Orwell’s Demon (Sketch)

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you Orwell. This is the fourth disappearance this year–and all four of them were connected to you in some fashion or other. This is the second case where we know, for a fact, that you were the last man to speak to him,” Sheriff Hurlbane crossed his arms where he was sitting on Terry’s couch, “Now, you’ve been very cooperative, and I appreciate that. And I also know that all of this is circumstantial. But you understand how bad this looks, don’t you?”

Across from him, in an armchair, was Orwell Beckert. In his late forties, he seemed so…normal. A little overweight, clean shaven, easy going. He was a teacher at the local high school, and every student the sheriff had spoken to had had the same opinion–a good teacher, but boring as hell. But over the last few months…men had started disappearing around town–first a fellow teacher at the school, then a trucker from a local truck stop passing through. One of the students in Beckert’s homeroom, and now Beckert’s neighbor down the street. The men only had one thing in common, and that’s the normal, boring man sitting across from him, twiddling his thumbs, staring down at the carpet, looking like he was desperate to say something he couldn’t let himself say. The sheriff hadn’t wanted to believe this man could have done this–not that they had any idea what had happened to them. Their bodies hadn’t shown up anywhere, there was no evidence of them anywhere–just…gone. One day there, the next there was no sign of them anywhere. This normal man…maybe he wasn’t responsible. But he was involved–Sheriff Hurlbane knew a look of guilt when he saw one, and this was textbook–the guy was too boring to even be creative with it.

I have to tell him. I have to go to jail for this, I can’t, not anymore. I can’t let you do this anymore.

You don’t have to go to jail, Orwell. We can have fun with this one too.

No! No, please don’t, he’s a good man, he has a family!

I know what you’re thinking, Orwell, don’t forget. I know what you want. Everytime he comes over to ask you questions, that little pecker of yours gets hard. You have such a wonderful imagination, but you’re so…scared. Still, every time he’s alone with us, you think about it, about what we could do to him, just like all the rest. Come on, we can start small, can’t we? Just a little?

The sheriff leaned back into the couch, settling in. Orwell had muttered something under his breath. “What was that?”

“Nothing, please–please, just leave. You need to get out of here, sir.”

“No…No, not this time Orwell. You have something you want to tell me, something about these missing men, and I’m not leaving until you tell me,” Sheriff Hurlbane took a drag off the cigar that had appeared in his hand a moment earlier, and exhaled the smoke in Orwell’s direction, some of the smoke twining through the mustache growing from his lips, and the beard sprouting around his smooth face.

Please…don’t. Not him, please…

But doesn’t he look good like that? So much sexier, turning into a nice cigar daddy for you, I know how much you like those, Orwell.

“Okay! Okay, it was me. It was me! I…I found this necklace, alright? But it’s fucking possessed!” he said, hauling a medallion out from under his shirt, “I…I didn’t know what it would do, and I can’t take it off. Please, Sheriff, get out of here before it takes you too.”

Sheriff Hurlbane laughed around his cigar, groping his cock through his uniform pants, a wet spot of precum already soaking into the fabric. “No…No, I don’t think so Orwell, I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” He felt so…strong all of a sudden. He flexed, and heard the fabric of his uniform start to rip. With a growl, he grabbed at the shirt, clawed at it, tearing it away from himself, revealing underneath a skintight rubber tank, which he ran his gloved hand over, feeling his full gut and meaty pecs, blowing smoke through the fur sprouting all over him.

Oh…oh fuck, he’s so…fucking sexy…why, why him? He didn’t…didn’t deserve this.

He didn’t deserve it, but this is what you wanted Orwell, I know this is what you want.

I–I didn’t think it could happen, it was just…just supposed to be a fantasy…

You want the rest though, don’t you? I can feel how hard you are, how much your cock is aching in your pants. You want to see it, you want to see him. He wants you too, you know. Look at how he’s looking at you, through the smoke. Officer Hurlbane knows what you want–what you need. He wants to give it to you, he wants to help you, Orwell. He knows how much you want to be punished.

I…I do…deserve to be punished.

Yes, you do, for telling the truth like that, for trying to tell him about me.

“You were a bad boy, Orwell,” Hurlbane said, his voice suddenly deeper, with an edge like charcoal, his eyes suddenly red, and he stood up from the couch. The rubber top suddenly was lined red, and his uniform pants tightened, becoming rubber, the crotch opening, allowing a massive, foot long cock to fall free, dribbling cum onto the carpet. “Bad boy, trying to tell me the truth. But that’s ok, Officer Hurlbane will teach you a lesson, won’t I, boy?”

Orwell whimpered, tried to get up from the chair but tripped–he looked down at himself and found he was naked, aside from the necklace around his neck which had tighted around his neck like a collar. “No…God no.”

“There’s no god here, Orwell, only your real Master. Now lick my boots pig, and then I’m gonna shove these thick fists in your hole until you scream,” Hurlbane said, shoving the toe of his rubber wader in Orwell’s mouth, “Hurry up, before I burn my way through this one too.”

Requested by Anonymous

These fucking kink festivals these faggots throw, fuck it’s disgusting, but hey, it’s a fun way of ruining a few faggots lives at least. You know, get a few pictures of some of them, and all it takes is some sleuthing on the internet, figure out their day job, and ruin their careers with a bit of blackmail. Heh, there’s one now–look at that old fuck, like anyone wants to see that disgusting body out in the sun. Gotta get a picture of that shit.

*CLICK*

Yeah, sexy old fuck like that, damn–not that I’m much younger than he his. No, wait, what the hell am I even saying? Look, whatever. I’ll just focus on some of these other fags–fuck, look at that one! Parading around in fucking panties, it’s like they’re fucking asking for me to ruin them!

*CLICK*

Yeah, I know how he feels, they’re so fucking sexy, and the way guys look at me like I’m some fuckin’ fairy makes me so damn hard. I…I love coming down here, really feels like I can be myself, let the freak out a bit, you know? Fuck, look that that sexy fucker! Big old gut, hot goatee, smoking that cigar in that leather gear of his! Gotta get a picture of that.

*CLICK*

Fuck yeah, got my old cock so fuckin’ hard, gonna love jacking off to these pictures for the rest of the year! Not like many guys wanna get with a pansy old fat fuck like me, but I’d rather watch and look at pics anyway! Think I might go smoke my cigar and look at these pics for a bit, blow a wad in my panties, and then see if I can find a few more sexy fucks for my photo collection!

Ruining Mr. Fisher (Part 3)

Needless to say, Gerard began staying late much more often at the office. In fact, he found it impossible to leave until Ned had come through to clean the office, and to find some new way to bring the banker down a few more pegs at a time. It was the very next night that Ned made the banker strip naked in his presence–the fat redneck gave him a hand job and then as soon as Gerard’s cock softened again, forced his cock into a metal cage, and locked it with a padlock. It was a tight fit–immediately Gerard’s cock tried to get hard again, and the pain was excruciating, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Ned said he needed to be punished for cumming without permission, and so the cage would stay on until he felt Gerard had earned an orgasm for himself.

Gerard never earned an orgasm, not in the next several months. Most nights, Ned would simply come by the office, looking more and more filthy and disheveled and slobby each day, force Gerard to serve him in any number of ways, and then leave him again. At first, Gerard would do his best to not do anything to make Ned change him further–he was agreeable and wouldd serve him as required…and in some ways he kind of enjoyed it. He’d already found himself making time for himself throughout the day to slip away from the office for an hour or two, so he could go to the porn theaters and shops downtown and suck a few loads from strangers when he got hungry. On the weekends, he would spend the entire afternoon and evening there, drinking cum like a fiend, praying his wife wouldn’t figure out why he was suddenly completely uninterested in having sex with her–not that they’d had sex much at all, in this new life of his. Still, Gerard could only take so much humiliation, and from time to time, Ned’s picking and goading would work. Gerard would start resisting–would yell and scream and swear and try to punch and anything to get back at Ned for ruining his life, and Ned would use his outbursts as excuses to press the medallion to his heart again, and ruin his life bit by bit.

The second week, during his first outburst, Gerard made the mistake of ridiculing Ned for his size and fat body–so Ned shifted his life until Ned himself was a binge eater. His waist exploded in size immediately, and Gerard kept hoping it would stop, as he looked down at himself, but it just kept going, stopping only when he was over four hundred pounds. Not quite as large as Ned, but still, that shut him up. He hated it though–he was hungry constantly, and found that he had to have a snack with him at all times, or he couldn’t function, and the only place he could go for lunch and feel full were all you can eat buffets. After two weeks he broke down, begging Ned to let him stop eating for a bit. Ned took a kind of pity on him. Gerard didn’t stop eating by any means, but suddenly he loved the feeling of his fat body, and found himself fantasizing about becoming even larger. Eating became a challenge, to see how much he could stuff in his face each day, and even though he was disgusted with himself, he couldn’t stop. Worse, the fuller his belly the more turned on he got, but his cock, trapped in a cage, couldn’t be satisfied. Instead, he just ate more and more, driven into a sexual feeding frenzy–usually capping off his meals with at least ten loads of cum from strangers at the bathhouse.

The situation with his wife and son was becoming unbearable however–whenever he was home, it seemed like they were fighting. Two months after Ned first seized control of him, he broke down in tears, on his knees in front of the redneck, begging him for mercy, desperate to keep his family together. The redneck just laughed at him, pressed the medallion to Gerard’s chest, and when it pulled away, he didn’t have to worry about his wife anymore, since he’d been divorced for years. Ned consoled him as he sobbed, reminding him that now he lots more time to spend stuffing his face and sucking cock, without have to worry about hiding it from his bitch of an ex-wife. He still saw his son on occasion–one weekend a month. Shawn hated his father’s faggot guts however, and refused to spend any quality time with him at all, even when he did have a moment of custody.

Still, Ned helped him settle in a comfortable, bachelor lifestyle. Ned gave him a ten cigar a day smoking habit, and made him an alcoholic–helped him realize how silly it was taking a shower every day–or more than once a week. After six months, Gerard was a completely different person–close to over 450 pounds, reeking of sweat, smoke and booze, ill fitting and often unwashed clothing, crusty with food and cum. He’d gone from being the star of the company in a corner office to a low level manager barely hanging onto his job–but he hung on all the same. It was, really, the last bit of himself that he had left.

Then, one night, Ned told him that he’d finally thought of a way for Gerard to earn an orgasm for himself. All he had to do was, when the next weekend came that his son Shawn was staying with him, bring his son out to the trailer where Ned lived in the country, and give him to Ned. If Gerard brought him his only son, then he could get the chance to shoot his first load in months. Gerard refused, at first, until Ned pressed the medallion to a new spot on his body, right over his cock, inflating his genitals to massive proprotions. His cock, which ached already, was suddenly in constant pain in it’s enclosure, and his cum production was so constant that even in his cage he leaked constantly. The pain was too much to bear, and so Gerard agreed–he’d bring Ned his son, for a chance to be free of this pain. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t live like this, and…and it wasn’t like Shawn loved him anyway. In fact, he kind of hated his son, hated the way he looked at him. If he could get a little comfort, then Shawn was a sacrifice Gerard was willing to make.

Arctos Monthly (Part 5)

From that moment on, the two of them were inseparable. Andy was my roommate, sure, but he moved in with Mitch–after Mitch got done kicking his old frat bro out of the place to make room. While Mitch tried to go to class and practice, Andy spent the day fucking himself, smoking, drinking and eating, but as soon as Mitch got back to the room, they’d fuck all night long. I joined them regularly, but it was clear I was a third wheel, and when I got my third package in the mail–well, that changed everything, literally.

It came a few weeks after Mitch’s first, and it was moderately sized. I had no clue what might be in there, but I took it back to my room and opened it up, and when I did–I still don’t really remember what was in there. Nothing…physical, but as soon as I opened it, I started…seeing and feeling and knowing all of these things I knew I couldn’t, that all of this was impossible, and when I felt like my head was going to explode, I passed out–and woke up in my house. Yeah–my house, not what I was expecting either, not that I really knew what to expect from Arctos at that point.

But I had a house. I had a whole new life, actually. I made my way to a mirror and got a look at myself–now in my early fifties, a good amount of grey accenting my red. I’d done well for myself, working construction and owned my own company–I’d never been to college. It all felt perfectly natural, and totally unfamiliar at the same time, but needless to say, I was freaked out. I was still in the same town as before, so I hopped in my truck and headed for campus, where I discovered that both Andy and Mitch both remembered me, and that no one else did.

From that moment on, I drifted apart from Andy and Mitch, though I kept tabs on them well enough. Andy got his final package a week after me, and ended up in a rundown trailer park not too far from my house, living like a complete pig, eeking out a living as a long range trucker–which is about the only job he could manage with his piss-poor work ethic. Mitch quit going to school and moved in with his pig, and got his second package in due time–Andy made him hold off on using the cigar that arrived for him for four days, and Mitch smoked it with Andy in the room, of course. Mitch is massive now–shaved head, covered in tattoos, a real mean fucker, but the new Andy loves it–the abuse, the rough fucks, being his urinal, the fisting–all of it. Mitch doesn’t have a job–he doesn’t do well with authority–but they make some extra bucks renting out Andy’s hungry holes to a few local biker gangs, and Andy pimps himself out on his trips as well–though Mitch usually follows along in his hog, keeping tabs on his pig bitch. After Mitch’s third package, he aged up a bit, but not a whole lot changed–the two of them are certainly happy together still. I see them on occasion, but I don’t fuck Andy anymore, now that Mitch insists he charges me too–I don’t even get a fucking discount, can you believe that? Fucking ungrateful bastards.

But yeah, I was lonely, I admit it. I hooked up regularly, but most of the fucking bears around here are little bitches. It was Arctos who reminded me that I still had one referral left that I could use, and I’d made friends with an older fellow in my neighborhood named Orville–a widow in his early seventies, no kids. He…tolerated my sexuality, but didn’t understand it, but I figured, why not give him a chance to experience it himself?

He got the package a few days after I requested it, and twenty minutes later he was pounding on my door, dressed in some rather age inapporpriate attire–some denim cutoff booty shorts, a leather harness, and steel toed boots, a pipe shoved in his mouth, and my tongue shoved in beside it in short order. He was confused to say the least, and less than happy after I gave him the whole story, but, well, once he’d gotten a taste of my dick, he couldn’t quite get enough, and I was happy to have a steady fuck again. The pipe had put on some pounds, and fuck his ass was nice–soft and pillowy, but not too fat–just right.

He’d come around by the time the second package arrived, and he asked me to stick around while he smoked it. I was more than happy to do so, and when everything cleared–well, we were a bit closer than I was expecting. He’d picked up my red hair, though his was quite a bit whiter at his age, and a nice, thick accent that made my cock jump immediately. Yeah, he’d become my own father, and somehow that only made us hotter for each other. he loved lording it over me too–ordering me around, telling me how to take care of the company he’d given me when he’d retired, but in bed, he did what I told him–I made sure of that. The third and final package showed up and burst his bubble, however. When he woke up, he discovered he’d lost fifty years of his life, and now he was my young, chubby cubson, but I think it made him happy. Fifty more years, and someone sexy to spend it with? He thinks he’s pretty lucky, and I’m pretty lucky too, having a sexy son like that in my life.

To say that Arctos industries changed my life is an understatement–it was transformative, and it can be for you too! For just $149.99 you too can get a three month subscription to Arctos Monthly, and a gift subscription for a friend. I promise you won’t regret it–after all, as with all of Arctos’ products, your one hundred percent satisfaction is always guaranteed.

Arctos Monthly (Part 4)

Andy was, shall we say, impressed with my new look when he came back from class–and he was even more happy when he got a taste and a feel of my new, extended cock, all the way down his throat, and shoved up his ass to the hilt. However, once we’d gone a few rounds, and were lounging around the room, smoking, I could tell he was mulling something over in his head, and I prodded it out of him–he was thinking about what might happen when he got his next package sometime in the next week. I told him to not sweat it too badly, that I was sure Arctos wouldn’t do something to him he wouldn’t like, but I could understand his reservations at the time. After all, the clothes he’d receives had all been cut from a certain…style–walking around campus, he looked more like he belonged as an extra in a country music video, or working on a farm or something, than going to college. Still, the cigar showed up in its small box, a few days later, and Andy had simply decided he wasn’t going to smoke it.

That…well, I hadn’t really considered that as a possibility. That he might just…not do it. Still…I felt a bit guilty, I admit it, for pushing him into the whole thing to begin with. I kind of expected him to just throw the cigar away, and I think that’s what he wanted to do…but instead he just left the box on his messy desk, open. I caught him staring at it more than once that day, like he was questioning his own resolve, but I knew it was better for me to just stay out of it, and let him figure it out himself. What I didn’t expect, was that by the next morning, the cigar would be different. Longer. Thicker. Rougher. Now Andy could barely keep his eyes off of it, and I had a feeling he wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter, whether he wanted to smoke it or not. Still, somehow he held off for another day–it helped, I think, that he was gone at classes for most of it, but come Saturday…well, the cigar was massive, he had it in his mouth, and I went ahead and excused myself–there was no way I wanted to get caught in that room, with him smoking that monster. Turns out that was a very good idea.

Apparently, the longer these things sit–the stronger they get. I came back and found Andy had grown well over an extra hundred pounds–hell, he was probably closer to 500 at that point. His beard was huge and long, down past his fat moobs to his chest, his hair equally long, greasy and uncombed. His side of the room looked like a fucking sty, piles and piles of unwashed clothes, and he was still smoking, sitting on a dildo, and as soon as he saw me come through the door, he started demanding I fuck his fat hole, speaking in a southern accent so thick I could barely understand him around his cigar.

From that day on, Andy…didn’t have much of a mind for school work. Andy didn’t have much of a mind at all. Sure, he tried to keep up for a few days, but his head was so empty now, he preferred sitting around the dorm room, fucking his hole, and eating—and then I noticed Mitch. I still don’t quite know what happened, but Mitch seemed…a bit changed, when I saw him next. He spoke with a slight southern accent, his usually expensive wardrobe seemed a bit grungier, and a bit more southern all of a sudden, and he was obsessed with Andy. That obsession generally took the form of ridicule and pranks, but I thought I knew what might have happened–he must have walked past the room while Andy was smoking that big cigar, and gotten a whiff of the fumes. Not enough to make a huge difference, but enough for me to decide that it was time the bully realized the truth of that old maxim: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

I didn’t tell Andy what I was planning, and I’m not sure this new Andy would have really cared all that much. The only things he really seemed to care much about now were drinking, eating, smoking and plugging his ass with my big cock, which frankly? Was a bit of an exhausting endeavour now. He was fucking insatiable, and don’t get me wrong, he was–and remains–a wonderful fuck, but damn, nothing is enough for him. It wasn’t too selfish a wish, right? That someone else might pick up a bit of the slack?

Well, a week passed. I had no way of really knowing when Mitch might get his package, or if he’d even open and use it–though as I’d seen with Andy, I didn’t think Arctos would take no for an answer. It was only half a surprise then, when someone started pounding on our door one evening. Andy wasn’t about to heft his bulk up and answer it, so I did–and found myself faced with Mitch–or the guy who Mitch was now. He’d grown taller and matched my own substantial height, and his already muscular body had grown only more so, along with a thick forest of black hair all over. He had on jeans, leather chaps, leather vest, boots and a muir cap, like he’d stepped out of a leatherman’s dream, but he didn’t want me. He pushed his way past, rolled Andy over with very little ceremony and started pounding away at his hole, Andy groaning and grunting and begging for more…and watching the two of them go at it, I realized I might have just cut myself out of the equation entirely.

Breaking Point (Part 6)

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

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

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

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

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

Breaking Point (Part 5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Breaking Point (Part 3)

I toyed with him for a bit. Helped him explore his body, experience it a bit, kneading his fat, jiggling it, giving him a better idea of what had happened to him, lifting his head up and helping him see what had happened to him, but he went with denial. I had just drugged him, and he was hallucinating. None of this was possible, in his mind. That’s an understandable reaction, but his denial was rooted not in confusion–but instead from a place of utter narcissism. He simply couldn’t conceive something like this could possibly happen to him, he was so confident in his invulnerability. It was…so aggravating.

I admit, a good amount of the pleasure I get from this work is in seeing them break. The late breakers, I love them because the eventual disaster of their ego is so total, once it hits them, that it’s so much more satisfying. I’ve encountered this same narcissism before, of course, but the amount of work it takes, for these assholes like Leon, to really destroy them? It sometimes feels like more effort than it’s worth. I couldn’t very well slow down now, however. If I backed off, then he’d only grow ever more insufferable to everyone he ever encountered in the future, and I couldn’t do that to them. I was this far already, so I’d just have to keep going.

I had toyed with him long enough, now, that he had assumed that this would be the extent of his changes–so when I got back down in front of him and wrapped my lips around the cigar once more, he began demanding to know what I was doing. I toyed with the easy route for a moment–I could simply pull out his narcissism, his sense of victory, his confidence that the world would eventually always right itself in his favor, but what would that accomplish? It would still exist, in the cigar, ready to be inhaled by whoever smoked it. No, it would have to be extinguished in some other way. I inhaled deep, and pulled out his heterosexuality. Another inhale, I pulled away his dominant spirit and ability to disobey. And finally, with a massive breath, I tugged at his youth and began syphoning it away from him and storing it away in the expanding cigar.

But how much to take? How much would be enough? For someone like this fucker, it would have to be substantial. He had no real idea what was happening at first, it always starts as this sudden fatigue of the spirit, but the physical reality comes chasing on the heels. I could see his bush start lightening to a faded grey, the same with the light dusting of hair that remained on his massive belly. His face grew lined and creased, hair receding back until all that remained was a horseshoe cropped short. Jowls sagged onto multiple chins, and the rest of his fat lost it’s support, and also began to droop in folds around him where he sat, no longer firm.

That was enough, I figured–besides, I had almost nothing else to work with. The cigar had nearly overtaken his entire cock, leaving him with a one inch nub buried inside his gunt. His balls were so small that his sack could barely be distinguished from his fat. I pulled the cigar away and slid the band down to the middle, feeling it secure everything I had taken from Leon in place until I needed it later.

I showed him the cigar then, and told him what it was. Everything I had taken from him–it could be his again, all he had to do was smoke it. I could see him trying to make his hands work properly to grab for it, but I just laughed, went to the safe in my trailer and locked the cigar inside, telling him that if he was a good piggy he could have his old life back at the end of the summer, but for right now, his boss had other needs. The paralysis had began to wear off, and I told him to get over here and suck my cock. I didn’t help him—he tumbled from the chair, no longer able to resist a direct order from me (well, from anyone, in fact) and crawled weakly to where I was standing, fat dragging on the floor. I could see the disgust in his face–he hadn’t realized just how much I had taken from him. He…wanted to suck me off. He wanted to obey my orders. It felt good, all of a sudden, and that betrayal did more to unseat his confidence than anything. He was being betrayed by his own body–and seeing that happen right in front of my eyes, well, I didn’t last long, I can tell you that.

After he swallowed down my cum, I gave him a handful of normal cigars, telling him he’d be smoking them non-stop from now on. He immediately lit one up, trying to suck down too much smoke, and coughing it back up immediately. While he coughed, I told him that he wouldn’t be able to go back home, not looking how he was. His parents and friends wouldn’t even recognize him, if he tried to find them. As far as the world was concerned, his old self had never existed, but he would still need somewhere to stay. Thankfully, I had a solution. I knew Leon wouldn’t like it, of course, but what did that matter? To get him to the breaking point, he needed to be lowered further still, so when the full scope of his new life struck, well, it would be all the sweeter for me.

Breaking Point (Part 2)

For the next couple of weeks, I decided to just let Leon stew, and see what happened with his attitude. Of course, there was nothing he could do about his new mud obsession–every time it rained, he was stuck rolling around in the puddle the entire time, while the rest of the crew all looked on, chuckling, and the only way he could release himself was a fuck from yours truly.

Things usually go in one of two directions from this point–either they break, or the fight. Well, let me clarify. They either break early, or they break late. Early breakers–they can put up with the humiliation for about a week, before they finally beg me to let up on them. I’m generally an accommodating boss–besides, having one of my crew rolling around in mud all afternoon isn’t exactly productive, so we sit down, have a chat, and come to an…agreement. Or rather, I dictate a more permanent, but limited punishment, and they accept because they have no real choice in the matter, now do they?

But late breakers–they have pride. Or maybe not pride, exactly, but a certain masculine confidence. If given a choice between a forced humiliation, and a conscious surrender to me, they’ll take the former any day. Something in them doesn’t let them submit willingly–at least not right away. See, no one can last forever. They all think they can, but there’s always something that breaks their spirit eventually. I knew from the start that Leon would be a late breaker–but I waited a few weeks just to confirm. Every day, he fought the compulsion to get in the mud. Everyday he refused to ask for my cock, refused to be fucked in front of anyone else, even when it meant staying the night at the site in the mud, which he did a couple of times.

You might think I’d find this frustrating. In fact, I love late breakers–they’re so much more fun in the long run. They have no power, and yet they continue to delude themselves, allowing me to do whatever I’d like to them in the meantime. But what should I do to Leon? One evening as I fucked him, I listened to him reassure himself that none of this mattered–not really. That come fall, he’d be off at college and he’d be successful, and that nothing here would matter in the least. It would all just be history–that there was nothing I could do to him that would change that. I laughed, and knew exactly what to do next.

The next day, I invited him back into my trailer, telling him I wanted to have a chat about his attitude, and see if he was ready to improve himself or not. As expected, he had no interest in even admitting that anything he did was questionable or rude. Still, the smoke from my special ciagr was getting to him already, and I helped him into a chair–after stripping off his clothes. Unlike before, when he’d been in a daze, this time he was fully aware of what was going on, but he couldn’t move his body an inch–completely paralyzed and at my mercy. I picked up a cigar butt from my ashtray, stroked his cock hard–it was a sizable ten inch cock, and I knew he was proud of it–pushed the ash end to the cock head, and secured it in place with a cigar band. He, of course, had no idea what to make of this. I got down, put my lips to the tip of the butt, focused, and inhaled.

There’s something so…wonderful, about that taste. I heard him gasp, the sensation of something he couldn’t quite identify being drawn out of him, through his cock, and into the cigar. I crossed my eyes–the cigar butt was no longer a short butt–it had grown by about an inch, taking Leon’s cock down an inch in exchange.

“What…what are you doing…” Leon mumbled. He was trying to move his head to see what was going on, but he was still completely relaxed and frozen, unable even to lift up his head from where it lolled on the back of the chair.

“You know, something you were saying yesterday, in the mud, it really…resonated with me,” I said, “I realized that you still think that all of this, this is so far below you. That it’s not even happening to you, not really. You think that if you just hold out long enough, you’ll be able to escape to some magical college world, and leave this behind. But you don’t deserve that, and I’m not about to let you go just yet, not until I think you’ve learned your lesson properly.” I stood up and leaned over him, pushing my own gut against his chest, “See, I know your kind, Leon. You think I haven’t taken down men better than you? You’re nothing, you know. But I don’t think you see that yet. So I’m going to help you out. Just…keep a few of those things of yours, your life, that you love, that you lord over everyone, and I’m going to hold onto them for a bit–see if that changes your attitude a bit for the better.”

He tried to ask questions, he tried to object–I just got down and took a deeper draw off the end of the cigar, feeling more of Leon’s life pulled into the cigar, stored away within the leaf. I took his physical power–his muscles melting away, leaving him thin and a bit gaunt. I peeled away his energy and vitality, watching as his thin frame began to bulge and bloat. I sat back–the cigar was now about five inches long–about the same length as his now shorter cock–though only about four inches extended from his new fat pad. Leon was mumbling and crying in the chair. He couldn’t see the full extent of what had happened to him, but he could feel what had changed. Panic had set in–his hope of escape had suddenly disappeared, and he didn’t know what to do.

“You’re a monster,” he managed to say.

“Of course I am–but so are you. I’m just…well, is a someone who is monstrous to monsters really a monster?”