Flash Commission – Greene Aged Tobacco

Garowan the tanuki brought the package inside from the porch, his striped tail swishing happily to and fro, excited that his tobacco sampler had finally arrived. It was a new variety of aged tobacco he’d seen advertised online, from a company called Greene’s. Curious, and happy with the low price, he’d ordered one just to give it a try. He opened up the box, and let out a little disappointed growl. What a ripoff! Sure, the sampler had been discounted, but inside the wood box with the Greene label on the front, there had been nothing more than a single cigarette rattling around.

A fucking cigarette! He didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He’d had a couple when he was a teenager, sure, but he preferred cigars. He picked it up, wondering who he was going to have to contact to complain about this, and brought it to his snout to take a sniff. It didn’t smell like the cigarettes he’d had before, actually, which had a sharper, cheaper scent. It was pleasant, actually. A little woodsy, a little rum, a little vanilla. He looked at it, and decided why not? He’d ordered it, he might as well try it. He could still complain about it to the company and get his money back, even if he used it. The box was decently sized, after all–it was probably supposed to have more stuff in it than this, and someone had packaged it wrong. He went into his living room, got his lighter, and lit the cigarette, taking a small draw on it, holding the smoke in, and then exhaling it into the air around him.

It was nice. Really nice. All of those flavors he’d picked up with his rather sensitive nose were still there, blended nicely together, without being too cloying or artificial. He gave his sizable nuts a scratch as he took a deeper drag, inhaling some of it this time, and felt a surprising little zing that went right to his head, making him feel a little light headed and dizzy. Apparently, whatever aging process they used made sure the tobacco packed a punch as well. He enjoyed the rest of the cigarette for a few minutes, that rush suffusing the rest of his body, and smoked the cigarette down to a small butt, before dropping it in the ashtray. It hadn’t been a total waste then–the tobacco was great. Now he really did wish he’d gotten a complete sampler, instead of just that little taste. He started back towards the kitchen, where he’d left the box, but before he could get there, be passed by a large mirror hanging on the wall in the living room, and then paused, staring at his reflection, a little confused.

He looked different. Not…all that different, he supposed. The fur on his cheeks and around his muzzle was thicker and a bit darker brown, looking like a proper beard that older tanukis usually grew. His body looked a little heftier. His arms were thicker with a bit more muscle, and his belly had grown fatter. Not my much, really. Just enough to really be noticeable, and to make his underwear look a little strained, especially since his nuts had grown as well. For tanukis, that was one of their main signs of age–their substantial sacks grew their entire life, and elders in particular often had sacks so large it made it a bit difficult to move around at times, though they usually managed. The fur on his belly had darkened and thickened as well, becoming a substantial treasure trail running up his larger gut. If he had to guess, he looked like he’d aged about ten years or so, into his mid-thirties, but he looked…good, somehow.

He went to the box, wondering if it might have some explanation, but there wasn’t anything like a note or warning. There was something new in the box though, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It was impossible that he could have missed something, it must have somehow just appeared there after he’d smoked that cigarette. It was a sizable smoking pipe, dark brown with a bent stem, and a little pouch of what he assumed must be tobacco along with it. He picked up the pouch, paw shaking a bit, opened up the top, and gave it a little sniff. Sure enough, it was the same aroma, though a little stronger, the flavors a little deeper, melded differently. Aged more. He could just tell from the darker, deeper scent. But if this tobacco was aged more, did that mean that, if he smoked it, he would age more too?

He went back to the mirror and looked at himself again, at his older body. He tried to imagine what he might look like even older and…and why was he even considering this? He couldn’t smoke this shit, who knew what it might do to him, he needed to get help. He went back, intending to throw the pouch of tobacco in the trash, but smelled it again, found himself getting a bit lost in it, and realized when he pulled it away from his snout that his cock was leaking in the front of his tight underwear. Without taking time to second guess himself, he picked up the pipe, dumped the tobacco in it, and tamped it down. The whole pouch fit in the bowl perfectly, and he went back into the living room, got his lighter, and lit the pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the stem, relishing the flavor again, enjoying the subtler notes he’d missed before.

He sat back, took an inhale off the pipe, and again, felt that same surge of energy off the tobacco as before, but while he still felt alert and energized, it was coupled with a rather profound sense of relaxation. He sank back into his armchair, and this time, he felt it as it was happening, his gut grumbling slightly, and then began to expand. Pipe in his mouth, he rubbed it with his paws, groaning a bit from the pressure. The gut was rather soft and pillowy, flowing around him, spreading out across the chair, thighs growing closer together. He could see the fur on his belly that had grown in before thicken further, and when he was about halfway through the bowl, it changed color again, the brown lightening to a steely grey, contrasting with his the prown pelt across the rest of his belly. It was joined by his beard, he realized after a moment, which was long enough to reach his chest now, and the same greyish color–almost the same color as the smoke coming from the pipe itself. His chest was growing as well, packing on fat until he had two sizable moobs resting on top of his gut. His nipples in particular grew as well, and the two piercings he had in them grew as well, from a pair of studs into two sizable gold rings.

He smoked the pipe down to ash, and then sat for a moment, looking down at himself, surprised he wasn’t more horrified. He set the pipe aside, and hefted himself up from the chair, his legs and back aching in ways that he didn’t expect, but which he supposed came with his new age. If he had to guess now, he was probably in his late forties. As he walked into the kitchen, he could feel his nuts swinging against his knees as he walked, the constant stimulation provoking a constant leakage from the head of his cock. Along the way, his underwear finally gave up and shredded away, leaving him entirely naked.

Something had appeared in the box again, where the pipe had been. It was a cigar, and not a small one, either. At least an 80 ring, if not larger, and close to nine inches long. He’d only seen cigars that large in pictures on the internet, never in person. He picked it up, paws shaking a bit, and brought it to his nose. The smell of it made him salivate–he could almost taste it, just from smelling the wrapper…but he shouldn’t, right? If he did, how old was he going to get, anyway?

He resisted the urge for a little while, moving around in his new body, getting used to hefting around his new weight, his sizable balls. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigar though, and come evening, after a sizable dinner to feed his new bulk, he sat down with the cigar in the living room, punched it, and after a moment, brought it to his lips and lit it.

It took some work, getting it started, because it was so large. The thing was so big it stretched his snout uncomfortably wide. At last, he was satisfied with the light, sat back, and took a sizable draw off the end, a bit greedy for the smoke even, and sighed out a thick plume, delighted with the flavor. The cigarette had been just a tease of this depth of flavor. It was the most delightful, savory smoke he’d ever had, in fact. Again, he felt the smoke spread through him, permeate him, and he grew again. Soon, his fat was spilling over the sides of the armchair, which was creaking under the weight of him, his balls sagging lower until he realized they were large enough to rest on the floor in front of the chair, his meaty thighs pushed wide apart by the massive sack. His jaw was aching from holding the cigar, but when he pulled it free for a moment to give it a rest, he realized that wasn’t the only reason. His tusks were coming in, his lower jaw jutting out, growing thicker, and two stubby incisors pushing their way out of his lower jaw. He put the cigar back in, happy to discover that it was much stronger, and could support the cigar easily while his paws explored his growing body.

His fur thicker, and all over his belly, the brownish grey lightened further to a stark white, as did his beard, which now reached down to the massive belly button in his massive gut. His moobs were even larger now, and when he squeezed them, he let out a little grunt of surprise and pleasure when he felt something leak from the nipples. Looking down, he realized he’d matured enough to start lactating, something that didn’t happen to every tanuki, but if it did, it didn’t usually happen until they were in their sixties. It felt…good, and the rings in his nipples grew even thicker, almost as thick as the massive cigar he was smoking. The smell was beginning to permeate him now, and the smell of the tobacco was joined by a scent of his own musk, growing stronger and more pungent, with a definite pang of smoke–but that wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d been a near constant smoker for years now, why wouldn’t he smell of smoke?

He shook his head, but that memory was real, as real as his other ones. He could find himself remembering other things, a whole life that he’d lived now, leading to this new body. He was happily retired, well supported, and didn’t have to worry about anything. He could even sense, somehow, that he hadn’t really lost any years off his life, through these changes. He would stay like this for years now, for as long as the years he had lost, probably close to forty or so, before aging any further. He finished the cigar, set the butt down in the ashtray, and heaved a final, contented, smoky sigh. It was a lot to consider, really, but he didn’t regret any of it, though he was horny as hell after all of that, and his massive balls were aching for release. He pulled himself up, and saw he’d already accumulated quite a puddle of cum around his balls on the floor. No matter, he knew a few cubs around who would be more than happy to clean it up for him–maybe while he had another cigar, or two.

Emptied Out (Part 3)

“Hot smoker, just like yer daddy,” Biff said, and pushed some smoke in Nathan’s direction. It…smelled different, coming from him. Hotter, somehow, and he blew some of it back, his hand slipping back down to his crotch, thinking about how horny he always got, trading smoke with his daddy like a couple of perverts. Biff noticed, but didn’t say anything, just kept pushing smoke in his direction, watching Nathan slowly lose focus, groping himself more and more, his hand slipping into his still damp khakis to stroke himself properly. He finished his second cigarette, and came back to himself for a bit, pulling his hand away, but he only lasted half an hour before asking daddy for another.

“Sorry boy. Ya want another cigarette from me, you’re gonna have to shoot a load. That, or ya gotta give me some good road head.”

The idea of getting anywhere near Biff’s cock horrified him, and he wasn’t about to jack off again…but he needed a cigarette. Biff kept pushing smoke in his direction, and it was maddening, and hot and sexy, and his hand slipped back down. What harm was there in…one little cum shot? It wasn’t so bad, right? Biff kept sending him smoke, and watched him give in, stroking faster now, until after a couple of minutes he shot again, and just like before, Nathan went slack, eyes glazed over and mouth hanging open.

“Emptied yerself out again, Nate?”

“Yes daddy…” he muttered.

Biff took the next exit off the highway into a small town, “Good, I was gettin’ hungry. Let’s get us both filled back up, eh?”

There was a fast food joint right by the off ramp, and he pulled into the drive through, and the guy taking the order thought it was a joke at first, Biff ordered so much food. It took a little while to get everything, but before too long, they were parked, with bags and bags of burgers and fries–with plenty of soda to wash it down. Biff pulled out a burger and put it to Nate’s mouth. “Go on Nate–feed that big ol’ gut a yers.” Nate mindlessly took a bite, chewing slowly and swallowing. Biff grabbed one of his slack hands and put it on the burger to hold it. “Faster boy. Ya eat like a fuckin’ pig. Don’t care how messy ya get, ya just need it in ya.”

Nate started eating faster now, and Biff kept encouraging him, reminding him to take plenty of drinks of soda–after all, he loved soft drinks, and anything sweet. He was hungry, always hungry, even hungrier than his dad, usually. Hell, he was fatter than his dad was even–he could remember how proud he was the day his gut sagged down even lower than his dad’s did, couldn’t he? Nate kept trying to agree, but his mouth was too busy shoveling in food for any of it to be intelligible. He ate and ate, his gut expanding at a rapid pace as he did, the buttons on his shirt popping off one by one, the undershirt riding up as his gut dropped between his thighs, his pants stretched to the limit as he grew larger and larger. He became more animated, slowly, Nathan coming back to the fore as he filled himself back up, but he didn’t stop eating–he couldn’t stop eating, sucking down his soda, and sucking down on his cigarette, of course. He was such a good son, cumming for his daddy, and now he got his reward–another smoke, and a massive fast food meal to boot! It wasn’t until he finished most of the food off–his dad having eaten a sizable portion as well, that he leaned back, let off a belch, and realized just how much bigger he’d become–and realized that they’d stopped moving.

Nathan fumbled with the door handle, and nearly fell out of the van. As he did, he felt a massive shudder in his fat as his khakis, and underwear, finally burst from the pressure, and he was left standing in the parking lot, in full view of the people in the restaurant, naked from the waist down, a massive, hairy apron hanging free…and he didn’t know what to do. He needed to get help, but not like this. He couldn’t possibly let anyone see him like this!

“Son, git yer fat ass back in the damn van!” Biff shouted at him, and Nathan struggled to resist.

“You…you aren’t my dad! This…this can’t be real, I’m just imagining this. I can’t…actually be this big,” he muttered, hefting his gut and letting it fall, feeling it thwack against his thick thighs. “I mean…I eat lots, but…but not like this.”

“Boy, git back in the van.”

“No. No, I’m not…going anywhere else with you.”

Biff sighed, “Boy, git back in the van, and we’ll go ‘round again ‘n git ya some shakes. Ya are still hungry, ain’t ya? One a every flavor–enough tah git ya home.”

HIs gut rumbled like an earthquake, and his mouth watered, thinking about it. Fuck, he was…hungry. So hungry, even though he’d just eaten so much food, he could barely believe it was still inside him. “But…but I…”

“Son, what ya think’s gonna happen when those folk call the cops on ya? Think Master’s gonna be happy when he’s gotta bail yer fat ass outta jail? Probably just leave ya in there with ‘em, ‘n make ya some jailbitch. Now git in the car, ‘n let’s git dessert.”

He was right–there was nothing he could do looking like this–without even any clothes to wear. That…and dessert sounded really damn good. He got back in, surprised by how hard it was maneuvering his huge bulk, and Biff drove him back through, ordering a shake in every flavor as promised–twelve in total–and then headed back for the highway while Nathan sucked down shake after shake, and cigarette after cigarette to go with them. He managed well enough for the rest of the ride at least–though Biff kept ripping off the worst farts Nathan had ever smelled in his life, laughing after every one he made, and refusing to roll the windows down. Thankfully the food made him sleepy, and not too long after finishing the last shake, he passed out for a while, snoring and belching away, Biff reaching over to grope his boy’s massive fat belly occasionally, and then drove into the city, arriving at the small apartment complex where he lived not too long after that, in the evening.

Smoke Spirits (Part 3)

“Pete? What’s up man?”

From the movements of his mouth, it seemed clear Pete was trying to speak, but no sound came out, and his mouth closed again in a moment. Douglas just watched, rooted in place, as his housemate dropped to his knees in front of him, reached out, and tried to yank down the front of Douglas’ pajamas.

He stepped backwards and yanked them back up, “Whoa now, what the fuck’s up with you?” he said, not noticing that the smoke around them both had grown thicker, some of it beginning to pull together off to his side. There, like the night before, was the form of a lower jaw, nose and neck, formed from smoke–but also two large, burly hands. The placement of all three in the air implied the existence of an invisible body lying somewhere between them, but nothing else materialized. Pete, on the ground, shuffled forward on his hands and knees, focused only on Douglas’s crotch and ignoring his housemate’s shouts, backing him up against the side of the house. Douglas looked around, trying to figure out where to go to get away from his suddenly creepy housemate, when both smoky hands clamped down on his wrists, hauled his arms into the air and pinned them above his head and too the wall. “What the fuck?” he said, trying to pull away, but he saw the face hovering in front of him, the same face as the night before, and his guts chilled. Pete, however, took advantage of the opening, pulled down Douglas’s pants and started sucking on his cock.

He tried to protest, but the smoky face only turned up into a sneer. The hands above readjusted their position, so only one hand held both of Douglas’s arms up, the free hand moving down and sliding his shirt up, tweaking one nipple while the mouth moved down and started sucking at the other. He tried to push Pete off with one of his feet, but before he could, he felt a sudden surge of pleasure as something spewed out of his cock. He looked down, expecting to see Pete’s mouth flooded with cum, but instead all he saw was smoke pouring from his nose and mouth, the cloudiness of his eyes now nearly opaque. He wanted to stop, but he could already feel another massive load swelling in him, his balls nearly pulsing, as another load of smoke flooded into Pete’s mouth and lungs. He hadn’t noticed that his cigarette had burnt down to the filter and finally gone out, and he could sense some frustration in the smoky mouth as it began to lose it’s shape and dissolve into the air. The hand was no longer holding him in place, allowing him to shove Pete off his cock, but Pete didn’t seem to be home. The color of his eyes hadn’t returned, and as Douglas watched, what smoke remained slid back into his cock, or down Pete’s gullet.

He didn’t want to be there when Pete did come back around–if he came back around. He didn’t want to try and understand what had just happened to him, why he had just sucked his housemate’s cock. He went back inside, thankful the other two men living there hadn’t seen them, and went back up to his room, crumpling and ripping up his remaining cigarettes as he went, and dumping them all in the toilet before flushing them away. He found his phone and pulled up Scruff, looking for Bandgar’s profile page. All of this insanity had started with him, with that strange sex they’d had the night before–maybe he was still in town, and if he was, he might know what in the world was going on with him. However, he didn’t appear to be online, and so he sat on his bed, desperate, feeling the itch start up all over again, but refusing to give in to it anymore.

It wasn’t long before the usual withdrawal symptoms started–the headache, the nausea, the anger and anxiety, however, within an hour they were all more intense than he’d ever experienced them before, and came coupled with something even worse–it felt like his balls were somehow…drying up. Even that description, which was the best he could use to describe the itching, burning, and crushing sensation inside his sack, didn’t seem to adequately describe what was wrong with him. Further, something inside him was…frustrated. He thought it was just the nausea being somehow worse than usual, as he threw up his morning coffee into the trash can, but something in his lungs, in his head, in his heart was…angry. Angry that it had no smoke, angry at him, a burning, vicious, instinctual anger. This helped, in other ways. It gave him something to focus on, something to hate back, something to resist and fight, and for a while, he was convinced that he was winning. The thing in him–it was small. It had a grip on him, but even it could sense that if he kept up his resistance long enough it wouldn’t be able to hold on.

But that turned out to be a rather false hope, because the thing, whatever it was, already had a contingency in place. The door to Douglas’s room swung open after a few hours, and there was Pete holding a shopping bag in one hand, his mouth slack, his eyes still grey–though the occasional flicker of their original green peeked through every once in awhile. He shut the door behind him, pulled a cigar from the bag, clipped it and lit it, and walked over to where Douglas was whimpering on the bed, knowing he’d greatly underestimated the forces at work inside of him.

Smoke Spirits (Part 2)

He laid down in his bed and tried to get to sleep, but every time he got comfortable, the cough would start up again–mild at first, but after a few minutes he got going and couldn’t stop. There was something in his lungs that he had to get up. He thought it was mucus at first, but it felt…alive somehow, squirming about inside him, until with a last hack, smoke gushed out of his mouth and nose, and hovered in the air in front of him. He tried to wave it away and disperse it, but all he managed to do was sever the connection between him and the small cloud of smoke; when he did, the cloud pulled in tighter, and created a shape hovering a few inches from him. In the dark room, he couldn’t see very well, but it looked like the lower part of a face, from the upper lip down, and seemed almost scruffy or hairy–perhaps it was just the nature of the smoke that made it seem that way. What he did see, in the dark, was the lips of this strange, floating face turn up in a smirk, before the cloud drifted closer and planted itself on his mouth…kissing him, somehow.

It was warm, and it was alive. It didn’t feel like flesh at all, but it was solid, and quite forceful, a dry, whispy tongue prying open Douglas’ mouth and exploring it, leaving the entire surface coated with a fine layer of ash, but as disturbed as he was, as terrified as he was, as certain as he was that this was all some hallucination or fever dream, Douglas liked it. He shivered as the mouth licked it’s way down, nibbling at his neck, pushing him back so he was lying on the bed, the smoky mouth hovering a moment over each nipple, warming them with its heated breath, before dropping lower still, until it was licking and sucking at the head of his cock. What he felt then–it was difficult to describe.

The mouth was drawing his cock like Douglas would draw his cigarette, pulling air through it–not that there was really air in his cock, but something was being pulled out, and whatever it was, it felt amazing. Each time the mouth inhaled, Douglas would spasm, groan and quiver in pleasure until after a few minutes he came in a monstrous gush, with more force than he could remember having. He clutched the sheets of his bed as it overwhelmed him, allowing it to ebb back–he raised his head, expecting to see his cum everywhere–but his body, the floor, the sheets– all were dry as a bone, aside from his sweat. The mouth was gone, or almost gone. One last wisp of smoke remained visible, as it slid into his urethra before vanishing back inside him, like it had never even been there at all. Had it been there? Everything seemed so hazy, and more than anything he wanted a cigarette, but the mere thought of putting smoke inside him suddenly made his stomach turn. He got back into bed and tried to forget about what had happened, telling himself it had just been…nothing at all. He was still coughing a bit, but not as violently as before, and he fell asleep soon after lying down.

The next morning at around ten, he woke up feeling like he had five days into his last attempt to quit cold turkey. Shakes, nausea, irritable and angry. He grabbed his cigarettes from the table, threw on a shirt and some pajamas, before heading down and out into the backyard for a smoke he desperately needed. Even though the sky was clear it was chilly out in the shadow of the house–he smoked one cigarette quickly, and when that barely took the edge off, he started right in on a second. Thinking that might be enough, he went inside and joined his housemates for a cup of coffee, as they were just then waking up as well, but halfway through the cup, the itch started up again, and he was back outside for a third, and then a fourth cigarette. What in the hell was wrong with him? He’d been cutting back pretty well, managing to keep to about half a pack a day–but it wasn’t even noon and he’d blown through a fifth of a pack already. He felt gross, but the itch was already ramping up again.

“Don’t you ever give those things a rest?” Douglas looked over and saw Pete had stepped outside and joined him. “I was going to do some studying in the sun, but don’t really want to if you’re going to be smoking all day.”

Douglas sighed, but didn’t reply. Pete had shown himself to be the health crusader of the house. Howard and Steven hadn’t put up much of a fuss, but Pete made sure to get at least one jab in at his smoking every day. “Calm down, I’m almost finished, and you can have the patio to yourself.”

Pete sat down at the table there, and Douglas moved to the other end of the concrete, making sure he was downwind as he exhaled a lungful of smoke and…watched it blow away in the completely wrong direction, into the wind. He looked over and watched it, confused, as the plume formed a snaking trail through the air towards Pete, formed itself into a hand, gave Pete’s cheek a gentle stroke, making him flinch, before, sliding gently into his nose and mouth–Pete’s head falling forward as it did, and then, Douglas watched Pete’s head swivel over and stare right at him, but something was wrong. His eyes–they seemed cloudy, like his irises and pupils were coated with a layer of smoke. Pete stood up, a bit unsteady, and started walking towards him.

We met through a mutual friend, one night, at a poker game. His name was Ed, and we got on pretty well. We were taking a break from the game, out on the porch, smoking–me a cigar, him a cigarette–when he told me he wished he could quit. So I mentioned my hobby, that I was a bit of a hypnotist, and that, if he wanted, I could practice on him, and help him break his habit.

Now, you should know, I’m a sucker for guys like Ed, and I also am a sucker for smokers, so…I may have had no intention of helping him, really. Of course, I can’t just make someone gay, you know, but Ed…well, he was setting off my berdar a bit, and he had a girlfriend but, well, under hypnosis the truth would come out. If it turned out to be hopeless, I’d help, but if I could take advantage of him? Well, for a face like that, I might do a lot of things.

So he came over a week later, and I put him under. Sure enough, he’s bisexual at the very least, though deep in the closet all the same. That won’t last too long, however, and I put my scheme into action. When he wakes up, I tell him that I’ve made it so he’ll be unable to bring himself to buy cigarettes, or borrow them from anyone–the only place he’ll be able to get them is from me– and I’ll control his intake so he’ll be forced to quit. Of course, what I didn’t tell him, was that I’d just made his nicotine addiction quite a bit stronger than it had been…so he’d be coming over a lot, and he’d be willing to do pretty much anything to get a cigarette from me.

We started off easy, and I put him under a few more times, making him comfortable around me, making him trust me, making him enjoy my presence and my touch. It wasn’t long before he was stripping for cigarettes, and after a month, he resorted to his first blowjob in exchange for five. Tonight? Well, as you can see, he got one for a down payment, and he’ll get an entire pack once I fill his ass. Still, I think he’ll be upgrading soon enough–I much prefer my men to smoke cigars, and Ed’s already starting to loosen up and push back, so I don’t think there will be too much resistance from him in the future.