Hopeless (Part 2)

I have a comment I want to make on the inspiration for this story, but I felt like it would be best to wait until I posted this second part, where it becomes more obvious what I’m talking about. This story, as it ended up being written, is the fault of @noodlesandbeef and all of his recent posts on big dick humiliation. I wouldn’t say the story is *for* him necessarily, because it’s also filtered through the rest of my own perversions and came out…uh…slobby, but I’ll dedicate it to him anyway. So here’s to you–thanks for your awesome blog, and for making me think of fetishes that don’t cross my mind very often.

You watched him drive away, certain that this had to be…some cruel joke. The way he’d consoled you, he had to care about you, right? Then again, why would he care about you? You were a mess. Filthy, sweaty, stupid–so fucking stupid! How could you have just said something like that to him, to the only man in your life who cared about you. Still, he had told you to go home, so you got in your car and drove home. However, once home, you had no idea what to do.

Your apartment was filthy. You had always done a good job of cleaning up after yourself, but ever since you’d met him, you’d just…started letting things slide. First it was a bit of clutter, then you stopped doing the dishes, and now you hadn’t done laundry in weeks, everything you owned stank to high heaven, and the whole apartment was littered with empty take out, since you couldn’t even think hard enough to try and cook. You’d probably just burn everything anyway, or hurt yourself trying. Worthless…fucking worthless! Just…just a big pile of nothing.

Your cock tingled at the thought, which was odd. As turned on as you’d been lately, with your personal trainer, and all of the fantasies you’d been thinking about, you’d actually been jacking off less than usual. More often than not, it simply hadn’t occurred to you to jack off, and even when you’d been horny, thinking about him, your cock had been hard, but you hadn’t touched it. Now, however, you pushed your hand into your pants and started rubbing it, thinking…thinking again.

I’m hopeless.

Your cock was raging now, and you pushed some trash off the couch and laid down, slowly stroking your cock.

I’m a just a dumb brute with a big cock. I can’t even hold down a stupid job.

Fuck, you were so horny! Your cock was leaking as you demeaned yourself, over and over again, thinking about all of your recent failures, how hopeless you are, and it felt…it felt so damn good, but you couldn’t cum. You jacked your cock for hours and hours, but though you leaked a copious amount of precum into your nasty jock and the front of your gym shorts, you never reached any sort of satisfaction. You couldn’t even jack off right–but that thought only made you even more crazed with lust. It was only when you reached the point of exhaustion and hunger that you finally stoped, ordered some take out you can’t afford anymore, and ate. When you finished, you tried again, but it was like your balls were locked shut, and no matter what you did, you would never be able to cum. That didn’t stop you, you weren’t even sure you could stop, as you fantasized about all the ways you’re slowly ruining your life. Eventually, you collapsed back on the couch, and fell into a fitful sleep. He’s there, in your dreams. You don’t…deserve him. He’s amazing, and you’re completely worthless. A failure. No wonder he left you, you’ll never deserve him. You don’t deserve anyone–you deserve to be alone.

The next day, you arrive at the gym…late. He’s waiting for you, but he doesn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seems to be expecting you to arrive late, and the simple failure…it makes your cock leak in your nasty, crusty shorts that you didn’t even bother changing before you came. After all, you like it. You like other people seeing what a nasty thing you are. How badly you smell, how stupid you are, it makes you feel so good, and you want him, this man you love, you want…you want him to hate you, to see that he’s wasting his time on you, that you don’t deserve him, that you never deserved someone like him. That you are, and always were, a hopeless wreck.

All day, you fuck up on purpose…or maybe you can’t tell the difference anymore. You lift wrong, you plateau and backslide, you spot poorly. Still, he’s nothing but supportive and enthusiastic, his usual self. But behind his usual smile, you see it, that…sly grin of his, and that buzzing, it’s so loud in your head, you can barely hear him sometimes, what he’s telling you. He talks so much, but why talk to you? You barely understand anything that comes out of his mouth. Your workout is long today, much longer than normal. The next several days, the workouts are equally long. You know you should work on finding a job–you have some savings, but they’ll only be able to pay your bills for a few months. Soon, you think differently. You deserve to be unemployed–in fact, knowing you do nothing with yourself, that you have wasted your life doing nothing, it turns you on. Seeing what you’ve become in the mirror, fuck–your cock refuses to go down, it leaks constantly all over the benches and the machines. You’re huge now, so huge, with a thick beard all over your face, your hair down past your shoulders, massive pecs, thick legs, mouth open and drooling almost constantly. The only part of you that isn’t muscled is your gut, bulging from your constant diet of take out and pizzas, but that bit of failure only makes you look hotter, in your eyes.

Until a day comes, and you arrive at the gym, only to discover that he isn’t there–instead, the person waiting for you is the manager of the gym. He informs you that so many members of the gym had complained about your behavior and hygiene, as well as that of your friend’s, that the two of you will be permanently banned from premises. The manager telling you that, somehow it does something nothing else had been able to do, and even as he continues speaking, your balls tense up, you let out a groan, the first blast of cum erupting from your cock, soaking the front of your shorts. Your go weak and fall to your knees, and the orgasm last for what feels like an eternity, everyone in the gym turning to stare at you, the cum now leaking down your leg to the floor it an amount so copious you couldn’t even believe it was yours. The manager threatens to call the police; you stagger up and out of the building, your cock still pumping out a trail behind you, and into your car, where you pull down your soaked shorts, and discover your cock has somehow grown even more massive in the space of a minute–it’s now a foot and a half long and incredibly thick, your balls each the size of baseballs, and still pumping out cum. How could this even happen? It’s so large, you’d never be able to fuck anyone–it’s just…just obscene and pointless and nasty, like the rest of your whole life. So worthless that…that all you can only think about is going home and…and milking your worthless, disgusting cock over and over again.

Hopeless (Part 1)

You met him at the gym, but whether it was by accident, or by a choice he made, you never found out. He asked you to spot for him on the bench press so he could push his max, and you were willing to help him out. You’d seen him at the gym before, but had never thought much of him–probably in his mid 30’s, bearded with a shaved head, a bit hairy. Muscular, but with a small gut all the same. On the bench, while you guided the bar up and down, you listened to him grunt, your eyes focusing on the curve of belly that appeared, inch by inch, as he lifted, an odd…buzzing in your head, vision tunnelling slightly, until he failed, and you snapped back, helping him rack the weights back, your head still…fuzzy. You worked through a few more sets with him, and then he offered to help you, counting for you as you pressed. You couldn’t lift nearly as much as him, but he encouraged you, he made you feel…good. You parted ways with a handshake, and from that then on, you noticed him more and more, every day, and both of you struck up an acquaintance, spotting each other from day to day.

He wasn’t the first guy you’d been attracted to, but he was…different. The way he made you feel, when you were close to him, it was something you’d never felt before. At the same time, life outside of the gym started to become more…difficult. You found yourself messing up at work more often, you felt…exposed in public. Friends you’d known for years were suddenly saying strange things–that you seemed distant and disconnected, that you were quieter and didn’t talk as much. You felt hurt at their comments, and saw them less, even as you started going to the gym more. Whether that was because you simply had more time, or because, at heart, you wanted to see him more, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t quite be honest with yourself yet, could you?

Still, he never pushed you away. He never said you were too quiet, or too disconnected. Without really noticing when it had happened, he’d taken control of your workouts, almost becoming your personal trainer. You would arrive early and wait for him–the idea of working out without him felt…wrong. Scary, even. You might hurt yourself, or do something wrong, if he wasn’t there, watching over you. He pushed you away from your cardio focus, and you began lifting more, and longer. It was exhausting, but you were doing so good! You could see it, too. You were bulking faster than you’d ever imagined possible…but it was more than just muscle. You seemed…taller, too, although you convinced yourself that was probably your imagination. Your cock, too–it seemed longer. Thicker. It felt thicker when you jacked off, thinking about him, about your trainer, about…about how good he made you feel.

Without really noticing, the gym became the center of your life, and he was the center of your workout. Everything else was driver further and further to the periphery, so when your boss called you into his office, it felt like…some strange intrusion. You hoped it wasn’t more work he needed you to do today–you wouldn’t want to be late for your workout. You knew that your work had been slipping, but when he laid it all out in front of you: the missed deadlines, the simple errors, the poor presentations, your unprofessional appearance, the ill fitting clothes, your lack luster hygiene, it made you…feel so small, even though you towered over him. You wished your trainer had been there, so that you wouldn’t…have had to care. So that comfortable buzzing could have taken over, so he could have just…just told you what to do, what to say. You had no excuse, no reason to give, you could barely even speak at all. Your boss had only been planning on reprimanding you, but somewhere in the one-sided conversation he decided to just cut you loose entirely. You packed up your things, and didn’t know what to do–so you went to the gym, and you waited.

It was hours before the two of you were supposed to meet for your workout, but what else could you do? It was so hard to…to think, to make a decision. You felt paralyzed. But he…he was so confident, and he was so…such a natural leader, and you had to follow, you had to. When he arrived, you tried to tell him what happened, but getting the words out was difficult. Talking, in general, had become more and more difficult lately, and the buzzing when you were near him only made it worse, the stuttering, the words missing from your vocabulary, you couldn’t get it out, and so you just worked it out. You worked out, hoping that would help you focus, but all you felt was dimmer. It made you feel hopeless, and even more overwhelmed than before. What was wrong with you? You hadn’t always been like this. Thank goodness he was here, watching out for you, or else you would probably hurt yourself so much. At least you were looking good, looking bigger. With his help, you’d been packing on the pounds lately, and even the beard was looking better, now that you’d been growing it for a few months, though your hair was lank and greasy, and…just ugly. You stank too–when had you taken a shower last, or brushed your teeth? You hadn’t been taking care of yourself, not at all. You were disgusting, you were filthy, and ugly and…and you hated it.

You hated yourself, and there, on the bench, you started sobbing. You’d been trying to keep it inside, trying to ball it all up, but you had no guard left anymore, and you were certain, as soon as he saw how weak you really were, he’d leave. Abandon you, forget about you–worthless, hopeless you…but he didn’t. He sat down next to you, and put his arm around your now hulking shoulders, cooing at you, consoling you. The buzzing grew a bit louder, and you, slowly, calmed down. When you felt up to it, you continued your workout, and things felt…easier, for the moment, until you were finished…and he walked away from you in the parking lot.

Of course he was walking away, he had his own home, but the terror that gripped you, when he did, was something you couldn’t comprehend, and you started following him, chasing after him, and caught up to him as he climbed in. He saw you there, the desperation on your face. “Don’t….leave me…” you said, those three words so inadequate to how you felt, but the only three you could find in your empty head.

He thought for a moment, looking you over, and said, “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 2)

The continuation of “The Power of Belief”, featuring the further rise and eventual fall of Professor Larson, is up on Patreon for everyone contributing five dollars or more a month. You can find the download link here if you’re a contributor. It’s quite long, and I’ll be posting the first few chunks of the story here on tumblr, but if you want to read the whole thing, Patreon is the only place to find it (for now).

It worked–the watch had worked. The high frequency signal allowed him to change beliefs in subjects while they were conscious–so long as he could be persuasive enough. It had required a bit more power than he would have liked, to get Aaron to go along with his desires, and he checked the power supply as he walked down the hall to Professor Hubert’s office–the current chair of the department. Over half a battery left–plenty, if he was efficient. Of course, the persuasion was only part of what he needed–the other was authority. The more social capital he had, the easier it would be to realize his desired reality, and that was why Professor Hubert needed to retire–so that Professor Larson could become the new department chair. He knocked on the door, and Professor Hubert shouted “Come in!” Professor Larson opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

Professor Hubert looked exhausted—then again, why wouldn’t he be? He was in the midst of a rather nasty divorce. Professor Larson had felt guilty about that–his wife had been one of his earlier test subjects, and Hubert hadn’t been allowed home in weeks, forcing him to sleep in his office. But that gave Professor Larson the opening he needed, and weakened his opponent in one move–now, he just had to give things a little stronger push. “How are you doing, Eddie?”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Eddie Hubert replied, rubbing his eyes.

“She still won’t even talk to you?”

He shook his head. “I just don’t understand. She won’t even tell me why!”

“Well, I heard that she just wants to save you the embarrassment of anyone finding out, you know?”

Hubert looked at him in a funny way. “What?”

“You don’t have to play coy with me, Hubert. I just don’t know why you never told me we play for the same team.”

It was obvious that Eddie still had no idea what his colleague was talking about. Harold rolled his eyes, came around his desk, and started opening a series of folders he’d created on Eddie’s computer a few days earlier, “Cynthia told me all about it,” he said, making sure the watch was close to Hubert’s ear, watching his eyes glaze over slightly, “about your stash, about the kind of thing you’re really looking for.”

He opened the last folder, revealing a huge stockpile of photos. Photos of men, all kinds of men–young and old, fat and thin, from all walks of life. There was just one similarity between all of them–the size of their cocks. The shortest was nine inches, any number of them looked like they’d been morphed larger than humanly possible.

“That’s not…mine. I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to deny it, Eddie. I know your secret, but I won’t tell anyone. I just wish I had known sooner. You can’t blame Cynthia for being a bit embarrassed–no wonder you haven’t ever been able to perform with her, when the only thing that gets you hard is a huge cock.”

It couldn’t be true. He loved his wife. Sure, he’d had a hard time performing sometimes, but this…no, it couldn’t be true…could it? One of his hands was in his lap, and his cock was hard. Why would his cock be hard if he wasn’t turned on by what he was looking at? Being gay wasn’t something to be ashamed of, just like Harold was saying. He shouldn’t be ashamed of what he wanted. He started stroking his cock, while Harold kept talking, looking through his collection, his own, two inch cock, hard at the thought of some of these monsters he was looking at. Thinking about trying to take them down his throat, and up his ass. He didn’t notice the knock on the door, but Harold went over and opened it while he kept jacking off, Aaron stepping inside, a bit nervous, seeing Professor Hubert jacking off openly, but Harold assured him everything was fine.

“Now Eddie, I know that you could use a pick-me-up, and I just happened to have a student with just the sort of thing you’re interested in, right Aaron? Go on, show Professor Hubert here what you’re packing, boy.”

Aaron looked at the older, fat professor. “Are…Are you sure?”

“Come on Aaron, I know you aren’t shy–you love showing off your big cock.”

He did like it, now that he thought about it, and he dropped his pants, revealing his ten inch cock, which he stroked until it was hard. Professor Hubert’s jaw dropped at the sight, and he kept playing with his puny cock.

“Now Aaron, you like to fuck, right? Anyone with a cock that big has to love fucking.”

“Yes, Professor, I love fucking.”

“I bet a young man like you, I bet you don’t even care what you fuck, right? As long as it’s a hole?”

Aaron nodded, but it was hard paying attention, now that his cock was hard.

“Eddie, I bet you have a hole for Aaron to use, don’t you? I bet getting fucked by his huge cock would improve your mood quite a bit.”Professor Hubert was two steps ahead of him; he was already up, dropping his trousers, and coming around the desk, bending over it, presenting his hole to Aaron.

“Come on boy, show my hole what you can do with that huge cock of yours.”

They fucked for as long as the battery in Larson’s watch lasted, Aaron blasting load after load of cum into the professor’s hole, and Harold spent his time talking to both of them, telling them that they both loved how they other made them feel, that they couldn’t wait to fuck again, that they needed each other more than anything, and most importantly, that they couldn’t tell anyone about their budding relationship–well, aside from Harold, of course. In fact, he made sure that each of them would want to come by his office regularly, to discuss what was happening to them.

He couldn’t resist making a few additional changes to them, of course. By the time Aaron left the office, he’d put on quite a bit more body hair and grown a full beard, not to mention lost a large amount of his IQ. Still, Harold didn’t want him smart–the stupider he was, the easier it would be to keep him under his thumb. Eddie Hubert, on the other hand, finished up quite a bit fatter, and quite a bit older than he had been, with his hole plugged by a dildo, his one inch cock unable to get hard, but he happily sucked a load of cum from his colleague’s own massive cock once his student boyfriend had left the room. Things were going perfectly, and once he was finished, Larson left and headed home to recharge his watch, and watch the video he’d recorded of the two of them fucking. In a few weeks time, he had a feeling Eddie and Aaron wouldn’t be at the school any longer, but that didn’t bother Harold–sometimes you had to ruin a few lives to get ahead, right?

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 1)

Professor Harold Larson had quickly discovered that belief can only get you so far, in this world. “So far” had turned out to be a massive house full of personal slaves, all of them previous students of his, all of them helping keep his butler, Carter, company, and keep the house in perfect order. Two fat cooks, who believed they were identical twins, made him meals when they weren’t cleaning each other’s fat bodies. Two more butlers, as old and weak minded as Carter himself, tended to him and his occasional guests, and would often spend their free time outside, being fucked by the massive gardeners and pool boys. But beyond his house, every attempt to change the world beyond his small realm had proved nearly impossible.

It was, he discovered, rather impossible to believe something if everyone else around you didn’t believe it along with you. He tried making several of his students smokers, but generally they would quit after a day or two, and eventually they wouldn’t remember smoking at all. Attempts to make his fellow professors gay perverts like him had all ended disastrously–thank goodness none of them had any memories of what he’d done, or he would have been jailed for certain. Worse, he could feel that wall of belief wearing on him every day–no one took him seriously. Few believed him to be as old as he claimed, or as fat, or as mean spirited and selfish as he believed himself to be. Worse, he would come home each night, and have to reinforce his own self-image, or he might very well return to being ‘Harry’–stupid, young, thin, straight, naive Harry. That would never happen if he could help it. And so, he’d started tinkering with Carter’s original device, and he’d come up with a new plan.

***

“Thank you for coming to see me, Aaron,” Professor Larson said, “Please, have a seat.”

He was perfect. Relatively dumb, desperate to please, willing to believe. Aaron Gorman was a freshman athlete from the professor’s introductory seminar. If he wanted to stay on the team, then he’d need at least a passing grade–and he was just under it, with only a few weeks left in the semester. Still, if he was willing to help his Professor out with a special project, he could probably see a way to helping him out.

“What did you want to talk about, Professor?” Aaron asked, taking a seat. He looked around the room–there was a strange buzzing in the air, like static from a TV, but he didn’t quite know where it was coming from exactly.

“I wanted to ask you here to talk about your grade. I know that you need a passing mark to keep your athletic scholarship, but after that last test result, I’m afraid its looking like you’ll need some extra credit to pass.”

“Really? I thought I’d done pretty well on it.”

In truth, he had done well–well enough to push his grade up, but the test the Professor handed him was covered with red marks. “I mean, it’s really not a surprise you did so poorly, you were having quite a hard time focusing that day. In fact, it seems like you have a hard time focusing in my class regularly.”

That much was true. Honestly, Aaron just found engineering rather boring, and now that the professor said something…he could remember having trouble on the test. It wasn’t really a surprise he’d failed, now that he thought about it.

Professor Larson leaned back in his chair–this was the hard part, if he could just get him to go along with him. “Is everything alright with your health? I notice that you seem to touch your crotch often.”

Aaron looked slightly aghast, “What?”

“Now, I know it’s somewhat embarrassing, but whenever you’re distracted in class, I notice your hand is in your lap.”

“No it isn’t! I mean…”

“It’s in your lap right now, Aaron–you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t you?”

Aaron pulled his hand away from his lap, and stood up. He had to leave, this was too strange.

“Sit down Aaron, I really think you should talk to me about what’s wrong. If your cock in distracting you, I assure you I can help.”

Aaron felt pulled in two different directions at once. Something told him he should sit back down, that he should listen to what his professor wanted to say, but the rest of him told him to get out, and get out fast. The buzzing grew louder, and the first voice started to make more sense; he eased himself back down into the chair, but kept his eyes on the door.

The Professor had been holding his breath, one hand on his watch, adjusting the dial up. He kept it high, and spoke again. “Listen, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?”

“R-Right.”

“It’s just a body after all.”

“Of course. I’m not, it’s just…”

“I mean, an athlete like you, I bet you’re rather proud of your body.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“And you probably like showing it off, displaying yourself for other people to see.”

Aaron blushed a bit, but that was true–he did like having people stare at him.

“So let’s see what’s wrong–go on, drop your pants and let me have a look.”

He shouldn’t do this, but why not? It made sense…didn’t it? He stood up and dropped his pants and underwear–immediately the Professor let out a whistle. “Well goodness boy, no wonder you’re having a hard time focusing in class–that’s big, massive cock of yours must be quite demanding!”

Big, massive cock? It had always seemed pretty normal to him, but when he looked down, it did seem…bigger than he’d remembered.

“It’s no surprise you’re always jacking off in class, if you’re trying to keep that ten inch cock in check, especially with those huge balls of yours too. I bet you jack off, what, fifteen times a day?”

That seemed excessive, didn’t it? But he did jack off a lot. “I don’t know, I never really thought to count.”

“Well, it just so happens that you have just the kind of equipment I’ve been looking for, to help me out with a little problem of mine. If you’d help me out, I’ll make sure you get a passing grade in my class–how does that sound?”

“That sounds great, professor!” Aaron said, not noticing he’d started stroking his now huge cock absent mindedly.

“Alright, here’s what I need you to do–go ahead and wait here for a few minutes. Say, ten or so. And then, I’d like you to walk down the hall and knock on Professor Hubert’s office door, alright? I just have to have a quick chat with him about some things, and then you can come help me out–how does that sound?”

Aaron wasn’t really paying attention–he was too busy jacking off. After a minute, he finally came, pumping a torrent of cum onto the professor’s desk.

“It sure is good that you love the taste of cum, and you’ll clean that up for me, right Aaron?”

Aaron nodded, still in an orgasmic daze, got down and started licking up his own seed.

“Good boy. Now finish cleaning up, and then come down to Professor Hubert’s office, won’t you?”

“Yes Professor.”

“Good boy, I’ll be waiting for you.”

The Smoker Tapes (Part 1)

[Pictured: Hunter, before and after his meeting with The Smoker.]

Report 1927-01 of the Special Investigations Bureau

A number of cassette tapes, CD’s, and MP3 files have been discovered which have been colloquially termed The Smoker Tapes. All of them were presumably recorded between 2003 and today, and they catalogue conversations between Person of Interest “The Smoker” (see case file P001927) and a number of his victims around the country. SIB classifies these recordings as class B mental influencers, requiring security clearance level two and a psychological assessment before any agent can listen to them. The transcripts, however, are accessible by anyone with security level five or below. These recordings, it is assumed, are one of The Smoker’s primary recruitment techniques, and new copies are found daily as tapes and CD’s in adult bookstores and bathhouses, as well as online, most commonly circulated in the deep web.

This recording is generally considered to be the first attack of “The Smoker” that was recorded, between him and a reporter known only on the tape as Eric. All attempts to identify and track Eric, both before and after the attack, can be found in report 1927-54. Unlike the others, where “The Smoker” himself is recording the attack, this first was instigated by the reporter, as a means of documenting his interview with “The Smoker”. The other transcribed tapes can be found in reports 1927-02 through 1927-34.

***

Eric: Ok, it’s on–not sure where to put it…

Eric: This place is a mess. Do you live here?

The Smoker: No. It’s a friend’s place, and I figured we could use it for the interview.

Eric: One of your victims?

The Smoker: They aren’t victims.

Eric: The legend would say otherwise.

The Smoker: Legends are exaggerations. They’re just men I’ve helped out, when they needed it.

Eric: Well, have you helped your friend out yet, then?

The Smoker: No, not yet. He might be interested, but we haven’t discussed it yet.

Eric: Do you always discuss it with them?

The Smoker: Of course. I’m not the monster most people talk about, you know. I mean, look at me. five foot three, two hundred pounds, flabby. What exactly am I going to do to them? How could I force them? They all come to me, not the other way around.

Eric: Well, on the topic of rumor and legend, I’d like to start asking you about some of the mythos surrounding you as a figure. As you know, you’re quite the boogeyman on the streets, though–

The Smoker: Actually, before we begin, do you mind if I smoke?

Eric: Do you think I’m stupid? Of course I mind. You’ll do something to me.

The Smoker: It isn’t my smoke that does anything. Besides, I never do anything to someone without their consent. For someone interested in the truth, you seem very interested in upholding fictions about things you know nothing about.

Eric: Well, you can’t blame me for being cautious–

The Smoker: But if I’m not going to get a fair shake, or an even hand, I might as well just walk out right now.

Eric: There’s no need to get…now hold on, don’t–

The Smoker: There. See? No harm done. Now, you were going to ask me about the myth?

The Smoker: Are you holding your breath?…Oh for goodness sakes, if you’re that terrified of me, why did you agree to interview me in the first place?

The Smoker: I’m not putting it out. You can either breathe in, or leave. It’s up to you.

The Smoker: There, see? You’re fine.

Eric: How do I know–

The Smoker: You’ve already come to meet me, “The Smoker” of legend, in an unknown location, alone. It seems to be that caution is the last thing on your mind.

Eric: Those were your terms. I didn’t have much of a choice.

The Smoker: And you still agreed to meet me. Now, do you have some questions, or not?

Eric: I wanted to start with some of the aspects of the urban legend, to see if any of the stories are true. As you know, I’m sure, the legend of “The Smoker”, or also “The Smoking Man”, has been a staple of the gay subculture in this city for decades. You are, according to the stories, either a demon or a madman who kidnaps men and forces them to become smokers.

Eric: I assume you take issue with the stories?

The Smoker: Well, I don’t force anyone to do anything. All of the people I help consent to my services. I also don’t kidnap anyone, though sometimes my work requires them to take an extended stay with me at my home. I’ve never had an unsatisfied patron.

Eric: Well, then how do you think these stories started?

The Smoker: Like I said, I only change people who are willing. I have, in the past, misjudged people. I thought they wanted my help, when in fact they weren’t ready to admit that they needed it. How would you react to someone who just walked up to you, offering you the life you’d always wanted but that you were too terrified to ask for? People talked. Stories spread. I’ve gotten much more careful over time, though. I haven’t had anyone turn me down in quite a few years now.

Eric: The stories have been in circulation for quite a while. How long have you been changing men?

The Smoker: My first was back in 1976.

Eric: So, did this power manifest when you were, I’d guess, around twenty?

The Smoker: Oh no, I was fifty-six.

Eric: Uh…

Eric: I’m sorry, but that would mean that you were born in…in 1920? You don’t look to be in your nineties.

The Smoker: I’ve stayed healthy.

Eric: Is that related to your powers? Do you steal youth?

The Smoker: No, nothing so vampiric.

Eric: You must understand that this is hard to believe.

The Smoker: I have my birth certificate if you’d like me to furnish it as proof.

Eric: Well, assuming you are telling the truth, you’ve been changing people for close to forty years now, correct? How many men have you changed in that time?

The Smoker: One hundred and seven.

Eric: So you keep track of them all?

The Smoker: It’s impossible to forget any of them, actually.

Eric: So you must have celebrated your centennial recently, did you do anything special for you one hundredth…customer? I know you object to the word victim, but what do you call them?

The Smoker: Patrons. And my one hundredth wasn’t particularly unique or special. An older gentleman–let’s call him Hunter–was unhappy and looking for help. I provided it.

Eric: And what was his problem?

The Smoker: He had a very, very small dick.

<Laughter.>

The Smoker: Trust me when I say Hunter wouldn’t have found the humor in it.

Eric: I’m sorry, it just seems a little ludicrous. If that was the only issue, I’m sure half the guys in the city would be looking for your help.

The Smoker: How do you know half the men in the city don’t want my help?

Eric: So, how did you assist…Hunter, you said?

The Smoker: He was, rather desperate. And when I say small, I don’t mean a simple matter of overcompensation. His dick was a little less than an inch long, something Hunter had resented his whole life. The term ‘involuntary chastity’ comes to mind.

Eric: I can’t imagine many people would be very interested in that.

The Smoker: Well, some men find pleasure in minimal endowment. Hunter was just bitter and angry. He came home with me, rather reluctantly I might add, but he was much happier the next morning, leaving with a twelve inch cock and a grapefruit sized sack, stuffed in the front of his cum stiff jockstrap, unable to stop leaking as he chuffed on a thick ring cigar.

Eric: ….I see.

The Smoker: Did that make you uncomfortable?

Eric: I suppose I wasn’t expecting something quite so graphic.

The Smoker: Well, my trade is a graphic one. You are a reporter. I hadn’t expected the details to bother you so much.

Eric: That’s not really–

The Smoker: Some men, well, all they need is a taste of smoke and a bit of a push. They can take it from there all on their own. Others need more help, like Hunter. I started on his balls, taking big breaths of smoke and breathing it down his cock, inflating his balls with each exhale. I’ve been told that the heat of the smoke in the body can be painful, but from Hunter’s moans, he didn’t seem to mind.

Eric: Really, I don’t need–

The Smoker: I admit to getting a bit carried away. He seemed to enjoy it so much I kept going. Watching the testosterone flood his system, a thick white beard coating his face, hair sprouting up and down his chest. Muscle filled in as well–he was a sexy fuckin’ beast, I tell you.

Eric: This really isn’t relevant.

The Smoker: How would you know what’s relevant and what isn’t? Isn’t this why you agreed to interview me? To hear my story?

Eric: The graphic details–

The Smoker: This is my work. I hardly think leaving out the process itself would do a service to your readers. To continue, Hunter was finally ready for his own smoke. A large ring cigar, of course–a big tool makes a big tool. He smoked that down in near record time, and I nursed his cock all the while. I had to stop sucking once my jaw got stretched to the limit, but I couldn’t resist fucking myself on that huge cock. I mean, how often do you get a chance like that? Fuck, and when he came–filled me up, I could feel it in my guts–you ever felt anything like that, when someone fucked you?

Eric: I’m not–no, I mean, how do you know…

The Smoker: Know what, that you’re gay? No straight man would be interested in this story, legend or not. And no straight man would have an erection in their slacks after I tell that story. Good to know you don’t have Hunter’s problem, by the way.

Eric: I need…I think I’m going to take a break, I’ll be outside.

The Smoker: While he’s gone, I just want to introduce myself, properly. Many people know me as “The Smoker” but I’m more interested in who you might be, listening to this tape, listening to me and Eric have this nice chat. He’s scared you know, but being scared of the unknown is natural.

<Silence. The Smoker coughs.>

The Smoker: Whoever’s listening to this–it’s alright to be scared. But at some point, you have to stop being scared, and act. Act on what you want. Act on what you need, on who you want to be. You don’t want to be who you are forever, do you?

<Silence.>

The Smoker: I would be very interested to meet you, you know. I wonder if you’d be interested to meet yourself too? I could show that to you. Eric hasn’t met himself yet, not really. But I’ll be introducing him to himself before too long here. Perhaps you’d like your own introduction? Perhaps I’ll be able to make both of your acquaintances someday. I’d like that–and I’m sure you would too.

Sketch #1: On the Porch with Uncle Mick (15 mins)

A beautiful day, all told. Crisp spring summer, not too hot, but Uncle Mick, naked in the semi shade on the bench there, the sun creeping closer to him as the hours pass, sliding a bit closer towards me each time. Doesn’t want to burn his skin, he says, between spitting black tobacco juice on the stained wood.

I say bullshit.

Not out loud, I let him think he’s playing coy. Pa’s gone, off to town for a little while. Just us two here now. Uncle Mick is always lounging around naked–it doesn’t faze me anymore. Though I gotta say, that huge nut sack of his is quite the sight, along with the rest of him. My cock’s hardening in my jeans, and the head slips out a strategic rip on the upper thigh. I pick through the foreskin, slide it back and forth a couple times, milking a strand of precum onto the denim. Uncle Mick watches me.

I’m smoking. I’m not supposed to be smoking, but ever since Pa caught me trying them out a few years ago he’ll let me have them if I’m a real good boy. I was a good boy today, so he said I could smoke as many as I’d like while he’s gone. Uncle Mick was good too–but not as good as I was. The fat fuck licks his lips, black slobber, he wants it bad. He always wants it bad though.

Getting warmer–I unbutton my shirt, let my young, taut get out. Uncle Mick, he’s all soft–no form. You could probably mold him like play dough if you stuck him in the freezer long enough to get it a bit stiffer. My cock was already hard, but it’s kept growing out the hole in my jeans. I don’t think much of it. It’s sticking three inches out now, jutting out to the side. It hurts–I let it out the fly. I lean back, letting my cock speak for me, all nine inches of it. Black spit dribbles out of the corner of Uncle Mick’s ajar mouth. Yeah, he wants it worse than usual.

“What are you staring at, Unc?” I ask.

“I think you should take it all off, nephew. Take it all off and sit on my knee.”

I do as he says, stripping out of my jeans and sliding off my shirt. I walk over and sit down on his knee, lean in and lick the spit off his double chins, giving him a soft bite as I do. He shivers. Is he hard? It’s not easy to tell, between how short he is right now and how huge his gut is. One hand rests at the small of my back, the other explores my chest and gut. He pulls and tugs at my nipples, and they grow as he works them–they end up almost an inch long, and the thickness of a sharpie. He bites them. I leak everywhere, my cum dribbles into the same puddles as his tobacco spit on the deck.

The Lizardman Plot (Part 2)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by: Guderian

WARNING: This one is strange too. Scalies, F to M TF, raunch, incest, other stuff….

***

The machine kept each person separate from the people on either side of them on the conveyor belt, but that did nothing to soften the screams that surrounded Krista on all sides as she was swallowed deeper into the machine. Already mechanical arms had ripped away all of her clothing, sprayed her down with any number of chemicals and solutions–including one which had stripped all of the hair from her head and her body, flushing it away down a drain–leaving her naked and smooth in her small, moving room, besieged at each point by a massive number of probes and metal claws that examined every inch of her body, from the measurements of her face, to the size of her breasts, digging into her vagina and ass as she screamed along with the rest, humiliated and terrified, but she soon discovered that this was just the beginning.

When it seemed like there was nothing else that the the machine could do to her, the small room came to a stop, and what had been grey walls to both sides were suddenly made of what looked like, in the dim light of the machine, to be some sort of strange goo, and then the goo started closing in from both sides. There was nowhere for her to go, and in seconds the two membranes of goo had collided with her between them, sealed inside the rubber like film. She tired to breathe, and she felt the goo actually plunge into her open mouth, down into her lungs and her throat, as it also pressed its way up into her pussy and even into her ass, probing deep and violating her again. She was pinned in place, sealed inside a vacuum, and even though there was no way she could breathe, somehow, when she kept moving down the conveyor, she didn’t black out. The membrane, it seemed, was providing everything she needed to stay alive–but she certainly couldn’t scream. No wonder the back end of the machine had been so silent, she realized.

No longer needing the room or the belt to move her, the machine opened up into a large cavity, the gunk imprisoning her suspended from a set of hooks above her, and all around her were gators working in and amongst all of the other people trapped in the same way as her, screaming silently, their eyes moving in the transparent goo, but nothing else able to move an inch. One gator, however, wasn’t working–he was watching–and when he saw her he hit a large red button, bringing her line to a halt. He came over, uncoupled her from the hooks and carried her off, attaching her to an unmoving line next to a control panel, and he started working on some sort of program, and around his wrist, Krista could see the bracelet which Matt had seen in the first room–this was the same lizard he had been obsessed with. Her stomach sank–she’d been hoping that Matt had remained free, hoping that he could expose the whole thing, but not only had he most likely been captured, he must have betrayed her as well. What in the world would these beasts do to spies, when she had no idea what they were even doing to people?

The gator finished working on the program, and then he resumed waiting, watching the line Krista was on, and after half an hour or so, another person slid down the line and came to a halt next to Krista–Matt, also encased in goo and stripped of all of his hair. The gator walked up to Matt, grinning, and started running his claws along Matt’s full belly and his cock, their eyes locked together. The gator hissed in a way reminiscent of a laugh, and then released Krista’s rack to continue deeper into the machine.

It came to a stop in a dimly lit room, where a metal claw took a tube and shoved it deep into her pussy, where it adhered to the goo inside, and began pumping something warm inside her. She shivered at the sensation, feeling a near spontaneous orgasm rip through her, but it felt like the liquid was being drawn deep into her body, and changing her in some way she couldn’t even describe. Two more tubes were attached to her breasts, pumping at her chest as the tube in her pussy stopped filling her up, and began sucking as well. Both of tubes on her breast and inside of her were now painful, and she tried to shout and scream into the goo, feeling her body being reworked and contorted against her will. The tube slowly withdrew from her pussy, when it did, she saw that something was being drawn out with it–inside the tube…was a scrotum, and when it emerged, she saw that her vagina was gone, replaced by two full, low hanging balls beneath her clit, and then the tubes detatched from her chest, and she saw that her breasts had been replaced by muscle. She now had two pecs than any man would be proud to own, and she tried to look down at her now masculine body, but couldn’t–she could only feel the strange sensation of her new balls hanging from her groin yet suspended in the goo, the flatness of her chest, and then the rack started moving again down a short track, before arriving at another room.

This time, at least, there weren’t any tubes. However, it was pitch black when she entered, and when the rack came to a stop, lights clicked on all over the room, brilliant yellow, heating her up in moments, and she felt the goo encasing her come alive. It squirmed against her skin under the heat of the light, burrowing down into her pores, the goo in her throat, lungs and ass driving in deeper as well. She couldn’t even begin to describe what it felt like inside of her, the goo rearranging organs, bone and muscle, but her skin felt like it was growing dryer and cracking apart. The surface of her body was splitting apart into dark green scales, and she went rigid as the goo within her latched onto her spinal cord, and it started growing, pushing out her tailbone, the small of her back bulging out as a tail pushed its way out of her, growing several feet long in a matter of seconds, the goo stretching to accommodate and support it as muscle filled in to support the new weight.

Her hands and face felt like the goo was massaging itself into every nook and cranny, growing her teeth out into sharp fangs, reshaping the bones of her skull, flattening her nose and extending her mouth into a short, rounded snout. It even managed to worm it’s way around her eyes, her sight shifting as her pupils and iris changed, the light now even harsher to her more sensitive vision, her ears disappearing entirely, crushed to the side of her head and covered in scales. After what felt like ages, the lights finally shut off, Krista trying to grapple with the new sensations of her body in the darkness, the rack above her grinding to life and rolling down the track to the next room where she came to a halt.

She could see far better in the low light now, the claw taking the tube and shoving it down her throat, Krista no longer sure how to work her jaw, and again, the tube started pumping something into her, heat spreading from her stomach out to the rest of her body, her muscles convulsing painfully beyond her control, each contraction destroying and rebuilding muscle tissue faster than could have ever been possible. Her bones ached as well, and she felt her new skeletal structure start to bulge and expand, the goo lengthening as she grew two feet taller, topping out at over eight feet tall, her muscle bulging out past bodybuilder and growing even larger, almost comical in size, her new pecs bulging out from her chest in two shelves, her biceps and arms so thick she couldn’t drop them to her sides, thighs and calves thicker than any man she’d ever seen.

The claw wasn’t finished however, and attached one last tube to her clit, and she felt it start sucking and pumping, pleasure wracking it’s way through her in orgasmic waves as it grew larger and thicker in the tube, and before long, she had a huge, thick cock over a foot long, semi erect over her churning balls, and she realized that she wasn’t even a woman anymore. She wasn’t even human anymore. She was some abomination, some terrible beast. This was even worse than the first part–before, at least she had suffered her humiliation as herself. Now, her very identity had been ripped away from her. She couldn’t even recognize this body as hers. Is this what had happened to everyone the lizards had captured? Is this what they were doing? Slowly replacing the human race with their own kind?

The tubes retracted at last, and her rack proceeded along the track, and she hoped this would be the end of it, but in her heart, she knew that there would be one more stop. After all, her mind hadn’t changed at all. She finally arrived at what she assumed would be the final stop, and there was a bright golden screen, similar to the glowing eyes the gator with Travis’ bracelet had possessed–or, she realized, the gator who most likely had been Travis a few weeks before. Unable to look away, she felt the rhythmic patterns drill down into her mind and her soul, breaking her down. She fought back, but what, in the end, was the point? She had already lost everything of herself–why shouldn’t she lose her mind to? It would be a relief, really. She didn’t want to be a lizard, she didn’t want to be a man, but being trapped between would be even worse. Letting go of her fear, she let herself fall into the golden shine, and felt herself dissolve away into the gold.

***

Matt struggled against the cocoon binding him, trying to break away as the gator ran its talons up and down his naked body. He could feel everything through the thin layer of goo, and as he fought, he mostly resisted the pull of his brother’s golden eyes, but he couldn’t avoid them for very long. They sucked him back in, and his body froze in place again, but rather than the compulsion from before, the voice was more clear in his mind, the anger and the rage that his brother felt towards him.

Matt tried to push back, he tried to apologize. He’d been afraid when he’d found Travis, his little brother, in bed with one of his best friends–one of his best…male friends. How could Matt have known that his parents would throw Travis out of the house? It wasn’t his fault–none of it. He’d tried to stop them, he tried to help him, but then he’d disappeared and he’d been looking for him ever since. What could he have done?

The gator threw those arguments aside. It was over–the past. Nothing could be done about it, about the deep, writhing pit of anger he’d felt, that he still felt after this whole year, even after he’d been kidnapped from the street and twisted into a lizardman, he still held onto it. It was a betrayal deeper than Matt could have even begun to imagine, because Travis had loved him–capital “L” love–and that rejection had crushed him in ways he hadn’t even been equipped to deal with. Still, he had Matt now, and he ran a claw up the length of Matt’s cock, making his brother shiver, knowing that soon enough everything would be perfect. Still, he wanted to see him do it, he forced the pleasure into Matt, amplified it as he stroked his imprisoned cock, and after a moment, Matt shook in the cocoon and the gator watched him pump a load of cum into the vacuum, and then he finally looked away. He started the program and watched Matt’s rack roll deeper into the machine, and then, almost as an afterthought, unhooked the bracelet he’d worn everyday to remind him of the betrayal which had led him here and let it fall to the grimy metal floor of the machine. He wouldn’t need it after this was finished, and he hurried off down a corridor towards the end of the machine.

As he went, he passed hundreds of other people in the midst of standard transformations, however, as a Golden, Travis had a certain amount of freedom to experiment. He was still, technically, subordinate to the raptors, but concerning the fact that none of them could resist his eyes if he felt like it, none of them were really willing to contest him either. As a gator, he actually knew the workings of the machine better than the raptors, so even if he wasn’t in charge, the entire system would crumble without him and the other golden gators like him. The machine was massive, but he was still able to reach the exit before both Matt and Krista. Here, the cocoons were deposited, at this point the goo brittle and hard, the newly born lizards ripping their way out into their new lives, being directed to their training sessions in the hot tunnels beneath the surface of the earth. He only had to wait for a few minutes, before Krista–or rather, the massive raptor who Krista had become–slid out of the machine and hit the floor, the huge beast inside already starting to rip it’s way out with it’s long claws.

Travis stood back a few paces and admired his handiwork. The behemoth of a cock was especially stunning–it was a shame she hadn’t become a Golden like him, she would have made a spectacular general. Still, when it came to time to wipe clean the surface world she would destroy and slaughter a great many apes, he was certain. Beneath the goo, Krista flexed her muscles in both of her arms, and the goo shattered apart, scattering in every direction, and she started ripping the rest away and stood up, not quite steady, her thick tail forcing her to lean forward as she looked at her clawed hands, and then felt her rigid, scaled cock, somehow certain that something else should be there instead…but what? Her brain felt like mush–it just couldn’t seem to process much of anything, and when the gator walked up and started stroking her cock, she let out a hiss and shot a huge load of cum from her balls almost instantly.

They shared a gaze for a few moments, the gator telling her what to do, and what to expect, and a few minutes later, a second cocoon of goo slid out of the machine, and Travis hurried over to his brother. He wanted to be the first to see him, to see what he had done to him. Matt wasn’t much taller than he had been–and was quite short by gator standards, but he was much fatter, nearly a blob, and eager to see, Travis started ripping away the goo, freeing him, but as soon as Matt’s face was free, he could smell something he needed, something he wanted, and he slid out his long tongue and ran it along Travis’ thick inner thigh and up to his ass crack, shivering, the taste of the musky crack nearly making his small, two inch cock explode with cum. However, before Travis could indulge, he was thrown to one side as Krista stormed over, and rammed her huge cock into Matt’s long snout, snorting and bucking roughly, pumping cum down Matt’s throat, the gator swallowing it all down, and Krista just kept fucking. It was her purpose–or at least that’s what Travis had told her. To fuck, and fuck roughly, to use and abuse Matt to her heart’s content.

Travis freed the rest of Matt’s body, and Krista rolled the huge gator over onto his huge belly and started fucking his ass, the massive cock sliding in easily, and Travis simply stared into his brother’s eyes for a few minutes, making sure he fully understood his new role. He was a cumdump, the lowest of the low, meant to serve and please every other lizard in any way they demanded. He was too stupid to work on the machine, he was too weak to fight or even mine beneath the earth, and so he would be a slave, a urinal, a tongue to clean their sweaty bodies and reeking assholes, and he would love it, he would relish it. It’s all he’d ever wanted to do–it’s all he’d ever wanted to be.

It took Krista over ten loads to feel sated, and even then, her cock was still rock hard. She probably would have kept fucking if another raptor hadn’t gotten her attention, and directed her to follow him to a combat lesson. Travis enjoyed his brother for a few more minutes, and then compelled him to get up and follow Travis deeper into the mines. There were many gators down there, mining metal and coal and oil for the machine who would love a cumdump to abuse in the depths, and then, Travis would always know just where to find his brother, when he wanted to use him.

Just keep in mind that everything is bigger in Texas.

Terry looked at the note he’d found with the package he’d dragged in off the doorstep, and set it off to the side, before opening the box and finding a pair of black leather cowboy boots and a black Stetson cowboy hat, as well as a second wrapped package below them, with a note that simple said:

For later.

It was a rather big package too, about a foot long and cylindrical, but he set it aside, and pondered over the boots and the hat. He certainly hadn’t ordered anything like this from anywhere, so why in the world had they ended up on his doorstep? He pulled them out of the box and was struck by something else–they were big–way bigger than anything he could wear. Checking the boots, he saw that they were size nineteen, and out of curiosity he put the hat on his head, and it sat all the way down, nearly covering his eyes, and he had about an inch of room on both sides of his head.

“Aww damn, who ‘n the hell sent me this shit? Ah can’t wear nothin’ this big…” Terry said, and then clasped his hand over his mouth. Where in the hell had that drawl come from? “Wh–Why ‘n tarnation am Ah talkin’ like this, I ain’t even been tah the South…”

He looked down at the boots again, but realized they weren’t just any boots–they were his boots. There was no reasonable way they could be, but he recognized them, and almost like he was sleepwalking, he slipped off his sneakers and slid the boots onto his feet, feeling all of the space down in there, and how wrong it was. “Damn, Ah always thought these fit better ‘n this…” he muttered, but as he did, he felt a strange heat in his feet, and let out a cry as they swelled up, filling the cowboy boots to capacity, and he tumbled back onto the couch, unable to balance, and felt the heat sweeping up through the rest of his body.

His legs pulsed and expanded with muscle, his bones burning as they lengthened, growing longer and heavier, his hips shifting, giving him a naturally wide, slightly bow-legged stance, his shorts splitting at the seams and falling away from his hairy legs, his underwear barely hanging on, even as his cock throbbed and expanded, growing to nearly a foot in length, and as big around as a beer can. “Awww fuck yeah,” Terry drawled, and hauled out his cock, stroking it as the heat raced up his body, his chest and gut packing on muscle and fat as his spine lengthened, making him even taller, and then down his arms, packing on huge biceps and thick forearms, even his head expanding until he had to reach up and readjust his hat, which now perched perfectly on his skull, but now he was so turned on, he couldn’t stop jacking off, but something was missing–something important.

He pushed himself up off the couch, now seven feet tall and close to four hundred pounds of muscle and fat, the entire room out of perspective. He tromped over to the now small package and pulled out the final item, ripping away the wrapping and pulling out a cigar which would have been massive to anyone else, but in his hands it was merely normal. It lit itself as he held it, and he took a deep draw off it, jacking his cock as he smoked shooting a huge load all over the box, and chuckled.

“Everythin’s bigger ‘n Texas, eh? Guess they weren’t kiddin’.”

That song—why in the hell can’t you get it out of your head? You’ve tried everything, listening to something else, turning it up as loud as you could, singing the catchiest thing you can think of, but it won’t leave your brain no matter what. And worse, every time it runs through your head, the feelings just get worse, and stronger, and that makes the song even louder in your mind.

You’d come out to the woods for the peace and quiet, like you did once a year, just to clear your head and refocus on your various projects, and take some time to reflect. You really like hiking and swimming, but in the city there aren’t many places to go, so you usually rent a cabin in a different place around the state, and stay there for a week or two, for some time to decompress. This is, certainly, the most remote place you’ve ever rented, but you’d found that attractive. You’d gone off trail yesterday, exploring deep into a thick copse, and you hadn’t even realized you’d been heading towards the music, hell, you hadn’t even realized it was music until you got closer, and by then it was too late to stop yourself. You’d driven deeper into the woods, and there it was, dancing around a small spring, a satyr, playing it’s pipes along with the birds, it’s huge, thick cock erect and leaking as it did, and you were entranced.

Worse, it knew you were there, it kept looking at you over it’s shoulder, daring you to come out of hiding and dance along with him, but instead you’d turned around and run away as fast as you could, but the song hadn’t left you, it was just as loud, as though the satyr was standing in the room playing to you, and you couldn’t resist anymore. You look down, and realize that you have been dancing to the song in your head now for over a minute, and you try to calm your feet, but they don’t even respond. You have one of your hands around your cock, and you’re jacking it, feeling the primal animalism of the song crowd its way down into your soul, pushing out your rationalism, pushing out your mind, replacing it with these deep urges, this dark, unknowable core, a Dionysian instinct.

You dance all night, jacking off all the while, and finally, with the dawn, the music stops, and you are allowed to collapse. In the mirror, you see your new, wild body, your body coated with fur, beard and hair wild and overgrown, the wild animal in your eyes, your cock nearly a foot long and dribbling cum on the floor of the cabin. You feel so cramped in here, in this small space, and your break out the front door, snorting and wild, and run off into the woods, shedding the last of your clothing and your humanity as you run, eager to find your master, to join his dance, to give him your soul, your mind, your spirit.

Jack looked at the package he’d received in the mail, puzzled. He’d gotten hired on as a prison guard the week before, and his first shift was tonight, but he’d been expecting a uniform in the mail, but when he’d opened the box, the only thing that he’d found inside was a pair of leather boots with some black, uniform socks. Where was his shirt and pants? Figuring it was just a mistake, he tried to call the prison and ask, but his manager wasn’t on duty, and so he figured he might as well wear his normal clothes and the boots–they could probably find a spare for him when he went in to start his shift.

He pulled on the socks and boots, and realized that they were also massively oversized for his feet. He usually wore a ten and a half, but when he checked the tongue of the shoe, the boots were marked as seventeen. They were almost comical on him, when he stood up and tried to walk around, they threatened to slip off. However, after tromping around for a few seconds, he went to try and pull them off, and discovered something strange. His feet had started tingling, and by the time he’d sat down again, the boots fit him just fine.

It fact, they fit too well, and he couldn’t even get the boot off of his foot. Had they shrunk? No–when he looked at them again, he realized that, somehow, his feet had grown, and were still tingling–and the tingle was spreading up his legs and all over his body now, accompanied by a strange heat deep within his body, and a sudden sexual arousal greater than anything he’d ever experienced, so strong that he just slumped back against the couch, feeling his muscles start to pulse and expand as he pawed open the crotch of his jeans and hauled out his cock, the shaft expanding and throbbing along with the rest of him, and he stroked the nine inch shaft, shivering.

The fantasy came unbidden. He was in the jail, and the prisoner in front of him, naked aside from his boots, and Jack was facing him, his chest out, and he could smell the musk rolling off him in the hot prison, and the prisoner could smell it too, could sense his authority, and he reached out, feeling his massive pec in awe of him. He ran his baton down the prisoner’s body, using it to lift up his cock and inspect him, and the man shivered, and fell to his knees, licking his lips in front of Jack’s huge tool. “P–Please sir…” he said, his mouth dry.

“Go on then fucker, suck me dry,” Jack heard himself say, gruff and dismissive, and on the couch, as he imagined the prisoner giving him head, he felt his clothes stretch against his body, hardening into a leather uniform like the one from his fantasy, and as he thought about face fucking the prison bitch, he came, his orgasm sprouting hair all over his body, finishing with a full beard as the hair on his head disappeared, leaving a shiny dome. His old life behind him now, Jack stood up and shoved his huge cock down one leg of his pants, and left his apartment, never to return, a prison guard for life.