Hey man, good to see ya! Thought you might not make it, but I know you wouldn’t want to miss a party like this. Yeah, we got him all set up over here, go on, tubes all ready–take a deep breath, and blow–

Ha! Listen to the thing moan in there! Been a few hours at this point, so it’s starting to settle down, finally. You should have seen it, whimpering and crying while me and Louie were getting it all set up.

Who was it? Don’t really know. Some straight prick was pissing and moaning about us smoking down at the bar, telling us it was illegal and whatever, like we fucking care, you know? Well, it was Louie who puffed him–locked lips with the fucker, gave him a deep breath and zonked him to the floor! Bartender didn’t say nothing, he was ujust glad to be free of the little fuck, you know? That’s why it was such short notice, ‘n only half the gangs here. Still, it’s a good looking party, don’t you think? Still, always more fun when the whole family gets together.

Yeah, Blake’s here–think he’s a bit busy with Louie. He won’t care if you go butt it, of course, though ya might have to share.

Hey now, I know, we all know you…don’t share nicely! It was supposed to be a damn joke man, take it easy, take a drag off that thing ‘n just relax…

Look, the guys ‘n I have been talking, ‘n we think you need someone.

Yeah, lone wolf ‘n all that, fine. But…Blake’s been…look, I just think…why don’t you camp out with this guy for a bit? Feed him for a while? Make him…someone for you. We all know you’re lonely man, and you could have whatever you want. All the guys are cool with it. You just gotta mellow out a bit, you know what I’m saying.

Yeah yeah, pound me into the ground if you want, but we all know it’s true, including you.

We know you’re tough, just have some fun with him, you know. Come on, give him another breath, think about it. Could be a hot little cub, chubby in all the right places, wide ass, hungry for that big cock of yours. Hell, even a damn pig, stupid as a brick, drooling on the floor while you fuck it’s holes, drinking your piss, eating the big butts of your cigars. Whatever you want! Take your time and get to know him a bit better. You’ll be happier, and it’ll be a load off our backs too.

Glad you agree. Can’t wait to see how he turns out in the morning! I’ll have Blake come over and help ya brainstorm and suck ya off–ya always think better with a mouth around your cock, right?

Source: goa1701

Coach Ray Gets Framed (Part 6)

Ray tried to pull away at that point. He really did, but the cruelty programmed into him, knowing his prey was without escape, couldn’t resist the opportunity presented. He forced the pig back onto hands and knees and ravaged it’s hole for the second time that evening, longer than the first, relishing it this time, enjoying himself. After all, this pig wouldn’t be going anywhere for the foreseeable future. It was his now. His, and no one else’s, to do with as he choose. He whispered things into the pig’s unhearing ear, describing what it could do to it, but Noah didn’t care. Noah was just a pig at this point, consumed by its senses, unable to muster any kind of consciousness beyond pleasure and filth. Ray came, at long last, long after the pig had cum, slumping down against the concrete in the throes of its long orgasm. Again, as soon as Ray’s cock slipped free, his old mind reverted, and he backed away as quickly as he could, furious at himself for losing control, but still shaking from the pleasure and excitement he’d felt, dominating the pig.

No, not the pig. It wasn’t a pig, it was Noah! He focused, pushing away the invasive thoughts as best he could, but they felt so natural to him, it is difficult to believe that they weren’t actually his. He was so focused on himself, he hadn’t noticed Noah returning to his own senses, and trying to stand, but the chain was only long enough to allow him to squat. He struggled with the collar, beginning to panic, yanking at the chain, but it was heavy steel, and well rooted in the floor. He fell back to his hands and knees, looking at his coach. “Please, Coach, you can’t do this to me, you can’t. I just want to go home.”

What could Ray say? He had reasons, but he knew Noah would never believe him. This…this was for the best, he tried to convince himself, but he fled back upstairs as quickly as he could, slamming the door behind him, but it wasn’t until he was in his own master bathroom that he could no longer hear Noah’s screams and sobs from below him. A shower. A shower would make him feel better. He turned on the water, and as it was heating he got down on the tile next to the tub, put his feet high on the wall, arced his cock and released a stream of piss that flew and soaked his chest and face. So refreshing he told himself, drinking in some of his shower–it wasn’t until he got back up and turned off the water that he realized what he’d done, and that Julian was there beside him, sneering, but he was gone again before Ray could try and throttle him.

What had he just done? What in the world was he doing? Did he have any control over any of this, anymore? Julian was toying with him, he knew that, but he had no idea what kind of game he was playing with them both here. Was he actually managing to oppose him, or had he simply done everything Julian had hoped he’d do. He was crying, and he didn’t quite know when he’d started, but he snorted back his dripping nose and got control of himself. He could figure this out. He’d gotten Julian fired, he was only trying this because he was desperate. If he could stay calm, maybe he could get out of this before they get any deeper.

“You should probably be the one to hang on to this, you know,” a voice said behind him. Ray spun back, and found Julian on his bed, naked, with a single key on a ring hanging from his finger. “I tend to lose things rather easily, and this is the only key to Noah’s collar. If you have a change of heart, and decide to release your sex pig sometime soon, you should have it.”

“He’s not my pig.”

“You seem to call him that quite often, so I don’t know that I believe you.”

“You fucker, you’re doing this, you’re forcing us to do this shit.”

“Oh coach, I’m not forcing you to make these choices–you’re just behaving in a perfectly rational, self-interested manner. Still, the key–I’ll just leave it here,” Julian said, setting it on the bedside table. “Now, coach, are you thirsty? Need a drink?”

Ray nodded, and without much thought, he walked over to where Julian was, wrapped his mouth around his fellow teacher’s cock, and waited. After a moment, he started pissing, and Ray gulped it all down. When the flow ebbed, he started sucking, and after a few minutes was rewarded with a load of cum as well. He stood back up, wiping his beard, amazed at how much better he felt. “Thanks, I guess I was thirsty.”

“Well, you had a busy evening. Now, why don’t you go play some Solitaire before bed? I know that always helps you relax. You won’t worry about Noah until the morning.”

Ray nodded, and then turned and left the bedroom, not noticing that Julian had disappeared from his bed. He could hear Noah in the basement still, his voice hoarse, but he didn’t need to worry about that until the morning–he’d figure out what to do about Julian’s tricks then. First, Solitaire. He went into his office and sat down at his computer. In his mind, he opened up his favorite game, which always helped him calm down when he was stressed, and played a few rounds. In reality, he started a slideshow of porn, sat back, and started jacking off over and over, making sure to catch as much cum as he could on his filthy shirt and in his soaked jockstrap, the screen flickering on occasion, and if you looked close, a second face was reflected behind the Coach in the screen, even though no one else was in the office with him. It was a few hours before Ray finally started to feel tired, and then he went to bed, certain, somehow, that come morning, he’d know just what to do to foil Julian’s plan and get his freedom back.

The Trophy (Part 3)

***WARNING*** Extreme abuse, rape, body modification, mutilation, and snuff ahead. Read at your own risk.

Once a man is broken, you’ve won. They don’t always realize it right away, and so, it’s best to start them off small. I forced him to shave his head every day from then on, and then, after he did that without complaint, he graduated to shaving his face and body as well. At this point, I also faced a decision of my own–now that he’d been broken down, what should I do with him? I had enjoyed taking his fingers, to be honest–I hadn’t done anything like that in ages–so why not go a bit further?

I began by getting him adjusted to bondage, immobility and darkness. I would keep him bound, first for hours, then days and then eventually for a week at a time. In his bondage, I would have men arrive and abuse him as they saw fit, or I would simply have them use him as a dump or urinal. At this point, I had treated him with products designed to remove his hair permanently–no more shaving would be required, ever. And then, I began the modifications. with the help of a dentist friend, I removed his teeth and tongue, and then together dropped his jaw, opening his mouth impossibly wide, and we crafted a new mouth with latex putty–soft, tight and inviting–a mouth pussy, as I called it. It got rave reviews from all the men who used it, and so I began crafting various attachments that could be inserted, in order to give different sensations and textures, different degrees of tightness.

Since he was no longer able to eat like a man, I fed him by tube–and soon he realized that he was becoming fat, his lithe body from before slowly expanding with mass, first a small gut and moobs, but as the drug cocktail broke down his metabolic rate, he expanded faster and faster–in six months, he had ballooned up to four hundred and fifty pounds, with no sign of stopping. The only thing clothing he wore now were full body rubber suits designed to deprive him of his senses. His eyes and ears were covered nearly all the time–he was only really aware of himself by feel and heft, rather than by sight or sound. When I took his eyes and ears, I don’t think he even noticed a thing aside from the pain–not that he could have registered disapproval with his mouth pussy anyway.

At about eight hundred pounds, when he was no longer able to move much at all, I decided it was time for permanent installation in my dungeon–we removed his cock and balls, his arms and legs, anchored him on a concrete block, and kept him growing, kept him alive, so he could feel what we were doing to him, carving out chunks of his fat, and installing latex holes for men to fuck, turning him into a jiggly fuckcushion for men to pin. I wonder what it felt like, to him, to have men fucking him in every direction, caught in the middle of their orgy. The rubber holes all over his body all drained out, along with his bodily fluids, into the sewer below the concrete slab–I would rinse him out once a week or so, to keep the pincushion from stinking up the room too much.

Alas, a little after one thousand pounds, he finally expired. I didn’t get rid of him, of course–he was mostly rubber at this point anyway. With the help of a taxidermist I knew from previous catches, we got rid of the flesh and stuffed what remained with rubber filling, preserving it’s squishy, fleshy feel, and it lives on in my dungeon, though I often rent it out to parties and local clubs as a fucktoy statement piece. I often have people ask me how, exactly, I made the thing, what had inspired me to create something like that, but I usually just remain silent. “I like my projects,” I say sometimes, happy with the double meaning.

You probably think I’m mad, don’t you? But how different is it, really, from a hunter keeping their trophies in the living room? That massive bear looming over them in the armchair, stuffed with fluff? I caught him–this is my token, my own personal trophy for my kill. Still, I’m getting the hankering for another project here soon–maybe not something quite so massive. Maybe I’ll make a pup for myself, or for a friend–I haven’t done one of those in ages. In fact, I’ve heard some rumours of an illegal dog fighting ring around town, and I bet I could extract an invite from one of my contacts–hell, maybe I’ll just run a kennel for a while? Pups are fairly easy, after all, I can make a few. After all, the only cruelty towards an animal I can condone is against a fellow human, you know?

Dream Camp (Part 9)

“No…No! This can’t be real, this can’t be fucking real…” Kyle muttered, unable to believe how hard his own cock was, unable to believe that he…a part of him, a growing, part of him, wanted this.

“Oh, but it is real, and it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Barry growled in his ear, with one hand, he grabbed the back of Kyle’s pants, took hold of them, and ripped them apart, revealing his lightly haired ass, and with one grimy finger he started probing inside him, licking the side of Kyle’s neck, feeling him shiver at the invasion, and push back slightly. “That’s good, real good,” Barry said, “You know, I was a bit worried about you, you know, that you might not want to join in here, but maybe you just needed a bit more work than everyone else. Still, I think we’re gonna be spending the night together, but I’m not quite tired yet–why don’t we find a way to keep you occupied until then?”

Barry looked over his shoulder, and saw the knots the fatter scouts who’d stayed back at camp had been working on, and chuckled, “Who wants to earn their ropework merit badge? Mr. Hoffson…would like to be restrained–you scouts think you can work on that for a little while?”

The chubby scouts were more than happy to do anything their ScoutMaster wanted. They grabbed the rope and hurried over, collectively pinning down the still struggling Hoffson and working on binding him tight. Barry supervised, giving advice and encouragement to his loyal scouts, and when they were finished, after an hour, Kyle Hoffson wouldn’t be going anywhere, his arms and legs behind his back in a hogtie, his balls bound up and strung up to his ankles, his muscular body crisscrossed by rope, his mouth gagged. Barry picked him up by his bound hands and feet, like a basket, listening to him groan as he tugged on his bound balls, and carried him over to the middle of camp, where any number of scouts had given into their burgeoning desires, fucking and sucking and licking out in the open, no longer able to resist each other. The scouts who had remained behind seemed to have taken on their own qualities, all of them weighing at least five hundred pounds, after sucking down as much of Alex’s milk as they could drink. Some of the musky, hairy scouts immediately gravitated to them, fondling their fatty rolls, pushing them down and mounting them, others preferring to worship their fat bodies, the chubby young men shivering with pleasure.

Barry set Kyle down on his side, hearing him sigh when the tension on his balls is lessened, and then he called Max over from where the strange mutt was busy servicing Christian by one of the firepits. Max came bounding over, eager for anything his Master might desire–and Barry pointed him to his father. “Max, why don’t you entertain your dad here for a while? Suck his cock, finger his hole, lick him clean–but don’t fuck him. I do, however, want that ass of his nice and loose by nightfall, so make sure you at least work your fist in, got it?”

Max nodded eagerly, and Kyle tried to struggle away, calling to Max, telling him to stop, to not do this, that he was his father for Christ’s sake, but Max was too far gone now to even consider obeying him, his simple, near feral mind focused on his master’s and their commands. He slobbered all over his paw like hand and started rubbing it against his father’s backdoor, gently massaging it, Kyle trying to pull away, but unable to do so without yanking his nuts and making himself nauseous, and before too long one finger was inside, and Max rewarded him by sucking his cock. Kyle sobbed, unable to believe that he was somehow hard, but the stench of musk in the air was beginning to affect him, make it harder for him to think. He fought against feeding his own son that first load, begging him to stop when he felt his balls constrict, but Max wanted it, wanted to taste his dad’s cum, wanted to see if it was as delicious as he’d always imagined it might be. He fought less during his son’s second suck, and by the third, with his boy’s feral fist buried in his hole, drilling his prostate, he had begun to beg for it, plead for it, encourage his filthy animal of a son to suck him harder.

He realized that, at some point, it had become night. The young men in their patrols had eventually grown hungry and were busy cooking their dinners, though some of the fatter young men had decided they would rather feast at the tit for the evening, and were jockeying for position in front of a quivering, milk soaked, Alex. Eric was still focused on his newest addition to the harem, molding his strange form to better serve as his one of his whores, and Barry had finally found a moment to pull his son aside and mount him next to the fire, slowly and gently, enjoying their mutual musk in the night chill. It wasn’t too much longer after that, when the campers, exhausted from a busy day, began to go off in groups to their tents for one final romp before sleep, and Barry knew it was time. “Son, I think you’re gonna have to sleep without your daddy tonight–I got some other business to attend to.”

Christian objected loudly, but Barry stood firm, consoling him with the fact that Max would sleep with him, keeping him happy all night long, but Barry, well, Barry needed some time with Kyle. His son wasn’t happy about the arrangement but he knew better than to disobey his father–so he led Max off to his tent, and Barry again picked Kyle up off the ground and carried him over to his tent, set him inside, and started untying him, but left his hands bound in front of him, his ankles bound as well, and then pulled him close, sliding Kyle onto his cock, feeling the older man sob even as he enjoyed the wonderful fullness, the hot rod buried inside him, the musk of the ScoutMaster shrouding him, making it hard to think. Barry was fighting the heat of the amulet, trying to stay awake and relish the moment, but he finally succumbed to sleep as he worked his cock in to the hilt, started snoring, and immediately began to dream.

Neighborhood Pub (Sketch)

“Hey! Faggot! Why don’t you get fucking lost? Ain’t no guy here wanna have you round, lookin’ at us like that,” Nick puffed up his chest and got in the stranger’s face, leering at him. No one knew who this fucker was–the pub here was really only frequented by guys from the neighborhood, guys who’d know each other for years. Sure, the occasional stranger would slip in, but they got the idea pretty quick that new folks weren’t very welcome in there. But this guy, he hadn’t gotten the hint at all this evening, and worse, it was clear the guy was a total faggot.

He was an older guy. He’d shown up a few hours previously, and ordered a beer with a bit of a lisp and the bat of an eye from Sammy, the bartender. Usually Sammy wouldn’t even bother serving freaks like this, but for some reason he’d just given the guy the beer he’d wanted, and the fucker had just made himself at home. Very, very at home. He’d spent the night wandering around the pub, busting into other people’s conversations so he could flirt and feel up the local guys…and for some reason no one was doing anything about it! Well Nick had had enough of this clown–he’d throw him out himself, since no one else could bear to do it, for some reason.

The stranger grinned at Nick, and moved in closer, pushing his gut into him. The man was older, balding, sweaty and hairy. At some point he’d lost his shirt, so nothing covered his ugly fat beyond two suspenders keeping up his pants. Nick’s first instinct was to recoil, but he wouldn’t give him the…the satisfaction of knowing he was…was scared or…or turned on…or…if he pushed closer, into the man’s gut, maybe the strange butterflies fluttering in his gut would go away. They didn’t they got worse, but that was alright, and something…something about the way the man smelled, something was…was so…good.

The bar had grown quiet. No one had known what to make of the man, no one had been able to resist him, and terrified, no one had dared challenge him. They had all secretly hoped that if they just…let him feel up their bodies, and lick their necks, and whisper…horribly, sexy things in their ears, that maybe…maybe he would leave them in some kind of peace. But Nick–fucking hotheaded Nick–the man ran one hand over Nick’s stubbly face, watching his jaw droop, eyes turning glassy. The stranger put his hand on the top of Nick’s head and applied a gentle pressure, the bar watching as he dropped to one knee, and then both, the man guiding his face to his crotch, where Nick began grinding his face into the man’s crusty jeans.

He had no control. He couldn’t…couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself. He could…could see…visions, in his mind. Of himself, but…but different. He was wearing something…shiny and black, all over his body. It looked like rubber, but so…so reflective, black, but with yellow. Yellow…like piss. Fuck, like piss! He felt the warmth in his crotch as his bladder released into the front of his pants, running down both thighs to the floor of the pub. Everyone else could smell it too, they could smell it, and they were growing…growing hungrier, like when they’d all first smelled the stranger, and they could see what Nick was now–a urinal, a fucking tool, a dump for them to use and abuse as they wanted. The man undid his fly, pointing his cock at Nick’s face, who waited patiently, the puddle growing around his knees until the man released his own piss, and Nick drank down as much as he could, feeling everything he couldn’t get down soaking his body, his clothes so…wet now. It would be so much better if he was wearing rubber, all rubber, all the time, for…for the rest of his life, yeah, a rubber urinal, just an object.

The man finished, Nick kissed the head of his cock, and started licking up his own piss from the floor of the pub, the weaker willed men around him standing up and walking towards him, their own bladders begging to be emptied, and the man drifted off to other men, toying with them, slowly for the rest of the night, and he never returned to the pub again…not that he needed to. The pub was…different from that day on. Every man from the neighborhood would come dressed in leather and rubber, most of them smoking, all of them constantly horny. New men were always welcome–none of them could resist the heady, musky smell of the place for long, all of them ended up going home with some other patron of the club to discover the new desires brewing in their guts. Nick, however, lived in the bathroom, chained to the floor. He’d grown fatter, his gut massive, stretching the rubber bodysuit he now wore to the limit. He hadn’t left the room in months, but Sammy took good care of him, making sure he got all the nutrition he needed and stripping him out of the suit once a week to hose down his fat, and shave his body smooth. It was up to the rest of the bar to keep him full of piss and cum, to keep him happy, forever.

Breaking Point (Part 4)

I told Leon that if he could prove to me that he deserved to have his life back, then he’d get it back at the end of the August and go off to college, just like he’d imagined. I don’t think he quite realized the power I had over him at that point, not right away. Up to that point, other people had always felt incidental to him–just figments of agents that he could ignore at will, who had no real impact on his desired course through the world. He’d always simply expected other people to move from his past. The collision with someone like me–who had not only the desire, but also the ability to oppose him, was incomprehensible in the immediate aftermath of this new body. Still, he began to understand I putt him through a few paces in the trailer, while the rest of the crew carried on working outside, finishing shortly before quitting time. That was when he realized he wouldn’t be going home to his parents–to his room, to his friends. Instead, I informed him he’d be staying with me for the time being–and that he’d best behave himself, or he could kiss that future of his goodbye.

I live in a small house a good ways out of town on a couple acres of property–enough to assure myself a good measure of privacy. I had several guest rooms (and a rather cozy dungeon in the cellar) but Leon wasn’t a guest, he was a pig–meaning he got to sleep on a dog bed out in the garage. Meaning he had to be naked in the house at all times. Meaning he had to be ready for me whenever I desired him, and willing to perform whatever sick tasks I might have in mind. I gave him a week to get adjusted to his living arrangements and new body, before I ramped up his training.

I taught him to take pain and enjoy it. I forced him into bondage for hours on end. I taught him to drink piss and eat out my nasty crack after a good, long shit. He obeyed me both because he had to, and because he was becoming increasingly desperate to have his old life back. Finally, that cold demeanor was beginning to crack, the reality of the fact that he could do nothing other than submit wearing him down slowly but surely. I hurried him along a bit, by forcing him to serve his co-workers as well, quickly graduating him to our communal urinal, toilet paper and cumdump at the worksite. He was forbidden to shower, wear anything other than my dirtiest laundry (which fit his obese frame rather poorly) or shave, and soon stank to high heaven of piss, sweat and cum. The loss of testosterone from his now puny balls gave him a thin, patchy beard that only made him look older and more grungy as it became crusted with filth.

Finally–finally! He broke.

It was the middle of August, on the weekend. The weekends were particularly grueling for him–on purpose of course. I generally kept him in bondage for long periods of time, and at this point I had also fit him into chastity–although finding a cage small enough for his now puny cock was a challenge in itself. It was time for dinner, and I released him from the cage I’d decided he’d spend the day caged in, and he seemed…more reserved, somehow. I made him crawl behind me into the kitchen, where he found I had brought in a trough–and I dumped a pot of cold slop into it, telling him to eat up.

He broke out in sobs. Massive, heaving sobs. It wasn’t the greatest humiliation he’d suffered by far, but it was somehow a sign of how far he’d fallen. He started pleading and begging with me, telling me he was sorry, that he didn’t know how he could make it up to me, that he just wanted it to stop, that he couldn’t take another day of this. I listened. I let him poor his heart out, but soon all I could feel was my rock hard cock. When he’d run out of words, I ordered him to eat–watching his eyes go wide in terror–but he couldn’t resist. I got down behind him and started fucking his loose hole, letting the rough fuck tell him what I had no interest in saying, no interest in his revelations. That I was as unfeeling towards his exhaustion and terror as he’d been towards everyone for his entire life. That tears wouldn’t move me. That his understanding of needing to be punished wouldn’t absolve him from his due punishment.

If he’d just suffered, I probably would have let him go, but later that night, he asked me about the end of August, when he might get his life back. His…arrogance, to even ask…I told him to wait a couple of weeks, but I was…so furious, at him even daring to ask, at his…perhaps that was the ultimate cruelty, letting him keep believing, but I couldn’t let that stand. Seeing him break, it only partially, only made me want to drive him even deeper. I wanted to see him suffer more than anything now, and I couldn’t…stop fantasizing, about this idea I’d had. I’d planned it, in case he didn’t give in…but I’d never done something like this, Then again, I’d never dealt with someone like Leon. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dealt with horrible young men as cruel as he is–a good number of them were still employed with me, to this day. But I’d never…something in him, in his cocky resistance, in his confidence that even now he’d eventually be free of me, of all of this, even though there was nothing–nothing–he could feasibly do…it was a high I couldn’t deny myself, and I wanted to see that little meek castle crumble to dust. Did he deserve it, really? Probably no one did–but Leon needed it. I needed it, and it would be…perfect.

Bart loved hitchhikers, though not for the reasons one might usually expect. Of course, not many people were very willing to ride with him–he stank like smoke and booze–it also didn’t help that he wouldn’t shower for months at a time, but there was usually someone desperate enough to climb up into his cab for a ride, but he’d only let men up. For a few hours he’d probe them for information, and ply them with a drink, and when the drug had them passed out and slumped against the seat belt in the passenger seat, he would drag them into the back of the cab, undress them, and tie them securely in the sleeper.

Those were his favorite moments, when they were well secured, but still asleep for a few more hours. He would explore their bodies with his tongue, get to know their flavors, inside and out. Suck their cocks and taste their cum. With enough prodding on their prostate, they’d eventually piss, and he’d drink that down too, just to sample it, see what kind of person he’d be travelling with for the next several months. It was always so very informative–somehow, he would be able to get a sense of them–how they worked, what kind of person he could shape them into.

Of course, they would protest once they woke up, but they quickly discovered that Bart’s drugs had left them unable to resist obeying every order he gave them. Really, their obedience was just a precaution–he preferred keeping them tied up more than anything else. Over the next several weeks, he would introduce them to their new chores–primarily as his cumdump, urinal and toilet paper. They would all discover in due time that they enjoyed their new chores more than they knew they should–something about Bart’s filthy body would drive them mad with lust. Before too long, they would be begging him for attention, asking to clean his body and suck his cock. He would tease them, listen to them squirm against the ropes binding them in the back as he drove. They always begged so nice–it was a special kind, while they still knew they shouldn’t want him, but couldn’t quite figure out how to say no to their own changing minds.

When they were finished–when all they could think about was Bart’s filthy body, he would begin training them for work. Pimping them out to other truckers at various stops, teaching them to enjoy all sorts of filthy bodies–not just his. The time spent in his truck tied up and unmoving, with a diet of mostly junk food and Bart’s filth, usually didn’t do them any favors–they would grow large guts, their limbs withered, all of them with long, grimy beards they couldn’t see themselves without anymore. When he’s confident that they’ll survive on their own, he dumps them and tells them to get to work, and make him some fucking money.

Everyone on the road can recognize one of his whores–they all wear the same collars bearing a single tag with the words, “Owned by Bart.” They cruise the roads, catching rides with any horny trucker who will have them, serving them in any way they might desire, and collect money for their Master, depositing it in his bank account at their next stop. They all do their very best, because they know his best whore gets one whole month riding with their master in his truck, tied up in the back, the privilege of once again being their master’s sole focus in the world. And the one thing they all desire more than anything else, is one more taste of their fat master’s filthy body.

Our Demons (Part 3)

“Swallow it,” the voice said, the first he’d heard in hours, and without questioning it, he started chewing the butt into a paste and swallowed it down. “This one too,” the voice said, and a second hot butt dropped into his mouth. A bit bigger, and he had a harder time choking it down. There was a pressure on his chest, his master straddling him again, and a hot, bitter liquid started flowing into his mouth. “Drink it all.” He did, and it helped wash down the butt as well. A few gulps in, he realized it must be master’s piss, but he couldn’t stop now, he couldn’t stop ever. As soon as he’d swallowed it all, another cigar was shoved into the mouth ring, but Rich didn’t need orders this time–he craved it already. Needed it. It was wrong, and yet already he knew he’d lost. What was he becoming? He realized he couldn’t quite bring himself to care–and when master went back to stretching his pig hole, all the concerns melted away all over again.

“Don’t resist. Move only how I direct you to move.”

He felt the restraints on his arms and legs being removed, and then two hands helped him roll over onto his back. Every order gave him another surge of pleasure–it was hard to keep himself focused on the fact that he shouldn’t be obeying, that he should try to get away. But get away how? He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. He didn’t know where to go. It was easier to just obey. So much easier to obey everything Master said.

His arms were again pulled up and secured to the top of the bed, but his legs were stretched up to the ceiling in wide split, his ass exposed and hanging slightly off the edge of the bed. He could feel that the rubber had covered his entire ass, however–did that mean he was going to be spared his fisting? Then he realized that the fist shaped dildo was still lodged in his ass, sealed in by the rubber, and he started to squirm.

“Calm down.”

He did. Nothing happened for a few moments, or rather, he wasn’t aware of anything happening. He still couldn’t see or hear, all he could do was breathe through his mouth, and lie there on the bed, legs thrown up in the air. Then, he felt something shove it’s way into the hole. It wasn’t a gag–if anything, the end felt dry and tasted somewhat bitter on his tongue. Breathing was suddenly like trying to get all of his air through a straw–possible, but it took much more effort than he would have liked.

He felt something by the side of his head, and he could hear again, but only on one side. It spoke to him again, “There, isn’t that better for all of us? I’m sure you’ll be much more agreeable from now on, in that nice suit of yours. And I haven’t forgotten my promise earlier, but before I start fisting your ass into a crater, how about we light you up, piggy?” Rich heard a lighter flick to life, and suddenly he was inhaling smoke. He tried to cough, but with no where for the air to go, he found himself choking in the rubber. “Calm down,” it said, “Inhale. Breathe in deep, and it’ll be just like breathing air for you soon enough.”

Rich didn’t exactly have much of a choice, but he did as the voice said, and did his best to breathe normally. After a minute, he was feeling a bit lightheaded, but otherwise it seemed normal–and that worried him more than anything else.

“Good job little pig. We’re gonna fill you up with so much smoke that you won’t even recognize yourself pretty soon. But don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck around with that little head of yours just yet. Derrick’s already dying off you know. Pretty soon it’ll just be the two of us. Think of all the fucking fun we’re gonna have, pig! Now I’m gonna close your ear back up–all I want you to focus on is smoking that fat cigar, and how good it’s gonna feel having my forearm buried in that fat ass of yours.”

He felt the rubber seal itself up again, and once more, there was silence. He tried to force the cigar out of his mouth, but it had been lodged in so tight he couldn’t budge it. Besides, that would be bad. Master had wanted him to smoke it. Focus on smoking and how good it’s gonna feel to be fisted. The rubber parted down his ass crack–he could feel the air on his sweaty crack–and the dildo slid out of his hole easily, and almost immediately, he felt three or four fingers worm his way into his ass. He was feeling so hot, all of a sudden, and he could feel himself sweating inside the suit. Hot and…and horny. The smoke was getting to his head, he couldn’t quite get enough air. In the darkness, he felt his head spinning from the lack of oxygen, but Derrick’s fist breaking past his sphincter refocused him and…and it felt good. It felt so fucking good. He moaned around the cigar in his mouth, and Master must have heard him, because he shoved his hand in deeper.

Rich tried to tell himself that this was all wrong, tried to fight past the sensation and the orders and the sheer pleasure he was feeling, but after a few minutes he relaxed back, and just let Master pummel his hole. The first orgasm came over him like a soft wave, the rubber sucking the cum from him, and minutes later, there was another one just as intense. Master had grown bored, or simply satisfied with how loose the pig’s hole had become, and started punch fucking him, and then worked both fists in. Rich suddenly felt the cigar butt give way into cinders–he had smoked it to the root. It was hot and burned his tongue, but he couldn’t get it out–he doused it with saliva, cooling it as quickly as he could.

Our Demons (Part 2)

“Look, I’ll just be gone for a few hours, nothing to worry about, really.”

“Please, just untie me, just let me go.”

Derrick looked at Rich with a bit of pity, but also fear, “I would, but it wouldn’t want me to. Besides, you’re helping me out so much! Really, you are.”

“Derrick, this isn’t you, you have to stop smoking those things. Can’t you see what they’re doing to you? You’re becoming a freak, man? A fucking faggot.”

“I’m not a fucking faggot!” Derrick yelled, “You’re the fucking faggot here, you fucking bitch, just for that, when I get back, I’m gonna shove my whole fucking fist in that hole of yours, got it? I’m gonna make you scream like a fucking whore.”

Rich just shook his head, but Derrick grabbed the cock shaped gag on the bed pillow, shoved it back in his mouth, and strapped it around the back of his head. After fucking his face for what felt like hours on the couch, Derrick had dragged Rich into the bedroom, and bound him belly down and spread eagled on the bed. He went over, grabbed the biggest dildo from the collection that had appeared on the dresser. It was shaped like a fist, not a cock, and Rich pleaded with him through the gag.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, but it’ll help. I’m gonna fist you when I get back, and this will get you a bit looser,” Derrick said, and then his voice hardened, “No lube though–I’m gonna shove it in raw, so you can get used to the pain, piggy.” Derrick had already spent most of the afternoon fucking him repeatedly, but the fist was something else. He screamed into the gag, but as soon as he did, he felt a searing pain in the small of his back, as Derrick smashed the butt of his burning cigar into his flesh, “You know how I feel about screaming, fucker! Shut your fucking trap.” Rich bit down and sucked on the gag in his mouth, anything to distract from the pain of his stretched hole, and then Derrick stood back up. “You should make sure that stays in there. I don’t know what it might do to you if it falls out by the time I get back. I’ll try to hurry, I promise. I just gotta get some more cigars, and maybe…maybe some other stuff, is all. I’ll be back soon.”

Soon ended up being four hours later. Thankfully, Rich got used to the pain rather quickly, but the sheer boredom of his position wore on him more than anything. He tried calling for help, he tried wrenching at the handcuffs holding him to the bed, but nothing budged. Instead, all he could do was think about what in the world was happening to Derrick. He’d already been trapped here for over a day–no one had heard them, no one had come to check on them. Rich lived alone and worked from home–it would be days before anyone realized he was missing, and who knew what might happen before then? At first, he just thought Derrick was going crazy–he kept referring to an “it,” like there was something else inside of him–but as the day had worn on, he was growing more and more sure it was those new cigars of his. Rich thought it was that other voice, the cruel voice, the abuser. Whatever it was, it scared Rich to death–and Derrick was scared of it too. He tried to sleep for a bit, but whenever he did, he could feel his body start pushing the dildo out, so he stayed awake, forcing himself to clench his ass down on the dildo–or clench it as best he could. As terrified as he was of whatever might come next, he was still happy to hear the door open, and the heavy trod of Derrick’s boots.

“Hey, piggy,” he said when he came into the bedroom–but this was a new voice. It was closer to Derrick’s, but tough, raspier, “Fuck, I needed that. I feel so much fucking better, you know? Turns out, those first cigars were just meant to get me started. The guy gave me these new ones, and fuck! They pack such a kick. I can’t wait to get my fist in that hole of yours, it’s gonna be fucking amazing. You’re such a good piggy friend, you know that? What the fuck would I do without you?” Derrick sat down on the bed looking down at Rich’s spread eagle body. “I told him about you, you know? He thinks you’re such a good friend, helping me out like this, that he had a present for you. You see, I told him that you’re still fighting a bit, and he suggested that what I really needed was a better way to keep you under control, and I fucking agreed, you know? If you just did what I fucking told you, then all this would go so much smoother. Thankfully, he had just the fucking thing for you. But here’s the thing. I have to take out your gag, so remember,” and here his voice shifted, and it came back, that deep snarl, “If you scream or shout, I will choke the fucking life from your lungs.”

Derrick pulled something black from the bag–Rich had no idea what it was. He unlatched the gag from his head and pulled it out. To scream or not to scream? He was caught in a moment of indecision, while Derrick fiddled with the black object. A mask? A hood? Before he could get anything out, his friend pulled the hood over his head. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe. The rubber pressed against his nose and mouth, tight, as he sucked against it, trying to get air, and just when he thought he might faint, the rubber opened up, pushed into his mouth, and hardened, forcing him to keep his jaw wide spread. He felt it with his tongue–a hard, inch wide, rubber ring had appeared out of nowhere, then he noticed something else–he could feel something running down his neck and onto his chest. He wanted to see what was happening, but he couldn’t see anything. He realized he couldn’t hear anything either, until Derrick spoke. The voice was almost too loud–like it was coming from inside his own head.

“Just relax. Let the rubber cover you.”

He felt his body slump down into the bed. It was rubber then. He could feel it running up his arms now, reaching his hands, but instead of forming gloves, the rubber massed around his hands, forcing them to form fists that he couldn’t open no matter how hard he tried. The rubber kept going down his body, covered his cock and balls in a mass of rubber so thick he didn’t think he’d be able to feel anything, and then down his legs to his feet, which formed into thick, rubber soled boots. He felt two fingers shove their way into his mouth, followed by a single word in his mind, “Lick.” He did, unable to stop himself, and felt the area around his cock start pulsing and sucking on his cock and balls, sending bolts of pleasure through him. Then a cock, another brutal face fuck, and now there was nothing Rich could do. He’d been turned into a hole. He hadn’t imagined that this could get any worse–but now he realized that this might just be only the beginning.

The FAT Retreat (Part 5)

***If you want to pussy out, now’s probably the time. Extreme scat, pain play, and humiliation ahead.***

– Day 5 –

Max had had a terrible night.

Of course, he’d had a terrible time ever since parting with Leon in the hallway, mostly because it had been that long since he’d had the chance to feel his amazing ass wrapped around his huge cock, and masturbation just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He’d slept fitfully, dozing for a few hours before waking up, angry and unsatisfied, jerking his cock raw, coating himself in load after load of cum while smelling the funk of the toilet that at this point was nearly brimming with his piss and shit, and all he could really feel now, as the lights in the room finally clicked on, was anger. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life, and try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to bottle it up. Then again, he supposed that was the point of the last session he’d gone to.

After splitting up with Leon, he’d made his way to his own afternoon session, where a doctor and several assistants had told him he would be getting a few shots, and they would be monitoring his reactions to the drugs. They’d restrained him and then given him a large shot in his ass–nothing happened for a few minutes, and then he started to sweat, and he wondered if they were going to be wreaking his hygiene even more. In fact, the drug was what the doctor called a hyper-steroid–designed to do in a single dose what years of steroid abuse would do to a person’s body, without the need for constant application. Anxious, Max had asked the doctor whether that meant he would lose his fat and be muscular, and the doctor assured him that he would keep all of his fat–just bulk up underneath it.

The doctor hadn’t been kidding, and the entire session had been horrendously painful, as muscle tissue broke down and reknit over and over again, bulking up all over his body, filling him out, forcing the lab assistants to loosen his restraints every half hour as they became too tight for his growing form. True to the man’s word, Max lost none of his four hundred pounds of fat–he simply gained close to an extra hundred and fifty of muscle. By the time the drug’s effects began to subside, Max’s soft moobs had become huge, meaty pecs jutting out over his gut which, while still very flabby, was supported by a massively strong core. His shoulders and neck had grown thick, and nearly grown together, and his arms had bulked up to the size of a normal man’s leg, soft, but still capable of bending the iron bar the doctor gave to him to test his physical strength.

The men helped him stand up on legs as thick as trees, his thighs so wide he had to readjust how he walked, with a wide, heavy gait that could make the room shake slightly if he was heavy footed, his massive cock swinging from side to side, though it looked a bit more normal on him now, and the rush of hormones! He felt so damn powerful and aggressive, all he wanted to do was find someone to fuck, but the only person he wanted was Leon. At dinner, unable to find his roommate at the tables, he’d tried grabbing another cub, slamming him up against the wall and raping his ass, listening to him cry for help as Max rammed his cock in, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing felt like Leon’s ass, and that’s what he wanted–what he needed, and without it, he was growing angrier by the minute.

As he came again, he noticed something about the bed he was still lying on–it was wet. Well, not just wet, but kind of slimy, and…

Max sat up and looked at the bed, and saw that it was soaked with yellow. He’d pissed the bed in the night, and he hadn’t even noticed, and now that he was paying attention, he lifted his ass up and saw that he’d shit the bed as well, and apparently rolled in it all night long, judging by the way in was coating his thighs…He rubbed his hand in the muck and slathered it over his cock, helplessly jacking off again, unable to believe he’d made such a mess and loving it at the same time. That must have been what those other shots they’d given him had been for. he could vaguely remember the doctor shooting something into the ring of his ass, as well as into his taint. Had they made him incontinent? The thrill of it made him momentarily ashamed, but it was so hot that he couldn’t stop himself. But still, eventually he had to stop when the door to his room finally slid open, and the voice announced that it was time for breakfast.

He got up and pulled on the same set of clothes he’d been wearing the whole retreat, stinking of his sweat, piss and filth–although he could barely fit into them now at his new size. After his growth from the testosterone transference and the steroids, the pants were stretched tight across his thighs and could only reach the tops of his calves, and he ripped the shirt down the front, freeing his belly, the fabric stretched across his back and arms like a vest, and he ripped the sleeves off to complete the look, before leaving in search of breakfast. he was halfway to the mess when he felt something warm in the front of his pants–he was pissing, and he stopped, a bit embarrassed, feeling it puddle around his bare feet, but it felt so good he massaged his cock a couple of times to get off a shuddered load, and continued onward.

It was hard to believe, but somehow he was even hungrier than before. Then again, he was feeding a body several hundred pounds heavier than usual. Luckily, he was able to commandeer entire tables with his size, and anyone who challenged him usually ended up with at least a black eye, if not something worse. It wasn’t that Max really intended to hurt them; but whenever one of them came near his territory, this unthinking rage seemed to take over his entire body, and before he could stop himself he’d tackled someone to the ground and was pounding their face in with his fists until the hunger dragged him off and back to the table. In the midst of his feast, he felt a fart rip it’s way out of his ass along with a load of shit, and his pants were so tight it just backed up in his crack, but he didn’t notice until he was already out of the mess hall and on his way to his assigned lab, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to make it through the day like this.

However, his concern was wiped away when he walked into the lab and saw the massive, tattooed man waiting for him, and his jaw dropped. What in the world had they done to Leon? It was no wonder he hadn’t gotten back to the room yesterday–he must have been in a lab all night if they tattooed him from head to toe–and it really was head to toe. However, that was all the attention he could give to the tattoos before Leon, who smelled Max’s filth as soon as he’d entered, started waddling over, eyes hungry, tongue out and panting, and Max slammed into him, throwing his roommate to the ground, rolling him over with one big foot and ramming his cock into Leon’s tight ass in one single thrust that made Leon scream out in a muddle of pain and pleasure.

It was as amazing as he remembered, and he could already tell that no other ass could make him feel like this. After two thrusts he’d already cum once, but Max was far from done, and as he fucked, it was like a flood of cum worked it’s way into Leon’s hole until it had been filled to capacity, and it just started spilling out every time max pulled his cock back. Leon just kept shouting and grunting, yelling at Max to fuck him harder, to make it hurt, but Max wasn’t listening–the entire world had disappeared as soon as he entered Leon’s ass, and all the anger that had built up overnight finally had a channel, and be beat that ass with his cock for what felt like hours, but it was only twenty minutes later that he finally regained some semblance of self-control and managed to withdraw.

“Thank you, that was a very nice control sample of your sexual dynamics,” someone was saying, and Max focused up, seeing a fat doctor making some marks on a clipboard. “I think you both are ready for induction. Both of you look here please,” the doctor said, holding up a strange, flashing light, and as soon as Max looked at it, he couldn’t look away, and then the whole world melted apart for a moment until he came back to himself, shaking his head and looking around the room, wondering what had just happened.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he heard someone say.

Max looked down and he saw Leon crawling towards him, but when he saw his roommate, he suddenly saw him in a completely different light. He wasn’t a hot fuck and a nice guy–he was a fucking disgusting piece of filth. In fact, just staring at him was making Max’s stomach turn, and when Leon tried to lick Max’s foot clean, he took a step back, sneered, and said, “What the fuck are you doing, you disgusting pig? What in the hell makes you think I want something like you touching me?”

Leon looked up at him, obviously wounded by the comment, but something had changed in him as well. Where the old Leon would have slung back with a barbed insult, or maybe even a fist, this new Leon, he knew that Max was right. He was disgusting. He was a pig. No one would want to have sex with him, why would they, really? But he wanted them, he wanted to make them happy, he wanted to service them. “Please, sir? Please? I just…I just want to clean your feet, I know I’m just a worthless pig sir, but I’m so hungry, and I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do everything you say, I swear.”

“Fuck off.”

“Please!” Leon said, begging now, his head against the ground, inches from Max’s feet, just staring at his filthy toes, “Please, I just…I just want to be a good pig sir, I just want to try and make you happy.”

“I’d be happiest if you were out of my sight.”

“Please don’t…don’t say that sir, please….please just let me try.”

Max looked down at the pig, a bit curious now. “Open your mouth.”

Leon did, and Max took his cigar and dumped a chunk of hot ash into the pig’s open mouth. The heat was nearly unbearable, but he knew what was expected of him. He soaked the ember in his spit and choked it down, before adding, “Thank you, sir.”

Max cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the pig’s eagerness. “Fine, you want to try to please me? A disgusting piece of trash isn’t worthy of my feet though. If you want to serve me, you’re gonna have to prove that you’re a real pig, that you’ll do anything for me,” Max said, and turned around, revealing his pants which were still bulging with the load of shit he let out into them earlier, “You’re gonna have to be my toilet pig. You want it? You want to eat my load of shit?”

Leon balked, and sat back on his knees, “I–I…I mean…”

“This is your only chance pig, either get your face in here, or get the fuck out.”

Leon stared at the brown seat of Max’s pants and at the door, and as much as he hated to admit it, the decision was easy–he just didn’t want it to be easy. he crawled up and started licking at the back of Leon’s pants, tasting the shit seeping through, and Max reached around with both hands, grabbed the pants and ripped them apart, the shit spilling out onto Leon’s face, and like a good pig he ate as much as he could, rubbing his face in the mess, eating it all up, Max urging him on. When he’d eaten everything out of the crack and started licking it clean, Max turned around and started picking up shit where it had fallen on the floor and crammed it into Leon’s mouth, packing it full before ramming his cock down the pig’s throat, listening to him gag and sputter, trying to breathe, swallow and pleasure Max’s huge cock all at the same time, and the huge brute came over and over, washing the shit down with torrents of his cum, skullfucking Leon without caring, and Leon didn’t want him to care. He wanted the abuse, he wanted to be hated, he wanted to be humiliated more than anything by this beastly god.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said, “Now if you could both look here again?”

It was the light again, and with his cock still down Leon’s throat, Max felt himself sucked back into the light, his world twisted upside down, and then he was spat back out, and he was looking down at the pig, and a flash of anger ripped through him, and he reached down, grabbed hold of the two huge rings the pig had through his fat man tits and gave them a wrenching twist, watching the pig howl in pain around his cock. “Yeah, that’s good, fucking scream, bitch!” Max twisted harder, watching Leon moan and twist, and he realized the pig was pulling away from Max’s hands, making it hurt more. The pig liked it–the pig was a glutton for punishment. Max let go if the pig’s rings took the cigar out of his mouth, grinding the hot butt against Leon’s forehead, watching the spot blister as Leon screamed, and then threw him to the ground and kicked Leon until he rolled over onto his huge stomach.

It was still slick with his cum from earlier, and that was all the lube he needed to slide his fist all the way inside of Leon’s hole, the pig sighing, and then Max was punching the pig’s insides, hammering at his prostate with as much power as he could muster, watching the pig shiver and quake, and then he started working in his other hand, stretching Leon’s hole to the ripping point, listening to him beg and shout for more–more pain, more fucking, and between both of his hands, Max slid in his still hard cock as well. “Your hole is so fucking loose I might as well climb inside your cunt,” Max said, jacking his cock with both hands inside of Leon’s ass, “Fucking worthless–you think an ass this loose can fucking please me? Why in the fuck would I want such a worthless, shitty pig? Still, you want me though, don’t you? You want me to hurt you so fucking much…”

“Oh god sir, please–it hurts so bad, but I deserve it, I need it. You can do whatever you want to me, I don’t care, but I need you sir, I need to be with you. I know I’m–I’m not worth anything. I know there are hundreds of pigs you’d rather have, but I have to serve you sir, no one can make me hurt like you do, no one can abuse me like you will…”

“Fuck pig, you may be disgusting, but you know how to get a guy horny,” Max said, and came again in Leon’s ass, milking as much of his cum out as he could with his hands, worming his way in deeper still, and the doctor comes up with his clipboard, scribbling more notes.

“That’s better, I think one more time, please.”

He held up the light and Max felt himself blink, and one second he had his cock and both hands buried in Leon’s cunt, and the next he was standing up on the other side of the room, and something felt different. He was clothed, not in his rags, but in a set of filthy, worn leathers–chaps, motorcycle boots, leather harness strapped tight against his fat and muscle, a muir cap tipped forward on his head, and there across the room, his fucking worthless pig slave, naked, covered in shit and cum, his hands bound up in mitts, it’s disgusting face well hidden behind the hood moulded to look like a pig’s head, and hood sealed to it’s neck by a thick steel collar.

Max reached down and felt the heavy wooden paddle hanging on the belt of his chaps, and he hefted it up, striding around behind the pig, smacking it softly against his gloved hand, letting the slave know what was coming, but the first blow connected not with the pig’s ass, but with the top of his back, behind the shoulder blades, hard enough for the pig’s arms to collapse, and then Max started slamming the paddle against his raised ass with glee, taking a break on occasion to grind the pig’s face into the tiled floor with a boot before paddling him some more, not stopping until the pig’s ass was bright red and welted, and then he threw the paddle to the side and started fucking his pig.

Yes. His pig. He owned this pigslave, it was his property. Sure, it was disgusting. Sure, he despised it, but it served him eagerly and there was something to be said for that. As he was fucking him, ramming his hips hard against the pig’s sore cheeks, he felt a warmth as well, and he realized he was actually pissing in his slave’s ass. He buried in deep, making sure the pig knew what was happening. Making sure the pig knew it was just a toilet, a urinal, an object–nothing more. Making sure it had no illusions. That Max didn’t care about it, didn’t love it, didn’t respect it. Making sure it knew that as soon as it could no longer serve, it would be abandoned at the first rest area they passed, chained to the wall for anyone to use and take if they wanted a worthless, broken down, second hand pig. And Leon did know it. He knew it all, and he accepted his role with all his heart. He wanted it. He didn’t want to be loved. He didn’t deserve love or respect. he hated himself, but he was happy serving. He was happy to be of some small use to a beautiful, brutal god like his master.

The doctor let Max fuck his pig for the remainder of the session, and when it was time for lunch he gave Max a leash for his pig, and he led Leon back to the mess hall on his hands and knees, Leon behind him the entire time, watching his master’s ass in case Max had an accident that he might need to clean up quickly. For the first half of their lunch, Max was the only one eating. Leon would follow behind him, only allowed to eat the scraps that fell to the floor as Max ate–that and Max’s shit. As his master was devouring a massive cake with his hands, Leon saw his master’s ass start to distend, and he quickly moved to catch the shit and devour it as quickly as he could like a good pig toilet. Max didn’t even notice–all he could focus on was making sure he kept up his bulk.

When Max was satisfied, he parked Leon next to a table and started stuffing food down his throat as fast as he could, Leon eating more than he’d ever managed to before, his master taunting him the entire time, telling him how disgusting fat he was going to be, telling him that if he was going to be a pig, he was going to be the biggest, fattest pig on the face of the planet. Leon was just happy for the attention, happy for the acknowledgement from his master, happy being fed, knowing that he wouldn’t be wasting away today, that for the moment he didn’t have to be afraid of withering.

Before long, Max wasn’t shoving food in with his hands, but with his cock, and suddenly he threw Leon to the floor and was ramming his cock into his pigslave’s hole. Leon struggled to get down the pile of food still in his mouth, and with his hands reached down and yanked on the rings through his moobs, feeling his worthless cock seep cum into his fatpad. Looking around the room, he could see that the rest of the men at the retreat had formed a wide circle around them, with most of them just staring. All of them looked to have gained a substantial amount of weight since they’d arrived, but none of them looked to be as extreme as him. He was the lowest–he was always going to be the lowest, and that was where he deserved to be. In his dull mind, he tried to connect back some of what he thought he could remember, how he’d arrived just days earlier, muscular and ready to help a bunch of fat men lose weight, but how could he have gone from that to this so quickly? He could barely remember everything that had happened to him, and with his poor memory, everything he seemed like it could just have easily have been imagined from horny fantasies in his mind.

The doors had slid open, signalling the end of lunch, but as far as Max was concerned, lunch wasn’t finished until he was satisfied. A good ten minutes later, the room almost entirely empty, he finally withdrew, picked up Leon’s collar and yanked him along, the two of them directed by the orderlies to another lab. Leon was still in his strange head space of trying to figure out what was going on–in his simplified mind, it seemed to amplify everything around him in the present. Nothing was permanent to him, nothing could seem to stick in his memory, rendering it as a dream, and he prayed with each moment that he wouldn’t wake up, that he wouldn’t go back to that skinny body, near death, without his master. Nothing could be worse than that, could it?

The lab, it turned out, was the same lab, with the same doctor, they’d been with in the morning, however, the room had been sanitized and scrubbed clean, and there were two chairs surrounded by electrical equipment which they were directed into. Max settled into one on his own, but the doctor and his assistants had to help Leon into his. For some reason, standing up and sitting down felt so awkward and human to him. It wasn’t a position which came naturally to him any longer. The doctor and his assistants began wiring up them both, and the doctor explained what would be happening in the session, although Leon and Max understood almost none of what he was saying.

It was, the doctor said, to be a two stage process. First, long term memories would be scrubbed and withered with targeted EST, and then the write on would begin, scribing new long term memories in their place, enough that they both would be able to fill in the blanks on their own. Leon wanted to know more, he was secretly afraid that he would be returning to his slim body that he could remember distantly, but before he could get his concerns out, a sharp pain ripped through his head and face, sending him into a violent convulsion, and in the mental space that remained as he shook, there was…nothing. No memories of himself, he felt like a clean slate, all of his concerns, all of his memories of that horrid body he may or may not have had wiped clean, and in their absence, a relief Leon couldn’t explain overcame him. Everything was going to be ok now, he was safe. He no longer knew what he was safe from, but it was gone–gone forever.

The second wave of shocks were less painful, but only because they were so powerful that they knocked both Leon and Max out the moment the struck. Max resisted more, as hard as he could, his hardened will and aggression no longer willing to cede ground, but the force of the electricity overwhelmed him, and room faded to black, and he something began to swim to the surface of his mind, memories, but not his memories, surely. But if not his, then whose?

–He was climbing out of his beat up F-150 a few years ago, before he’d been laid off from the plant and started trucking cross country, heading up the steps of his single wide where he lived with his son, Leon. What a disappointment. Max was a man’s man. Burly, hairy, muscular, tough, and his son was nothing like him. In his heart, he’d always secretly wondered if he was even his, whenever he looked at his fat frame, his hairless body, it had always been a bit disgusting to him, actually. He climbed the steps and let himself in the trailer door, and stopped short, when he smelled sex and his brother’s brand of cigars, and there on the couch, Randy was balls deep in his son’s ass on the couch, Leon moaning and grunting like a whore.

Randy, wide eyed, had stopped fucking and looked back at Max. He’d always been littler than his big brother, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The brothers had fooled around plenty since they were kids, but, well, fucking your nephew was territory he hadn’t expected to enter. Still, Leon had begged him for his cock, getting him all horny, telling him how half the football team had been using his fat ass as a cum dump for months now, how he’d always wondered what his uncle’s cock might taste like, how it might feel in his pigcunt, and how could Randy say no, really?

Max however, wasn’t surprised, but he was angry. Not at Randy–he was a horndog who’d stick his cock anywhere. Not even really at Leon, not directly. The boy was a pig–of course he was a worthless fucking bottom. But indirectly? It was somewhat his fault, his fault for siring a fucking pig–but if Leon wanted to be a pig, then Max was happy to oblige. He dropped his pants, letting his huge cock flop out, and walked around to Leon’s face.

“Not a fucking surprise. You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you? What a fucking disgrace.”

Leon tried to say something. An apology? A request for his dad to fuck his face? Before he could say anything Max had already delivered on the second, and when he and Randy were satisfied, they’d tied Leon up and Max made a few calls to all of his friends and fuck buddies in the county, announcing open season on his son’s hole–

Darkness, memories coming faster than either of them could process now, and they would occasionally catch larger snippets of them as they passed by.

–Leon had thought he’d wanted this. Thought he’d wanted to his dad’s slave, his pig, but tied to a chair, being force fed food for hours on end, he was begging for his father to stop. Max, however, would have none of it.

“You told me this is what you’d wanted, and from how hard that little clit cock of yours is, I’d suggest you open up and shut up, bitch.”

It was during one of their marathon feedings that Max had discovered something new about his son–how sensitive he was to pain. More than that, pain made him compliant. Pain seemed to make Leon…happy. Max didn’t understand it. How could such a worthless piece of trash be his? He considered selling him off, but yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to his scream for more, slapping and punching him around was so satisfying–

Even faster, and more vivid now. The electricity was just a dull hum in the room, each of them rigid. Max was still trying to fight them, but it was purely instinct. There was nothing he could do to stop these thoughts, nothing at all. But still, looking at what he’d done to his son, he was so proud of what a man he’d been. This had been the right thing to do, and he liked having a pig, but he didn’t love that slave, couldn’t love him, not really…could he?

–They were coming along great. His son would never be able to hide his pig self now, not with tatts all over his body, not with piercings slammed in everywhere Max could fit them. Even better, this was actually his pigs reward! Leon begs him to go get more tattoos and piercings, he loves how the guns and needles feel in his body, he loves the pain. This one is a reward for being a good little pig and learning how to drink down all of his daddy’s piss, and this next week, well, Max isn’t planning on using the toilet ever again. Leon doesn’t know what’s coming, but from now on, he’s going to be a full service pigtoilet, and Max has a feeling he’s going to love it–

Next to him, Leon was spasming, his puny pig cock leaking piss, the sheer eroticism of what his dad had done to him making him so happy. Still, his mind was so wrecked that as soon as a memory occured they simply faded away almost immediately, forming a long haze of abuse and pain stretching back as far as he could reach.

–”You’re going to eat it.”

“No, dad–”

“I’m not you’re fucking father, and you’re not my fucking son, you fucking know better bitch!”

Max punched Leon in his face, feeling his son’s nose fracture, blood gushing down onto his tattooed chest and belly, but even though it must hurt, all Leon can do is grunt and moan in pleasure at being abused.

“You’re going to eat it, or here’s what’s going to happen. I know a biker gang, I met them on my last trip out to Cali, and they’re always looking for pig slaves, but they ain’t as nice as I am. First, they’ll rip out your teeth, and pop out your eyes, and cup off your hands and feet, and chain you to the fuckin’ wall, and that’s where you’ll fuckin’ stay for fuckin’ ever, a real fuckin’ toilet, and if you’d rather have that, by all means keep doin’ what you’re doin’ slave, because I’m gettin’ real tired of this bullshit of yours.

Leon was crying now, and when Max squatted over his face this time, he didn’t protest.

“That’s a good pig, eat up for daddy,” Max said, yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to him gag–

They were rocketing towards the present now, and the memories were growing clearer, but still shooting by at an incredible pace. The electricity was dying down as they entered the last couple of years, and FAT came into their relationship.

–Truly the Fat Action Team is the best thing Max had ever found. He’d never known that there were so many guys in the world who would pay to watch him fuck his fat pig slave of a son on their cross country drives. Of course he’d do anything the Fat Action Team told him to do, he’d already made plenty of sacrifices to increase his ratings. He’d happily taken on the steroid treatments, but sure, he’d balked at the incontinence. Still, he loved the sensation of pissing himself night and day, of shitting the back of his pants, and the guys watching his cams loved it too. He owed the Fat Action Team everything, he’d do anything for them, because they were everything to him–

Finally, the rush was sowing down, they could start coming back to themselves, move their bodies, but the memories kept coming, pushing out all of their old lives. They didn’t exist anymore–this was their past and their reality–their lives.

–Fuck, they were giving it to him rough, but Leon was a real trooper, Max thought, holding the camera as the two huge bikers took his pig from both ends in a rest stop bathroom. Over the last year, ever since working with FAT, he’d started to appreciate his son a bit more for the pig he was. Sure, he was a disgusting piece of filth, by damn, when the pig wanted something, well, he had a way of getting it. Kind of like Max, as much as he hated admitting it. Maybe the two of them had more in common than he wanted to believe.

The biker’s finished up and Leon thanked them for letting him serve their cocks. Max turned off the camera, and walked over to Leon, getting down and rubbing his son’s smooth, tattooed head, “Ya know, you might actually manage to make me proud one day, pig,” he said, and Leon smirked. Max gave him a playful slap, and then gave his son a kiss, tasting his foul mouth, piss sweat, shit, cum, ash–

The doctor shut off the electricity, and watched the two subjects sag in their seats, pleased with the memory induction, and certain it would take hold. Now, however, the subjects would sleep until morning, he was sure. He called for several orderlies, and together they all managed to heft both huge men into wide wheelchairs and drive them off to their room. Another successful retreat, the doctor thought with a nod, excited to do it all again with a new batch of men next week.