Daddy’s Little Man (Part 3)

Who had he been? He’d been a university student…in a way, he supposed he still was. After all, he hadn’t actually decreased in age at all–sure, he looked young, but he didn’t think he actually was younger, and yet…in his head, when he’d been around da–no, Mr. Rawlins–it had been like he’d been a kid again. No knowledge, no common sense, no…no nothing. He could hear the help running around, and Mr. Rawlins was barking orders all around the store, all of them searching for him. Why him? What had he done to deserve this sadistic treatment? He had to get out, he had to find someone who could help him.

After a few minutes, the shopkeepers quit their frantic searching and went back to their jobs. Maybe he’d given up on finding him. If he could just wait for a couple more minutes, maybe he could sneak out the side door a little ways away. However, before he could build up the gut to make a run for it, James noticed something else. The smell–the smoke was back. Mr. Rawlins must be close by. James did his best to hold his breath, taking in as little as possible, but the lack of air was making it his head swim–making it hard to think. Maybe he should just end this game of hide and seek. He was tired–maybe Mr. Rawlins…maybe daddy and him could go home, and he could have a nap. He was feeling kind of sleepy, and relaxed.

He let out a little sigh, and then he smelled something–and felt something. His crotch was warm, and did he smell…piss? Looking down, he saw that the front of his shorts had a growing dark patch, and a moment later, his piss started to seep through the fabric and patter onto the floor. He froze there, unable to believe this was happening, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop the flow–he’d lost all control of himself, and the tears welled up, and then he was bawling like a baby.

A moment later, a hand shot through the clothes surrounding him, grabbed his arm and yanked him from his hiding place–Mr. Rawlins still smoking his pipe and glaring down at James. The guilt–oh the guilt that crashed down on him, when he saw how disappointed and hurt his daddy was that James had run away from him. He felt terrible–why had he ever done such a horrible thing? “I’m–I’m sorry daddy, I don’t know–I just…” he said, but could barely get any words out past the tears.

“Such a naughty boy I have here,” Mr. Rawlins said, “running off, and unable to control himself? I think someone needs a spanking.”

“No daddy–no!” James shouted, but the bigger man easily dragged him over to a chair by the dressing rooms, yanked down James pants and underwear to his ankles, bent him over on his lap and started smacking his bottom–hard.

“Yeah…that’s it–such a naughty little man, yes you are, such a–fuck…” Mr. Rawlins said, glee in his eyes, and pushing up against his gut, James could feel Mr. Rawlins penis hard as a rock, and as much as it hurt to get spanked, it also felt…a little good. James could feel his own pee pee start hardening–it felt strange again, like when he’d kissed his daddy earlier, but a good kind of strange. He did deserve to be spanked though, he had to admit that. He’d been a very bad boy to run off like that earlier. He deserved to be punished. After twenty pounding slaps, all of his cheeks red as could be, Mr. Rawlins let him stand up again. “Now, you naughty boy, what do you say?”

“Sorry daddy…I’m sorry…” James said.

“That’s better. Now, it seems like you’re a littler man than I’d thought, since you can’t even keep from pissing yourself. Let’s see what we can do about that,” Mr. Rawlins said, took a deep draw off his pipe and exhaled a thick plume of smoke so massive it enveloped James entire body. Coughing and eyes burning, he waved away the thick cloud as best he could, but it clung to him for a few moments before dispersing, and james shivered a bit, feeling somewhat exposed all of a sudden–and for good reason. His school uniform had disappeared and been replaced by nothing beyond a thick diaper around his groin. James tried to speak and protest, but for some reason all of the words in his head were getting jumbled up and coming out as nonsense, and when he tried to stumble away, his legs couldn’t seem to balance right, and he fell down onto his padded ass, and frustrated, he started to wail.

“Aww, calm down little man, here, daddy has your pacifier here–this will make you feel better.”

Mr. Rawlins pulled something that looked a bit like a pacifier out of his pocket, but instead of a small bulb to suck on, it had a thick, three inch rubber cock which Mr. Rawlins shoved in his mouth. James started sucking immediately and felt so much calmer and happier with his pacifier in his mouth, but when Mr. Rawlins got down to see him, James still rolled over and started crawling away as fast as his short arms and legs could take him, gut dragging across the department store carpet.

“Goodness, you are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Mr. Rawlins said, and now, as James was crawling away, he felt the weight start to pack on once again. The gut which had only been grazing the floor moments earlier was now dragging across it, forcing him to crawl even slower as his knees kept running into the apron trailing back between his legs. His face and chest packed on weight as well, making it hard to breathe, and just crawling ten feet left him completely winded. Mr. Rawlins walked over to where James was struggling for air, bent over and somehow…picked him up. James must have weighed over five hundred pounds by this point, and yet Mr. Rawlins hefted him up and brought him over to the chair he’d spanked James over moments earlier and sat down, putting the giant diapered man on his knee as though he weighed nothing at all.

Daddy’s Little Man (Part 2)

“Alright, and we can get your neck real quick…20 inches, alright. Shoulders…18 inches. And now your sleeve…28. Hmm…this is going to be a challenge. Alright young man, just two more. First, your trunk…let’s see…27”, and lastly your inseam…28”. Huh, would have expected you to be taller, like your daddy. Oh well, I suppose a little man like you still has some time to grow, right?” Howard said with a grin, and then turned to Mr. Rawlins. “Well sir, I can see why you brought him here, but I just don’t think–”

“Oh hush now Howard, you’ve been plenty helpful. Leave me with my boy, and we can sort the rest of it out.”

“Oh…uh, very well. Just call me if you need help.”

“I certainly will. Thanks much, Howard,” Mr. Rawlins said, dismissing the help and then coming close to James, who was still boggled by his reflection. He’d watched himself closely while Howard had taken those last measurements, and in each case, the man hadn’t pulled the tape tight to him…it was more like his body had changed to fill a certain dimension. His neck had thickened, double and triple chins descending to fill out the tape there. But most obvious had been his trunk and inseam, his body shortening from his six foot height with each one, until he was probably a foot shorter, maybe five foot two at max. “Well little man, what do you think?”

“You…How did…I don’t understand…” James started to say, but looking at his new form, he was simply at a loss for words. His clothing hadn’t grown with him at all, his t-shirt stretched to the limit, his jeans bursting at the seams, the collar nearly choking him, and turning his face a bit red. “Daddy…daddy what did you do to me?”

“What do you mean, boy? I didn’t do anything to you. We’re just getting you fitted for your new uniform. You start the third grade next week–aren’t you excited?”

James nodded his head, but hadn’t be been going to college? No, how could he go to college? He didn’t know much of anything–he could only read those small books daddy had for him in his room, and he wasn’t very good at math yet–he still had trouble adding sometimes. No way could he be ready for college. Looking at himself in the mirror, he did look rather…fresh faced. While he knew he was almost twenty, and he looked grown up, some part of him still looked…very young. He turned away, finding it uncanny, and found himself staring at Mr. Rawlins instead…and he felt, strange. This big, old man who had so disgusted him with his smoking earlier now seemed…safe. Fatherly. Someone he could trust…maybe even…love?

“Still, you have nothing to worry about. Doesn’t your new uniform fit nice? Doesn’t it make you look handsome?” Mr. Rawlins asked, and James turned to the mirror quickly enough to see his ill fitting clothes start to shift and squirm. the t-shirt which could barely stretch over his belly and chest expanded and split down the middle, becoming a light grey dress shirt tucked into a pair of dark shorts with a massive waistband but didn’t quite reach his knees. Below that, grey, woolen socks crawled up his thick calves, and the sneakers he was wearing darkened and shimmered into nicely shined dress shoes, and as a tie snaked its way around his collar, a vest and coat pulled themselves up over his body, before finally a smart looking cap popped into existence on his head. He looked like a young kid going to one of the fancy prep schools, and he did look rather handsome. “See, didn’t the nice men do a nice job on your uniform? You look rather dashing, wouldn’t you say, little man?”

He came up behind James, and what started as a pat on the back became something rather more intimate, as Mr. Rawlins explored James new body with his firm hands, running them up under his coat and around his belly, his beard grazing the back of his neck, and making James’ peepee tingle in the strangest way, and he blushed a bit in the mirror, being this close to his daddy. “Thank you daddy, it’s very nice,” James said, “I like it.”

“Well, if you really want to thank me, how about you give your daddy a kiss?” Mr. Rawlins said, spun James around and leaned down, pushing their lips together and shoving his tongue into James’ mouth. James wanted it to feel good–he really did. He wanted to enjoy the taste of tobacco on his daddy’s lips, and the feel of his rough beard on his soft cheeks, but it was wrong. All of this, all of it was just so wrong, and in a moment of muddled clarity, not even certain why he was doing it, he pushed Mr. Rawlin’s away and dashed off as fast as his short, chubby legs could carry him. “Boy, what do you think you are doing? Get back here this instant!” he heard his daddy should, and guilt–oh the guilt, but he had to get away. Daddy–no, Mr. Rawlins–he’d…he’d done something to him. He hadn’t been this dumb, or this fat, or dressed like this earlier, had he? The further from the smoke he got, the clearer it seemed he could think, but he couldn’t get out–all of the shopkeepers were on daddy’s side. He had to hide. He passed the children’s section and darted into the racks, eventually ducking under and hiding in the middle of a thickly stocked circular one, doing his best to keep his huffing breath quiet, and just think.

*Knock* *Knock*

Yes Daddy, it’s me.

Oh, I know you weren’t expecting me today, but isn’t that what makes it fun? No, you don’t really want to leave me out here on the doorstep where just anyone might see us, do you? That’s what I thought. Strip once the door’s closed–we should make this one quick, before your son gets home, don’t you think? He does get home in another half an hour, right? If you’re a good daddy, I should be gone by then.

Damn Daddy, I swear you’re getting sexier by the day. Those hours at the gym sure are paying off, and that PA sure has healed well. How does it feel daddy? Felling your boy run his finger along there? You’re so hard, and dribbling already, but what’s Daddy rule number one?

That’s right, “No cumming without my son’s permission,” very good.

You know, I think we’ll do your daddy tits next. Doesn’t feel good, me tugging on them? Get this things pierced and start pumping them–everyone will be able to see them through those tight shirts you’ve started wearing. Has your son noticed yet? No? Too bad–he doesn’t know what he’s missing. Still, we’d better hurry daddy–bend over. You don’t want him to catch us together, do you? Wouldn’t want him to learn about the brother you’ve been keeping on the side.

Well, half brother–fuck, you’re so damn tight Daddy!–we don’t look much like each other, do we? Here I am, lithe and muscular, just the kind of son you want plowing your daddy hole, right? Here daddy, move over here, like this–yeah, that’s good, I love looking at you when I’m fucking you. 

What was I saying? Oh, but him. He’s so fat, and short, and just kind of ugly. Ugly like you were, before you learned about me, right? Before I started helping you be a better daddy? Think about him, walking through that door, seeing you like this. Has he noticed anything yet? I’m sure he’s noticed his dad turning into one hot hunk of fuckmeat, but beyond that?

Still no idea about me though? Fuck, I bet he’d be jealous of us–I mean, I’m such a better son than he is, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you like to make him jealous?

Protest all you want, but I see how hard you are, saw that daddy dick throb at the thought. How about I make him want to watch us? Imagine that fatass over there, stroking his tiny piece of meat, wishing he was as good a son as I was, wishing he could treat you like a daddy should be treated. Heh, he wouldn’t be your favorite son for long though, soon he’ll be more like a slave for me to enjoy–I might even let you fuck him, if you beg me for permission, after being an extra good daddy.

You can see right through me–yeah, that’s what I had planned all along, you got me! I think that’s the garage door daddy–I’ll sit here, you sit on my dick, and when he comes through that door, I want you to explode–and then I’ll get to work on my step-brother, and the three of us can start having some real family fun together.

Well holy hell, this is one hot, fucking submission. Hope this makes your Saturday night a bit raunchier. Thanks Beardsman, and well done.

***

I found it a bit strange when I saw my Dad. The divorce with Mom had hit him hard, and I had been actively talking to him every other day for a month now. It was just a few weeks ago that he was telling me about his friend that he met at the town’s tavern. Allen-something-or-other. The conversations would slowly shift from him missing the smell or touch of my Mother to the crazy drinking nights Allen had him mixed up in.

He was a true man, at least as I saw him, raising me in a small country town. I guess it wasn’t too different seeing him in his regular Flannel shirt. The leather vest had just thrown me off a tad.

As I said, he was always the real man’s man. However, he had a big heart. He never spoke roughly of anyone, gladly offered a helping hand, and was a trusted member of the community. The man I saw before me was barely that. I could only recognize my Father’s stare, looking back at me in a glazed daze. He opened his mouth to speak, and I hardly could process just how deep of a rumble escaped his lips.

“Missed you, boy” he spoke aloud. A cloud of smoke nearly blocked his entire face with those three words. While in a deeper, gravelly-tone, I almost melted at the heart-felt meaning. He only called me ‘boy’ when he was heart-broken, sappy, or proud. He took a drag from his cigar, and I noticed his arm adorned with an array of tattoos creating an unfinished sleeve. Another strange occurrence, as he was always a man who was against defiling the body with ink or metal. Still, his tattoo and shining septum-piercing that stood out in the contrast of his facial hair broke down those familiar barriers.

His facial hair, I remembered it as a shaggy black beard that completed his charming lumberjack facade. It was now trimmed and shaped into something smaller than I had ever witnessed his wear. Almost as shocking as his mop of raven hair was shaved to a uniform strip that followed it all the way back to his neck.

Before I could process any of it, I still knew it was my Dad. He was accepting of everything I did, so I shouldn’t jump to any judgments with his new style. Some guys just handle divorce differently.

I out-stretched my arms and approached, big smile gracing my face to combat the same stony expression he held since I entered from the front door. What was intended as a solid loving hug went horribly awry. He grabbed my chin as I was closing my arms around him and locked thick meaty lips onto my own. Before I could pull back, still somewhat trying to hug him, I felt the burning rush of tobacco smoke filling my insides. The thickness made me light-headed, and I could scarcely register his nicotine-lined tongue sliding inside.

With a rough push, he released me, and I stumbled back. My head played everything in slow-motion, and I could even see the slick trail of saliva between us before it vanished in distance.

“I said…I missed you, boy.” The same word I knew as an affectionate pet name rattled around in my head, and I felt another meaning creeping up behind it. That wasn’t pride, at least not the wholesome pride I knew to expect. That was ownership.

“D-dad…Why did you kiss- I mean, what was that f- how did..??” I couldn’t get the words out, not while he was looking at me like that. Not while that smoke poured from his nose and danced in the air between us. I had a feeling that my concern wouldn’t be met.

“You didn’t want a kiss from your old man?” That voice again, this time it sent shivers through me. Just as velvety as that smoke. What the fuck was going on??

“A kiss..? No, Dad..It’s okay…I missed you…”

That was it. That was all I could reply. I started rationalizing that a kiss was just as affectionate as a hug, if not more so. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. It was a natural thing, right? Guys kiss their girls like that all the time. The logic only barely concerned me, as I didn’t have time to realize I compared myself to a girlfriend, or using ‘girls’ as an objectified noun.

“I bet,” he said, swiftly stepping towards me and reaching a meaty weathered palm out to rub my abdomen. I heard the stomping of his boots, and looked down out of instinct. Not towards his suggestive advances on my body, but to the perfectly-shined leather and silver adorning his feet. Normally, those clompers were kept in the muddiest condition from his job. I hadn’t seen them this clean even when they were new.

My thoughts were interrupted by another, softer kiss. It was joined by a vibration that emanated from his throat. A cross between a growl and a moan, but I couldn’t tell the difference with that sweet baritone he addressed me in. Since this kiss was slower, more sensual, I had time to really taste him. It wasn’t the normal taste of a cigarette you’d detect on a smoker’s tongue. It was heady, spicy. A multitude of flavors danced on my palette. Mixed with the smell of an earthy cologne he seemed to be wearing, I was swimming in sensations.

I almost didn’t let my Father pull back from the kiss, keeping on his tongue with my lips until he was too far to hold. Out of instinct, my hand rested on his chest. Solid, as I imagined, and shaved clean to the skin.

“Yeah, not growing out that pelt anymore. Allen says I look better without it.” I hadn’t even asked the question, but I supposed he sensed my reluctance to the change. I always remembered the furry barreled-chest. One that you’d be happy to bury your nose in, and cuddle in, and- what the fuck was I even thinking…?

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dad…,” I said as I grabbed my head. It felt like my thoughts were splitting in two.

“You don’t? That was always like you, boy. Confused and helpless. Never understood why you ventured off on your own.”

What was that? It seemed a bit harsh in those words, and the mocking tone he took hit a sore spot deep down inside.

“Yeah, your face says it all. It’s fine, boy. Allen explained how some of us are just born to take orders. I’m the same way. That’s why your Mother was always in the picture. Big difference now is that I can GIVE the orders, too…,” the last sentence had a cocky tone to it, and my confusion only increased the way he was staring at me. “You want some orders, boy? You haven’t really moved since you got here. You already seem eager.”

“No, Dad, I’m just..I..,” COME ON! WHY CAN’T I FINISH A THOUGHT???

“You mean ‘Yes’, Jake,” he said matter-of-factly.

“N-no..I mean..yeah..maybe…,” it was still hurting, the throbbing in my head. I had trouble looking away from him. I had trouble thinking anything different than what he was suggesting.

“’Maybe’ isn’t good enough, is it, boy?” I blinked in response, and he leaned closer, “Is. It. Boy.”

“N-no, sir…”

I saw a smile grace his face for the first time, as if he had accomplished something great. He took another hit off his waiting cigar, and blew a thick plume into my face before speaking again, “Yeah, Allen said you’d need some training. Just like your old Daddy here.”

He turned his cigar around and put it in my lips. I’d smoked before, but never on anything like this. I could taste the signature of my Father’s saliva as the tip hit my tongue.

“Suck it deep.” I wasted no time, using my experience to inhale. I didn’t want to disappoint him, to fail him. It wasn’t a new feeling, just a classic one translated to these new phantom desires I felt arising in me. “Hold it.” That harsh tone again. I coughed inside, a small billow escaping my nose. Before I could see anything, I felt his hand push against my face and the back of my head hit the wall.

“I SAID HOLD IT, FUCKER!” I immediately broke out in a cold sweat from his harshness. That and the shortness of oxygen to my brain were really fucking with me. He closed in on my face again, slowly removing his hand and replaced it with his lips.

This was like the first kiss. Penetrating, harsh, wild. I took it as a sign to let go, and felt the burning deep inside release through my mouth. My Father sucked it in with an almost innocent eagerness. The permeating fog floated between us in short clouds each time an opening showed in our kiss. It was in this moment that I felt his hand brush over my jeans, and knock my erection.

My Dad pulled back and gripped tighter than I would have liked at the bulge in my jeans, “Yeah, fucking hard already. My boy likes it rough, huh?” I didn’t recall enjoying having my head slammed. I would have guessed that it was the kiss, or the sultry smoke, but he was telling me differently. As up to this point, I couldn’t argue with him. Before I could plead my case, I felt his fist land on my soft chest, knocking me back again into the wall. I grunted in pain, and felt his hand massaging my crotch once more. The combined sensations were confusing, of course. “Yeah, feels good to someone like you.”

What the fuck did he mean by that?? I tried to respond, but felt a slap around my face before a word could escape. His hand was thick, and he obviously wasn’t playing around. It definitely hurt. At the same time, I could still feel the other rough palm pressing into my dick.

“Still hard, and getting harder,” he declared. He kept up his efforts, hurting me in different ways while continuously massaging my manhood. I knew the smoke was slowing me down, making me hang on every word, and he was conditioning me to like everything he was doing. His taunting was pushing me closer to the edge, whether I wanted it or not. Even as he ripped my shirt open, and stroked the dusting of soft fur of my own, I knew he was getting through to me when I let out a desperate moan from him harshly twisted my nipple.

“Oh god, Dad!” I cried out involuntarily, and his smug expression only deepened. His grip loosened finally, and I heard the sound of my jeans-zipper lowering. I should have pushed him away, fought back in some form, but I was craving what might happen next. Like a cliff-hanger to a story, but with an expectedly VERY naughty ending.

This was my Father. That very fact made this all the more disgusting and wrong, which in the same aspect made it feel so much more fun. There was a thin line between Taboo and Fetish, and god-damn if he wasn’t eradicating it right now!

“You’re a leaker, boy. Makes me proud that you take after your Daddy…In more ways than one, obviously…,” I looked down to see my pole pushing a small opening in my briefs, and the front cloth was slimy and darkened from my own fluids. Two of his fingers pushed into the opening and played with my dickhead. My mouth opened in a boisterous moan. “Make some noise, you little shit!” He egged me on, and reached with his other hand to squeeze my clothed nuts.

“FUCK!” I pushed back against the wall, and squirted pre from my slit. I never though this pain could feel so GOOD. It was him, my Daddy. I knew he was telling me to like it, and I was obeying as he expected. It scared me at how much power he had over me, but I wasn’t about to tell him otherwise.

“Your Daddy here likes his balls stretched and squeezed. You do, too. Dontcha?” Another grip, another pleading moan from my lips. I looked down with blurry-eyes to his zippered crotch. He sensed what I was thinking, and opened the forbidden denim gate.

Just as his previous statement, I saw his sac stretched at least three-inches downward by metal rings. They looked red and swollen, but all I could think was how good they must have felt compared to his grip on mine.

I almost didn’t see what hung above it. A thickly-veined beast with a silver ring dangling under the head. A bit thicker than his septum-piercing, and dripping musky dick-slime. It DID look just like mine, but a tad larger in thickness. It was surreal, staring at what my cock might turn into in the future.

“It’s big, Daddy,” I stated, almost dumbly. Well, did I expect to make a philosophical statement on it?

“No shit, dumb-fuck.”

Dumb-fuck. I sure felt that way right now. I looked into his eyes, and he read my mind once again.

“Yeah, dumb fuckers like you that can’t think straight. Nothing straight about you. Even that curved pig-dick of yours.”

Pig dick?? Sure, I was dumb, but was he calling me fat now? That wasn’t very nice.

“Fat. Fucking. Pig Dick.” He grabbed my dick and shook it with force.

“Oink!” I snorted. I fucking SNORTED instead of moaning. I must have liked being a pig for my Daddy.

“Damn! For a dumb pig you sure learn quick. How about this?” He grabbed my nuts again, and I couldn’t help squeal out, “You’re nice and soft, especially your ass, piggy.”

“Daddy, you like my ass?” I was surprised by his comment, and felt a swelling of pride in me.

“Oh yeah. I loved it when you’d bend over and spread those fat round cheeks for me. That fur, the musk- makes me want to eat you out. One hungry pig for another.”

I snorted, shooting out more pre as his suggestion hit home again. Why was I enjoying this so much? Why was I trying to overthink everything? Pigs don’t think that much. I felt a rumbling in my tummy as I considered the word ‘hungry’. I was, very much so. “I’m hungry, Daddy…”

“Yeah you are, pig. What do pigs like us eat?”

“We…we eat…,” I replied dumbly, having trouble with the question. The obvious answer was in his previous statement, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Spit it the fuck out, pig. What do hungry, nasty, horny pigs like us eat?”

“WE EAT ASS,” I said aloud, pushing the statement from my lips. Admitting it was like a flood-gate opening with new nasty thoughts permeating every corner of my mind.

“Yeah we do. We eat ass, and cum, and sweat, and piss.”

PISS? The thought a few minutes ago, that would have made me ill, but if I was growing used to the thought of my Daddy’s musky ass crack, then what harm was getting a drink from his dick? “We..we eat piss?”

“We drink it, dumb-fuck. We drink that stale liquid gold and our thirst is never sated.”

My mouth felt so dry as I listened to Daddy sir speak. I still felt hungry, too.

“Piggy looks like he wants something,” was his reply to my sudden obvious fidgeting. Without a warning, he dropped what remained of his jeans and turned around. I thought he was wearing underwear, seeing his dick just hanging out, but I realized he was wearing a very tattered pair of briefs. They were stained and darkened from constant wear. I could smell the stench wafting from the material. It only made me hungrier.

The back of the material had multiple holes, mostly small, but I could see the outline of his sweaty crack. The line was accented with the roundness of his fit ass from years of hiking and squats.

“Here’s some beef for my piggy. Better dig in before it gets cold.”

I didn’t need any more urging, and I dove forward, landing on my knees, and my face was buried in that dingy cloth. I still gagged, and tried mentally to pull away with no avail. It was so rank, so foul that I was buried in my own Father’s ass. My Father…Dad…Daddy. Daddy’s ass. I was tongue deep in my Daddy’s ass. I was hungry and needed more. I pushed the tip of my tongue into several of the holes, tasting salty flesh underneath.

“I don’t need my underwear cleaned you fucking nasty son of a bitch! Open that up!” I wasted no time in following what he wanted, grabbing a hole with two fingers and ripping it wide. While his chest was clean-shaven, his ass was untouched. It looked so fucking GOOD!

I snorted, and moaned, mashing my lips deep into his almost cavernous crack. The plump flesh left so much to hold onto, to clean, to worship. The buds on my tongue scraped and dove deeper with each thrust, until I hit the waiting pucker. I heard my Daddy let out a piggy-snort of his own, and he pushed back without any more urging. The tip of my tongue penetrated, the flesh inside was even muskier. I felt him clench around the invasion, my hands holding his thighs tight and pulling him into me. It felt like an actual meal, as I drank his sweat and suckled on his ass I felt the hunger-pains weakening.

“FUCK! *Snort*,” he rocked on his feet before falling to his knees. I clamored to follow his movements, only coming loose from his ass for a moment before pushing back in with greater force. On his hands and knees, Daddy called me degrading names, and kept telling me how insatiable my hunger would be. “What the fuck do pigs eat, bitch??”

I pulled out of his ass and moaned “Ass!” and fell right back into it.

“Yeah, we eat ass. We can lick and chew tight beefy backsides until our Sirs cum all over us. What do PIGS eat?”

“We eat ass, and cum!” I called out, proud of remembering the next one.

“WHAT ELSE DO WE EAT, PIG??”

“SWEAT, SIR!” Upon that reminder, I licked straight up his crack to gather the stale sweat, and even lowered myself to lick deep between his thigh and stretched balls.

“*SNORT* WHAT DO WE DRINK, YOU SICK FUCK?”

“We- *snort!* We drink piss, SIR!”

At that, Daddy flipped onto his back, legs spread wide and I finally had a clear view of his swimming pucker. It was drenched in my saliva, and I had the urge to suck it all up. That is, until Daddy pointed his dick at me.

“I hope your thirsty, pig!”

I tried to reach it in time, my mouth wide and ready to take his rod deep to drain him of every drop. I was too late when the stream hit my face. It ran down my cheeks, my lips, and I tried my best to get it into my mouth. The taste was explosive. So much better than the salty perspiration. He raised his aim, soaking my forehead and then my hair, watching it stream down my chest and fall from my belly to form puddle below me. As the stream began to slow, I stayed put, smacking my lips and drinking what I caught on my tongue. Daddy watched me with pride.

“There’s a happy pig…” He patted his ass, urging me to continue, and I dove back into it with fervor, drinking left-over sweat, piss, and my own saliva. It was only when Daddy pulled away and got back onto his knees that I could stop, and in his position he grabbed my face and mashed it into his.

Another loving, primitive kiss. This time, he was tasting himself. He was enjoying his own musk, and snorting between breaths as he enjoyed the treat as a good piggy should. My Daddy lead such an amazing example. Pigs like me, we learn from the best!

Mick had given up trying to hold it back–to hold it in. He had enlisted his son’s help in cleaning out the rental house he owned–the last tenet had skipped out on the lease and left the place a complete sty–and everything had been going well, until the jockstrap. Mick had found it in the bedroom a few days prior, and just…hadn’t been able to throw it away. He’d stashed it, and whenever his son was out of the room, he’d take a sniff, or a lick, or a suck…

Ty had gone out for cleaning supplies, and Mick just hadn’t been able to resist any longer–and so he stripped down and pulled on the stiff jock…and then he hadn’t been able to stop. Now here he was, sitting in the living room, the old tenet’s clothes on–the filthiest ones he could dig out of the trash bags they’d filled already, waiting for his son to come back.

He took a deep drag off the half smoked cigar he’d found in an ashtray and ran his hands up his arms, amazed at how fast the dingy hair had spread. He even had a goatee now, and some of the most disgusting pit stench he’d ever smelled, but he loved it. With the groan, he let loose a blast of piss into the front of the jock, feeling it run off the seat of the chair and puddle on the floor, but that didn’t matter. He’d just have his son lick it up when he got back–after he finishes giving his dirty old Pa a bath.

The Silent Auction

***Plenty of extreme stuff in this one, I don’t really want to bother listing it. Just consider yourself warned. Check the tags if you’re curious.***

Mitch didn’t know what they were doing to him, the men who’d grabbed him as soon as he’d stepped into the warehouse, throwing a bag over his head and dragging him away, kicking and shouting, but he’d come alone, like the message had said–he hadn’t exactly had much of a choice. But still, he was the god-damn chief of police, and he should have known that this was a trap. The men stripped him down suddenly, cutting the clothes off of him before fastening heavy iron shackles around his wrists and ankles, and shoving him up some stairs and ripping the hood away as they did, but before he could turn around, they’d shut a door, trapping him in a small glass box, barely larger than a coffin, with a bright light in the top casting a harsh light down on his pudgy, old body.

He threw himself at the glass walls, but they weren’t glass at all–just very hard plastic–and even if it had been breakable, he would never have been able to build up the momentum to break it. Instead, he directed his attention to his surroundings, and saw that his wasn’t the only box in the room–there were four others. One was still empty, but in the other three, he saw other men whom he recognized. Sam Raymond, the mayor. Rudy Garrison and Jack Duggery, both members of the city council. He turned to the empty box and saw two men clad in leather police officers disrobing another hooded figure and pushing him into the last box, and he saw Peter McJenson, one of the city’s judges. And him, Mitch Lundon–the chief of police.

“Well well, I see that you all came as I requested,” a voice said, and a small, but beefy figure came out of the darkness, rubbing his gloved hands together, looking at the five men locked in their respective boxes, Amazing how all of you jump when the teats you’ve all been sucking at our threatened.”

The kidnappings, Mitch thought. He’d done his best to keep them under wrap. Five of the most prominent businessmen had been kidnapped two days ago, and the bandit–the man addressing them now, he assumed, had claimed responsibility. Mitch had been furious, to say the least–after nearly a year of no activity, the man he’s sworn to hunt down, after robbing ten banks in half as many months, and costing him twenty of his best detectives, had struck again, and right at the heart of the city’s business community.

The bandit–he was practically legend at this point, a modern robin hood, stealing from the rich and passing on the wealth to the poor faster than the rich could scoop it all back up. The bandit who’d made no attempt to hide his activity or his face, but was still utterly anonymous to him and every other law enforcement body in the country. The bandit who’d…changed every officer who’d ever pursued him. Mitch recognized a few of them now, actually, as some of his most trusted officers just a year ago, before they’d all had their own run-ins with the bandit. In fact, these were the one’s who’d gotten off lucky–others had had their heads so twisted that…well…the sights hadn’t been pretty. And now, seeing what the bandit had managed, well…Mitch was scared to death. He’d only been thinking of himself, when he’d gotten the message from the bandit, telling him to come here, alone, or he’d air out the fact that Mitch had been lining his pockets with personal bribes from every one of the business men that had been kidnapped–apparently the other four had received similar threats.

“So,” the bandit continued, “I suppose you’re all wondering why I asked you all here, and what this has to do with the five upstanding businessmen who agreed to come stay with me for the past couple of days. Yes, I know you thought they had been kidnapped, but I assure you that they all came of their own free will. And now, I’ve invited them all here for a small, private charity auction. Shall I introduce you to them now? How about we bring Ronald out here first.”

The five men all knew him when he came out, Ronald Stein, one of the biggest real estate developers in the city. He was older, but had always tried to look young, but he came out looking absolutely disgusting, clad in a wife beater and boxers, his toupee gone revealing his greying horseshoe of hair. “Say hello to Ronald everyone. In addition to the sweetheart development deals many of you helped him get, Ronald here has also been secretly spying on many of his own tenets. But we’ve helped you out with that, haven’t we Ronald?”

“Oh yes sir,” Ronald said, “I’m not going to spy on anyone anymore, now I just want to watch men strip for me.”

“That’s true–you are quite the voyeur. Now, who’s next? Morgan, come out here.”

Morgan Pullman, the CEO of one of the city’s largest banks, emerged looking very different from his usual self. He’d packed on muscle, for one thing–lots of muscle. And instead of his usual suit, he was wearing leather chaps and a harness, with a whip and paddle hanging from his waist. “Morgan here thought that poor people ought to suffer, but he knows better now, right Morgan?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Bandit,” the muscular man said, “The real men who need to suffer are corrupt government officials, and goodness, am I going to work them over good…”

“I’m sure you will. Now, Berlin, come here my boy.”

Berlin Hamilton was the son of one of the richest men in the world, and had proceeded to do absolutely nothing with the fame and fortune he’d received. At twenty-five, he’d had plenty of time to waste, but not anymore. He emerged triple his previous age–seventy-five–and hobbled over to the bandit. “I suppose youth is wasted on the young, eh?”

“Oh yes, but the younger the better,” Berlin said, shooting the men in their cases a lecherous glance, before shuffling over to join the other two.

“Younger indeed. Now, who’s left…Madison for one, come out here.

Madison Benoit, the investment broker whom the judge in the room had let off scot free on a technicality, after losing millions for his customers in the stock market crash, had a second, darker side that the five men knew about–he was a white supremacist. He’d done a good job hiding it behind his social darwinism and southern roots before, but when he walked out, that wasn’t going to fly any longer, looking like a roided up skinhead, swastikas tattooed on his neck and permanently bald head, wearing bleached jeans, doc martins and a cruel scowl. “No need to hide those feelings anymore, eh, Madison?”

“Fuck no, mate,” Madison said, “Now you promised me a slave, when ‘em I gettin’ my own personal nigger?”

“Soon enough, just be patient–we have one more man to introduce after all. Roger Merdon, our final bidder, everyone.”

Roger Merdon was the wealthiest media magnate in the city, but the obese slob clad in nothing but overalls who stumbled out, apparently drunk, bore almost no resemblance to the smartly dressed man he’d been before. The bandit caught the man as he stumbled, and helped him over to the rest of the group. “Well, I guess he’s just as filthy now as the shit he has his ‘news’ channels shoot out every day, right?” Roger gave a healthy laugh, followed by a long belch, and joined his fellows, Roger walking up to the glass cases.

“What’s this all about, Bandit?” the mayor asked.

“Yeah, you’re never going to get away with this,” Mitch added.

Oh, now this is a silent auction, gentleman, so no comments from the peanut gallery until after the bidding is complete. Now, gentlemen,” the bandit said, directing his attention back to his group of twisted magnates, “You all remember how this works, right? There’s a minimum bid on all these men of…let’s say, fifty million dollars? Just make your bid on each man, and the top bidder on each will get his prize. If you win on two, you only get the one you bid the most on. Still, you’re used to paying for government officials, so I’m sure this will come perfectly natural to all of you. However, I urge you all to be generous, because the person with the lowest bid…well, let’s just say they’ll regret having been so stingy, eh? Now, let’s say, fifteen minutes to place your bids? Starting…now! And remember–silence please, from everyone.”

Apparently, when the bandit said silence, he meant silence. The room was quiet, aside from the occasional hmm or haa from the five bidders, as the men in the cases desperately tried to get their old friends to let them out and escape–but the bandit had apparently been working them over for too long for them to feel any sympathy. Finally, the five of them finished their bids as the clock ran down, and the bandit took a moment to examine the results.

“Alright, it looks like we have our pairings. So, shall we go from highest to lowest? And goodness, what a high bid–I’m impressed. With a winning bid of five hundred million dollars, we have Berlin Hamilton who has purchased the mayor of our fine city as his personal bitch.

The old man grinned, one hand going down and rubbing his cock through his suit pants, as two leather clad officers opened the glass case and dragged the still shackled mayor over to the bandit. “Now now, quit fighting it–you had no problem with these men buying you before, after all. Now, as far as Berlin is concerned, you’re quite simply far too old for him at the moment–he likes his men much younger now. But don’t worry, at eighteen, everything you two will be doing together will be plenty legal.”

As they all watched, the mayor, who’d been in his mid fifties, started regressing rapidly, until he was in his late teens, but his body was so slender and underdeveloped that he probably could have passed as someone younger. Berlin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he saw his new toy, and he let out a groan.

“Oh, he’s so beautiful, thank you bandit.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet–I know what you like,” the bandit said, and pulled the slender mayor closer, who was still trying to grapple with his own transformation. “Now, Sammy, I have a few things to tell you. You see, your last name isn’t Raymond anymore–It’s Hamilton, and that nasty old man over there is your grandfather, the grandfather whom you want to use you as a sexual toy for the rest of your life. Now, you know what your grandfather likes? He likes little boys, right? So you’re going to have to pretend to be even littler, alright?”

Sammy nodded quickly, falling into his new character, as a tight fitting pokemon shirt appeared on his torso, and around his waist appeared a diaper. He started sucking his thumb, and waddled over to his lecherous grandfather, kissing his deeply, the bandit leaving them to their new roleplay.

“Now, who’s next? Our second largest bid was not nearly so large–just two hundred million, though not a sum to be laughed at. Ronald Stein, please come collect your new toy, Councilman Jack Duggery.” The underwear clad real estate developer smirked, as the officers pulled Jack from his case, and pulled his down to where the bandit stood. “Now, Ronald, what’s your favorite type of man?”

“Oh, I like looking at them all, trust me, but I do love those muscular strippers at all the bars. Just, make him manly–no real twinks, and no body builders either, just, lean and handsome and an unabashed exhibitionist. Oh, and a real big dick.”

“You heard the man,” the bandit said,and Jack felt his body start to contort and grow, packing on muscle, his fat melting away until he could have graced the cover of a muscle magazine, a light treasure trail running up his chest. A short beard covered his chiseled jawline now, and something…a beat inside him…he felt his hips start gyrating, as a pair of extremely tight cut off shorts barely able to contain his nine inch cock appeared around his waist. He looked up and saw Ronald staring at him, and the old man made him feel so dirty, but so horny at the same time, he started grinding his body up against him, making out with him, hungry for his attention and praise, leaving the bandit to tally the next winning bid. “Oh, this is a good one,” the bandit said, “With a bid of 175 million, Madison Benoit has purchased as his new slave the honorable judge Peter McJenson!”

The skinhead stepped forward, and the officers dragged the screaming and struggling judge out of his box and out to the bandit. “No! No please, please don’t do this, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, I sense your sincerity, but alas, it is too late for apologies, I think,” the bandit said, “Still, considering how many young black men you put behind bars, I think your new color will suit you just fine.” The judge whimpered, and looked down at himself, as his skin began to darken to a near pitch black, and he fell to his knees where he continued to beg and plead and grovel, until Madison delivered a firm kick right into the judge’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ niggers. Get rid of that tongue–I don’t ever want to hear another word out of it’s mouth. And it’s balls too. And make it dumb as shit–I don’t need it thinking about questioning my orders. And bigger, a real beast of burden for me and my mates that can take plenty of abuse.”

On his knees, the judge started to grow, packing on pound after pound of muscle as he felt his head empty out, and on his knees, looking up at Madison–no, up at Master, all he felt was fear–primal, terrible fear, and he got down, kissing the toes of his boots, silently begging for forgiveness. It was enough to assuage Madison for the moment, and he dragged his slave away by the chain collar it now wore, where he took his new slave’s cherry.

“Goodness, only two left. Let’s see who our last lucky winner is–Roger Merdon, with a bid of 100 million, has purchased Councilman Rudy Genson. Congratulations.”

The officers hauled out the second councilman and hauled him up front, while the filthy redneck waddled up as well. “So, Mr. Merdon, what would you like?”

“Well, I’d sure as hell love someone tah clean me up a bit–think I sharted a bit sittin’ o’er there jus’ now. Yeah, a nice fat piggy willin’ tah get a little dirty, an’ willin’ tah be mah toilet, I think–that’d save me a lot a trips tah the bathroom.”

“Oh fuck no, you can’t be serious, you *grunt* no, please–*snort*” Rudy said, as he started fattening up, topping 400 pounds before he finally stopped growing, and unable to balance on his feet anymore, he fell forward onto his hands and knees, where he smelled it. Something so filthy and nasty and delicious, he snuffled over to his master and nosed at the back of his overalls. It was in there, it was in there and he needed it, when Master dropped the overalls down, revealing his shitty ass crack he let out a squeal of delight and started licking it all clean, his Master moaning in pleasure as he did, the Bandit walking away and over to where Mitch stood, alone, in his glass case.

“So, Mitch Lundon, it looks like you’re the last one. Well, you and Mr. Thrifty over there,” he said, looking at Morgan Pullman in his leather gear. “Get over here Mr. Pullman.” He tried to resist the command, but there was nothing he could do, and so he walked over and joined him. “So, Mr. Cheapskate, you couldn’t even bring yourself to spend over a hundred million?”

“Well, I didn’t expect everyone else to bid so much–I can pay more, if you want, I have–”

“Oh shut up–I told you before, that the least generous among the bidders was going to get…a less than pleasant surprise, didn’t I? But Mr. Lundon, don’t think that I’m letting you off the hook–why don’t the two of you share the same fate? Take him out boys.”

The two cops pulled Mitch out of his case, and two more grabbed Peter before he could try and run. “Now, I’m thinking twins, and I do love the leather. How about a couple of cute cubs, just desperate for a master?”

As Peter and Mitch looked at each other, they saw that they were both transforming in front of their eyes, shrinking to about five and a half feet, and pudging up, their hair shifting to deep red and shortening, full round goatees accentuating the roundness of their faces. When they were perfectly identical, matching leather harnesses and jocks appeared on their bodies, along with two massive dildos shoved up their holes, and both of them looked at the bandit with unbridled lust.

“So, is there anything me and my brother can do for you?” Mitch said, running his hand into the bandit’s pants and massaging his cock.

“Yeah, the two of us have been looking for a big, strapping master like you who can keep all of our holes satisfied,” Peter added coming in close as well.

“Ha, well, I don’t know about keeping you, but I’d be happy to keep you both well plowed tonight,” the bandit said, leading the twin cubs to his room, and leaving the rest of the men to their pleasures, wiring the millions he’d just made from the auction to the charities he’d chosen earlier. They might all have been selfish whores before, but at least now no one would mistake them for what they really were–and if he could help people in the city, then all the better.

He just said that he wanted to play a little game. Simon Says–I mean, how harmless does that sound? Well, it was fun at first–flexing when he flexed, jacking off as he jacked off…but then, well, I couldn’t stop. The smoking freaked me out, the cigars I had to buy when he went out, and we came home at the exact same time. I did my best to smoke them just like he did, and he taught me all about it. When I was bad–when I couldn’t copy him–that was the only time I was free…well, not really free. The only time I wasn’t copying him. Every punishment is different. Sometimes I just fuck myself with a dildo, or pump up my nipples and play with them until I cum. But I’ve gotten better, I haven’t been punished like that in weeks.

Now, we dress the same. We talk the same. We smoke the same. I…I think I’m even starting to think like him. To want what he wants, the same fetishes, the same turnons. The smoking, well, at first it was just a habit, but now…now it makes my dick as hard as a rock. Now, the dildo’s, fuck, I just want someone to fuck me so bad. 

He tells me that I’ve almost won, that the game is almost over. How much longer is he going to keep playing with me? Days? Weeks? Probably no more than a month. I’m…I’m almost ready, after all. Almost ready to be his son, yeah, his hot, sexy, cigar smoking son. Gonna be just like my daddy, I love my daddy so much…