Slob Control – The Devil’s Work

Looking back on it, Bill realized he probably overdid it a bit. After forty-three loops, he figured he finally had Sam, gutter and the rest of the crew in a good position. He’d been ignoring the headache that had been nagging him since the thirtieth loop or so, but once he allowed time to continue onward, it only came on stronger. He barely managed to drive himself home after work, crawl his way into bed, and when Peter arrived for his evening service, Bill yelled at him to get out and leave him alone.

He slept almost twenty-four hours. When he woke up, he had a voicemail from Sam asking if he was ok, and when he called him to confirm he was still alive, Sam chewed his ass out for not showing up. He probably deserved that, he supposed. He told Sam he’d come down with something and wouldn’t be in for a few days. Sam sounded annoyed, but told him to feel better. Peter arrived a few hours later, after Bill had managed to get to the bathroom and down to the kitchen to eat something. Peter showed up a couple hours later, looking a little sheepish, but today, Bill was more than happy to have the company. Bill apologized for being so gruff the day before, had Peter service him, and rewarded his slave with a few loads humped out across his gut.

Even the day after that, he still felt like garbage. Clearly, magic took a bit more out of him than he’d expected. He spent the day flipping through the book, and decided he might as well work on something in his downtime. With Peter’s assistance that evening, he set up a scrying station–basically a bowl of water with a spell cast on it–that would allow him to spy on the rest of the neighborhood. Bill had never really bothered being very social, and so he didn’t even know anyone else’s names. At least this way, he could start narrowing down who his next targets would be.

He was frustrated by what had happened after his time warp spell earlier that week, though. If that had been enough to sap his energy for days, it was going to take him forever to work his magic on the neighborhood, without even beginning his plans beyond that. Spying on the mundane lives of the men, women and children in the neighborhood around him only made it worse. Boring, they were all so damn boring! He could imagine so many more interesting things for them, but he was exhausted. Caught between desire and limitation, he wanted to strangle someone. He strangled Peter, for fun. It helped a bit, and Peter rather enjoyed it, though not as much as he enjoyed having the air crushed out of him by his big gut on top of him. Then, on Thursday, he saw something interesting at last.

It was an argument in a house a couple blocks over, between a father and son. The son was in high school, probably seventeen or eighteen. He wanted to get a tattoo, but his rather conservative father was dead set against it. The son looked to be a bit of a rebel–or at least imagined himself as one. Watching the fight play out, Bill couldn’t help but imagine them both tattooed all over in the most perverse ways, forever showing the world exactly what kind of dirty minded perverts they both were. Then, a second idea came to him. He grabbed the spell book, flipped through it, almost willing his idea into existence, and sure enough, there it was. There was no way he was going to be able to corrupt the world all on his own, one or two people at a time. However, there was no reason why he couldn’t enlist a little help, and the rebellious youth would be an excellent trial for what he had in mind. He wove a little spell of fate, suggesting that the young man feel compelled to pay him a little visit the next day–Friday.

As expected, while he was out on the porch smoking a cigar, the young man came wandering down the sidewalk. He was looking rather punk–as punk as a suburban kid shopping mostly at Hot Topic could look. It had no real grit, not actual risk. That’s all right. His heart was in the right place, or it would be, soon enough. “Hey Jason, come on up here a second, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Jason looked around, confused at who was speaking to him, and then over at Bill on the porch. He had no idea who this fat slob was–or how he knew his name. Curiosity, or compulsion, he walked up the driveway and onto the porch where Bill was smoking.

“I heard you had an argument with your father yesterday,” Bill said.

“Who–who the fuck are you?” Jason asked, “How do you know that, and my name?”

Bill just smiled, muttered a little incantation, and saw Jason visibly relax where he was standing. This wasn’t as strong a spell as the suggestion trance he’d been using. Just enough to put Jason at ease. He wanted his…cooperation here. It would be way hotter, and much more beneficial in the long run. “Why don’t we step inside? I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.”

“A-Alright,” Jason said. Bill hefted himself up, and led the young man into his house for what would prove to be a very fruitful discussion.

There was no reason to panic. Jason had probably just stayed over with a friend or something. They’d had that big fight, and he’d seemed alright the next day, but Mark struggled every day to understand what went through the brain of his teenage son. He didn’t understand where this rebellious streak came from. He’d been such a good kid, and then one day, he’d just done a heel turn, and he’d been a headache for Will and his wife every day since. His newest obsession was getting tattooed, and as long as he lived under this roof, he wasn’t going to let his son defile his body like that. If he did end up getting a tattoo, it had better be somewhere that Mark couldn’t see it, or there would be hell to pay, one way or another.

Emma wanted to call the police and report him missing, but there was no actual evidence that he was abducted or anything like that. Instead, he’d called Luke, the pastor at his church for advice, and he’d said the same thing. Jason would come home eventually, and they’d figure out the next steps together. Mark calmed her down, told her they might as well just wait and see. Sure enough, a little before noon, Mark got a text. Jason had been out all night, he wouldn’t say where, and he was stranded. He texted him an address, and told him to come meet him there. He loaded up the address on his phone, and was surprised to see it was some dirty looking strip mall in a rundown part of town. He had no idea how Jason had ended up there, but he was going to pick him up, and they would have a long chat about his recent rebellious behavior.

The drive took about twenty minutes. Mark pulled into the small parking lot, climbed out of his car, looked up at the address, which hadn’t been tied to a business on his phone, and his gut dropped out from under him.The name of the business upset him enough–who would call their shop, ‘The Devil’s Work’! Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was a tattoo and piercing parlor, to make matters worse. If his dumb son had gotten himself a tattoo, at a place like this no less, and then told him to come pick him up–he was going to be walking home. He stormed up onto the walk, yanked open the door, ready to give Jason a piece of his mind, but what he saw inside the shop was so outrageous, that he couldn’t even really process it for a moment.

Right in front of him, bent over the short counter, was one fellow, quite fat and hairy and old, with his grubby work pants down around his ankles. Behind him was a younger man, wearing some tattered black jeans, boots and a leather vest, covered all over with tattoos, busy fucking him–so busy, that it took him a moment to realize that they weren’t alone in the room anymore. The younger tattooed fellow looked up at where Mark was, jaw on the floor, and just smiled at him. “Oh, hey daddy. Thought you might be a little longer. Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll be with you when I’m finished.”

He absolutely wasn’t going to do that, Mark thought to himself. Yet, his feet dragged him into the shop, towards the small waiting area surrounded by sample tattoo artwork. He didn’t know where to look. He didn’t want to look at the men fucking in front of him, and yet, the one who had spoken to him, he knew that voice, he…


“Jason!” Mark shouted, “Jason, what–what in God’s green earth has happened to you?”

“Fuck, was wondering how long it would take him,” Bill said.

“He’s an idiot,” Jason said, “Fuckin’ hell, your hole is somethin’ else. Gonna bust deep in here, you want it?”

“Fuckin’ hell yeah I do, load me up, freak!”

Jason thrust in hard, and with a loud moan, pumped his seed deep into Bill’s hole, making eye contact with his father the entire time. Mark tried to deny it. It couldn’t be his son, it just couldn’t. For one thing, he was older–not that much older, probably in his mid-twenties, but older all the same. His frame was packed with muscle like he’d been going to the gym for years. Then, of course, the tattoos and piercings. There was no way all of that could have appeared overnight.

Jason’s cock finished pumping, and he slowly allowed his cock to fall from Bill’s loose hole, and Mark’s face flushed. The cock looked almost inhuman, what had Jason, what had this other freak done to it? It was studded with metal, and covered with black ink like the rest of Jason’s body, but it was the shape that seemed most strange. It looked almost engorged somehow, and even though he’d just cum, it didn’t seem like it was getting any smaller. He’d heard of some sex freaks injecting silicone into their cocks in order to make them larger, and he prayed to God that Jason hadn’t done something like that.

“You doing alright, Dad?” Jason said, “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

“Jason–Jason, what happened? What did this…this faggot do to you? Please, you have to come with me, we have to get you help!”

Jason just laughed. Bill pushed himself upright, pulled up his pants, and put the suspenders back over his shoulders, but left his cock hanging out as well. “I assure you, Mark, that Jason accepted the terms of my little business proposition all on his own. His very own body mod shop, and a good amount of magical power to boot! Now, why don’t you show how supportive you are of your son’s new venture, hop in the chair here, and become his first customer? Seems like that would be the fatherly thing to do, right Jason? Besides, your son here is gonna need some practice with his new skills before we open to the public.”

“No, I don’t know what demon has infiltrated my son, but you cannot have him! Jason, please, come with me, we’ll fix you, please…”

“I don’t need ‘fixing’,” Jason spat at his father, “You, on the other hand, are a piece of work that could use some adjustments. Take off your fucking clothes and get on the table.”

Mark tried to resist, but his body disobeyed him, and began undressing. “How…how are you doing this?”

“This is my shop,” Jason said, “And with Bill’s help here, anything I say in my shop, goes. It’s my own personal kingdom, and you wandered right in. You’re mine now, dad, until I’m through with you.”

“You can’t do this, I’ll call the fucking police!”

“No one can help you dad. If you were smart, you’d just get on your knees and beg me for mercy, but even that probably wouldn’t help. Watching you do that would just make me too horny to stop myself.”

Mark’s underwear and socks hit the floor, and he shuffled over to the table, obviously still struggling, but it was hopeless. He got on it, lying on his back, and his son came around to his side, looking him over.

“Fuck, you’re a sorry looking fucker. So dang hairy too! I can’t have that obstructing my work,” Jason said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up here with a whole new look, a whole new attitude too. First things first, we aren’t going to need any of this hair of yours…”

It was the strangest sensation. It was like Mark could feel all of the individual strands of hair all over his body, from his feet to his armpits to his head to even his eyebrows, just pull themselves back into his skin and disappear. In less than a minute, he went from moderately hairy to not a single hair on his skin, anywhere. “How…”

“It’s magic Daddy, are you still playing dumb?”

“This is devil work, son, you have to resist it!”

Bill just laughed. “There are no gods, and no devils. There’s just power–and your son has lots of it.”

“Wanna see daddy? Here, let me show you. No needles–at least, unless you want them.”

Jason laid his hands on Mark’s chest, and as he did, he watched the ink on his son’s hands and forearms wriggle to life, and begin sliding down to his palms–and from his palms, out onto Mark’s chest. He screamed then, tried to force himself out from under his son’s grip, but he couldn’t seem to move. He could feel it, the ink permeating his skin, but something else as well. It was leaking into his mind, he could feel the corruption trying to push into his soul. He did his best to resist, but it was no use. It was changing him, Jason was changing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop him.

After about a minute, Jason pulled his hands away from his father’s chest, where he was lying on the table. Mark could feel the ink that his son had pumped into him still squirming and settling under his skin. He looked up, and saw that there was a mirror hanging on the ceiling, giving him a full view of his hairless body. The lettering was reversed in the mirror, but he could read the letters that now sprawled across his chest. He didn’t have to read them. He knew what it said, in his heart, before even looking up.


It couldn’t be possible. Tattoos didn’t work like that, they weren’t alive, they didn’t just appear on your skin, but it was there. Before Mark could say anything else, Jason grabbed hold of both his tits, one in each hand, and squeezed–hard. The moan of delight that slipped out of Mark’s mouth surprised him. The pain was there, yes, the exquisite, beautiful pain, but within, there was pleasure, more pleasure than he could understand. 

“Goodness dad, I didn’t know you were such a masochist,” Jason said, rolling and tugging the tits in his fingers. His nails felt so sharp. Mark managed to raise his head and look down, noticing that Jason’s nails weren’t normal. They were metallic, and came to sharp, claw like points. He also noticed that the more Jason worked his tits, the bigger and puffier and fuller they seemed to become, the more sensitive too. “This next part might hurt, dad, but I don’t think you’ll mind, somehow,” Jason said, and caught each nipple between the nails on his thumbs and index fingers. 

Mark screamed as the metal sank into his flesh, piercing him, slowly driving deeper into him. It hurt, it hurt so much, and his cock was so hard, aching, drooling cum. The points of each nail pushed into his flesh until they met inside his tits, then Jason pulled his fingers back, the metal still embedded in Mark’s body, completing a thick, metal ring, before coming free. The metal squirmed a bit, evened out and eventually froze as two massive stainless steel rings through each pumped tit, tugging down hard on his chest. The pain eased, became a new baseline. As horrible as the experience was, Mark found himself wanting it back, wanting more, and hating himself for it.

Jason ran one sharp nail down his father’s belly, watching him shudder, down to his aching, drooling cock. “”You’re making quite the mess, Daddy,” he said, “Guess that means you like it. Shall we continue then? Make you a proper freak?”

Jason climbed up on the table so he was straddling Mark at the waist, their cock and balls pressed against each other. Jason’s were massive, and heavy. He grabbed hold of his dad’s cock, positioned the head so it was pressed against the oddly deformed head of Jason’s cock, and he felt the head of his own sucked inside of Jason’s, and then, felt something begin to pump into him, something slick, yet firm.

He could feel his cock and balls begin to inflate with the magical silicone Jason’s cock was feeding him. Jason moaned and sighed, bucking slightly like he was in the midst of an orgasm, and Mark could feel it, the pleasure seeping into him, the strange fullness as his skin stretched. Jason eventually pulled free, heaving and gasping a bit, his own cock looking somewhat deflated now. “Fuck, wasn’t planning on giving you quite that much, but it felt so fucking good…”

Mark could see what he meant. His cock and balls were no longer even recognizable as such. His cock was just a lumpen, misshapen mass, resting on top of a scrotum as large as a summer watermelon. “No…no, it…it can’t…”

“Don’t worry dad, regular silicone causes all sorts of dangers, and can reduce sensitivity, but mine comes with none of those drawbacks,” Jason said, running his claws down the girthy length of Mark’s new cock, making him shudder in pleasure. “See? Still, we’d better put a warning on this junk…” He ran his hands across the top of Mark’s groin, and he felt more ink slide under his skin:


Yeah, his freakmeat, that’s what he called it. Mark shook his head, it wasn’t true, but there it was, in his head. He couldn’t think around it, it was everywhere. 

“Better lock it down, too. We don’t want your freakmeat getting free now, do we?”

Jason put a massive ring through the misshaped shaft of Mark’s cock, behind the head, even larger than the ones in his tits–large enough to almost be a bracelet. Then, a second massive ring in the front of his scrotum, running up and down. The two rings joined, seamlessly, ensuring that his freakmeat would always be locked up tight–not that it could get hard anyway. He dug his nails into the tender, distended flesh of Mark’s groin, watching his father writhe, caught somewhere between delight and terror. Mark could feel the metal leeching into his flesh, only to reemerge as studs and rings all over his flesh. More tattoos slid down onto his skin there as well, demands for punishment written all over his freakmeat. It was no longer meant for pleasure, after all. No–it was meant to be punished. A freak like him deserved, no, needed punishment, pain, agony!

Jason pulled his nails free, admiring the studded, tattooed flesh between his father’s legs, watching him panting, heaving for breath, a drool of precum leaking from the maw of his siliconed cock. 

“God,” Mark said, “God please, deliver me, have mercy on my son, please, release him from the demon that has possessed him–”

“God isn’t real, Daddy, don’t you know that by now?” Jason said, climbing down off the table, coming around to his father’s head, and running his sharp nails along his bare face. Mark shuddered and cried as more metal sprang up, rings and studs in his ears, lips and tongue. “There’s just me. There’s just power. Why don’t we find you something more useful to worship? We already know the name of your first God, don’t we?”

Jason laid his hands on his father’s right arm, the ink spreading down from his hands and across his bare skin. Barbed wire, spotted with blood. Knives, blades, needles–instruments of his God, instruments of Agony. The corruption slipped deeper into Mark’s soul, curdling his faith, warping it. Ecstasy, prayer, devotion, he had never truly understood the enlightened state, not until he had experienced Agony, true pain. The end of the self, floating, empty, adrift, nothing but sensation to guide him. The more he hurt, the more he could see it, true divinity.

When Jason released him, he saw that his entire arm was covered in a sleeve, from his knuckles–PAIN across them–all the way up onto his shoulder and chest, around the block letters Jason had already given him. He cried. He cried because he had fallen. He cried because he understood, because he knew. 

“Now, why don’t we roll you over, and I show you who your other God is, daddy?” Jason said into his ear.

Mark tried to resist, with what little willpower he had left, but did as his son ordered him to, and rolled over, his ass up on the table now.

“Hands and knees, come on,” Jason said.

“Please, don’t do this…” Mark said, but moved into position. He could feel, for the first time, how heavy his freakmeat was now, how the silicone and flesh and metal tugged away from his body in the most divine way. He swung it, feeling the tug and pull, and shuddered, only for Jason to bat it with one hand roughly. Mark moaned, bit his tongue before he caught himself begging for more, begging him to hit him harder. 

“Like a speed bag,” Bill said, one of the first things he’d said, while watching Jason work his father over.

“I bet he’d like that,” Jason said, “but we have a little more work to do first, don’t we Daddy? One more God to introduce you to, one more thing for you to worship with the rest of your agonizing life.” He pressed his father’s ass cheeks apart, and more ink slid down his hands, covering them, sliding around, forming two words, one on each cheek:


Like before, Mark could feel the ink etching itself not just across his body, but over his mind, over his desires. He knew what was written there without even needing to see it, knew what it meant. Jason took a bottle of lube and squeezed it, let it run down his father’s ass crack, one hand gathering it up and probing his father’s hole, more ink marking him in his most intimate area, a series of black, concentric rings like a bullseye. He pushed two fingers in, and Mark shuddered, moaned.

“You’re nothing but a hole,” Jason said, roughly driving his fingers into him, his sharp nails now retracted and smoothed over, “A gaping void longing to be filled. This hole, this hole is your second God. A hungry, aching, greedy God, that needs constant satisfaction.”

“Please…Please, I…”

“What, what do you need? Tell me.”

Mark tried to keep the words from his lips, tried to knot them, keep them secret in his heart, but he couldn’t, the desire was raging through him too quickly to deny it. “Deeper, fucking…shove that fucking fist in me already, fuck, I need it, I need it…”

Mark’s hole swallowed Jason’s hand with almost no resistance. He gasped and moaned, but even as full as he felt, he wasn’t enough. Jason slid back out, and that moment of emptiness was torture, before he plunged his hand back in, deeper than before. Then out, then in, pushing in, Mark’s hole almost sucking at his son’s forearm, clinging to him, willing him to never leave. The ink was still sliding from Jason’s arm, faster now, spreading down both of Mark’s legs, up the sides of his body, and down his other arm. Cocks and dildos sliding in and out of mouths and assholes, an obscene sleeve all the way to his wrist, and on his knuckles, the word HOLE.

Mark felt his mind slip away, at some point. The bliss was impossible to describe. He had thought, before, that the pinnacle of human satisfaction, the moment of clarity at his baptism, was impossible to surpass, but this, dancing the line between pleasure and pain, fullness and the void, it was indescribable. At some point, while Jason had both his hands inside Mark’s hole, Bill wandered around to his face and began slapping him, choking him, picked up a belt and began beating his back, ass, and fuckmeat. He lost track of how many orgasms ripped their way through his asshole, as Jason pummeled him. He had no idea how much time passed, but at some point, the three of them collapsed–Mark on the table, hole gaping and twitching, bruised and aching. Off to the side were Jason and Bill still going strong, though this time it was Jason riding Bill’s cock to completion.

While they fucked, Mark managed to slide his way off the table and make his way to the full length mirror not far from the table. He looked at himself, but nothing was a surprise, somehow. He knew what he looked like, after all. He knew he was a freak. He tried to recall who he’d been when he arrived that morning, his body, his life, but there was nothing. It had been blacked over so thoroughly by his son that barely anything remained. Some names, the notion of a job, God. 

God–a farce. He could see it so clearly. A religion that called self-denial the pinnacle of human experience, but after what had happened to him, he knew it was a lie. Pain and fucking, those had both given him pleasure and insight beyond anything he’d received from a good book. His life, he supposed, was over now. Even if Jason reversed everything, even if he returned him to his pristine body, he couldn’t change the truth that he had found in his heart. He started to cry, but much to his surprise, it wasn’t from terror, or shame. He was relieved. He was joyful. 

Jason came over, got down behind where his father was crouching, and held him close, held him tenderly. It shocked him, appalled him, somehow, that after everything he’d done, there was still softness here. 

“You understand, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“I’d always known, kind of, even before I met Bill, I think. He showed me the rest. I hoped you’d see it too.”

“What…what now? Who even am I?”

Jason pulled him close, “I have a plan, don’t you worry. You just do everything I tell you to do, alright? Everything is going to be just fine, I promise.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know. I didn’t understand how…how good…”

“It’s alright,” Jason said, as his father broke down again, “You’ll be alright, I promise.”

Jason held him until he stopped shuddering, and then left his dad to explore his new body on his own. He stood up, shaking a bit from the exertion of the transformation. In the mirror, Jason could see that his own ink and metal had diminished substantially–much of it transferred to his father. “You said I’d recharge, right? Do you know how long it will take?”

Bill shook his head. “No idea, honestly. Never did a spell like this before. Looks like everything worked perfectly though.”

“I’m just exhausted.”

“I’m not surprised. You should rest for a few days, let your ink and metal fill back up.”

“I will, but there’s one more thing I have to do. Tomorrow. I have enough for that.”

Bill nodded. “You want support?”

“No, I can do this on my own,” Jason walked over, and gave Bill a deep kiss. “Thank you, for everything. It feels like a dream, it’s everything I’d ever wanted.”

“Trust me, you’re helping me out,” Bill said. “Can’t warp this world all on my own, now can I? You just keep making freaks, and we’re even.”

“Fuck–you got it, boss.”

Bill gave him another kiss, and then went on his way. He was exhausted too, but the spell had worked like a charm. He turned around, muttered an incantation around the seedy looking shop, making sure it would draw folks in, like moths to a light. Jason would never be lacking for customers, and the city would have plenty of hot freaks roaming around soon enough.

Luke was concerned when Bill didn’t show up to service that Sunday morning. Considering the conversation they’d had the night before about Jason being missing, it didn’t bode well that he was absent. Bill was never absent, church was something he had built into his life, a cornerstone, a rock. But over the last few years, Luke had also come to think of Bill as more than just a parishioner, he was a friend as well. He’d been hosted by Bill and his wife many times for dinner, and he’d gotten to know Jason fairly well too. Jason–he’d always been troubled. Luke had prayed for him many times, for God to help the young man back onto the path of righteousness. Prayer, and God, at times, could only do so much, and he feared that Jason had turned away fully from the light, towards the darkness, for quite some time now. It was a darkness he was familiar with, one he had defeated, but one that he knew he would struggle with for the rest of his life. Watching someone succumb to it only made it worse, but Luke was strong. God was strong, and Luke knew he was on the right side of morality.

After coffee hour, as the church was finally emptying, Luke was in his office packing up his things, when he got the text from Bill. He’d found Jason! That alone was good news. He was asking Luke to come counsel him, but not at home, which seemed odd. Bill texted him an address, begging Luke to come help. It was odd, but Luke trusted Bill, and Bill needed his help. He dropped his wife off at home, and then headed for the address he’d been given. It was…a tattoo parlor, of all places. He had no idea why Bill would tell him to come here. Again, his sense that something was amiss increased. He should leave, he knew he should leave, and yet, he felt drawn to it all the same. He stepped inside the narrow shop, dimly lit, and blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

“Ah, Pastor Luke, so good of you to join us.”

He knew that voice, almost. It sounded like Jason, but deeper, firmer. “Jason?”

“Yes pastor, come on in, you haven’t missed your appointment. I’ve just been entertaining my father while we wait for you to arrive.”

What Luke saw in the darkness there made his gasp. There, sitting on a couch–yes, it was Jason, but not the Jason he knew. Thickly muscled, covered with tattoos and piercings, wearing nothing other than a filthy, tattered jockstrap hiding an obscene, inhuman bulge, and two combat boots on his large feet. That was bad enough. It was the man before Jason, if you could call it a man, that was more terrifying. Covered with tattoos, with genitals that swollen into something gargantuan, he was bouncing up and down on a massive dildo on the ground in front of Jason. He could see as well that two carabiners had been attached to the massive rings in his nipples and his junk, and then suspended from the ceiling by a number of bungee cords. The man was oblivious to the world, lost in some filthy, degrading stupor. 

No, it couldn’t be. It…It was Mark. It was Jason’s father, what on Earth had happened to him, to both of them? “Jason, what…what happened to you?”

“I’ve been set free, Luke,” Jason said, standing up. “You told me once, in your office during one of our counseling sessions, about the darkness, do you remember? I think I was…fifteen?”

“We…we shouldn’t talk about that here, Jason,” Luke said, “You need help, we need…we need to get you to a hospital, your…your body…”

Jason flexed, showing off his muscular form, watching the ink ripple across his skin. “You like it, don’t you?” he said, “You can admit it. This is a safe place. I know what’s inside you, what you’ve hidden away, Luke. Don’t worry, I’m here to set you free.”

Jason came closer, and Luke tried to run, but his feet refused. He was frozen, still, as Jason came within inches. He could smell him, the musk rolling off him, see the glint of metal, the swirl of ink. Jason’s hand, tenderly, reached down and cupped the crotch of Luke’s khakis. He was so hard, he hadn’t even realized it. Luke stifled a sob, as Jason pulled him close. “Don’t, I can’t…”

“Look what your false God’s done to you. You should be furious.”

“Don’t…don’t say that,” Luke said, pushing him away, “It’s…it’s all I have.”

“Then we should give you something else. Something better,” Jason said. “Take off your clothes, show me who you are.”

“This isn’t right,” Luke said, “God help me,” he muttered as he began stripping his clothes off. He couldn’t tell if he was compelled, or if something inside him was urging him, pushing him onward. 

“God has never helped you,” Jason said, “All he’s done is trap you. Let me give you the release you’ve always needed.”

Jason leaned in, and gave Luke a kiss. He could feel the rings and studs in his lips and tongue, warm steel against the soft flesh of his mouth. It had been so long since he’d dared, over a decade since the last time he’d given in and indulged. He was so hungry, and Jason, the taboo, the confidence, the scent, all of it only served to drive Luke even more wild. There was something wrong with him, something was possessing him, making him do these things. It wasn’t right, but it felt so good all the same. 

Jason pulled away, leaving Luke panting, cock still hard in Jason’s hand. “Why does it always feel so good?” Luke said, ending with a bit of a whimper.

“Time to let the darkness out,” he said, “If the world wants us to hide in the darkness, we might as well become their nightmares, right?”

“I don’t understand,” Luke said, as he looked at Jason, then over at his father, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can. Because I want to,” Jason said, “Because the world has told men like us that we’re fucked, that we’re worthless for too long. They roped you in, made them do your dirty work for them. You wanted me to do the same, but instead, you’re going to work for me–you’re going to be my horny demon…”

“No–no, I–” Luke said, and then dissolved into moans as Jason pressed his hand to his belly. Luke could feel his flesh shudder under Jason’s touch, the ink sliding down his hands through his fingers as they traced their way across his stomach. Luke had always kept himself in reasonable shape. It was vanity, he knew that. The only man he could openly admire was himself, after all. He could feel something happening though, his stomach inflating with a slight layer of fat as the ink spread out in a series of decorative lines. He stepped back, looked down, and saw an inverted pentagram across his belly with arcane symbols littered through it, a ram’s head leering in the center. “No…I won’t let you corrupt me, I won’t…”

“It’ll feel so good though,” Jason said, stepping closer, laying his hands on Luke’s shoulders, more ink flowing down into his skin. “You’re gonna feel so strong, so powerful. So many men telling you what you can’t do. You don’t have to care about that anymore. From now on, they’re gonna fear you.”

Luke could feel it, his body expanding with muscle, bones lengthening. He’d started out a bit shorter than Jason where they were standing, but suddenly he was a couple inches taller, thicker, hotter. He felt the ink sliding down his arms, bulking up his biceps, his forearms. He’d never felt like this before, this strength. More than that though, he realized an absence. There was no fear. The fear he’d felt in his heart, a fear he’d lived with so long, a fear that he had grown around, that had confined him in every way, was suddenly gone. He’d never imagined that could be possible. He swelled, physically, spiritually. He leaned down and kissed Jason again, this time feeling the metal sting him, bite into him, but he didn’t mind. He could feel the runes appearing on his arms, the images of demons and devils. The marks down his forearms in inches, so he can know just how far his hand is buried in a man’s hole. The backpiece forming, two devil wings across his wide, muscular back, and a tail too, of course, winding around his ass. 

“Look at you,” Jason said. “A sadistic, satanic, hedonistic, dominant, gay-as-hell nightmare.” He reached up to Luke’s metal studded face, watched the short, black beard fill in around his cheeks and chin, swirls of ink around his eyes, down his neck, over his bald crown. Lastly, his metal nails dug into his scalp near his temples, and two steel horns sprouted up from his skull, three inches with a slight curve to catch the light. The ink even slid into his eyes, coloring the whites entirely black. He kissed him, Caught Luke’s tongue in his teeth, and he moaned, feeling it split down the middle, now forked. Jason pulled away, admiring his work. “Now, there’s just a matter of your demonic tool, eh?” Jason said, one hand sliding down and caressing Luke’s cock and balls. “You’re a little…small, sadly, for what I’m going to need. Silicone won’t quite do either. I have just the thing though, hold on.”

Jason slipped away into the back of the shop, leaving Luke standing there, reeling from what just happened to him. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. He knew he should be ashamed at the visage looking back at him, at the hulking, tattooed, metal studded, demonic freak, but there was no shame. There was, instead, pride. Fuck, he looked hot, he looked mean. He looked like someone no one would mess with, who wouldn’t have to take shit from anyone, especially not God. He ran one finger along the curved steel horn attached to his skull, and shuddered. He thought about all the men he could gore on the end of them, the painful things he could do to their bodies to pay them back for the misery they’d inflicted on his soul. The rage he felt wasn’t new, but it was no longer contained. He wanted to hurt something–someone. 

Before he could quite follow that thought to any conclusion, Jason returned, holding something that Luke first mistook for a black dildo. “Here, let’s get this on you,” Jason said, and Luke realized it wasn’t a dildo, but a cock sheath. Jason got down on his knees, maneuvered Luke’s nuts into the hollow cavity below the rubber cock, and then, after lubing up his shaft with a little spit, then he worked Luke’s cock into the hollow part of the sheath. Luke Once it was on, Jason traced a little sigil on the rubber sheath with a metal nail, muttering something under his breath, and Luke moaned. It was heating up around his cock, almost uncomfortably hot. He went to tug the rubber free, as Jason pulled away, but discovered he couldn’t. The rubber had sealed itself to his body, the rubber melding seamlessly with his own flesh, spreading into his skin, almost like an infection. 

“What is this? What did you do?”

“You don’t like it?” Jason said, grabbing hold of Jason’s rubber cock with both hands, stroking it, watching Luke almost melt with the sensations assaulting him, “It is still a bit small, but now we have more to work with, don’t we?”

With the sheath, Luke’s cock was nearly a foot long, but as Jason’s hands kept working the shaft, he could see it was growing, both longer and thicker. The surface grew smooth and became wet and slick, almost like the rubber flesh was perspiring lube. The head grew wide and flat, almost like a spade, and when Jason released it, it was nearly three feet long, thicker than a two liter bottle at the root, where it joined his body, and he…he could control it. He knew how, instinctively, watching it twist and writhe in the air, prehensile and slick and filthy. Wrapped it around Jason’s waist, dragging him closer, and kissed him, finding Jason’s hole with the thick head, pressing against it.

“You’ve turned me into a monster,” Luke muttered.

“You were always a monster. We were monsters.”

“I should beat the living shit out of you for this. Fuck, I’d beat the shit out of it and enjoy it.”

“I would too–but not as much as he would.”

Jason motioned over towards Mark, still fucking himself on the dildo, who had watched Luke’s entire transformation with a hungry look. 

“He needed a master, someone who would care for him the only way a painhole like him can be cared for. A master like you.”

Jason walked over, unhooked Mark’s tits from the bungees hanging from the ceiling, then shoved him forward onto his hands and knees, the massive dildo sliding out of his loose hole with a slurping sound. “This, of course, was my father, once. I don’t think he remembers much of that anymore. The pleasure of his gods has been eroding his mind. Took me a while to set that little scene up for him just so he’d leave me the fuck alone for a while. His name is painhole now.”

There was a creeping feeling in Luke’s chest at the sight of the grown man moaning on his hands and knees there on the cement floor, hand reaching back, whining about how empty he was. It was pitiful. It was horrifying, too. He looked back at himself in the mirror again, and clung to that horror as some sort of moral compass, and he turned to Jason. “Jason, please…this isn’t…right,” he said. Even then, he knew how false the words sounded in his mouth. It didn’t matter what was right, and what was wrong. There was only power, authority, and dominance. 

“He made my life a living hell, I feel it’s only fair that I do the same,” Jason said.

“I won’t. You can’t make me.”

Jason laughed. “I felt sorry for you, Luke. I knew what you are, I could see how it warped you, but you still allowed it to happen. You warped yourself to please them, and then did their bidding, doing your best to warp me too. We had the same darkness inside us, the same faggotry. You still did wrong by me, by who knows how many others. This is your hell too, Luke. I’m just giving you the honor of becoming a guard. Now, both of you, follow me.”

Jason led them to the back of the shop, where a heavy steel door was set in the side of the building. He unlocked it, then opened it, and revealed a staircase let red, that spiraled down beneath them. They walked. It felt too deep to simply be a basement. At last, they landed, and the space opened up into a massive sex dungeon, much larger than the small shop above. “Welcome to your hell,” Jason said, and turned to Luke, “On your knees before your God,” he said.

Luke tried to resist, but found himself forced to kneel before him. Jason laid his hands on the sides of Luke’s bare scalp, and this time, he could feel the ink sliding down, deeper, etching itself on the very surface of his mind. It blacked out his humility and kindness. Blacked out his empathy, his tenderness. It blacked out his name. He did not need a name. He was not a person, he was a demon, and demon’s had a single purpose, here in hell. They were here to punish the sinners.

Jason stepped back, and watched his first demon turn to look at painhole, where it was cowering by the foot of the stairs. He snarled at the slave, and then leapt, pinning it to the floor, his thick, slimy, prehensile cock snaking around the slave’s neck, making it gasp and heave for breath. 

“I left something for you too, demon,” Jason said, walking closer, “I left his back unmarked. Feel free to decorate it as you see fit.”

The demon looked around the dungeon, at the whips, the needles, the knives, the floggers, the paddles. Yes, it would mark this sinner, it would punish it well, and the thing would beg for more.

Painhole, of course, would come to no real harm here. Thanks to Bill’s magic, whatever injury the demon might inflict on him would heal in a matter of minutes, though not without leaving behind a scar. Deprived of air, painhole went a bit limp, still heaving, and the demon allowed it’s cock to relax, dropping the slave to the floor. It crawled on top of him, cock slipping easily into its wrecked ass, worming in deep, the slave moaning in its stupor as all three feet of the demon’s cock writhed inside him, rearranging his guts as it saw fit.

Pleased with himself, Jason watched the demon fuck his father for a moment, and then ascended the stairs. He locked the door behind him, smiling. His own personal hell, one he would be happy to fill to the brim with sinners of all stripes. He could already think of so many at the church his father had forced him to attend. So many old, conservative men, pleased with their bigotry and confident in their safety and security. He will take them, and mark them, and throw them into his hell where they belong, and he will make more demons, so many demons who will tend to them and their painful delights. 

Fuck, he was horny. He should have fucked one of them before locking them down there, but he didn’t want to interrupt them now. As he was mulling over just jacking off, he heard the bell over the door ring. Peeking through the curtain, he saw a young man, probably college aged, step into the shop a little tentatively. Perfect–a brand new customer. He concentrated, and clothes appeared on his body, more than the dirty jock he’d had on earlier, stepped out and made the young man feel comfortable.

An hour later, he had the old biker bent over the side of his table, howling as Jason drove his massive cock deeper into his ass. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, fuckin’ pig?”

“Fuck man, ain’t no one fucked mah hole with a cock that big in years, fuck, feels so fuckin’ good…” the biker drawled back at him.

“It fuckin’ does, fuck it does…” Jason said. He took it slow. He wanted this to last a while after all. And when he sent the biker on his way, covered with tattoos and metal, he told him to recommend his shop to all his buddies. He’d hook them up with whatever mods they needed–even if they didn’t know they needed them yet.

Commission: Arctos – Air Freshener

“We here at Arctos Outfitters are dedicated to ensuring that every one of your senses is delighted in your home! That’s why, Brendon, we’ve decided to send you a sample from our new line of plug in air fresheners. Each comes with three unique scents that, once you get a whiff of them, you won’t be able to get enough! Enjoy!”

Brendon put the note down and picked up the little plug-in air freshener that had been in the small box as well. He didn’t know how the company had gotten his address, but they weren’t necessarily wrong about his interests. Brendon did like having his apartment smelling nice, and kept a regular supply of candles and air fresheners around to keep it that way. It was a bit odd that the company hadn’t bothered to tell him what the scents were, and when he sniffed at the plug in, he didn’t smell anything at all, really, which was odd. You could usually get a good idea of what it was going to smell like beforehand, which meant this was either going to be some weak scent, or they had just sealed it in really well. He figured he’d try plugging it in overnight in his bedroom, let it do its thing, and see what he thought of the result in the morning. That evening, he popped it into the outlet by his bed, and while he heard it whirr to life, he still couldn’t smell anything. With a shrug, he laid down, and it wasn’t long before he was fast asleep, and with a little click, the plug in started to release a smoky haze into the room around him. Brendon tossed and turned for a moment in his bed, and began to dream…

Brendon wasn’t sure where he was at first. It was a narrow room with a number of booths running down either side, and the air was full of smoke. Men were crowded into the booths, and all of them were smoking cigars of various sizes. Brendon wasn’t a smoker, and had always found cigars unappealing. He passed the booths, the men all staring at him as he passed them by, trying to find his way out, but when he reached the end of the smoky room, all he found was a waiter standing by a sizable humidor. He turned around to leave, only to find the way blocked by a thick wall of smoke coming closer and closer to him. Before he could react, it had swallowed him up.

The smoke was everywhere, all around him. He could smell it, the deep, pungent cigar smoke pushing at him, probing him, trying to get inside him. He held his breath as long as he could, but when he had to inhale, the smoke forced its way inside him, driving down into his lungs. He could feel it solidifying, and a massive 80 gauge cigar manifested from the smoke, crammed in his jaw, fully lit and spouting smoke. He couldn’t help but inhale now, sucking down more and more smoke, feeling it permeate his entire body, his cock rock hard and aching. He needed it now, the smoke. Men came out of the booths around him, now naked, still smoking, feeling him up, urging him on, stroking his cock, and–

Brendon woke as the orgasm hit him in his bed, surging through him, his cock erupting all over the sheets around him as he spasmed in his room. He sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes. He’d never had a dream that intense before, and he hadn’t shot a load in his sleep since he was a teenager. He ran his tongue around his mouth, already missing the cigar he’d been smoking, but then, it was about time for his midnight smoke, after all. He opened up the humidor on his bedside table, took out one of his shorter sticks he preferred for his breaks in the night, and lit it up.

Fuck, he was so fucking addicted to these things. He smoked them almost constantly during the day, and had to wake up a couple times each night just to keep himself hopped up on the nicotine. The air was hazy with smoke, and he could smell it–stale and fresh mixing together, and heaved a contented sigh. He reeked of cigars too, of course, but he didn’t care. Why wouldn’t he want to smell like a cigar?

He finished the cigar in half an hour, snuffed it out, and climbed back into bed. He’d already forgotten about the plug in the wall, which had exhausted its first scent, and now was moving onto the second, as Brendon began to dream again…

This time, he found himself standing in a locker room, naked. From the sounds coming from nearby, it was connected to a gym. He looked around, smoking his dream cigar, a bit embarrassed–he needed to find some clothes before anyone saw him. He saw something lying on a bench near him, went over, and found a set of gym clothes scattered about on the floor, all of which looked to have been worn recently–but no one else was there. Without thinking too much about it, he pulled on the sweaty, musky shorts and tanktop, socks and shoes, and when they were all on, much like the last dream, be felt the scent begin to soak into his skin, making him feel a bit woozy.

He sat down on the bench for a moment, taking deep inhales of the musk rolling off the gym clothes, aware that…something seemed to be happening to him, but it was difficult to describe what. When he felt he could stand again, he did, turned, saw himself in the mirror, and gasped. He…he was massive. The clothes, which had been too large on him before, were now too small, the spandex stretched tight across his thick frame, hair popping out everywhere, each inch of his soaked in sweat. He flexed, watched the outline of his thick cock in the shorts throb in excitement, reached down to take care of that, and

He woke with his hand shoved into the filthy jock he’d worn to bed, one muscular arm thrown up over his head, nose shoved as close to his pit as he could, masturbating to his own stink, unable to control himself, not that he even really wanted to. He finished, shooting the second load of the night all over himself, rubbing the cum into his sweaty body, and sat up to have his second cigar of the night. He flipped on the light, and had a small moment of confusion when he looked around at the piles of dirty clothes scattered throughout his room, but…of course he didn’t want them. No, he loved how they all smelled, he loved making them all even muskier even, of course he did. He took a deep inhale of his cigar, laid back on his unwashed sheets, and sighed smoke, not really noticing that the ash was falling on the bed. He didn’t care–after all, he smelled like an ashtray most days, why would it matter? He finished his cigar and turned the light back off, rolling over as the third scent filled the room, and another dream began…

He was in the gym locker room, naked aside from a towel, going into the sauna. It was empty, for the moment, but as soon as he sat down, a series of muscular bears all filed in as well, taking up the various seats, crowding in around Brendon. They all started to sweat, but then the bear beside him lifted one leg in Brendon’s direction, and let loose a long, loud fart. The smell caught him a moment later, pungent and ripe, and he couldn’t seem to escape it, there was nowhere to go. He leaned away, only for the bear on the other side to lift his leg and let loose one of his own, and soon, every bear in the room was farting up a storm, the small sanua filled with the scent of gas, making Brendon gag. He got up, trying to get free, only for a leg to trip him. He ended up on the floor, on his back, and one of the bears got up and sat his naked ass right on Brendon’s face, letting loose a fart directly on him.

He tried to resist, tried to hold his breath, but like before, he could feel it probing down into him, sinking into his pores, multiplying there, and soon, it didn’t smell so bad at all. He started licking at the sweaty, hairy crack, and after a few moments, it was replaced by another, and then another, all of them farting, and Brendon could feel a pressure building in his guts. He let loose a massive fart that reverberated off the walls around him, and–

–and he woke up to the sound of his own fart in his room, just as loud, and just as noxious. So noxious in fact, that Brendon snorted up as much of the fumes as he could and jacked off again, wishing the hot asses from the dream were real, smothering him now, but he’d just have to make do with his own scent for now, he supposed. After he shot his third load of the night all over himself, he rolled off the bed, checked his phone, and saw it was just a few minutes before his alarm. He got up, gave a little flex, and started sniffing around for something that smelled good for the gym this morning. He ended up in a cum crusted tanktop, the jock he’d been wearing to bed, a set of gym shorts with a few burnt out holes from some cigars, and a couple of stinking socks and trainers. Feeling good, he went into the kitchen, got one of his protein shakes together–a blend that he’d found gave him the rankest farts possible–and guzzled that down. Feeling good, he stepped outside of his filthy apartment, and bumped into a young man in a suit coming down from an apartment upstairs. 

“Sorry bud,” Brendon said, “wasn’t lookin’.”

The man wrinkled his nose in disgust, and took in the sight of the massive, musky muscle bear who was his downstairs neighbor apparently–had the other guy moved out without him even noticing? “Whatever freak, take a fucking shower,” he said, and tried to push past him, only for Brendon to grab his wrist, pull him close, and shove his face right into his pit. He…didn’t know why he did that exactly, but it felt right. The man struggled for a few moments, and then relaxed a bit, and when Brendon pulled his face away, he could see it was a bit…different. A little more stubble on his cheeks, drooling a little. 

Maybe the gym could wait for a bit. He took a drag off his cigar, wrapped a big hand loosely around the man’s neck, and fed him the smoke, pleased with how receptive the man had become with just a little taste of his pitmusk. “Why don’t you come in for a bit, bud? Take a load off, have a cigar with me,” Brendon said, wrapping one muscular arm around his shoulders, and leading him in, “What’s your name, man?”

“Uh…Cliff,” he said, “But I…gotta get to work.”

“Come on man, just a little cigar, that’s all.”

Brenden sat the man down on the couch, stained with cum in several spots. Cliff looked around, visibly grossed out by the state of the apartment, but Brendon could tell from the erection in the front of his slacks he was already giving in. ‘Hey Cliff, can you smell something for me? I wanna see what you think of this.” He then dropped his shorts, turned around and ripped a long nasty fart right into his neighbor’s face.

His eyes glazed over, part of him still thinking that it was disgusting, but when his mind told him to get away, his body leaned in and started snorting up the fumes from Brendon’s ass, and he groaned out, “Oh fuck,” as his cock unloaded right into the front of his slacks. “Oh fuck, that’s fuckin’ rank, bro…” he said.

Brenden flashed a huge smile. “Glad you like it. Now, how about that cigar man? You can finish this one,” He placed his cigar in the man’s mouth, who started puffing contentedly. Cliff’s stubble had grown into a full beard now, his office attire stretched by his expanding body, packing on muscle. Brendon climbed into his lap and tore off his shirt, tossing the rags over the back of the couch, pushed Cliff’s arms into the air and ate out his pits, which were growing more and more intense by the moment, Cliff sucking down the cigar, feeling the smoke warping his mind, dumbing him down, making everything seem so simple. It wasn’t long before he was on his knees on the couch, bent over the back, Brendon’s bearded face shoved into his crack, tasting the first of Cliff’s own rank farts, his own cock hard as steel and ready to fuck after a few minutes of rimming his bro’s hole.

He pulled his face away, wiping the sweat and drool into his beard, and then pressed the head of his cock against Cliff’s hole. “Ready bro? Wanna feel my big, rank cock slam into that gassy ass of yours?”

“Fuck bro, what the fuck are ya waitin’ for!” Cliff said, looking over, just a butt of a cigar remaining. 

The fucked for half an hour, and by the time Brendon finished, Cliff had shot his own load all over the couch below him, adding his own cumstains to the fabric there. His mind had faded, his old life lost, and with his roommate, and boyfriend’s cum planted in his musky hole, he pulled on a pair of filthy gym shorts off the ground and a tank top, and the two of them left to get to the gym, a bit later than planned.

They went down the stairs, and as they did, Cliff let off a little fart of each step, filling the back of his shorts with Brendon’s load of cum, making them both giggle like idiots as they stood in the cloud of their own stink, getting hard again, but they resisted the urge. They could fuck later, after all. The gym was just a quick walk down the street, long enough to work up a sweat for sure. And when they got there, they were sure that once the local bodybuilders all got a whiff of them, they’d have them all following them back to their place after their workout. Their smell had a way with guys, after all–that was the Arctos promise.

Flash Commission – A Demon’s Face

WARNING! This story has some real extreme stuff in it, and is definitely more of a horror story than an erotica story. This includes blood and knife play, extreme pain play, scat and demonic references. If any of that isn’t of interest to you, don’t read it!

The message had arrived for John as a bit of relief. His friend Aleks had grown more and more distant over the last year or so, delving deeper into the occult and demonology, beyond the sort of fetish play the two had always enjoyed over the years. The last time John had gone over there, the mood had been tense, Aleks not exactly high, but more than a little out of his mind. John had left, unsure of what to do, and when he’d expressed some concern, Aleks had lashed out over text and refused to reply since. 

But now, months later, he’d finally gotten a message back. Short and to the point, Aleks had asked him to come over, there was something he wanted to show him. No apology, no real admission that he might have gotten a little too deep, but for John, he was happy he at least wasn’t dead or something. He got geared up in some leather pants and a spiked leather jacket, and headed for Aleks’s apartment to see what he wanted to show him.

When he arrived, though, it was quickly clear that everything was not exactly normal. The door wasn’t locked, and when he stepped inside, it was the smell that assaulted him at first. Something beyond musky or stale, perhaps even beyond rank. It smelled like something between a burning trash pile and a grungy locker room. He stepped inside, tested a light switch in the entryway, but the light only flickered for a moment before going out, and refusing to come back on. 

Looking down the hall, the whole apartment seemed to be dark and maybe even empty. He went in anyway, despite a general instinct to turn tail and run, and as he approached the living room, a more familiar smell joined the rest, cigar smoke. Sure enough, he turned the corner, and there in the dimly lit living room was Aleks sitting on the couch in full leather, smoking a cigar. He even had on a full leather mask that John had seen him in a few times, which only made the whole look hotter still.

“Ah, there you are,” Aleks said, “I was getting tired of waiting.” He grinned, and John saw something strange–there was a light coming from the inside of his mouth. Aleks put the end of the cigar in his mouth, and again, something was off. The end of the cigar wasn’t burning, but he was still exhaling smoke out of his mouth. Aleks took off the dark glasses he had on, and John’s eyes went wide–his friend had no eyes underneath. There were just the holes in the leather mask, and behind that, there was just flame. “As you can see, I’ve made a few improvements to myself since the last time we saw each other,” he said, and when he talked, John could see the fire through his mouth as well. That explained the cigar–he was literally burning it inside his mouth. Aleks took another inhale off it, and John could see the thick plumes of grey smoke emerging not just from his mouth, but from his eyes as well. “Come on then, come have a closer look,” Aleks said.

Everything in John’s mind and body screamed at him to run, but the smell, the smoke, the light of the flame, all of it beckoned him closer. His limbs a bit stiff, he found himself lurching forward, the smell growing more intense, inhaling the smoke now, feeling his mind going a bit numb, his own cock stiffening in his leather pants. “Fuck Aleks, what the fuck did you do?” John managed to croke out as he came closer.

“Well, it turns out that selling your soul is the hard part,” Aleks said to him, “But once that’s gone, everything else is so much easier, you see. Demons will trade just about anything for a face. They use them to infiltrate our world, but not many people are willing to part with them. I feel like I got everything I wanted for mine though. Stop trying to fight it, John–my smoke can bend the will of any man now, my musk can corrupt even the most stalwart soul. Stop pretending that you don’t want to kneel before me, service me, it’s all you fucking want now.”

John could feel it, the hunger and desire welling up inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own–after all, they had imagined something like this together many times before, though only Aleks had really believed he could pursue such power. In the end, it didn’t matter. He could feel the smoke smothering all of the doubts, all of the fears, and he fell to his knees in front of Aleks, and shoved his face into his new master’s crotch, inhaling the scent of the musky leather.

One of Aleks’s hands cupped his chin and lifted his face up. “I always loved your face, you know, it’s so sweet–I’m going to get a great deal for yours, I think.” Aleks reached over to the table beside the couch where he was sitting, and opened up a switchblade.

“Wait…what…” John said, but his throat seemed too dry, his head spinning from the smoke.

“Your face, John. They want faces, and I will provide them. Don’t worry, I already know what I’ll be getting in return for yours. Now hold very still.”

The blade cut into his neck, shallow, but John gasped and tried to flinch away–only to find his body was paralyzed. Aleks drew the blade around his neck, and John could feel the blood drooling down onto his chest. Then, he drew it up the back of his head, following the spine, all the way to the crown of his head. That, it turned out, was the easy part. Aleks’s leather gloved fingers dug into the wounds at the back of his head, and began pulling the skin free of the muscle. John screamed then, the pain surging through his body and mind until he finally felt darkness overwhelm him, and he passed out.

In all honesty, he thought that was the end. When he awoke, the nerves of his face dully throbbing away at him, he thought he must be dead, now in some afterlife. He looked around at what he could see, and knew he was on a bed in a room he recognized as Aleks’s bedroom. Perhaps it had been a dream, or some hallucination. He tested his arms and legs, and while sore, they could move. He pushed himself up so he was sitting on the bed, and knew that there was a mirrored closet behind him. Terrified at what he might see, but knowing he had to look, he twisted around, and let out a groan.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in the mirror. The horrifying, bestial face, something between a gorilla and a wolf, staring back at him. The only part that he could still recognize were the human eyes underneath. He reached up, felt the greasy hair, the thick beard, the coarse skin, looked lower, under his neck, and let out another groan–whatever it was that was on his head now, it was…growing into him. He could see the veins of corruption spreading down into his chest and shoulders. He got up and went to the door–but it was locked. He tried to call out for help, but after a few minutes of that, he could feel the pain intensifying–whatever this process was, it wasn’t yet complete.

He spent the next eight hours on the bed, screaming in agony, as the demonic face fully attached itself to his head, spreading its corruption down into his body, deep into his soul. That was the most painful part, in fact, feeling that darkness, the horrifying chill, drilling deep into his chest, finding whatever light and good it could and snuffing it out. As it did, his body was growing, bones cracking and extending, muscles burning and flexing, a thick pelt of fur growing all down his back and chest. When the pain finally subsided, he looked over at himself in the mirror–and saw that his eyes were gone. His humanity was gone, corrupted away, just two pitch black eyes staring at him, a gnawing hunger deep in his guts, and an aching horniness in his groin. His cock and balls had not gone unaffected–his cock was larger now, easily eight inches, now with a sheath running up his abdomen. He got up from the bed, now nearly eight feet tall, tested the door with his claw tipped hands, but before he could rip the door from its hinges, it opened, and John dropped to his knees before his Master in the doorway.

The smell of him was not only more intense to his now bestial nose, but also smelled absolutely delightful. Filthy and musky and corrupted. Drool began flowing from his mouth faster than he could swallow it, and John pushed his face into Aleks’s crotch, snorting and huffing in his intoxicating stench.

“Good, it took. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to incinerate your corpse,” Aleks said, wrapping one hand around the back of John’s head, tangling his fingers in his greasy locks. “I’m too fond of you to not spend an eternity with you as my thrall.”

Thrall. The word reverberated through him, and John could feel it. Their connection. He lived to serve his Master now, his soul was gone, and what had replaced it was a deep, undeniable desire to worship him. Aleks’ opened his burning mouth wide, reached in with a hand, and pulled free a metal chain glowing with heat, though his gloves were unburnt. He took it, wrapped it around John’s neck, and the beast howled in pain. Aleks pressed the metal into his flesh, searing it there, before gripping the free ends of the chain in his fist and melting them together into a knot, now impossible to untangle or remove.

The pain ebbed away, and John felt his flesh healing rapidly around the metal–in a matter of moments, it was like it had been fused to his body for years. “What…what have you done to me?” he growled out, words warped by his long inhuman tongue and sharp fangs.

“I took your face, and traded it for a demon’s. A lower one, a beast of filth and sloth and wrath. I knew it would suit you and your desires. You are hungry, are you not, my slave?”

John gave a growl, and Aleks’ turned around, pulled his pants down, and shoved his ass to John’s face. The stench was horrific and intoxicating. John pried his master’s cheeks apart with his claws, digging into the skin a bit, and drove his long, pointed tongue into his hole, tasting it, tasting what he desired now, more than anything. Aleks fed his thrall his massive load of shit, listening to the beast eagerly devour every last bit of it, and when he was finished, he turned around, and sprayed him down with a load of piss. It came out nearly hot enough to scald, steaming in the air, and John was in ecstasy, reeking of his Master now, belly full, cock aching to fuck.

“Now, why don’t we begin our real task, my slave?” Aleks said.

That night, John grabbed one of the other tenants from the building, and dragged him back to the apartment. Aleks took the face from the man, and replaced it with one of his own desire, a blank rubber gas mask, filling the man with his smoke until his entire identity had been erased, knowing nothing more than the fact he was a drone, a slave to his demonic master and his favorite pet. At last, John was given his reward, and mounted the their first drone, driving his monstrous cock into its tight hole, wrecking it, destroying it, filling it with as much corruptive cum as he could, watching the drone expand in size, growing more and more muscular as the rubber of the gas mask spread, encasing the drone’s entire body.

Soon, they would have a harem. Then an army. Aleks was not content, after all, with personal power. No, the demons had promised him much, much more, if he would assist them in their assault on the mortal realm. The time of man was in twilight, and the age of demons was about to dawn.

Flash Commission: A Twin of His Own

I’m currently offering patrons flash commissions! I’ll be posting a few of them here, but if you want to read all of them, and want to read them sooner, I’d recommend you go sign up! You can find more info here.

“And you’re sure it’ll work?”

“Well, no. I’ve never done anything like this before. Hypothetically, yeah. You’ll have to talk him through it though, push him in the right direction.”

Sheriff Clark Easton had his eyes closed, listening to the men talk. The last thing he could recall well was packing up in his office late at night, getting ready to go home, but he hadn’t made it to his car. Someone had snuck up behind him, shoved a rag over his nose and mouth, and now he was here. Though where ‘here’ was, he didn’t know. Just two men talking in the room with him–they were more likely to spill something while they thought he was still out. The first voice was rather gruff, the second a little younger and softer, but he couldn’t say more than that.

“So what, like…my past?”

“Yeah, the more you feed him, the more likely you’ll get the result you want from it. Just like the pig–the gun and ink does some of the work, but the more you talk him into accepting it, the stronger the result will be.”

There was a grunt from the gruffer voice, the sound of some boots coming closer to the sheriff, and then a hand slapped him across the face–harder than necessary if all he’d wanted was to wake him up. Clark gave a little shout, looked up, and saw he was staring at Timothy ‘Bruiser’ McGee. Bruiser was the leader of a particularly nasty biker gang that had been moving in on the county for the last few months. Running drugs, extortion, rape–nothing was below them, and the sheriff had been struggling to pin down their hideout and get them arrested. Now, it appeared that they may have overplayed their hand. “How exactly do you think this is going to end for you, Timothy?” the sheriff asked.

The older biker sneered at him. Bruiser was easily six and a half feet tall, and heavily muscled, with a sizable gut. The only thing the sheriff had ever seen him wear on the top half of his body was a filthy leather vest, showing off the riot of tattoos the biker had all over, even running up his neck and face. “I imagine, bud, we’re gonna walk out of here together and have a good laugh about it all,” he said, grinning and showing off his crooked teeth, a few replaced with gold caps.

The other fellow was smaller and younger, setting up what looked like a little workstation beside the chair where Clark was tied down. He looked over the equipment, and recognized the tattoo gun–what the hell were they going to do with that? “I’m ready to go,” he said. He took the gun, brought it to Clark’s arm, and while he tried to flinch away–as soon as the needle slid into him, something else happened. There was just a cascade of sensations–sights, sounds, smells. None of them were familiar to him, and yet as soon as he experienced them, he knew, somehow, they were his. Nostalgic, and yet alien. Before he could try and make any sense of them, there was another wave, another bunch of sensation, all of it baffling him, swarming his mind. He didn’t quite know how long it had lasted, but it finally ebbed away, leaving him panting and sweating in the chair. It felt like it had lasted a few moments, but the artist had managed to cover both of his arms with full sleeves, and from the one window in the room, he could tell that a significant amount of time had passed.

“Alright, that should be a good start–talk to him for a bit, I want to see if it’s taking like I thought it would,” the young man said.

“What should I talk about?” Bruiser said.

“Yourself. Usually the older stuff comes in first. Ask him about your parents.”

Brusier laughed, “Fuck, my old man, you mean. My mom dumped me on him when I was a just a fucking kid–I don’t blame her, I tried to set the house on fire when she wouldn’t let me keep watching TV one night.”

“Fuck, I…I remember that…” Clark muttered. It wasn’t his memory. He’d been a good kid, always listened to his parents, they’d been married his whole life. But he could recall, somehow, piling up a bunch of sticks under the curtains in a dingy living room, setting them off with a lighter he’d stolen from his mom’s purse, cackling while she panicked, getting a pot of water to put it out. “Why do I remember that?”

“Fuck, it’s working!” Bruiser said. “Bet you remember dad too then, don’t ya?”

“Mean fucker, beat the shit out of me,” Clark muttered. “I mean, that’s…not my dad. I…I ran away. He had some friends who were bikers, they…I ran off with them when I was a teenager, but…”

“Yeah, fuck, real sexy fuckers too, right?”

“No! I went to school, I…I went to fucking college! What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Bruiser grinned at the young man, who nodded back. “You’ll see, Mr. Sheriff. Is he ready for some more now?”

“I think so,” the young man said, brought the needle to his chest, and again, Clark was overwhelmed with the sensation. He realized, now, what he must be feeling, and he realized where he’d recognized the tattoos on his arms from. They were perfect copies of Bruiser’s own ink. The young man was copying the biker’s tattoos onto him, and in doing so, he was somehow transferring over his memories–no, more than memories, his whole personality, his history, his identity. He could feel it. Before, the onslaught had felt chaotic, but now, it felt like a force, a corruption spreading through his mind. Everywhere it went, his old self was being overtaken, erased, and replaced by this new self. 

The sensation retreated again, and when Clark’s vision could focus again on the room around him, he looked down at himself and let out a whimper. The uniform he’d been wearing had been cut off entirely, leaving him naked. He’d always figured that Bruiser had more of his body tattooed under those ratty jeans he wore, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d gone this far–his whole cock and balls were tattooed now, and halfway down his thighs. More than that though–his cock was…bigger. Much bigger. The sheriff had never been well endowed, but his newly tattooed cock was close to eight inches–soft. The rest of his body was shifting as well, growing more muscular–but shouldn’t it be? He’d been working out all the time since he dropped out of school and fell in with the gang, beating and fucking his way to the top…right? He shook his head–those weren’t his memories! He had to hold on…hold on to…to what? He struggled, but couldn’t find everything he’d lost, just bits and pieces.

“Fuck, that’s real fucking hot,” Bruiser said, stepping around the chair, while the young man prepped his gun again. 

“Bruiser, get me the fuck out of this god damn chair, ya piece a shit!” Clark said, and only after the words were out, did he realize that his voice had changed, his accent–he sounded so much like Bruiser…but he was, Bruiser, right? “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Hold on bud, you’re just confused is all,” Bruiser said, “Like that time we wrecked out on the interstate, had a concussion for days.”

“Fuck, I still get headaches from that,” Clark said, “But I…I thought…there’s someone else in my head, man, what’s going on?”

“We’re fixing you up, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m scared, I…I don’t know if I can trust you, he’s…scared.”

“Here, this’ll help. You know how we get when we don’t get a smoke in a while,” Bruiser said, and pushed the cigar he had lit into the sheriff’s mouth. He took a draw on it, and while Clark had never been a smoker, he instinctively sucked the thick smoke right down into his lungs, held it for a second, then pushed it out of his nose in a couple of thick jets. “Fuck, that’s better.”

“See, we know what we need, don’t we?” Bruiser said, and groped the sheriff’s new cock, and he moaned around the cigar, feeling it stiffen in Bruiser’s hand. “We’ll sort you right out–we just have to do the back of you–you’ll feel better soon.”

Bruiser and the young man undid the rope holding Clark to the chair, and while a small voice told him to run…that wasn’t his voice. He laid down on the table they’d set up, the young man got his gun ready, and started on his back, and Clark struggled for a moment, before the sensation overwhelmed him again, and he rode the sensations. This time was different. He felt himself siding with the corruption, the strength flooding into him, rooting out and destroying all of that weakness in him. The good, the lawful, the obedient. Fuck that! He knew what he wanted, he knew what he was. The memories were coming clearer now, more and more recent. The sensation fell away again, and he blinked, pushed himself up from the table, and gave a little flex.

“How’s it feel?” Bruiser asked, as his twin sat up on the table. He was now the spitting image of himself, right down to the long hair, the thick ratted beard. Stepping close, they even smelled the same. The only difference was, the Bruiser sitting on the table had the number two on his neck, where Bruiser had the number one. They needed to keep track of pecking order one way or another.

“Fuck–I…did we get the sheriff? I can’t really remember, my head’s all fucking fuzzy.” Number two asked.

“Fuck yeah we got him–you were him!”

“Wait, what? Seriously? Fucking hell, so it all fucking worked?”

Bruiser stepped up and gave his twin a smoky kiss, which number two happily returned. He helped his twin up from the table and over to the mirror so he could see them both together, and the sight of it got them both so fucking hard, they reached down and started stroking each other off.

“Hold on, got us a celebration planned first,” number one said.

“You don’t have to tell me, I remember,” number two replied.

Downstairs was the gang’s new pig, a college student travelling through the county that the gang had kidnapped a week before, who the sheriff had been trying to track down. He’d been a test for the young man’s tattooing abilities, and the magic tattoo gun they’d gotten their hands on. The young man had been covered with raunchy images and words, his whole identity replaced with a cum and cock hungry filth pig, who at the sight of not only one, but two of his bosses, crawled over, grunting and squealing, before turning around and presenting it’s hole for them both. One took the mouth, Two took the ass, and they fucked the pig from both ends, sharing smokey kisses over his back–thinking about all the trouble they’ll be causing now that there’s two of them, and that troublesome sheriff was out of the picture for good.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares VII

October Caption Challenge (31/31)

Success! This caption uses a photo from @bowserpig over on twitter, and seemed a good one for Halloween proper.

It didn’t seem fair. Bowser had been working on this costume since last year, ordering the bits and pieces from various folks in the community, and now that his orc costume was all set and ready to go…there was nowhere to go, thanks to the pandemic. He sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. He did look good, and at least he could always show off some photos on the internet. Besides, there was always next year, right?

Well, the dream imp thought it was a shame too. It was a nice attempt, really, but the orcs he was familiar with, from some of the deeper regions of the hellscape, were rather rougher. He wondered what they might think of the costume, in fact. The imps time on the surface was coming to an end, it only had energy left for one last dream–and so, when Bowser went to sleep on Halloween night, the imp pulled him into a dream, and down deep into its own realm, where he found himself standing in a rather alien environment.

There was no sun, but there was light. Nothing was growing that he could seen, just dessert and stone as far as he could make out. Looking down at himself, he was somewhat surprised to find himself in the same costume he’d had on earlier. The ground shook, just slightly, and some massive, green skinned figures came around a pile of boulders, led by a little imp floating in the air. 

“Look at this human I found, fellas–he thinks he’s an orc!” the imp said, and cackled.

Bowser took a couple of steps back, but came up against a sizable rock. The orcs he was staring at were…well, they weren’t unlike the images he’d seen in fairytales and stories, but they were decidedly more…intense. If they’d been standing upright, they’d have been close to nine feet tall, but they were hunched over, more like gorillas. Their skin was green, but a bit paler than he might have expected, and the teeth…massive tusks growing out and curling around. They came a bit closer, scowling at him and his mimicry, and he smelled them on the stale, quiet air. It was enough to make him gag, and go a bit weak at the knees.

“A human, dressed like an orc?” one of the beasts said, giving a snort.

“If he wants to be an orc so badly, we can help with that.”

“He’s all yours, if you want. All you have to do is take the deal I offered,” the imp said.

One of the orcs gave a derisive snort, but nodded. The imp gave a little aerial bow, and disappeared into the aether, leaving Bowser alone with the two orcs beneath the Earth. 

“Mmm…I haven’t tasted human in ages,” one of them said, came close, and licked the side of Bowser’s face, “Are you sure we can’t just eat him?”

“The slightly larger one gave a grunt. “What do you think, little human? Do you want us to eat you, or would you like us to make you a proper orc?”

Bowser swallowed hard. “Orc…please…”

“Then you’d best eat up,” the orc said, grabbed hold of Bowser’s head in one passive palm, and shoved him under his hairy green gut. The cock waiting for him was studded up and down with bone–Bowser didn’t know if it was decorative or not, but all of it went down his throat, scraping the sides of his mouth and tongue, and the beast started fucking him, barely giving him space to breathe. With a little repositioning, the other orc hauled up Bowser’s legs and drove his own cock into his ass–pumping load after load of orc cum into Bowser’s belly.

He lost himself in the pain, which soon became pleasure, and rapture. With each load, he felt his belly begin to swell, his muscles growing stronger and brawnier, new teeth and tusks pushing out the fake ones he’d gotten for his costume. Already his human life was beginning to fade away, his memories of the surface. Once he’d grown large enough, he shoved the orcs off of him, climbed on top of one of them, and drove his own cock into the hole, while the other kissed him, their tusks grating against each other as they did. He gave a roar, and spilled what little remained of his humanity deep in his orc brother’s guts, and the three of them collapsed into a sweaty heap among the rocks. 

Some nightmares, it seems, can become the wildest of dreams–depending on who dreams them.

(Caption) What is Lost, Can be Freely Claimed

October Caption Challenge (29/31)

“Come on Simon, magic? Really?”

“Sure Marty! Just fuckin’ trust me, alright? The plan’ll work. You wanna live in this shithole the rest a yer life?”

“Ya know I don’t.”

“Well then work with me here. So we lure a couple a rich guys from the city, one a those gay couples, and have them stay here for a week.”

“Here? Why the fuck would they wanna stay at a run down shithole like our place?”

“Easy–it’s called AirBnB.”

“Come on babe, doesn’t it look quaint?”

“It looks dirty.”

“I want to get out of the city though.”

“I know, I know, look, just book it, alright? But I reserve the right to demand a refund.”

“Alright, so they stay here–how’s that help us, Marty?”

“Well, they first they lose their luggage, you see…”

“It’s not the end of the world, the airline said they’ll have it to us by the end of the week.”

“We’ll be leaving by the end of the week, Gregory! What in the world am I supposed the wear? My plane clothes all week?”

“Well, you are the one who said that you wanted to get out of the city and into the country, maybe living a little simpler could help. I mean, did you really need two suitcases for a week here?”

“Yes! Of course I did!”


“Only thing is, when you lose something, according to magic, that creates…an opening. Something else can slip in and replace it. If you don’t claim it, well, that means it’s up for grabs.”

“So…we just gotta give them something else? Like what?”

“We got all kinds a stuff, Simon! And with a little spell here and there, they won’t even miss their garbage luggage.”

“I can’t wear it anymore, Gregory–oh look! Someone didn’t clean out the closet. Oh, but it’s not the most…well…chiq, is it?”

“What, coveralls and rubber boots aren’t your style? Fuck, this place is a dump, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Let me just…hmm…it fits pretty well, actually.”

“Oh my god, I have to get a picture of this. Chadwick, in coveralls–the guys back home are going to fucking freak out.”

“Oh haha, fine, you can get a picture, but only if you put on something too.”

“No fucking way.”

“Come on! It’s pretty comfy…”

“Oh fine, but I’m just trying it on, ok? Nothing more.”

“So they put on our stuff, and…then what?”

“Then we wait.”

“Fuck Greg, you…fuckin stink today.”

“Well yeah–why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“No, I mean, you don’t…usually stink, do you?”

“Come on Chad, of course we fuckin’ stink.”

“No, I mean…fuck, what was I thinkin’ about?”

“Go get me another beer man, I just wanna relax before we gotta go back tah work on Monday.”

“But we’re supposed tah leave in two days, right Greg?”

“Leave where?”

“I…I thought…”

“Dumbass, what are you fuckin’ thinkin’ for?”

“I dunno.”

“Get me that beer, then get yer ass over here, I’m fuckin’ horny as hell this mornin’.”

“We wait?”

“Yeah, we wait.”

“For what?”

“For the magic to work, stupid!”

“Don’t yell at me Simon.”

“Look, they forget who they are, they take our place, and then they renounce their old lives, which means we can have them! We take their stuff, and bang–brand new lives.”

“Why the fuck would they give up their good lives for our shitty one?”

“Look. I promise it’ll work, just trust me.”

“What the fuck ya want?”

“Just some lost luggage from the airport…for a Gregory Morse and a Chadwick Anderson?”

“Ain’t no one here by those names. Ya must have the wrong address.”

“Oh–so you’re renouncing your right to these worldly goods?”

“What the fuck ya sayin’? Yeah, sure, whatever. Get the fuck off mah property.”

“Yes sir, have a good day Sir.”


“Who was that Greg?”

“No one important. Come here, Daddy’s fuckin’ horny boy…”

“Oh fuck Daddy, you fuckin’ reek tahday.”

“Yeah I do you fucker–come on, one more day a vacation, then it’s back tah fuckin’ work. I wanna spend it fuckin’–outside.”


“Yeah, gonna throw ya around a mud puddle, get ya real fuckin nasty, then plow that hole a yers.”

“Oh fuck Daddy, that sounds fuckin’ hot.”

Well go on then boy, let’s get started.”

(Caption) Five Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (28/31)

Something had changed in the city lately, Matt thought. It was seedier, he kept seeing these sorry, dirty looking guys roaming around the junkyard where he worked. He thought they were derelicts at first, but that didn’t seem quite accurate. They only seemed to come out in the dark, for one thing, and more than once, he saw a manhole cover slide back into place as he passed by an alley. Were they living in the sewers? He didn’t really want to know, but it creeped him out all the same. 

All day long now, he felt like someone was watching him as he kept the bits and pieces of cars and trucks organized, and helped folks find the bits they were looking for. One evening, he lost track of time while he was out in the tire storage area, and didn’t notice the sun setting until he shuddered from the chill. He closed up and went to leave, when he heard a rustling inside–had someone gotten in behind him? 

He opened back up, poked around, and towards the back, sheltered by a stack of old tires, he found one of the grungy fellows there, sitting in some filthy work gear, cock hanging out, smoking a cigar. Matt yelled at him, and the guy startled and jumped behind the stack, almost like an animal, like he was terrified. Confused, Matt came closer, to where the cigar was still smoking on the ground, trying to figure out what was going on. He caught a whiff of the smoke, and coughed–it was…strong, to say the least. It made his eyes water, his head swim. He sat down where the man had been, trying to clear his head, but before he could, the fellow had slipped back out, picked up the cigar, and pushed it into Matt’s mouth.

That first inhale was a punch to the gut. Coupled with the stink rolling off the man in front of him, all he could do was gag–but the cigar refused to fall from his mouth, for some reason. He…he needed it, didn’t he? He took another inhale–that one wasn’t so bad. The greasy fellow got down in front of him, pulled out Matt’s cock, and started sucking on it. Matt looked down at himself, at his clothes, at his…filthy, nasty clothes. They hadn’t been that dirty, had they? A moment ago? He took another draw on the cigar, looked at the cinder on the end. Almost reading his mind, the man opened his mouth, and Matt knocked the ash off into the man’s mouth. He went back to sucking, and Matt moaned from the sensation of ashy grit on his member, and took another suck on the cigar.

They looked for Matt for a few days, but he never turned up for work. He hadn’t even clocked out, the day he disappeared. However, the owner did see someone that looked…a bit like him, in a mass of filthy bodies down an alley. Those damn derelicts–where the hell are they all coming from? It seems like they’re breeding around here, or something.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares VI

October Caption Challenge (27/31)

Nicholas liked order. He’d been a wild kid, ended up enlisting in the army, and getting shipped out to the Middle East. The experience had sucked, but it had given him the sense of discipline and consequence that he’d been missing, and when his tour of duty ended, he proceeded to get his life on the right track. Now, he was doing good. Engaged with a wedding planned for the next year, just bought a house, a solid job and good savings. He even made time to go visit the gym on a regular basis, and was in better shape now than he’d been, even in his army days.

The dream imp, however, looked at this and found itself a bit disgusted. It followed Nicholas home from the gym that evening, poking and prodding around in his head, looking for all of his quirks and weaknesses, crafting just the sort of nightmare that would break him properly, and send him back to his dirty, wild ways from before.

Nicholas fell asleep that night, and found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. A basement, probably, since there was no light or windows that he could see. He was…naked as well, which was rather embarrassing, but all of the clothes littered around the room were a bit…well, he didn’t know what half the shit was, in all honesty. There was a lot of leather, and rubber, and…fuck, what kind of faggot shit was this, anyway?

“Don’t worry about that stuff, Nick–come here, we can help.”

“Yeah Nick, let us help, come on.”

The voices didn’t sound quite human. They almost seemed to be coming from his own mind. He followed them anyway, and found himself looking at some of the filthiest clothes he’d ever seen, dropped in the corner of the room. 

“Hi Nick, don’t you want to wear us?”

“Come on Nick, it’ll feel so good…”

“No one has worn us in so long.”

Nick took a few steps back, “What the fuck is this?” he said, looking around the room, wondering what the hell kind of dream this was, when he felt something slither around his ankle, and grip him tight. Looking down, it was a leg of some coveralls that had slithered out of the pile–and the other filthy laundry was coming closer as well. 

He tried to pull his ankle away, but the coveralls tugged back harder, and pulling him to the floor–and everything swarmed over him. Some filthy briefs crawled up his legs, a nasty t-shirt squirmed over his head and down onto his body, and the coveralls swallowed everything up. He stood up, feeling almost light headed, and the words, the voices, they were so loud, they were drowning out his own mind.

“That’s it Nick, isn’t it good to be dirty again?”

“Such a loser Nick, you were always a loser. You never stood a chance.”

“You stupid fucking faggot, nothing but a dirty, filthy, faggot pig, that’s all you are.”

He felt his cock release a stream of piss into the coveralls, and the clothes squirmed like they were orgasming–they were orgasming, actually, and it felt like he was as well. After that, he just relaxed, and let the clothes drink him dry, sucking down his muscles, sucking down his mind, sucking down his cum and piss and sweat, and when he finally woke up, it wasn’t in his bed.

He was on a toilet.

He didn’t know where this toilet was. He didn’t know how he’d gotten the dirty workwear he was wearing. He didn’t know…anything, really. The dream had drained so much of him, that all that was left was a nasty minded pig. A pig with a name at least. Nick. He was called Nick–no last name. He didn’t need one. He…had a job too, didn’t he? He thought hard, tried to focus, and pissed his pants by accident, feeling it pool around the seat of his pants and dribble off onto the floor.

He would have gotten down to lick it up like a good pig, when the door to the bathroom opened. Later, then. He had work to do, after all. A greasy looking roughneck rounded the corner, ready to use the toilet, and found the pig there, with a surprised look on his face. But one whiff of him, and he knew what he needed to do. A full service toilet pig, just waiting for him. It was his lucky day, apparently.

Nick kept trying to leave, when he remembered there was a door outside the stall where he’d woken up. But whenever he tried, he woke up right back on the toilet. After all, he still had work to do, didn’t he? So much work to do.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares V

October Caption Challenge (23/31)

What a treat for a dream imp! Two young men, asleep in the back seat of their father’s car during a long road trip. Pulling two men into the realm of nightmares at once was difficult, which is why the imp rarely did so, but the stronger the connection between the two, the easier it would be to bring them together.

Kyle and Steve were brothers, sure, but they were also rivals, and had been their entire life. Encouraged by their father, both of them were challenged to one-up each other in whatever athletic contest he might decide. As such, the brothers were both well built, athletically accomplished young men, who, on a certain level, despised one another.

And so, they began to dream. Kyle found himself in a dungeon, full of all manner of painful devices. Steve was in the center, chained up and unable to move. Before Kyle could move to help him, a voice told him to stop. He turned, and saw his father in the corner of the room–no, not his father, not quite his father, the face kept…sliding away from him, the eyes were red, the teeth too sharp.

“Come now, Kyle,” his not-father said, “Don’t you want to show me what a good boy you are? Don’t you want to punish your brother? Show me what you can do?”

Kyle…didn’t, not at first, but then, there was a flogger in his hand, and he started bringing it down on his brother’s back, and fuck, it felt good, thinking about all the times he hadn’t measured up. He was the oldest brother, he should be the one to be the best, but then why did he lose? As he pounded on his brother’s flesh, he didn’t notice that Steve was beginning to change, his muscle growing thicker, his body hair and beard filling in, his cries of pain now punctuated with the occasional moan of delight. 

Then, a whistle, and before Kyle even knew what was happening, he was there in the middle of the room, in chains, and his brother–his larger, hairier, brutish brother, was leering at him, cock leaking, his not-father’s red eyes gleaming in the shadows. “Now now, you boys take turns, alright?”

Steve set on him with the floggers, with the paddles, with the clamps, with slaps and fists. At first, all Kyle could feel was the pain, all of it excruciating. But then, buds of pleasure, then full blossoms, as his body grew, piling on muscle, piling on scar, piling on hair. When it was time to switch once more, he could see that Steve had grown just as hungry for it as he had–and he would be sure to give his brother as much pleasure as he possibly could.

And on the road, his sons quiet for so long, the father looked back and discovered the back seat vacant–yet he hadn’t stopped, and there was nowhere for his son’s to have gone. He was blamed, of course–there was no other explanation, but if his boys ever did make it back to the mortal plane, they never crossed paths with him, that he knew of.

(Caption) Quarantine Home Gym

October Caption Challenge (17/31)

Not having a gym was rough for the guys on the block, but with the quarantine stretching out longer and longer, it was looking like they wouldn’t be able to get back there anytime soon, and when they could, there would probably be so many restrictions it wouldn’t even be worth it. In the end, a savior came from a surprising place–old Mr. Wilcox at the end of the road starting letting all of the jocks know that he had an old gym in his basement. It wasn’t surprising, really–he was in his 60’s but still in good shape. He told the young men they could come over and use it whenever they wanted, but only on their own.

But there were other odd requirements as well. Mr. Wilcox told them all that they couldn’t wear their own clothes–too much risk of infection. They would have to shower when they arrived, they would put on their gym uniform, work out, shower, and then leave. There was also always this weird new age hippy music playing, but hey, a free gym was a free gym.

The music put them all in a really focused headspace–their workouts would zoom by, and they were all making great progress. None of them objected when Mr, Wilcox started making changes to each of their gym uniforms.

Mark found his gym shorts and shirt replaced with a rubber singlet one day, but Mr. Wilcox told him it would be easier to keep sterile, so he was happy to put it on. Much to his surprise, he found the sensation of rubber against his skin incredibly erotic–but when he asked Mr. Wilcox if he could take it home with him, he said no. But a few weeks later, he got an upgrade, a full body latex suit, complete with a gas mask, even better to keep everyone safe. He worked out for hours in it, and never ended up going home–the gimp was stored in his cage where he belongs instead–after all, he didn’t want to take off his new skin, did he?

Kent arrived one morning for his workout, and found that the only thing Mr, Wilcox had for him to wear, other than socks and shoes, was a diaper. He balked, of course, but Mr. Wilcox had noticed him using his restroom the other day, and that just wasn’t sanitary. Better to keep his messes to himself. He told himself he wouldn’t use it, but he zoned out so much he pissed into it, and a few days later, he started shitting himself as well. It wasn’t long before he had a few accidents at home as well, and he had to ask Daddy for a supply of diapers for himself. He moved in too before long, though his exercises are more focused these days on opening up his dirty baby hole, and getting rid of that gag reflex so Daddy can fuck baby’s throat easier.

Bud got the same gear, day in and day out, and Mr. Wilcox never seemed to wash it. When he asked about it, he said that it was Bud’s filth, so he could wash it if he wanted–but Bud always forgot to take the clothes home with him. In fact, he stopped showering as well, and stopped doing laundry at home, the entire house filled with his sweaty musk, and more and more the smell of cum, since he kept masturbating all over himself. He’s Mr. Wilcox’s filthy pig, and when he’s done with his workout, he usually gets fucked by Master’s cock while he huffs on baby’s full diaper, already excited for tomorrow’s workout to come.