Use It or Lose It (Part 10)

Staring at himself, watching himself in all of these videos, Randal was puzzled by how muted his own horror was at the sight. Why wasn’t he more disgusted with himself? No–the disgust was there, but it was different than it had been before, from that old life that seemed so distant now. Before, whenever he’d seen a faggot, the disgust had been visceral and stomach churning. The idea of someone doing this to themselves…it seemed like such a perversion of God’s gift, that he would have never been able to tolerate even being in the same room as someone like this. Now, the disgust was there, and just as visceral, but wires had been crossed. He was disgusting, it was true, but now that disgust was wired directly to his cock.

He hadn’t even noticed that the entire time he’d been looking at his own videos, picking some out at random to watch, he’d been jacking off and rocking back and forth on his favorite dildo, reading comments he’d missed, enjoying how people loved to degrade him. This wasn’t him, though. Something was happening to him, or something had happened. His mind had split, or the curse had corrupted it. This didn’t just seem normal anymore, to him–it seemed…preferable. He found himself enjoying this life, and thinking back to who he’d been–that middle aged, hetero jock Christian freak–now that was the thing which terrified him. Why in the world would he want to fuck pussy, when he could spend his time masturbating instead?

Randal forced himself away from the computer, pulled the dildo out of his ass, and went into the bathroom to take a shower. This was the curse too, he realized. This is what that cunt had been talking about. It was going to get harder to climb back out, in part because…because he’d started to lose the will, and the reason, to see why he wanted that life back. The shower worked, but there was no soap to be found–at least rinsing himself off in cold water took a bit of the edge off his horniness, and helped him think straight. He knew he didn’t have the strength to fight this right now–it was late, and he was exhausted. Give it a couple of days, he thought, and then he’d start climbing back out.

So he did his best to keep his desires under control. Work was easiest, though each afternoon one of the male teachers at the school usually hunted him down for a fuck. Randal recorded them all, though secretly, and uploaded them each night. To keep the urges under control, he had to masturbate every two hours or so–even in the middle of the night. He would go to bed around ten, and spend the next half day dozing, waking up to jack off before slipping back into sleep. As controlling as his desires and needs were, he felt…free, all the same. He could be exactly who he wanted to be now–he didn’t have to keep pretending all of the time. Randal had hoped a few days would help clear his head, but instead, the opposite happened–that old him was slipping further and further away. He couldn’t remember his wife’s name, or the faces of his girls. On Friday, he decided to try again–if we went through a weekend like this, by Monday, he doubted that he’d have the will to fight any more.

Thursday night, he refused to jack off while he slept. He called in sick to work, to avoid running into any teachers, and holed up in his apartment, but the boredom became grating. He’d filled his days with so much before this, but now there was only masturbation, porn, and sex. Without that, all he could do was watch TV, and beg the clock to tick a bit faster. His new self was frustrated at first, and then angry and bitter. He argued with himself in the apartment, screaming in the mirror, losing track of what was happening, and gave in Friday afternoon–jacking off with a mix of horror and relief, spraying another huge load–his biggest yet, all over the carpet for the camera, and then licked it up, knowing he’d changed again, but rather than the apprehension he was expecting, he was…excited. After all, it was the weekend! He’d made so many plans, and he couldn’t fucking wait to get started with them all. Tonight, a muscle daddy was coming over for a livecam fisting session with everyone online, and then Saturday and Sunday would be spent at the bars and bathhouses around town, finding as many perverts as he could to service.

He stood up, having finished eating up all his cum, and saw that his grubby clothes from before had disappeared, and it their place was nothing other than a leather harness, a collar, some clamps on his nipples and leather boots. He looked like a freak, but at the same time, he knew he was a sexy pigwhore, and a fucking kinky one at that. Yeah, there wasn’t much which was too extreme for him now–but what turned him on more than anything else was having some sexy fuck fist his ass into oblivion. He reached around and started to pull out his dildo, only to discover that it was substantially larger than the one he’d put in. Instead of being shaped like a cock–like his old cock–this one was a thick fist attached to muscular forearm and elbow. Looking at it…he recognized it. Just like the dildo, it was a copy of his old body from before all of this, when none of this had seemed possible. Would…would that old version of him wanted to rape him? That would have been kind of hot, actually, getting a bit thick daddy, married with kids, so hot and bothered that he’d rape a fat, disgusting pig like him.

There was a knock on the door, and he went to let in his master for the evening. The rubber clad fucker shoved Randal into the bedroom, barely giving the pig time to set up the livestream, before he was on the bed on all fours, the man lubing the pig’s hole up for a good long fisting, Randal already rubbing his three inch cock in eager anticipation. On the computer keyboard, a note had appeared, but he didn’t read it until later:

I thought your videos were getting a little one note–this should broaden your horizons. What do you think pig? Think you can manage to lose those last three inches? You don’t really deserve them, do you?

Use It or Lose It (Part 9)

Around seven, he finished his work and left the building, but the parking lot was empty. He was too poor to afford a car now–he waited for the bus, his cock burning frustrated, already feeling like it was too late. Could he really wait until he got home? Did he have a choice? Was this a life he was willing to accept. He saw a bar nearby…and he knew he could probably go in there, get a drink, and find a rude fucker willing to fuck him, but he didn’t want to be that person. He’d hold it. On the bus, the need only got worse, and by the time he was home, it was clear he’d have to hold out, or he’d lose another inch.

He lived in a different apartment now–smaller than the last, and even more filthy than before. It hardened his resolve–he couldn’t imagine living here for the rest of his life, settling for this. But a new voice piped up in response for the first time, familiar and alien all at the same time. It was him–his voice–but it was a voice from this life. It was insulted at the idea that this life was somehow inferior to the one he might have had before. What was so good about that life? Who wanted to deal with a wife? Who wanted to deal with kids? Here he could jack off all he wanted, he had an easy job that kept him afloat (and a few hot teachers willing to use his hole never hurt either!) What was so bad about this exactly?

Randal knew there were reasons, but they were slipping through his hands like straw. Still–if he jacked off now, things would get worse. He couldn’t let things get worse. At least hold out for another day, regroup, and go from there. What he needed most was a beer, and some food. He’d feel better with something in his belly. He threw a frozen dinner in the microwave and then popped a beer, chugged it, and opened a second, drinking it nearly as fast. By the time he’d finished dinner, he was feeling a solid buzz, his rational voice was spinning, and his body was on it’s way to the bedroom. It needed a good fuck, and he needed to cum–why hadn’t he gone to that damn bar earlier? He would have loved another fuck, but a dildo ride would have to do.

Reason put up a weak resistance, but Randal was in no mood to listen to it. Where had it even gotten him now? That old him–that was the whole reason he was in this mess to begin with! Maybe…maybe he deserved this. He certainly felt like he deserved this. The dildo slid in, his hole still a bit loose from his fuck earlier, and he started groping his cock through his filthy whites, the sensation of the crispy fabric against his cock doing wonders, bringing him closer and closer. There was a grungy mirror in the room, and reason made himself face it, hoping it would bring him back to his senses, but his new voice found the fat bearded slob in the mirror fucking himself on a dildo through a hole in the back of his underwear so sexy that his cock exploded, pumping a huge load into the front of them–and the euphoria! It was the hottest cumshot of his life, somehow, and one of the largest. He rubbed his underwear, getting them good and soaked, and then stripped them off, dildo still in his ass, and sucked the cum out of them for the camera.

It surprised him, for a moment. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, there next to the mirror, but seeing it now, and that red light–fuck, it made him so fucking horny, knowing he was taping himself. He loved taping himself, and later tonight he was going to put on the internet, and show the whole fucking world what a fucking slut he is. He sucked harder, bouncing on the dildo some more, his four inch cock barely visible under his sizable gut, but he wanted to make this one a double–his fans loved his double shots. Yeah, it was coming–his arm was tired, but he could make it, he knew it. He shot the next load into his palm–it was smaller, but he had a sizable pool in it. He got up off the bed and went in for a close up, smearing the cum into his tangled beard for the video, sucking some of it out of his mustache.

“My name is Randal Gray, and I’m a fucking cumpig faggot,” he said, and then turned off the camera.

An hour later, he was in front of his computer, his newest video uploaded, still fucking himself silly and jacking off, watching the views start to climb–watching the humiliating and degrading messages come pouring in. Part of him was absolutely horrified by this, but why should he care? Soon enough, that old him wasn’t going to matter anymore, right? No–this was the way things should be. He was a faggot–a weak willed, masturbation addicted faggot who craved humiliation and a well fucked hole all day long. He came another couple of times, before the old Randal could take over again, before reason conquered lust for the moment, and he could look on in horror at his online legacy.

There were hundreds of videos here, all of them featuring him. About a third of them were videos of him getting fucked by men who at first appeared to be strangers, but as he saw them, contexts began to fill there way in: men from the apartment complex, a couple of teachers from the school (including a couple with Mr. Jones), and plenty of hookups from bars around the city and online. Most of the others were just him fucking himself with various dildos and jacking off, usually while humiliating himself and begging others to expose him far and wide, to spread his pictures and videos all over the world, to show him off as the faggot pig he was born to be.

Use It or Lose It (Part 8)

“I said get up, you stupid pig!”

The janitor grabbed the front of Randal’s shirt and hauled him up from his chair. He was surprised by how strong the young man was–he could remember being that strong once, but now, he…he was so weak. Mr. Jones slapped him across the face, and the sting of it–fuck, he needed him. Needed his cock more than anything else now, there was no denying it. “Sorry–I…please just fuck me, please…” he moaned, ashamed at the simper in his voice, the desperation. The least he could do was not beg for it, but after he’d dropped his pants to the floor, the janitor teased him, sliding the spit-slick cock up and down his crack.

“What do you need–I wanna hear you say it pig.”

Don’t say it, don’t fucking say it, he thought to himself, but his mouth was already open, words spewing out and making his face burn red, “Please sir, please fuck my ass sir! Fuck me, make me moan, make me fucking cum! Show me what a real man fucks like, please, I need it so bad, sir…”

“Yeah, that’s what I like to fucking hear,” the janitor said, and slipped the head in, making Randal’s breath catch.

One hand started to reach for his own cock, but he kept it away–the janitor wouldn’t last for very long, not as horny as he was–if he could just outlast him and restrain himself, then he still had a chance. The rest of the shaft slid into Randal’s loose hole easily, and even if it was a bit smaller than his dildo, it felt so much…better than rubber. The heat inside him, the throbbing flesh, knowing that someone else was penetrating him, ruining him, owning him. His cock leaked a stream of precum onto the floor under his desk, but still he resisted, even as the janitor picked up the pace, his own breath starting to quicken.

“What’s the matter pig? You’re not stroking off–I thought you wanted to cum?” the janitor said, slowing down slightly.

“I just…just fuck me sir, that’s what I really need.”

“Now don’t get me wrong, faggot, I’m perfectly happy to fuck you, but I just don’t think you’re enjoying yourself properly. You’re too tense. Where’s the pig I saw yesterday? The squealer and moaner? He’s the one I want to fuck.”

“Quit talking and just fuck me already! Fill my fucking hole!” Randal was frustrated, and immediately he knew he’d reacted poorly…and the worst thing happened. The janitor pulled his cock out, and his entire body quaked with need. The only thing worse, apparently, than not getting fucked, was a fuck denied.

“Well if that’s the attitude you’re going to give me, I think I’ll fucking pass.”

“No! Wait! I’m sorry, don’t go, I…I want it…” What was he saying, he asked himself. This is what had to happen–this would keep him from cumming! Just let him go, he told himself, but his body couldn’t bear it. “I need it, I’m sorry, please, I’m just…just a dumb faggot, please don’t leave…”

The man slipped the head back in, and Randal thanked him. “Jack that cock–show me you’re enjoying this. I wanna fuck that horny pig, not a fucking statue.”

Maybe it wouldn’t count, he told himself as he stroked his cock, moaning and grunting and begging Mr. Jones to fuck him harder and deeper, losing himself to the pleasure of the moment. He wasn’t…really masturbating, right? This was sex! He was with someone else, so maybe…maybe it wouldn’t count. It was the only hope he had left, because he could feel it building in his balls. The janitor came, filling his ass with his seed, and with a loud moan Randal started unloading another massive load all over the floor under the desk, and while he felt a bit dizzy…maybe things hadn’t gotten worse after all. Maybe he’d tricked it.

Mr. Jones pulled his cock out, and Randal stood up straight, reached down to pull up his pants…but they weren’t the pants he’d put on this morning. The shirt was wrong too. The dark blue uniform he had on now–it was the uniform the janitors at the school wore. Stomach knotted, already feeling the new reality seeping into his mind, he turned around and faced the new Mr. Jones–the young, athletic health teacher and wrestling coach, pushing his thick cock into the front of his khakis and carefully tucking in his polo. “Well pig? Don’t you have some cleaning to do now? That is your job, right?”

It was now, but it didn’t have to be. He could still fight this, he could, but his body crawled under the desk and sucked his cum up from the carpet–but not because he’d been told to, he thought. He was doing it because he wanted to, because no cum should be wasted, ever! That would teach the cocky fuck. Five minutes later, he was back to his cart, getting ready to clean the rest of the offices while Mr. Jones packed up the rest of his supplies and left, taking the remnants of Randal’s life with him. Along the way, at his old desk, he found a note:

“Down to five now–halfway gone. It’s probably best we limit your interaction with children, considering your preoccupations. Certainly the old you would have agreed. You should probably just accept this, you know, it’s only going to get much worse from here.”

He crushed it and threw it in his bin, angry…but maybe the note was right. Still, he could worry about that later–he still had hours of cleaning left to do, but in less than an hour, he needed to cum again…and he didn’t dare resist it. He didn’t have the strength, not right now, but without his dildo, he’d have to improvise. The handle of the toilet brush wasn’t…perfect, but it proved to be good enough.

Use It or Lose It (Part 7)

The one thing that didn’t change at all, however, after a day without masturbating, was how horny he was. By the time he got home, it was even more intense than it had been the day before. He’d hoped, at least, that as the curse wore off the urge would dissipate as well–but it appeared that things were going to get harder before they would get any easier. Still, he managed the evening well enough, in the same way he’d done the day before–taking a long walk around the neighborhood–which was much easier now without an extra hundred pounds to lug around–stopping at a restaurant for dinner, and then going back home for an early bed.

Trouble came in the night. His dreams were vivid and filled with men. Sexy men. Cocks in his mouth, cocks in his ass. He was lost. It was too late by the time he began to struggle awake, and realized how close he was to cumming. “No!” he said to himself, desperate trying to will his hand off his cock, “No–not now, not after getting this far, you will…you are not–”

His objections dissolved into moans as his body unloaded a massive amount of cum all over his body and his sheets. A minute later, his body was back to the way it had been–a hundred pounds heavier, no body hair, reeking of cum…and as much as he hated it, the relief at finally releasing his load flooded through his body like lemonade on a summer day. Still, he hated himself. He’d managed to crawl one rung back up the ladder, and he’d lost it almost as quickly. Still–if he’d managed to do it once, he could do it again–at least he’d get a better night’s sleep this time.

In the morning, he checked the nightstand and saw the dildo had reappeared, good as new, but left it there. He didn’t even dare touch it, not as horny as he was. The morning went well enough, and by lunch he knew he’d passed the point of no return–he was either going to climb back up, or fall down yet another rung. It was clear that he was going to have to be smart about this, and so he started planning things out. So long as he managed to go two days–and reverse two sets of changes–he could afford to slide back. It wasn’t ideal, but two steps forward and one step back would have to do. In less than a week, he’d be back with his wife–and as long as he fucked her regularly, he’d be home free!

The day wore on. He was impatient with his students. They no longer respected him, now that he was a fat slob, and not the commanding sort of muscle pig he’d been before. Fuck, he could use a muscle pig fucking his old right about now…if only his dildo hadn’t left it at home! He snapped out of his fantasy, and refocused. At last, school was out, but Randal lingered in his office, twiddling his thumbs. It seemed harder today than it had the day before, and his dildo was there at home, waiting for him. He couldn’t face it, not yet. He worked on some lesson planning instead, playing with himself gently as he did–it seemed to help, though it did make him leak into his underwear.

“Not even bothering to slip into the bathroom today, eh Mr. Gray?”

The voice made him jump, and he spun around in his chair to find Mr. Jones, the janitor, behind him. He was younger, probably in his thirties, and not particularly attractive…though from the bulge in his uniform pants, it was clear he had plenty to work with.

“Like what you see, Mr. Gray?”

His eyes snapped up. “N-No…No, I…I think you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken, Mr. Gray. You slip off all day long into the bathroom. I can hear you, moaning. Watched you just yesterday, after than meeting, how you fucked yourself silly. Busted a load myself, listening to a slut like you! I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Gray–and that no one else is. I can offer you a real cock this afternoon instead, right here at your desk.”

The young man zipped down his fly, letting his seven inch cock out for air–no underwear to be seen. It smelled musky and ripe, but as delicious as it probably was, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t afford this, not right now. “I…maybe…I can’t, not right now…” he muttered, but the young man stepped forward, pushing the head to Randal’s lips, and they parted easily, his tongue slipping out for a taste, and he moaned.

“Don’t be a fucking tease–I know what you want.”

More of his cock slipped into his mouth, and he moaned around the shaft.

“Yeah, I know what you need, you old faggot.”

He sucked harder, getting it good and wet, his ass clenching and hungry for a taste as well. His cock was leaking more, and was hard as a rock–if he kept this up, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. Maybe he could salvage this–after all, if he came without jacking himself off, it wouldn’t count, right? He pulled away from the cock, and trying to sound as seductive as possible, he said, ”Suck me off first, then you can fuck me all afternoon.”

“Hell no!” Mr. Jones said, “I’m not some fucking faggot. You’re just a hole–now get up, and bend over that desk–this thing has a date with that ass of yours. I might not be as big as that dildo of yours, but I think I can make you moan like yesterday all the same.”

Use It or Lose It (Part 6)

“Look…I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I lost my temper with you, and I’m sorry that I lied to your son about masturbation. It was wrong, alright?”

“Well, thank you for the apology. I trust you’ll be sticking to the facts from here on out?” Ms. Eleway asked.

“Yes, yes. I promise. Just…just change me back, alright?”

Silence. Her face didn’t change one whit, not even a turn at the corner of her lips. Randal just stared at her, waiting for something, even some confirmation that this wasn’t all just in his head. It…it wasn’t all in his head, was it? He got hit with a wave of doubt, suddenly. What if he’d…just thought things were changing? What if he was just crazy? No–No, he wasn’t crazy, this bitch was doing this to him, and this bitch was going to cut it the fuck out. He’d said his apology, he’d learned his lesson–now everything was supposed to go back to normal!

“I know you’re doing this to me,” he said, a hint of manic conspiracy in his tone, “I know it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Gray.”

Did she not remember either? No one else had noticed any of the changes happening to him. “Please…I feel like I’m going insane, and…I need to know that this is really happening. Please, just give me my life back, I don’t want to be this person, I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“Well, then why don’t you just stop?” she asked, a slight smile on her face.

“Because you’re making me do this! I don’t know how, I don’t know if you’re some kind of witch, or what this shit is, but it needs to stop,” He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m trying to not get angry, but you have to understand that the last weekend was…hard for me.”

She stood up, and put her purse over her arm, pressing a few wrinkles from her shirt. “You’re apology is accepted, but it isn’t enough. You need to learn restraint and self-control. If you want to get your life back, Mr. Gray, you’re going to have to follow your own bad advice, and stop masturbating–for good.”

“Excuse me?”

“It shouldn’t be that difficult for you–after all, you yourself said you fucked your wife often enough that you’d never needed to masturbate before. For each full day you go without masturbating, you’ll get an inch back, and that set of changes will reverse. Of course, the more you lose, the harder it’s going to be to get everything back, and if you try and resist, but give in anyway…well, you know what will happen then,” she turned to leave, but added one more thing over her shoulder, “It’s probably best if you just stay as you are now–that’s the safest thing. In a couple of months, the curse will lose force, and you’ll never even remember being anything different. In any case, I wish you good luck with whatever you decide to do–just know that if you lose everything–” her eyes flicked down to Randal’s crotch, and then back to his face, “then there’s no going back for you, ever.” She started on her way, “Best to get used to being a fat, ass hungry faggot–I don’t think you have it in you to be much else now.”

Should he beg? No–no, he wouldn’t beg. He wanted to kill her, is what he wanted. He rose from his desk, intending to follow her, perhaps bash her head in against the wall, but as the thought of harming her flared up, his need to masturbate flared as well–almost strong enough to signal another possible loss. Still, he couldn’t just let her leave, could he? She had to fix this! He’d learned his lesson, he wasn’t going to put up with this awful shit anymore! He hefted himself up and headed out the way she’d left, but didn’t see her down any hallway–and his cock was growing more insistent each moment. In the end, he retreated to the bathroom down the hall, dropped his grungy pants, and spent a few minutes fucking himself with his dildo he kept in his ass all day (for safety’s sake), jacking off until he came with a grunt all over the wall of the stall. Still shoving the rubber in and out, he got down and licked up his own cum, savoring the taste, thinking he might have to give someone a call today. Rubber was nice, but real was so much more satisfying, he’d discovered.

God, is this really what things had come to? Was he really ready to surrender to this?

He resisted the urge to break down into tears, hiked his pants back up–dildo shoved deep inside his ass–and left the bathroom again, heading back for his office. He needed to focus on the positives here–she wasn’t going to just give him his life back, that much was clear–but he could get it back all the same…assuming she was telling him the truth about the nature of the curse. Then again, he had no reason to doubt her, right?

Actually, he did. Not masturbating…it might change him back, if he could control himself, or maybe she was just laying a trap for him, knowing he’d attempt it and fail, losing more of himself in the process. Still, she hadn’t…sounded like she was lying. What choice did he really have? He’d have to take a chance and trust her–he could abstain for a day…right?

He pulled the dildo out, cleaned it off, and stashed it in a drawer in his desk–then he left and headed for home. He could do this–it was just one day, right? In fact, it was one of the most difficult days of his life. All evening, jacking off was all he could think about. It was hard to believe how central the act of self-pleasure had become to his daily routine. He walked, instead, exhausting himself, and settled in late for a restless night. There were a couple of close calls, when he woke–one hand in his ass, the other mindlessly stroking off–the orgasm of change building–but he managed to stop himself. Work the next day was worse. The dildo was right there, in his drawer. Just…one time. It couldn’t hurt, his body screamed, but he held off, all day long. He’d met her at 3:00, she’d left around 3:15, he’d last jacked off before 3:30. He watched the clock, cock screaming with need, groping himself, nervously opening and shutting his desk drawer. But the clock slipped closer, and he felt something happening to his body–it was shrinking. The fat he’d gained last time was disappearing, along with the beard. His clothes turning cleaner–it was true! She’d told the truth! There was a way out for him–he could do this. The dildo had disappeared, and he left the school, humming to himself, full of hope. Three more days, and he’d have his life back–then he’d teach that bitch a thing or two about self-control.

Use It or Lose It (Part 5)

Six inches now–almost half the man you were. What did you say back then? Fat dirty slobs who couldn’t get any action?

The note was taped to the bathroom mirror, but Randal could see the results well enough right in front of him. The nice clothes he’d put on were gone, replaced by grubby sweats and a t-shirt–both heavily stained with what he suspected was his own cum–and probably that of other men too. He’d been able to see some of his old body left in him before, but now, all of that was gone for good. He’d lost most of his muscle mass, and had packed on at least a hundred and fifty pounds of fat instead. The scruffy beard he’d started growing was now a shaggy mass, and his hair was balding severely, almost past the crown of his head–much of it now grey where it had been a younger black. His body hair, on the other hand, had greatly diminished, leaving his fat body looking much smoother than before. In fact, all of him seemed…a little less masculine. His angular face was rounder, he was an inch or two shorter, and his ass had gained at least as much size as his belly.

He was disgusting. He was the kind of man he would have sneered at before, whom he would have considered lower than dirt in his, and in God’s, eyes. He was that low. He realized that now. He was worthless–he hated looking at himself, and yet, in some twisted way, that line of thinking was only making him…even hornier. He hadn’t jacked off since leaving the church, and the need was rising. He reached under his gut and found his cock…and trembled at how short it suddenly felt. Not only was it quite a bit shorter than before, his new gunt swallowed at least an inch. The five inches left for him to stroke was new–as was how skinny it seemed. His balls, too, were shrinking–they were closer to his body and didn’t swing as much as he was used to–still, it shouldn’t stop him from getting off, right? But much to his surprise, it was difficult to get off. His arm got tired, but the need to cum was only getting stronger. It wasn’t strong enough to change him–yet–but if he didn’t cum soon…

He saw the note and yanked it off, but before he could wad it up he saw something written on the back:

P.S. I don’t want to make this too easy for you. If you want to get off–you’re going to need…assistance from now on. Living, or rubber, should do. Check your nightstand, faggot–I think you might recognize it. Go fuck yourself.

Afraid of what he might find, but more afraid of what might happen to him if he doesn’t cum quickly, he heads into the apartment bedroom and to the nightstand. In the top drawer, where he’d usually kept his bible, there was now a flesh colored dildo and a container of lube. Like it might bite him, he reached in and pulled the cock out, worried about how large it was. The thing had to be ten inches long–and as he held it, he realized that the dildo was probably ten inches long exactly, just like his old cock had been. In fact, the dildo was exactly like his old cock–a complete replica.

He couldn’t think too hard about this, or he’d never get it done. Besides, the sight of it…had made him so much hornier, and hadn’t he always kind of wondered what it must have felt like, whenever he slammed that big cock of his into a tight pussy? He squeezed some lube on the head and shaft, laid back on the bed and started trying to force it into his hole, but the head was just too large to fit in easily, and his horniness was making him impatient. He had to work some of his fingers in first, stretching at the hole, before he could finally manage to impale himself on the dildo successfully. It hurt, he screamed, but one hand couldn’t leave his cock. He stroked faster, ignoring how much his weaker arm was burning, and forced the dildo in deeper, feeling his ass begin to adjust, the pain disappearing and being replaced by a deep satisfaction. He was a faggot. He could do this. This is what he was made to do! He slid down further, and started fucking himself on it, stroking faster, and even after he shot he kept fucking himself until he got hard again, and blew a second load, his fat body shaking and soaked with cum, lube, and sweat. At last he collapsed back, dildo still buried deep in his ass, and the first sob escaped his lips.

He’d lost. He had to admit it. He’d been wrong, and he’d lost. He didn’t know what that witch had done to him, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight it. He’d lost his body, he’d lost his family, and he’d lost his faith. He’d been wrong to lie, and he’d been wrong to lose himself to pride and anger like that in front of her. He’d assumed he was superior, when clearly, he had badly misjudged the situation. He would have to talk to her. He would apologize, and he was certain that she would put this right. He’d certainly learned his lesson, or so he’d thought. Still, there wasn’t anything he could do until he got to school in the morning, and so he left the dildo inside him for the rest of the day. It was comfortable–he had to admit that. By the evening, it seemed normal that he’d have to fuck his loose ass to get off–after all, what would keep an old fat faggot like him happier than an ass full of cock?

Use It or Lose It (Part 4)

He didn’t sleep much that night. Something was happening to him–but all of the changes felt so natural, that he found himself happily accepting them, even though in his heart, he knew this wasn’t right. That his life, in a matter of days, had crumbled to pieces. He’d been a successful, happy father, a good Christian man, a pillar of the community–and now, who was he? An overweight slob, reeking of cum, paying men to fuck him, masturbating all day long like a pervert. How had it come to this? He thought of the notes, trying to pin them down, wondering who could have sent them–and he remembered that cunt from school, that afternoon, the concerned mother. She had been complaining about his lie, about masturbating–and now, it was coming true…sort of. It didn’t make sense, actually. Whenever he jacked off regularly, nothing happened to him, but as soon as he tried to resist, he’d have one of those…intense episodes, and afterwards everything would be worse than before! So what should he do? Should he keep jacking off like a freak, or should he resist and fight back? He couldn’t let this get any worse, but he also couldn’t just…accept this as his life either. There had to be some way back, right? But how?

He was certain God could help. God had always been there, guiding him. He’d been successful because of his belief–he’d always felt that, in his heart and soul, that God would never turn his back on him. He’d allowed himself to be led astray, but no more. He’d confess–he’d admit what he’d done, and he would ask for help and guidance. It would be hard, but he’d do it–there was simply no other option for him. So he abstained in the night. He got up early, and found a third note on the table when he entered the kitchen:

“Seven inches left. I don’t think you need to trouble women anymore, Randal. In fact, maybe it’s time you learned what it feels like to be used.”

He crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, containing his anger as best he could. He focused on making a good breakfast and then exercised to keep his mind off his growing need. He got dressed in the nicest clothes he could find, and drove to the megachurch where he’d always attended services–but where before everyone had known him by name…now, he was a stranger.

He sat through the service, and found himself growing restless. He’d never had a problem paying attention before, but his cock was demanding–he could tell that it had passed the point of no return again–if he gave in now…things would only get worse once more. The fear was enough to keep his hands at bay–he sat on them. When the service was over, he went down to the head pastor, a friend from another life.

“Benjamin–it’s me, it’s Randal. Can I speak to you, please, in your office?”

Benjamin looked at Randal, confused. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t…do I know you? I don’t think we’ve had a chance to speak yet. You must be new here.”

Randal bit his lip, embarrassed. “Yes–this is my first time. But can I…speak to you? Alone perhaps?”

“I have office hours every weekday in the afternoon. I’d be happy to speak to you then, Randal.”

“Please! Today, it’s urgent. I’m…in a crisis, and I don’t know who else to talk to about it.”

“But we don’t even know–”

“Please, sir…please…” Randal felt an odd tingle at the word ‘sir’ but ignored it. It was enough to sway Benjamin at least, and the pastor led Randal back into his office, and shut the door.

“Now, what did you need to speak about?”

Randal let it all come pouring out. How he had fallen over the last few days, how he’d given into temptation. How he’d abused his body, how things had only gotten worse, how he’d allowed a man to fuck him and use him–and then paid him for the pleasure. He was about to ask for guidance from Benjamin, when he saw the sneer on his one-time friend’s face, and froze.

“You faggots–you’re all the fucking same,” Benjamin spat, “You aren’t misled–you’re fucking broken. There’s no helping you.”

Of course, Benjamin had never been kind to homosexuals and their agenda from the pulpit, but the words, now directed at himself, stung Randal in ways he couldn’t explain. “I’m trying…to ask for help. Please.”

“There’s no helping freaks like you,” Benjamin said, and stood up, “Here–let me show you.” He dropped his pants, and revealed his cock, half hard. Randal couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “See? This is all you care about. You could never love God the way you love cock. Now make yourself actually useful, and stop wasting my time.”

Randal tried to object, but somehow he still ended up on his knees, his old pastor’s cock slamming into his throat. It didn’t take long before Benjamin fed him a load, and then slapped him across the face.

“Now get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you in here again, I’ll call the fucking police.”

And so, Randal left the office, but didn’t make it out of the building. Instead, he ran right for the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and started masturbating furiously. Benjamin was right. There wasn’t going to be any salvation here, not for him. It had felt too good, feeling that warm cock in his mouth, the taste of that cum! He was a faggot–a disgusting worthless cock hungry faggot! It was a few minutes before he finally exploded–he caught as much of his load in his hand and guzzled it back, feeling a heat in his gut as it expanded, packing on even more weight as his muscles began to recede again. When he left, he barely recognized himself in the mirror–but he didn’t bother washing his hands. He didn’t…want to look too closely, and so he didn’t see the full scope of changes until he got home half an hour later.