A Study in Flannel (1 of 2)

“Hello, Wallflower.”

“Yes, I’m talking to you. Did you think no one had noticed you in here? Everyone’s been talking about you, but everyone gets talked about, their first time in Pigtown. Everyone wants to know, who’s that handsome young man going to be, sipping that beer all by himself against the wall?”

“If you really want to hide that blush, you shouldn’t turn away–just grow a better beard, Wallflower.”

“Wallflower, everyone can tell that you’re trying to. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Look at you–we all know what you want to be. Those jeans, those boots, that…*sigh* flannel shirt. Flannel, such a tired fabric, but it means so much to all of us here, I suppose. No one wants to hear The Beatles, but everyone knows the words when it come on. We all know what you want.”

“Don’t be coy with me–you know what this place is. I know how far the reputation of my bar spreads.”

“Oh, you just now noticed that facial hair of yours? I know I suggested you grow a beard, but that flush in your cheeks is too cute to hide just yet. Shame about the color though…”

“A mirror? Right over there, Wallflower. Go take a look?”

“Not too bad, eh? That mop makes a pretty good flat top, I have to say, and you’re filling out that flannel of yours nicely. How’s that cigar taste? Heh, looks like you hadn’t even noticed it. Big package in the front of those jeans daddy, you’re filling out nice and thick, just how we like them. Still, as handsome as you are, I’m afraid you just don’t quite fit our theme tonight.”

“Didn’t you notice? Second Friday of every month is the hoedown! Got dirty fucks coming from five counties to have some fun around here. Don’t worry, we can get you all fixed up here in a jiffy–won’t take much more than a few tweaks, and you’ll be feeling right at home.”

“Don’t shake your head at me! Don’t you understand the importance of theme nights? Honestly, it’s like why keep a calendar at all, if men can just show up and be whoever they want to be. Now hold still, Wallflower–let’s rip some seams.”

Cigar Dads

“What did you say it’s called?” Gil asked, looking over Frank’s shoulder at the screen of his boyfriend’s phone.

“It’s called Chronivac or something–I got an invite to be a beta tester on my phone–this thing’s amazing! It can fucking change things, Gil. Like, reality.”

Gil just raised an eyebrow at Frank. “Sounds like a scam.”

Frank just smiled…oddly. “Oh trust me, honey, this thing works perfectly well.”

Gil just shook his head. Why in the world was he even dating Frank? He paused a moment. Why…why was he dating Frank, anyway? There didn’t seem to be an answer–they were just…dating. It was just a fact. The two of them certainly looked like they went together–a couple of twinks, but hadn’t he…

“You listening, Gil? I just told you that I can change the world, and you’re just staring off into space.”

“Sorry…I was just…confused for a sec there.”

“Look, here, I’ll show you!” Frank said, “scrolling through the app, “Let’s see–packaged changes, oh here’s a laugh–Cigar Dad! Ugh, can you imagine either of us old?” He laughed, “No, we twinks are never going to have to age again. Still, for a laugh, let’s see, right?” Frank started fiddling with the phone, “Let’s see–aware on, and the rest should be good. Target myself…and maybe…two minutes?”

Frank hit a button, and Gil’s jaw dropped, as he watched his slender, short, hairless boyfriend begin to shift and change right before his eyes. He grew older, his abs dissolving into a gut. There was hair…everywhere, even as the hair on his head balded back. After two minutes, a very different Frank was standing in front of him, chuffing on a cigar. “Fuck…did I…I left the mental on, didn’t I…” Frank muttered, and took a deep, long, inhale of smoke. “Tastes fuckin’ good. Whole thing feels fuckin’ good, actually.”

“Frank, what the fuck just happened to you?”

“Made myself a cigar dad, I guess!” Frank said, his voice a bit gravelly and rough. He crossed the room to a mirror and took stock of himself. “Fuck, I look…fuckin’ sexy as fuck…” Frank started tugging at his cock, grinning at himself in the mirror.

“Frank, what the fuck is going on?” Gil asked again, “I…I’m kind of scared.”

Frank just picked up his phone, chuckling, hit a few buttons, and then looked over at Gil, who had the…strangest sense that things were off kilter somehow. He took a drag off his own cigar, eyeing his sexy husbear Frank across the room. “Fuck, could use that mouth of yours around this cock a mine,” Gil said, stroking his own hairy cock, feeling his gut shake as he did.

“Shit, forgot that part–” Frank fiddled again, and Gil realized he’d misspoke–he only ever sucked and fucked–Frank was the total top in this cigar couple, and Gil the desperate bottom pig. He got down on hands and knees and crawled over, sucking Frank’s cock, taking a moment now and then to blow smoke over the head and shaft, and Frank grinned. It wasn’t what he’d planned, but for now, he had no real complaints.

Source: guido-maffeo

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 8)

“What’s the matter, daddy?”

Daddy gave a another growl of frustration, hefted his gut a bit higher on the pig’s back, and kept trying to work his cock into the pig’s hole, but as horny as he was, his cock simply wasn’t responding. “Yer too fuckin’ tight, pig.”

“Oh trust me daddy–after that nice licking you gave my hole earlier, I’m as loose as can be. You need one of your little blue pills to help you out?”

“Fuckin’ piece a shit! If I wasn’t looking at ya I could git hard, but yer fuckin’ grossin’ me out.”

“Don’t lie to me daddy–I might disgust you, but that just turns you on more. Still, if you can’t get hard, I guess we’ll have to figure out some other way for you to make my little piggy cock cum.”

“It’s daddy’s cock you should be fuckin’ concerned with. Ya can cum after I get mah own damn rocks off.”

“That’ll be a while, and you don’t have that much time left.”

“What the fuck do ya mean?”

“Well daddy, if you want to change back, you’re going to have to drink my cum–but the longer you wait, the more this becomes the real you. If I finish my pipe before I cum, I won’t be very happy, and you’ll be stuck for good.”

“Wait…what?”

“Can remember daddy, who you were? That’ll all be gone soon, if you don’t hurry, I don’t have a whole lot left in this bowl. Too much longer, and this little piggy will be gone again, and you’re going to be this disgusting daddy forever.”

He looked at himself in the mirrored doors of the hotel room closet, his 400 pound body covered with hair, matted with sweat, reeking of piss and musk, beard and hair grown long and ragged. That…wasn’t him. He knew that, but he could barely remember who he’d been before meeting this fucking pig hours earlier. “Fine, fuckin’ roll over, ‘n let’s git this over with.”

Carmichael did as he asked, rolling over onto his back, piggy cock jutting straight up into the air. “You can suck all you want daddy, but I simply can’t cum without something in my hole, and if that cock of yours can’t get hard…then again, a perverse, dirty minded, kinky daddy like you can probably figure something out.”

He was still looking at himself in the mirror as the tattoos appeared, snaking up his arms and legs onto his chest and belly, his mind–every empty spot was suddenly filling up with the sickest, most disturbing fantasies he could imagine. His gear shifted–a studded leather harness appearing under his vest, his gloves growing and turning to rubber, reaching up to his elbows. His nipples grew large and inflamed, pierced with thick rings, and his bulge grew as well, his cock and balls pumped and inflated with silicone. But he did have ideas–oh, did he have plenty of ideas for how to get this nasty piggy to nut his load down daddy’s throat.

He went to the closet, dug around for a moment, and returned to the bed with a tub of shortening, slathered one of his gloves, and started working his fingers into the pig’s hole–he’d been right, it was loose, and it swallowed his whole fist in less than a minute.

“Oh fuck daddy, that’s what I’m talking about…”

“Yeah, ya slutty fuckin’ pigs, daddy knows what ya really want…”

He pushed in deeper, up to his elbow, deep enough that he could get his mouth around the pig’s cock and start sucking, hard, milking it for all it’s worth.

“Oh fuck daddy, that feels so good, but I don’t know if I want to cum–just think, I could play with you anytime I wanted.”

The daddy didn’t like just how appealing that sounded to him. He sucked harder, pounding in deeper, before sliding back out a bit and milking the pig’s prostate until at last, with a grand squeal, the pig exploded into his mouth, and he drank all the cum down that he could–but there was so much of it.

“Careful daddy–you really don’t want to miss *grunt* a single drop.”

He could feel it working, feel some of the changes receding, but the flow stopped long before he felt normal again, and looked over at himself in the mirror. He was still at least fifty, with some of his original color back in his hair and beard, both of which were quite long. He still reeked of musk, and only a few of the tattoos had receded–but with some relief, he felt a stirring in his crotch, his cock returning to life and coming to full mast, but the view of it was still obscured by his massive gut–he had to be at least 350 pounds still, and a fucking hairy beast. “Feed me more a yer cum,” he said, “I can git another load out a ya.”

“Sorry daddy, but it doesn’t work like that. But let your little pig take care of you for a while,” Carmichael said, sitting up and pushing his daddy away, feeling his fist slide out of his hole, “After you cum, you won’t even want to go back–you’ll be a good dirty daddy, just how I want you.”

Half an hour later, Carmichael stepped out of the hotel room, and adjusted his cuffs and collar.

“Fuck man, I don’t know what the fuckin’ hell that was, but that was the nastiest sex a mah life,” a voice said behind him. He looked over his shoulder at the leering, bearded daddy grinning through a crack in the door. “When can I fuckin’ see ya again? I wanna play with that little pig some more.”

“Oh my,” he said, blushing a bit, the taste of tobacco still fresh in his mouth, “ Well, I was planning on finding a gentleman or two at the party tonight for another play session. Perhaps I’ll give you a call once we are underway, and you can come join us?”

“Fuck, sounds amazing.”

“I’ll be in touch then.”

The door shut, and Carmichael strutted down the hall, whistling a tune. He had a feeling he would enjoy this new life of his–maybe this had been a good trade after all.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 7)

*Knock* *Knock*

“Room service!”

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

“Daddy…Daddy, that’s your cue. Get the door.”

He just moaned, burrowing deeper into the pig’s shit chute with his tongue.

“Daddy! Get the door!”

He blinked, and sat back on his heels, trying to remember what was going on. He took a suck off his cigar, but realized it had burnt out while he’d been eating out the pig’s hole–how fucking long had he been at it?

*Knock* *Knock*

“Is anyone there?”

He stumbled up, a bit off balance, and stumbled towards the hall, hauled open the door. “The fuck do ya want?” he said, and the young woman who’d brought the two full carts of food up gasped at the sight of him, and backed up a step, at a loss for words.

“T-Thanks,” he said, and pulled the two carts inside, shutting the door behind him, feeling a bit embarrassed at the woman’s obvious disgust. Wondering what she’d seen, he slipped into the bathroom and turned on the light, only to shout at the sight. That wasn’t his face–he didn’t look like that! The beard he’d sprouted had lengthened, running down to his chest, and his hair had grown out long as well. They were both greasy and tangled, more grey than his original brown at this point–well, aside from the area around his mouth, which was slimy with the pig’s juices and his own slobber. His leather gear (was it even his? He’d always despised leather and the fake masculinity it seemed to inspire in the men who wore it) was no longer crisp and new as it had been earlier, when he’d found himself in it. The leather vest was well worn, and now bore a number of biker patches, his chaps and boots equally worn, and the jock–fuck, his jock was putrid yellow and crisp to the touch.

“Oh good choices all around, daddy,” the little pig had gotten off the bed and was inspecting what the woman had dropped off. “I bet you’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, right?”

“What the fuckin’ hell have ya done tah me, ya little fuck?” he exclaimed, pointing at his reflection in the mirror.

“You honestly didn’t expect a dirty, disgusting pig like me to want to play around with the cute little cub you were before, do you?” Carmichael said, grunting and chuckling to himself, “No–I only play with guys who are just as disgusting as I am.”

“No–No, I’m not fucking like you–this ain’t me! I ain’t this disgusting fucker! Change me back, right fuckin’ now, or I fuckin’ swear, I’ll–”

The pig interrupted him, shoving a cupcake in his daddy’s mouth, watching the older man’s eyes roll back in his head in pleasure, his larger gut growling with approval. “That’s what I thought. Come on now daddy–let’s get you fed.”

He laid the daddy down on the bed, propping his head up with a couple of pillows, and then pulled both carts up alongside them, before climbing up and straddling, grinding his ass against his daddy’s bulging jock, listening to him moan. “Be a good daddy, let the little piggy fatten you up, and maybe you’ll get to feel that cock in my hole tonight.”

Before he could respond, he shoved another cupcake into his maw, and the feeding began. It was slow going at first–the daddy was still fighting pretty hard. They took the occasional break to feed each other some smoke, to let the daddy’s hunger catch up, the pig’s pipe so much sweeter than the rough cigars he preferred smoking. The breaks weren’t necessary before too long, and the pig quickened the pace. Cupcakes, pudding, ice cream, doughnuts–all of it went into daddy’s gut–they could feel it heaving up between them until a certain point when it lost its firmness, and settled around him in a pile of soft flab. It was around that point, daddy started sobbing–pleading and begging with the pig to just let him go, refusing to eat another bite.

“Do you want to fuck my hole or not, daddy? Keep eating.”

“No, please, no more. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can too–I believe in you! You can be the biggest, most vile daddy in the world, I know it. Now open up.”

But he stubbornly refused, the little pig letting off a squealing sigh. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this until later, but you’re just not cooperating. Still, this will help move things along.” He fished his piggy cock out, aimed for his daddy’s mouth over his flabby gut, and let loose a burst of piss which landed right in his face. The stench alone made his head spin–he licked his lips and got a taste of it, and groaned. The pig let loose a longer stream then, his daddy chasing the golden piss as the pig soaked him down, watching his daddy’s hair and beard grow longer, his body stinking and unwashed, the musk stronger than most men would be able to handle. The pig started stuffing his face again, helping him wash it down with more and more piss, watching him grow older and older still, his hair entirely white aside from where it had yellowed around his mouth from his cigars, teeth rotten and crooked, eyes hungry and desperate, losing their will to fight. It wasn’t too much longer before the carts were both empty, and while his daddy moaned, the little pig spent a while licking him clean, tasting his daddy’s filth while the older man smoked his cigars, trying to muster some resistance, but…but he wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, he was fighting against anymore. All he really wanted, now that he had stuffed himself, was a turn at that little pig’s dirty hole.

“Alright pig, I did mah part. Now you’s get bent over the bed, ‘n let daddy plow that nasty hole a yers.”

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 6)

“Alright Daddy, *grunt*, how do I look?”

The cub had finished placing the order and was just sitting on the bed, wondering again how in the world he’d ended up here in this situation, when he heard the bathroom door open…but that voice–that wasn’t the same voice of the guy he’d brought with him. The words were distorted somehow, and while the voice was pitched higher, it was more gutteral. He got up from the bed and walked over to the short hall that lead to the hotel room door and the bathroom, and there, blocking the exit, was…he didn’t know what the fuck it was, but he let out a scream and backpedaled into the room. “What…what the fuck!” he managed to say.

Carmichael squealed and laughed and grunted at his sudden fright, holding his pipe in one hand so he didn’t drop it. “The look on your fuckin’ faces! Every fuckin’ time,” he started walking towards the cub, “What’s wrong daddy? I thought you wanted to play with a little pig tonight?”

“Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking freak.”

“Oh daddy, that’s so fucking sexy, fucking talk to me like that all night long, and we’re gonna have so much fucking fun.”

“I’m fucking serious! I don’t know what fucking game you’re playing man, but we’re fucking done! Get that fucking mask off, and get the fuck out of my room! You’re fucking sick!”

The pig groaned again and gave it’s cock a little stroke, “Fuck Daddy, that’s enough pillow talk–get over here and kiss your nasty pig, and let’s get the fun started,” Carmichael took a deep lungful of smoke and pushed it out into the room, watching it fill up with a grey haze. The cub tried to get to the sliding door and out onto the balcony, but the smoke caught him first, making him cough and wheeze. The smoke was so sweet smelling, cloying even, but he couldn’t seem to get a full breath of air into his lungs, his eyes were watering–he hadn’t even noticed the pig walk over to him, shove him up against the glass. He tried to wriggle away, but not before the pig shoved it’s snout to his nose and mouth and exhaled even more smoke into him–he couldn’t help but inhale it, and once it was inside him…the world spun, and the only thing that kept him upright was the pig pressing into him, groping him, making him moan, making…making him want to…to kiss that snout, and…

He shoved the pig back, and Carmichael allowed him, watching the cub change as he coughed. His shorts blackened, growing longer even as they split along the crotch, becoming a pair of leather chaps, his briefs shrinking into a simple white jockstrap holding a sizable package. His shirt split down the center, and became a leather vest, but it affected far more than his clothes. The cub’s neatly trimmed goatee spread across his face, becoming a beard flecked with the first tinge of grey as the hair on his body filled in thicker, his abs disappearing under a definite paunch, which became a beer gut in less than a minute. Lastly, his shoes morphed into well shined boots, and leather gloves appeared on his hands, one of them holding a thick cigar that flamed into life, the cub bringing it to his lips and sucking in his own smoke. “What…am I doing? I don’t smoke?” he said, exhaled a plume through his nose, and immediately took another drag. His own cigar was harsher than the pig’s pipe tobacco, but that seemed…right. He was rougher than the pig, yeah, a rough daddy fucker. “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“Nothing I didn’t want to do,” the pig said, approaching slowly. The cub’s eyes were still filled with disgust, but now alongside that was a sudden urge to dominate, to fuck rough and brutal. “How’d you like your first taste of your pig, daddy?”

“You fucking disgust me…I don’t…know what you did, but fucking fix this, you fucking piece of shit, or I swear to god I’ll beat your ass to a fucking pulp, hog.”

“Such a sweet talker,” Carmichael said, pressed himself to the cub again and kissed him…and as disgusted as he was facing this ugly pig thing, the cub’s new instincts took over, shoving his tongue into the pig’s snout, sharing and swapping spit, spinning the thing around and shoving him up against the wall, grinding up against it’s belly. The pig’s skin was…soft and supple, but didn’t feel like human skin…it was somehow thicker–it made shivers run up his back, but whether they were disgust or arousal he couldn’t tell anymore, and the more smoke they shared, the less it mattered to him. The pig was disgusting, it made his stomach churn, but somehow that just made him want him even more.

“I…can’t stop…” he moaned into the pig’s mouth, before running his tongue down to his chest, tasting the pig’s hide for the first time, running a gloved hand over the pig’s strange cock, wondering how it would feel in his mouth, but Carmichael pushed him away, walked over, and bent over the bed.

“Now, now daddy–dinner first. How about an appetizer before our food arrives? Show this pig what a dirty daddy you are.”

“You want me to fuck you? You fucking piece of shit?” the cub said, walking over.

“No no, not yet daddy. I said eat,” the pig reached back and spread it’s cheeks, revealing it’s pink hole, curled tail swishing with anticipation, and the cub’s realized what the pig had meant. But no–no, he couldn’t. It would be so…so fucking gross, and…and disgusting, and yet that only made him want it more. Maybe just a taste, just a little one. His knees buckled, and he crawled over to the pig, Carmichael encouraging him the whole way, and after a whimper and groan of fear, unable to process what was happening to him, he dove in and started eating out the pig’s ass like he hadn’t eaten in days–and when the pig let loose the first fart, all remaining doubt disappeared into the ether.

Snake Oil (2 of 2)

“What the fuck did you give us, you fucker!” Nick said, dragging the old man behind his booth at the fair, Anthony beside him. Their changes had progressed further, both of them now approaching middle age, their muscles much weaker–but not so weak they couldn’t kick this fucker’s ass if he didn’t give them an antidote.

“Ah! You must be the young man from earlier,” the man said with a laugh, “I see the sample I gave you is working nicely.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? It didn’t work at all!”

“Oh nonsense–it’s working exactly as it’s supposed to. Looking at you both, you’re here right on time–the second stage should be starting any moment…yeah, look at your friend there.”

Nick looked over at Anthony, but his friend was just standing there, slackjawed, almost like he was in a trance…but the bulge in his friend’s pants drew his attention next. What the hell was wrong with his bulge! It seemed…massive all of a…sudden. Nick’s mind was clouding over, dulling, and he released his hold on the old man, feeling a pleasant warmth in his pants too, but a…pressure too.

“Yes, very good you two. Follow me, and let’s get you both milked.”

Helpless to disobey, both Nick and Anthony followed the man to a trailer parked against the side of the fair and went inside with him. He sat them both in a chair, strapped them in, opened up their pants, and they saw what was the matter–their ball’s had swollen up to three or four times their original size.

“See, I do, in fact, sell a muscle growth serum, but business has been so good this year, I’ve been running out, so I needed someone to help me resupply my wares. All that youthful muscle? It’s in those sacks of yours, and you’re going to give it to me.”

Both men tried to protest, as the man put milking tubes over their cocks, and started the process of sucking the cum from their sacks. “No–you can’t…we’ll…tell…”

“You won’t be telling anyone anything,” the older man said, “You won’t remember a thing when I’m through with you both. Nope, the only thing the two of you will remember is your new lives as a couple of dumb, old, faggot carnies. I’ll help you fit the part of course–grow out your beards a bit, tone down the hygiene, soften your minds, make you both smokers and drinkers–I think cigars and whiskey for you both. I have lots of wares that will be perfect for you both.”

They both tried to fight, but there was nothing they could do–and when they both stumbled out of the trailer a few hours later, in their filthy clothes, smoking their cigars like they’d been doing it for years, the two old men found a bit of privacy and fucked each other for the first of many, many times.

Stinkers – Eric’s Story (Part 6)

Eric did go to the library for a few hours, where he holed up in an isolated corner away from anyone else, and tried to focus on his school work, but nothing could get past his growing terror. Something was seriously wrong with him. He was bigger. He already stank like he hadn’t showered in days, and he’d just been sitting there in the cold room. He had a beard he couldn’t shave. His dirty laundry had just fucked up his roommate in some way he couldn’t even begin to explain. He’d spent all weekend fucking with some stranger. He’d raped one of his teammates. Trying to stack everything up together, everything felt too big. He tried searching online for anything he could find about what might have happened, but everything either led him to filthy porn videos he was too terrified to watch, strange online stories which read more like fantasies ripped out of twisted minds, and freakish conspiracy theories about aliens, government agents, and genetic experimentation.

He leaned back in the chair, feeling it creak, his gut growling. He’d been hungry for ages, but he didn’t want to give in. He could…remember eating with Greg, in that room, how he’d always lost control of himself each time, stuffing himself, Greg stuffing him, rubbing his gut, that time he’d…greased his cock up with butter and fucked him. He shuddered, and realized too late the memory had not only gotten him hard, but he’d just shot a huge wad right into his tight pants, the wet spot obvious and spreading across the denim. It dried in less than a minute, and the jeans he had on looked a lot less clean than they had been moments before–the same with his shirt, which looked like it was stained with who-knew-what and was suddenly crispy to the touch. The hunger was intensifying, becoming physically painful, but he didn’t dare go to the mess hall, not like this, not around all of those other people, but he didn’t know where to go instead.

He should go back to see Greg. He needed to know what was happening to him, he needed to know just how much of what he’d just read on the internet about this was true. He needed…to smell him, see him, taste him again. He pushed the desire away, and holed up in the corner of the library for a few more hours, trying not to think about what was happening to him. Once it had gotten a bit later, past the dinner hour, he ventured out right before the dining hall closed, piling a tray high with what remained, and trying to keep his distance from everyone, found a booth in the corner and stuffed himself, helplessly masturbating under the table, filling his jeans with four or five more loads of sticky cum before he finally finished his meal. He sat there, disgusted with himself, pleased with that disgust, a part of him embracing it, finding it sexy to be so reprehensible and filthy and fat. How was he going to live like this? Fuck, he needed a fucking drink.

There was a liquor store a few blocks away–he bought a fifth of whisky, and on impulse, a few cigars and a lighter. He’d never smoked cigars before, but they…they were calling to him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He walked back to campus, but couldn’t go back to his dorm, and he couldn’t go back to the library, so he went back behind a maintenance building, lit a cigar and started slugging back booze, feeling a calm, dullness settle in over his mind. With the dullness there was nothing to hold back the horniness, and he started idly masturbating for lack of anything else to do, thinking back on his time with Greg, thinking about Tom in the hallway, how he’d smelled, how they’d all smelled together. He could…almost smell him now, in fact.

“D-Daddy? Oh fuck, daddy!”

Eric looked over and saw a young man coming towards him. It…couldn’t be Tom. He didn’t really look anything like Tom, but it had to be him, because Eric could smell him–more strongly than earlier that day, even. It was a powerful sweetness, a musky innocence, young fruit just beginning to rot. Tom had been a wide receiver, all lean muscle, but not any more–now he was half a foot shorter, his body rounded out in all the sexy places: wide hips, soft belly and boytits, and a big round ass that you could just eat for days. What the fuck was he thinking? What the fuck was he doing? He threw the bottle to the side and snuffed out the cigar, trying to clear his head as Tom approached. “Boy, you need to get the fuck away from me, I don’t…think I can control myself…”

“But Daddy Greg said I needed to apologize, for how I spoke to you earlier. I didn’t mean to be so mean daddy, but I…I wasn’t feeling like myself. Daddy Greg, he spent all day with me, really teaching me what a boy I am, and I see now! I get it daddy, I get it. I thought I was the important one, but Daddy Greg was just using me before–but now, everyone gets to use me, because that’s what I fucking want. That’s what I was fucking meant for.”

He came close, pressing his soft frame to Eric, who moaned and muttered, cock rock hard as the boy started stroking it, the scent of his filth and the boy’s sugar mixing, making him think of…of all the disgusting shit he could do to this little fuck, and how he’d love it, because that’s what boys did. They loved everything their daddy’s did to them, and everything was new to them, every time. But not…here. Not right here, in the open. Well, maybe…No! No, just…just a quick fuck, back in his dorm, and then the boy was gonna be out on his ass. “One apology fuck, and that’s it boy.”

They both knew he was lying, but they believed it for the moment, as Eric grabbed the boy’s hand and the booze with the other, before dragged him back towards his dorm, so the boy could properly apologize.

Just a Kiss (2 of 2)

Jules didn’t show up to the convention the next day. Eli thought he might just be sick…hopefully. It was just a kiss, right? He checked Jules’ room before lunch, but no one answered. He tried calling him, and the phone rang, but no one picked up. Eli felt guilty, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Call the cops? Go back to the bar? Maybe…maybe he could just give it one more day. He’d show up, surely.

He went out to dinner with some clients, hoping to nail a few more sales, but he was off his game, because as much as he liked to think of himself as aloof and immune to consequence, he was scared to death that Eli was dead in some alley, or being raped in some basement, and–if you looked at what had happened in a certain light, you might be led to conclude that the whole mess had been Eli’s fault.

He’d had quite a bit to drink at the restaurant, but before collapsing into bed, he decided to head back to Jules’ room one last time, to see if he’d made it back, or was just pulling his leg. He got to the room, and was relieved when he saw it was propped open–he hurried down the hallway and turned the corner, ready to tell Jules he was sorry, and that he was glad he was ok, but there in the hotel room were two of the bruisers from the night before, jacking up all of his things for him as quick as they could. Eli just stared at them, unable to believe what he was seeing, when one of them saw him in the doorway, alerted the other, and Eli split down the hall, the two men hot on his tail. They caught him when he stumbled, one man climbing on him, holding his head still, while he kissed Eli, forcing a lungful of smoke into his mouth…and after that, it was hard to remember what happened exactly.

He helped the men pack of Jules’ things, and then they went to his room and packed up his stuff, and Eli checked them both out of the hotel. He…didn’t really want to do any of these things, but everytime he started to fight, one of them men would give him another breath of smoke, and he’d…be hanging on their every word again. They made Eli get in their truck with them, and they drove to a…substantially poorer neighborhood, got out and went into a large house. The two guys took Jules’ and Eli’s things to the fireplace and started burning them, while the Boss escorted Eli down into the basement, where he found Jules. He…looked every different, with his huge beard and cigar, his tattooed arm shoved deep in some bear’s moaning hole, but it was him–he knew it.

“Hey, you fucker–I was gonna get you in a couple of days, but it’s good to see you again!” Jules said, hauling out his greasy arm and walking over, “Now how about that kiss, you piece of shit? Then we’ll get you a cigar, get you in that sling, and we can get the real fun started.”

Source: horsto

Just a Kiss (1 of 2)

“No–I want to see you two fucks kiss. Come on–one kiss, and we’ll let you go. I…promise.”

Eli wasn’t sure how things had gone so far south so quickly. He and Jules had just wanted to grab a drink after they’d finished working the booth at the business convention. They’d wanted to avoid the bars near the center, so they wouldn’t have to schmooze, and could just be themselves for a bit, and they’d ended up here–and now, here they were on the small deck, surrounded by these…burly fucks. Eli shouldn’t have said the word faggots, of course, much less at a volume anyone besides Jules could have heard, but now here they were–surrounded.

“Come on–it’s just a fucking kiss. It doesn’t mean anything. You think a kiss will turn you into a faggot or something?” the ringleader said, grinning a bit, getting some chuckles from the other brusiers around them. The air was thick with smoke–most of the guys in the group had a cigar or cigarette in their mouth. Eli looked over at Jules, who was just glaring back–angry at him for his stupid comment, but also a bit terrified. They were both middle aged businessmen; hardly a match for the guys surrounding them.

“N-No. Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“Look boys, if these two won’t kiss, why don’t we just kiss both of them?” the boss said, to raucous howls of his gang. They closed in, one man grabbing Jules around the shoulder and pulling him into a smoke filled kiss, while Eli, fought his way out of the circle, losing his coat, but emerging unscathed otherwise. He looked back for Jules, but he was…still kissing the man? The guys were still chasing him, but he ran out of the bar as fast as he could hailed a taxi, and headed back to the convention. Jules would be fine, he assured himself. He’d…make it back on his own.

Source: bearpipe

Dark Mind (Part 6)

Sorry I forgot to post this yesterday!

Jordan fought, as best he could, for the first few weeks. Direct disobedience was an utter fool’s errand, he quickly realized–the beast had plenty of control over him in his waking state, and seemed much less concerned with his body’s appearance than Jordan was. Oliver too, seemed to enjoy it–running his hands over the scars crisscrossing Jordan’s back, shivering and getting a bit hard. Was he thinking about the scars that also marked his own back, that the beast was giving him in the night? Certainly, Oliver appeared exhausted, and when Jordan pressed him on it, he revealed he was only receiving two, maybe three hours of sleep a night, but that for Master, he’d suffer anything.

Oliver remained a puzzle Jordan soon realized he’d never be able to disentangle. Half the time, Oliver never even seemed to be addressing him, when he spoke, and all of Jordan’s pleas to him–both rational and physical–would run headlong into the massive brick wall that was Oliver’s utter devotion to the thing which had taken up residence in Jordan’s brain and body. However, Oliver’s exhaustion soon grew so extreme that he woke one morning to the appearance of a second slave in his apartment (or a third, rather, but be refused to count himself, even though Oliver was constantly reminding him of his alleged status). The newcomer slept all day long, and it was several days before Jordan even learned his name–Paul–because his role was different from Oliver’s. He was only there for the nights, to sate the Master’s desires from dusk to dawn.

The workouts remained murderous. He was forced to smoke until the desire for nicotine took over and Jordan no longer had the will to resist his own internal desire for the cigars Oliver kept him supplied with from the moment he woke, to the time the tranqs took hold in the evening. As months wore on, Jordan felt, more and more, like he was trapped in some strange dream of a life, without reason or logic, but which he sensed he’d never be able to escape. The beast inside him sensed the weakness, and seized it, pushing at him as he woke, with whispers and secrets–but the mirrors were the worst. Looking down at himself, he still mostly resembled his lanky form, though he had put on some muscle under Oliver’s direction. But looking in a mirror, his eyes would trick him. He would see the beast there, mimicking him, mocking him perhaps–well over six feet tall, thick, strong, hairy, confident, all of the things Jordan had always despised, and yet he found himself obsessing over this new image, as disgusted as he was by the idea. When he’d been especially good, he was allowed to fuck Oliver facing a mirror, experiencing the beasts pleasure vicariously, while Oliver merely tolerated his master’ vessel attempting to please his hole.

What did it want? Jordan found himself asking that often. Wasn’t there some way it could allow them both to exist, together? No–the beast was too desperate for control to allow such an arrangement, but this situation, Jordan trapped in his own apartment with two mindfucked slaves, he could tell this wouldn’t satisfy the beast either. He was certain he’d be able to solve it f he could just get a restful night’s sleep! But everyday, he woke up exhausted, spent, barely able to keep up with Oliver’s training, hating his body, how weak he was, taunted by that image haunting him in reflections all over the apartment. He wanted it to just…stop. He just wanted to sleep. And then, one morning, Oliver led him into what had been his bedroom.

Jordan hadn’t set foot in the room since arriving home that morning–after all, his body was essentially active all day and night, while the slaves slept in shifts on a small cot in the living room. His bedroom was no longer a bedroom–it had, somehow, been converted into a small, makeshift lab without him even knowing. His notes, which he’d assumed had been destroyed, were all there–everything he needed to continue his work on the serum, in fact, or…or an antidote. He felt a twinge of pleasure at the thought–yes, of course–this is what the thing wanted as well–an antidote to him. In the end, only one of them could survive like this, and they both knew it, and the beast was willing to bet it’s control over him was, even while he was awake, strong enough to convince Jordan to murder himself–but Jordan’s sense of self-preservation lingered on all the same.

From that day on, his days were consumed with work in the lab, the beast in his mind at all times, forcing his hand in small and large ways, the two of them battling out as he mixed and crafted what he simply called the antidote, but in all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure what the thing would do, if one of them took it. He thought–he hoped–that he had successfully pushed the serum to stabilize erratic brain activity in the patient, in order to restore a normal sleep cycle–but the serum the beast wanted…he wasn’t quite sure what it was, really. The beast didn’t operate through science or rationality, but through impulse and desire. The one thing he knew, was that it wasn’t something he wanted to take–but on the day it was finished, he didn’t have a choice–The Beast took control, prepped the needle, and injected it straight into Jordan’s arm.

Jordan was never quite clear on what happened next. There was pain–a lot of it, all across his body, but also, somehow, in his very brain, like every synapse had turned on and began firing simultaneously. For a while, he was certain he was going to die. For a shorter time, lying on the floor, he was equally certain he was dead…but he wasn’t. However, he didn’t really know who, or what, he was. The man pushed himself up from the floor, looking around at the smashed up lab equipment around him, trying to process what had happened–there were so many memories, and too many people in his mind to sort them all out. Jordan and Harry, who was he? Which was he?

In the mirror, he looked like Harry–massively muscled, rough of face, massive cock, and certainly a desperate desire to fuck, but Jordan was there too, in ways. Perhaps less of him than Harry, but enough to make a certain difference in his mind, in how he thought, in what he wanted. His slaves, Oliver and Paul, entered the lab timidly, but both were ecstatic to see him, and he them. He could figure out who, or what, he’d become in a while–but right now, his slaves needed their master inside them, and he was only too happy to do so.