Strange Fetish: Conjoining and Merging

Alright, so here’s a good one that doesn’t come across my radar all that often, though there’s certainly plenty of it out there–scenarios where characters have their bodies merge together, and are forced to conjoin. It isn’t something that I’ve thought about very often in all honesty, but it has been popping up in my head, and on various feeds, on occasion, and so I’ve found myself considering it more and more as of late.

For me, the attraction to it is on the body horror side of things. The fact that your body, which for your entire life has only been yours, is now shared with someone else, unwillingly, in the most intimate of ways, beyond your control. While I’m not opposed to body’s merging and simply being lost–as in, a character becoming another player’s cock, or asshole, or what have you–it never quite has the same appeal to me, exactly–because I think I’m mostly interested in the struggle for dominance between the two characters as they merge. Who gets control? Who’s body is superior? It’s just a really strange, visceral conflict. Anyway, all of this is to say that here’s a weird sketch I can up with while brainstorming with a friend.


There’s nothing worse about college than being assigned a roommate. Now I’m stuck in a confined space with the sort of person I wouldn’t be caught near in a lifetime–we just have nothing in common! I mean, you have me–college football player, lean muscle, handsome, all the girls on campus go wild for me–and my fucking roommate is some fat pig of a guy, easily 300 pounds. He never leaves the room either! He’s almost always studying, or playing games, or whatever–I can’t bring pussy by at all. Still, it’s clear the disgust is mutual–I thought we’d come to the sort of tacit agreement that he would stay on my side of the room, and he’d stay on his–at least until that night.

I had gone to sleep, and he’d still been awake, doing something or other. We’d gotten into a fight again–the same old fight really, about how I wanted him to leave to room on occasion so I could have some privacy or a girl over, and he would go on about how the room is his space to, and he has a right to use it how he wants. I called him a pig, he called me an idiot who doesn’t understand boundaries. So I’m asleep, right? Then the next thing I know, the covers get thrown off me (I sleep naked, you should know, I don’t give a fuck) and before I even am really awake, my pig of a roommate has thrown himself on top of me, so our faces are inches apart.

“Here roomie–why don’t we get a bit more comfortable together? I happen to know just the trick for pricks like you.”

I try and shove him off, but he’s heavy, and…and sticky, somehow. I can’t get him to budge. Finally, after a minute of struggling, he gets off my bed–and I come with him. In the dim light of the bedroom, I realize, with horror, that somehow our bodies have merged together–my flat chest disappearing into his flabby one, his fat somehow swallowing most of my body–and I can’t get free of him. I’m still flailing about at this point, and he throws us against the wall, my back to it, and he’s pressing down on me, harder, and I can feel more and more of myself sinking into him, our faces coming closer together now. “Here, give this pig a kiss…” He says, and our lips touch, our tongues touch…and something happens. I can feel his mind invading mine somehow, all of these thoughts that I know I shouldn’t have, but…I’m getting lost. I struggle harder, and managed to get his face unstuck from mine–which means I must be able to get the rest of him unstuck too, right? I shove as hard as I can, and I can feel him coming away from me, and with a loud slurping noise, he stumbles back…but looking down, I’m not the same person I was a moment ago.

I must have gained a hundred pounds of fat from him, but it doesn’t look like he’s lost any of his own weight in the process. Worse…I can hear the thoughts in my head that he left there, about how good it feels to be fat, about how much…I like touching him, and being touched by him. I rub my new gut, feeling the shudders of pleasure coursing through me, and then he’s touching me too, and I whimper. “See? I think we’ll get along just fine now, don’t you?”

He shoves me down onto my knees, and pushed his cock into my mouth. I try to pull away, but my face has fused to his crotch–I can’t see…but I can feel his cock inside my sucking mouth, and again, I feel him rewriting my brain, telling me how much I love sucking his cock, the cocks of anyone really, that I’m so hungry for cum, that I want to be a cumdump for fat men more than anything. I try to push against his thighs, but my hands sink into his hips, down into his legs, my whole head melting into his crotch as he fucks me deeper and deeper–and we both cum, like we’re one fucking being, and then he releases me at last–but I know I’ll never be the same again.

I’m his now. His cumdump, his toy. I want to touch him, merge with him whenever I can. Being apart from him…it physically hurts so much. Sometimes, he takes me to class with him, wrapped up in his fat, in his entire body, his cock filling my hole the entire time, and there’s no place I’d rather be. I’m his–and there’s nothing I can do to change that anymore.

Caption: Trent’s New ID Badge

Trent stepped out of the elevator and into the basement of his building, still a bit confused by what was going on today. He’d tried to get through security, but it wasn’t the usual guys standing at the metal detector–instead, it was two massive, hulking meatheads–both of them easily six and a half feet tall, who had taken one look at his ID card, and told him he needed it to get updated before he could enter, and they directed him down here, to the basement.

He was frustrated–there was an 8:30 meeting he was about to be late for, and there was nothing wrong with his picture! Still, if he could do this quick, it would be fine. Sure enough, there was a security office down there, also staffed by a meathead, who waved him back–and there, he found a chubby fellow, wearing some dirty looking suit, waiting for him. “Ah, here for an updated ID?” the man said with a leer, “I’ll need you to hand over your old one first.”

Trent did so, and the man looked him up and down–and Trent could see him…groping himself like a pervert. He was disgusted, and tried to leave–but discovered he couldn’t move an inch.

“On your knees please–I’m going to need this photo to be very accurate, you see…” the man said.

Trent found himself forced down, and the man stood up, dropped his pants, and pulled out his cock, inches from Trent’s face. He could only register his horror for a moment, before the man, after a couple of pumps, sprayed his load all over Trent’s face and the top of his shirt. The man huffed for a moment, and then put his cock away. “There–you’ll be perfect now, I think–go stand against the wall so I can take your photo please.”

Trent got up, horrified, and stood where the man had said, smiled when he said to smile, and the flash…was so bright. He rubbed his eyes, a bit dazed, and licked his lips…and tasted cum. Unable to help himself, he started wiping it off and licking it off his fingers, moaning, his own cock hardening in the front of his pants.

The man laughed, watching Trent humiliate himself, and when Trent finally pulled his hands away, he saw the man had his ID ready–with his new picture.

Below it, for his job title, it just said “Office Cumdump, Floor 8.”

He screamed at the man then, told him off, and the man just laughed at him. “If you aren’t happy with that photo–I’m happy to take another one. Go back and stand on the X again please.”

Trent found himself unable to refuse–and after another flash, even brighter than the first, he got a new ID card–but this time, his face was different. He looked to be twenty years older, and fatter–with a thick double chin that even his beard couldn’t hide. In horror, he looked down at himself and saw he was, indeed, fatter, and older, and…hungrier.

“If you still aren’t happy with that–I can make an even better one,” the man said with a grin, “I could even change that title there too, if you feel like it.” Trent fled the office, ID in hand, the man laughing uproariously–but didn’t get very far–he saw the meathead in the office, and stopped to suck him off–and then sucked off the two muscleheads at the security station too. He was the office cumdump after all, and he had a new job to do.

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 4)

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

“How long since your last confession, my son?”

“One week,” the demon lied.

“Tell me your sins. Are you still suffering from that…overwhelming lust, you were describing to me, last time?”

“Yes father–it’s become…insatiable,” the demon let off a vulnerable moan, rubbing his uniform pants, “Today…in particular. This weekend–the faggots are out in force, Father. They gather here for three days, parading around in their filth–their leather, their rubber, flaunting their bodies and having sex in the street–such open and shameless in their displays.”

“I’m sure that must have been disgusting,” the priest said, but his eyes were glimmering and he had begun stroking his own cock openly, leaning closer to the screen separating them. “Have you been…tempted?”

“Yes father, but I have remained strong. God’s love…is stronger than the pleasures of the flesh–no matter how…thrilling they might be. But father–I…” he hesitated, and looked away. “I did…give in. None of them touched me, but I did…abuse myself–on my break, in a bathroom.”

“That is…a grave sin, my son, but given the temptation, it is admirable that you didn’t allow yourself to be pulled into their depravity further.” The priest shuffled forward on the bench, and leaned closer to the screen. The demon leaned in closer, looking at the older priest’s jowls covered with stubble, small eyes, balding hair, and that leer.

“There’s…more, father.”

“Oh?”

“I…I abused myself in the bathroom. It was…public, and I…I wasn’t alone. There were other men in there, and they were…I could…hear them, Father. I don’t know if they heard me or not. I knew I should arrest them for being indecent, for their perversion, but I did nothing, and I…pleasured myself, listening to them…and then…I…”

The priest was actively masturbating now, jaw hanging open, tongue half out of his mouth, a bit of drool. “Then what, my son, you…you can tell me,” he huffed.

The demon smiled, seeing how much the priest was enjoying his fabrication, but turned serious, masturbating harder himself, bringing himself closer to the edge. “I…came, father. I came into my hand, and without…really thinking about it, I…I licked it from my palm, and it…it tasted so…oh father!” he cried softly, and shot his wad of demonic seed into his hand, feeling the unnatural heat of it, burning into the skin of the officer’s hand. “It tasted so…good…but I can’t! Please father, take my sin from me, I can’t bear it anymore,” the demon said, and wiped the cum on the screen, smearing it inches from the priest’s flabby face, the man’s eyes twinkling, and like the pervert he was, he leaned in and licked it from the barrier between them, moaning, close to cumming himself as he unknowingly ate the demon’s cum, his face flushing, his desire…raging suddenly, and he began to lick more forcefully, desperate to taste more, desperate to eat more, but…but he couldn’t get enough of it into his mouth, his cock stubbornly refusing to shoot, leaving him…whimpering. “You understand, don’t you priest? Do you understand my need? Your need?”

The screen had begun to dissolve as the priest kept licking it, turning to ash and sulfur in his mouth. “You…you’re not Beau–what are you?”

“Let’s just say, that our friend Beau couldn’t quite resist the temptation today–and neither could you, father.”

“Begone beast! Leave that man alone, this is the house of the lord!”

“You have no power over me, priest–not after taking my seed willingly. No–the one who has the power here, now, is me.” the demon peeled away a finger from the officer’s decaying skin, and used the sharp point to cut around the base of skin around his cock, sliding it off like a condom and discarding it on the floor, allowing his true, thirteen inch, bright red cock to dribble steaming cum onto the floor. “Oh dear–I seem to be desecrating this house of worship, Father! Perhaps you could find a better…repository for my seed?”

The priest was sweating and gagging, the confession was sweltering and he tugged at his robes, desperate to be free of them, like they were burning his skin, hurling his cross last to the floor, looking at the scar it had left on his hand where he’d grasped it. “No–No, I won’t be corrupted. I won’t!”

“Priest, you’ve already corrupted yourself! You don’t believe you were really going to heaven, do you? No–your place is with us–it’s been with us every since that first man you fucked back in seminary. But don’t worry, we take all kinds, willingly or not. Now, it’s time to take what you want priest–what you need. Don’t worry–I have plenty for you. The more you drink, the better you’ll feel–I promise.”

The screen had caught fire, burning away in a moment, and then the flames had spread further, removing the entire wall between them. The priest gave a great hacking cough in the billow of smoke, like something was stuck in his throat–or maybe…maybe he was just…parched. Why had he deprived himself of pleasure for so long–only engaging in these little games with men as deeply closeted as him, terrified that if he felt…anything, his entire life might just crumble away. He took the head in his mouth and began gulping down the demon’s precum. It was so hot it burnt his throat, blisters appearing on his lips and tongue, swelling and bursting within moments, but that didn’t matter. Pain wasn’t important–his thirst was all that mattered. He only stopped for a few moments, to hack some hard, solid rock up out of his throat onto the floor of the confessional, and then resumed drinking–the demon switching to acrid, foul smelling piss–but the priest barely noticed. The rest of the officer’s purity had since burnt off, leaving the demon with the priest, lost in depravity, holding the stone which the priest had coughed up in his hand. His master would reward him well for this one.

They remained in the booth until dark fell, and then the demon stood up, holding the stone as a barrier against the premises, and walked away. The priest garbled some noise, and started after him–not quite able to walk for some strange reason, but he could crawl, mewling and begging for more filth–but the officer would be emerging soon, and the demon didn’t want him coming out without a welcoming party.

Coach’s Summer Training – Part 1

You can just call me coach, if you’d like. I work during the school year working as a PE teacher and coach for a few local high schools and community colleges–but my real fun doesn’t come until the summer. You see, I run a highly successful summer mentoring program for student athletes. I mean, it’s highly successful for me, of course, but let me explain. When I hit puberty, I discovered that I had a rather strange power–I could turn people into my clothing. The effect only lasted until I took them off again, but this wasn’t a real problem for me–see, I was a bit of a slob, and I enjoyed wearing my dirty clothes for days on end. Of course, the first time I did this, when I turned my big brother into a pair of boxers, I was terrified someone would find out, however, I soon realized that everyone had forgotten all about him–as far as my parents and the world was concerned, he didn’t exist. I remembered of course–I could even talk to him while I was wearing him. He wasn’t very happy, as you can imagine, but he’d never been very nice to me. So I started jacking off into him, day in and day out. Eventually I got sick of listening to him beg me to turn him back, so I took him off, but reality never quite picked up where it left off for him. Our parents still didn’t remember him, so he had to leave home, but luckily, reality made space for him elsewhere–as a whore for a pimp downtown. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily depending on your perspective, soaking in my cum all those weeks had left him craving cum. I still talk to him on occasion–he works as a hustler downtown, and he always gives me a discount. He’s not happy about it of course, but he doesn’t exactly have much choice now, does he? Unless he wants me to wear him some more.

Over time, my powers have grown as well. If I focus hard enough, I can keep someone in their inanimate form even when they weren’t on my body for short periods of time. I discovered that I can even change aspects of the clothing, allowing me to better tailor their final forms to my darkest fantasies. I naturally gravitated to an occupation where I could do exactly what I want to do–turn men into clothes and fuck up their lives, but I never could devote my full attention to my clothes during the school year. Instead, I’d become close to a few young men each season, and encourage them to sign up for a week of “personal mentoring” during the summer. Their parents were always thrilled–after all, their children were born to be special, and receive special treatment, right? It didn’t matter that I couldn’t name a single successful athlete who’d graduated from my program–no one seemed to be interested in sports after I got through wearing them. Still, I’d managed to, once again, find three of young men eager to be mentored. Shall we get started?


Shawn Alexander, a high school quarterback with enough skill to go pro if he gets into a decent college team, signed up so I could help hone his leadership skills. Instead, I pull him into my office, and he goes floppy in my arms. I don’t change him right away–I fuck his mouth first. I want to be the last person that senior has sex with in that body, and as I cum, I feel his arms reach around me, his body shrivelling up into mesh, and within moments, he’s a brand new jockstrap soaked in my cum.

He’s screaming, of course. I never really blame them for screaming. Still, I go to work on him quick enough, wearing away at the edges of his cloth mind, forcing him to suck down my cum. You see, even though he’s a jockstrap, he’s still capable of absorbing anything on him or soaked into him, if he puts his mind to it. It takes a couple of hours to eat the seven loads I pump into him that afternoon, but he finally dries crispy, just how I like it. Of course, he thinks that as a reward for eating my cum, I’ll change him back–instead I laugh, and jack off again, and again, and again. Over and over, forcing him to suck my cum dry each time.

He finally broke after six days. Did he really like the taste of my cum? Or was he just being coerced? I told him it didn’t matter, and he started sucking it down all on his own. Sure, he still cried about it for a while, but with a bit of coaching and positive encouragement, by the end of two weeks he was begging me for cum. I frequent quite a few clubs of course, and by this point Shawn had grown accustomed to eating cum other than my own, and I could tell that I was almost ready to return him to humanity.

He needed a few other changes though. For the few weeks I wore him, I consciously made the jockstrap age and wear much faster than usual. By the end of his mentoring session, Shawn looked like he was years old, not weeks, with a threadbare pouch dotted with rips and holes, and straps with fraying elastic that didn’t pull as tight as it used to. I stripped him off, three weeks gone by already, and watched the new Shawn Alexander appear in front of me. He looked like he’d aged close to forty years–in fact, checking his new driver’s license–so I could eventually drop him off at his new home–he was sixty one years old, flabby, hairy, nearly bald with a patchy beard that always felt like dried cum was stuck in it–usually because there was. I never did find out what he did for a living, but I still see him all over town climbing into gloryholes, desperate for as much cum as he can get.

Bart loved hitchhikers, though not for the reasons one might usually expect. Of course, not many people were very willing to ride with him–he stank like smoke and booze–it also didn’t help that he wouldn’t shower for months at a time, but there was usually someone desperate enough to climb up into his cab for a ride, but he’d only let men up. For a few hours he’d probe them for information, and ply them with a drink, and when the drug had them passed out and slumped against the seat belt in the passenger seat, he would drag them into the back of the cab, undress them, and tie them securely in the sleeper.

Those were his favorite moments, when they were well secured, but still asleep for a few more hours. He would explore their bodies with his tongue, get to know their flavors, inside and out. Suck their cocks and taste their cum. With enough prodding on their prostate, they’d eventually piss, and he’d drink that down too, just to sample it, see what kind of person he’d be travelling with for the next several months. It was always so very informative–somehow, he would be able to get a sense of them–how they worked, what kind of person he could shape them into.

Of course, they would protest once they woke up, but they quickly discovered that Bart’s drugs had left them unable to resist obeying every order he gave them. Really, their obedience was just a precaution–he preferred keeping them tied up more than anything else. Over the next several weeks, he would introduce them to their new chores–primarily as his cumdump, urinal and toilet paper. They would all discover in due time that they enjoyed their new chores more than they knew they should–something about Bart’s filthy body would drive them mad with lust. Before too long, they would be begging him for attention, asking to clean his body and suck his cock. He would tease them, listen to them squirm against the ropes binding them in the back as he drove. They always begged so nice–it was a special kind, while they still knew they shouldn’t want him, but couldn’t quite figure out how to say no to their own changing minds.

When they were finished–when all they could think about was Bart’s filthy body, he would begin training them for work. Pimping them out to other truckers at various stops, teaching them to enjoy all sorts of filthy bodies–not just his. The time spent in his truck tied up and unmoving, with a diet of mostly junk food and Bart’s filth, usually didn’t do them any favors–they would grow large guts, their limbs withered, all of them with long, grimy beards they couldn’t see themselves without anymore. When he’s confident that they’ll survive on their own, he dumps them and tells them to get to work, and make him some fucking money. 

Everyone on the road can recognize one of his whores–they all wear the same collars bearing a single tag with the words, “Owned by Bart.” They cruise the roads, catching rides with any horny trucker who will have them, serving them in any way they might desire, and collect money for their Master, depositing it in his bank account at their next stop. They all do their very best, because they know his best whore gets one whole month riding with their master in his truck, tied up in the back, the privilege of once again being their master’s sole focus in the world. And the one thing they all desire more than anything else, is one more taste of their fat master’s filthy body.

Rick and the Beast – Part 6

Prick hadn’t realized he’d been in the security offices for as long as he had–it was now easily eleven o’clock at night, which was a bit of a relief, because there were fewer people around to witness his walk of shame. But a new voice piped up in his head–

Why are you ashamed? You’re a pig! Everyone should know you’re a pig. Besides, doesn’t it feel kind of nice, your fat hanging out like that?

That voice made more sense than he would have liked, but he had to focus. Whatever Master had done to him, he could fight it, he could beat him if he just–

Fuck I’m hungry. I should eat something.

Prick looked around, sniffing the air. He could smell food nearby, and he followed the scent. It led him off the path to his dorm around back behind the cafeteria to the dumpsters. Without really thinking about it, he started digging in the dumpsters and trash for anything he could find, grunting and snorting as he stuffed himself. He didn’t hear the back door open, but when the older, chubby cook screamed, Prick looked up from the dumpster and saw him silhouetted in the light from inside. He could smell him too, he could smell his sweat, he could smell…cum…

The cook’s eyes dilated–he could smell Prick too. “Awww fuck, it’s just…just a piggy,” the man said. “Fat fucking pig, fuck you’re disgusting.”

Prick got down on his knees and asked the cook politely if he would feed him his cum, the cook–who had never once before considered letting a man touch his cock, leered at Prick, unzipped his fly, strutted up and skullfucked him. Prick just sucked as hard as he could, eager for cum. He could taste the precum on his tongue, but that only made him hungrier for the main course. After a minute, the cook came and Prick sucked it all down. The cook dropped the bag of trash in front of the pig and went back inside; Prick rummaged around in it for everything he could eat, and then hefted himself back up. At least he was full now–but what had he been doing? His mind was a jumble.

Why did I do that?

Fuck, that guy’s cum was delicious! I wonder if he’d give me seconds?

Fuck, I’m disgusting, I’m so fucking gross, and I can’t even stop myself, I can’t do anything right, I don’t know what to do–

Fuck, my hole could use a fuck.

Do I smell piss? Piss would be good too.

I need to get home, I need to get home, and think.

I need some more cock.

Back to his room, that made the most sense, didn’t it? Prick walked back around the cafeteria. He passed a few men on the way, and all of them looked down at him as soon as they caught a whiff of him, but none of them needed service, and Prick just wanted to get home, he just wanted to be alone, he just wanted to think for a second, and sort out all of his thoughts, and try and figure out what Master did. He fumbled with the lock, finally throwing open the door, and found his roommate, Josh, sitting on his bed reading a comic book.

Fuck.

Josh looked at him for a moment, confused, until Prick’s musk washed over him, and his eyes glazed over, one hand reaching down, groping his cock through the pajamas he was wearing.

Don’t do it, don’t do it

Prick licked his lips, shut the door behind him, and waddled over to his roommates bed. He could tell he wanted it slow, and so he started edging him, but after a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. Prick and Josh ignored it the first couple of times, but eventually Josh ordered him to see who it was, and it was several men from their floor, who had been lured to their room by the smell of Prick wafting down the hallway. Prick was so fucking excited, seeing all the men he could service right there, wanting him–

No! No, you don’t want this, you don’t! Run, fucking Run!

But why would he run? He really needed to shut that voice up, it was telling him to do so many bad things. He went back to sucking Josh off, presenting his ass for the steady stream of men who came in to use their floor pig’s services. After an hour of edging, Josh finally rewarded him with a massive load, and any men on the floor who’d needed his services had come by, pumping at least a dozen loads in his now loose, sloppy hole. Prick considered getting in bed, but pigs don’t get to sleep in beds. He asked Josh if he could use some of his dirty clothes to make a bed, and Josh allowed it, after Prick cleaned his feet for him, and the pig curled up, his nose shoved into some of Josh’s dirty underwear, snoring and snorting in his sleep, at least until Josh woke him up by shoving his morning wood into his mouth, fucking a load of cum down his throat, and chasing it with a blast of sour morning piss, before he got dressed and headed for class.

Prick woke with a clearer head. In the mirror, he was happy to see that some of the changes which had happened the night before had worn off. He had hair again, for instance, but it had grown back in lighter in color and thinner than before. He also had lost some weight, but not nearly enough to make much of a difference, and he still couldn’t feel anything from his tiny, worthless cock. And yet, part of him was also sad–sad to see that beautiful body gone, sad to feel shame and doubt and fear once more. His phone buzzed, it was his master, summoning him to the frat house. Prick found the biggest clothes of his he could, pulled them on, and headed out, turning plenty of men’s heads as he passed with his weakened musk, but none of them could bring themselves to use the pig in the light of day.

At least, not yet.

(To be continued eventually)

Every night, it’s the same thing, but always a little different, but they’re always getting worse, and you can always remember them perfectly. You had two of them last night–you remember waking up from the first just long enough to jack your rock hard cock off before you fell back asleep into the second dream, but you recall them both perfectly.

In the first–you remember the tiled room, but you don’t remember how you’d gotten there–still, you were dressed to serve. The leather gear was well worn and fit you like a glove, revealing every curve of your fat belly, showing off your tribal tattoos. You were on your knees, waiting–for something. For someone. For anyone. You could feel how sticky your body was, from the build up of all the cum splattered across you. In a moment of clarity, you try to stand up, but the cum has adhered to the tile floor, keeping you there, as man after man files in, coating you in their cum, and soon you can barely move at all. The cum encases you entirely–you’re frozen in place, mouth open, ready for the next load, just a permanent cumdump in some filthy, rundown bathhouse.

In the second, you’re more like you–but still different. No tattoos, but maybe a bit bigger? More muscular? A bit rougher? You’re out at the bar, drinking with your pals, when you tell them that you need to go take a leak. In the bathroom, you walk up to the middle urinal, drop your pants, but before you can piss, the urinal surges to life, erupts from the wall, and grabs the upper half of your body, bending you over at the waist, feet splayed apart, ass out, squirming and fighting against the porcelain. Man after man comes into the restroom, and you try to call for help, but your mouth doesn’t work–the urinal has forced some sort of pipe down your throat, and each man shoves his cock up your loose asshole and pisses into your guts. The urinal has done something to you–merged with you–the piss flows through you and out your mouth, into the sewer, and it tastes…better than anything you’d ever tasted. Soon, you’re addicted, desperate for men to piss down you, use you, fill you with their piss and cum–

You’ve cum again–where are these dreams coming from? What are they doing to you? You drank your own piss for the first time yesterday–it gave you the best orgasm of your life. You can’t stop jacking off and eating your own cum. You long to serve every man you pass on the street–you want to be their urinal, their cumdump, their slave, their property…Pushing the thoughts away, you get up and get ready for work, paying no mind to the dreamcatcher your friend gave you a few weeks ago. It was a strange gift, but he was into that strange occult shit–still, that stuff wasn’t real, was it?