Tag: commission

The Book of Spirits

Commissioned by Scot158

***WARNING***

Contains raunch, watersports, scat, monster TF and castration. Grow some balls and enjoy it. 


“…larazelius moralian trabio–no…tradionominus…”

Marcus paused and looked up from the book, feeling his cheeks heat up, and looked around to make sure no one was watching him, even though he knew he was alone in the apartment. This was silly, so fucking silly, reading from a goddamn book of spells in a language he could barely read–let alone pronounce–and he actually expected it to work? Hell, spells weren’t even real, but what was the problem with trying? He ran a hand along his bare cheek, wondering what it would be like to have hair there, and bent back over the book. There were only a couple of lines left, and then he could be disappointed, and never think about it again.

“…trandinominus dominita rowantine gran–grandicone folicius foralion.”

That was it, the incantation was finished, and he had butchered it, but it was done. Maybe he should try again, and try to get it tight this time. Hell, he would probably never actually get it right–what sort of language was this anyway? He ran his hand against his cheek again and froze. It was scratchy–he could feel stubble. In a flurry, he grabbed up the book he’d bought from the thrift shop and rushed into the bathroom down the hall, flicking on the light and staring at himself in the mirror.

It was stubble–actual stubble. Thick too, way thicker than the peach fuzz he was used to growing. He ran his hand across it again, marveling at the sensation. Twenty-six, and Marcus had never once managed to grow anything resembling facial hair–he’d always wondered what it might be like. When he’d seen that spell in the book, well, he’d never imagined that it would actually work, but he could see the hairs lengthening and thickening right before his eyes, and less than a minute later, he could barely see his cheeks or chin. He had a beard–a real beard like he’d always imagined, and he ran his fingers through it, and realized the growth wasn’t stopping. Frozen in awe, he watched as the beard went from short and trimmed to wild and bushy, before the force of gravity became too much and dragged it down to the top of his chest.

“Fuck…fuck fuck fuck,” Marcus said under his breath. What if it didn’t stop? What if…what if it just kept going forever? He must have messed up one of the words, he must have messed up the entire spell! His eyes glued to the mirror, he thought that maybe the beard was slowing, but he couldn’t be sure. He dug around in the drawers of the bathroom, looking for the scissors he kept there. constantly shoving the expanding beard out of his way so he could keep looking, and there they were. He bundled up the beard in one hand and with the other started hacking at it with the scissors, when he heard a scream of pain–both in his ears, and in his head.

“Hey, that fucking hurts, asshole! What the hell are you doing?” Marcus paused, and looked around for the source of his voice, but he was all alone…wasn’t he? He made to close the scissors on his beard again, but before he could the voice piped up again, “Don’t even fucking think about it, or I’ll make this beard grow so fast you’ll be lost in a pile of hair for the rest of your life.”

Marcus wasn’t listening, though. In the mirror, he’d finally figured out where the voice was coming from. It was the beard. His beard. It was talking. He could see a vague face outlined in the hair there, and when it spoke, the hair moved of its own accord. The beard was alive–how was that even possible? His hand shaking, Marcus dropped the scissors to the bathroom floor.

“That’s better,” the beard said, “Now, shall we introduce ourselves? You can just call me Hairy, if you’d like–it’s easier than my real name.”

“No, no this can’t be happening. I have to…I have to reverse this…” Marcus said, grabbed the book and started flinging through the pages, looking for a counter spell.

“Whoa now, calm down man, it’s alright…Look, you don’t have to do that, don’t send me back, come on…”

Marcus found the spell and he started reading it, enunciating the words as best he could, trying to ignore his still speaking beard.

“No, please. I haven’t been out in years! No, I’m not going back in yet–just stop. Stop the damn spell man, or…fine, we’ll do it the hard way.”

As Marcus kept trying to say the spell, he found the beard twisting his mouth, forcing new sounds out which hardly resembled the spell in the book, but he kept trying. This, whatever this thing was, it had to go, he had to get rid of it. He didn’t notice the tingle creeping all over him for about a minute, when he finally reached what should have been the end of the spell, but he knew it hadn’t worked. But then…what spell had this crazy beard made him say?

He was itchy–so god damn itchy, and looking down, he felt all the color drain from his face. His body–it was hairy. He’d never been hairy, his body had always been as smooth as his face. Hell, he’d never even had much in the way of pubes, but he could see a thick coating up and down his arms now, and it was only getting worse. “No–no this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening…”

“Oh damn that feels good,” the beard said, “Get ready to be one furry mouthfucker man–I can’t believe how long you kept that spell up.”

The itch felt like he was burning now, and he stripped out of his clothes, scraping at his hairy body with his nails for any relief, but there was none. The hair just kept coming, so thick that he couldn’t even see his skin anymore, the beard creeping higher up his cheeks–almost to his eyes. He had a pelt, a fucking layer of fur all over him now. He looked like big foot, he looked like a fucking animal. “What in the hell did you do to me? Why…what is this?”

“Look, just calm down, alright, and let me explain,” the beard said, “Did you even bother reading the books introduction?”

Introduction? No, Marcus had just skipped right to the spell. It shouldn’t have even worked at all! Who in the hell believed in magic anyway? Those were the thoughts running through his head at least, but all he could manage to get out was a quiet “No…”

The beard sighed. “Look, it’s called the book of spirits for a reason, dumbass. The book is full of beings like us. We’re kept locked up until a spell releases us to change something about the caster, or whoever he’s targeting. I’m called Hairy, because–well, it should be pretty obvious what I do. There’s others in there as well. Look, I haven’t been out in a long time, alright? I’m sorry for giving you all this hair, but I…I can’t go back in between the pages yet, I just can’t.”

“This is crazy–I’m going crazy,” Marcus said. The itching had died away, and he was busy stroking the fur, trying to figure out what could cause him to hallucinate like this.

“Ha, crazy? Try living in a book for a few millennia, and then you’ll see what it’s like to be crazy,” Hairy said, “Look, just a couple of days, alright? That’s all I need, and then I’ll go back in the book, and you’ll be as hairy as you want to be–no more, no less…how does that sound?”

A beard. His beard was talking to him. The beard that was really a spirit, a spirit that had given him a massive beard and this disgustingly hairy body, and he was supposed to deal with this thing? “No, I can’t. Change me back, and then get the hell out of my body.”

“Come on man, please?”

“Fuck no–this is crazy–I just want my old self back, alright? Now change me back, and get the fuck out!”

“Well I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

As much as Marcus didn’t want to admit it–it was true. He couldn’t make the spirit go back, but he also couldn’t walk around as this hairy monstrosity for a few days, with a talking beard. “Look…I’m…I’m sorry, alright?” Marcus said, deciding he might as well try to be friends, since he might be stuck with this guy for a while. “I just got, well, a bit scared.”

“No kidding,” Hairy said, the beard rustling in laughter, “Still, I gotta say it looks good on you. I love a furry beast, the furrier the better. Man, the last guy who let me out–what, ten years ago? He just wanted a little moustache–boring as fuck! This is way more interesting.”

“Ten years? I thought you said you were in there for millennia!”

“Ha, not me, thankfully–I get out fairly regularly. Still, some of the guys in there–dang, they haven’t seen the light of day in a long while.”

Marcus looked at the leather bound book and frowned, trying to imagine what it must be like. “I’d probably go crazy.”

“Yeah, well so do they–trust me. Now–how about we go out for a bit, get some fresh air? I want to see what’s changed since last time I was out. Is that Kennedy guy still president?”

“Kennedy? That was…like, sixty years ago. You aren’t very good with time, are you?”

“Eh, what’s a few years here or there?” Hairy said, “Come on, let’s go!”

“I can’t go out looking like this–besides, Colby will be home…oh crap,” Marcus said, realizing that Colby, his roommate, was due home any second. “Look, can you…can you make me look normal for a bit? Colby will be home any second, and…well, he’s easily surprised.”

“I can do that,” Hairy said, but then paused, “Hey…wait, this is just a trick to get me back in the book isn’t it?”

“What?” Marcus said, “No! I look like a freak, come on–quick!”

“No, I like you like this, so this is how you’re staying.”

Marcus scowled, but didn’t have time to work out a retort. Colby had come home sometime during the conversation, turned the corner and saw the hairy brute in the bathroom and screamed. “What in the fuck–oh my fucking Christ!”

Colby was frozen in place, and Marcus didn’t know how this could get worse, when his beard spoke, “Oh, is that Colby? He’d look good with a beard too. How about it?”

Colby went as white as a sheet.

“Shit,” Marcus said, “Colby–I can explain!”

His roommate, however, had already taken off into the kitchen, and when Marcus rounded the corner, Colby brandished a knife at him. “What the–what the fuck are you? What are you doing in my apartment?”

“Colby, it’s me, Marcus–just calm down for a second–”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Colby shouted, and fumbled his phone from his pocket, apparently to call the police, and Marcus knew he had to fix this somehow. He turned around and ran back into the bathroom and grabbed the book of spirits and then back to the kitchen, flipping through the pages for the immobilization spell he’d seen earlier. He opened it to the page and started reading the spell, and he heard, and felt, Hairy start to protest, the beard squirming back and forth, but he wasn’t going to be deterred this time by a bunch of sentient facial hair. He had to keep Colby from calling the police, or else he’d probably be stuck like this forever, and in a jail cell, looking like the hairiest freak on the planet. He finished the spell, directed it towards Colby, and saw him drop the phone suddenly and bend over, clutching his stomach.

“Oh god, what have you done?” Hairy said, and Marcus realized that he wasn’t sure what he’d done. The spell was supposed to immobilize him, right, so then why was Colby still moving? And…and growing? He was growing, and getting fatter, but that didn’t make any sense at all.

“I thought…I thought it was an immobilization spell–what’s happening to him?”

“You fucking idiot,” Hairy said, “It sure as hell will make him immobile–now quick, find the dismissal spell, or else you aren’t going to like who comes out.”

“I can’t…I don’t…” Marcus said, trying to take all of this in. His friend was still filling up the kitchen–already he had a massive gut. He kept trying to bend over and grab his phone, but his belly kept getting in his way, and he tumbled over onto his face, before rolling over onto his back and trying to stand again, but the fat seemed to be piling up on top of him and forcing him to stay down. Marcus was just captivated by the sight of his struggles, until he felt Hairy yank down on his beard, pulling his attention back.

“Did you fucking hear me? Find the spell!”

“No, you tell me what is going on here. What’s happening to him?”

“Look at the spell again, and maybe read past the title this time.”

Marcus found the book on the ground and read the spell, and saw what he’d missed. It was definitely an immobility spell, but not like he’d thought. It was designed to make the target so fat he’d never be able to move himself again. “Oh…fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck, but that’s not the real problem, the problem is who’s going to be coming out, now that you’ve cast the spell. He’s busy changing your friend at the moment, but that won’t last long at this rate–fuck he’s powerful. There was a time he’d need a week to pull something like this off.”

“Who? Who are you talking about?”

“Just shut up and listen for a moment, alright? Look, every spell has a spirit in the book who makes it happen, right? That’s why I came out when you cast the beard spell. Well, some spells aren’t cast nearly as often as others. I mean, some of us get out once a year or so, usually Muscles, and a few others. I usually come out a few times every century. However, some of us haven’t been out in a very, very long time. And the longer we stay in, the stronger we get, and well, the crazier we get too. And that spell, well, that spell happens to be controlled by someone I’d call Filthy, and I have a feeling he is both incredibly powerful, and incredibly insane–so hurry the fuck up and find the spell to dismiss him, or we’re gonna be really fucked.”

Marcus looked over and saw that where Colby was, there was little more than a giant heap of fat attached to a screaming head pushed up against the counter, the fat overflowing now and knocking over furniture. How heavy was he now? He must be well over five or six hundred–could he be a thousand already? Heavier? How heavy did someone have to be to be unable to move? Another yank on his beard, and Marcus grabbed up the book, thumbing through for the dismissal spell, but he was having a hard time finding it. He was close when he heard a new voice, a deep rumbling laugh, and looking over, he saw that in the folds of Colby’s massively fat body a face had manifested–and it didn’t look particularly friendly. “Well Hairy, what do you think? Sure is nice being out after all these years.”

“Ha, yeah…no kidding,” Hairy said, while Marcus kept looking, “How long has it been, Filthy? A millenium?”

“Ha, no…try four millennia. Four millennia, seven centuries, eight decades, three years, five months and twenty-six days, as the calendar goes at the moment.”

“Wow…that’s…that’s a long time.”

“No kidding,” Filthy said, the folds curling up into a wicked smile.

“Marcus? Marcus, are you there? What’s going on? Why…why did I get so fat, and what’s this…this voice in my head, Marcus…It’s so loud…so…so dirty…”

“Hold on Colby, I’m trying to fix this,” Marcus said, but Filthy laughed.

“Oh, the dismissal spell? But I’ve only just come out! Don’t you think we ought to play for a bit before I go away again?” Filthy said, and before Marcus could react, the folds of Colby’s fat that formed Filthy’s mouth parted, and a long, slimy tongue whipped out, wrapped itself around the Book of Spirits and Filthy swallowed it whole.

Marcus just stared at the grinning face, and he felt Hairy say, “Well fuck.”

“So what now?” Marcus said.

“Well, I’d suggest running, to be honest.”

“Marcus, no, you have to help me, help…” Colby said, and Filthy laughed.

“My goodness, so much knowledge in here, so many spells, so many spirits…You know Hairy, I think you need to go away for a bit,” Filthy said, and quickly rambled off a spell. Marcus felt the spirit being hauled out of his hair and drawn back into Filthy’s gullet, and into the book which now resided there, leaving Marcus all alone, and faced with a massive problem.

“Marcus? Marcus, where are you? What is this thing? What’s going on?” Colby was saying, wheezing a bit. His body was so massive, and he fallen at such an angle, that he couldn’t see much besides his fat chest and the floor. He was so tired all of a sudden–just lifting up his head was a massive effort, and the voices, all of the voices in his head. The loudest one, the nastiest one though, it kept…telling him to do things, to enjoy it, to revel in being this fat, to imagine himself filthy, to imagine himself shitting and pissing himself, to imagine himself unshowered for years. The voice was terrifying, and he couldn’t get away from it.

Marcus skirted around his friend’s massive frame towards his face, “Don’t worry Colby, I’ll figure out…something.”

Filthy laughed, “Ha, fat chance, unless you managed to memorize that dismissal spell, you’re stuck with me until I’m good and done with this world, which I don’t think will be for quite a while. Still though, you’re a bit of a bother–why don’t I find someone else to keep you company while Colby and I have some fun together?”

“Now hold on, isn’t there some way we can work this out? Look, I didn’t mean to summon you, I just didn’t want Colby to call the cops or something.”

“Well maybe I should have!” Colby shouted, “Look at what you fucking did to me.”

“Well I damn well didn’t mean to.”

“This is touching, really, but I don’t understand how reminding me of the fact that you were going to leave me trapped in that book for the rest of eternity can be a good way of starting a discussion,” Filthy said.

“Look, I just mean, that maybe we can work something out where we’re all happy, alright?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. See, I know I can convince Colby here to see things my way, and that just leaves the question of what to do with you. Now, I think that with all that fur of yours, you’d make quite a lovely little pet, don’t you agree Colby?” Filthy said.

“What?” Colby said his voice weak, the voice growing louder in his head, “I don’t…I mean, sure–so…so loud…”

“Colby, come on man, you have to fight it,” Marcus said, but Colby didn’t answer. He was losing this fight, and should probably bail, but before he could turn and run, he heard Filthy spew another spell in his direction, but unlike before where he’d barely felt anything as Hairy entered him after the spell, this one hit him physically like a train, an invisible force plowing into him, hurling him to the floor and sending him flying across the room into the wall.

“Have fun Beast. Now Colby, why don’t we continue our little talk? I have so much to tell you.”

“Beast? What?” Marcus said, picking himself up off the ground slowly. He could feel something inside him, something rampaging around in his veins, the heat building in his body, and he was panting and huffing. He lumbered over into the bathroom, every step strange and looked at himself in the mirror. Difficult as it was to make it out through his hair, he was changing again, and it wasn’t going to be pretty, he could tell. His nose…it was flattening, looking almost ape like, and when he opened his mouth to gasp, he saw that his teeth had sharpened into carnivorous fangs. He looked down at his hands, seeing his fingers pull in, shortening as his nails grew dark, sharp and vicious, the palms becoming tough pads.

“No…No no no,” Marcus said, even that simplest of words mangled by his new mouth, but the rampage was only just starting, he could feel the heat growing fiercer, the flood racing to every inch of his body, burrowing into his marrow, and the pain, it started as an ache and erupted into flaming bones, Marcus letting out a roar as his frame grew, packing on pound after pound of brutal muscle, his shoulders hunching over as his arms lengthened, his hands settling down on the ground. Even with his new posture, he still managed to outgrow the bathroom, and he squeezed out, cracking open the door frame as he shoved his way through. If he could stand upright, he’d have been over twelve feet tall, but in his new position on all fours, he merely crested nine, and was so wide he’d never be able to navigate this apartment, but strength and power and fury and anger and so much more rushed through him at frantic paces.

Marcus did his best to steel himself for the spirit’s assault, but it was not the kind of assault he’d expected. Beastly did not have a mind, or a voice. It had instinct, it had rage, it had greed. It appealed to every one of Marcus’ own worst instincts. Lust–he shifted his balance to three paws, one hand crudely gripping his shaft as it emerged from the sheath running up his belly and began stroking, a call somewhere between an ape and a cur coming from his mouth. Wrath–the claws raking their way across his tender shaft, the sensation new and thrilling and pleasing in ways he could have never imagined. Pride–he saw himself in the mirror, his narrow eyes, teeth bared, the power he held now, he was strong, he was alpha, he was a dominator, he would rule those beneath him. He snarled as he came, his foul, rich seed soaking the carpet in a swath before him, his musk, his territory, his right, his rule.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Colby was still trying to process what had happened to him. The events of the last few minutes had happened so rapidly that he still had a hard time believing that all of this was real. In fact, there was no way this could be real–just no way. He was probably just asleep somewhere, and he’d wake up, and he wouldn’t be this massive blob of fat, and Marcus would be normal, and none of this would have ever happened.

“You can keep telling yourself that, but it’s never going to be true,” Filthy said, and Colby whimpered, still not used to the fact that the spirit inside him could read his thoughts. “You know Colby, there’s really no reason for you to fight me here, if you simply cooperated, we could have so much fun together. Frankly, the way you keep fighting me, it’s starting to annoy me.”

“No, this is crazy. Get out of my body–get out of my head, just get out!”

“Aww, but I like it in here so much! Still, I must say that we need to make a few more changes here, now so I can feel a bit more at home–how does that sound?”

A stench–something stank, like a locker room, or a toilet, or an outhouse, or something equally ripe and horrid, and after a moment of gasping for breath, Colby realized it was him. He managed to shift himself up a bit, using all of his little remaining strength, and he could see that his entire body was coated in filth, a thick layer of sweat, mud, grime and who knew what else. He wanted to vomit, and yet…something about it…Was his cock hard?

“Yes…yes it is,” Filthy said, “I think you like being dirtier than you let on.”

“No, no you’re messing with my head.”

“Aww, just a little, but come on, admit it–you like it. It’s getting you so horny, that stench of yours, that filth.”

Colby let out a groan, and with a great effort, he found he could rock his body back and forth, the folds of nasty fat rubbing his cock and making him shiver with lust. Filthy was helping too, tightening the folds to make it even more pleasurable, and Colby took in a deep sniff of his own stench, thrilled by it.

“Think about it, Colby–between you and me, we could rule this world. You could be a king of kings, imagine all the world coming to worship you, serve you and your filthy, fat body–doesn’t that just thrill you? Doesn’t that make you happier than anything?”

Colby knew he should say no, but it was tempting–oh, so tempting. And it felt so good, thrusting his cock into his fat, the precum leaking all over his gunt, the copious amounts actually puddling under his fat ass. It was this scene that Marcus found when he came around the corner, snarling. An intruder, Marcus thought, imagining all the cruelties he could inflict upon him, all of the depravities. The beast in him hadn’t robbed away his intellect, it had honed it on the whetstone of instinct. Everything was so clear, so simple. Dominate, or be dominated, and he would rule, he would, he could feel it pulsing in his heart now, resting there, the beast at his core. How could he have been scared of this? He had been set free, he could see the world for what it was now. His senses were heightened, he could smell…just smell. Humans couldn’t smell, they had no idea what it was truly like, and my, what he could smell in the kitchen. The closer he came, the ranker it became, filthier than he could have imagined. Still, he would win, he would rule.

He sat back, ready to pounce, but Filthy was ready for him. Before Marcus could even begin his pounce, before he could open up that massive belly with his claws, he felt words draw the beast from him, and the confidence of instinct was suddenly replaced by horror crashing in upon him. He was a freak, a monster. He tried to speak, to plead for his life and sanity and freedom, but the noise he made were hardly recognizable as speech, though its pitiful tone communicated plenty. And now, now Marcus could see what Filthy had wrought while he was otherwise occupied. It was the stench rolling off Colby that he couldn’t get past, it assaulted his sensitive nose and refused to let up, and from the sighs and groans coming from Colby, it sounded like he was…enjoying it.

“Glad you could join us Marcus, you’re looking…well,” Filthy said. Marcus let out a whimper of fear, and backed away, doing his best to make his massive frame look as small and non-threatening as possible, but Filthy just laughed. “That’s the spirit, but still, I think a little time with my friend Submission will help clarify how things will be working from now on.” Filthy worked another spell, and for a moment, Marcus thought nothing had happened…and yet…

Doubt. It started as doubt, questioning his resolve from earlier. Who was he to have been so presumptuous? How could he have thought it was his right–his privilege, to rule? How could he have imagined himself as an alpha? No…No, that wasn’t his place, that wasn’t his place at all, he was lower than that. He was…a…a pet…

Marcus shook his head, trying to sort out the spirit’s work from his own thoughts, but it was working through his mind too quickly. He could smell that horrific musk, but rather than disgust him, it…it was a sign that the massive blob in there was stronger than him. He was weak, he was so weak and powerless, he lived…no, he existed to serve his better…his…his master, his Master. He came forward, head bowed, honored to be in the presence of so magnificent a being as his Master, and Filthy let out a booming laugh. “Well Colby? What do you say we help your new pet understand it’s new place?”

Colby let out a groan and shudder of joy, and a new scent flooded the air. Urine–Master was marking it’s place–it’s property. Marcus was it’s property, so it would only be right…Marcus took a step forward, to where he could see a puddle growing on the tile floor. But no, not just piss, there was shit too, he could see it piling out from between Colby’s massive legs– how could Colby have so much inside him? It looked like enough to overflow several toilets, and yet it kept coming, and from Colby’s shudders he was enjoying it far more than Marcus would have thought, but that wasn’t important. The animal got down and rolled in the muck, taking on it’s Master’s scent, submitting to his rule, and as he rolled, and before he could help himself he was feasting on it, drinking and licking and eating it down, a shudder coursing through him and he came once more, but not the torrent from earlier. The cum leaked from the sheath and Marcus felt so ashamed. How could he have done that? How could he have allowed that pleasure for himself, when he had not pleased his master first?

“Oh what a naughty little beast,” Filthy said, “What do you think Colby, wasn’t your pet naughty for cumming without permission?”

“Yeah…Yeah, that was a bad thing! Bad beast!” Colby said, and Marcus wanted to just curl up and die. How could he have disappointed his Master like that?

“I think we’ll have to punish him, don’t you? I don’t think such a naughty beast should have the privilege of cumming ever again, do you Colby? What do we do to naughty pets who can’t control their urges, Colby?”

“We…we cut their balls off,” Colby wheezed, and laughed, “We cut their fuckin’ balls off, is what we do.”

“That’s right, Colby, we cut their fuckin’ balls off. Have at them Subby.”

Marcus pleaded, he begged, but he could already feel Subby working away at his sack, feel it shrinking, and…and he didn’t deserve them, anyway. He had been a bad beast, a very bad beast indeed, and he should know better. The crushing pain as his balls were shrunk away further and further collapsed Marcus to the ground, wallowing in Colby’s filth, but soon it was overtaken by a sense of calm. He felt so…empty, and with one paw he explored his sack and found nothing…but that emptiness–he could fill it with something else. With adoration, with love for his Master. He crawled over and started licking his Master’s folds, thanking him without words for the honor of serving him, apologizing for his indiscretion, and admitting that his Master had made the right choice. Marcus felt so much better neutered, now he could focus on what was really important–serving his Master.

“That’s a good beast,” Colby said, one fat hand stroking Marcus’ shoulder and joy like he’d never felt erupted inside the animal, “Now, I went and made a big mess–and it made me damn hard. Get in there and suck me off like a good bitch.”

“Without a moment of hesitation, Marcus dug in under his Master’s folds of fat, careful of his claws, and began licking, lapping and sucking at the ripe shaft, Filthy urging both of them on, dragging them deeper into the sick and twisted fantasy of a long trapped spirit, and Filthy wondered what other sorts of terror he could wreak upon the world which had denied him freedom for so long. Colby could see in their mind’s eye what he had planned. He could see himself, so huge now, as massive as a house, his musk carried on the winds for miles, the sign of his reign. The world below him, the men caught in orgies of filth, his hordes of pets among them. Yes, Marcus was only the first, but there would be more, so many more abominations, each stranger and more hideous than the last. So many spirits had been trapped in that book for far too long–they deserved a chance to be free, a chance to shape the world–provided it fit in with Filthy’s vision–of course. With a powerful shudder and moan, he came, feeling Marcus’ raspy tongue lapping up his dirty seed, and he was no longer fighting Filthy’s vision–now, he was a part of it–a willing part, and as he felt his body begin growing once more, the apartment building cracking and crumbling around him as he filled the rooms to capacity, he couldn’t wait to see it come to fruition.

Bait and Switch (Part 3)

“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to dress like that,” Bruce said as they walked down the street to the bar under the streetlights, “I mean, don’t you feel a little bit of shame at making people look at that?”

Charles rolled his eyes. Ever since they’d left the hotel, Bruce hadn’t let up once about his chosen attire–or lack thereof. All he had on were some very short black shorts pulled over his gut and held up by leather suspenders, with black boots on his feet, and another cigar burning in his bearded jaws. “Not everyone is ashamed of their body you know. Trust me, in a few more years, chances are you’ll look like this too, so you’d better start thinking about how you’re gonna feel about that.”

“Ha, not if I can help it.” Bruce said, sporting one of the tailored suits from the room. He didn’t have any other clothes, and it wasn’t like he planned on picking anyone up at a bear bar anyway. They found the bar a few blocks away, and discovered that it was a bit sleazier than either of them were expecting. It made no beef about it being a leather bar, and even Charles didn’t feel like hitting on any of the crude bikers and leather men he saw hanging at the bar and the corners of the room. Still, he didn’t see the bear from earlier anywhere in the bar, and he’d even arrived a well after dark just to make sure he’d get there first. A bouncer came up to them however, and said to Charles, “Hey, you Carl?”

“Oh…uh, yeah…” he replied, recalling the name the bear had used earlier at the pool, “I think…yeah, where is he?”

“He rented one of the backrooms. Number three. It’s through the door there next to the bar,” the man said, then started off again.

“Hey, wait, did you happen to get his name?”

The bouncer looked back at them rolled his eyes and just kept going. Charles didn’t know if it was because he thought his question had been a joke, or just a stupid question. Maybe both. He shrugged at Bruce, and together they went through the door, down a dark, nearly unlit hall, and found the door with a crooked three hanging on it. It was unlocked, and after a moment of hesitation, Charles opened the door and stepped inside.

Sure enough, the bear was waiting for him, dressed in fairly typical leather gear, but it was immediately apparent that he hadn’t expected Bruce to join them. There was a flash of surprise across both of their faces, but it was Bruce who spoke, “I…I remember! I remember you in the bar, and we talked about…about–oh god, you–what have you done to us?”

With a flick of the wrist, the bear slammed the door shut behind both of them, trapping them inside. “So the two of you have been talking? Sharing notes?”

“I don’t…what’s going on?” Charles asked Bruce.

“I remember now. I was at the bar two nights ago, when this guy came up and bought me a drink. I thought he wanted sex, but he just wanted to talk, and he did want to talk about you. I don’t know why, but I remember…I remember telling him that I was envious of your life, your old life–and it has to be you doing this to us. What did you do?”

“My life? You wanted to be a bear?” Charles asked, still not understanding.

“Well he’s thicker than I expected,” the bear said, “How about you quiet down and let me talk to Bruce for a moment,” the bear said, and Charles felt a force throw him back against the wall, knocking his cigar from his mouth a set of manacles locking down all on their own, a gag floating off the wall and inserting itself into his now empty mouth. “Better. Now, you. You shouldn’t be here. I gave you what you wanted–a youthful body, freedom from smoking, a good mind. Now why don’t you just run along and enjoy yourself and leave me to my work?”

“Dude, this is sick. Change us back! I didn’t want this, and this guy didn’t even do anything to either of us! This is fucked up.”

“Like you know anything about what’s going on here,” the bear said.

“Look, just change us back, alright? Why are you even doing this to us?”

The bear was just silent, Bruce staring at him. It suddenly occurred to Charles that, more likely than not, his roommate was in way over his head. This guy obviously had some sort of powers, magic or what not, but he couldn’t say anything to try and warm him. “What would it take to get you to leave? What else do you want?” the bear finally said, grinning a bit. “I mean, you don’t really miss your old body do you? And you told me how much you hated being old and a smoker. I know you don’t want that back. So what do you want?” Bruce didn’t know how to respond, but the bear was already walking towards him, and given Bruce was backed up against the locked door, he didn’t have anywhere to go. “It’s the life you want, isn’t it? You don’t want to be a businessman, you just want to be a dumb chaser, working a blue collar job and fucking every bear you see, don’t you? Hell, even if that’s not what you want, I’m sure that will be plenty to get rid of you.”

There was a glow in his hand, and in it Charles recognized the same strange light which infused the grey spaces of his dreams, and then he slammed the palm of his hand against Bruce’s forehead, yielding a flash of light bright enough to make Charles wince. When he could see again, he saw a very different Bruce standing by the door. Gone was the suit he’d had on, replaced by a pair of filthy, ripped denim shorts, his hair shorn to the scalp, and the trace of a thin goatee around his mouth. He grinned widely, looking from the bear in front of him towards Charles chained on the wall and grinned. “Well, I don’t know what’s going on in here, but any chance I could join in? Looks like a lot a fun to me. How about it daddy bear?” he said, grabbing the bear’s crotch lewdly.

Charles wanted to cry. He hadn’t even known Bruce that well, but to see his mind wiped out like that…it was terrible. It didn’t even look like he remembered either of them, or what was going on here. Who in the fuck was this bear? Why in the hell was he doing this?

“Maybe later–but for now, go sleep,” the bear said, and sent the newly remade Bruce crumpled to the ground, deep asleep. “Now, that’s better. How about we get down to our business?” With a flip of a finger, the gag popped out of Charles’ mouth, the cigar floating back into his mouth.

“You…you killed him. How could you do that? He didn’t do anything to you!”

“Don’t blame me–you’re the one who brought him here. Besides, he’ll be plenty happy like that, trust me. Bears love chasers like him. I’m sure he’ll love going from bear run to bear run, fucking all the way. It’s not like that isn’t what he was doing with his life anyway.”

“Why me? Why us? What is this all about?” Charles focused as hard as he could, trying to piece together everything he had seen, and he felt a burst of clarity. He hadn’t been this bear two days ago. He’d been a smart, healthy young businessman, and now…Now this bear had taken all of that from him and turned him into a filthy, cigar smoking bear. He looked down at what he was wearing and felt a wave of disgust roll through him. He looked just like all those bears he’d hated, and worst of all, he hadn’t even noticed what was going on! Bruce had been smarter than him, and look at him now. He looked at the bear, trying to break his hands out of the chains desperately, knowing he had to get away from here as fast as he could, or who knew what was going to happen to him.

“Don’t worry Carl. I’m only doing this because I love you. Just one more change, and then I promise everything will make perfect sense, and then we’ll be back together, just like I promised. Now, how about you go to sleep? There’s one more dream you need to have, and then we’ll be finished.”

The bear’s fingers were waving in front of his eyes now, and Charles did his best to look away, but they were…sparkling. It was hard to see, but the small glimmers were there, he was certain of it. If only he could focus closer, harder, if only…

The next thing he knew, he was back in the grey of the nether. In his mind, Charles knew he was dreaming, and he tried to fight it, to get away from the force holding him in place, now drawing him forward. However, it wasn’t Bruce he was facing this time, it was someone, or something else. A white spot in his vision, almost like a blind spot–like there was something there but he couldn’t see it, slipping through his vision. And the bear was there, making motions, drawing him closer to the spot, but it looked like he was struggling with…something. Where the going had been smooth in the past two dreams, this time he moved forward in jerks and sudden halts, but he didn’t think he was the one fighting the bear off. Still though, he could feel the bear drawing him and the spot closer together until he was mere inches away, and then he felt it enter him, like they had suddenly intersected in space.

Regret–anger. A flurry of emotions surged through him, overwhelming him. It was a person, the spot was a person, but not just anyone. Carlton Cassidy, born on May 6th, 1961, the lover of Samuel Davis until he was killed in a car crash two months ago. It was a ghost, he was being possessed by a ghost, he could feel himself drifting away, obliterated bit by bit as Sam, the bear, forced them together, and the ghost–Carl–he was angry. Furious. He didn’t want to live again, he didn’t want to take a life as his had been taken, not through violence or through rage. The surge of spirit inside him ripped him away from Sam’s spell, and he heard a voice speak through his lips, “Sam, don’t this isn’t right. This isn’t what I want.”

“Quit fighting me Carl!” the bear shouted back, focusing harder, trying to keep the spell together, “This is the only way! I’m not going to lose you, I can’t lose you.”

Pity, Love. Too many emotions, burning and ripping through his mind and body, every pass obliterating something else of his mind. Charles couldn’t hold on much longer, he tried to fight it, to keep himself together but he had no defenses. He could sense that Carl was shielding him from as much as he could, and now…now he was floating closer to Sam, his arms out, ready to embrace him. It wasn’t the only way they could be together, there was another. The light from his body, from Carl’s spirit burned him and when he circled his arms around Sam, the flames were so strong he couldn’t even grasp them, caught in the inferno of love and lust and vengeance of these two lovers ripped apart from each other, the ether ripped apart around him, and he fell out of their embrace, down into darkness.

He fell, unable to think or feel, his body mangled and torn apart, charred in places. He hit the ground, some kind of ground suddenly. He was certain he was dead, but he wasn’t. The dream…the dream was still there, but he couldn’t remember anything, his mind a muddle of Charles and Carl, of love and fear and anger and disgust and then he saw he wasn’t alone. Bruce–floating, asleep–coming closer, his eyes opening. They saw each other–into each other, and something…he couldn’t remember. It was hot once more, but no longer ripping him apart, instead pulling him back together, dragging him out of the depths, ripping him down and into Bruce’s arms and onto the floor of the dingy bar’s backroom–awake, and alive.

He didn’t have much recollection of what happened next. They were alone when they’d woken up, aside from a curious pile of ash on the ground between them. The first thing either of them remembered clearly was Bruce pulling Charl down from the wall, the manacles opening all on their own suddenly, the big bear crashing down on top of the slim chaser. They’d helped each other up, looked in each other’s eyes…and as they often told their friends, the rest was history.

Neither one of them could ever say why, they just felt right together, and when they both discovered that they had a key to the same hotel room, well they just considered it luck and destiny. Charl never did manage to recall what had happened in that room, or much else about himself. There were fragments but nothing substantial. Seeing a psychiatrist, and then a neurologist, both were puzzled–it looked like his brain’s synapses had been burned clean. There was no evidence of damage, and yet–it looked like something had jumbled all of them up into patterns which made no sense. Charl decided it was best to not worry about it. He had love, at least.

His dreams though, did trouble him. Dreams of fire and love which he could never remember but left him caught between sorrow and lust when he awoke which were so fierce that he’d nearly always roughly fuck Bruce immediately after, sobbing his eyes out the entire time. Bruce would hold him in bed afterwards, pulling him close, not knowing what to say, but somehow understanding perfectly what was going on in his partner’s mind. He loved his bear–loved him with a force, a heat he couldn’t explain, and Charl felt the same–he could feel it. Even if there were no answers for either of them–they had each other, there in the dark every night, and that was enough. Just barely, but enough all the same.

Bait and Switch (Part 2)

He was back in the ether again, facing Bruce bare across the strange space, and this time, he had no hesitations about approaching him. He wanted him–badly. However, this time, their cocks didn’t connect. In fact, their cocks passed right through one another, as though they were ghosts. The contact they did make was at the belly–or their belly button to be exact, the two holes coming together in perfect alignment, despite the fact that Bruce was several inches taller than Charles was. The shock passed through him as before, but didn’t throw him back immediately. If anything, he felt even more drawn towards Bruce…and as he watched, his roommate was starting to change. His chubby frame started pulling in, deflating and shrinking a bit, though the muscle grew more defined as it did. His face uncreased, skin looking younger as his hair turned from grey to light brown. But if Bruce was getting younger, than that meant–

Sure enough, Charles looked down and saw that he was changing as well, though in reverse, packing on fat in a generous belly as his muscular frame sagged with age. He did grow taller, feeling his bones lengthen and stretch while Bruce’s contracted, but when the two of them finally were flung back and away, Charles was no longer the young, muscular cub he’d been the day before–he was now a full fledged daddy bear. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be terrified and angry. In this space, he had a clearer memory of the earlier dream as well. Someone–something was doing this to him and Bruce and he had no idea why, and yet, looking down at his new body, he found himself loving it. He loved bears after all, why shouldn’t he want to look like one too? It was already starting to feel more natural, like this is who he was supposed to be, and the grey ether slowly dissolved away around him. Before disappearing however, he caught sight of someone else in the middle distance watching him. It wasn’t Bruce–at least, not the new Bruce, but he knew that there was no way he could reach the man before the dream faded, and even if he’d had time, the ether’s physics would have thwarted him anyway. Instead, he focused hard, trying to commit the image to memory as he fell back into his own sleep, dreams of sex with bears, all bearing the same half-formed shadow visage.

The next morning, while Charles couldn’t find anything immediately wrong with his new, older body, the rest of reality didn’t seem so accommodating. He started the day with a cigar out on the balcony, watching the staff of the bear convention set up for a pool party scheduled for later that afternoon. He found himself wishing he’d known about the other event so he could have signed himself up for that convention too–still, maybe he’d have a chance to sneak in if he was careful. The first troubles of the morning came when he tried to put on his suits–none of them–absolutely none of them fit. They seemed to have been made for someone the size of Bruce–a twink–not for a big bear like himself. Still, he had to wear something nice to the convention, so he squeezed his way into something and headed downstairs, eating a very large breakfast before heading to the convention.

He didn’t stick around for long. Between his discomfort in the suit, his raging cock, and his constant need to break for a cigar back up in his room, he wasn’t all that present anyway. He cut out early to give himself at least an hour for a hearty, greasy lunch. He knew he should eat healthier–in fact, it seemed like just yesterday that he’d been on a strict diet, but he did need to keep this belly fed. He couldn’t have it shriveling up and disappearing on him after all, he liked having one far too much..didn’t he? He spent most of the hour eyeing the various bears eating there as well, and was pleased to see he got as many appreciative glances as he was giving–and again he regretted the fact that he was here for work and not play. Still…what harm was there in taking a break? That pool party was today, why not enjoy himself a bit?

He headed back to his room, wondering what to do. He didn’t even have a swimsuit with him…or did he? He looked at the two sets of luggage on the ground, suddenly unsure of which was his. He’d surely come with a bunch of suits…but then why didn’t any of them fit? Suddenly, the bag of denim, flannel and leather was looking much more comfortable, and digging through Bruce’s (or was it his?) things, he found a pair of XXXL swim trunks, and he was thrilled, stripping out of his itchy, ill-fitting suit and pulling on the trunks, along with a tank showing off his fur, and a pair of sunglasses. He saw on the table a convention badge for the bear convention with Bruce’s name on it…and he grabbed it. He could pretend to be someone else for a bit–what was the harm? From the balcony he saw that the party was already well underway, and with his borrowed badge in hand, no one questioned whether he was supposed to be there, and he lit up another cigar in celebration.

He mingled for a little while, happy to chat, fondle and be fondled for the moment, though he was mostly interested in finding someone to fuck around with in earnest. It was then that the bear caught his eye. He knew him from somewhere, but he didn’t quite know where. He had a sense that he’d been seeing him…everywhere. Was he the guy he’d seen watching him when he stepped on the elevator? Who’d watched him on the balcony last night? The shadow from his dream? His gut told him that it was, but he had no way of knowing for sure. Still, the man certainly seemed interested in him–as soon as Charles had caught his eye, he’d grinned and started over.

“Hey there…Bruce,” the man said, reading the name off the badge with a grin. “Funny, you don’t seem much like a ‘Bruce’ to me.”

“Hell daddy, you can call me anything you want, and I’ll be happy?”

“Oh? Can I call you Carl? I’d like that.”

Confused, Charles just stared at him, not sure what to make of that response.

“Oh never mind,” the bear said, flashing a smile nice enough to make him not worry about it too much. “Still, it’s nice to see you again. You were looking pretty hot last night, though you’re looking hotter right now. Having you down here saves me the trip up to your room.”

“So that was you watching me. You liked what you saw then? You wanna…get a closer look? We…uh, could head up to my room anyway, if you want.”

“Sorry Carl, but we have to wait until after dark–those are the rules.”

Again, Charles was confused. “Why do you keep calling me Carl? And I don’t see why we need to wait, we could just head–”

Charles was stopped by the bear shoving him up against the fence around the pool and giving him a deep, sensual kiss which he happily returned, though the bear broke it off far too soon for Charles’ liking. “There’s a bar close by–most of the bears are heading to an afterparty at a bigger place, but I think we might need something a bit more intimate. Come after sundown–I’ll be waiting.” the bear said, slipping a card into Charles’ hand, “Oh, and one more thing–don’t play with anyone else before then–I want you all to myself, and virgin.”

Charles had many more questions, but the man had left before he could even get his name. He looked around at the bears surrounding him, still horny, but something about what the man had said–or how he’d said it–made the mere thought of sexing any of them up a bit…repulsive. He had to save himself for later after all, just like the bear had told him to…though he wasn’t sure why he was doing what the strange man said. Still, hanging here wasn’t going to be any fun now if he couldn’t play around, so he skulked back to his room, but found that Bruce had returned at some point while he was at the party–and was trying on one of the suits, staring down at it as though it were the strangest thing for him to be wearing in the world, and looking at the young twink, Charles felt a strange possessiveness take over. “Hey! Get out of that, those…those are mine…” The words didn’t feel right. They felt like a lie, but the confusion on both their faces did more to demonstrate the possessive grey area than anything else. In fact, Charles felt like it wasn’t the suits he was being possessive over, but his roommate’s body…but that made even less sense.

“Look…I was…I was just trying one on. Nothing else in here fits me, so I mean–if they fit me this good, why wouldn’t…why wouldn’t they be mine?” Bruce said, hesitantly, and Charles couldn’t deny the fact that he was probably right.

“You’re…you’re right, I think. I’m just…I haven’t been sleeping well, and everything has just been so weird these last couple days.”

“No kidding,” Bruce said, I’ve been having these crazy dreams, and you’re in them of all people.”

Charles just stared at him for a second. “Dreams…do they…are you in this weird grey place, and we’re both naked?”

“Yeah, and then we always come closer, and touch somehow, and things…change…don’t tell me–”

“I’ve been having them too.”

“That’s nuts.”

They were silent for a few moments, trying to figure out what was going on. It had to mean something, but what?

“Hey…have you–have you noticed a guy following you at all?” Charles finally asked, “There’s this guy, this bear, he’s been watching me, or I think, us. I just ran into him at the pool, and it was so weird. He’s tall, older, full beard with a shaved head?”

“You mean like half of you bears here? Sorry, I don’t swing that way, so I don’t notice you when I don’t have to.”

“You don’t have to be mean.”

“I’m sorry, It’s just some men have no business strutting around half naked in the light of day.” Charles rolled his eyes, and yet…something about the sentiment seemed familiar. Like it was something he’d have said, or had said before. Regardless, Bruce could sense that he’d crossed a line, and he stepped closer. “Look, it’s not really any of my business, who you like. I’m sorry. And…now that I think about it, I might have had a run in with someone like you describe. It was pretty weird too.”

“When was it?”

“Two nights ago, the night the first dream happened. I went out for a drink with some…some friends, and this guy came up and started chatting with me at the bar. He wanted to know where I was staying, and he seemed really curious about…well, about you. It was strange.”

The two of them pondered that for a moment, feeling more unnerved by the minute. “Look,” Charles finally said, “I think something really strange is going on. The guy wants to meet me at this bar near here after dark…and maybe we should both go, and try to get some answers from him. I think he knows something about whatever’s been happening here, and we should try to see what he knows.”

Bruce was obviously nervous, but he agreed. Tonight they would have a date with the mysterious bear, and get to the bottom of whatever was going on here once and for all.

Bait and Switch (Part 1)

Commissioned by Jiben2

“What do you mean you’re overbooked? I made this reservation ages ago!” Charles shouted.

“I’m very sorry sir, I don’t know how it happened,” the young woman behind the hotel desk said, “the hotel has two conventions going this weekend, and unfortunately we had too many reservations. We’ve been forced to give out rooms on a first come, first serve basis.”

“You mean to tell me these fuckers get rooms, but I don’t? Every hotel in the area is going to be booked by now! What am I supposed to do?”

“I…Look, let me get my manager, and we’ll try to work something out. One moment please.”

Charles fumed as the woman left, tapping his dress shoe in frustration and looking around the lobby at all the fat hairy men cloistered in groups. A bear convention–how disgusting. Charles might be gay, but he had standards. None of these men had any right to be this naked in public as far as he was concerned. What were the chances that they would book on the same weekend as the most important convention for him this year? He checked his tailored suit in the mirror, moving his gelled hair back into place and trying to calm down. He’d figure something out, he always did. He was tough–a survivor–a climber. It had difficult enough being a gay man in a straight man’s company, but he’d crawled this high. If this convention went well, he might even be looking at another promotion.

The woman returned a couple minutes later, trailing a middle aged manager who looked far too exhausted to deal with this. They rehashed the same discussion–Charles demanding a room, the staff saying there was nothing they could do without receiving a cancellation. He scoffed when they offered to give him makeshift quarters in the basement with the storage, but when he realized they were serious, he nearly exploded. It was soon after that when the man on the couch interrupted.

Charles had noticed him earlier for a moment, long enough to be disgusted by the fact that he had his boots up on the couch cushions like a common laborer–which he might well have been, given how he was dressed. “You know, he could stay in my room. The friend who was going to stay with me cancelled, so I have an extra bed.”

Charles was stunned at the mere suggestion of sleeping in the same quarters as a nasty man like that, so stunned that before he could get a word in to object, the manager, eager to resolve the situation, had agreed and was busy putting it into the system, and handed Charles a room key which he took begrudgingly. It was better than sleeping in a storage closet he told himself. Maybe not better by much–but he could handle anything for a couple of days–he hoped.

“Well, I guess we’re roomies then,” the man said, extending his hairy hand to the shorter, thinner businessman, “My names Bruce.”

“I’m, uh…Charles. Nice to meet you and thanks…I guess…”

“So, shall we head up to the room? I haven’t dropped my stuff off yet–I was just sayin’ hi to some old fuck—uh, old friends.”

“Right,” Charles said, “You know, I’m gay–you don’t have to pretend I don’t know what’s going on, but don’t think I’m at all interested.”

They walked into the elevator, and as the door closed, Charles thought he saw someone, one of the bears, looking at them, but he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, the stare he did catch was a bit…creepy. The ride was silent, though it was obvious Bruce didn’t want it to be this awkward. They divided up the hotel room, and then the bear pulled out a cigar and lit it up right in front of Charles. “Hey! You can’t smoke in here.”

“What do you mean? It’s the smoking floor–I can smoke here if I want to,” Bruce replied.

“Well, at least smoke it out on the balcony–those things are disgusting.”

“You know, you sure could lighten up a bit. I’m the one doing you a favor here, remember…” Bruce grumbled, but headed out onto the balcony to smoke, leaving Charles to set up his laptop and review some work for the convention tomorrow. When Bruce finished he came back in, stinking of smoke, and pulled on his coat. “I’m goin’ out. Don’t wait up, I’ll probably be late tonight.”

“Sure, whatever,” Charles replied, not caring in the least, though as it ended up, late was a bit of an understatement. Charles turned in around ten, sleeping nicely for a few hours until Bruce burst his way into the room loudly, stinking of alcohol and smoke, mumbling about some great guy he’d met in the bar, before collapsing down on his bed where he started snoring loudly. Charles knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping much for the rest of the night, though he did eventually, and when he did, it was fitful–and he dreamed a strange vision.

He was in some undefined space, some grey netherworld, and Bruce was there too, standing in front of him. The two of them started out clothed, but as they approached, the clothes suddenly vanished, and Charles saw Bruce’s cock pointing at him. He tried to stop, but some strange force pulled them closer and closer, their cocks erect, and the tips came together, a powerful magnetism holding them in place. At the same time, their faces came closer and closer, Charles smelling stench of smoke as their lips met, locking similarly, and a powerful shock coursed through him, and the force released them.

He could already feel the dream fading, but he looked down at himself, seeing something was wrong. He was…hairy, hairy like Bruce had been, and his cock wasn’t cut anymore, now hooded with a heavy foreskin, and a couple inches shorter than before. A hand went to his face and head, feeling hair around his mouth, his other hair shorn short, but then the vision was gone, and he slept deep for the rest of the night.

The next day though, was hell as far as Charles was concerned. Nothing seemed to be going right at his convention at all. He woke up late that morning with a raging headache–had he not been so certain that he’d spent the night alone in the room, he’d have thought he’d had one of the worst hangovers of his life. On top of that, his tongue and throat felt strange, and it was a bit difficult to breathe for some reason. He thought he might just be getting sick, but as the day went on, he found it only got worse–not better.

That was only the greatest of the inconveniences at hand though. He couldn’t feel the least bit comfortable in his suit–his hairy body was just so itchy! He’d imagined that he would have gotten used to having this much body hair by now, but for some reason it bugged the hell out of his all day. There was always this little voice, this little question in the back of his mind though, asking whether he should have that much body hair, but that was silly. Of course he was hairy–that’s how he’d always been, right? Though every time he saw his beard in the mirror, he couldn’t help but ask the same question. Something about it just didn’t seem…right.

And finally, he was horny. Not just any horny–really horny. Horny as fuck. And his cock was not pointing him in the right direction. Charles had been plenty gay before, but instead of the clean cut, handsome business types who’d attracted his eye before, now he was drawn to a different sort of man–the burly, hairy older suited gentlemen who were also in abundance at the convention, many with beards of their own which had Charles swooning a bit. Hell, walking through the lobby and seeing all of the bears there was almost too much for him to handle. He’d lost track of how many times he’d had to take a bathroom break just to relieve some tension. All of this seemed so unnatural, but if this wasn’t how he was supposed to act…then what was he supposed to do? Frustrated and confused, the convention and his work couldn’t have gotten finished fast enough, and after a bite to eat, he headed back to the room, eager for an early bedtime.

Back in the room though, sleep was impossible. The headache was simply too great now for him to ignore, and the hours passed fitfully. Charles eventually started pacing the room, hoping to just exhaust himself, when he caught a whiff of a…scent. Something he needed, and needed badly, something coming from Bruce’s side of the room. Not even caring about it being wrong, he started rummaging through the bear’s things, not even knowing what he was looking for, when he found the cello-wrapped cigars. “Yes!” his head screamed–he could barely get the wrapper off with his shaking hands, before cutting the cap (how did he even know to do that?) fumbling for a lighter and drawing in the smoke.

Relief! How he’d never thought he’d find it. How could he have forgotten that he was such a heavy smoker? How…had he even smoked anything before?

The question nagged at him, but not so much that he considered stopping now. Still, when had he smoked last? He honestly couldn’t remember, and this piled on with the rest of the insecurities from the day. His body hair, his beard, his uncut cock, his sudden bearish preferences. Something…something had changed, but what? What was going on? He walked into the bathroom, staring at his reflection, trying to piece it together. The dream from the night before had faded, but left a vague impression. Something…something had happened, something with Bruce…right? But what?

One thing he couldn’t deny was that the cigar smoke was turning him on big time, as much as staring at all the hot, chubby bears had earlier. He started stroking the short, thick shaft, still finding it uncomfortable in his hand, the sensation of his foreskin both familiar and alien at the same time. He was about to finish into the toilet when he heard the sound of the key in the door, and the cough of Bruce coming in.

“Fuck man, didn’t I tell you to smoke those on the balcony?” he said.

“Sorry, sorry,” Charles said, coming out of the bathroom after pulling on some underwear, “I forgot…” His voice trailed off when he say his roommate for the first time that day–his hot, sexy bear of a roommate–fuck! He hadn’t been that attractive before, had he? It was a shame the guy was so smooth and didn’t have a beard, but Charles was willing to fuck almost anything at the moment. “Look…how–how about I make it up to you? You want a blowjob?” he heard himself say faster than he could be embarrassed for himself.

“What, and have my cock stink like smoke for a week?” Bruce said, “Look, I like chasers, but smoking’s a no go. I’ll be back when the fucking air’s cleared. Sorry for interrupting.” He turned and left, Charles pissed that the bear was such a wimp. What was the harm in a little smoke? Grumbling a bit, he headed out onto the balcony to finish, and saw that across the courtyard he had a great view of two orgies which offered plenty to look at. He jacked off twice more, still smoking, though halfway through his second round, he looked over and saw that someone was watching him. He couldn’t make the man out very well, but the attention wasn’t unwelcome. He gave the man a bit of a show, but his cigar was burnt out, and exhaustion proper was setting in. Still, he was happy someone was interested, as he crawled into bed and fell asleep almost immediately, only to dream once more.

Giving Charge (Part 2)

Commissioned by rtrose

As they drove, Travis was starting to feel really sick. Maybe that wasn’t surprising, considering how much he’d drank and eaten over the past few hours, but this didn’t feel like a hangover or indigestion. He looked over at Larry in the driver’s seat–the man hadn’t spoken once to him during the last half hour they’d been driving out of the city, and out in the dark he couldn’t see much, but they were out past the suburbs and into rural country when Larry pulled off the road into a trailer park, stopped the truck and told Travis, “Get out, and get inside, boy.”

Travis expected his body to leap to and obey like it had before, but the command only made him sluggishly respond. In fact, he sensed that, if he wanted to, he might even be able to get away–had he not felt so sick. Something in his guts was churning–he thought back to the load Larry had seeded in him, and wondered about disease, but nothing could incubate this fast, could it? Distracted by his own thoughts, he followed Larry into the trailer, where the roughneck stripped the coveralls off the young man’s body and pushed him up against the wall, where Travis made a sorry attempt to cover himself up.

“Well, well–looks like the little twerp is making some progress already,” Larry said.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You got yourself a little beard there,” Larry stroked the light coat of hair on his face, “and your gut’s bloating up a bit–gonna be good and big before too long. Still, I don’t think you’re over the threshold yet–how about we kick this into high gear?” He grabbed Travis by the arm and flipped him around, pushing him up against the wall, pushing his cock up against his still loose hole and working it back in. “Yeah, one more load oughta do it, and then we’ll see if you’re still a twerp or not.”

“No–No I’m not gonna let you do this,” Travis said, struggling against the loosening hold of Larry’s control.

“Oh, is that gaze wearing off already? Fine with me, I like twerps who fight back a bit. Still, this is gonna be a quick one–I don’t really feel like waiting.”

True to his word, Larry did last very long, tensing up and trusting in deep, unloading once more into Travis’ guts, and the sick feeling suddenly grew much, much worse. Larry pulled out, and Travis found that his legs had grown too weak to support him all on their own. Collapsing to the ground, the impact hurt in ways he did not expect–down in his bones, as though every pressure on his skin were a needle sinking to his marrow. “What–what’s happening to me…” he groaned, doubled over on the filthy carpet. His bones–were they growing? They didn’t seem to be getting any longer, but it felt as though they were getting thicker, and even hotter? The ache inside his bones was joined by an intense heat–looking down, he saw that his limbs were slowly growing wider, the heat pumping up his muscles, making them twitch and flex uncontrollably. It was exhausting–looking down at his arms, he saw the muscles inside them start bulging and exploding, his skin barely able to stretch fast enough to keep up without ripping apart. He rolled over, sitting with his back against the wall, where he could see that his chest was developing slab-like pecs, and his thighs and calves bulging with muscle–but also something else, something bubbling up underneath his skin. The sensation was unnerving–hot fat boiling up within him, spreading over the top of his new muscles before cooling and firming up, much of it consolidating around his midsection, forming a large, firm gut.

His eyes blurred as the ache and heat enveloped his face–with two unfamiliar hands, he felt his jaw and cheeks and brow distend and bulge as bone grew thick and fat filled in, and then it dissipated, leaving behind an exhaustion he’d never felt anything like, it was all he could do to keep himself from passing out, rolling over again onto all fours, and telling himself he had to stand up–he had to get out of here before anything else could happen to him–and while he could still control his own actions.

However, simply standing up proved to be a more difficult task than he’d imagined. He hefted himself up, but as he was no longer the waif he’d been, his thicker body forced his body to find a new center of gravity, making him feel like he was in perpetual danger of falling backward as he balanced against his gut. The muscle growth had left his muscles exhausted, his legs quivering as he took two feeble steps forward towards the door, before falling down again. Nothing felt right–his mind screaming that this couldn’t have happened, and yet every message from his body told him that these big hands, this gut, these massive trunk like legs–they were his. He pushed himself back up, stumbling back, fearing he might fall–until he felt Larry’s thick arms wrap their way around him from behind.

“I gotcha big boy,” he said, but Travis broke away and spun around, nearly toppling over before he clung to the wall for support.

“What did you do to me? Change me back!” Travis shouted, his voice deep and resonant in his chest.

“You really want to go back? Back into that twerp body? Don’t lie–I can see you’re enjoying this…” Larry came forward, one hand wrapping around Travis’ thicker cock, the other snaking around the back of his head, pulling him into a rough, sloppy kiss. Spit leaking out around their lips and down onto his chin, making Travis’ skin itch and burn where it touched. He pulled away, running one hand over his mouth, feeling the stubbly goatee Larry’s spit had grown, watching his captor grin and lick his lips. His face grew weathered as well, his skin sagging a bit into wrinkles and dry crows feet. He now looked a good fifteen years older, with a bit of grey in his hair, which he could sense pulling itself back into his head little by little.

“No–don’t…don’t change me more, please…” Travis said, trying not to moan from the sensation of Larry stroking his cock. That seemed to have grown quite a bit as well–and was far more sensitive than he remembered.

“Too late for that,” Larry said, “but I know something you’ll probably enjoy.” He grabbed one of Travis’ arms and lifted it up, shoving his face into the pit and licking away, the crack sprouting hair and a powerful musk which made Travis groan. It was just as strong as Larry’s, but different–his own scent. When Larry went to work on the other side and then worked down, licking a pelt onto Travis’ chest and stomach, he was left smelling himself, caught up in the strange eroticism of this masculine, alien body. The smell did more than arouse him, it swept the exhaustion away–it made him feel a bit more comfortable in this new skin.

Travis instigated the next kiss, catching both Larry and himself off guard with its force. He’d never felt so strong before–the sense of power running through his body was like a drug. He’d been small and weak all his life–now, for the first time, he was the one with the strength, and he wanted to use it. He put one of his big hands on top of Larry’s head and shoved him down to his knees in front of his cock, and Larry growled back, “Watch it boy.”

“Suck it–just fucking suck it!” Travis said, “I’m so fucking horny.”

“You don’t give the orders here, boy–I do, and–” Larry started to say, but Travis didn’t care. He grabbed the back of Larry’s head and crudely shoved his cock into his mouth, making him sputter a bit, but to his surprise Larry didn’t resist. It felt amazing, having a hot mouth around his cock but Travis felt like something was wrong after a couple of thrusts. Each time, his cock went in a little less, and felt a little softer. He realized too late that Larry must be doing something to him, and when he tried to pull his cock out, Larry refused to let go, coming off on his own a few moments later, leaving Travis with a cock barely an inch and a half long, a massive pubic bush, and balls which looked far too big hanging below.

“No…No!” Travis said, feeling his new nub, and Larry laughed.

“You asked for it boy–now, as long as I’m down here, turn around,” Larry said, grabbing him by the hips and forcing him around so Travis’ ass was inches from his face, “I have a few changes to make down here.” Travis shivered as Larry’s tongue ran up and down his crack before burrowing into his ass, and a new fire kindled to life in him. When Larry removed himself, Travis felt a great emptiness back there, and started pushing back, wishing for something to fill him up.

“Please…please–fuck me. God, oh God I can’t believe I just said that…”

“Happy to oblige,” Larry said, sliding his cock in once again, Travis nearly shouting in pleasure with the penetration, Larry licking up and down Travis’ back, leaving him a pelt as thick there as he had on the front, but pulled out without cumming–nor giving Travis release.

“Why did you stop? Come on, fuck me!” Travis said.

“Another order?” Larry grabbed his arm and started dragging him down the hall, “You’re getting too big for your britches boy–I think you need to remember who’s really in charge here. I may have given you a big boy body, but you’re still my twerp–now get in the truck.”

“Let me go!” Travis said, trying to yank his arm out of Larry’s grip, but when he looked up, he found himself facing Larry’s glittering eyes.

“That’s not a request–it’s an order,” Larry said, “Now go.”

Travis couldn’t resist–he didn’t even put on the clothes Larry had stripped off of him, opting instead to just climb into the cab naked., Larry close behind. Travis fought the compulsion as best he could, but Larry kept speaking to him in the truck, and while Travis couldn’t remember anything he told him, he knew it was nothing good. After a few minutes, they pulled into the parking lot of a rundown biker bar, and to his surprise, Larry simply kicked him out the door onto the gravel and drove off, leaving him there naked.

While it was late, it wasn’t so late that the bar wasn’t still crammed full of men–all of them far rougher and meaner than Travis had seen at any city club. He saw a couple bikers smoking out front run over to him to help him up, but the two big men started laughing at Travis when they caught a look at his tiny cock. Travis, however, had other needs at the front of his mind. Unable to stop himself, he grabbed the beer bottle out of one of the biker’s hands and started shoving the neck up his ass, telling the big men how badly he needed a good, long fuck.

They didn’t disappoint him–none of the men in the bar did, who all took a turn with his ass over the next few hours disappointed him. It was a very different party than the one he’d been to earlier, though he was still the center of attention, in a different way. Each man who fucked him drove Travis to hornier heights, but release was always kept from him, the men laughing at him, for the puny cock which couldn’t even get off one load as every man there took a turn with him. It was horrible–not the fucking, he loved the fucking–the humiliation of it. He wanted to cum so much, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t know why.

When the bar closed for the night, Travis was left abandoned. He booked it down the road as fast as he could worried that Larry might come back to find him, clad only in a pair of boxers a trucker had given him, his cock still hard, and a beer bottle still firmly planted in his ass. He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to go somewhere…didn’t he? Still, where could he go? He had no ID, no life to return to–he was lost. It was almost a relief when Larry pulled up beside him in his truck.

“Get in boy,” was all he said, but Travis did nothing, but the order sent a throb of lust through him.

“No…No, I’m not going to be your slave, I’m not.”

“It’s too late for that, boy,” Larry said, “You gave me your charge–I own you whether you want it or not…and I know you do. Did you get a load off in there? I bet you didn’t. You need to submit boy, you need to be owned. Come here and get in.”

There was that throb again, his cock leaking a bit. He came over and got in, a shiver of lust from his obedience sinking in. “Why…why me?”

“Because you need this. Now jack me off,” Larry said, and again, Travis wanted to obey, and he reached over, stroking Larry’s cock. “See, it feels good to obey, doesn’t it? Now look in my eyes–let’s seal the deal boy, give me the rest–give me all of it. Give it up, and you can cum, I promise.”

Travis resisted for a moment…but could it really be that bad? He could still get out, but what was out there for him, really? Nothing, at least here he had something. So he looked. He fell into Larry’s eyes one final time, completely. He gave it all up, his free will, his personal ambition. He would be a vessel for Larry, but that no longer scared him–it thrilled him. His cock shot the load it had been building all night, soaking the front of his boxers. “Thank–Thank you, sir,” he said, the deference automatic and natural.

“Suck me boy,” Larry said, and Travis obeyed without a second thought. Travis’ future was no longer his–it was Larry’s. His master got him a construction job, with a group of men who had no objection to using the burly slave’s holes all day long. Travis had no choice but to love it now–but he didn’t regret his choice. He had hated being in charge–giving it up to his Master Larry was the greatest decision of his life.

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.

The Bear Ray

Commissioned by Scot158f

Taylor came through the door to his apartment, and immediately pulled off his already loosened tie, before undoing the buttons on his shirt. He wished that Fall would hurry up and arrive–he was sick of this summer heat. By the time he got home from the office where he was doing temp work, he was always soaked with sweat–he hated it, and it didn’t help that the air conditioner in his car had died either. Really though, he just hated his body, the short fat hairless blob that he was.

He stripped off the rest of his clothes, eager for a shower so he could feel clean again, and wondered where in the world Brett was. Brett was his roommate. They’d been friends since high school, going to the same local college and getting nearly worthless degrees so they could waste their time in the rat race. Still, they’d always been there to support each other–especially since they were both gay. However, that was really where the resemblance stopped. Where Taylor was short and chunky, Brett was tall and very slim, with a cock Taylor couldn’t help but envy a bit, but not as much as he envied his friend’s height. Taylor had always been the short one, and he hated it more than anything–especially since Brett was always teasing him about it.

However, one thing the two of them shared in common was they both loved bears–the gay kind, that us. The big burly men they’d see at all the leather clubs who had no interest in either one of them. Neither Brett nor Taylor had much body hair, nor could they grow much in the way of attractive facial hair either. It seemed that they were bound to be wallflowers to the men they wished they could be, night after night. Still, the hopeless self-loathing could wait, Taylor thought to himself as he headed for the bathroom–which was locked, oddly enough. He could hear the shower running, but neither of them ever locked the door. “Hey, Brett–you in there? Why’d you lock the door?”

“Oh shit–Is that you Taylor? Hold on…aren’t you home a bit early?” A voice said from behind the door. It didn’t really sound like Brett, or did it? Regardless, Taylor could tell that there was something strange going on.

“I’m not that early–but I could use a shower. It’s fucking hot out, and I’m sweaty as hell…Is–Is everything alright in there?” You sound, odd.”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Everything’s alright. Everything’s great, actually! Just wait until you see–Just a second.”

Now Taylor knew something was wrong–that didn’t really sound like Brett at all. The voice was too deep, and maybe even a bit, raspy, like someone quite a bit older than twenty-three. What if it wasn’t Brett at all? What if it was just someone…pretending to be him? What if it was a burglar or something, or what if Taylor was sick? Something about all of this just felt really off.

“Brett…If you really are Brett in there–”

“Of course I’m Brett, Taylor!”

“Well you don’t fucking sound much like Brett! I–I’m gonna call the police, whoever you are, I am!”

“Goddamn it Taylor, it’s me!”

“Well open the door and show me–what in the world are you hiding in there for? Why do you sound so different?”

“Look–it’s complicated alright? Just…Just give me a second, and I swear it’ll all make sense.”

“No, open the door now. Open the door or I’m gonna call the police!”

“You don’t need to–”

“Fuck this, I’m getting my phone!”

“Alright! Alright, here, I’m unlocking the door, alright? Calm down…Just, just try not to freak out alright? I…look a little different than usual,” Brett said, and Taylor heard the door unlock with a click. Taylor, nervous about what he might find, nevertheless crept up and opened the door wide enough to see the monstrous bear standing at the counter, his long hair and beard still damp from the shower. He certainly didn’t look anything like Brett–Brett had never had a gut like that in his whole life, much less any body hair. And how could Brett have grown a massive beard like that in a day? He looked more like some grungy biker from one of the bars than his lifelong friend.

“You…You aren’t–Fuck, who the fuck are you?” Taylor said, stepping back from the massive man who approached him slowly.

“Look, I know…I know I look different, but it really is me, Taylor.”

“I’m calling the police…you’re gonna go to jail. What the fuck did you do to Brett? Did…did you kill him? Oh fuck, you killed him didn’t you! Didn’t you–what the fuck do you want from us?” Taylor shouted, descending into a full on panic, grabbing a brass figurine from a table to wield like a club while he dug in his pant pockets for his phone.

“Taylor, look, just calm down, alright? I know this all seems really weird, but if you just let me explain–”

Taylor wasn’t listening. He’d found his phone, and with shaking hands was about to dial 911. Brett realized that if he let Taylor call he really was going to be in trouble, so he dashed back into the bathroom, grabbed a strange looking gun from the counter and leveled it at Taylor. “Put down the phone, Taylor. Put it down or I’ll shoot you, I swear I will.”

Taylor froze, phone in his hand, mouth sputtering. He had no idea what to even say, the sudden realization that he might actually get shot was too much for his brain to handle. He didn’t want to die, not like this, and his hand released the phone dropping it to the ground.

“”Look, I don’t want to hurt you, Taylor. I really am Brett. I’m the guy you came out to in Mr. Boulie’s chemistry class, in a note you passed. I’m the same guy who let you copy answers on Mr Fiddleman’s take home tests. I’m the guy who you refused to talk to for a month while we were both trying to get in Frank Neddle’s pants. It’s me, I’m Brett–I swear.”

“If…If you’re gonna shoot me…just, just do it, alright?” Taylor said, not even listening to what the strange man was saying, “I don’t fucking believe you, whoever you are. I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but Brett wouldn’t point a fucking gun at me. So if you’re gonna shoot me, just fucking do it!”

The silence was a bit deafening, as the two men stood in the living room. It gave Taylor a chance to look at the gun in Brett’s hand, or at least in the hand of the man claiming to be Brett. It didn’t look like any kind of gun Taylor had seen before–not that he’d seen very many–if anything it looked like some kid’s pretend ray gun from a science fiction movie. The tip didn’t look like it would be delivering a bullet, and he could see some strange dials on the side. He could see the gears turning in the biker’s head, when he shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself,” he said, and pulled the trigger, and before Taylor could even flinch, a strange yellow ray shot out of the device and enveloped his entire body, holding him perfectly still, and he felt a strange sensation creeping along his body, something between a wave of heat and an insatiable itch.

Through the yellow glow, he could see the man fiddling with the dials on the side of the gun, and the beam of light, along with the sensations, grew fiercer, and Taylor felt almost as though his body was changing and shifting–the light pushing and pulling at his form, worming its way underneath his skin and pushing its way down his throat into his core. While it wasn’t painful, there was a definite sense of vertigo, that the entire world was shifting on and off balance, and then, it was gone, the light dissipating around him, and Taylor, unsteady, tumbled backwards onto the carpet, suddenly ill at ease with himself as the room spun around him.

“The vertigo passes in a couple of moments–I nearly puked the first time. Just take it slow…I was hoping to break you in a little slower, but you were being such a dipshit you didn’t leave me much choice,” Brett said, setting the gun down on a table and hurrying over to where Taylor was rolling about on the floor, trying to get his bearings, however, as his senses returned, some of the strangeness lingered. He was strange–different than he’d been before.

“What–what happened? What did you shoot me with you freak?” he said, but the words rolled off his tongue oddly, his voice deeper that his high, undeveloped tenor from moments before.

“Look, let me just help you up and get you in front of a mirror–you won’t believe it until I show you,” Brett said, picked Taylor up off the floor and guided him into the bathroom, where he saw his image in the mirror…only it wasn’t his image at all.

He was a bear–there was no denying it. He had a furry chest, a massive beard…and tattoos. Fucking hot tattoos that made him look rough and ready for anything. While he was still big, some of his fat had been replaced by muscle, giving him more of a powerlifter look. It was everything he’d ever dreaming of being…almost. He was still short–maybe…maybe even shorter than he’d been before, and Brett was towering over him. He hated it, he hated being short more than anything else. “It…It really is you, isn’t it?” Taylor said, turning to Brett, who was leaning against the doorframe, grinning through his thick beard, “What in the world is that gun? What did it do to me–to us?”

“I told you it was. I mean, I understand why you didn’t believe me…I found the gun at the goodwill today, while I was shopping. It had the words ‘Bear Ray’ on it–how could I resist? I never thought it would be capable of this. Hell, I shot myself by accident the first time. And this is just the tip of what it can do. I designed this body for you myself–and I must say, you look adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“Like a teddy bear–all the guys at the club are going to go wild for a little fireplug like you, trust me. Now, I have a surprise for you–just give me a second in the bedroom, I want to surprise you for real this time,” Brett said, and then dashed off, leaving Taylor red faced and angry.

‘Adorable’…‘Little’…’Fireplug’…Brett knew how much Taylor hated being short and fat, and he thought he was going to be happy like this? Sure, he was a bear, but not the kind of bear he wanted to be. He could already sense it. Brett was taking control of the entire situation, like he always had a way of doing. He’d always had a thing for short, chubby bears and now he’d made Taylor into his perfect man. Hell, he was probably going to try and get Taylor to wear a collar so he strut him around the clubs tonight–well no fucking way was that going to happen. Taylor hurried out of the bathroom and found the gun lying where Brett had left it, and started messing with the controls, turning the size dials as high as they could go before turning the ray on himself and letting loose.

Immediately, he could feel the same sense of vertigo from before, but even more extreme, as the room began shrinking down around him. He was vaguely aware of the fact that other parts of him were changing too along with his size–hair growing in on his once bald head, his cock expanding at a massive pace, body hair growing in even thicker than the hairiest bears he’d ogled at the clubs. “So what do you think?” Brett said, returning from the bedroom in some new leather gear, “I even got you some new gear, and I found this kinky collar I know you won’t be able to resist…” but his words failed him as he came face to face with the rapidly growing Taylor.

He was quickly passing eight feet tall, his gut ballooning outward with solid fat as the rest of his body packed on pounds and pounds of muscle. His beard passed Brett’s own, growing bushier and bushier until he couldn’t even see his mouth, much less his chest buried beneath a thick black pelt. His head slammed into the ceiling, making Taylor wince in pain, but he refused to take his hand off the trigger, feeling his body hunch over, trying to find room in the rapidly shrinking apartment. The ray only stopped because his hand became too large to grip it and pull the trigger, the device slipping from his hand as the yellow glow subsided once more, leaving in its place a massively hairy, gigantic bear of a man. “What do you think, asshole?” he growled, “Am I still your ‘little adorable fireplug’?”

“You’re fucking nuts!” Brett shouted, and made a move towards the gun, but before he could reach it, Taylor snatched it in his massive palm and crushed it in his fist, sparks flying from between his fingers. “You idiot! What the fuck did you do that for? Now we’ll never be able to change back.”

Taylor laughed–that was fine with him–he was the new big bear in town. Looking down at his fretting roommate, his foot and a half long cock hardening up, Taylor decided it was time to show his ‘friend’ who was really going to be in charge from now on.