Something for Something (Part 2)

Commissioned by Anonymous

Before Dr. Taylor could respond, the smoke curling from between the man’s bearded lips snaked up and coiled in on itself, and then flung its way across the room, slamming into his chest and binding itself tightly around him, holding his arms to his sides as he struggled, and through the smoke, he could see the man differently, almost as though there were two men standing in one place–the short, old hairy troll, and then behind him was Miles, that foolish student he’d had blacklisted, and a shiver of terror shot through him. “Miles? Miles, is that you? What the hell happened to you?”

“You happened to me, you fucker!” Miles shouted, “You happened to me, but you know what? Everything’s going to be alright bitch, because I’m here to punish you, and what a sweet fucking punishment it’s going to be. Strip him–no fucking rip his clothes off.”

The smoke tightened around the professor, gripping his suit, and then exploded outward, the fabric ripping to shreds in a flurry around him, and the professor was sitting in front of Miles in his chair, naked, and Miles glared at him. The professor was in his mid 50’s, but was still fairly slim, with an angular, clean shaven face, and Miles could see that he had a decent sized cock and balls, and a relatively smooth body. The professor, in that moment for freedom, tried to stand up and get to the door, but the smoke collected around him again, tripping him and sending him crashing to the floor face first at Miles’ feet. “Who…who are you? What is this.”

“This is payback. This is revenge, you fucker, for ruining my life, so I figured I might as well ruin yours–what do you say? I think that’ll be pretty fair, don’t you? How about we change your attitude first though? I’m sick of looking at that snide fucking look of yours.”

He inhaled deep, and sent out another plume of smoke which curled out of his mouth in a thick tendril, curled in on itself for a moment, and then shot down, pushing it’s way into Dr. Taylor’s mouth in one thick, choking column, and he tried not to breath, but it felt like the smoke was permeating him, driving itself into his body, into his blood, and then into his mind, which began to cloud, almost as though he were drunk or high. He tried to regain his bearings, but it felt like the entire room was spinning aside from the short, wide man in front of him. He looked so stable, he looked so…powerful, and so sexy…

Dr. Taylor tried to shake his head clear, he tried to protest, but the thoughts refused to go away, and they only grew more intense. The idea of being controlled and demeaned and humiliated by this man was turning him on so much…he had done so much wrong in his life, and he wanted to be punished. He craved it suddenly, and he let out a moan, and heard himself say, “Please…please, sir…I…” and then his throat cracked and dried out, but he needed to say something, he needed to show how much he wanted to serve him, and so he crawled forward as best he could with the smoke binding his naked body, until he reached one of Mile’s leather shoes, and he started licking it, tasting the smooth leather, feeling his cock harden against the carpet as he groaned in pleasure.

“You piece of shit. How does it feel, licking my fucking shoes clean? You like being down there, don’t you? I know I can’t quite tower over you, so I think you’re going to spend a whole lot of your life crawling from now on. Hell, maybe I’ll even ride you around like a fucking pony. You’d like that I bet, feeling my huge body crushing your back, eh bitch?”

Dr. Taylor just muttered and moaned. His head was somewhere else, this mind wasn’t his…was it? He had to get back, he had to find his way back, but the smoke was still inside of him, and it wasn’t clouding his thoughts, it was rewriting them. The cloud began to fade, slowly but surely, and these new needs only intensified and grew sharper. He needed to serve this man. He wanted to debase himself. The fact that he was completely naked in front of this troll, licking his shoes clean, only made him hornier.

Miles looked down at his Goliath and smiled. He’d wanted this for so long, and he hadn’t even known it, wanted to see this old fool on the ground naked, but it wasn’t enough yet. He pulled his foot back and walked around Dr. Taylor where he was bound on the floor, willing the smoke to push his ass up a bit so Miles could reach out and knead it with his old hands. “I bet you want me to fuck you, don’t you? I bet you want this big cock of mind to rip open your cherry, I bet you want me to punish you.”

“Y–Yes…” Dr. Taylor sighed, “Please sir, please…fuck me. Fuck me, I deserve it, do whatever you want to me, I need it, please…”

Miles reached under his huge gut and undid the fly of his suit, pulling out his massive, thick cock, amazed at it’s girth. He could barely reach his small hand around the entire shaft, but he wasn’t going to need to jack it off anytime soon. Dr. Taylor was going to be his cumdump from now on. He hefted his apron up and rested it on the small of Dr. Taylor’s back, letting it rest there for a moment as he ran the massive head up and down his crack, feeling it catch on the doctor’s ass each time, feeling the man stiffen with need each time, teasing him, and then he started working it in dry, listening to the man beneath him groan and cry out in pain.

“What, you didn’t think I was going to lube up for your worthless ass, did you? Fuck now, you aren’t worth my spit. You’re getting my cock dry, or you’re not getting it at all, and how would it feel, if I never fucked you?”

“Horrible,” Dr. Taylor muttered, “It would be horrible sir, but please, it’s so big–it hurts.”

“I can take it out. I can take it out and not fuck you at all, is that what you want?”

“No! No, please fuck me, sir.”

“Then beg me to fuck you raw. Ask me to make it hurt. You want it to hurt, pain feels so good, bitch, and you know it, but you’re just a fucking pussy–it hurts every time, but you love it. So fucking beg me for it, and maybe I’ll keep fucking you.”

“Please…” Dr. Taylor moaned, and he felt the words forming in his mind, and he tried one last time to resist, to reassert himself, but the old him was so far away now, this new Dr. Taylor was just a simpering piece of shit, just a worthless cum dump for Miles, for his Master, yes, his master, it was so obvious. “Please fuck me as hard as you can, make it hurt, sir…Make me scream…”

Dr. Taylor did scream, but he didn’t regret his words, it felt great, feeling that monster cock splitting open his ass. Miles was taking deep breaths of the smoke, but none of it was leaving him, it was pulling itself down into his body, into his balls, and it only took his a few dry thrusts once he was all the way in to start cumming, and along with his seed, smoke poured into Dr. Taylor’s ass, the heat of it nearly as excruciating as the short fuck had been, but he felt it first surge into his balls, and he was cumming onto the carpet, unable to stop himself, and he could feel his cock shriveling up, feel his ball emptying and drying and shrinking, and by the time he’d finished, his balls were smaller than grapes, his sack pulled tight up under his miniscule one inch cock. He knew in his mind that he would never get hard again, that it would just flail about during sex, maybe dripping out a bit of sour cum once in a while, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was serving his master.

Miles kept hammering his cock in and out as he came, and as he did, he watched the smoke still binding Dr. Taylor’s body form itself into thick black stripes before solidifying into a leather harness with straps two inches thick. The bottom strap couldn’t actually attach to his cock and balls with a ring–they were too small, so instead it morphed into a longer strap, and as he pulled his cock out, the smoke solidified into a massive dildo and the strap went between his legs, attaching there instead, smashing the doctor’s cock and balls against his body. Finally, the remaining smoke in the room, coalesced around the doctor’s neck and formed into a thick metal collar, and neither the harness, nor the collar, showed any signs of a seam. The doctor would be wearing them underneath his clothes for the rest of his life, when he taught classes, stuttering stupidly along, unable to focus without being near his master Miles, the new head of the chemistry department who had enslaved him.

Miles sighed, and felt the heat start to dissipate as the pipe burned out. He looked up, his cock still out and dribbling cum, and saw Ed in the doorway smirking at him, and Miles glared at him for a second before giving him a smile, and then the guard slipped out before Dr. Taylor could see him.

“Get up you worthless sack of shit,’” Miles said, rolling Dr. Taylor over with his shoe, “Let’s go home, I think we need some time in the dungeon tonight.”

“Y–Yes sir…” Dr. Taylor said, his voice meek. He got up off the floor and put on his spare suit from the wardrobe, covering up his true self beneath it, and then followed his Master out of the building, and drove him to his house. He could dimly remember there being a wife and kids living there with him, but that was ridiculous. He’d always lived here with his Master–no one else, serving him day and night, when he wasn’t teach courses at the college of course, and doing all of the grading for his Master’s courses as well. The entered the house and Dr. Taylor immediately stripped away his suit, and Miles said, “Get down in the dungeon, in the cage. I’ll be down eventually.”

“Yes, Sir…” the slave said, and made his way quickly to the basement door, went down into the fully outfitted dungeon and locked himself into the cage there, to wait for his punishment. Miles meanwhile went up to the master bedroom–to his master bedroom, and stripped out of his own suit, and stared at his naked, fat, hairy body.

“It was worth it, wasn’t it?” he said gruffly, and then smiled, and packed a big pipe that would last him through most of the session he was planning for his slave. He went to his closet and hung up his suit on the rods dropped down a few feet so he could reach them, and then found his leather uniform, and smiled. He could still be an officer in one way, at least, and he pulled it on slowly, wanting to make the doctor wait, like he had waited. He had waited for revenge, and he had gotten it. He had lost much, but in the end, gained more than he could have ever imagined.

The Loser Part Two

Wilton was sweating a bit as he waited for the email to come in. The game was still going on–and it was the end of the day, finally, and he’d done his best, but so far he’d lost every round. He hadn’t managed to eat enough during lunch, and ended up trading 25 pounds of muscle for 50 pounds of fat, giving him quite the paunch suddenly–though at least his clothes still fit. Another masturbating challenge came next, and he almost passed that one, but he’d had to go to a meeting before he could finish shooting the second load in thirty minutes, and squirmed in his seat as his cock shrank two inches and went from cut to uncut. But the current task had been strange, simply telling him to wait in his office and keep working until everyone else had left.

His last coworker walked to the elevator and stepped inside, and almost immediately a new email arrived. He opened it with a bit of dread, and read:

Well done! You actually managed to win a round. No changes for you this time.

Your new task: Go into the restroom and strip naked. Then, lick every toilet seat clean. You have fifteen minutes.

It can’t be serious. He sent an email back with that written down, and all he got back was:

We’re serious. Thirteen minutes.

He went into the bathroom and stripped out of his suit, went into the first stall and looked at the seat, but felt himself gag almost immediately at the thought. Still, he powered through for a few minutes, before throwing up into the bowl and flushing it down, and he just gave up, waiting for the last few minutes to run down, before a new email came into his phone.

You lose! Guess you’re afraid of toilets. Good thing you’ll be diapered and incontinent from now on, you big baby. Still, we think you’ll like the feeling of a full, dripping, stinking diaper. In fact, forget about changing your diapers regularly. Dirty diapers are the hottest fetish for you now, so you wear them for at least a week before putting on a fresh one.

“Wait…what? No!” Wilton said, but it was too late. Looking down, he saw the diaper had already appeared around his waist, and a second later, helpless, he felt piss flood into the front of it, warm and…and kind of nice. In fact, it was really nice, and he felt his soft cock start to harden in the front of the diaper, and he whimpered a little bit. He tried to take it off once he’d finished pissing, but for some reason it wouldn’t come undone, and as he struggled with it, he got fully hard and switched to rubbing his cock through the diaper lustfully, or at least until he heard the door open as someone entered the bathroom–the janitor.

To Be Concluded…

It’s a pilot program for prisoners who we’ve deemed to be unredeemable. With the massive overcrowding of our prison system, it simply is becoming too cost-prohibitive to keep the long term prisoners behind bars, and so, we’ve begun offering this as an alternative punishment–volunteer only. Of course, they don’t know precisely what they’re volunteering for, but if they did, well, we wouldn’t have any volunteers now would we?

We suppose they figure out that something strange is going on when we strap them into the chair. We keep them immobile, because the process requires several oral and subcutaneous injections over a series of days, and the early test subjects always had to be restrained once they discovered what was happening to them. I suppose if we could find some way to work the mental changes in first it would all work better, but alas, the order is too difficult to flip.

The first injection is perhaps the most insidious. The patient generally doesn’t think anything is happening at all, but they all notice that slight tingle in their groin as their cock and balls begin to shrivel up. They don’t disappear entirely–the lack of testosterone is necessary for the remaining steps–but it does come with some side effects, usually a loss of musculature and body hair over the course of the treatment, as well as an increase in appetite. The second stage comes in a series of three doses, administered over a series of days. It relies on the lower testosterone levels to remove any inclination toward violent or unruly behavior from the subject–but again, these shots have their own side effects.

The most obvious is the rapid aging–usually around an additional fifty years or so. The second is severe memory loss–it’s become necessary to fabricate lives for all of our volunteers so that they can live some kind of normal life in the nursing homes they end up in, but none of them come out of it very smart. Still, they remain rather healthy, living ten or fifteen more years before their hearts give out or severe dementia sets in. Still, it’s a far more peaceful life than prison–and far cheaper for the state–even if it’s not the life they would have wanted.

***

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You meet some of the craziest guys at the public golf courses–You’d rather play at the private clubs, but you can’t afford the membership fees–so you’re stuck playing a round with a fucking redneck. He comes over to you, smoking a cigar, well over 300 pounds, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and khaki shorts, and all you can do is make the best of it.

He suggests upping the stakes, and letting the winner of each hole take something from the loser. You don’t really know what he means, but you accept, knowing you’ll be able to outplay this fat redneck any day of the week.

Well, you thought you could. He birdies the first hole to your double bogey, and you ask what you owe him, pulling out your wallet, but he just grins. “I don’t want your money–yet,” he said, “First things first, I want that slim figure of yours, pretty boy.”

Great, a real nutter, you think, but something is glowing–an amulet he’s wearing, and a second later, you feel different. Looking down, you’re stunned to find that you’ve somehow gained close to two hundred pounds–all of the weight the fat redneck just dropped off his body.

“Come on, fatty–we got seventeen more holes to play.”

Unaccustomed to your fat body, you lose round after round to this crazy redneck, who starts dismantling your life. By the end of the front nine, you’ve lost your expensive clothes, your house, your car, your marriage, four inches off your cock, your college education, and six inches of your height.

There’s no hope left for you, really. On the back nine he strips you of your ambition, your heterosexuality, your dominance, your full head of hair, fifty points off your IQ, your virility, and your job. With two holes left, you’re little more than a fat, dithering idiot, hacking at the ball as best you can–and that’s when he starts mocking you, barely hitting the ball further than you on purpose. To your surprise, he lets you win, but when he asks you want you want…you’re stumped. You’re so dull witted now that you can’t even remember what he took, and then he starts talking about his cigar, about how nice it is being a smoker, how he’d hate to give that up more than anything, you bite, and steal away his nicotine addiction.

Before the eighteenth hole the two of you nip off to the woods for a moment–you’re ravenous for a cock. In return, he lets you win the final hole as well. He suggests you take his skill at golf, but in that thick head of yours, a dim bulb still glows.

“Nuh-uh,” you slur, “Gimme yer amulet–that’s wha I want.”

Surprised, but not really minding, he hands it over to you and walks off without another word. Sure, you don’t know how to use it, but maybe you can figure it out, and steal someone else’s life before too long.

Unsuited

Commissioned by Humilisub2

***

“Just consider it an early retirement.”

“Early retirement? What retirement? Everything–all of my savings in wrapped up in this company–in my pension!” the older man shouted in Andrew’s face, who just sat there calmly in his posh desk chair.

“Oh–you were grandfathered into that? I didn’t think anyone here had those anymore. I’m sure you’ll be able to convert some of it into a 401k–”

“Fuck you and your 401ks! I’m sixty two, and you’re just going to fire me? After all these years cleaning your fucking toilets and emptying your trash?”

“It wasn’t my decision, sir. You’ll find some way, I’m sure. Now–I need you to wait outside–security will be by shortly to escort you out.”

The older man stormed to the door, face red, shouting, “You fucking suits–you don’t fucking get it. Ruining people’s lives for the fun of it–as if you’ve ever worked a day in your life. It probably gets you fucking off!” and then slammed the door shut behind him.

Andrew smirked and gave his cock a squeeze. It was a bit hard–fancy that. Maybe he did enjoy this. The company had been thick with layoffs this quarter, in an effort to cut costs and make their lackluster earnings look a bit nicer, and while some people in his position might hate this part–Andrew relished it.

Of course he’d known Bill, the old janitor, had had a pension with the company–that was one of the primary reasons Andrew had been told to fire him. Besides, the guy was sixty-two, and barely got much cleaning done anymore. He could hire two Mexicans for half the payroll to do four times the work the old bastard was putting out. He heard a ruckus outside his door–security arriving–and the din disappeared down the hall. Andrew shuffled Bill’s discharge papers around on his desk, and checked the clock–4:30, almost the end of the day–and figured it could wait until the morning, giving him a chance to sneak out early for an afternoon round of golf. He spent fifteen minutes or so getting his things together and answering one last round of emails, and then realized that he had to take a piss.

He set off down the hall, into the restroom, and headed for the urinal, but as he was getting ready to unbutton and unzip his pants, he caught a strange aroma on the air–smoke. It was almost sweet, but also a little dank–definitely was some sort of tobacco, probably a cigar. He’d certainly been to plenty of smoky poker games with executives, but had never partaken himself. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice his cock release his piss into the front of his pants, down both of his legs where it pooled in his almost new leather shoes. “Sh–Shit!” he cried, trying to stop his flow, but there was nothing he could do, as the puddle of urine around him spread wider, the smoke growing thicker in the room, giving him a headache, and making his stomach knot. He’d never felt like that around cigars before–but he could barely walk straight. He tried to get to the door, to get out, but all he could manage was to slump up against the sinks in pain and nausea.

It was difficult to see himself in the mirror, between his double vision and the growing cloud of haze in the room, but he looked–odd. There was something wrong with his face…no, there was something growing on his face. He reached up with a hand and felt a beard filling in all across his chin, as his hair started pulling back, making him look ten years older than he was, but other things were wrong too. His clothes felt so tight and constrictive all of a sudden, and he started clawing at his tailored suit but it was too late. The fabric began tearing apart at the seams, buttons flying away across the room. When he got the clothes off of him, all that remained were tatters. Looking down at his naked body, he saw that he was growing a large gut covered with hair. He had to stop this–it had to be the smoke, it had to. He started busting into the stalls, finding them empty until the final handicapped stall, where he found a muscular young man, pants off, grinning around a smouldering cigar.

“I was wondering when you’d find your way in here, asshole,” the man said, stroking his dick, and as he took a big inhale off his cigar, Andrew watched as the man’s cock started to grow, increasing in length and girth with every pull, soon passing nine, then ten inches in length. Andrew’s gaze was locked on it, his now bare feet stumbling forward until he fell to his knees and began licking up and down the massive shaft.

“Yeah, you like that big dick, don’t ya?” the man said, grabbing the hair remaining on Andrew’s head and slamming the massive cock down his throat making him gag, “If you like it so much, why don’t you choke on it?” Andrew did his best to oblige him, and after a few minutes was rewarded with a blast of cum shot acros his now heavily bearded face. Andrew gasped for a second, trying to catch his breath, as the man got up, shoved his face down into the toilet with his booted foot, and started pissing all over the back of his head, the stream running down his face and over his eyes and mouth, and the man left, without another word, leaving Andrew soaked and still trying to digest the suddenness of the assault.

The smoke was clearing as the fans worked the room, and Andrew felt some clarity return to him, enough to cough and sputter on the ground, staring down at his changed body and wondering what in the world had happened to him. He heard the door to the bathroom open, as some of his co-workers came in, and he quickly locked the stall door shut, realizing it wouldn’t be good to be found naked in the bathroom. Checking under the partitions, he didn’t see any of his clothes–the smoking man must have taken them as he’d left. Andrew was essentially trapped–he couldn’t go out like this. Perhaps luckily, he’d just fired the janitor, so he’d be safe as the floor emptied for the night. Maybe then he’d be able to sneak out.

The next few hours didn’t pass quickly, and Andrew found his new body had some…unhealthy fascinations. He was so horny now, but he could only get hard when he was smelling or drinking piss. He couldn’t resist lapping up his own mess from the floor, followed by the spunk he shot doing so, and then he cleaned all of the urinals for good measure. The entire time, he tried to stop, telling himself this was wrong, but his body was running on autopilot. His brain kept saying that he needed to do this. He felt guilty, but for what, he didn’t know, and this was almost some sort of…penance.

He didn’t notice the door open as a pile of clothing that was dropped on the floor with a note telling him to get dressed and come down to the shipping bays. What he did notice was the smell–the same smoke from earlier permeated everything, and Andrew felt himself slip back into the fog from before, dressing himself in the dirty jeans, boots and cap (there wasn’t a shirt) and followed the scent of smoke all the way down to the back of the building, where he found the same man smoking what looked like the same cigar, though it looked no shorter.

“Who–Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” Andrew said, his voice sounding strange, so deep and slurred.

The man didn’t say anything immediately–he just dropped his pants and as soon as Andrew laid eyes on his huge dick again, he got down and started sucking it, helpless. After a chuckle, the man finally spoke:

“Me? My name’s Dustin Leaver–you might recognize the last name, since you fired my dad last week. A year before retirement even. Well, when I heard about all the layoffs you’ve been making, I got to thinking that you weren’t suited for your job, so I’m helping you find a new one.

“Now, these cigars are nice, but I think I’ve reached the limit of what I can do to you–I think you’re going to have to do the rest yourself. See, you know you’ve done wrong–I can tell. You know you deserve punishment for the suffering you’ve caused. So I’m gonna give you this cigar, and you’re gonna smoke it, and we’re just gonna see what happens. How does that sound? Because I haven’t done anything to you–this is all you, and I can’t wait to see what happens when you get a good dose of this smoke. Though thanks for the big dick, I wasn’t expecting to get anything out of this. I bet it’ll feel damn good up your ass once you’re all finished.”

Andrew didn’t understand anything that Dustin had said, but he let out a moan of dismay when the cock was pulled from his mouth. The younger man hauled him up to his feet and shoved the cigar between his teeth, forcing Andrew to take a deep drag of smoke deep into himself…and then he understood–he understood all of it. He’d done bad things–horrible things to people. Destroyed lives, ruined retirements, all for the sake of making more money. He needed to be punished–and bad. He felt a quiver in his dirty jeans and pulled out his cock, finding it rapidly shrinking to less than an inch long, as his balls swelled up. There was a sharp pain as metal appeared in his cock and both nipples, but he deserved more–so much more.

He pulled in more smoke, fueling his own latent guilt, feeling his gut balloon out even further into a ball which slowly softened and sagged down over his crotch, a thick layer of gunt absorbing his new nub of a cock. The fur on his body thickened and started losing color, becoming a dingy grey, his beard growing out until it rested on his new moobs, his hair receding back to a wispy fringe of long, greasy hairs. Tattoos blossomed on his body, images of filthy sex acts and degrading names, more piercings springing from his flesh in his ears and face, making him look like a freak. As a final tough, his big balls descended, the sack stretching until it reached his knees, the flesh in between a riot of metal rings and studs. He’d never be able to wear underwear again, and he’d have to keep his balls dangling down one of his pant legs, crushing them with every stride. The cigar in his mouth crumbled to ash, and he licked his lips, feeling around his rotten teeth badly chipped by their collisions with his tongue stud. He fell back down onto his knees in front of Dustin, wincing as his balls smacked against the concrete. “Please sir, use me like the filthy whore I am. Punish me, I deserve it.”

“I’d be happy to, bitch–but I have a few friends who’d love to play too. See, I thought we’d throw you a little party, to break you in–and I think you’ve met all of them before. Come on out, guys!” Dustin shouted, and a crowd of men filed into the room, Andrew vaguely recognizing them as a collection of men he’d fired from the company over the last few months–including the janitor he’d fired just hours ago. He serviced them all night long, drinking down their piss and cum, cleaning out their dirty holes while they tortured his balls and ridiculed his miniscule dick. As the night wore on, Andrew felt his old life drifting further and further away, his mind growing feeble and weak to match his new body. When Dustin offered him a new job in the shipping department the next morning, Andrew was overwhelmed with thanks. He didn’t deserve such kindness, not that he got much of it in his new job.

He was at the bottom of the totem pole now, just a freight worker, but he didn’t do much heavy lifting. He spent most of his days cleaning the bathrooms with his tongue, and chain smoking cigars while he begged the men to use their massive cocks on both his holes. That, it seemed, was his one gift–every dick he saw grew enormous–all the better to rip apart his holes. It was the least he could do. He was far more suited for this position, he knew–and while he wouldn’t say he was happy, he knew it was what he’d earned.

You wake up, and are momentarily hopeful. Please tell me I didn’t do it last night, please… but the cold, wet mattress tells a different story. You wet the bed again. Just like you have for the last two weeks. Every night, you tell yourself you won’t, but nothing helps. Resigned, you get up and go over to the mirror and see what else has changed in the night.

Ever since you started wetting the bed, your body has been changing as well, packing on weight especially, and a few days ago the last of your hair, beard and body hair fell out, leaving you perfectly smooth. Even worse, your cock has been slowly shrinking down to nothing, but no one else has noticed, like this is how you’ve always been.

You still have to go to work though, so you pull on some khakis and a massive shirt which have kept pace with your growth, but the pants are actually a bit roomy in the ass. You don’t think much of it and head for the door, when you find a box on your doorstep.

Wondering if it might be connected to your strange changes, you bring it inside, open it up, and find it packed full of puffy fabric, and a note–“Thought you might start needing these today, little boy,” You separate out one of the garments, and discover, to your disgust, that it’s a diaper.

Who in the hell sent me this, you wonder, and toss the garment back into the box. Suddenly, you feel a rumble in your stomach, and a second later the back of your khakis fills up with a huge load of shit. Your bladder releases as well, wetting the front of your pants with a dark stain. Your cheeks flush red at your complete lack of control, your eyes start to well up, and before you can stop, you’re crying uncontrollably, and the only thing you can think to do is pop your thumb in your mouth and start sucking on it.

Sucking helps calm you down enough to stop your sobbing, waddle into the bathroom, strip, clean yourself off, throw away your clothes, and then return to the living room. With trepidation, you take a diaper and pull it up around your groin, and arousal overcomes you. With your thumb back in your mouth, you rub your tiny cock through the fabric until you shoot a massive wad of cum into the absorbent pad.

When you try to change out of the now soiled diaper, you can’t figure out how to take it off–and being an hour late for work, you just pull on a new pair of slacks and leave, thumb still in your mouth. You worry that if you piss or shit yourself, you might be carrying it around for the whole day, but who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be better–but probably not.