Justin’s Lost Nights (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck daddy, you know I do…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Justin’s Lost Nights (Part 1)

Justin rolled over groggily in his bed. Out too late last night, and too much to drink. Still, when better to make bad decisions than while you’re young, right? He couldn’t even remember where he’d ended up. He rolled up and sat on the side of his bed, one hand collecting a cigar and his lighter from the nightstand, and he took a moment to get it lit, puffing gently, getting his first bit of morning smoke in his lungs. Much better–get rid of that fuzzy tongue and take the edge off his headache–once he takes a piss and eats something, he might feel mostly normal again. He stood up, and left a trail haze of smoke behind him as he walked to his bathroom, not really paying attention to the other person rolling awake in his bed.

He turned on the light, but it was too bright for his eyes. He pissed squinting, and managed to blink them open. He went to fill his glass for some water, say his arm, and nearly dropped his cigar in the sink. Tattoos. His entire arm and hand was covered in tattoos up to his shoulder. He didn’t have any tattoos–he fucking hated tattoos…didn’t he? As he stared at it, a memory came to him, something powerful–

The room was dark, mostly lit by the hallways and rooms next to it, the air thick with smoke. He didn’t want to be here, he wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Someone saw him, a burly guy, thick cigar wedged in his mouth, his arms coated with tattoos that looked like tendrils of smoke, with a flash of red around his wrist. Taking a closer look, it was the burning butt of a cigar, his hands also tattooed the texture of the brown leaf, and he felt himself drawn to him, drawn to his smoke.

They were making out, the man feeding him smoke, and as much as Justin didn’t want it, his body sucked it in deeply. He could feel…something wrapping around his arms and hands, something tingling. Breaking away, he gasped–seeing the tattoos unwinding from the man’s arms and winding their way around his instead, like they were alive, and he could feel the heat, but all he wanted was the man’s cigar. He took it from his mouth, and sucked the smoke in for himself, sucked it deep, so deep–

“Here you are,” a voice said behind him. Justin turned around and found himself face to face with the man he’d just remembered from the bar, except his arms were completely bare. “You really do smoke those things from dawn to dusk.”

He was trying to hold onto what he’d just seen, but it was fading like a nightmare, with just a residue of unease hanging over him. “Yeah…it’s…it’s a habit.”

“Well I think it’s sexy as fuck, especially on a young guy like you. No one your age smokes cigars like that.”

“Look…I must have had too much to drink last night. Did you…come home with me?”

The older bear nodded walking over and wrapping his arms around Justin’s body. His hairy arms felt strange against his smoother skin, the man quite a bit bigger than he was as well. Then again, Justin was smaller than most people, at five seven and 160 pounds, “Sure did, and we had quite the night. Too bad you don’t remember it. Guess that means I’ll have to give you some more to remember this morning.” The man leaned in and locked lips with him, sucking the smoke from his mouth–

They weren’t alone, people were watching, but they didn’t care. The tattoos burned, but he welcomed it, just like he was welcoming the smoke into his lungs, like a friend he hadn’t seen in years. The man shoved him down; he exhaled smoke all over his hard cock and balls, warming them, held the burning end close enough to singe hairs, feeling his shiver and spasm, and when he’d been edged to the point of heaving breaths, Justin turned him around and started blowing smoke up his ass, the bear moaning, begging him for his cock, and he slid it in, feeling the heat of his smoke and the heat of his body–

The bear was bent over the counter, Justin fucking him roughly. One tattooed arm was holding down his head while he groaned, the other holding his cigar. He took another deep breath, staring at himself, trying to remember what he’d been. Before he’d felt those tattoos snake around him…or had…had he gotten them himself? He fucking…fucking loved cigars. Couldn’t live without them. He took another deep suck of smoke, his cock close, thrust himself over the edge, and unloaded deep into the bear’s hole, both of them panting, the bathroom choked with smoke.

“F-Fuck…For a little guy, you sure don’t fuck around.”

Justin slid his cock out and stumbled back. “S-Sorry, I just, kind of lost it there…”

“I’m not complaining man, I love that shit,” the bear said, “Now, how about breakfast? My treat.”

They went out, but breakfast was an exercise in torture for Justin. Away from his cigars, the food tasting bland and uninteresting, when all he could think about was lighting up again. He made small talk as best he could, however, and managed to pry more information out of the guy–or Robin, as he eventually learned. Apparently, they’d hooked up at a bar downtown called Pigtown. It didn’t sound familiar to Justin at all, but Robin told him it was the best club in town.

“No rules man–anything goes. The health department doesn’t even know about it. The fuckin’ best.”

The best or not, Justin knew something strange had happened to him and Robin there the night before. He tried to tell him about his strange visions, but Robin found them boring. He tried to suggest they go back, but Robin had work on Sunday, so he couldn’t be out late.

“Every night at Pigtown is a late night, you know.” Robin said with a grin. “And I’ve had a few too many late nights there lately. Not even sure who I am anymore, you know?”

Justin didn’t. But he got directions from Robin, and when evening came, returned, chuffing his cigars the whole way, already thinking he’d been smoking for most of his life, and everyone there seemed to welcome him like a friend.

My Boys – Part 6

It was at least an hour later when the door to the motel room finally clicked open, and Bruce stepped into the room. His boys were still fucking, just as he’d hoped they would be–such good boys. The fur coating Nick’s entire body was matted to his skin and soaked with sweat–he hadn’t once removed his cock from his brother’s hole, and it had grown looser and looser, his cum spilling back out and onto the bed beneath them. Sean was doing his best to play with his own cock as his big brother fucked him–it had taken a while, but he’d eventually found a good grip that let him hold on tight past his huge gut. He too, had shot multiple loads. However, as soon as the door opened and their father stepped inside, the commands he’d given them ended, and Nick immediately hauled his cock out of his brother’s ass and stepped back, unable to believe what he’d been doing.

“Glad to see you two found someway to entertain yourselves,” Bruce stepped inside, and a man came in after him–the boys immediately recognized his as their uncle, but he looked quite a bit different from the fat cook he’d been before. For one, he was smoking, but instead of a pipe luike their daddy, he had a short, stubby cigar clamped in his jaw, chuffing smoke. He’d certainly grown back to his previous size, after Sean had drained him of cum, but the weight he’d gained back had been more equal between fat and muscle–he was still soft, but underneath it was obvious he was strong and hard, a real bull of a man. He’d sprouted quite a bit of hair as well, not nearly as much as Nick had, but he was quite furry, with a massive bulge in his jeans straining at the fabric.

“What…what the fuck did you do? This is fucking insane,” Nick said, “Change…change us back, and give us our dad back, you fucking–”

The cook stepped between Bruce and Nick, and gave the boy a hard smack across the face, which sent him reeling into the dresser–strong was an understatement, Nick realized, and he felt a bit of fear well up in him. “You know better ‘n tah talk to yer elders like that boy. Now apologize.”

“S-Sorry…daddy…” Nick said.

“It’s alright you two–I don’t mind boys with a bit of fight in them. It keeps things interesting, and I know you’re jonesin’. Still, you might find that your uncle is less forgiving than me, and much less willing to entertain any antics. He’s rather serious, you know–I’d be careful,” Bruce winked, and then sniffed the air, “Fuck boy, you stink. Just as good as I fuckin’ remember. Git over here Jared, smell this boy’s nasty pits.”

Before Nick could stop him, the cook–Jared, apparently–hauled up one of Nick’s arms, shoved his face in his pit, and took a deep snort, “Fuck, he’s fuckin’ rank.”

Nick hadn’t noticed, but now that his dad had pointed it out, he could smell himself, and part of him wanted to retch, and go take a shower. He started for the bathroom, but Jared grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him back, throwing him onto the other bed, while Sean struggled with his fat form to simply sit up.

“Now boys,” Bruce said, “I’m gonna have to spend a few days away–Daddy’s got some very important business to attend to, so we can have a good future together, as a family. So while I’m gone, ya’ll are just gonna be good boys, and wait here at the motel for me. Jared’s gonna be lookin’ after both a ya, so you’re gonna have tah do everything he says, you got it? You’ll do it, and you’ll like it, whether you want to or not.”

He paused a moment, looking from one boy to the other, and then picked up a plastic bag he’d brought in with him, and pulled out, first, several cans of chewing tobacco. Nick barely understood what happened next, as he took the cans from his hands, opened one, and stuffed as much of the leaf in his mouth as he could, until he had two bulging wads pushing out his cheeks on each side, and he sighed, the headache and anger he’d felt ebbing away, replaced by a calm alertness. “Fuck daddy, I fuckin’ needed that…” Nick said.

“Language, boy,” Jared said, but only glared at Nick, instead of delivering another snap.

“I know ya did–and ya’ll be needing plenty more,” Bruce said, and handed the rest of the bag to him–it was filled with tins of tobacco, and Nick resisted the urge to put even more in his mouth.

Jared had a bag of his own, which he brought over to Sean, “You boy, since ya take after me, yer daddy thought ya should smoke cigars like me, how’s that sound?”

“But I…I don’t want to smoke…” Sean said.

“Now boy, everyone in our family needs tobacco, you know that. Don’t worry, Uncle Jared is looking forward to training you–you’ll enjoy yourself soon enough. You won’t even be able to imagine having something other than a cigar in your mouth all day, every day, before too long.”

Sean opened his mouth to protest again, but Jared locked lips with him, and shoved a lungful of cigar smoke into his lungs. Nick watched them share it for a minute, his fat brother’s eyes rolled back in pleasure, and when Jared pulled away, Sean didn’t object when his uncle placed the cigar he’d had right in his boy’s teeth, and told him to “smoke up like a good boy.”

“Alright, remember, ya’ll do everything your uncle says, and most important, you wait for me. You don’t fight him, you don’t try and kill him, you be good boys, like you’d be for me, and everything will be find in a few days. I expect you two to behave. Do you two understand?”

“Yes Daddy,” they both said, and then Bruce smiled, and slipped from the room, started the car and drove off down the road with the screech of tires.

“Guess that means you’re mine boys,” Jared said, “I think we’re gonna have a grand time, don’t you?”

Father’s Rules (Part 5)

***Warning*** Darkness ahead.

The list began growing longer all over again. His dad would still bring home men, but now instead of just watching, Blake was forced to serve them and his dad sexually all night long. To further his sexual education, his daily routine of masturbation began incorporating any number of toys–at first, just dildos, but then also clamps, stretchers, pumpers–before long Blake was compelled to fuck his hole regularly as he masturbated, and had to wear a buttplug at work and the gym. His father forced him to have his nipples and cock pierced, and they were pumped and stretched as well. He fought, of course. He fought hard, but there was nothing he could do, except watch himself grow older and older in the mirror, his hair picking up strands, and then streaks of grey–though grey was a bit of a misnomer. He smoked so much, that they were really just yellow. His face grew wrinkled, his eyesight failing and forcing him to wear glasses. Eventually, one day–either from exhuatsion or simply terror at his own age, he decided to give in.

He worshiped his dad happily, cleaning his entire body every chance he could get. He would offer up any of his holes to any man his father took a liking to, and happily submit to any kind of sex. Slowly, he even began to forget that there was ever a time when he wasn’t his dad’s personal whore. Reality, thankfully, shifted with him. He went from being his father’s son to his brother. He hoped that would be enough for his father, he hoped that, maybe, he would let things slide, let the list die, so he could be free–instead, Saul saw his son’s new eagerness as an excuse to double down and force him to go even further.

He established a cum quota on the list–the number of loads Blake would have to swallow or take in his ass–raw–every day. The number began at a manageable five, but soon escalated to a nearly impossible fifty. Blake was forced to spend nearly every moment of his day seeking out men to service sexually–and he soon became a regular feature of local gloryholes, bathhouses and gay saunas, where he would occasionally collect enough loads to satisfy his father’s demands, but often his failure would simply mean disobedience, and he continued aging. He hoped that when he grew older than his own father, the list’s power would wane–but it made no difference, as he became his father’s older brother, resting in his upper fifties, once he realized how low he had to go in order to meet his father’s arbitrary quota.

His desperation had rooted out any remaining desire to disobey–he became meek and desperate to please, one eye always on the list, hoping it would finally shrink to nothing, but there was always something else–a new commandment that he drink ten loads of piss a day. Another, forcing him to eat his own cigar butts, as well as any cigarette or cigar butts he found, not to mention he would happily serve as a spittoon for anyone who asked. His nicotine addiction became crippling in short measure–before too long, simply smoking his cigars wasn’t enough for him–he would have to smoke and chew at the same time, swallowing his own foul spit, just to keep the tremors at bay, but finally, his father seemed pleased. He encouraged him, told him that his son had finally become a real man, and the praise…the praise made him so happy, it disgusted him. But the list waned, it waned slowly, but he held out hope that the end was finally in sight.

In those rare times when he was home alone, he would often just stand in the bathroom, staring at himself, trying to hold onto some bit of his past, trying to remember who he’d been. It had been a little over a year now. A whole year, and he was older than his father, his thick, tangled beard reaching down the length of his belly, his hair–what remained, at least, now that he was balding severely–reaching halfway down his back. He reeked all the time–like he hadn’t showered in ages, like a full ashtray someone had pissed in. His teeth had started rotting out of his months ago, and he’d gone into the dentist to get a full set of dentures. Saul and his friends appreciated it–he loved the feel of his “brother’s” gums around his cock, much more than teeth. All of his clothes were soaked with piss, cum, tobacco spit, ash and sweat–no one at work could get within a few feet without facing his stench. Yet, every time, in front of the mirror, cigar permanently clamped in his jaw, a huge wad of tobacco also pushing out his cheek, he would end up jacking off. He would jack off, staring at himself, because a part of him, a part of him growing larger every day, liked it. Liked how much he reeked, liked the feel of the dildo thrusting in and out of his loose hole, loved licking the cum from his gritty, filthy hands after he shot his load. Loved that he was a perverse, nasty old bear, constantly hungry for cum and piss and smoke. Despairing, he’d leave the bathroom, until even that despair abandoned him too. Until that became a routine too–after his father caught him–forced him to enjoy his new body, to feel confident in his perversity.

The list was almost empty again. Saul seemed to have forgotten about it, mostly–that, or Blake had finally become the disgusting pervert he’d always wanted, and had no more desire to change him. Just as Blake had suspected, it had been his father all along. Saul had given up pretending, at this point. He lorded it over him, that he could do whatever he wanted to him, and Blake couldn’t do anything to stop him. Hell, Blake didn’t want to stop him. He liked this. He liked being his father’s–no, not his father. He didn’t think of him as a father anymore, not really. His brother’s pig. His younger brother’s filthy sex pig. But then, his father brought home Anthony.

Father’s Rules (Part 4)

It wasn’t often that Saul didn’t manage to bring someone home–his standards were relatively low–or, he preferred his standards low. Blake was beginning to suspect it was a matter of choice more than anything. Hell, he’d watched his dad have sex with who knew how many men. Some of them he was certain were hobos he’d picked up off the streets. He was drawn to their desperation, it gave Saul a certain level of control over them that he couldn’t otherwise get, a form of control Blake was well acquainted with. He came home, and Blake sensed that he shouldn’t be there. He tried to excuse himself for a late night trip to the gym, but Saul grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the the couch, where he suggested he help his dad out with a blowjob first. Blake told him there was no way he would ever suck his dad’s cock, not after what he’d done to him. Saul slapped him. Blake tried to punch him, but couldn’t–as always. They fought for a moment, but Blake couldn’t keep him from the list, where his dad wrote:

My son must have sex with me whenever I want.

Blake tried to fight it, but his body is no longer interested in what he might think. His dad yanked down his filthy underwear and rammed his cock in his ass, Blake begging him to be gentler, but Saul just spanked his ass, telling him to fucking enjoy it, that this is how real men fuck. He came quickly, and stumbled off to his room where he passed out, Blake sobbing himself to sleep on the couch, staring at the list. He’d been close–so damn close…

Saul woke him up with his cock at five-thirty. Blake sucked him off. They went to work, together, Saul making him blow him in the truck on their mutual cigar and lunch break, and then came home. Blake had said nothing to him all day, and Saul tried to apologize, tried to tell his son that the list had made him do it. Blake exploded, calling his dad a rapist, calling him a pervert, and he stormed out, spending the rest of the afternoon and evening at the gym, trying to lift away his frustration, and he considered simply staying away entirely, and not going back. He didn’t have to go back there, he could just leave, but something…something dragged his feet back home…where he found his father, once again drunk off his ass, sitting on the couch, naked. Blake found himself sinking to his knees and licking his father’s filthy body clean, from his stinking pits and crusty feet, to his sweaty balls and ripe asscrack. Only then, could he finally beg his father to fuck his fat, nasty pighole. Saul was only too happy to oblige him, and it hurt, but not as much as the night before. In fact, Blake realized he’d soon be used to this, just like he’d gotten used to everything else. It was only afterward that he noticed the list had grown longer, again.

My son must worship and clean my body every day.

My son must beg for me to have sex with him at least three times a day.

Saul came up behind him, stinking of smoke and booze, and ran his hands over his son’s body, “You think I’m a pervert, son? Maybe so, but you’ll be a pervert soon enough too, begging me to fuck you every day, obsessed with my body. And last I checked, you can’t rape the very, very willing.”

“You sick fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“No Blake–the question is what’s wrong with you! I think I’ve neglected a very important part of your education, Blake. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced and educated in the ways of sex, and who better to show you then your father? I thought I was sparing you, by keeping this distance between us, but you haven’t really learned anything, have you? No, you’re still the same prick, you just look hotter. Well don’t worry–we’ll have you singing a different tune here soon. You’ll be a perfect fucking pigson.”

He shoved Blake against the wall, and Blake could smell him, smell them both. Smell the musk between them, the smoke from both of their cigars, the booze and coffee on their breath, and his cock…his fucking cock was getting hard. When Saul leaned in and kissed him, pushing smoke into his lungs, he tried to push him away, but his efforts grew weaker until he was kissing him back, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Their lips parted–Blake was panting, Saul at ease with a smirk.

“P-Please…” Blake said.

“Please what, son?”

He meant to ask him to stop–he really did. But what came out was Blake begging his father to fuck his face, his knees buckling, Saul only too happy to use his son’s throat. Blake tried to resist, but his hand found his way into his filthy briefs and started jacking his own cock, cumming even before his father did.

“I don’t think you’re going to be sleeping on the couch anymore, do you?”

Blake didn’t respond, and he tried to hold out for the whole night, but when he woke up to smoke a cigar, the longing in him was undeniable, and he climbed into bed with his father, asking him to for a midnight fuck while they smoked. So close–he’d been so damn close, but things were only going to get worse, Blake realized–or, from a different perspective, better–he thought, as his father wrapped him in his burly arms, cock still lodged in his ass, and they drifted to sleep.

Father’s Rules (Part 3)

Blake woke up, hungover, at six in the morning like always, only to discover more rules had been added to the list while he was asleep:

My son must masturbate to the smell of his own pits, his dirty underwear, and his father’s dirty underwear.

My son never showers, brushes his teeth, or cuts his hair or his beard.

His father had already left for work, and he spent the whole day fighting the new rules–trying to trick himself into getting wet and cleaning himself, but the best he could do was wash his hands–without soap. He was disgusted with himself, but he couldn’t stop from smelling himself, couldn’t stop smelling his dad’s underwear as he jacked off madly, soon falling back into his routine of smoking, drinking, eating and jacking off. He had to do something, he had to. He held out for about a week, but finally, he broke down sobbing one morning, begging his father not to leave him alone in the apartment, that he couldn’t take this anymore.

“I tried to be reasonable.”

“I know, but please, I’m sorry. Whatever you want. I’ll do anything, just…just make it so I don’t have to smell myself, please, I fucking reek…but I’m starting to like it dad, I’m starting to fucking like it!”

Blake looked up at his dad, but Saul was looking away from him. Why couldn’t he look at him? Finally, he responded. “I can’t. I can’t erase the rules I made. That’s not how it works.”

Blake just stared at him. “W-What?”

“The list is educating you, Blake. The rules don’t disappear until you follow them without even thinking about them. Until you don’t even realize you’re following them. Until you want to follow them. Do you remember that first rule I made? About you masturbating?”

Blake nodded.

“Go look for it.”

It wasn’t on the list. It should have been at the top, but he’d become so used to spending almost his entire day jacking off…he hadn’t even noticed when it had disappeared. “How…how long has it been gone?”

“Probably two weeks now.”

“You mean…you mean I’ve been jacking off this much on my own…for two fucking weeks?”

“You’re going to be jacking off like that for the rest of your life son, trust me. You couldn’t do it less if you tried. Look at those fucking balls on you, I mean, they’re fucking huge. You’re made to pump cum out now, son, you don’t have a choice anymore.” Saul looked away again, “Look, the list…the list wants me to punish you, Blake. To be honest..I don’t remember writing those last two rules, I just don’t. But I thought…I thought about them and they just…appeared on the list. I don’t know what it’ll do if you keep fighting me. Please, for your own sake, just…let’s figure out what to do together, alright? You’re already thirty or so…if you aren’t careful, you’re going to be as old as me before too much longer.”

Blake didn’t want to believe him, but did he have much of a choice? Even if his dad was lying to him and had written those rules…if Blake didn’t obey, something worse was bound to happen, regardless whether it was his dad doing it sadistically, or the list itself forcing his hand.

“I should never have done this to you, I know that. But if you just…if you be good, it’ll be over soon enough. I promise. I figured it out when I was a kid, when my dad did this to me. I know you can get past it too.”

Together, they sat down and talked–for the first time, really. Saul suggested that, if he wanted to get out of the apartment, then the best thing he could do was get a job. Blake didn’t know what sort of job he could get, however, looking like he did–so his dad asked his bosses at the construction company he worked for, and they agreed to hire his son on a temporary basis, to see what he could do. It was hard work, for sure, but with his dad helping him–and with a few rules urging him on to be a hard worker and quelling some of his…nastier…urges while he was out in public, Blake was given a full time position after a few months. His dad helped him out with a few other rules as well–especially by requiring Blake to lift weights regularly at the local gym. It didn’t change the fact that he was well past obesity, but before too long, between the hard labor and the weightlifting, he’d gone from total pudge to a 400 hundred pound, chubby bull. He’d stopped aging as well, now that he was cooperating, and was holding stable at thirty-two years old.

Many times, Blake asked his father to make some rules that might help offset his earlier punishments. The guys at work complained about how bad he smelled, for one thing, and his hair and beard were simply unmanageable, and seemed to only be getting longer. He also wanted him to help him cut back on the cigars. The addiction had gone from constant to nearly crippling. He could barely last half an hour without smoking one, and he’d usually have to get up three or four times in the night just to satisfy his nicotine craving. His dad said that there was simply nothing he could do. The list refused to accept any rules that would reverse earlier changes–he could try to balance the equation with other rules as best he could, but there was only so much he could do.

Blake was becoming more and more certain that Saul wasn’t telling him the whole truth–and that the real reason he wouldn’t change him back was because he liked his new son better than his old one. Granted, Blake liked his dad better too, now that they had more common interests, but he still couldn’t forgive him for doing this to him. Still, he couldn’t deny that there was an attraction there. He’d been watching his dad fuck for so long, that he started to…admire him, and the way Saul would look at him sometimes…that worried him even more. Still, he watched the list grow shorter and shorter by the day, doing his best to follow the rules to the exact wording, feeling them become a second nature to him, so he could finally be free of the curse. But then, one night his dad went out to the bar, but didn’t get lucky with anyone–and returned home very drunk, and very, very horny.

Father’s Rules (Part 2)

Blake woke up at six o’ clock on the couch, right on the dot, like someone had thrown a switch. He looked up at saw his dad was up as well, dressed in his clothes for work, next to the list of rules on the wall.

“What, watching me sleep, pervert?” Blake said, sitting up.

“No, I was just waiting for you to wake up–no more sleeping in for you. Up at six o’ clock every morning, whether you like it or not. Now I have to get going to the site, but I wanted to make sure you saw your new rules.

Blake looked at the list, and saw a number of new entries had appeared:

My son will consume at least one pot of black coffee and at least 2000 calories between six A.M. and noon.

My son will consume at least one twelve pack of beer and 4000 calories between noon and midnight

My Son will consume at least six cigars a day.

“What the fuck? But what about school?”

“Both of us know you weren’t even going to school when you could go to school. No, I think you’ll be staying here for a while, where I can keep an eye on you, son.”

Blake tried to protest, but Saul just left the apartment, abandoning him to his rules. The first few days he fought–but his body wouldn’t let him disobey. His father had kept the house stocked with plenty of food–almost all of it fatty snack foods, and since he couldn’t count calories easily, he’d just eat until the hunger died away, usually jacking off as he did to get to fifteen ejaculations by the end of the day. He was a mess the first week. The second week he managed better, but by the third week, his father increased the numbers–two pots of coffee, 9000 calories a day, eighteen beers, and ten cigars. Almost every night, his father would bring home another man to fuck around with, and he’d managed to find a quite a few guys who didn’t mind Max watching them fuck, while he drank his beers and smoked his cigars, but he couldn’t keep doing this, he just couldn’t.

He got a knife from the kitchen and tried to attack his dad when he got home one evening, but the list wouldn’t let him harm Saul, he couldn’t even bring himself to try and land a blow on him. So Saul made a new rule that Blake had to eat all of his own cum. He lasted two days before he finally broke down, sobbing. He couldn’t live like this, he had to get out of the apartment. He felt sick all the time, his cock was chaffed, the smoke hurt his lungs, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d do anything, anything Saul wanted him to do, if he could just go back to being a normal teenager again.

Saul didn’t do or say anything right away. Then, he laughed. “Teenager?” he asked, “Son, you haven’t been a teenager for quite a while now.”

Blake just looked at him, confused. Saul rolled his eyes. “It usually takes a few days for your head to catch up and fill in, but you’ll figure it out. Now, I’m fucking beat–I’m gonna go jack off if you wanna watch, and then I’m going to bed.”

Blake figured out what his dad was talking about the next day, when he finished taking one of his long beer pisses, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was a mess, of course. He eyes were bloodshot, and he’d gained quite a bit of weight from his binging. Too much weight, really. It had only been a month–he managed to dig an old scale out from under the sink, and sure enough, he’d gone from one hundred and fifty pounds to two hundred and sixty in less than a month. That didn’t make sense, did it? Then again, he hadn’t weighed one fifty since he was in high school, so–

He ran that thought back. Since he was in high school? He was still in high school…wasn’t he?

He knew the answer. He’d dropped out when he was sixteen–he was too lazy to do much of anything beyond smoke, drink, eat and jack off in his dad’s apartment. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he did look older–like he was probably around twenty seven or so, not sixteen. He freaked out–all he could think to do, however, was drink more beer and smoke more cigars, anything to calm him down until his dad got home from work, and Blake demanded answers.

“The more you fight it, the more you age, son. That’s how it works. And you become whatever the rules you’re following think you should be. You’re a fucking slob now, son. You stink–Have you even showered this week? You didn’t even notice the beard either I bet–hell, it almost reaches your chest–the same with that hair of yours.”

“No…no, this is insane.”

“No, this is your fucking punishment. But if you’re ready to grow up and be a man, then we can have a conversation about what your rules might be, but–”

“Fuck you!” Blake screamed, tried to punch him, but he only hit air, “I fucking hate you! I don’t fucking care what you do, fuck you!”

Saul scowled, “I’m trying to be patient. My dad wasn’t this patient with me, but I know how it feels. If you just cooperate…”

Saul could see Max wasn’t listening, so he shrugged, and went to bed; Max sat on the couch and did his best to keep his hand away from his cock, but he…he simply couldn’t. He was addicted to masturbation as he was to the cigars he was smoking and the cheap beer he was guzzling. What was this list doing to him? Hell, what was his dad doing to him? He was beginning to suspect this was less about punishment and more about his own father’s twisted imagination, but what could he do?

Baby Bear – Part 3

Such a sweet baby bear. A fighter to the end. But now those big eyes of his are empty, ready to be filled with whatever I want–still, that can wait until morning. He’s very tired after all of that, and so am I for that matter. I get him changed into a fresh diaper and then put him to bed–he’s sleeping in the nursery now, of course, not the guest room. He’s so cute in his crib, binky in his mouth, clutching a blanket.

The next morning, I wake him up, and after a morning blow job, I see what remains after the battle the night before. He is quite stupid, I must say. A pity too–I was hoping he’d be smart. I’d been wanting to raise a businessman, but it looks like I’ll have to change my plans. His vocabulary is very simple, his math and reasoning skills are stunted. Still, he has a good sense of humor, and goodness is he eager to please! That’s such a good sign–that means he’ll be all grown up again in no time at all.

Of course, the first few months were spent getting baby to a place where we could start his education proper. Helping him remember how to walk, for instance. He may have been a baby, but I certainly couldn’t carry him everywhere, especially with his developing appetite. This was going to be a chubby bear, I’d already decided–he’d arrived husky, and I wanted to see what he looked like with some more meat on his bones. And of course, I reinforced his oral fixation–he just wasn’t happy without something in his mouth. That helped inspire his new name, too–Orel. A good name for a fatass, dumb baby bear who loves to suck on anything he can get his mouth around.

After those first few months, he was finally walking again, and had recovered some of his vocabulary, but not very much at all. I realized I was going to have to lower my expectations for Orel rather substantially. That’s not to say I don’t love him! I love all my boys, but some rise higher than others. Once I felt like I could trust him to not drop it, I got him smoking. All my boys smoke, of course, just like their daddy. We started with cigarettes, and once the addiction had him smoking two packs a day, I switched him to cigars, which he enjoyed much more, because, as he said with his characteristic enthusiasm, “they’re shaped like cocks!” That had him so excited, he giggled about it all day, but watching him suck on those tobacco shafts sure did get me hornier for his throat more than anything else.

He stayed with me for a few years. Pretty soon, he was tipping the scales at 400 pounds, and it was getting hard to find diapers large enough for him to wear. Potty training was proving difficult. In fact, it seemed that he liked soiling himself. Of course, all my boys like it to some extent–it reminds them of their second childhood more than anything else–but for Orel, he eventually confessed that he just liked how it felt to have a heavy diaper on, that it made him feel like a bad boy who needed to be punished by his daddy with a fuck or a spanking. He liked feeling like a bad boy, he added, and then he giggled like a fool. I suppose I shouldn’t have been all that surprised–someone who’d put up as much of a fight as he did was bound to have a rebellious streak in him, so I decided to just go along with it and encourage him. If he wanted to be stuck in diapers for the rest of his life, then so be it–I certainly wasn’t going to complain about it–but forcing him to take responsibility for it…well, that proved to be a bit harder.

Sometimes, I’m sure he just forgot to change himself, but other times, I knew he’d just keep his filthy diaper on because he liked it. He liked being dirty, and he liked being a slob. Part of that was my fault, I suppose. I’d conditioned him to enjoy humiliation, especially being belittled for how stupid he was, and so it isn’t surprising that he enjoyed the fact that he was a sat around in his own filth as well, but It was a bit of a complication in my plans. By this time, he was pretty much all grown up again–just another one of my bears–and that meant it was time for him to move out and move on with his new life. But to do that, well, he needed a job, but that was going to be a challenge. He was too stupid to do anything with a computer from home, which would have let him be as much of a slob as he’d like, and he couldn’t do anything social with his poor hygiene and lackluster social skills. Thankfully, one of my other boys, Barry, came through for me. He had a fuckbuddy who ran a delivery company, and he was willing to let Orel drive one of his trucks. He’d be working nights, so he wouldn’t have to talk to many people, and as long as he could drive well enough, and provide his boss with a throat to fuck on occasion, it would work out fine. Now all I had to do was teach him to drive–a challenge, but not an insurmountable one, and giving him something that he could succeed at made Orel happy. “I might be dumb as a rock, ‘n I might be a nasty poopypants, and I’s a fat slut for sure, but at least I can drive a damn truck, right Daddy?” he told me one day with that big grin of his, sitting in the driver seat of the truck we were using for driver’s education and I could tell everything would work out alright for my baby bear in the end. Now I just had to get to work on finding one to replace him.

The Fall of Troy – Part 3

Warning It starts getting a bit messy here, including some light scat.

Troy opened the door to the bathroom, and it was the stench that caught him first, and he had to suppress his gag reflex. Its true that he wasn’t exactly the cleanest guy, but even that was a bit more than he could handle. The floor was littered with dirty laundry–a large amount of it underwear, the toilet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages, and the sink was clogged with hair. The cleanest part of the room was probably the shower, which was missing a curtain…and also a shower head, meaning it probably hadn’t been used in quite a while. Still, how did it look this bad? He was pretty much the only person who used the room, since Leo and his mom shared the master bath upstairs.

“What’s wrong, son?” Troy looked over his shoulder, right into Leo’s pitch black eyes, eyes he’d seen the night before. He could almost…remember, but his mind, Leo was inside him again, messing with him again, and he couldn’t do anything but stand there, drooling dumbly as Leo mindfucked him once again. “Now, son, I know how important your private bathroom time is for you, so why don’t you go ahead and enjoy yourself for a while, eh?”

Troy nodded slowly, and then stepped into the bathroom, allowing Leo to shut the door on him, and it was like he’d woken up in a dream. This couldn’t be real, none of this could possibly be happening. He took a few deep breaths of the stinking, stale air, and felt himself calm down a bit. He always felt better surrounded by his own filth, right? He looked at himself in the grimy mirror through an additional haze of smoke from his cigar, and had a hard time recognizing himself. The beard he’d grown the night before was even longer now, very curly and bushy, looking like his face was coated with a pubic bush. His hair had grown out as well, and it shone with grease. The rest of his body was similarly hairy, and he ran his filthy hands over his gut, feeling the fur, before lifting an arm to sniff at his massive, stinking pitbush. It was rank. He was rank. Then again, when you hadn’t taken a shower in months that’s what happens, not that he minded. He felt a gurgle in his gut, and let loose a long, wet fart–probably time to get down to business.

He walked over to the toilet to take a seat, and saw that the bowl was already filled with at least two loads of shit, and who knew how much piss. No wonder it smelled so fucking foul in here, and his smoke wasn’t helping either. He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded, though he wasn’t sure if it was the air, or just how fucking excited he was. A part of him, a small part growing smaller, tried to reach for the handle to flush it, but he pulled his hand back. It wasn’t time to flush it, not yet. He’d been saving it…right? Saving it for…for his private time. He was getting hard again–he pulled out his dildo and set it on the counter next to the toilet seeing the fleshy head coated with his shit (later–later) before plopping his fat ass down on the seat, and he let off a long, loud fart as he did. “Awww, fuck yeah…” he groaned, sniffing the fresh funk on the air for a moment, giving his fat nipples a twist. Still, he could shit in a moment–his bladder was calling.

Too bad he was too fat to piss on himself like before, still, he’d managed to devise a system that was almost as good. He fished around in the piles of his filthy clothes for a pair of briefs, well worn and stretched, stained a light yellow brown with a prominent shitstripe up the ass, positioned it under his cock, and started pissing on it, soaking it well, and then he stopped himself, took the soggy underwear and started sponging his fat body with his own piss, taking a moment every once in a while to suck as much as he could from the fabric with his mouth in between deep drags off his cigar, and once the briefs were no longer wet enough, he repeated the process with an equally filthy XXXL wifebeater, which he soaked through, wiped all over his body, and then pulled it on. His cigar was finished; he dropped the butt into the sink, and turned on a tap. He released the rest of his piss into the toilet, and then bore down, piling even more shit on top, his cock hardening, he he started working it slowly, taking long, snorting inhales of the filthy air, yanking up the filthy wifebeater to his nose and mouth, sucking at it, and when he was close, getting close, he fumbled for the filthy dildo next to him, shoved the nasty shit coated head in his mouth, and started sucking.

His cock exploded, spraying the toilet bowl, the wall across from him, the clothes in front of him. He worked the dildo deeper into his mouth, he kept milking his cock, horny as ever. With the dildo slick with spit again, he hefted himself up from the toilet, turned around, and got down on his knees in front of the full bowl, pushing the dildo back inside himself to the hilt, face to face with his own mess, and he fucked himself, taking long, deep breaths of his stink, until he came again across the base of the toilet.

Exhausted, coated with a foul mix of sweat and piss, surrounded by his filthy clothes, he started to calm down. He knew he should feel ashamed of himself, but it was like that part of his mind had shut off entirely. Instead he felt…proud. Excited. Happier than he could remember being in recent memory. He stared at the massive pile of shit in the toilet. He should flush it–or at least try to flush it, or…or he could just leave it. Just imagine what it might smell like in a few hours, if he did. Smirking, shit still smeared on his lips, he pushed himself back up. He found the briefs he’d soaked in piss and pulled them on, making sure to floss the ass deep into his nasty crack, and let out a belch. Fuck, he was hungry again already, maybe his dad had something cooking in the kitchen for them. He lumbered upstairs, and went to look for Leo.

The Fall of Troy – Part 2

Troy groaned on the couch, and shielded his eyes from the sunlight blazing in the front window. Fuck, how much had he drank last night? He didn’t usually get hangovers like this from a normal night of drinking, smoking and pawing his cock off. He reached out for the table, scattering empty cans too and fro, and thankfully there was a partial–flat and warm, but he chugged it down anyway, feeling some of it run out the sides of his mouth and down into his beard. He belched. One thing out of the way at least. He grabbed a cigar from the table and his lighter, puffing it gently, already feeling a bit better, and he laid back, rubbing his full gut, before letting his hand wander down to his hard morning wood.

“Awww, fuck yeah…” he groaned, and holding his cigar in his teeth, he rolled over slightly, letting himself grab the dildo which was still wedged in his ass, and start pumping it, “Nothin’ like a fuck to make a mornin’ better.”

He heard someone tromping downstairs, looked up and saw Leo yawning, naked, at the base of the stairs. For a moment he was embarrassed to be caught like this…but it sure as hell wasn’t the first time Leo had seen him with a dildo up his hole, right? Besides, he was too close to blowing to stop now, and if anything…seeing Leo sneer at him was kind of turning him on, and a couple strokes later, he felt his body spasm.

“Good to see someone’s morning’s going well.”

“Aww shut the fuck up, Leo. You makin’ breakfast?”

“Sure, but if I do, you know what you owe me.”

Leo made plenty of breakfast, and Troy plowed through two thirds of it, stuffing himself silly. Then, as was their usual bargain, he got down and sucked on Leo’s thick cock. He’d kept the dildo in his hole all through breakfast, and was again fucking himself with it, stroking himself closer to his second climax of the day, Leo helping him along by yanking on his fat tits, making his whole belly jiggle. Leo ended up spraying his load all over Troy’s beard, and Troy shot his load into his hand, before licking it up–but as he did, there was a flash of bright light from Leo’s eyes, and it was like a veil had been lifted. He screamed, heaving his fat body up, staring down at himself.

“What–what the fuck happened to me!” he stared at Leo and screamed at him, “You did this, what the fuck did you do?”

Leo just smiled, “Now now, is that any way to talk to your father? Especially when his cum is splattered in your beard?”

Troy took a step backwards away from him as Leo stood up, his anger boiling down into fear, “You did this. I don’t…Why?”

“Oh Troy, even when you were smart, you were dumb as a rock. I can’t very well have you draining your mom’s bank account with silly shit like ‘college tuition,’ or ‘room and board’. You see, milking her for money is my gig–but don’t worry, I’m sure with your skills we can find something for you to do with your life instead of college.”

“You can’t just…change shit like that.”

“Oh really? Tell me, what classes are you taking in high school right now?”

It was on the tip of his tongue, but not there at all. He wasn’t going to school–he’d dropped out as soon as he could…hadn’t he?

“No answer? Are you even going to school, or are you lounging around the house with your slobby stepdad, sucking and riding his cock every chance you get?” Leo fondled his cock, and Troy saw it was getting hard again already…and he wanted it. His body wanted it. His body was tired of dildos, it wanted its hole filled with flesh. “Tell you what, why don’t you go ahead and bend over the couch, and I’ll pump that ass of yours full of cum, how does that sound?”

His mind was fading fast, falling back into his new dullness. He needed a smoke. He needed a drink. He needed…he needed a fuck. His body was walking, not running. It was walking around behind the sofa, and he was bending over it, leg’s spread, showing off his fat ass, dildo still lodged inside.

“You need a cigar, son?”

“I’m…not your son.”

Leo shrugged, “Do you need one though?”

Troy nodded weakly, and Leo shoved one in his mouth, and lit it for him. “Now beg for it.”

“W-What?”

“Go on pig, beg for me to fuck you. Beg like those fat manwhores do in all those pornos you watch all day. Beg for me.”

“Not…I’m not gonna…” he moaned suddenly–Leo was working the dildo in and out, and then he pulled it out entirely. Empty, so fucking empty. “Fuck Leo, come on, put it in me already.”

“Put what in you?”

“Your cock man, your big fat cock, stuff your son’s fat hole full, come on man, I need it bad…”

Leo slipped into Troy’s hole, and laughed as the pig moaned. “Yeah, fuck, this is fuckin’ great. I could get used to this, you know? Fuckin’ not only that whore mom of yours, but her fat, slob son too. Both of you begging for my cock, all day long. Still, I’m really more of a pussy guy, you know? We might have to find a few more guys willing to fuck a nasty pig like you, eh?”

“S-Sure, but ya can stick that cock in my holes any time, daddy…”

“Heh, you fuckin’ slut,” Leo said, giving Troy’s fat ass a hard slap, “You’ll give your ass up to any cock that comes along. Still, don’t you fuckin’ worry, we’ll be keeping you plenty stuffed.”

Troy was fighting in his mind, fighting to hang on to any little shred of himself that he could find, but it just felt so…damn good. Sucking on a cigar, his daddy’s big cock lodged in his hole, what more could he ask for? He’d never wanted to go to college. He’d hated school, he’d hated sports, all he really wanted was to be a big, fat slob like Leo. With a loud groan, Leo came, pumping cum into him, and Troy felt his own stubby pig cock spurt his own load across the back of the couch. They both remained connected for a few moments, huffing and puffing, and then pulled apart, Leo collecting himself, Troy getting down and licking up his cum, sliding his dildo back into his loose asshole. But now, nature was calling–Troy hefted himself up. “Fuck, after all that pounding and I gotta piss like a horse. Could shit a mountain too, right about now.”

Troy smiled, “Make sure you use yours down in the basement–its all ready for you.”

“In the basement? Fuck, but then I gotta climb back up.”

“Go on, pig.”

Troy rolled his eyes, but obeyed unthinkingly, hefting his bulk down the stairs step by step, and Leo chuckled under his breath. By the time he had stepped inside and let out a gasp of surprise, Leo had followed him. He had to keep an eye on him after all.

***Warning*** It starts getting a bit messy here, including some light scat.

Warning It starts getting a bit messy here, including some light scat.