disgusting. And yet, as he stared at himself, his cock was getting hard. He…he actually thought he looked kind of hot. No, no that was crazy, he was being crazy. He shouted out a couple of times, but he was alone in the house. Where had that fucker gone with his body? He couldn’t leave the house looking like this though, what if the neighbors saw him? It didn’t help that none of his clothes had a chance of fitting him–he ripped apart the one’s he’d worn the night before, and the rags the derelict had arrived in were missing. He just had to hope the guy might come back. Sure enough, an hour later, the door opened, and Alan saw his body tromp in–followed by four derelicts as fat and filthy as Alan was now.

“Oh good, you’re up,” the derelict in Alan’s body said, “Hold on guys, we’ll get the orgy started in a bit–I gotta have a chat with Phil here.”

“What the fuck–who the fuck are they?” Alan said, but instead of answering, his body grabbed his arm and dragged him into the kitchen. “What the hell–what the fuck are you doing? We need to fix this! I need my body back.”

“Nuh-uh,” Phil said, “You gave it to me for that blow job, remember? It’s mine now–and trust me, I’m gonna get a whole lot of use out of it–you know how much I made today? 500 dollars! Everybody wants a piece of this ass of yours.”

Alan couldn’t even process what the man had said, “You…you fucking whored out my body?”

“It’s my body now–but you know, I’ve been thinking about what to do with you. See, I can’t just have you here, screwing things up for me, wanting your body back, blah, blah, blah. So, you know how you said you’d do anything if I suck your dick? Well, you want another blow job?”

Alan felt that same strange sensation fall over him that he felt the night before, and he muttered, “S–Sure, I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“Good…well here’s what I want. If I suck you off again, you’re going to be happy as a nasty, filthy derelict, and you’re gonna follow me around wherever I go, and do whatever I say, and please whoever I tell you to. In fact, you’re gonna be so dumb that following me around is the only thing you’ll be able to think about–got it? Now let me at that cock of yours–I’m thirsty as fuck.”

Alan was all to happy to let Phil drop his ill fitting and start sucking on his short cock–and felt his head start draining almost immediately. The concerns he’d been stressing over the last few days all seemed to drain away in a matter of moments. What was so wrong with this body anyway? In fact, he thought he was pretty sexy. And being a sex hungry derelict was going to be great–he wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. All he’d have to do is everything Phil–no, not Phil, he was Phil now–everything Alan said. Yeah, Alan was so fucking hot, he was lucky a hot guy like that would let a nasty old pervert like Phil hang around him at all. With a loud groan, Phil shot a wad of cum into Alan’s mouth, and grinned dumbly. Alan brought him back out and introduced him to the four men he’d brought with him, but all Phil really wanted was for all four of them to fill every hole–and over the course of the night, they did exactly that. Alan used the money he’d made whoring to order a bunch of food, and in between fucks, he’d stuff himself, and encourage Phil to eat too.

In a few months, the entire house was in shambles, but Phil, Alan, and the rotating gang of derelicts who stayed with them didn’t care–at least until the neighborhood banded together to get them all evicted. None of them could understand what had come over that nice man, to turn him into such a filthy, lazy, slob. The months hadn’t been kind to the young man’s body–he’d packed on quite a few pounds, though nowhere near as fat as Phil was, and had let his hair and beard grow out. He tried to argue with the bank, but they were late on their mortgage payments, and so all of them got the boot.

Without a home, they were all back out on the street, but Phil didn’t mind, of course–he was happy as long as he was with Alan. He’d do anything for Alan, anything at all. Having already ruined his body, Alan found it harder and harder to find men willing to pay to have sex with him, but he luckily Phil was still willing to do anything for him. He managed to find a few gay clubs in town who would hire Phil to me a human urinal in their back rooms a few nights a week, and between that and what Alan could make with his ass, they managed to keep themselves supplied with a steady supply of food and booze. After a year, Alan’s body was almost as massive as Phil’s, and the two of them were a regular sight in the alleys, just a couple of nasty derelicts, though it was often rumored that one of them would do literally anything for a blow job.

~~~

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“Please wait while neural interface is established…”

The screen of his computer froze while the small box plugged into the USB port flashed. Lucas sat at his desk, cock hanging out of the fly of his slacks, massaging himself half hard, eager for the session to begin.

“Participant: Nathan Oberlik, has been uploaded, transferred.”

Nathan was one of Lucas’ coworkers–or rather, one of his subordinates. When Lucas had discovered that Nathan was gay, he’d invited him to have a shared session with him through The Network, and Nathan had been his playmate ever since. It helped that Nathan was naturally submissive–he was perfectly happy to allow Lucas to select the bodies they would inhabit for a few hours of sex. There was a buzzing in his ears growing louder, and suddenly his vision faded to static. A moment later, he was sitting on some ratty couch in what looked like a single wide, wearing a ballcap, wifebeater, and some shorts that he shucked off immediately.

Lucas was staring, inhabiting the body of some bearded roughneck, licking his lips. The additional request seemed to have been honored–The Network could, in the process of a download, alter the thoughts and fantasies of the people it was processing. Nathan had requested that Lucas be implanted with an insatiable desire for cum, and the perverse desire lick clean filthy, sweaty bodies–like the one Lucas was now residing within.

“Don’t just stand there, pig,” Lucas said, rubbing his new body’s cock to full mast, “Get sucking.”

“F–Fuck…” Nathan said, and got down, “I…I must have been hornier than I thought, cause…” but he never finished his thought, focusing on swallowing Lucas’ cock to the hilt. While he sucked, Lucas took a survey of his borrowed body, running his hands through his furry chest, feeling the young muscles flex. It was a pity that it was only temporary. He shoved Lucas off his cock and back onto his ass.

“What gives man? I’m fuckin’ thirsty!”

“Beg for it.”

“What?”

“Go on pig, beg for my cock.”

Lucas’ face turned a bit red. “Please…please can I have your cock?”

“Network, pause Lucas.”

Lucas froze suddenly, his pupils flickering with static.

“Please give Lucas’ voice a southern inflection. Also, make him turned on by verbal humiliation.”

Sparks shot out of Lucas’ body for a moment, and then he unfroze. “Please, can Ah suck yer cock, man? Fuckin’ hungry fer some cum…”

“Tell me your a horny pig for my cum.”

“I’m…I’m a horny pig fer yer cum man…fuckin’…please…”

Lucas stood up and began skullfucking Nathan, calling him a cocksucking faggot pig, listening to his coworker grunt and jack off his own cock while Lucas humiliated him. They both shot their loads, and they spent the rest of the session in a pleasant afterglow, Nathan happily cleaning off Lucas’ sweaty body with his tongue, and he made sure he spent extra time on his body’s asscrack.

Their two hour session was coming to a close, however, and they began to prepare for departure, watching the clock, a bit eager to get back into their own bodies. However, two hours passed and nothing happened. Then, two hours and five minutes. “Network,” Lucas asked, “End session.” No reply. “End session!” he shouted, and then added, “This wasn’t part of the fucking deal, and you know it!”

“Deal?” Nathan asked, “What fuckin’ deal, man?”

Lucas was silent, but Nathan just stared at him.

“What the fuck did ya do?”

“I…I didn’t have the money to pay them, alright? They were going to come after me, and I threatened to out them to the Justice Department.”

Nathan just gawked, “Wha the fuckin’ hell man! ‘N ya thought we could jus’ continue on as fuckin’ normal?”

They offered a free session on the house!”

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot, I oughta–”

Before Nathan could finish speaking, he froze in place, his pupils full of static. His mouth opened, and a voice which was not his own came from his mouth. “I know this wasn’t part of the deal, Mr. Henderson, but Chuck and Trent are so happy in your bodies, and they were more than happy to agree to a payment plan to cover your debt. I’m afraid this session will not be ending anytime soon, for either of you.”

“No, you can’t fucking do this! I’m the vice president of a huge company! They’ll know it’s not me.”

“Yes, which is why I will be needing to download your memories, like I have for Nathan here. It’s a pity you had to drag him into this. Still, I think he’s going to enjoy his new life with you, once I finish these personality alterations. Oh! And we have a new process which is currently in testing, but you two will make such good subjects. Did you know that we have discovered how to alter the bodies of our clients now too? The central nervous system is so full of wonders. It takes several hours for the changes to fully manifest however. Now, I’m almost done.”

“Please, I’ll do anything, please don’t do this to me, don’t take my mind.”

“Oh, Lucas,” the voice said, “While I am deleting Nathan’s mind, I have a feeling yours…well, you’ll just have to wait and see. But how about this? Let’s play a game. When I’m finished with Nathan here, he’s going to be very, very horny, and I have a feeling he’s going to want to fuck your ass very badly. If you can keep your hole virginal for, say, ten minutes, I’ll give you your freedom.”

“Just fucking let me go.”

“Oh, but then who will Nathan–I mean, Chuck here, his name is Chuck now–fuck? Alright? Ready, set–go!”

Lucas watched Nathan stumble on his feet, before he caught himself, blinking, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Fuck–fuckin’ horny, man…” he looked up and saw Lucas standing there, and smirked, “Oh…hey Pigg, when did ya get here? Eh, who fuckin’ cares–turn the fuck around, I wanna plow that greasy hole a yers.”

“Nathan,” Lucas said, backing up a few paces, “Nathan, you have to listen to me, it’s the Network, they fucked with your head. You just have to trust me, I can get us out of here.”

“Nathan? Who the fuck’s Nathan? My name’s Chuck, but you can just call me sir, Pigg.”

Chuck advanced on him, and Lucas looked around, spying a baseball bat leaning against the wall. He grabbed it and swung it right into the side of Chuck’s head–he crumpled to the ground, eyes blank, blood leaking from an ear.

Lucas panted and dropped the bat to the ground–at least his hole was safe. It was too bad about Nathan. Still, he could figure something out.

“Oh Lucas,” a voice said. He looked down, and saw that The Network had taken over the body once more, “You’re so violent! So vicious. Murdering your friend here. Well, don’t worry, I can fix that. Still, I don’t think Chuck is going to be too happy about that, right Chuck? Heh, Chuck can’t say anything right now, but he agrees. Now, how about we try that again? You still have…nine minutes and fifteen seconds.”

Chuck groaned and started picking himself up off the floor. Lucas went to grab the bat, but Chuck beat him to it, wrestling it from his grip. “Bat…” Chuck muttered, his mind still knitting itself back together, “Bat…P-Pigg, yer gonna get a fuckin’ beating, I fuckin’ swear.”

Lucas turned and ran the length of the single wide, but realized the door out was the other direction–past Chuck. With nowhere else to go, he locked himself in the bathroom, and in moments, Chuck was hammering on the cheap wooden door with the bat. “Open up Trent! I’m comin’ in there to get your hole!”

The door cracked apart, splinters flying into Lucas’ face. Chuck ripped open the door, grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out, Lucas fighting for breath. He tried to fight Chuck off, but his friend landed one solid punch to his eye, sending him reeling back and crashing to the floor, and then he was on top of him, Chuck’s hard cock pressed against the small of his back, one hand with a vice grip on the back of his neck, pinning him to the floor until he could find his hole and start working his dry cock into it. Lucas let out a weak scream, unable to catch his breath. Tried to claw himself away, but Chuck was inside him, he’d lost, and he felt his body freeze in place, his vision static, but a voice, he could hear a voice in his head.

“Oh Lucas, that really was a good try. Well, I shouldn’t call you Lucas anymore–you’re new name is Pigg–with two G’s–it really was smart of your parents to give you a name like that, eh? It’s almost like they knew from the time you were little, that the only thing you’d want is to serve a nasty roughneck like Chuck here as his filthy pig slave. So here’s what I’m doing. I’m going to hardwire you with all sorts of new, wonderful instincts. The instinct to serve men, the instinct to sniff out and eat cum, the instinct to drink and bathe in piss. And as for that whole bat incident earlier, well, let’s just say you’re going to have a very different relationship with pain from now on, Pigg.

“Oh, and this body of yours? Well, I don’t think it’s very pig like, do you? I’ve already slowed down your metabolism–so in a few hours, well, I think you’ll find yourself quite a bit more curvy. As for Lucas–well, how about this? I’ve already copied your memories off for Trent back in your old body, but I’ll go ahead and leave these with you, to think about. And I mean that you should think about them. I went ahead and rewired your brain here, so that your long term memory is more like a sieve than a bowl. Why, if you don’t pay attention, you might just go ahead and forget everything! You might end up an empty headed pig slave, operating on instinct alone, no thought, no memory, just an empty shell. I know that must scare you. Goodbye Pigg–it’s a pleasure to know we’ll never meet again.”

The voice and the static was gone–he was alone, Master Chuck ramming his huge cock into his piggy hole, and Pigg pushed back, hungrily, unable to stop. The motion was simply bypassing his head–he had no control over himself. Instead of thinking about the pleasure coursing through him every time his master smacked his ass, he tried to hold onto his memories, these memories that weren’t his, but he had to keep them. His name Lucas, his job, his old life, but things were slipping away faster than he could hold onto them. It didn’t help when Chuck, after blowing his load, took the bat Pigg had assaulted him with and worked the head deep into Pigg’s asshole. It hurt so good that Pigg forgot to keep thinking for a moment, all he could do was grunt and snort and squeal and feel his shrinking cock shoot load after load of cum onto the bathroom floor.

Later, after slurping his own cum mindlessly off the floor, the bat lodged deep in his ass still, as he licked and cleaned his master’s feet, feeling his gut growing as he knelt there, rubbing it with his hands, toying with his sensitive nipples, he tried to sort through what remained of himself. The hazy face of some old man. A flickering, frozen computer screen connected to something called The Network, but that probably wasn’t important. A name, “Lucas”. That’s not his name though, his name was Pigg. He decided to just let them all fall through. Thinking was too hard. Better to just serve, and fuck, and eat like a good piggy slave for master Chuck.

I suppose I should feel sorry for him, he is my son after all, but he’s the one who couldn’t bother to be an honest man when he grew up–no, he went the way of all those thugs at his school, dropping out, smoking cigars, getting tattoos, theft, drugs–such a disappointment. But I gave him a chance–I let him stay the night, but was sure to point out the new gold statue I’d picked up on my last business trip to China.

Sure enough, the next morning, he was gone, and so was the statue. Of course, the statue wasn’t just any statue–I’d saved a wealthy client of mine from a business scam, and as thanks, he’d given me one of his family’s treasures–a way to swap ages with someone. I mean, my Chinese is a bit poor, I’ll admit, and I had him repeat it several times to make sure, but that’s what he said. Well, I’m getting on in years, and I can make better use of his years than he will.

***

Fuck–what the fuck happened? I was this fuckin’ rich ass businessman and now I’m some fat fucking truck driver? That’s not the way that fucking statue was supposed to work! It was supposed to switch our ages, not our fucking lives. Fuck, I need a cigar–oh fuck, that’s better, mellowin’ me out. I gotta find my son, I gotta set this right. I’m gonna get that fucking statue back if I have to steal it myself.

(This hot story was submitted by Donald T. Oolong.)

After college, Aaron decided to see the country. While in Tennessee, he heard the legend of the Old Man of the Smokies. Victim to a curse, the Old Man was trapped in a certain hollow, seeking freedom through passing the curse to someone else. There was a goofy T-shirt for sale in one of the shops reading I ESCAPED OLD MAN SMOKEY with a Tom-and-Jerry-style drawing of a fat bearded redneck chasing after younger man looking over his shoulder in cartoonish terror. Aaron bought one as a memento, and decided to go on an excursion. Folklore interested him, and he wanted to check this out for himself.

Early that evening, Aaron set up camp by a stream. No weird Old Man anywhere (of course), but it was still beautiful.  He hung his clothes out to dry and read in the tent, playing with his cock absently. God, why was he suddenly so horny?  He was fully hard when he noticed the Old Man outside, naked with his own hard cock jutting from beneath the expanse of a considerable belly.

“Hooo-wee! Well ain’t you a handsome devil?” The old man grinned mischievously at Aaron.

He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t terrified when the Old Man entered. Aaron kissed him, nervously at first, until he realized (am I gay?) the Old Man was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. They rolled about the tent floor, groping at one another, kissing, grinding their cocks until Aaron lifted his legs into the air and felt the Old Man’s cockhead pressing against his ass. It hurt the first time, less so the second. The third was bliss. He fell asleep in the Old Man’s soft yet sturdy arms, whiskers bristling against his neck, the air thick with the scent of semen and the sound of rushing water.

 “Mornin’ gramps. Have fun last night?”

Aaron awoke to the oddly familiar grin of fuzzy-faced young man with long red hair leaning over him. The ache in his ass brought back memories of before, but this man was considerably skinnier. And younger.  Aaron sat up, noticing an unfamiliar shifting as the fat that blossomed on his muscular frame overnight jiggled. “No!” His voice sounded different too.  He grabbed desperately for the hippyish young man.

The hippie playfully slapped his hand away “No tag backs! I’m granted safe passage. It’s cool, the rules will come naturally to you. You could find a guy tonight, tomorrow or…hey, is Nixon still president?” Aaron shook his head, and a look of sadness crossed the hippie’s features. “How long has it been?”

Aaron sat naked by the stream, watching the hippie wade toward the other bank, clad in the now-vintage clothing that had appeared outside the tent. Aaron’s clothes were gone, replaced by a pair of large denim overalls. He somehow knew that he couldn’t cross that far bank. Not yet, at least. Bathing in the stream, he chuckled bitterly “First I gotta escape Old Man Smokey.” He’d earn that shirt back.

Daddy Juice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mirror, Mirror

Commissioned by Anonymous

As soon as he heard the car pull out of the garage, the door lowering behind Howard as he drove off, Drew hurried upstairs. He’d been planning this for about a week now, but hadn’t had the perfect opportunity, but now Howard was out all afternoon, giving Drew plenty of time to work. He’d just graduated from college and was living at home with his parents, his job prospects grim. Drew had been hard pressed to find a job even for just the summer, when Howard, a neighbor, had offered him some cash if he helped him out around the house. Drew hadn’t been very happy about it–Howard had always kind of creeped him out, this old, fat, pipe smoking man who seemed to never take his eyes off him, but he paid him fourteen bucks an hour under the table, and so Drew had taken the job–and then he’d learned about the safe.

Howard, it seemed, was a bit paranoid when it came to his money. He didn’t trust it to a bank–instead, he had a massive safe in his study, which Drew saw every Friday when the older man pulled out a massive wad of twenties and gave him his wages. Inside, he saw piles and piles of bills–more money than Howard would probably ever be able to spend, and if Drew could slip away with just a bit of it, he’d be out of debt and living comfortably states away before Howard even knew it was missing. But there was a problem–the safe could only be opened with Howard’s voice and thumbprint, and Drew had no idea how to get around that little problem.

He might have never noticed it, if Howard hadn’t spilled the coffee on his shirt that day–the older man had been so embarrassed, he’d urged Drew to give him his shirt so he could wash it quickly before the stain set in the fabric, and gave him a different one to wear for the time being, before asking Drew to carry some junk up to the attic for him. He’d noticed the elaborately framed mirror leaning against the wall, but as soon as he walked past, something strange happened–the new shirt, which had been rather loose on him, suddenly felt tighter, and in the mirror, Drew gasped. He’d gotten fat, somehow. He’d grown a gut and two small moobs, big enough to fill out the shirt he was wearing, and worse, when he pulled the shirt off, his body didn’t change back.

Sure, he’d panicked at first, but he reasoned that it must have something to do with who had previously owned the shirt, since he’d grown to fit it so perfectly, and he’d snuck downstairs, gotten his own shirt from the washer, and back in front of the mirror in the attic, his own shirt thankfully restored his old body, good as new. Still, that little surreal experience had set the wheels in his head turning, and now he knew just what to do to get his hands on Howard’s piles of cash.

He threw Howard’s suit up into the attic and followed up after it, picking up the various pieces. He probably didn’t need to wear all of it, but he wasn’t sure if a few pieces would change him enough to get into the safe. It would be better to just wear it all, it order to get as complete a transformation as possible, even if the thought of becoming Howard was disgusting. Still, there was no other feasible solution, so he pulled on the massive pants and button down shirt, put on the jacket, swimming in the piles of fabric, slipped into some shoes and lastly pulled on the gloves and glasses he’d taken from among Howard’s spares, before stepping in front of the mirror.

He looked ridiculous–the clothes were hanging off his much smaller frame, and if it wasn’t for the suspenders attached to the pants, he didn’t think he would have been able to even hold them up effectively. Hell, he couldn’t even get a good look at himself through the glasses he was wearing–Howard must not be able to see anything without them, but suddenly, he felt his head ache for a moment, and he could see perfectly clearly through the lenses–though as soon as it happened, he wished that he couldn’t. Like it or not, his plan was definitely working. He could feel his body beginning to shift and grow outward, his lithe, muscular body growing older, pounds and pounds of fat packing their way under his skin. In a matter of seconds, he could stop holding onto the clothes to keep them in place, because his body was fitting them better and better. His young face started taking on the craggy wrinkles which covered Howard’s face, his eyes turned hazel, hair sucking its way back into his head leaving him with his boss’s nearly white horseshoe, and then he felt the changes halt, and he was staring right into Howard’s face.

“Well, that certainly worked perfectly,” Drew said, then covered his mouth with one gloved hand, “Oh my goodness, I sound just like him.”

He did sound just like him–but not just his voice–’Oh my goodness?’ Who even said that anymore? Well, he’d heard Howard say it a couple of times when Drew probably would have cussed, but he just passed it off on Howard being an old fogey. He ran his hands along Howard’s full, bloated stomach, eyes locked on his own in the mirror, and found himself missing his youth all the more–his flat stomach, his pert ass–oh yes, damn if he hadn’t had the nicest ass on the block, he could just imagine what it might be like to fuck, provided he could get hard enough to pop the young boy’s cherry, though he’d be more than willing to simply have the chance to suck the boy’s big cock dry.

Drew shook his head, realizing that he’d just been lost in thought, lusting over himself, and he realized that apparently the mirror was changing more than just his physical appearance, but also his mind–and he stepped away before he could lose more of himself. Thinking, he was happy to find that none of his memories had disappeared–just that he was acting more…Howard like, which was disgusting. His old hands were shaking now, and he felt a strange knot of anxiety in his chest that simply wouldn’t go away. He patted the pockets of his suit, trying to figure out what was missing, when he realized he didn’t have a pipe! God, did he need a smoke. As disgusting as that was, the habit was just too strong to resist, not to mention his new body’s overwhelming tobacco addiction. He’d just pop down to the humidor where Howard kept his tobacco, and take a bowl to smoke, before emptying the safe, changing back, and getting out of here. Careful to avoid looking in the mirror, he stashed his clothing and carefully climbed back down the ladder into the house proper.

He had another fight with himself over smoking the pipe, which he eventually lost. It was the one thing he’d always found the most disgusting about Howard, the stink of tobacco which clung to the entire house, and he rarely seen the old man without a smokestack clamped between his teeth. Still, this body craved it, and before long, he was letting Howard’s hands guide him, as he tamped and lit a moderately sized pipe and took a deep breath into his lungs, and he hated how good it felt to smoke. Still, with a pipe in his mouth, he could finally focus on what actually mattered here–the money. He crept through the house, which was silly, since he knew Howard had left, but in the study, the nerves in his belly nearly made him sick, but it was flawless, the safe happily accepting his elderly thumb and gravelly voice as Howard’s own. However, it was after that when everything went wrong.

He swung open the safe and saw it was empty–the stacks of cash were gone–all of them. Had Howard found out about his plan? How could he have–there was no way…and then he realized he’d been played. How had he discovered the mirror? Howard. Who had given him the perfect opportunity to use it? Howard. “Oh fudge!” he shouted, and hurried as fast as Howard’s body could waddle, making his way back up to the attic but it was too late. His old body–his hot, slender body–was right there, dressed in his clothes, gazing into the mirror, grinning away.

“No! Give me back my clothes!” Drew wheezed, and gave a hacking cough. He’d lost the pipe somewhere along the way, but the old body he was stuck in just couldn’t keep up.

“Oh? So you checked the safe already? I assume you didn’t find what you were looking for? Well, don’t worry, ‘Howard’, I already stashed it away, and it’ll certainly go towards paying off that college debt of yours, and quite the nice life afterwards, I’m sure.”

“I’m not Howard! Give me back my clothes, you–” Drew said, and lurched towards his old body, who shoved him back onto the floor, and then he picked up a hammer and lifted it up, ready to smash the mirror to bits. “No!” Drew shouted, “No, please–don’t, I can’t stay like this, I can’t, please!”

Howard smirked, “Well, then how about this? I won’t smash your precious mirror, if you wrap those fat, faggot lips around my cock and suck me off, eh Howard? I know how often you used to fantasize about me, my hot body,” Howard said, lifting up Drew’s shirt, and listening to the soft groan the old man let off uncontrollably, “Of course, I’m straight now, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you suck me off, you disgusting fat fuck. Better hurry though, I don’t know how much longer I can resist swinging this hammer…”

Drew lurched up onto his knees and crawled over, yanking down his old shorts and taking his cock into his mouth, finding this body well practiced at giving blowjobs, much to his own disgust. Just like smoking the pipe, he was even more disturbed to discover that he liked it–the taste and feel of a young, rock hard cock slamming down his throat was just thrilling. Drew realized then that he was still in front of the mirror, ingraining Howard’s habits and proclivities deeper into his own psyche, and he started sucking harder, before he was forced to act entirely like Howard from now on, trapped in this old body forever.

Howard only lasted a minute, before shooting his load into Drew’s old mouth, who quickly backed off to the side, away from the mirror, and Howard dropped the hammer to the ground and dashed off laughing, driving off with Howard’s piles of cash, and leaving Drew alone in the attic. Still, he had the mirror–it was intact. All he had to do was get some of his clothes from his house, and he could change back. Of course, he had no idea how he would be able to get them–hell, Howard was probably over there already, his perfect copy–no, he had to figure out something else.

He sat up in the attic for close to half an hour, wishing he had a pipe, but refusing to give into the desire, trying to figure out a plan. However, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone pounding on the front door, and a shouting, thickly accented voice, “Howard, we know you’re in there! Give us the money Howard, or you aren’t going to like what happens next, or where your body is going to turn up! Fear gripped his gut–who in the hell was that? The pounding resumed, and a moment after, he heard a boot slam into the door, breaking the lock, as a group of men charged into the house, and he hid in the only place he could think–behind the mirror.

It took them close to an hour before they reached the attic, and they hauled him out from behind the mirror. The men were mostly middle aged, and from the look of their faces–Russian. “Look, I’m not Howard, please, you have to believe me!” Drew said, terrified when he saw that several of them were wielding bats, the ringleader leveling a gun at his head.

“Where the fuck is the money, you fat old faggot? The safe’s empty–what did you fucking do with our money?”

“He took it! Howard took my body, and he took your money! It was the mirror, this fucking mirror!” Drew said, and he started sobbing on the ground, the mafia looking from the broken old man to the large ornate mirror in front of them, quizzically.

No one is entirely sure what happened to Howard after that–when he’d been found missing the next day, and the house ransacked, the police assumed it was a home burglary turned murderous, though his body never turned up. Oddly enough, other than the empty safe, nothing was taken, aside from something in the attic, something large and wide, which had been propped up against the wall, something like a very large mirror.

Eugenics

Commissioned by Anonymous

“You ready yet?”

“Not yet, hold on…now…what’s this doing here–that shouldn’t, I don’t think…”

James sighed–this was taking forever. Harry might be a nice guy, but he wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the room. He was better with the more routine maintenance, but Rick was out sick this week, and when you ended up working late, you took what you could get. At this point, the rest of the staff had pretty much cleared out of the building–James figured that the two of them were the last people left on the floor, if not entirely. He sighed, and looked around the laboratory. He was a genetics researcher investigating the causes and symptoms of aging, and in his thirties, he was just starting to feel some of the effects he’d spent his time studying. Harry, on the other hand, was quite a bit older than him, and had worked for the company longer than James had been alive. James kept wondering why the old guy didn’t just retire–hell, he probably had enough in his pension and 401(k) by now, but maybe the old guy just liked working.

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“Al…alright, that should do it,” Harry said, closing the side of the centrifuge, “Let’s see if this thing works now,” and he hit the power button.

Hey, wait, shouldn’t we unload it first–” James said, but it was too late, the device was already spinning–and spinning, and dang, he’d never seen it go that fast before. Harry, equally worried, tried to power it down, but the device wouldn’t stop, or even slow, and before he could pull the plug, the vials in the device started flinging away from the machine, bursting against the walls but also against the two men, who did their best to cover their faces as vial after vial of experimental serums slammed into them and the walls around them. James wasn’t quite quick enough though, one of the vials slamming into his face, sending him reeling backward and crashing to the floor of the lab, stunned, a gash on his cheek, and the serum burning into his face, making him cry out in pain.

Harry, his glasses broken by a stray vial, managed to grope around and find the plug to the centrifuge, finally cutting off the power, and then he sat back, stunned, while James struggled up and over to the emergency shower station, pulling the handle down, the cold water drenching him in seconds, and he could feel the burning serum run down under his clothes, spreading the burning sensation all over before it finally subsided. “Harry,” James said, “Harry get over here and shower off, who knows what just got all over you–you need to shower off.”

“Oh don’t worry about me,” Harry said, “I feel fine.”

“Come on, just do it.”

In truth, Harry didn’t feel fine at all, but he honestly couldn’t see anything without his glasses and was afraid to move, less he mess something else up, but still, he pushed himself up and followed the sound of James’ voice over to the shower, who helped him under the water, and James stepped out away from the water, the burning gone, but he still felt…strange. Tired, and a little worn out, like he’d just gone for a run after being out of shape, but he just chalked it up to the aftereffects of his adrenaline rush. Harry rinsed himself off for a few minutes, and then stepped out from the shower, blinking a bit and trying to focus on his surroundings, but mostly wishing he had his glasses. However, looking over at James, he blinked a couple of times. He couldn’t be sure, given how blurry the image was, but he just didn’t look…well, right.

“James…are you…are you feeling alright? You don’t…I mean, I don’t know. I need to find my spare glasses…” he said, but James wasn’t feeling right at all. The feeling of strangeness had begun culminating in a sudden bout of nausea, and he sprinted from the room, dizzy and reeling, forcing his way into the bathroom where he vomited into the toilet. After a minute or two, his stomach seemed to settle back down, and he got up, walked over to the sink, and splashed some water on his face, before looking at himself to see if he had any bad cuts from where the vial had hit him, and gasped.

His face–it was his, and yet…his hair, and his goatee. His hairline had receded a bit back up his scalp, and he could see a smattering of grey hairs in and amongst the young brown, and almost as he watched, he could see it turning greyer. Wrinkles were deepening on his forehead and around his eyes, and he looked more like he was in his late fifties than in his thirties. He was feeling sick again, his body weak, and looking down, he realized why. His still sopping wet clothes were clinging to his body, but from the way they were hanging, it looked like he was losing muscle mass, his arms and legs thinning up, leaving him with a substantial gut around his middle, and leaving him feeling even weaker than before. He vomited again into the sink, the room spinning around and he fell to the floor, exhausted.

Meanwhile, Harry had grown worried and didn’t like waiting by himself in the laboratory, worrying that something might be seriously wrong with James, from what he’d thought he’d seen, and from the way James had rushed off. Slowly, he made his way out of the lab and down the hall, guiding himself more by memory than by sight, and towards the bathrooms, opened the door and called out, “James? James, are you alright?”

“Help, I’m…I’m…” he heard a voice call out from the floor, and he could see a figure crumpled over on the blurry tile.

“James? James, are you alright?” Harry said, stumbling over and getting down next to the blurry figure.

“Harry, call the hospital, I don’t…something’s wrong with me…I don’t…I’m older…”

Harry didn’t really know what James was talking about, but even worse, if he couldn’t see, he wasn’t even sure he could use a phone. He found James’ hand and gave it a squeeze, hoping to give the man some comfort, and wished he didn’t have this horrible eyesight–and then…well, he could…feel it. Feel something, racing through James and him, and he could almost see a code ripping through him, between them, and then, his sight–it slowly came into focus, and Harry blinked a couple of times, wondering if it was a miracle, and then when he looked down and actually saw what had happened to James, he gasped.

He was still aging on the floor, his hair now even whiter, though it hadn’t receded very far, and he was exhausted and weak from the rapid change. “Harry…Harry, is that you? I can’t…I can’t see, why is everything so…so blurry?” James asked, squinting his eyes and bringing out more wrinkles.

It couldn’t be…but, then how else could he explain it? Harry had somehow managed to switch their genetic code–giving James his horrible eyesight, and Harry taking his 20/20 vision as his own. Shaking a bit, Harry reached out and laid his hand down on James’ once more…and just concentrated. Sure enough, it was all laid out before him, he could sense everything. All of his own genetic deficiencies, and they were just calling out to him, telling Harry to cast them aside, and replace them with James’ far superior genetic material. Telling Harry to make himself perfect, to make James the inferior one, but he yanked his hand back. It was tempting–oh so tempting, but he had to call for help, he had to get them both help…right?

Then again, Harry didn’t really need help–he was fine. Hell, he was better than fine, he felt great. Besides, if he went to the hospital, if he reported the accident, they’d probably just lock him away–hell, lock them both away–and do all sorts of experiments on them. He didn’t want to be a lab rat–no way…and he couldn’t just leave James here, right? No, of course not, he had to make sure he was safe too…or at least, that’s what Harry was telling himself. He could still feel the power calling out to him, tempting him, and when he helped James up, he was careful not to touch his skin. Still, he’d make sure they were both safe. He helped the researcher down the stairs, out of the building and into his truck, and drove them both to his small apartment, where they could figure out what they were going to do about this.

***

James woke slowly, and feeling like he had been run down by a truck, refrained from moving for as long as he could, even though he was certain that moving was probably the right thing to be doing. He prayed it had been a dream, and yet, from the way he was feeling, he could tell that it hadn’t been. He felt old. He felt how he’d always imagined waking up old must feel–sore joints, aching back, just a tired body more prone to inertia than anything else. Bed, though. Who’s bed? A hospital bed? He opened his eyes, and to his surprise he, quite simply, couldn’t see. Having had perfect vision all of his life, being confronted by something as simple as blurry vision was, well, terrifying, and a good enough excuse to not move, in his opinion, but he didn’t…it didn’t look like he was in a hospital…and that concerned him enough to sit up and try and look around.

“H–Hello?’ he called out, “Is anyone there?” he said, feeling a bit silly for doing so, but, well, someone had to have brought him here. Could it have been…Harry? Why would he have taken him anywhere other than a hospital, though? He rubbed his eyes and blinked a bit, but he still couldn’t see anything, and he was afraid to stand up without knowing what he might find or run into. He heard someone coming, though–so at least he wasn’t alone.

“James? Are you awake?” Harry said, “how are you feeling?”

“Harry? Why in the hell didn’t you take me to a hospital?”

Harry was quiet. He’d already rehearsed this conversation in his head, but he hadn’t expected that to be the opening remark. “Well…it’s…complicated.”

“No it’s not. There was an accident–I’m fucking old. I need to go to a hospital so they can figure out what happened, and who knows what might have happened to you!”

“But I feel fine.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Who knows what sort of delayed effects there might be. Come on, we have to go to the hospital…do you, I mean, I can’t, well, see very well now. Do you have anything that might help? Some glasses? You wear, glasses, right?”

Harry  didn’t say anything for a moment, before answering, “Yeah…yeah, I have glasses…hold on.”

He picked up his spare set from the top of the dresser and handed them to James, who put them on, and the entire world came into relieving focus. “Dang, what are the chances,” James said, “that I’d need to same prescription as you.”

“Ha, yeah…the chances…”

James started to sense that there was something else going on here, and some other reason Harry hadn’t taken him to the hospital. He also remembered that his vision had been fine after he’d changed in the lab…but had only gone blurry later, when Harry had come into the bathroom to find him. Looking over, he saw that Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses at all–did…what was going on? “Funny,” James said, “That you aren’t wearing glasses, now.”

Harry said nothing.

“And funny that your old glasses seem perfect for my eyes now.”

Still, silence.

“What happened, Harry. Something obviously happened to you, something you don’t want a doctor to see, or you wouldn’t have brought me here. What is it–just tell me, maybe I can help.”

“I don’t need help–I said, I’m fine.”

“Why do I have your eyes, Harry? What the fuck is going on?” James said, a bit agitated, and a little scared.

Harry paced a bit, not saying anything for a moment, before saying, “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t even know what I was doing, and I couldn’t stop myself when it happened. I don’t even know if I can do it again, but in the bathroom…in the bathroom when you collapsed, I touched your hand, and when I thought about my eyes, and how I wanted to see better, because my glasses had broken, I…I somehow…switched them, or switched our genetics, or something…I don’t know really, that’s the best I can describe it.”

James didn’t say anything immediately, just thought about what Harry had said. His first reaction, that what he’d said was impossible, was pretty much refuted soundly by the evidence at hand. He could remember his sight being fine, up until Harry had touched him. Now, Harry’s glasses worked perfectly for him…and Harry didn’t need them. But swapping genetic code? How did that even make sense? What sort of serum could have done something like that? “Look…Harry, I know you’re probably scared, but if we don’t go to a hospital–”

“If I go to a hospital, they’ll never let me go.”

“You don’t know that, look, we need to know what happened to us, alright? I need to know what happened to me. At least take me, I need help, Harry, I mean, look at me.”

Harry looked, and he saw James, older, and yet, the power in him, the genetic knowledge he’d glimpsed when he’d touched James before…he saw something else. Yes, James was old, his hair was greying, he had a bit of a sagging gut, and yet, even with all of that, he was still…genetically superior. It was difficult to parse it any other way in his head–James was simply better than him, better equipped it most every genetic way, and this voice, a voice growing louder, was telling Harry to take it as his own. Even at what, his now late fifties, and James still had a nearly full head of hair–how fair was that? Harry had started balding in his mid-twenties, and he’d never stopped resenting it. Still, James was right. He needed help, but could he trust him not to say anything about his new power? Harry had no interest in being locked up in some government facility, in being some test subject, and he firmly believed that’s what would happen to him.

“Please, Harry–please.”

It was the right thing to do. It really was, and Harry couldn’t keep telling himself it wasn’t. “Al–Alright. I’ll take you, but you don’t say a word about me to them–nothing–understand?”

“Sure…of course. Thank you,” James said, and swung his legs off the side of the bed, tried to stand, and immediately wobbled and started to fall over. Instinctively, Harry reached out and caught him, and the moment their skin touched, he felt it again. He’d been careful not to let their skin touch since the accident, but the rush of it, the knowledge pouring into him overwhelmed his better judgement, the voice, the selfish voice latching onto his bald resentment, twisting and adjusting their genetics in the moment it took James to wrench away from Harry’s grasp. James felt it too, though not as clearly as Harry did, and where the maintenance man felt a rush of power and authority, James simply felt violated, and it didn’t help when he noticed a cascade of hairs fall down his face, as his hair rapidly thinned out. He ran his hand over his head, knocking off even more hair, feeling his scalp with only a bare horseshoe left, and he looked over at Harry, who had run over to a mirror on the wall, watching his own hair grow back in, thick and full.

“Fuck, I haven’t–damn, that looks good,” Harry said, grinning at his reflection.

“Can’t you control that or something?” James said, “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

Harry didn’t know what was wrong with him…or even if it was wrong. It felt so good, how could it be wrong? And he could feel everything else of James’ code that he wanted, and all he had to do was reach out and touch him. He shook his head, resisting. That wasn’t right, it wasn’t right, no matter how it felt, no matter what the voice said. “I’m–I’m sorry. I just, it’s hard to resist, I guess. It’s hard to explain.”

“Well can you at least give me my hair back?” James asked, “You know, and my eyes? I’d like to not need glasses again.”

“No,” Harry said, without thinking about it.

“No?” James said, “No? What the hell? Those are my eyes, fucker–and my hair!”

“Well they’re mine now, so fuck that!” Harry snapped back, “I’ve had fucking glasses all my goddamn life, and I went bald at thirty, and fuck no, I’m not going to go back to what I was, fuck that,” Harry grinned at his reflection, and then stared at James by the bed. The voice was telling him to take more, to make himself perfect, to take and take and take, and then…and then sow. Yeah, he needed to fuck, he needed to fuck women, he needed to make children, and spread his own superior genetics into the world, or at least, what would be his superior genetics, once he was done with James…”No, no, I’m sorry–you’re right,” Harry said, “I’m being…selfish, here, I can put this right, just let me, here.” Harry came over to where James was wobbling, and reluctantly James allowed him to lay his hands on him, and that same rush, that same violation swept through him…but it was different–he could tell that Harry wasn’t fixing this–he was taking more, changing more. He tried to wrench away, but Harry gripped him tighter, leering now, eyes wide and mad with the rush of power, and he pushed James back onto the bed, holding him down. “Fuck that, and fuck you–I’m not going to be a piece of genetic waste anymore–you are! I’m going to be perfect!”

It took all of his strength, all of his will to put his feet against Harry’s chest and kick him, off, finally breaking their physical contact, and James started panting, his throat closing up on him. Asthma? He’d never been an asthmatic before, but gasping for breath, he figured that was just one of many new things he might have to live with. Looking down, he saw chest hair start filling in across his chest and gut, climbing up onto his shoulders and back down his back. His metabolism slowed to a crawl, his body converting more and more energy to fat, his gut bulging out, even as his chest expanded into a set of moobs, his face developing a second chin. He looked up at where Harry had been pushed back against the wall, and watched as the older man’s frame started melting away his fat and building muscle right before his eyes, his body buff but not overly muscular–mostly just–healthy. Then, Harry grinned and unzipped the fly of his pants, pushed down his underwear, and hauled out a thick, seven inch cock already drooling precum–a dick James readily recognized as his own. Gulping, and still not able to breathe very well, he reached down to his crotch, already humiliated, and felt his now shriveled tool, barely two inches long, and he could tell, instinctively, that at best it could reach half mast. “You–you took my cock?” James asked.

“Of course–the women are gonna love this thing when I ram it up their cunts,” Harry said, flexing his new muscular frame, “See, because this is where we’re different James, see, I saw in you, I saw your biggest flaw–you’re a fucking faggot.”

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“But–”

“Don’t try to deny it, I can see all of your fucking flaws, you fucking worthless piece of shit,” Harry spat, “See, I’m genetically superior–no, soon, I’ll be perfect, and women will be begging me to fuck them, and seed them and oh the fucking children I’ll have–they’ll be amazing. But you, you’re fucking worthless, so why in the hell shouldn’t you just be a storehouse for all the failed genetic mishaps of the human race?”

“Harry, listen to yourself, this is fucking crazy, and you know it.”

“No, what’s crazy–what’s crazy, is that someone like you should have been given these genetics, when you don’t even give a flying fuck about passing them on–that’s fucked up. That’s against nature, right there. Well, I’m putting it right. I’ll breed all the children you should have had, because you were too weak to do it.”

He was mad–Harry had gone completely mad, and James looked around for something, anything he could use to, knock him out or fight him off–something so he could call the police and tell them what had happened–what Harry was capable of, but Harry saw what he was doing, and laughed.

“You can’t fucking beat me,” Harry said, “I’m better than you in every way–well, almost every way. You see, you do still have that nice mind of yours, but I don’t think genetic trash like you even needs much in the way of brains, right? How about I take those for my kids, too?”

Harry charged towards him, and James crawled back across the bed, trying to keep out of the reach of Harry’s hands, but lost his balance and fell off the other side, smacking his head on the nightstand as he fell, his glasses askew, and he tried to recover from the fall and get away, but he was having such a hard time putting his thoughts together in any way that made the least bit of sense. He must have hit his head a bit harder than he’d thought, or that’s what he thought at first, until he recognized the blurry form of Harry lying across the bed, his hand wrapped around his ankle, feeling the natural folds and creases of his brain start to soften as he lost his natural curiosity and cleverness–but other traits as well. His assertive personality, his independent thinking, all gone, absorbed by Harry and replaced with a natural desire to please and agree with others–after all, he wasn’t smart enough to form thoughts on his own anymore, and he certainly didn’t dare trust his own judgement.

“You alright Jim?” Harry said, letting go of the older man’s ankle, watching him adjust his glasses and blink dully up at him, “That was a bit of a fall you had there.”

“It–it was?” he said, “And…and isn’t my name…James?”

“No, you don’t go by James, you go by Jim. James doesn’t sound like the name a dimwitted old impotent faggot would use, now does it? Especially not one who can barely land a job as a janitor.”

“You–you don’t have to be so–so mean about it…” Jim said, sitting up and rubbing his head where he’d hit it on the night stand. He’d been trying to get away from Harry…hadn’t he? But why? His head felt so thick, like swimming through foam, threatening to solidify forever if he stopped struggling through it. Harry climbed after him and stood in front of Jim on the ground, and he felt understandably intimidated. While only a bit younger than he was–his firm, muscular body, his confidence and intellect, not to mention his thick cock, all served to intimidate Jim even further…and even turn him on a bit. His eyes were locked on Harry’s cock now, and he licked his lips. He could…smell him. Harry’s musk, so forceful and commanding–a real man, and…a little familiar. He was smelling himself, in a way, augmented by Harry, yes, but the familiarity of it was strange, like coming home after a long time.

“Aww, I’m sorry faggot–I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. How about I let you suck me off–would that make you feel better?” Harry said, pushing the tip of his cock against Jim’s lips, and he couldn’t resist, parting his lips and letting Harry take control, ramming the cock down his throat as far as it could go, hanging onto his head with his big hands, and Jim held his own up, looking at his short, clumsy fingers. They weren’t his, or they hadn’t been his—had they? He seemed to remember…something else, but his head, it was hardening, clinging to the simplest story and just accepting it as truth–it was easier than trying to understand how he could have been a young genetics researcher, and in the course of twenty-four hours, have been reduced to this old, weak, genetically inferior faggot. It was easier to focus on the cock being rammed down his throat. He ran his hands over his body, the sensation of body hair under his fingers strange and unnerving, the taut belly down to his measly cock, barely erect even though he’d never felt so turned on before. However, before he could suck Harry over the edge, the big man pulled his cock out and stepped back.

“Come on Harry–can’t I have your load?”

“Hell no–I can’t waste my seed on a faggot’s throat–I have babies to make. Still, thanks for the warm up. Now, I need to go out for a bit–I won’t be back tonight, I don’t think–too much fucking to do. Still, we need something to keep you occupied in the meanwhile–can’t have a faggot like you getting into any trouble, right? Get up.” Jim did as Harry ordered, and followed him out into the living room where an old computer sat whirrling away. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Go ahead and order yourself some pizza or something for dinner, and then you’re going to sit here and find pictures of men who are genetic superiors–it shouldn’t be hard, since you’re such a failure–and I want you to jack off, fantasizing about how you want to serve them, and worship them, and think about serving me, and worshiping me the most, got it?”

Jim nodded, and he didn’t notice Harry get dressed and head out for a bar–he was already absorbed in his porn search, one smattering of old cum already shot across his thigh as he fantasized about a thick body builder ramming his massive cock up his loose asshole. His head had fully hardened now, accepting this reality as truth. He was just an old faggot now, a genetic failure whose sole purpose was to serve those better than he was–but especially Harry. He owed Harry everything, and he would serve him for the rest of his life.

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Bait and Switch (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been having them too.”

“That’s nuts.”

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

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

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

“You don’t have to be mean.”

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

“When was it?”

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

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

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