The Morning After – Owen Part 2

As he walked across town, he felt increasingly silly, and before too long, he would have returned to the car if the walk back hadn’t become longer than the distance to the hotel. Luckily Owen had stayed in good shape since college–unlike any number of other reunion attendees, including some of his close friends. Still, if there was one thing to know about Owen, it was that appearance was more important to him than substance. He’d made his living off his looks–he’d learned at a young age that if you were cute enough, and confident enough, then you could get anywhere, and he’d spent the last few years proving it, rising high in the PR department of a major technology firm. Better than Billy, who was stuck working for his father at the family business back home–no room to grow there, but he’d always been too much of a coward to go out on his own. It was hard to believe they’d been friends this long–even before college. Still, they’d grown further apart now than ever before, and both Carl and Tim were largely after thoughts. It was enough for him to know that he looked better than them, even if they might be a bit more successful. A few times he thought about checking his reflection in a window along the street, but always decided against it. Dream or not, that episode earlier had freaked the shit out of him. He did love mirrors too much to stay away for long, but he could primp once he’d gotten back and had a proper shower.

The reunion attendees were staying at a hotel a few blocks away from campus, the Nettywood Suites. It was a small but decent independently owned hotel. His room was on the first floor–he’d bought one entire room for himself, because he hated sharing space with other people. He let himself in, planning on taking a shower, having a nap, and then reporting the car stolen with the rental company, before going and joining the reunion festivities. He stripped out of the clothes he’d worn for the pub crawl and then went in the bathroom, but before he started the water in the shower, he stopped in front of the mirror to preen, without much thought, and stared at the reflection in shock.

That wasn’t him.

That couldn’t be him.

And yet, the reflection was in the same position as he was, about two feet from the counter, staring straight at him. The man was older, probably about ten or fifteen years older than Owen was, with a short beard covering his round face, and extending quite a ways down his neck. It looked unkempt, but helped hide the double chin underneath the flabby face, in the same way that it helped his jowls look like cheeks. The nose was too broad, the mouth small and thin lipped, the ears too big and sticking out too far, the eyes close together like marbles on the wide head. His hair was either too long or too short. He was balding, but the hair had been brushed over into a combover that only emphasized his hair loss. It was silver at the temples, and salt and pepper throughout. The reflection was smiling, and the teeth…the teeth were like shards of glass, and unable to help himself, Owen discovered he was smiling with him.

“Much better,” the reflection said. Owen felt his mouth form the words, though no sound came out. “Much, much bigger, much more fun to be had here, I think, don’t you, Owen?”

He saw the reflection’s hands run down the older man’s body, starting at his chest before descending down over his massive gut, grabbing hold of the flab and giving it a shake. Unable to break his eyes away, Owen could only feel his stomach twist as his hands did the same, running over soft, hairy moobs, then meeting the gut, soft. He grabbed hold and it shook. It shook like it was real. The man in the mirror was one of the hairiest men Owen had ever seen, a thick coating all over his gut, thickest in the center, so thick he could just barely make out pale skin beneath, running up onto his shoulders and (he assumed) all over his back as well. He had to be close to 400 pounds, and judging from where his perspective, he had to be quite a bit shorter than Owen’s previous six foot one.

“Yes, so much fun, I think,” the reflection continued, “What do you think? It feels good, doesn’t it? Feeling your fat jiggle like that? Watching your fat body shake in the mirror? Let’s see if you like it or not…eh?”

One hand drifted lower, under the gut, digging beneath, finding the short cock there amidst the mass of fat, gunt, and hair. It was hard, but a weak kind of hard. Flimsy, and yet pleasure shot through him all the same.

“Goodness, someone does like what they see, don’t they?”

His other hand had moved up and was tweaking a nipple. His fingers, unable to grip his shaft, instead ran their way over and around the head of his cock, feeling it turn slick with precum. He was breathing hard, beneath all this fat, and yet it felt good, it felt really good.

“You like looking at yourself don’t you? I know this isn’t the first time you’ve jacked off while looking at yourself in the mirror, Owen.”

“Fuck…” Owen said, the first word he’d been able to manage. It was true–he considered it something between a vice and a bad habit…but he did like jacking off in front of the mirror. But he hadn’t looked like this…had he? Hadn’t he looked different? Younger? Thinner? The exact appearance was fading before he could grab hold of it, but his hand never stopped working his stubby cock, his eyes never drifted from his bouncing gut, his free hand kept running its way through his hairy chest and belly…and he realized his reflection was no longer copying him. Or was it that he’d been copying his reflection?

“You like how you look, don’t you?”

““Fuck…yeah. Such a fat, hairy daddy bear…” his voice was strange to his ears. Deeper and older, but also attractive in its own way. Part of him still knew he should stop. That something was wrong, that he’d been changed. But looking at himself there, how could…how could he not want to jack off? He just looked so…damn sexy.

Rick and the Beast – Part 5

Pike picked up the pieces of his uniform and left, shutting the door behind him, and The Beast crouched down next to where Rick was still licking piss mindlessly from the floor, “Now, what am I going to do to you? You know, I’ve really been on the fence about you,” The Beast said. He walked around Rick, who was still slurping up Pike’s piss, pulled out one of the chairs and sat down on it. It fit him about as well as a kindergarten chair would have fit an adult, his legs splayed wide, his cock flopping down off the chair over halfway to the floor. “After ignoring me, I thought I’d settled on making you a lowly pig, but really, over the past few weeks, you’d shown me that you could have made a great jock, cleaning up my sweaty body every day, but then you have to go and pull a stunt like this. You have to try and challenge me. So I’m done with your games. You can kiss that little bit of will you’ve still got goodbye, because there’s going to be no turning back for you, pig, I can promise you that.”

“F–Fuck you,” Rick managed to say, in a moment between having his tongue plastered to the piss soaked floor.

“Excuse me?”

“F–Fuck you. You can’t get away with this, someone will find out, I’ll make sure of it. You’re a fucking rapist, you fucking raped me, you fucker, and–”

Get up. Kneel in front of me.” Rick tried to resist, he tried to scream, but his body did as The Beast ordered. “Look me in the eye.” He did, and he tried to remain resolute, but the force of looking right into his eyes, it was only a few moments before he tried to look away again…but he couldn’t. He couldn’t pull his head away, he couldn’t blink, and he started to panic. The gaze was searing him, he felt like he was burning–burning with humiliation, with awe, with admiration, with hatred. It took him quite a while to realize that The Beast’s mouth was moving, that he was speaking to Rick…and that he was saying things back, but even that became lost in the gaze. Soon, all there was in his mind were those two eyes, until the Beast finally blinked, and he was allowed to look away.

“What…what was that? What did you do to me?”

The Beast smiled. “You see Pig, you had a bad memory. I was just reminding you how things actually happened that night, in the frat house–you remember now, don’t you?”

Of course he remembered. He’d been drunk, and he’d seen The Beast there, the man whose cock he’d wanted all night long. Rick had fallen to his knees, begged him for a rough fuck, right there in the hallway, pleaded with him, and his master had given it to him, had fucked him then and there in the bedroom, just like he’d always…always wanted…

He shook his head. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what had happened, The Beast had raped him, but all of his memories were different, and he couldn’t tell which was wrong or right. Had he pursued The Beast for weeks, before finally finding him in the cafeteria, crawling under the table to nurse his cock in public, before eagerly following his Master out to be fed from the kitchen dumpsters? What else could have happened? He couldn’t even imagine something else anymore. He was a slut, a whore, a desperate faggot.

“Pigs shouldn’t try to tell lies.”

“Yes…Sir. I know, but I didn’t–”

“Shut up!”

Rick fell silent, eyes on the ground, kneeling before his master, the master he’d always wanted, but then why was he so afraid? Then again, who wasn’t terrified of their god?

“It’s time you learned what it meant to be one of my pigs,” The Beast said, and started stroking his cock, the foot and a half long shaft hardening again, “You’re going to drink my cum, pig–my real cum–and you’re going to keep drinking until I decide you’ve had enough–got it?”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir.”

Rick inched forward on his knees, and took the massive head of The Beast’s cock in his mouth. Now that he was hard, Jim reached underneath, grabbed his balls in both hands and started pumping them–immediately, Rick’s mouth was flooded with a torrent of cum. He tried to keep up as best he could, but he could feel it running down his chin and onto his body. Like he’d watched happen to Pike, he could feel his body changing as well, his gut, which had been growing larger since first meeting The Beast, was suddenly expanding rapidly, the hair on his body and face thinning out and finally disappearing completely, leaving him completely smooth, aside from a thinning amount on his head, which lightened to a blonde, thinned further, and eventually withered away altogether, leaving him completely hairless. Distantly, as though muffled by cloth, he heard the clink of metal on the floor–it took him a moment to realize it was his cock cage falling off him–his cock and balls had grown too small for it to remain on, especially as his new fat had expanded. Still, it didn’t matter. He somehow knew that his cock wouldn’t work normally anyway. He’d be able to piss, but he’d never cum again–He was meant to eat cum, not produce it, after all. His mind was dulling and changing, a new sensation forming in his mind which began crowding out everything else. A hunger. A hunger for food and cum more than anything else, no matter how he might be able to get it. The voice of dissidence, telling him to fight back, was also buried–under his hunger, under his fat, and when The Beast took the head of his cock from Rick’s mouth, he tried to follow it. He needed more, he’d always need more, from now on.

The Beast stood up, took a few moments, and reduced himself back down to his normal size., before putting his clothes back on. “That’s enough for now, Prick,” The Beast said, “That’s your name now, isn’t it, piggy?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you’re going to get as many people to call you that as you can, right?”

“Of course, sir–it’s my name. The name you gave me, sir.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” he added, and left the room. Prick stood up, discovering that in addition to growing fatter, he’d also grown shorter. He started at his new body in the one way mirror for quite a while, wondering what, exactly, he was going to do. What, in the end, was there to do? He fit himself back into his clothes as best he could, though he had to leave the button on his jeans undone, and his shirt couldn’t cover his apron no matter how hard he tried to pull it down, and Pike escorted him from the station, back into a reality he no longer was certain existed, or perhaps it was him, who no longer seemed to fit inside it. Fuck, he was hungry. He waddled off, belching up some of his master’s cum, and wondered where he might be able to get something else to eat this late a night.

Mr. Drake’s Games – Part 2

“Double or nothing.”

Mr. Drake just stared at him, and then laughed.

“Seriously. Let me try again. If I make it, then let me go, but if I don’t then…you can change me some more, whatever. Let me try again.”

You won’t be able to make it to a hundred, not as tired as you are. You’re basically asking me to fuck with you,” Mr. Drake loomed over him, obviously calculating, “Fine. I’ll even make it easier on you. If you can make it to fifty, I’ll change you and your dad back, and get the fuck out of dodge. How does that sound? But you won’t like what happens if you lose,” he chuckled, “Well, you probably will like it, actually.”

Jay couldn’t believe his luck–he was tired, but he’d made it to fifty pretty easily last time, and he was pretty sure he could do it again. He laid back down on the floor and took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself and focus, and he started again. By ten, his muscles were already burning and shaking, but he kept pushing, huffing and panting along, but by twenty, he had slowed down substantially.

“Looks like someone could use some encouragement,” Mr. Drake said, waited until Jay was down before stepping over and straddling his big gut, and bending his knees so his cock came to where Jay’s face hit when he was sitting up, “Come on piggy, let’s see you work for your cock.”

Jay didn’t want to admit that it helped, but it did. He liked cock. He liked the smell of it, he liked how it felt when he pushed his face into it, he liked how it tasted. He his thirty sit-ups and kept going, but Mr. Drake stepped back bit by bit, making him work harder to get close to him. Jay realized he was using more energy than he needed too, just to try and get to the old man’s cock. Maybe he could have made it, but as it was, he collapsed back at number forty-six, unable to bring himself up one more time.

“Well, that was a good try, I must say, but it seems that you’ve lost again, Jay.”

He had, he’d lost. He tried to hold back his tears, and he rolled over, ready to try and get up, but as he did, he felt something happening with his body again. His gut was gurgling, and it was growing, bulging out again, becoming a full fledged apron hanging heavy from his stomach.

“You know, the thing about doubling, Jay, is that you have to be mindful of where you’re starting from, so you know where you’ll end up.”

No. He couldn’t be serious. Jay fought his way to standing, even as his body was exploding in size. Much of the weight was focused in the apron which hung down half the length of his thighs, but he could feel changes in the rest of him too–his moobs had easily doubled in size, hanging low and jiggling as he heaved for breath. He could feel them wrapping their way around his body to his back, pushing his flabby, ham sized arms away from his body. Even his hands were inflated, looking like short, chubby sausages. Just standing was hard, and after his exertion, he didn’t think he could keep it up, so he waddled over to the couch and collapsed onto it, feeling and listening to the springs protest as he did. He was encased by fat now, and he was hot and sweaty and even his briefs had finally given way, ripping apart as he’d grown, lying in tatters on the floor, except for one piece caught between a thigh and his apron.

“What do you think you weigh now, Jay? You had to have been over 300 before. Hell, you were probably closer to 350. How does it feel to weigh almost 700 pounds?”

“Fuck…it feels…amazing.”

Mr. Drake grinned, and Jay sensed a change.

“No, what did I say?”

“You said it’s amazing.”

It was amazing, wasn’t it? He ran his fat fingers over his rolls, giving his blubber a shake, and a strange erotic thrill shot through him.

“Fuck boy, that’s hot. You like shaking your blubber, don’t you?”

“You made me like it.”

“Heh, I made you like more than that. I made you want more. I made you want to be even bigger. I made you want to be so big that you can’t move.”

Jay found that image far sexier than he should have, and he tried to push back against it, but it felt so natural. It was just another thing he wanted, like Mr. Drake’s cock. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, right? This was just who he was.

“Still, that’s not all, Jay. In the spirit of doubling and halving, I went ahead and changed some other stuff too. I shrank your cock by half, but doubled the size of your balls. I even went ahead and made your nipples and ass twice as sensitive,” he stepped up, pushing his way into Jay’s overhanging gut, grabbed his fat tits and gave them a twist, “Can you tell?”

Jay gasped with pleasure, feeling his two inch cock throb with pleasure, “Oh fuck Mr. Drake, fuck…Please…I need to go, I have to get out of here, I–”

“Nonsense Jay, looking at your fat fucking body has gotten me hard all over again, and you know what else? I think I want to play one more game with you, before I send you on your way back home, since you love my games so much. Still, you’ll like this one I bet, but I can assure you it’ll be quite the challenge. And you’re going to want to try your hardest, if you want to get out of here without anything else happening to you.”

Jay tried to protest, but Mr. Drake gave his nipples another tug, making him moan with pleasure, and he realized he’d backed himself into a corner he hadn’t anticipated, and he if wanted to get out of here, he was going to have to fight for it with everything he could muster.

The Power of Belief – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

Carter felt a hard slap across his face and he woke up, feeling a bit disoriented. Had he fallen asleep? He was in the basement, tied to the table–he remembered that, and fuck, there was Master, his Master, the Master he’d always dreamed of, standing next to the table. He had stripped away his suit, and was now dressed in his other gear of choice–a leather police uniform he’d had personally tailored for his bulk, which he kept meticulously shined. He was leering down at Carter, a cigar stuck in his mouth, glasses perched on his nose.

“You know Carter,” he said, “I feel like we should take a moment to…chat.” He walked down the length of the table, running the belt he had in his hand down the length of Carter’s young, firm body, watching his young student shiver with anticipation. “The first thing I want to say, is that I underestimated you, at first.”

“What…what do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, when you showed up in my office that evening, spouting all those crazy ideas, I thought you were rather insane. And then…well, and then things just kept changing. I mean, like most subjects, I’m only marginally aware that anything is different, but things are different, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know what–”

Harold suddenly brought the belt down hard, right across Carter’s semi hard cock, and he watched the young man fight off a scream. “I am really rather smart–after all, you made me that way. Please do not try and toy with your master and keep up these little games. I know all about your theory, and all about what you’ve been doing to me, with those phone calls. You don’t think I realized what you were doing? But I liked it, you know. I liked what you were doing to me, I like who I am, I can’t even imagine being someone else, and I have you to thank for that, but all the same, I do believe that your manipulations of me deserve a great deal of punishment. I do not like being manipulated, boy, and so I believe it’s time you learned your lesson.”

Carter realized then, what his momentary lapse of consciousness had been, and be began to struggle in earnest. But he hadn’t been changed yet…had he? There was a mirror hung over the table–his Master liked his boy being able to see what was being done to him–but would he even know if he had been changed?

“Now, you’re probably wondering what, exactly, I’ve made you believe. I haven’t changed you yet, don’t worry. I wanted you to be able to understand and witness what you are going to become. Because here’s what you believe niw, Carter–you believe that everything I say about you is true.”

Carter looked at him, eyes wide, “Wait…what? That’s…that’s not even how it works!”

“Are you certain? I mean, look at that tiny, miserable cock of yours. One inch long, and you can’t even get hard. It’s dwarfed by that massive ball sack of yours, which is incredibly sensitive to pain, isn’t it? And you love that, you love it when I beat your balls black and blue, don’t you slave?”

Carter shook his head, watching his cock shrink down to a tiny nub, even as his balls exploded in size, tripling by the time the growth had stopped, and then Harold began beating them with the belt, and Carter let out gasp after gasp of pleasure. Harold kept beating his balls, Carter happily begging him for more, begging him to hit harder, even as his guts twisted into knots from the pain.

“See slave? It works just fine, I think. Now, why don’t you take one last look at that young, slim body of yours? Because while I do find it incredibly attractive, I don’t think you deserve it, do you?”

“No…no, please, don’t…”

“Don’t what, slave?” Harold said, ceasing his wiping and walking up to Carter’s head, bending down so he can whisper in his ear? “Don’t what? Don’t make you some fat, worthless old man? Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, because that’s just what you are. You’re seventy years old, you weight five hundred and thirty-seven pounds, which looks even fatter on you, since you’re only five foot two. You’re completely bald on your head, but have a body covered with white hair, a thick mustache, a wrinkly face with heavy jowls. You’re a troll, a pervert, a masochist, you crave punishment at my hand, it’s what you live for. You’re worthless. You’re whole worth in this life is as my slave.”

Carter was shouting, trying to drown him out, but his eyes were locked with the mirror, watching his body contort. Watching his slim body disappear under mounds and mounds of fat, his miniscule cock disappearing under a massive apron. His hair was disappearing, aside from a thin horseshoe of white hair, and a mustache sprouting from his lip, even as his skin became lined with creases and wrinkles, heavy jowls over double and triple chins. He was shrinking on the table, his body pulling up into itself as he shrank almost a foot in height, his fat concentrating even more in his huge apron, which hung down almost to his knees. He felt tears well up in his eyes, but a leather glove wiped them away.

“Now, now, don’t cry. You love it, really. You know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want–you want to be old and fat. You want to be worthless. You want to be a slave, a whore.” The thumb slipped into his mouth, and unable to stop himself, Cater licked and sucked at it, feeling his heart rate quicken, as cum started leaking from his tiny dick. “You’re addicted to cum. You’re addicted to smoke. You’re addicted to humiliation.” Harold locked lips with Carter and exhaled a full lung of smoke into him, and Carter, who had never felt the desire to smoke, felt need well up in him at the taste. Seeing the want, Harold gave his slave the cigar he’d been smoking, watching him suck down smoke, and lit a new one for himself. “Now, I think we need to discuss what sort of role you’ll have in this house, don’t you? After all, a worthless old faggot like you couldn’t possibly be a graduate student. Besides, you really aren’t very smart. You barely graduated from high school–you had no hope of going to college. You need powerful men like me to guide you–to order you around. You don’t feel right unless you’re obeying a superior man like me. So I think…I think you’re my personal slave butler. Waiting on me hand and foot, for the rest of your life–how does that sound? Heh, then again, it doesn’t matter how it sounds, because it’s simply true, isn’t it?”

Carter tried to fight it, tried to resist having his mind rewired, but he couldn’t. He was just so stupid–not smart like Master Larson. His master was a real man, a man worth serving, and Carter would know–he’d spent his whole life in service–sexual and otherwise. He was only fit to serve, after all. Still, he tried to push back, he tried to disbelieve, but his Master was too smart. He’d been outwitted, and he shed a tear for a life his old, feeble mind couldn’t even manage to remember.

“Now, now–don’t be sad, Carter. This big house you gave me probably feels rather empty right now, but in no time I’ll have it fully staffed with chubby cooks and bearish gardeners and plenty of sex slaves of all shapes and sizes. After all, I have so many students, wasting their lives with their youth and their protests and their drugs. I’m sure they would be so much happier with a life of servitude, don’t you agree?”

He did think so. After all, if Master thought something was true, why wouldn’t he agree with him? And besides, he was happy, after all. He’d found his true calling, at the feet of his master. Master Larson released him from the table, and Carter hefted his old, aching body up, got down on his knees and began kissing and licking his master’s boots, before begging him to allow him the pleasure of worshiping his cock. Harold was more than happy to oblige–and after he came in his new butler’s old, loose hole, he fisted him until the old faggot couldn’t take it any longer, and his tiny cock finally pumped a massive load of cum out into his fat apron. Still, Harold really did have to be on his way. He left Carter with a series of tasks to be finished by the time he returned from the school (organizing the dungeon, cleaning his fat filthy body of sweat and cum, cleaning the foyer and of course, dinner promptly at six-thirty for Master and one…perhaps two…guests) and then he hurried to the master suite to get changed, relishing the feeling of his shirt and pants, his starched collar cutting into his fat chins, the the vest pulled tight over his gut–and then drove to school, Carter’s sonic equipment in the back. He had a feeling his office hours were going to be particularly interesting today–he couldn’t wait to introduce some of his students to the joys of serving him in the rich, privileged life he now led.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

Leopold Grant woke up in his small twin bed in the servant quarters of Fitzroy Abbey. He wasn’t at all sure how he knew that–he had never seen this room before in his life–and while he knew his name had not been Leopold Grant before waking up here, that was the only name he could recall. He could vaguely remember fucking a young twink named Charlie one evening–fuck, that slut had had a tight hole–and then someone barged in while he was mid-fuck, and then nothing after that. As he recalled the memory, however, he had a sudden pang of guilt. That had been bad. A bad thing to do. He…he ruined that young tight hole with his big cock, the whole Master had wanted…he…he…

He looked down, past his furry paunch of a gut, and didn’t see his massive cock. He reached down and groped for the thick shaft, but only found the edge of the bed, felt closer to his body, and only when he reached under the gut did he find his small, shriveled cock and balls. In his mind, he knew he should feel terror at what had happened, but all he really felt was a strange sort of resignation. After all…he deserved this, didn’t he? Of course he did. He was being punished, and he should take his punishment like a gentleman…right?

He knew that these thoughts weren’t his, or that they weren’t the thoughts he should be having, but it was like he no longer quite knew his own mind. How could he resist or fight back against these changes if he didn’t even know what had been changed? He knew there were seams where his mind had been ripped apart and put back together, he could tell there were different fabrics, but the thread itself was invisible to him. For example, he had spent several minutes pondering this conundrum, before realizing that he was no longer a muscular young jock in his twenties, but rather a stout, short middle aged man.

His growing horror was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a fellow servant, Mr. Livingston peeking in, unfazed by the old, naked man sitting on the bed. “Oh good, you’re awake. Master Fitzroy would like to see you in the stables, so he can elaborate on your role and punishment here at the abbey. Do get dressed quickly? He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He closed the door before Mr. Grant could reply, and thankful for the excuse to not think too hard about what was happening to him, he walked over to his small closet and got dressed. The breeches and shirt were a rough linen, and there was no underwear. He pulled on his knee length socks, high leather boots, a vest and a cap to cover his balding head, and hurried off to the stables…though again, he wasn’t quite sure how he knew where the stables even were.

Fifteen minutes later, he was outside, huffing a bit and sweating in the summer sun, not at all used to his body or the clothes he was wearing. At least in the stables it was cooler, though the air stank of manure. Master Fitzroy was waiting for him just inside, looking calm and collected as ever, even in the heat. Seeing his master there made Mr. Grant feel even worse. “Ah, Mr. Grant–my new stable groom.”

“I…I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, sir,” Mr. Grant stammered. His voice sounded so strange to his ears, gruff and slightly gravelly, with a natural british working class accent he never could have faked.

“Oh goodness no, you were very prompt. Now, I’ve made sure you are well prepared for your work here, but there is one special animal here that I wanted to introduce you to myself. It is a very special creature, who requires very special care. In fact, I have no doubt that he will be the focus of the majority of your time in the stable. If you’d kindly follow me, Mr. Grant.”

They walked down the stable together, past lines of horses–somehow, Mr. Grant already knew each of their names, their temperaments, their particular requirements, even though he also knew that he’d had no idea that the abbey even possessed a stable before any of this. They passed through a door into a small room, and Mr. Grant witnessed the first thing which legitimately shocked him all day, so much that he had to choke back a bit of bile from his throat.

What even was it? He’d seen it from the side at first, and the rear was normal enough, a normal, dapple grey rump of a stallion, but halfway along it’s body, the hair faded to pale flesh, and the upper body of a man, it’s arms far too long and large, the same length as it’s back legs, the head too large as well. The face turned to them when they entered, and he realized he knew that face–it was the young man he’d fucked with his huge cock, whose hole he’d ruined. What had Master Fitzroy done to him?

“What do you think, Mr. Grant? I must say Charlie turned out rather well–one of my most successful projects to date. Still, why don’t you come over and say hello to your lover?”

At the word lover, it was like everything in his mind shifted. The twisted form in front of him was no longer disturbing in the slightest…in fact, it was rather…appealing? There was some sort of stirring in his gut and chest, and he saw Charlie look at him, and sniff the air. “Mr. Grant? Is that…you?”

He walked over, his face at the same height as Charlie’s, though it seemed much too large. He kissed him anyway, feeling their tongues intertwine. Mr. Grant didn’t want this, and yet he could…smell something in the air, something that was making him horny. From the way Charlie was snorting the air, it seemed something was affecting him as well. “Smell so good…Mr. Grant…gettin’ horny…”

Charlie let out a snort, and Mr. Grant pulled away, seeing his lover’s eyes dimming somewhat. “I’m afraid that when the beast becomes horny, most of his concerns become rather…instinctual. And considering the fact that you smell just like a mare in heat, Mr. Grant, I’m afraid he’s going to be rather horny whenever you’re around.”

Mr. Grant was too busy absorbing what his master had said, when he felt the tug on his breeches, yanking them to the ground. Charlie had pulled them down with one big hand, and when Mr, Grant tried to step away, he tripped and fell into the dirt floor of the stable. Charlie was huffing deeper now, and from where he was on the ground, Mr. Grant saw Charlie’s new cock, slide from it’s sheath. It was so massive, and he could only imagine where it might be headed.

He started to crawl, but Master Fitzroy stood in his way. “Now now, Mr. Grant, don’t you think you ought to take your punishment?”

Yes, of course. His punishment. How could he have forgotten? He hiked his ass into the air, and Charlie spent a moment trying to find the best position to fuck from, eventually working his cock head into Mr. Grant’s tight hole, the older man trying to suppress a scream at the size.

“Don’t worry too much, Mr. Grant. That old hole of yours is loose enough to take that big cock, but it will hurt going in,” Master Fitzroy had his cock out, and was stroking it to life, “Yes, I hope it hurts quite a bit, you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”

“Y–Yes sir, I do,” Mr. Grant said, and pushed back against the horse cock, accepting the pain, accepting his punishment, and he knew he would need to be punished much much more. Multiple times every day, in fact. And as much as he tried to fight it, his puny cock kept pumping cum into the dirt below him, and he didn’t think he’d be considering this to be punishment for very long at all.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables – Part 1 (Patreon Commission)

The Master of Fitzroy Abbey was relaxing in his study, finished with his various fuckboys for the evening with a decanter of whiskey and a half smoked pipe, when a knock came at the door. “Enter,” he said, and Mr. Livingston, slipped in.

“I am so very sorry to disturb you, sir. I merely wanted you to know that…Mr. Grant, I believe he is named now? Has finished his initial changes, and is currently undergoing his initial rounds of edification. I have already uploaded the video of to the server, for your examination. I know you were particularly interested in this case, and I thought you would like to know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Livingston. Is that everything?”

“Yes sir.”

“Sleep well.”

“You too, sir.”

Mr. Livingston slipped away again, and the Master hefted himself up out of his chair, refilled his glass, and brought it and his pipe to his second study. Unlike the first, which had appeared to be frozen in the early twentieth century, this smaller room appeared as a futuristic anachronism, full of monitors and keyboards. Technology–he rather loathed it. It had made him his billions certainly, but he so enjoyed the slower pace of his current lifestyle. He could almost forget, sometimes, that things had progressed so far and so quickly. Still, it did have it’s uses–after all, this whole world he’d created would crumble without it. He settled down, brought up the list of folders full of hours and hours of video footage, and found Mr. Grant’s newly uploaded files. There were five total–one from each camera, making sure he could the transformation from each of his preferred angles and focal points–but he decided to begin with the wide, full body camera first, to see how things went for Mr. Grant.

The video began–all four days worth. Of course, Master Fitzroy wasn’t going to sit there for four days–he could speed the video up so those four days would pass in five minutes. But he wanted to take a minute to examine the body that was. He no longer remembered what the young man’s name had been–he generally could only recall a name as long as it took to get his cock in their holes. This young man was a bit of an exception to his kind of usual guest–generally there was nothing that turned him off more than a muscular hunk with a cock bigger than his–a feat which was quite a challenge, considering his cock was nine inches long. But something about this one–his cocky attitude, that beautiful face of his that he knew would look angelic wrapped around his thick shaft–made him invite the man anyway. It had been a mistake.

Master Fitzroy had no problem with the young men he invited to stay at his estate taking their pleasures with one another, but this beast had wrecked holes right and left. There wasn’t a tight ring left for the Master to indulge himself with, and he certainly couldn’t have that. One young man in particular–he believed his name started with a ‘C’?–had been so stretched that the Master couldn’t even finish inside. Such reckless destruction simply couldn’t go unpunished.

He sped up the video. Nothing much happened for the first couple of minutes–the first round of drugs and treatments did little more than prepare the body for the changes to come, and Master Fitzroy teased his cock, working it up to half mast, scanning the screen for the first change–a slight softening of the young man’s firm stomach. He wasn’t quite defined enough to have a six pack, but over the next several minutes it bulged up into a small gut, inflating steadily as the video progressed. The other changes happening to his form were a bit harder to see, his legs shrinking up into his body, dropping him several inches in height, to around five foot six. His gut continued to expand, but his arms and shoulders were developing muscle underneath the fat–he’d need it in his new position at the abbey, working in the stables. The changes slowed, and Master Fitzroy admired the new curve of Mr. Grant’s round paunch, his thick, short legs and strong shoulders, but closed the video before it had finished, and opened a second–this one a top-down close up of the young man’s face.

He increased the speed of the video, shortening it to just a few minutes, and then set it to loop. He leaned back in his seat, stroking his cock, and watched the young man’s face rapidly shift to that of a seasoned laborer in his mid to late forties. Two things, in particular, kept drawing his attention. The first was how rapidly the young man’s hair receded. He began with a thick, full head of hair. By the halfway point of the video, it had pushed back in two deep divots, and by the end, it had pushed back even further, past the crown of his head, with a thin tuft of hair left in the front. The second thing was his mouth–or rather, his jowls. As Mr. Grant put on weight and age, the sides of his face began to sag down to his chin, giving him a flabby, resting frown across his face. He was happy with his decision to leave Mr. Grant without facial hair–those jowls were far too beautiful to hide behind a beard. He stroked a bit faster, bringing himself a bit nearer to his climax, closed down that second feed and opened a third.

There, in high definition, was the young man’s massive, eleven inch cock, flopped across his thigh. Again, he sped up the film, leaning in close, watching as it slowly shriveled away. “Fuck, that’s what you fucking get,” he muttered, “someone as careless as you doesn’t deserve a tool like that.” By the halfway point, it had shrunk to a mere four inches, but it continued shriveling up, and now he could see his balls beneath, the sack pulled tight around them, constricting them smaller and smaller as well. In the end, he was left with a cock less than an inch long, with much of the loose, wrinkled skin remaining as a heavy, overhanging foreskin, and beneath was a small sack, two balls smaller than grapes pulled up tight beneath it. It was ugly, so fucking ugly, and Master Fitzroy loved it. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket in time to catch his cum, moped his sweaty forehead with the other side and composed himself. Of course, Mr. Grant wasn’t finished yet–the Master had a second surprise for him once he was finished with his conditioning in a few days. Then, he would understand the full scope of his punishment.

Daddy4Boys: Hi boy

Jasonite555: Who is this?

Daddy4Boys: Your daddy, boy. Don’t pretend like you don’t know who I am 😉

Jasonite555: No, I actually don’t.

Daddy4Boys: But you got in bed naked with me just last night, boy.

Jasonite555: Leave me alone fag

Daddy4Boys: You’d always wanted your daddy’s body, but you didn’t know how to ask. You had a bad dream, and asked to climb into bed with me, and we were naked, and your little dicklet got hard.

Daddy4Boys: You asked me something boy, what did you ask me?

Daddy4Boys: Tell me boy.

Jasonite555: Why’s my dicklet hard, daddy?

Jasonite555: What the fuck, why did I fucking type that?

Daddy4Boys: Your dicklet’s hard because you like lying here naked with your daddy, see? Daddy’s cock is hard too, son. Go on, touch it, it’s ok.

Jasonite555: No this is fucked up

Jasonite555: I’m not gonna

Jasonite555: Wow daddy, it’s so much bigger than mine, big and hard

Daddy4Boys: It sure is, son, but yours will get bigger when you’re older, but for now you’re just my big boy. Do you like me touching your dicklet?

Jasonite555: Yeah daddy, it feels really good.

Daddy4Boys: It feels good having you touch my cock too, son.

[Jasonite555 has logged out]

***

Daddy4Boys: Hi son

Jasonite555: What the fuck, I fucking blocked you, you sick fuck

Daddy4Boys: Now is that any way to talk to your daddy?

Jasonite555: Fucking shut up, you fucking did something to me, you freak. My fucking dicklet shrank

Jasonite555: Not a dicklet, fuck

Jasonite555: It’s like, three inches hard now, what the fuck did you do?

Daddy4Boys: That’s it boy, I’ve had it with your tone. *Grabs you, bends you over my knee, and pulls down the back of your pants for a spanking.*

Jasonite555: No daddy, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it

Daddy4Boys: *Starts smacking your fat ass with my hand.*

Jasonite555: Daddy, no, please, it hurts.

Daddy4Boys: If you don’t want to be spanked, then you need to speak to me with respect boy.

Jasonite555: I’m sorry daddy

Daddy4Boys: *Let’s you up after ten swats.* That’s alright boy. Now son, be honest, did that spanking make your dicklet hard?

Jasonite555: No…

Daddy4Boys: *Pulls down your pants* Don’t lie to Daddy boy, I can see how hard your dicklet is.

Jasonite555: My dicklet’s not hard! No!

Daddy4Boys: I think someone needs another spanking, to learn not to tell lies. *Pulls you back over my knee, and listens to you moan with pleasure as I smack your ass harder.*

Jasonite555: Oh…oh daddy, my dicklet…something’s coming out, daddy!

Daddy4Boys: *I keep swatting, and then let you stand up, rubbing your ass. There’s a splotch of cum from your dicklet shot across the crotch of my pants.*

Jasonite555: No…No, I did not just fucking cum, I didn’t

Daddy4Boys: You made quite the mess son.

Jasonite555: I’m sorry daddy, I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t stop.

Daddy4Boys: Well I think it’s only right that you should clean up your own messes, son. Get down here and lick it all up.

Jasonite555: I’m not gonn

Jasonite555: you cant make me type

Jasonite555: *Gets down and starts licking up the cum from my dicklet like a good boy.*

Daddy4Boys: *I ruffle your hair with my hand.* How does it taste, son?

Jasonite555: Really good daddy, I didn’t know you could eat it.

Daddy4Boys: Would you like some more? Daddy can give you some, but you’re gonna have to suck it out. There’s nothing that makes boys’ bellies grow big and fat like cum.

[Jasonite555 has logged off]

***

Jasonite555: What the fuck did you do to me.

Jasonite555: I can’t stop eating my cum, you fucking freak, every time my tiny dicklet shoots, I have to lick it up.

Jasonite555: And I’m getting fatter, I have a fucking gut.

Jasonite555: How are you fucking doing this.

Jasonite555: Fucking answer me! I know you’re there.

[Jasonite555 has logged off]

***

Jasonite555: Look, I’m sorry.

Jasonite555: I can’t eat anymore, I stuffed myself. I’m so full I feel like I’m going to burst.

Jasonite555: Please stop this, don’t make me do that again, I’m sorry.

Jasonite555: Please, I’m scared daddy

Daddy4Boys: It’s alright boy, I’m here.

Jasonite555: Why didn’t you say anything! I thought you’d never respond

Daddy4Boys: Now now, don’t cry son, it’s perfectly alright. It’s all normal for fat boys like you to eat everything you can.

Jasonite555: It is?

Daddy4Boys: Well sure. Besides, it feels kind of good, doesn’t it? Your belly stuffed so full you can barely move?

Jasonite555: Yeah, I mean, kinda

Daddy4Boys: Turn on your cam, son. I want to see.

Jasonite555: I don’t

Jasonite555: Why am I even talking to you

[Jasonite555 invited Daddy4Boys to view your webcam.]

Daddy4Boys: Oh yes, you look beautiful son, just what I wanted. So fat and smooth.

Jasonite555: Really? You like how I look daddy?

Daddy4Boys: I think you’re beautiful son. Do you want to see your daddy?

Jasonite555: I do.

[Jasonite555 has invited Daddy4Boys to view their webcam.]

Daddy4Boys: What do you think of daddy, son?

Jasonite555: I like you daddy. Looking at you makes my dicklet really hard.

Daddy4Boys: Of course it does son. Most boys get turned on looking at their daddy’s fat, old bodies, just like how daddy’s get turned on looking at their fat, smooth, young boys.

Daddy4Boys: But you only ‘like’ me, boy?

Daddy4Boys: I think you love me son.

Daddy4Boys: Answer me. Tell me the truth, or I’ll have to spank you again.

Jasonite555: I love you daddy

Jasonite555: I do, but I don’t think I should love you. I think you’re doing something strange to me.

Daddy4Boys: Oh, little boys like you shouldn’t worry about things like that.

Jasonite555: But it’s scary

Daddy4Boys: It’s not scary. You just think too much son. You’re too smart for your own good. You need to think less, and just trust daddy to do all the thinking for you. Just focus on that hard dicklet, and on making daddy happy. Just a dumb, fat, happy boy.

Jasonite555: I don’t wanna to be dumb.

Daddy4Boys: It doesn’t matter what you want to be, it’s just what you are. The sooner you accept your role in life, the happier you’ll be.

Jasonite555: My dicklets, like, so super hard daddy

Jasonite555: can i play with it

Daddy4Boys: Of course boy, as long as I can play with my cock while you do.

Jasonite555: your cock is so big daddy

Daddy4Boys: I bet you’d like to suck on it, right boy? And feel it up your ass?

Jasonite555: yeah

Daddy4Boys: You’ve never had sex with anyone before. I can’t wait to be your first.

Jasonite555: I had sex before

Jasonite555: I think

Daddy4Boys: You’re remembering wrong. That’s just you thinking about all that daddy porn you look at all day long, while you stuff your face with food. You’re really stupid after all, so you just get confused really easily.

Jasonite555: yeah you probably right daddy

Jasonite555: Yeah, I’m just dumb I’ve never had sex but I really really really want to have sex with you, so bad

Jasonite555: can I cum daddy?

Jasonite555: im so close

Daddy4Boys: Yeah son, shoot your load for me.

Jasonite555: that felt so good daddy, tastes so good too. I hope I get to taste yours for real one day.

Daddy4Boys: Soon boy, you will soon. Tonight, in fact. I’m coming to pick you up now.

Jasonite555: Really!!! I’m so excited.

Daddy4Boys: See you soon boy.

Jasonite555: ok daddy, I can’t wait. I love you daddy, I love you so so much

[Daddy4Boys has logged off]

“Pull over. I gotta piss and yer gonna help me.”

“Please, I–just leave me alone, I don’t–”

“What the fuck did I tell you about talkin’ back, bitch?”

The large man in the back seat heaved himself forward between the front and passenger seat, breath stinking of tobacco. He reached forward and began kneading the driver’s cock through the ratty camo shorts he’d forced him to buy off the redneck they’d met at the truckstop fifty miles back. All it they had cost was one blow job, no teeth. They were grungy and a few sizes too big, but with a belt they stayed up.

“How about we remove a couple of inches, eh? Make you a tiny dicked little piggy? Maybe I’ll give them back when I’m done pissing.”

It was curious sensation, feeling his cock retract back into itself. Four inches? Three? Smaller. He signaled and pulled off the highway and into the rural rest area. It was early evening on a weekday, and aside from a few trucks in the other lot, largely empty.

The huge redneck he’d picked up a few hundred miles back as a hitchhiker hefted himself out of the backseat. He said it was more comfortable back there, where he could stretch his legs a bit. Plus, it let him keep an eye on his captive in the driver’s seat. “Well come on then, I need yer fuckin’ help.”

“What the fuck kind of help do you need to piss? Please, just let me go.”

“Bitch, do you want me to leave you here with a fuckin’ nub?”

He really didn’t want a nub. He got out of the car and followed the man into the bathroom at a lumber. Inside, it was all stainless steel and none too clean. His hitchhiker passed the urinals and went for the handicapped stall, and when the driver tried to wait, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in with him, locking the door behind them both. The man dropped his shorts and stood in front of the steel toilet.

“Aim for me–I can’t fuckin’ see past my gut.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to dig around in the man’s gunt and fish out his thick, short cock, but aiming it proved to be a challenge. For one thing, the man started pissing even before he had a good grip, soaking down his hand. Piss flew everywhere for a few moments, soaking the floor and the seat, before he got it pointed into the water, and waited for the big man to finish.

“Shitty job–someone’s gonna have tah clean that up, ya know?”

The driver wiped his wet hand on the camo shorts, a bit disgusted, “Did you have to piss on me? That’s fucking disgusting.”

The hitchhiker stared him down, “Ya know, I’m gettin’ real sick a yer attitude boy, we really need to find something more productive for ya tah do wit’ yer mouth. Get down there ‘n lick up the piss ya spilled.”

“No! That’s fucking disgusting!”

The man spit a wad of tobacco juice into the toilet, and then grabbed the driver’s wrist. “Get down there and lick up my piss, or the next thing you know, you’re just gonna be a toothless beggar sucking dick at this rest stop for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t. The driver got down and tentatively licked the cool rim of the toilet, and as he did, a shot of pleasure coursed through him. He licked it again, and soon he was licking happily. Not long after that, he had his cock out of his shorts and was jacking his three inch dick while the redneck stood over him, supervising and suggesting.

“Yeah, see? Doesn’t that taste good pig? Make sure you get everything you spilled on the floor too. Fuck, look at that nasty concrete, I can’t believe you’re actually gonna put your tongue on that thing.” He slid a boot between the driver’s legs as he lapped up the piss and started tapping the pig’s balls, making him groan. Before he’d finished all the piss, he’d already shot his load across the bottom of the toilet and the floor–he licked that up too, when ordered to do so.

They left the bathroom together, the driver shaking with terror and rage at what he’d just done, but when he went to tackle his passenger, he felt a curious warmth in the front of his shorts as he pissed himself. Fuck, it smelt great, maybe he could just whip out his cock for a quick wank out in the open, but he was able to control himself long enough to climb in the car. The next rest stop was fifty miles down the road, and his hitchhiker promised him they’d find a couple nasty truckers willing to give him a good soaking. He let out a quiet sob as he drove off, but the anticipation was building in him. When the sign came, he pulled over eagerly–what a thirst to quench.

Rick took another drag off his cigarette in the alley behind the club. Tuesday, and a slow night even for a Tuesday, and another three hours before his shift was over. Hopefully someone in there would get drunk and rowdy, give him something to do. As boring as bouncing could be, when it was fun–well, it was fun. He thought about his little pet project back at home that he’d been working on for a couple of weeks now, and massaged his half hard cock through the denim of his jeans, when he heard some voices coming down the alley towards him.

“Dude, this is a gay bar though!”

“I fucking know that, but this is where he’s been going.”

“So wait, Max–big butch defensive line Max has been a closet fag this whole fuckin’ time?”

“Look, let’s just try and find him, alright?”

Rick watched the two kids from the local college some down the alley towards him. They were well built. Probably athletes, and at this time of year, most likely football. They were probably looking for his project. “Something I can help you boys with?” he said, “The alley’s off limits.”

The two football players were big–but neither of them were a match for Rick as he stood up from the steps, all six foot five and two hundred and seventy five pounds of muscle staring down at them both.

“Oh…fuck. Sorry man, it’s just…we got a bit turned around, and–hey…uh…do you work here? In the bar?”

“I’m a bouncer–why?”

“Well…a teammate of ours. His name’s Max. He was coming here off and on, and well, we haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks. Coach said he dropped out of college, but…well, he won’t even answer his phone, and his parents think he’s still at school. We’re worried something happened to him.”

The bouncer slipped a hand into his pocket where his phone was. “Huh…well, what’s the guy look like?”

“Well, he’s on the defensive line, so he’s kind of chubby. Redhead. Bushy beard.”

“He’s really loud, and he can get pretty rowdy when he gets drunk.”

Rick thought for a moment, and then shook his head, “Nope, can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that…hey, hold on, I’m getting a phone call.”

Rick pulled his phone out of his pocket, and the speaker was emitting a high pitched whine. The two students winced at the sound, but within thirty seconds, their eyes had gone blank, and both of them were swaying where they stood. “Now boys–what’s your names?”

“Alex.”

“Trevor.”

“Alright Alex and Trevor. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to forget all about Max–he did drop out. In fact, you both talked to him last week, and remember him telling you that, don’t you?”

Alex and Trevor nodded.

“Good. Now, I’d like both of you to give me your phone numbers please, so I can call you if I need anything.”

He entered their numbers into his phone, and then turned off the noise his phone was making. Both of the students shook their heads like they were waking up, Rick finished a fake phone call and hung up the phone. “Now, you boys wanted to know something?”

Alex and Trevor looked at each other, neither of them sure what they were doing in this alley with the huge bouncer, shook their heads and retreated, trying to figure out what had just happened. Rick chuckled–the meatheads were always so easy to fuck around with. His break was over, so he stamped out his cigarette and headed back into the club to finish his shift. It was as boring as he’d hoped it wouldn’t be. Finally, the club closed for the night, Rick climbed into his truck, stopped by the local pizza shop (it stayed open late just for him) picked up his five pizza standing order, and headed home.

He let himself in, setting down the pizzas by the door, and walked over to where Max was tied to a chair, eyes blank, earbuds stuffed in each ear, playing a loop of Rick’s homemade hypnosis tracks and subliminals, but he took a moment to admire his handy work, especially after seeing Alex and Trevor earlier. One of his first tasks had been to get rid of all the fucking hair on Max’s body–and now, after some special treatments, his body would be completely smooth for the rest of his life. Tonight was going to be special though–the mix he’d put on for Max to listen to had a new track he was excited to test out–finally, he pulled out the earbuds, and after a couple of minutes, Max shook his head in a daze, and looked up at Rick. The look was dread. Week one had been anger. Week two had been fear. But now, Max was learning to dread. Rick always liked that look–but he really liked what would happen in a few more weeks, when Max would start to enjoy it. When he’d look up at him eagerly, excited to find out how Rick had chosen to twist and warp his mind that day.

“How are you doing, slave? Hungry?” Rick asked.

“Yes–S–sir…”

“Still fighting that one, eh?”

“N–No sir, sorry sir…I’m not fighting anything sir.” Max had learned that resisting the hypnosis would only lead Rick to entrance him further, usually with some extra suggestion as punishment. Max had fought calling him Sir and Master at first–and so, as extra incentive, Rick had hypnotized him to feel someone squeeze down on his balls everytime he forgot. He’d figured it out pretty quickly after that.

“Well, I have dinner for you, pig, but first, I want to see how today’s files worked out. See, I thought of something special to do to you today, and I’m curious to see how it worked. So, shall we?” Rick reached down and grabbed a hold of Max’s limp cock, and Max got an odd look on his face, and then just stared at Rick.

“Well? How does it feel, pig?”

“I can’t…I don’t…what did you do to me sir? I can’t…it’s just…numb.”

“So, if I start stroking it, you mean you can’t feel any of this?” Rick said, as he toyed and stroked Max’s cock, but it stayed perfectly limp the entire time. “That’s good–very good. Just what I wanted.”

Max sniffled, holding back tears, unable to believe it. He couldn’t feel his cock at all–as far as he could tell, it’s like he didn’t even have one.

“Don’t worry pig, it’s not that I don’t want you to feel anything–I just want your attention focused somewhere else, is all,” Rick said, then reached up and ran his finger over Max’s nipple. It immediately hardened, and Max let out a sigh of pleasure. “See? A nipple pig–well, nipples and something else too.” Rick wormed a hand between the chair and Max’s ass, a finger sliding against his hole, and again Max gasped in pleasure. “Very nice, very nice indeed. I’m very happy.”

“Please…please sir, just let me go, I’m sorry…”

“Oh piggy,” Rick said, and set his hand on Max’ shaved head. Max shivered and groaned, feeling immediately submissive, his thoughts suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to serve his master. Rick unzipped his fly with his other hand, letting out his hard cock, and allowed Max to suck it. “Oh piggy, I will let you go, eventually. You’ll be your own man, although very different from the man you were. But that old, closeted Max will be gone, and instead you’ll be a horny, kinky pig bitch, begging for cock, happily tugging on your nipples all the time. But I have some news to share, pig. It’s my day off tomorrow, you know, so guess what? We’re going out on the town–you’re gonna be getting your first tattoos. Isn’t that exciting?”

Max wasn’t really listening. He was too focused on sucking his master’s cock, on serving him. The sensation of a hand on his shaved scalp–something about it made him so docile. He couldn’t help but obey whoever was palming his skull.

“But here’s what I’m really excited for. See, I’m so happy that file worked as well as it did, because I have plans for that cock of yours, pig. I’ve already made an appointment with the plastic surgeon even–we’re gonna cut this cock of yours down to size–by the time we’re done, it’s gonna be a one inch nub, permanently soft and numb. Not even a clit–cause you aren’t going to be feeling anything down there.”

Max could sense Master was getting close. His own cock was soft though–still, that didn’t matter. His cock was worthless after all. Why, he didn’t even need a cock, really. What good was a cock that couldn’t feel anything?

“And when we get to the office, if you ask me real nicely, I might ask the surgeon to go ahead and throw in a castration, turn you into a proper hog. Maybe put some steel balls in there instead to weigh down that sack of yours, keep you weak and docile for the rest of your life. Oh fuck yeah–you’re gonna fuckin’ beg me to take your balls–that’s gonna be so fuckin’ hot!”

Master was cumming, and Max sucked it all down. He was starving–he hadn’t eaten all day. Between his master’s hypnosis and his nightly binging, he was already packing on the pounds. Rick removed his hand, and Max felt some semblance of freedom return to him, but it was too late to spit out Master’s cum–not that he wanted to anyway…right? He…liked how cum tasted.

Rick stripped down to his underwear, and then pulled a chair over beside Max, and fed him all five pizzas, slice by slice, and as he did, he told Max about Alex and Trevor, and how they’d been looking for him in the alley. He wasn’t sure which one he’d start with once he was finished with Max–in fact, he might do them both together. He hadn’t made many tops lately–he kind of liked the idea of turning them into identical muscle twins. But before that, he’d be sure to invite them both over a few times so they can fuck Max at both ends for fun. Max didn’t want to think that was hot, but he did anyway.

Finally, the pizzas were gone, and Rick yawned. “Alright pig, it’s time for me to go to bed, and for you to listen some more. I have another new track for you tonight–I hope you’ll like it. I’m very excited to see how it works in the morning.”

Max begged him to not do it, but both of the earbuds were back in his ears, and in less then a minute, the pig was zoned out, listening to his master’s voice. Rick went over to his computer and adjusted the playlist, and then went to bed. He was going to have a nice day tomorrow, at least–he always liked giving these pigs their first tattoos. And with Max suddenly feeling pain as pleasure–he had a feeling Max would enjoy it quite a bit too.

The FAT Retreat (Part 4)

– Day 4 –

They woke up in the same position, the lights coming on in their room, and Max grunted and rolled away from Leon, who fumbled with his mask for a moment, forgetting what it was and why it was there, until the memory of what had happened the day before came roaring back over him, and he was able, for the first time since arriving at the retreat, to have a moment of clarity, to think about what had happened, and he just laid there, still, the mask on, trying to sort out fantasy, reality and his past.

He’d come here as a muscular man. He could remember that, a fucking stick on the verge of death, right? But that didn’t seem like it should be right. He hadn’t wanted to be fat, but why not? He’d been afraid, terrified really, but now he couldn’t even begin to comprehend that. He ripped the mask off his face and tried to sit up, but found it more difficult than before, when he’d gotten up from floor in the therapist’s office. Looking down at himself, he saw that his gut was bigger–actually bigger than it had been the day before. In fact, it wasn’t even really a gut anymore, it was an apron, and he sat on the side of the bed, hefting it up and down, feeling his heavy moobs, amazed at what had happened over the course of a night.

Max had headed straight for the toilet and with the first load of shit he dumped into the bowl, Leon felt the desire for Max well up in him again. Hefting himself up, he waddled over and got down in front of the trucker again, breathing deep of the stench wafting up from the bowl.

“Heh, looks like someone grew last night,” Max said and got up off the toilet, “Come on, I bet ya gotta go, after all you ate at dinner last night, and I hogged the toilet.”

Leon did have to go, but he couldn’t go with Max there, could he? He’d always been a bit piss shy, but he let Max help him up, and his roommate sat him down on the unflushed toilet, the stink of Max’s shit and piss wafting up around him, and he felt his cock harden up into his gut. Max came up, working both of Leon’s moobs in his dirty hands, rubbing his hairy gut in Leon’s face, and after he’d shat, he just sat there, Max’s hands working down lower, underneath his new apron, working Leon’s cock over with his hand until he came with a shudder.

“Go on boy, piss–need to wash my hand off with something.”

It took Leon a few minutes to work up to it, but he finally let his bladder loose all over Max’s hand, feeling him smear the piss around up in his new gunt and between his thighs, shivering from the trucker’s touch, and when he’d finished, Max licked his hand clean with relish, and then whipped out his cock.

“I didn’t piss this morning either yet–hold still.”

He sprayed his piss across Leon’s big belly, watching it dribble down, some of it into the toilet, some of it onto the floor, and then finished the rest off across Leon’s face, watching him shudder with lust, nearly cumming again all on his own, and Max leaned down and kissed him, licking the piss off of him, when the door slid open, the intercom letting them know it was time for breakfast.

Max helped Leon up off the toilet, and turning around he realized it was still unflushed from the night before, and now full of their moring shit and piss as well. He went to hit the lever but Max stopped him. “Leave it,” he said.

“What? Why?”

Max came close, fiddling with Leon’s fat nipples, “Think about how nice the room’ll smell when we come back later, stinking of out piss and shit. I know you got a dirty mind boy, we’re gonna have lots of fun tonight, just you wait.”

Leon didn’t want to like the idea, but he did–he liked it a lot. And so he left the room with Max, joining the throng of men as they headed for the mess hall, admiring Max’s ability to cut through the crowd with his stink, and happy with his immunity to it. In the mess hall, they worked together, both of them crowding out tables and then stuffing food into each other’s mouths, rubbing themselves and each other down as they did, Leon finishing up on his knees, sucking on Max’s cock while the older man stuffed himself. Still, the whole time, when Leon wasn’t enraptured with Max’s stench, he couldn’t stop exploring his new body. He was bigger–he was bigger, and that made him feel so good. No, more than good, it made him feel safe. The bigger he was the less fear he needed to carry with him, and beyond that, he was hot. He caught a few other guys looking at him, probably wondering what he was doing with a slob like Max, but while Leon was a bit curious what it might be like to have sex with someone else, he didn’t think he could be away from Max’s stinking body for that long.

Too soon for anyone’s liking, breakfast ended, and they all filed over to their doors. Max and Leon found they had been assigned to the same lab, and together they made the trek through the facility, arriving at a large lab outfitted with several gurneys, and Max and Leon found they were joined by other pairs of men, some of them obviously together, but others seemed to have never met before. They were all paired off and led to pairs of gurneys with a large piece of machinery between them, large enough that Leon and Max couldn’t see each other around it, and the lab technicians began strapping them down, before they inserted the needles. When Leon saw where they were putting them, it was no wonder they strapped him down first–they were inserting the needles into his balls, through the scrotum, and even though they applied an anesthetic, it still was uncomfortable, and he struggled, trying to get free. From Max’s protests, he assumed the techs were doing the same thing to him, and they eventually strapped masks over them both, the gas sedative calming them down and rendering them compliant as the machine between them came to life and began pumping.

Even so, Leon let out a groan as the crushing pain in his balls began. It felt like the machine was sucking the life out of him, and it was like someone has his balls in a vice and was slowly squeezing them into paste. He mumbled to the technicians, begging them not to take his balls away through the mask, and they reassured him:

“Calm down, subject 436–this isn’t a castration procedure, merely testosterone transference.”

Still, that did little to make him feel better, especially when he noticed his body hair starting to fall out. The technicians would occasionally go over his body, tugging at the hairs there, and it was his pubic bush that went first, and he watched them pull out huge clumps of hair, but the rest of his body was equally bare before too long, and he could tell that his face was changing, his stubble disappearing as his facial hair stopped growing altogether, leaving him perfectly smooth. He wasn’t sure whether it was the sedative or not, but he was also feeling…calmer. And his dick felt numb, and he knew that wasn’t the anesthetic. He could feel it, sure, but when the techs lifted it and inspected it, he didn’t get so much as a shiver of sexual arousal, and it felt…smaller almost. There were other changes, things he couldn’t quite see or feel, his jawline softening, his hips and ass swelling with more fat than before, his nipples growing larger and more sensitive.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there before the techs lifted his legs and put them in stirrups, revealing his ass, which they began probing with any number of tools, eventually piercing something in his ass, and he felt something start growing a bit painfully in there. It was his prostate, he realized, they were making it bigger, but it was more than that–he could feel them working in his ass, it was so much more sensitive suddenly–and with a gasp, he felt his balls contract painfully and let out a spurt of cum as they worked in his hole, and it happened again, not soon after, before they pulled out, apparently finished with their work. About an hour later, they switched off the machine, pulled the needles out and took off the mask, and Leon laid there, waiting to feel normal, but he didn’t feel normal at all–he felt so different. Calmer, more at ease.

When they took off his restraints, the first thing he did was reach down to feel his cock, and much to his horror, he realized that it had indeed shrunk–substantially in fact. He couldn’t see it, but it couldn’t have been more than two inches long, and it was flaccid the entire time he fiddled with it–he couldn’t get a response from it at all. His balls were just as unlucky, now about a quarter the size of what they had been, smaller than grapes, and then, a bit tentatively, he rolled on his side, and tested his hole, and gasped.

He’d just touched the ring, and the amount of pleasure he’d felt was astounding. He didn’t know what they’d done to him, but it was hundreds of times more powerful than his cock had been, and he slipped a finger in with a moan, revelling in the increased sensitivity, as he heard Max start cussing, demanding that the techs release him and let him up. Leon knew he should get up too, he could see other men in the lab getting up and heading off to lunch, but he couldn’t stop touching his ass. As the men filed past, he saw that all of them were either smoother or hairier than they had been when they’d walked in, but only one looked to have lost more testosterone than him, his cock not little more than a clit, and Leon couldn’t even see his balls at all.

Max finally was released, and he got up off the gurney and walked around to where Leon was, and when he saw his roommate, his jaw dropped. Max had already been fairly hairy, but after getting almost all of Leon’s testosterone production, he was one of the furriest men he’d ever seen, and he fucking reeked. The increased development hadn’t done Max’s musk any favors, and if anything it made Leon want him more, made him want Max to dominate him, to rule over him, to be his alpha, his master…

He came suddenly, although most of the sensation of his orgasm was in his ass now, his flaccid cock dribbling a bit of cum out, but he didn’t care about his cock really. He needed something up his hole, and looking at Max, he knew just what he needed. Max’s cock had grown substantially, close to ten inches, and his huge balls hung heavy below, almost churning visibly, cum leaking out of the head like a faucet. Leon noticed something new there as well–a thick, overhanging foreskin that hadn’t been there before, and he licked his lips, wondering what might build up in there by the end of the day, but he couldn’t wait that long, he needed something now. “F–Fuck me, please…” Leon moaned, his voice higher than before, “Shove that huge cock in my hole Max, come on, I need it…”

Max didn’t need to be asked twice–it was clear that he was horny as hell, and would be horny nearly every moment for the rest of his life, and he walked around and rammed his cock deep into Leon’s ass, and there was no resistance like he’d expected–it just slid in like it belonged there, and when the thick shaft started running up against Leon’s newly enlarged prostate, it ached with pleasure, making him clutch the side of the gurney in need, Max fucking him like an animal.

While Max fucked Leon, he was busy exploring his own body, feeling his massive amount of hair, his thick, wiry beard which had grown out the whole time during the procedure, his smooth dome where the hair on his head had fallen out, his thicker muscles, his cock, his balls–his huge fucking balls. He’d never felt this horny in his life, and he came quickly, flooding Leon’s ass with his cum, and then just kept fucking, cumming a second time moments later, and then a third time, each load nearly as big as the last, and the technicians just sat off to the side, watching, fooling with each other’s cocks and fat while enjoying the show.

Lunch was already half over by the time Max forced himself to stop fucking Leon’s hungry hole, and they both hurried down the hallways to the mess hall, devouring as much as they could in the time they had left, but both of them were distracted. Max had to stop every few minutes to jack off his huge cock, and Leon spent most of the meal with as many fingers as could reach buried up his ass. As much as the two of them wanted to keep fucking, it was a bit of a relief when they discovered that they were going to separated for the afternoon sessions, Max going to something vague called a Body Modification Session, and Leon was going to something called a “Personal Style and C.D./M.M. Session.” Still, they had one more rough fuck in the hallway, several fat men gathering around to watch, masturbating while keeping a healthy distance due to the stench rolling off of Max, before they split apart and headed their separate ways.

Leon walked down to the lab he’d been assigned, and found that he was in a smaller lab than he’d been in previously, and there was no one else in the room aside from a doctor and several scantily clad lab assistant cubs. “Ah, subject 436–welcome to your personal style / C.D. session. Now, if you could just lay down here, we’ll begin.”

This time, instead of a gurney, it was a chair that looked like it could be adjusted to a wide variety of positions. Still, he took his seat and waited for the assistants to strap down his arms and legs, and then, when his body was fully secure, they began attaching something to his head, a large constraint which he soon found made it impossible for him move his head or neck in any direction at all, though he could still speak. “So…uh…I get the personal style part, but what does C.D and M.M stand for?”

“Cognitive Disability and Mental Manipulation,” the doctor said, “In other words, making you stupid and messing with your head.”

Leon waited for a couple of beats, expecting the doctor and the assistants to start laughing at the obvious joke, but they weren’t laughing. And he had a feeling that they might not actually be joking. “Wait…you mean, you’re actually gonna make me…what, dumb? How in the hell are you going to do that?”

“Brain surgery. We usually like to reserve a large block of time for the C.D/M.M. process, but considering the fact you spent two days growing, we’ve had to combine a few steps in your program. Don’t worry, the neurosurgeon ought to be in soon, but we’ll get started with your styling in the meantime, with your tattoo work and hair removal.”

Leon tried to break out of the chair, but by then all of the restraints had been well secured, and he couldn’t move an inch in the chair. He couldn’t turn his head to see the doctor’s expression–and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this wasn’t a joke at all. The cubs started working around the room, gathering around what looked like a large, colorful blueprint up on the wall, and then they each picked up a tattoo gun and began work on Leon’s body, two on his arms and a third and fourth on his legs. As they worked, the doctor shaved off all of the hair on Leon’s head, and then took a small laser and swept it slowly over Leon’s scalp, burning the follicles out and leaving his head perfectly smooth. The combined pain of it all was terrible, and Leon spent the entire time screaming at them to stop, begging them to at least do only one thing at a time, when the door to the lab slid open, and another doctor came in. “So, has the patient been prepared?”

“Just finishing his hair removal, and then he’ll be all ready for you–I hope you don’t mind that we got started.”

“As long as his head and neck are frozen, I can work,” he said, and then approached Leon, “I would shake your hand, but you seem to be a bit busy at the moment, subject 436. Now, what we are going to do today is three things. First, some moderate cognitive erosion. Second, we will create a state of advanced dyslexia. Third, we will perform a pain pleasure swap. Now, we’ll go ahead and open up your skull and proceed with the operation. This will take some time–all night, most likely, so I’m afraid you’ll be missing dinner. Don’t worry though, we’ll keep you well fed.”

Leon started screaming as the doctor applied local anesthetic to his skull, and then began cutting into the bone with an electric saw, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t even paying attention to the work the cubs were doing as they meticulously worked on his tattoos, all of them adjusting his restraints to access every side of his limbs. It felt like the doctor was sawing into his head forever, and the only measure of time he had was the slow progress of the tattoos. The cubs had nearly finished both his entire arms to the shoulders by the time the neurosurgeon was ready to begin the operation, and he signaled the cubs to stop their work for the moment.

The doctor behind him started clinking some tools together, and then spoke to Leon. “Alright subject 436–while I work, I am going to be asking you some questions. I need you to answer them to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”

“Please–please just let me go, please don’t do this…”

The neurosurgeon sighed and turned to the first doctor, “I believe we might need Sedative T9 for this operation. Would you administer a dose please?”

The doctor nodded and injected something into Leon’s frozen neck–he screamed, but a moment later, stopped. He felt so calm suddenly, like everything that was happening to him was happening far away, and to someone else.

“Now, subject 436, will you answer my questions?”

“Yes, I can answer…” Leon replied, and he heard the neurosurgeon begin his work. Every ten or fifteen seconds, he would ask Leon a basic math question, beginning with multiplication and division. The first two or three he could answer, and then suddenly he found it difficult to formulate an answer. For two or three more, if he focused hard, he could come up with something he thought might be close to right, and then he just had to answer that he didn’t know.

“What is ten times ten?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“What is two times two?”

“I…I don’t know. Why are you asking me this?”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me, do you know how many states there are in the USA?”

Leon knew that he should know, but it was like the answer had disappeared from his head. “I…I don’t know.”

“Alright, and how many bases on a baseball diamond?”

“I don’t know that either…”

“Alright, let the record show that the subject’s quantitative skills have been severely curtailed. Now, subject 436–I’m going to give you three words. I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me when I ask for them, alright? The words are: house, boat, and bacon. Can you repeat them back to me?”

“House. Boat. Bacon.”

“Good, now keep those words in mind,” the surgeon said, and went back to work for half a minute. “Can you repeat those words back to me?”

“Horse. Bed. Bacon.”

“Good. Doctor, could you present the subject with the flash cards?”

The first doctor retrieved some cards and held the first one up in front of Leon’s face. “Please read the first card, subject 436.”

“The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” The doctor then hid the card, and after a moment the neurosurgeon asked him to repeat what had been on the card. “The quick…no…the quivering food jumped…jumped over the large hotdog?” Leon replied. His head hurt, like he had a massive headache. Why couldn’t he remember? He was so hungry, all he could think about was food.

“Let the record show that the subject’s short term memory has been moderately compromised. That’s very good subject 436–now, onto the second task.”

The surgeon worked for a few moments, and then signaled the doctor to reveal the flash card again, “Please read what’s on the card, subject 436.”

Leon stared at the card hard for a few seconds, “uh…The…the…I don’t know the second word. The…fix pumped onto the…the blank god? That’s not…that’s not right, is it?”

“Let the record show that advanced dyslexia has been induced in the subject,” the surgeon said. “You’re doing very good subject 436, one last task, and this will all be over.”

The surgeon went back to work, fiddling with Leon’s brain, and he could feel the serum he’d been given start to wear off. He could fight again, but what was the point? They’d destroyed his mind already, there was nothing he could do but sit there and cry in terror. Finally, the neurosurgeon signalled one of the cubs to come over with his tattoo gun. “Would you please continue your work for a few seconds? I’d like to test the subject’s pleasure response.”

The cub returned to the line work on Leon’s thigh, and as soon as the gun started, Leon shivered and moaned. It didn’t hurt–it didn’t hurt at all–in fact, it felt amazing. The cub stopped, and before Leon could help himself, he was begging, “No–no, keep going, do it some more, come on…”

“Good–a sufficient response. Just give me a few more minutes to increase the dopamine response to induce a strong, addictive reaction in the subject…”

It was a few more minutes of work, and then the surgeon announced that he was done, and the first doctor told the cubs to resume their work while he and the surgeon put Leon’s skull back together. Now, however, the sensation of the tattoo guns wasn’t one of pain–but instead of divine pleasure. Leon was grunting and moaning, his puny cock dribbling out cum from his tiny balls the entire time, and soon, he found himself wanting it, wanting them to push the guns in harder, wanting them to make it hurt worse. “Come on, is that the fucking best you can do, fucking drill those things into me!” he shouted, shivering the entire time from head to toe. The first doctor grew tired of Leon’s shouting, and shoved a feeding tube down his throat, and Leon was silent for the next several hours the doctors used to sew him back up. Between the tattoo guns and the feeding, Leon was in heaven, the cubs finishing his arms and legs on both sides, before they all moved onto his huge gut, one of them even tattooing his tiny cock and balls.

Behind him, the two doctors were piecing his scalp back together, and then the second doctor took some strange goo and began smearing it across the incisions. “The FAT team here prides itself on making sure our members receive the best medical care–don’t worry about any scarring subject 436–by morning, you won’t even know we were in here. Of course, the tattoos on your skull would disguise it anyway, so you wouldn’t even need to be concerned.”

Leon, nearly seizing with pleasure from the tattooing, could barely comprehend what the doctor was saying. His sentences were just too long–he’d nearly forgotten what he’d said first by the time he was at the end. He felt so full though, and when the bonds holding his head in place were finally removed, and he could look down at his new tattoos. Looking at the work, it seemed like the cubs were actually being sloppy on purpose. All down both legs were massive motifs of fattening foods, all being devoured by huge men with pig faces. He couldn’t see his cock and balls to know what they’d done there, but both arms were done in tacky redneck–confederate flags, eagles, trailers, beer cans–the works, but it was his gut that attracted the most attention, where words and phrases had been tattooed all over him, all of them humiliating–“Gainer,” “Fat Ass,” “Slob,” “Toilet Slave,” “Whore,” “Trailer Trash,” they went on and on, and when they flipped him over and started on his back, the doctor was kind enough to tell him what they were putting there–a silhouette of a hog’s back, including a pig tail above his ass, so everyone fucking him would know that they were ball’s deep in nothing more than a disgustingly obese sow. His face was given a similar treatment with subtler tattoos designed to accentuate the size of his cheeks and jowls, two tusks curling from his upper lip up his cheeks, and the outline of a pig snout around his nose–and the word PIG repeated four times: on his forehead, across the back of his neck and head, and on both sides over his ears.

Now that most of the tattooing was done, though, two of the cubs brought over a huge collection of metal and began piercing his body. One cub focused on his cock and balls, inserting so many rings, bars and studs that he could feel the weight hanging off of him, every peirce of a needle another jolt of pleasure through his system. The other cub put two thick doorknockers through the flesh behind his nipples, keeping his thick aureolas intact–those were by far the most painful and thrilling, and then he began on Leon’s face. A thick ring in his septum, and then countless rings in his ears, eyebrows and lips, and after the feeding tube had been removed, ten studs in his tongue which made speaking nearly impossible. As a final humiliation, the doctor brought out a set of dentist tools and began prying teeth from Leon’s mouth, seemingly at random, leaving him gap toothed and in so much painful pleasure he could barely move. It was then that he finally felt the stress of the session overwhelming him, and the room faded from view, his last blurred image of the doctor slipping his mask over his nose and mouth, and the stench of Max’s filthy body and the sickly smell of his fat gas sending him off to sleep, and distantly, the sound of a voice in his ears, whispering to him, telling him new truths for the next day. In short sentences and with much repetition–Leon was just a simpleton now after all, and there was no going back.