Tag: demon

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.

“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.

PAINPIG

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:

CAUTION:
FREAKMEAT

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:

FIST HOLE

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.

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.

(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.

Horny Hugh (Part 4 – Finale)

WARNING: Like the part before this one, this part has graphic material. It’s more horror than porn, unless you’re into that sort of thing. Mutilation, snuff, pain play, abuse, steroid use, and other bad things below, consider yourself warned.

Josh pushed his way into the apartment, dropped his bag off to the side, heaved a sigh of relief, and shut the door behind him. He hated travelling, especially for work, but it had to be done. Now though, it was time for a drink, a little relaxation, and then a day off tomorrow–something he always insisted on after a business trip. He went into the kitchen to fix himself a drink, and to fix himself some food, when there was a knock on his door. Figuring one of his neighbors must have figured out he was back, maybe with some mail, he opened the door, only to find Kyle, his boyfriend, standing outside in the hallway.

“Hey babe, I missed you!” Kyle said, pushing his way inside and giving him a kiss, “So glad you’re home safe.”

“Kyle?” Josh said, after accepting the kiss, “What are you doing here? I didn’t even buzz you up.”

“One of your neighbors did–I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Josh felt a bit unnerved, not necessarily by his surprise appearance, but because the night before, he’d had one of the strangest, most vivid, and most terrifying dreams of his life. Kyle had been in it, but it hadn’t been Kyle, really. There was something else inside him, and…and he’d fucked Josh, well, raped him. It had been intense, and a bit traumatic, and he’d been hoping to put off seeing him for a few days until the dream had settled. That, and he’d had wanted some more time to mull over what Kyle had asked him before he’d left, about moving in.

Josh liked Kyle, he really did, but he didn’t know if he was ready to move in with anyone right now. Sharing space was difficult, and Kyle could be a bit overbearing at times. Letting him down easy would be a challenge, but Josh didn’t want to say yes until he was sure. 

Kyle pushed into his space again, giving him another kiss, and while Josh appreciated the gesture, he was also a bit put off by how forward he was being. “Come on, give me a few minutes, I haven’t even had a shower.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said, looking a bit sheepish, “I’ve just waited so long to taste those lips, I can’t resist.”

“It’s been, like, five days Kyle.”

“It feels like ages though.”

Kyle slid closer again, giving him another kiss, now grinding his cock against Josh’s leg, Josh telling him to cut it out, asking him to stop, eventually forcing him away, and when he did, he saw…something else flash in Kyle’s blue eyes. A flicker of yellow. Something…cruel, and hungry there that he’d never seen before.

“Look, I know you meant well, but I’m not in the mood, Kyle. I just want to have something to eat and go to bed,” Josh said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Kyle just glared at him–and the air in the room grew a bit chilly, like all the heat was being sucked away. Josh gasped as two horns erupted from Kyle’s head, twisting out like the horns of a bull, their points almost glittering, as the lights in his apartment flickered. “I’ve waited so long for you, Josh, I’m not waiting any longer. You’re mine now. You’ll be so happy, you’ll see. I know just what you want, what we need together. You don’t understand yet, but I’ll help you, I’ll help you see…” Kyle said, his voice contorting into something else, something deeper as he stalked closer to Josh, head lowered, horns pointed right at him. Josh backed away looking for a weapon, certain this must be a dream. Kyle charged, Josh felt the horns pierce his chest–one driving right into his heart–and Josh gasped and choked, tasting blood, waking up from the nightmare in his bed.

He touched his chest, but there was nothing there. It had felt so fucking real, those wounds, but…but it had been a dream? But if it had been a dream, why couldn’t he remember anything else from the night before? How had he gotten into bed? And why could he hear sounds coming from the kitchen in his apartment?

He got up, went to investigate, and found Kyle there, cooking breakfast. “Morning lover–just wanted to surprise you with something nice, now that you’re home again.” 

“Oh…did…did you spend the night?” Josh asked him, “I…My memory is a bit fuzzy.”

“Well yeah, last night and every night, silly. I moved in a few months ago! How fuzzy is that memory of yours?”

Josh just stared at him, confused. He was certain that they’d just been discussing that before, but…but now, now he wasn’t quite so sure about it. Kyle pushed a mug of coffee into his hands and gave him a kiss, and before he knew it, they had settled down and were eating breakfast together. Everything felt normal. Even those two, nightmarish dreams were starting to fade into the back of his mind, feeling less and less important, now that the sun was up. Once breakfast was done, Josh cleared the table, but before he could get anything in the dishwasher, Kyle was on him, groping him, pulling him into the bedroom, and Josh wasn’t fighting him–he was certainly horny after his trip, but then, he was always horny, wasn’t he?

Kyle was more passionate than Josh remembered. It wasn’t that he’d been timid before, but he’d always been so careful with him, like Josh was something he could break. Now though, he tossed and turned Josh into whichever position he wanted, and he found himself enjoying the rougher treatment. It was like he was having sex with someone else, almost. At times, it really did feel that way, especially when Josh was on his belly, Kyle fucking him rough–he could almost…feel someone else on top of him, or…or something else, maybe. That dream came back to him, those horns. He’d seen those horns somewhere before, hadn’t he? The memory was there, but fuzzy. At a…bar one night, but he’d drunk too much, probably. Maybe at a Halloween party, or something.

Kyle fucked him and finished inside his ass, then flipped Josh over and sucked him off until he came as well, savoring the cum, licking his lips, before lying down next to him in the mid morning light of the window. The rest of the day was easy–Josh got the kitchen cleaned up again, and then they got caught up on their shows, until Kyle got randy again in the evening and gave Josh another fucking–though this time he seemed a little less…eager than he had in the morning. Almost like he was a bit bored. Then dinner, then bedtime. Sleep came easily to Josh, despite the bad dreams he’d been plagued with, and Kyle just watched him for a bit–or rather, Hugh watched him, through Kyle’s eyes, trying to temper his own disappointment.

He’d looked so perfect, from afar.

That handsome face, those sweet eyes, a nice bulge. That laugh of his. But now that Josh was his, Hugh found himself…bored. He’d seen so deep inside him with his horns that first night, and everything inside Josh was rather boring–a hopeless romantic, preferring to take things slow and cautiously, rather than rush into anything. He’d taken him apart in desperation, hoping for something deeper, but there was just nothing much. No real kinks or oddities to speak of. Even Sam had been an interesting sort of empty, void enough to fill with something interesting. But with Josh, Hugh just felt nothing exciting at all. Hugh could tell that this had been a perfect day for Josh–after all, Hugh designed it that way, just to try it. But in all honesty, Hugh was bored with it. There was so much more out there to experience. Josh could be so much more, but he limited himself. He was too cautious, too nervous, too worried about what others might think of him. It wasn’t uncommon of course. So many other people Hugh had met, and helped, over the last couple of months felt the same thing, but they all had something to hide. Josh didn’t even have that. Hugh would help him though. He realized that he’d been wrong before. It wasn’t that Josh was perfect the way he’d been, it was that he was the perfect base. A perfect hunk of marble that Hugh could now sculpt into something else–a masterpiece. But first, he would need materials. Tools. 

Hugh got out of bed, and sucked Kyle’s skin back into his body, looming over Josh’s figure as himself now. His true self. Massive horns jutting from his bony face, his forehead studded with several smaller ones that had emerged over the last few days. His skin was raw and inflamed all over, the infection from the horns spreading further now, making his skin rough and leathery. His eyes were yellow, teeth too, and so sharp. Looking at Josh’s throat there, he could…bite into it, tear it out, drink him down…but no, too soon. He slid one clawed finger down Josh’s exposed arm, watching the hairs rise and skin prickle at his touch. A marvelous specimen. Kyle lumbered out of the apartment, sniffed the air, and went to the roof, where he unfurled the wings that had grown from his back, allowing him to glide across the city. He could smell what he needed–he would go take it, come back, and help Josh realize who he was always supposed to have been.

Josh went back to work the next day, but as the week wore on, he had a hard time feeling like things were going back to normal. Part of that was, naturally, because of Kyle moving in with him. He knew it had been a while since it had happened, but it was difficult to feel like it wasn’t rather sudden somehow. It was also strange because Kyle was always there–sending him off out the door, and greeting him when he got home. The only time he didn’t seem to be present was at night, when he would send Josh to bed alone, and he’d be awake before Josh everyday. He awoke one night and found the bed beside him empty, but didn’t think much of it in the moment, but it was the first time in days he’d been alone in the apartment. 

Then, he had another nightmare. The same monster as before (he knew it was always the same monster somehow, whether it looked like Kyle or not) and it forced him to suck it’s massive, barbed cock, until Josh drank down a bunch of foul tasting cum. He woke up unnerved, but the details faded before he could find Kyle and tell him about it–but that morning was different. Usually he went right to work after leaving home, but today, Kyle left with him, and they went to the gym together. This wasn’t new for them, though Josh couldn’t recall the last time they’d gone to the gym since he’d returned from his trip a week earlier. Once there, Kyle proceeded to put him through a grueling workout, focused almost entirely on free weights, rather than the usual cardio they preferred. Josh found himself sliding into the rhythm of it almost immediately, and they worked out for a solid two hours–or rather, Josh worked out and Kyle coached him until he was a quivering, sweaty, aching mess at the end of it.

But he loved it. He felt…so strong, suddenly. Big. And the ache was good too, it felt good in a way that he hadn’t expected at all. They got back to the apartment, and Josh was so exhausted he couldn’t resist as Kyle led him into the bedroom and fucked him, telling him what a good job he’d done, telling him how big he was getting, how strong he was going to be. He needed to be stronger for what was ahead, Kyle whispered to him, he needed to be so much stronger. Only after that did Josh realize he should have been at work the entire time–but Josh calmed him down, fed him a big meal, and put him back to bed. He was just taking a few days off, is all. He’d be ready to go back to work soon.

The next day, before they went to the gym, Kyle took Josh into the bathroom, loaded up a syringe, and injected it into Kyle’s ass. When Josh objected, Kyle just looked at him like it was the most normal thing. Didn’t Josh want to be bigger? Steroids were just the natural next step, after all. Didn’t he want to be a brute? A muscle bull? A giant fucking stud?

Kyle turned him around and fucked him there in the bathroom, with Kyle facing his reflection in the mirror, and he didn’t…recognize his body, at first. He was so much larger than he’d been, then he should have been. Thick traps, massive biceps, a hard roid gut topped with a two pack, pecs so large he couldn’t really see over them at times. He was a giant fucking brute, wasn’t he? And he loved it. 

“Tell me what you are,” Kyle said in his ear.

“I’m your fucking muscle bitch,” Josh heard himself say.

“What else?”

“I’m a roided out muscle pussy, I’m a steroid abusing beast. I want everyone to fucking look at me and know that all I’m fucking good for is my massive fucking muscles.”

Kyle came, and they went to the gym, Josh dressed in a singlet stretched tight over his imposing frame, and just knowing that everyone was looking at him, that they all knew exactly what he was, he found his cock leaking. By the end of the session, the crotch of his singlet was soaked with cum and sweat–Josh made him sniff it in the locker room, suck it clean until he came all over the floor, and then Josh got down and licked that up too, mooing like a fucking bull–because that’s what he fucking was.

The next day, he went back to work like nothing had changed. In fact, nothing had changed, had it? Not that Josh could really remember. No one commented on the fact that he’d disappeared for two full days, and returned with an extra hundred pounds of muscle mass packed into a tailored suit. After work, he went to the gym, where Kyle was waiting, and they worked out as they always did, then went home for a massive meal, and the rough sex Josh had found himself craving more and more, just like he craved the ache in his muscles after his grueling workouts.

Some part of him knew this was wrong. Could sense it. But it was so addled by the changes he couldn’t get its bearings, and the truth was, Josh was enjoying himself. He’d always wanted this, hadn’t he? He hadn’t–a voice said, but with the thoughts raging in his head, Josh couldn’t tell the difference between what Kyle had fed him and his own thoughts. The dreams were still coming, but Kyle found himself less and less scared of the beast in them. He…almost found himself enjoying those as much as the workouts.

Kyle had another surprise for him that weekend, after he’d been back to work for a couple of days. After their evening workout, they took a detour to a piercing and tattoo parlor–Kyle had decided it was time for his muscle bull to start getting some piercings. It was like Kyle had read Josh’s mind–he’d been fantasizing about getting his nipples pierced lately, but hadn’t said anything about it. Needless to say, he was thrilled. He got in the chair, took off his shirt, and the bearish fellow swabbed his nipples, and then the needle slid into him. Josh felt the pain course through him, and he lost track of everything else for a moment. When he came back to the room, the piercing was done, he had a small stud through his nipple, and his pants were soaked with a load of cum he’d lost from the pain of it. Kyle just grinned at him, the man did the other one, and the same thing happened–a few moments of blissful pain, another load pumped out of him, and when Kyle told him that was in for this session, Josh begged him for another–at least one more. Kyle was more than happy to oblige, the piercer did Josh’s septum, and again, the sensation was so powerful that he was left soaked, and hornier than he could recall being in his entire life.

Josh begged the man to fuck him, as a thank you. He was a bit reluctant, but Kyle had a word with him on Josh’s behalf, explaining to the bearish fellow that he was a muscle bull with an aching cunt, who loved pain and loved getting fucked good and rough. Kyle and the artist, a man by the name of Tim, tag teamed Josh right there in the studio, and when they got home, Kyle fucked him again after Josh begged him to, telling him how much he loved the gift, how he couldn’t wait for them to be healed so Kyle could properly torture them.

Apparently, that meant the next morning. Much to Josh’s surprise, when he looked at himself in the mirror the next day, the small studs that had gone into his nipples and nose had been replaced by massive rings. The ones in his muscle tits were 0 gauge, and the barbell hanging from his nose was 00 gauge–and fuck, he looked so fucking hot, he started groping himself, tugging on his chest rings, feeling his flesh pull and ache. Somehow, other piercings had appeared as well, in his ears, in his eyebrows, in his lips and tongue. He could remember having them, somehow, but they felt so new as well, and fuck, if they weren’t sexy as hell too. He called Kyle in to fuck him right then and there, he couldn’t stand it. That night, Kyle took him back to the piercing shop to do his cock as well–though Kyle didn’t recall as much from that session. Tim and Kyle tied him down to the chair and tortured him for hours, and when he woke up, he found himself with a massive PA and a jacob’s ladder running the length of his six inch cock, a multitude of rings in his ball sack, and a ring in his taint as well. He gave his cock a stroke and shuddered–it felt so different, but it felt so…right. Like this is exactly what kind of cock he was supposed to have. Kyle was obviously pleased as well–and since it was Saturday night, he figured it was time for Josh to have his premiere.

He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but Kyle wouldn’t explain more. They went through their usual Saturday routine with an extra long workout and afternoon fuck session, and then, after dinner, Kyle told him it was time to get ready. He put Josh in a bunch of leather gear he didn’t know either of them had–a thick leather harness across his chest, weights and a chain attached to his swollen tits, a leather vest, chaps, and lastly, he took a heavy padlock and attached the PA in Josh’s cockhead to the ring in his taint, forcing his cock to stretch painfully across his balls, held tightly in check. Then, a choke collar, a leash, and once Kyle was dressed in a full leather uniform, he dragged him to the bar, to display him.

Kyle and Josh had been there countless times, but never like this. Josh was horrified, and yet so fucking turned on that everyone could see him for the muscle cow he was now–the muscle cow he’d always been, really. After a few drinks for them both, Kyle started pimping Josh’s muscle pussy out to anyone he took a shine to, and the men would drag him into the restroom, fuck him next to the urinal working its usual shift, and then back out again, until cum was literally running down the inside of Josh’s legs. They went home, and Josh had never felt so satisfied in his entire life–but he could tell that Kyle wasn’t quite as satisfied. He kept looking at Josh in the strangest fashion, like he was trying to see someone else through him, or inside him.

That was because Hugh still wasn’t completely satisfied. The more he twisted Josh, the more he could imagine twisting him further–there was always a level of perversion beyond the one he’d just finished dragging his obsession toward. This should be enough, Hugh told himself, but the beast refused to be satisfied–it knew what it needed to do next. It would be so…exciting, it could barely contain itself in Kyle’s skin that night. It had to slip out the window, find someone to toy with for a moment, let off a little steam before it could continue with Josh. If Hugh pushed too far, he knew it would be ruined. He’d get there, slowly. He’d understand soon enough that Hugh was the only beast that knew what Josh could really desire. He was the only thing in the world that could really help him now.

They started going out to the bars most every night after that. It wasn’t long before Josh was known as the communal muscle pig open for anyone, no matter how old, or ugly. Back in their apartment, Kyle was rougher, training Josh’s flesh in ways he’d never known possible, with a wide assortment of paddles, whips, floggers and other implements of pain and torture that Kyle found himself craving just as much as the exhausting workouts he had on a daily basis. Kyle upgraded to knives, sliding the blades along his skin at first, just enough to scratch, but it wasn’t long before the wounds turned deep, Kyle would end up driven into a blood lust when he tasted it, Josh left certain that the wounds Kyle gave him were sure to be the end of him, though by morning, all that remained of the night’s activities were old scars all over his body. 

Kyle surprised him one evening when they stayed in, and told him he’d arranged a special playdate for them both, something he was sure Josh would enjoy. The fellow arrived after dinner–a muscular skinhead, covered in tattoos and calluses, wearing filthy workgear and smelling like he’d just walked off a construction site. The scene started normally enough, with Kyle and the skinhead working Josh over in various ways, but then the knives came out–or at least, Josh thought it was a knife. He waited, expecting the blade to sink into his own flesh–but he just felt a hot spray of blood across his back, looked over, and saw that Josh had severed the skinhead’s throat–and that the blade was not a knife, but a claw.

A claw Josh recognized. A claw of the beast in his dreams. Was he dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream, but then, his dreams never felt like dreams, until he woke up. Did he want to wake up? He watched the blood pour from the skinhead’s throat, and part of him, a small part, but one that had been growing, wondered what it might feel like. That pain, and that terror. A smaller part was even envious, but it was too small to be noticed yet, just a seed, the blood splatter it’s first watering. Josh was too confused to scream, too uncertain as to whether any of this was real, as Kyle’s skin pulled back, was swallowed away, and the beast slid forth, crawling over the skinhead’s corpse, licking up blood with a long black tongue, sliding one claw along the skinhead’s body, as if contemplating where to cut next. 

“What…why did you do that…Kyle?” Josh asked, though he knew this was not Kyle. He didn’t know who it was, but he had known it wasn’t his boyfriend for sometime now. Calling it Kyle was convenient for them both, but it was not the truth. 

“You’re too pretty,” the beast said, its voice like steam hissing against hot rock. “Always have been too pretty. But I have a new face for you. New skin. Better skin. First though, the old must peel away.”

The pain that came next was indescribable. The beast pinned Josh down to the floor, and with it’s long prehensile tail tipped with a dagger like claw all its own, cut it’s way around Josh’s face. Then, it peeled it away, off the muscle, his entire mind crumbling into hot white agony. What came next, Josh wasn’t certain. He came, several times. Something slid over his head, like a hood. The beast repeated the process on his arms and hands, degloving him, sliding something else warm and wet over them instead, cut away skin in other places too–his chest, his back, applying new pieces there as well. When he was certain he couldn’t take it anymore, the beast fucked him, the cock penetrating him deeper than it had ever gone before, and Josh could feel everything shrinking to him, tightening, constricting, choking him until he passed out–and then, at last, he woke from the most horrifying, dizzying, erotic dream of his life, and puked over the side of the bed.

He stumbled to the bathroom, but it wasn’t his face looking back at him, not anymore. It was the skinhead’s face. His broken nose, his rotten teeth, his boxed ears, his bald scalp, the tattoos on his neck crawling up the sides of his head. They weren’t his hands either, covered with all these tattoos, calloused and stubby fingers, nails caked with grime and dirt. Other bits of the skinhead had been cut away and applied to him, tattoos that the beast had fancied, apparently, and thought would accent Josh’s new look. He vomited again, tugged at his skin, but it refused to come free. It was his now. It had always been his now.

Nothing more than an ugly brute. A muscle bull, aching for pain and for cock. Even now, the thought of that exquisite pain had his cock aching, though it was still locked up, knotted to his own taint, dribbling cum down the inside of his massive thighs. He sobbed–what the fuck was happening to him? What on Earth had he become? Kyle found him there, and Josh tried to fight him off, but there was nothing he could do to resist him. He was just trying to help him, just helping him become who he was supposed to be. Couldn’t Josh see that? That he was so much better now than he’d ever been before?

“What did you do with him?” Josh asked, over breakfast.

“Don’t worry about him, I found a use for everything left over.”

“Not him–with Kyle. Where’s Kyle?”

The thing inside Kyle’s skin looked over at him, and smiled, “He never understood what you needed. I’m the only one who could give you the help you. I helped him too–he’s much happier now.”

Josh went to work, though he had taken the skinhead’s place on the construction crew now. It was aching, back-breaking work, but he loved that too. Loved how sore he was. The other men around him were so sexy and handsome, his cock was aching for all of them. Kyle told him that they might invite them over soon, help them out, give them all a taste of what the beast could do for them as well. The beast just wanted to help. So many people, trapped inside a reality that would never allow them to be what they wanted to be. The beast was free now, and it could free them all too. It wouldn’t stop until they were all free.

But Josh knew he was trapped. Trapped in a nightmare that he’d never really woken from, ever since he’d returned from that trip. Maybe he did want this. He couldn’t tell anymore–but one thing he knew was that so long as he was here, the beast would never be finished with him, and that scared Josh to death. So, one night, he ran.

The beast hunted at night, Josh had long since realized that. The thing couldn’t be satisfied with Josh alone, it had discovered that soon enough–and so it had gone out at night, found other men to help along with their urges, freeing more and more men to realize their darkest desires around the city. Josh knew it was hopeless, that the beast would surely find him, but he had to try. He had to prove to himself that there was still some part of him that was him, and him alone. Not some sick thing planted in his mind, growing into a thicket of thorns and perversion he was more and more lost inside with each passing day. He would run. Leave town. Settle somewhere else. If this was who he was, then so be it, but he wouldn’t be a toy of the beast any longer.

But of course, it found him. Josh ended up cornered in an alley, the beast looming over him, enraged that Josh had left without its permission. Didn’t he understand how much Hugh loved him? Didn’t he understand how much help he needed? Maybe that’s why he had run, because he’d wanted punishment. Perhaps, it was Hugh that had neglected him. Josh fought, but there was nothing he could do–the beast slashed his throat open, and at last, he knew what it would feel like, the blood running down his chest, soaking him like sweat, tasting and smelling nothing but iron. The beast watched life drain from his toy, and contemplated what to do. Perhaps, it had been neglectful. It picked up Josh’s limp, blood-drained body in one clawed hand, and flew into the sky, returning to the apartment–and in the morning, Josh woke again, alive, with a new scar across his neck, and the beast looming in the bedroom.

The beast remained with Josh for a few more weeks, devoting all of its attention to him, and him alone. Each time the beast played with him, Josh was certain that this agony would be the highest attainable, that certainly there was no pain greater than what he was feeling right now. Each time, he would beg, and pray, as the blood drained from him, as his head was crushed in the beast’s claws, as his heart was pulled from his ass, that this would be the final time, but always, he would wake from death, and they would begin again.

Josh began to realize that he was losing something with each resurrection. A bit of his mind, a bit of his soul. His body was coated with scar now, his bones broken in more places than they were whole. There was just the pain, the mutilation, the destruction, the laying out of his flesh until he was no longer recognizable as anything human, and then returned, for it to begin again. He knew it would not last forever. Each time, the joy in the beast’s eyes dimmed slightly–it was tiring of him, as he’d known it would. All Josh could do was hope that the beast would end him, give him just that mercy–but he did not.

One morning, Josh woke, alone. The absence of pain (aside from the constant ache of mended bones, and the network of scars that wound across his body)  was a new sensation, one that was deeply unsettling to him, but one that he knew should be a welcome relief. In the mirror, he looked at his mangled face. One eye remained, the other hadn’t survived–there was just a deep, ugly scar that mangled forehead, socket and cheek. But he was alive–wasn’t he? But then why did he feel so empty now? 

The beast had left without explanation. After a day, the yawning emptiness inside him was terrible. He had lost too much, in the process. There wasn’t enough here to survive on, the only thing that could occupy him was thoughts of pain, and mutilation, and death. Still he survived for a few days, working at the site, going to the gym, getting fucked at the bars, before he gave in, took a knife from his work belt, and stabbed it into his arteries, the orgasmic pain swelling inside him, the only thing close to fullness that he had felt since the beast left him alone. Then he died for the night, and awoke the next morning–still alive, still empty, still aching.

He found others who would use him, eventually. Men who would kill him, maim him, torture him, bring him to the brink of crossing over, but always, whatever magic the beast fueled him with would pull him back, and Josh would come back, emptier each time, with less and less of himself, less and less humanity to ground him. The deaths and beatings and tortures took their toll of course. In time, it was difficult to recognize him as something that might have been human once, but the thing knew what it’s purpose is now. To die. To suffer. Perhaps one day, the beast, its true master, will return and end its existence–but until then, it will suffer, and suffer gladly.

Horny Hugh #1 (Commissioned Story)

Evan knocked on the door of Hugh’s apartment, and after a couple of moments, it opened up. Hugh looked through the crack of the door, and then pulled Evan inside and shut the door behind them both.

“What the hell is up with you?” Evan asked, “You spend all morning blowing up my phone, saying I have to come to your place, and you won’t even tell me why–now you’re yanking me around like this is some spy movie or something.”

Hugh was wearing a pair of sweatpants, which wasn’t unusual for him, and a hoodie with the hood up–which was definitely odd. He didn’t say anything right away–he and Evan had been friends for ages, and he was the only person he could possibly talk to about…well, about what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d woken up this morning. “Look, promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Dude, no one fucking says that unless what you’re about to show me is really fucking weird–now what’s going on? It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Hugh took a deep breath, and then he pushed the hood back, and showed Evan the horns that had appeared, growing out his temples, when he’d woken up this morning. They were small, or at least, that’s what Hugh had told himself all morning as he struggled to not freak out about it. They were about an inch tall, with a sharp point–not quite sharp enough to draw blood, unless he gave someone a hard headbutt with a running start or something.

“What the fuck?” Evan asked.

“Please–you’re the only person I could show this to, please, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” Hugh pleaded.

Evan was, he had to admit, a bit freaked out, but he was also, well, curious. He reached out to touch one, and Hugh pulled away. “What?”

“They’re…tender, is all.”

“Did it hurt?”

Hugh shrugged. “I…I had this dream. I don’t really remember it all that well, but…yeah, it hurt, in the dream, and when I woke up, I was thrashing in my bed, my pillow was torn to shreds, and I had these fucking things sticking out of my head. I don’t know what the hell to do–should…I mean, if I go to the hospital, are they just going to treat me like some kind of freak?”

“Can…Can I touch them? I’m just curious. I’ll be careful.”

Hugh bent his head down, and let his friend cautiously stroke one of the small horns with a finger. It wasn’t quite smooth, more like unsanded wood–but definitely bone. The flesh at the base was still a bit red and inflamed from what he could see, but it didn’t look like there was any infection.

Hugh, however, felt something rather strange when his friend touched them. Something he couldn’t quite explain. Thus far, aside from an ache around the horns where they’d burst through his skin in the early morning, they hadn’t really done anything–but when Evan touched them, he felt something. He felt connected to him for a moment–he could see…inside him, somehow. Just a flash, really, but it was disconcerting, and he pulled away after a moment.

“Did I hurt you?” Evan asked.

“No–No, I…would you take me to the hospital? I…I don’t want to go alone.”

Together, they left the apartment and Evan drove him to the hospital to get his new horns checked out, and on the way, all Hugh could think about was that strange sensation, how he’d almost been able to see Evan’s…thoughts. More than his thoughts though, deeper than that. Like…his dreams, or desires, or something like that. It had just been for a moment, but he hadn’t been able to focus on it for long, but it had been tantalizing, because he was sure he’d been about to see something that Evan had never told him about–and Evan didn’t keep many secrets from Hugh, about anything.

Evan and Hugh had known each other for years. They’d met in college, and when they’d graduated, they’d both stayed in the city, though they worked at different companies. Neither of them had been very lucky in love or relationships. They’d tried dating each other for a little while, but it hadn’t worked–thankfully, their friendship had been stronger than that little mistake, but they were still closer to each other than anyone else they knew in the city they lived in. Hugh though…he’d seen something…he didn’t know, there inside Evan. A secret even his friend had kept from him–hell, maybe even a secret he was keeping from himself. It was tantalizing. There in the waiting room, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wanting to see more, wondering if he could come up with some excuse to have Evan touch them again, so he could see it.

Thankfully, the oddity of his condition meant they didn’t have to wait long, and they were taken back to meet with a doctor. His horns were examined, samples were scraped off–which was more painful than Hugh was expecting it to be. Tests were taken, blood was drawn, but after several hours of being poked and prodded, no one had any idea what was happening to him, and he didn’t seem to be in any danger, so he was sent home, and told to come back if anything changed. Hugh was frustrated–but the same thing had happened each time someone had touched his horns–though the gloves the doctors and nurses had always worn dulled the effect somewhat. He could see into their minds, see their…desires. He knew that’s what they were. With the doctors, it had been…like looking through privacy glass at something in another room. The curiosity was killing him, and he had to know what he was experiencing, and the easiest way to do that, was to get Evan to touch his horns again. 

Thankfully, Evan seemed to be suffering from the same curiosity. Ever since touching the horns, he’d been unable to get the feeling out of his mind. They were just so unlike anything he’d ever touched before. They stood by the apartment door, neither of them sure what to say, since the trip to the hospital had left them both with more questions than answers. Eventually, playing it as cool as he could, Evan asked if he could touch them one more time. Hugh was ecstatic, but didn’t let on to his own relief. He bent down, Evan touched his horns again, and this time Hugh felt everything.

It wasn’t quite an image, or a sound, or a feeling, or a thought. It was bits of all of those things smashed together. Hugh could suddenly smell something strong and pungent–it was the smell of piss he realized after a moment, but not fresh piss. More like the smell of an unwashed urinal. There was the sound of piss hitting flesh, there was the sensation of being wet and warm, like standing in a summer rain shower. The taste of piss in his mouth. He realized, finally, that what he was sensing was some deep desire of his friend’s–Evan had a fetish for watersports, and a powerful one at that. It was so…deep though. So far away. The sensations were there, but they were muted, or blocked. There was something in Hugh, something telling him that he could…could pull it closer if he wanted, so he could get a better look. Without knowing what he was doing or how, he gave it a tug, or something a bit like a tug and then the sensations stopped.

Evan had pulled away from him, shaking his hands like he’d gotten a shock of some sort. “Fuck, what the hell was that? I…Were you in my head?”

Hugh blushed, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“You…what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I…I just…” Hugh didn’t know what Evan knew–but from the look in his friend’s eyes, that deep embarrassment, he…figured Evan knew exactly what he had seen inside him, what he’d…tugged on. Without saying anything else, Evan left the apartment, leaving Hugh to get ready for bed. In the bathroom, looking at himself…he swore the horns looked a bit…swollen, the skin around them a bit more red and inflamed. It took hours to find a position that was comfortable to sleep in, and he hoped all of those tests the doctors had given him would tell him…something. At least let a surgeon remove them, or something. He felt a quiver at the thought. Something…didn’t like that notion much, but it was deep inside him too–too deep for him to notice much beyond a sudden flush of anxiety in his guts. Eventually, Hugh managed to fall asleep, and by the next day, he had already put what had happened with Evan behind him, and resolved to make the best of things.

He called his work, and with the help of a vague note from the doctor at the hospital, he convinced them that he didn’t really need to be in the office for the next couple of weeks. Hopefully he would get this strange horn situation sorted out by then. That gave him some time for himself that he hadn’t had in a very long time–and he wasn’t quite sure how to fill it–especially since leaving the house wasn’t really an option. He played some video games, he worked around the apartment, but what he found himself doing more and more was jacking off.

Hugh had never really been that sexual of a person. In fact, while he found men attractive, he had never really gotten behind the idea of sex beyond mutual masturbation–which was probably the reason why things hadn’t really worked out between him and Evan, when they’d tried to date, knowing what he did now about Evan’s interests. But suddenly, he was horny all of the damn time. He’d wake up with a raging hard on that would refuse to quit until he masturbated. The same thing would happen when he was trying to sleep–one stray thought and he would pop a boner, and he wouldn’t get a moment of rest until he’d jacked off. The more he masurbated, the more his thoughts drifted to Evan–thinking about what he’d seen when he’d taken that little peek inside his friend’s mind, the feeling of that little pull, dragging that…dark, twisted desire out of the dark and towards the light. It had been a rush, really. He hadn’t been able to admit that to himself at the moment, but he…he wanted to do it again. He didn’t even know what he’d done! But he wanted to feel that again. It was the power of it. There was some sort of power there, one he couldn’t really understand, but if he…if he could just do it again, maybe he could figure out what was going on here. Why these horns had suddenly just appeared on his head, for no reason that he could seem to comprehend.

But no such opportunity arose. Sitting around in his apartment, inventing ways to occupy his time, trying and generally failing to avoid wasting the day away masturbating, or just staring at himself in the mirror, touching his horns gently, or not so gently. It was in the evening, two days after his visit to the hospital with Evan, that his friend returned. 

They had been chatting off and on over the last couple of days, mostly Evan just checking in on Hugh to make sure everything was alright still, but all that day, Evan had gone quiet. The knock on the door was a bit urgent, and while Hugh tried to ignore it, eventually Evan shouted at him on the other side, and Hugh threw on his hoodie and opened it up for him.

It was the smell that hit him first, and he realized something had gone…very wrong. Evan reeked of piss. Hugh managed to keep his gag reflex down, but something else responded eagerly–his cock was hard as a rock. Evan shoved his way past him into the apartment, wearing a button down shirt and slacks that were, well, soaked. 

“Alright, I need a fucking answer, Hugh. What the fuck did you do to me?” Evan said, when he was inside.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened to you?” Hugh asked him.

Evan glowered at him, and Hugh could see a bit of doubt in his eyes…or maybe he could feel it. Could he feel it? Was he imagining things?

“Look, I…I’ve always had this…this fantasy, alright?” Evan said, “I really, really like the idea of…of guys using me as a urinal. Pissing on me, making me drink it, I…I mean, I’ve done some piss stuff with guys before, but…but I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I felt something when I left the other day, when I touched your horns. I…I don’t know what the fuck it was, really, it sounds stupid saying it out loud, but…but ever since…” Evan paused. “Look, the next morning, I was fucking horny, and I pissed in a glass and drank it. I’ve never done anything like that, but…but I didn’t just want to do it, I had to do it. And then, at work…the guys were…they were treating me different, and my boss…he was in the bathroom with me at one point in the morning, and he…he offered me his piss, and I fucking drank it! I don’t know what the fuck came over us, but I did. And when I went out to lunch, I wasn’t…hungry, exactly, but I went to the lunch spot, and right into the bathroom, and every guy who came in, I drank their piss too. I…I didn’t know what was wrong with me, so I went home, and I tried to eat, I fucking tried to eat, but I couldn’t keep anything down, but I could drink without throwing up. So I got drunk, and I went out to the bar…then today. Fucking today, I go into work, and by boss calls me into his office, right? He calls me in, tells me I’m getting a new position. He takes me into the bathroom, and tells me I’m the new fucking urinal! And I spend all fucking day on my knees, every guy on the floor pissing on me like I’m some fucking object, and…and that’s not fucking normal, Hugh, and I know you did something to me. You did, or those fucking horns did, and I need you to put me back right fucking now.”

Hugh just stared at him, for a moment, trying to process what his friend was telling him. He knew he should be…horrified, right? But…but wasn’t this what Evan had wanted? It’s what Hugh had seen, at least, when he’d looked into him, but…Evan didn’t look happy about it. Then again, why should he be happy about it? He’d just been pissed on by everyone he worked with, all day long…and it was Hugh’s fault. It was a hot story though. Hugh realized he was groping himself–that he’d been groping himself the entire time Evan had been telling the story of his day, and that his friend had noticed–and was looking at him with disgust. He pulled his hand away.

“What, did that turn you on or something?” Evan asked. “I…I fucking knew it! When I touched those freaky horns of yours, what the hell did you see? What did you do to me?”

“Look, I…I did something, I know, but…but I don’t really know what I did, or how I did it! It was the horns. I…I could feel it inside you, and…and I just…pulled on it. I don’t know what it was, I just….”

“Great–if you pulled on it, you can push it back in, right?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works. We should go back to the hospital. We…I don’t know what I’m doing, I might make it worse.”

“No–I can’t…I can’t go anywhere,” Evan said. The implication was clear–if he was in a public space, chances were good he’d be in the bathroom before long, drinking as much piss as he could. “You have to fix this, right here, right now.”

“Isn’t…isn’t this what you wanted though?” Hugh said, “I mean, you said it yourself this was a fantasy. I just wanted to help.”

“‘Help’? Fucking ‘help’? I don’t think I can show my face at work ever again! These last couple of days have been a fucking nightmare. It was just a fantasy! It was supposed to stay as a fucking fantasy! Something I jerk off to on occasion, and then put away. I don’t want to be stuck in a bathroom for the rest of my fucking life! I want you to put me back, and then I never want to see you or your fucking horns ever again.”

“Evan, I–”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking freak!”

Hugh didn’t know what to say to that. Mostly it hurt, but not in the way he expected it to. He knew, in his head, that he’d done something wrong to Evan, but…had he really? He knew this is what Evan wanted–what he really wanted, more than anything else in the entire world. Evan could deny it all he wanted to, but he couldn’t lie to Hugh–Hugh had seen right into him, he knew all of those little secrets he kept, and there was absolutely no way he could be wrong about this. If anyone should be angry in this situation, shouldn’t it be him? He’d given Evan a gift! He’d helped him fulfill a lifelong dream of his, and now that he had what he wanted, he was getting scared? More than just getting scared–he was blaming Hugh for all of it. But Hugh had only done what he did because Evan wanted it so badly. It was all Evan’s fault, really. If he’d just been honest with himself, he’d understand how…how happy he should be right now. But Hugh could fix this. He had to fix this–it was the right thing to do. Evan would forgive him eventually, right? “Ok–look, touch my horns, and…and I’ll put it back. I think I can do that.”

Evan was nervous, but he reached out and touched Hugh’s headd, and the same sensation that he’d felt before washed over him. It had been…strange. In the moment, he’d felt so calm, like he wanted nothing more than for Hugh to rifle through his thoughts and…and change things. He’d watched before, as Hugh had found his desires, dragged them out to the front of…of him, somehow, or at least closer. He’d known what he’d been doing, but as soon as he’d pulled his hands off those horns, he’d lost it. He could see it again though, he could see all of those nasty, perverted, filthy things he wanted men to do to him, right there, like he was broadcasting it to the world–which would explain a few things, he supposed. And Hugh was there, and he…what was he doing?

He wasn’t pushing them back down, that was for sure. Evan screamed at him, and when his friend looked up at him, his eyes…weren’t Hugh’s. They were pitch black, and the smile that crossed his face–his entire face, his mouth stretching from ear to ear, those…those sharp teeth…that wasn’t Hugh, what the fuck was that? The thing that looked like Hugh began pulling everything out, all of the filth, putting it everywhere, filling up everything with it, and Evan tried to scream, tried to beg, tried to do…something! Anything to stop it from happening, working to wrench his hands away before it was too late, and finally, he let go, and all of it fell back behind the shroud. He was left standing there, looking at the top of Hugh’s head, at those two horns taunting him, trying to sort out what in the world had just happened to him.

“There, see? Doesn’t that feel better already?” Hugh said, raising his lead up. His eyes were…normal, as was his mouth, but Evan couldn’t shake the vision from his head, that there was something else behind his friend’s face, something inside of him, trying to push it’s way out of him, and Hugh didn’t even realize it. 

“I…I don’t know…I guess I’m thirsty, mostly.”

“That’s not surprising. Shouldn’t you be getting to the bar soon?” Hugh asked him. “Tell you what–I’ll come by later, towards the end of your shift. If you still aren’t happy with things, then I’ll put everything back, but I think we got everything right this time, I can just…I can just feel it.”

“Are…are you sure I can’t have something to drink before I go?”

Hugh sighed, and pushed down the sweatpants he’d been wearing around the house. “I’m really fucking horny, but I think I can piss for you. I know how much you need it.”

Evan got down on his knees, the horror still there, but muted. Like some part of him was…was so deep now, that he never even really had to acknowledge it existing. It…It was more important to be a urinal, right? Isn’t…isn’t that what he was? He was certainly thirsty enough to be one, and when Hugh finally managed to piss through his hard cock, and Evan drank it all down, every single drop, he felt so much better. “Thanks man, you’re…a great friend, you know that?”

“Of course I am,” Hugh said, “Now go on, you don’t want to be late.”

Evan left Hugh’s apartment, got in his car, and while he was certain he should be driving home–he had work in the morning after all–he instead knew, somehow, that he had to work somewhere else tonight. At…at the bar, right? The Hawk? It was the seediest of the gay bars in town, and Evan hadn’t been there very often, but he had to be there. He got there a little before six. The bouncer at the door knew his name somehow–as did the bartender, and after saying hello, Evan went right into the bathroom, got on his knees next to the other urinals, and it wasn’t long before Lucas, the bartender, came in. 

“Fuck Evan, glad you got here early, didn’t think I could hold this for much longer,” Lucas said, and unloaded his bladder into Evan’s eager mouth. “Gonna be a busy night tonight–hope you’re ready for it.” Lucas finished up, didn’t say anything else, and Evan moaned a bit, feeling the piss settle in his gut. He didn’t have long to think about it, before another man came in, and then another. The other urinals were neglected for the entire night–after all, Evan was the best urinal the bar had ever had. Evan found himself caught in his mind between this new normal, and that little voice, begging him to stop, to listen to reason, that he couldn’t just…be a urinal, right? He was a person! He had to be a person, didn’t he? During a lull, it was that little voice that forced him up from his knees, stumbling over to the sink where he could look in the mirror. Told him to look at his smooth head and face, at his porcelain white skin, at his belly distended from the gallons and gallons of piss he’d drank already tonight. He was naked, but when had he stripped his clothes off? Had he driven here naked? Why would a urinal need clothes anyway?

“Hey! Pisser! Get back in your spot.”

It was the bouncer. Evan felt guilty, and got back down on his knees, took the bouncer’s piss, and remained there, where…where he belonged, where he needed to be. He kept drinking all night long, until sometime after one in the morning, as the club was winding down, and Hugh pushed his way into the room. He was drunk, from the way he was staggering, and Evan swore that Hugh’s horns looked a bit…longer than they had back in the apartment. Fuck, his horns were right there. He wasn’t even hiding them! 

“Fuck Evan, fucking look at you,” Hugh slurred, “What a good looking urinal. I did a good fucking job on you, you know that? Aren’t you happy? This is exactly what you wanted–I know, I fucking saw it there, right in your brain. I’m…fuck, I’m like the best fucking friend, you know that? How many other friends would actually help you become the urinal you always wanted to be?”

Evan…knew he shouldn’t. But that little voice, it refused to shut up. “Hugh, please, I…I don’t want this! I don’t know what’s going on, but this…this isn’t you. Those horns, they’re controlling you. I…I like piss! I always have, but fucking look at me! I…I don’t want to look like this.”

Hugh squinted at him, then squatted down and squinted some more. “Fuck, you’re right, this…this is no good.”

Thank you! Fucking thank you, please, please fix me!”

“You don’t look like a urinal at all. I can be such a fucking idiot sometimes. I mean, you still look like a person!”

Evan’s guts dropped out from under him, and he tried to force himself up from where he was kneeling, but he was suddenly frozen in place, as Hugh leaned in, and rubbed a horn against Evan’s hairless, perfectly white arm.

“I’m still learning, I know, but I’ll get it right this time, you’ll be perfect.”

Evan found himself behind the shroud again, inside his own mind, but this time, it wasn’t that Hugh was pulling anything out–he was putting things away. Burying all of those parts of Evan, all of his humanity, deep inside himself, deeper than his watersports fetish had ever been, so deep that Evan couldn’t even see it, or feel it, or…or know it.

At last, Hugh pulled away from him, and Evan tried to scream, but he couldn’t. His mouth was frozen in place, open wide. His tongue was glued to the bottom of his mouth, and he was drooling constantly, the water running down the back of his throat and into his massive, porcelain gut. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Hugh said, “You’re fucking beautiful. Fuck, I’m…so fucking horny…”

Hugh couldn’t stop himself. He tore open his pants and started jacking his cock, but every touch was like fire. He was grunting and moaning in pain, but it felt so damn good too. Evan, head locked into position, watched his friend’s body contort, like something was inside his skin, rearranging Hugh’s insides while he stroked off, a trickle of blood running down the front of his face as the horns pushed out another few inches, splitting the skin apart as they did. Hugh licked the blood from his lips as it ran past his mouth, and moaned in excitement–enough to bring himself to orgasm–but his cock…well, it wasn’t the same cock that Hugh had started with. It was bigger–easily nine inches long, the head more pointed, with fleshy barbs running up and down the shaft. He came with something like a roar, pouring inky black cum down Evan’s open throat, and Evan…he felt something inside him turn into cement. He knew, without knowing how, that…that after what Hugh had just fed him, this was…him now. Forever. He’d never change again. Already, he could feel his old life fading away, turning to vapor in his mind. He felt at ease, Hugh’s cum settling in his friend’s gut next to his piss, and Hugh heaved a sigh, and pushed his swollen, barbed cock back into his pants. “That was good, but god damn, I need to fuck something. Urinals are no good for fucking…” he muttered, and stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bar proper, leaving Evan alone. A thing that had been named Evan, once. It didn’t have a name now, of course. Urinals didn’t have names.

Its shift finished a little after two in the morning, after one last load of piss from the bouncers and the bartenders. The urinal forced himself upright, standing just a little over four feet tall on squat, wide legs, and waddled slowly over to the mirror on the wall. There was its face, contorted and constantly open wide, eyes wide set, head dominated by its massive maw. It had no neck, rather its head was placed right on his wide body, above his massive, distended gut. It was the only part of the thing’s body that was still pliable. It would process all of that piss and cum he’d ingested tonight, turn it into more drool, use it to power its body, but the thirst would always be there. Thankfully, a good urinal always had plenty of work. During the weekdays, it worked in an office nearby. In the nights and evenings, it was always here, at The Hawk. But on the weekends, it would make its way to a truck stop on the edge of town, drink its fill of trucker piss all day long, and start all over again on Monday morning. It was a life, wasn’t it? And it was happy. It was doing what it was meant to do–why wouldn’t it be happy? It left the bathroom at its slow, trudging pace. It looked around for Hugh, but its friend was nowhere to be seen. Hugh was done with him anyway. Hugh had found someone new to take home–someone to fuck. But most importantly, Hugh knew he could help them too. Horny Hugh was going to help everyone.

Preview: Horny Hugh #1

Here’s a snippet from a new commission I finished last week! Patrons can already access the full story over here–everyone else, it’ll be publicly available next week!

Evan knocked on the door of Hugh’s apartment, and after a couple of moments, it opened up. Hugh looked through the crack of the door, and then pulled Evan inside and shut the door behind them both.

“What the hell is up with you?” Evan asked, “You spend all morning blowing up my phone, saying I have to come to your place, and you won’t even tell me why–now you’re yanking me around like this is some spy movie or something.”

Hugh was wearing a pair of sweatpants, which wasn’t unusual for him, and a hoodie with the hood up–which was definitely odd. He didn’t say anything right away–he and Evan had been friends for ages, and he was the only person he could possibly talk to about…well, about what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d woken up this morning. “Look, promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Dude, no one fucking says that unless what you’re about to show me is really fucking weird–now what’s going on? It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Hugh took a deep breath, and then he pushed the hood back, and showed Evan the horns that had appeared, growing out his temples, when he’d woken up this morning. They were small, or at least, that’s what Hugh had told himself all morning as he struggled to not freak out about it. They were about an inch tall, with a sharp point–not quite sharp enough to draw blood, unless he gave someone a hard headbutt with a running start or something.

“What the fuck?” Evan asked.

“Please–you’re the only person I could show this to, please, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” Hugh pleaded.

Evan was, he had to admit, a bit freaked out, but he was also, well, curious. He reached out to touch one, and Hugh pulled away. “What?”

“They’re…tender, is all.”

“Did it hurt?”

Hugh shrugged. “I…I had this dream. I don’t really remember it all that well, but…yeah, it hurt, in the dream, and when I woke up, I was thrashing in my bed, my pillow was torn to shreds, and I had these fucking things sticking out of my head. I don’t know what the hell to do–should…I mean, if I go to the hospital, are they just going to treat me like some kind of freak?”

“Can…Can I touch them? I’m just curious. I’ll be careful.”

Hugh bent his head down, and let his friend cautiously stroke one of the small horns with a finger. It wasn’t quite smooth, more like unsanded wood–but definitely bone. The flesh at the base was still a bit red and inflamed from what he could see, but it didn’t look like there was any infection.

Hugh, however, felt something rather strange when his friend touched them. Something he couldn’t quite explain. Thus far, aside from an ache around the horns where they’d burst through his skin in the early morning, they hadn’t really done anything–but when Evan touched them, he felt something. He felt connected to him for a moment–he could see…inside him, somehow. Just a flash, really, but it was disconcerting, and he pulled away after a moment.

“Did I hurt you?” Evan asked.

“No–No, I…would you take me to the hospital? I…I don’t want to go alone.”

Together, they left the apartment and Evan drove him to the hospital to get his new horns checked out, and on the way, all Hugh could think about was that strange sensation, how he’d almost been able to see Evan’s…thoughts. More than his thoughts though, deeper than that. Like…his dreams, or desires, or something like that. It had just been for a moment, but he hadn’t been able to focus on it for long, but it had been tantalizing, because he was sure he’d been about to see something that Evan had never told him about–and Evan didn’t keep many secrets from Hugh, about anything.

Evan and Hugh had known each other for years. They’d met in college, and when they’d graduated, they’d both stayed in the city, though they worked at different companies. Neither of them had been very lucky in love or relationships. They’d tried dating each other for a little while, but it hadn’t worked–thankfully, their friendship had been stronger than that little mistake, but they were still closer to each other than anyone else they knew in the city they lived in. Hugh though…he’d seen something…he didn’t know, there inside Evan. A secret even his friend had kept from him–hell, maybe even a secret he was keeping from himself. It was tantalizing. There in the waiting room, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wanting to see more, wondering if he could come up with some excuse to have Evan touch them again, so he could see it.

Thankfully, the oddity of his condition meant they didn’t have to wait long, and they were taken back to meet with a doctor. His horns were examined, samples were scraped off–which was more painful than Hugh was expecting it to be. Tests were taken, blood was drawn, but after several hours of being poked and prodded, no one had any idea what was happening to him, and he didn’t seem to be in any danger, so he was sent home, and told to come back if anything changed. Hugh was frustrated–but the same thing had happened each time someone had touched his horns–though the gloves the doctors and nurses had always worn dulled the effect somewhat. He could see into their minds, see their…desires. He knew that’s what they were. With the doctors, it had been…like looking through privacy glass at something in another room. The curiosity was killing him, and he had to know what he was experiencing, and the easiest way to do that, was to get Evan to touch his horns again. 

Thankfully, Evan seemed to be suffering from the same curiosity. Ever since touching the horns, he’d been unable to get the feeling out of his mind. They were just so unlike anything he’d ever touched before. They stood by the apartment door, neither of them sure what to say, since the trip to the hospital had left them both with more questions than answers. Eventually, playing it as cool as he could, Evan asked if he could touch them one more time. Hugh was ecstatic, but didn’t let on to his own relief. He bent down, Evan touched his horns again, and this time Hugh felt everything….

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The Monastery

Father Nicholas clawed his way out of sleep, and was certain he was choking. What he was choking on he did not know–a dream substance of some sort or other. The dream was already fading from him, impossible to grasp beyond the terror of the nightmare racing through him, pulse dizzying, cloaked in sweat. He forced himself to breathe, finally succeeding with a massive, heaving gasp, coughing and gagging and heaving but nothing came up–which was a surprise itself, given the meal he had enjoyed last night, at the monks’ insistence. He concentrated, forced his breathing and his heart to settle, reaching for some sort of serenity that he knew had to be somewhere inside him–because God was inside him, after all.

As he came down from the nightmare, he tried to recall what he could of the dream, but there was nothing. No images at least–just a cascade of feelings. Terror, mostly. A good dose of shame. Regret, maybe, or something similar, colored with a bit of self-loathing. A hunger. There was hunger too, which seemed absurd to him, to awake hungry after…after that. How strange. How unchristian, really. He could see it, lit by candlelight still, the great hall of the abbey, the long table dressed in a deep red, the chair at the head conspicuously empty but still set, the entire length set with a massive feast, one of the largest that Nicholas had ever seen, perhaps outside of the Vatican on rare occasions. The monks, seated around the table, tearing into the flesh of beasts with such vigor and gluttony and…it was abnormal to say the least. Verging on heresy in its own fashion, in how the monks of this monastery had so readily discarded the vows of chastity and restraint that they were allegedly bound to by God.

Or perhaps, just a feast to celebrate a visitor from Rome. Perhaps just a well meant, but ill advised, celebration, given what he was here to do. Perhaps innocent, all the same. He had approached it with that in mind, assuming that the monks were doing their best to just be kind to him, with perhaps a tinge of bribery–which itself was not unusual, but of all of his temptations, greed had never been him. And so he’d sat there, next to the prior on one side, and one of the many monks on the other, trying to be an island of temperance in a building storm of indulgence and gluttony. It hadn’t lasted, obviously, between the monks urging more and more food on him, one of them even heaping his plate full when he saw he wasn’t helping himself to seconds. Another kept his wine glass full to the brim, though he never managed to catch who was pouring it for him. Without the wine, perhaps he could have controlled himself, but between the drink, and some of the most luscious, simple and delicious fare of the table, he’d…relented, obviously. And now here he was, with a still hard gut packed with food, a headache from the wine, feeling like a fool for giving in like that. It was not a good first impression in either case. He looked like a man who could be swayed with wine and good favor. And they, well, they didn’t look particularly good for it either. He could still see the prior beside him, tearing into the thigh of a chicken with his teeth, the grease coating his lips as he laughed at some joke, eyes on him, and…

He hoped it was all innocent, he did, but something told him that there was more here. A voice, he often called God, but never to anyone else. Believing one had a direct line, in this era, was considered hubris. But inside himself, he felt it all the same. There was something here, something more than the rumors that had brought him here. Something rotten inside this monastery. Fraud and embezzlement, most likely. Something boringly human. The curse of them all, really, and why they needed God more than anything.

Father Nicholas was something between an envoy and a spy. The monks knew full well why he was here–sent by Rome in order to investigate the claims that had been made against the monks by the villagers who lived near the monastery. The villagers had complained that the monks–usually a quiet and chaste order–had in recent months taken to rather…extreme behaviors, the monks passing through town shouting speeches in the square verging on heresy, one of them even going so far as to extoll the virtues of gluttonous appetites. It didn’t help that every single monk had given into corpulence–he hadn’t seen a single monk here under 300 pounds, and several seemed to be pushing closer to 500, in all honesty. And so, Rome had sent him to investigate, and if necessary, determine what steps might be necessary to bring the rogue monks into line. But all he had done so far, in his first day here, was apparently eat and drink himself sick with nightmares.

He shuddered as he slipped out of the bed, his sheets damp with his sweat. The quarters where he found himself were small and modest, most likely identical to those where the monks reside themselves. There was a desk along the wall, a bed, a window full of morning sunshine (he would have missed laud service already–though how any of the monks could get through a service at dawn after the night before mystified him anyway–had they not also missed vespers and compline the night before?) and his luggage stacked neatly in a corner. He took a while to unpack, dress himself in new clothes, but the dream continued to haunt him–he felt…dirty, really. Sinful. He shouldn’t have given into such excess, it was uncharacteristic of him, and brought back rather awful memories that were best left in the dust of the past.

It was a desire for control, that had led Father Nicholas to the priesthood. Control over his own urges, foremost, ones that had haunted him through his youth, ones that God had promised him he would conquer, if he only believed hard enough. To his teachers in seminary, this was a troublesome impulse, one they sought to temper. Control was important, yes, but to err is human. Without forgiveness, then everything they preached was meaningless. Nicholas understood that, but found it difficult to live–and certainly difficult in parish life. But he had found this calling in Rome, rooting out heresy and fraud and crimes against the church. He was a dog on a leash, and Rome held him and pointed him where he needed to go–and he did what was necessary. But this was already…a rather strange welcome. How warmly they had received him, even knowing why he was here, the threat he posed to their order. It felt like, either they knew they were innocent, or that they believed there was nothing he could do to bring them to heel.

Dressed, he felt somewhat restored. A shower would help, but that could come later–mostly he felt that what he needed most was confession–especially after the night before. None of the monks here were priests however–not in this small order. The only one able to hear his confession was the abbot–but that posed other problems. According to the monks, the abbot had fallen rather ill and needed to be confined to his chambers. They were vague about the nature of his affliction, and insisted that serious medical intervention was not necessary. The abbot, they told him, believed that God would heal him, and thought seeking a doctor would be a sign of weakness. It felt like a lie, but without knowing who was to gain from it, it was hard to sense the truth behind it. Was the abbot actually ill, or perhaps dead, the monks covering for some kind of foul play? Or was there something else the abbot desired to hide himself, and the illness was merely a convenient excuse? He found his way to the prior of the abbey, a short, rather rotund fellow named Timothy who had welcomed Nicholas the evening before. He found him in the abbot’s study, apparently taking care of business during his illness. Not unusual, but suspicious all the same.

He asked him if he would be able to see the abbot for confession, and Timothy told him it would be difficult, given the abbot’s condition. Perhaps in a few days, Timothy told him. In the meantime, Timothy promised Nicholas he would help him with whatever documents or records he needed from the abbey during his investigation. Nicholas gave him a list, and Timothy happily turned them over with question or reluctance. He simply told Nicholas that dinner would follow the Vespers service, and they were welcome to join them for both.

Nicholas did. The service was fine–though none of the monks were particularly fine singers or readers. It seemed a bit…hollow, in some ways. Rushed. The monks were seemingly eager to be through it, and Nicholas more than once caught a whiff of something delicious on the air, and he felt that hunger from the morning leap up again. He had promised himself a day of fasting, following his indulgence, but when he told this to Timothy, the prior merely chuckled, and led Nicholas into the hall, where another massive feast, equal in size to the one the night before, was laid out for them all. He was appalled, really. How could such extravagance be afforded so regularly? But Timothy planted him in his seat, the monks urging him to eat. He was so thin and frail! So quiet. Does he not like to live? Appreciate the gifts of the earth that God and Christ had given them?

He tried to excuse himself, but the wine was poured and pressed to his lips. The feast the night before had felt warm and welcoming, but tonight, there was a certain pressure. Outside pressure, from the monks, implying that he would be insulting them, if he refused their hospitality. But that was easy for him to resist–it was the pressure on the inside that was bending him, the hunger building up until it overwhelmed him, and he sat back down, filled a plate of his own volition, and devoured it, all while Timothy urged him on, his wine always full, the monks laughing and cackling around him. His vision was swirling, but there was some commotion at the far end, something he thought was fighting at first, one monk thrown against the table by another, but it was…it was…

He awoke with the same gasping, choking sensation as the night before, but the sensation passed a bit faster–which was a relief. At least until he realized, with some shame, that his sheets were damp with more than just sweat this evening, but that he had, apparently, had a wet dream at some point as well. He could…smell it, and it nearly made him want to vomit. He couldn’t recall the last time he had ejaculated–either on his own, or in the night. Perhaps as teenager, but even then, only once or twice. The dream was fading again, but left him with an even deeper sense of defilement than the one before. He took a shower, and noticed that his thin and muscular body was showing signs of a paunch after his two feasts now–and he was so filled with disgust and shame at his own lack of discipline, that he retreated to his room to pray privately for most of the morning, and then continued his devotions into the afternoon–until Timothy came to find him, and check to see if he was well.

Timothy was kind and gentle with him. Coaxed him from his room, only for Nicholas to find himself seated, once again, in the hall, another massive feast laid out before him, and all he could think to do was vomit–but the hunger inside him welled up once more, betrayed him–and again, the dreams, the vile, choking, panting, aching, dreams! It was the next day, his sheets again soaked with sweat and cum, that he demanded the sacrament of penance from the abbot–or he threatened to go into town and speak with the priest there instead, and not stop until he was back in Rome to tell the cardinals that this monastery needed to be torn down, stone by stone. Timothy consulted with the abbot in private, and was told that the abbot would agree–but he would need a few hours to prepare, and that he demanded that Nicholas not lay eyes upon him. The restrictions seemed ridiculous, but he agreed–and so that afternoon he was seated in the confessional, listening to the raspy breathing of someone he could not see through the screen, and he spoke:

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been…six days since my last confession.”

There was no reply, just the same ragged breathing on the other side of the screen. 

“I…I most confess to mortal sins. I…In my dreams, I fear I have sinned against God. Turned against him. That I have…have given into gluttony, and lust in ways that I do not understand, but which I feel are…are putting my soul in mortal danger.”

It was the truth, as close as he could come to it. The ragged breathing quickened, and became a deep, unsettling chuckle. “I am afraid, you are going to need to be more specific,” the abbot said to him. “If these sins are indeed putting your soul at risk, surely you can…tell me more about them…”

The voice was like oil, sliding over his ears and his skin and under his clothes and into his guts. He nearly fled then, but couldn’t move. “I…I do not remember them, I only…only feel it, in my soul.”

“Shall I tell you, what I saw then?” the voice said, close on the other side of the screen, close enough that Nicholas could…smell his breath, the rank odor closing in on him in the confined space. “How I watched you stuff yourself like a pig at our table? How I wanted you devour more and more into the empty space that you have hollowed out, waiting with all hope that God would come alive to fill it for you, but I filled it first, priest. I filled you up, I did, I filled you to the brim, and when you were full, I watched you fuck–clumsy, so clumsy, fumbling and foolishly, but you fucked. You enjoyed it too, you know. Had you given in, before? I tasted it on you when you arrived, how much you crave men, how it drove you here, right into my arms, where you always belonged, you know. God is empty, you see. I am not–we are not. We are alive! We are alive, and living, and enjoying all that life had to offer–and all you must do, for your penance, my dear priest, is submit, and live with me inside you.”

He hadn’t noticed the hole cut into the side of the screen when he’d entered, but he noticed it now, the thick, bulbous, leaking cock thrust through it, inches from Nicholas’ knees, the scent of the cum heady and creamy, and the hunger, oh the hunger thrumming inside him! He longed to taste it, longed to take it inside him, longed to devour it and everything else, everything that had held him back for so long, but Nicholas pulled away, fumbled open the door and tumbled out onto the stone floor–the monks already on him, holding him down and binding him, as the other door opened, and out stepped the abbot–or what remained of the man that the demon inside him had devoured.

He was massive, easily 600 pounds of heaving fat hanging off his frame in uneven rolls. His robe was filthy, crusted with cum and food, and he stank of corruption. It was his face though, his…massive mouth, and his eyes. The drool hanging from his lips in long sticky strings, His eyes were pitch black–and above them, a row of horns had pushed their way out from his forehead and temples. “I knew it was too soon for you–but I also do not have the time to waste, wearing you down slowly–bring him down into the dungeon, we will see if a few tools of the inquisition might bring our Vatican friend to his proper senses.”

The monks all professed their obedience, and while he struggled, they bound Nicholas and dragged him down into the depths of the monastery, the demon following behind them, down into the dark.

How long had he been down here now, in the dark?

There were no windows, only torches that never seemed to need to be relit, or perhaps they were only changed during his occasional, fitful moments of sleep. Nicholas screamed again as the lash came down upon his back again, heaving for breath, having already lost count of the number of blows this session.

“Can you feel it, Father?” Timothy said behind him, his hands gripping the leather tightly. He had traded in his robes for the garb of his new master–a leather harness strapped tight around his chubby frame, a leather strap knotted around his cock, keeping it fully erect, the color a deep reddish purple in the torchlight. “Can you feel it? Oh, I can. I can feel your pain, how delicious it is. Lean into it, release yourself into it! Your body need not feel as pain what it can feel as pleasure!”

The lash came down on him again, Nicholas tried to scream again, but nothing came out. He was exhausted–spiritually and physically. Down here in the dark, the torture had been unceasing, since meeting the demon in confession. If they were not whipping him, or branding him, or milking him, they were feeding him, forcing more and more of their slop into him, more and more wine, keeping him in a constant state of delirium, all of his senses driven to their limits. 

Sensing that he had had enough, Timothy tossed the lash to the side, stepped forward, and mounted the father, working his own aching cock into the priest’s now well worn hole, rutting against him wordlessly for a few minutes until he came, seeding him with another load, the same as the others he could feel drying on the inside of his thighs. Nicholas sobbed then, as Timothy pulled free, took off the strap and freed his own member. Other monks, dressed similarly, rushed in to care for Nicholas’s wounds, forcing more wine on him, and always more slop–but that…that was welcome. The hunger was only growing more intense now, gnawing away in his very bones at times. The monks no longer had to force him to eat–if food was put before him, he would devour it mindlessly, realizing only after, his face coated with muck, that they were making a literal pig of him.

And always, he could smell him in the dark. The demon. The abbot. Watching him, but in all of these days and hours, he had not once said a single word–even when Nicholas had cried out, demanding answers–even demanding death–he had been silent. And so he ate, and he drank, and his wounds were dressed with a surprisingly human tenderness, and then those monks too left him there in the dim light–and it was the first time that Nicholas had been alone in all of this time.

He tested his bonds again, but the cords were just as strong as before, holding him tight over this horse. He struggled anyway–what else was there to do, in the end? But even that exhausted him quickly, and he allowed himself to hang, the wine going to his head, making him dizzy, wondering if it would be better spent trying to rest in this moment of solace.

“Now, perhaps we can begin again. Confess to me your sins, father. Confess them, and I will strip them of you, and grant you true absolution from guilt, and pain, and hunger. None will trouble you again, so long as you are in my arms.” It was the demon speaking, but his voice seemed to permeate the room. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Perhaps, even from within his own mind.

Nicholas did not know what to say–but he ached. He ached to be free of this, he wanted to feel the sun on his skin, longed for God–and the demon laughed, like he could sense his thought.

“God is silent, don’t you see? God no longer cares for you–not like I do. Toil and labor in the service of him, and you get nothing but doubt and death. I can offer you more, so much more.”

He felt a sharp claw run down his welted back, and Nicholas gasped. It did not hurt–it felt…divine. He shuddered, his cock growing full, the demon continuing to stroke him gently, Nichoas moaning and gasping under his touch. 

“You long for me. You always have. Confess to me, how you turned away from me, Nicholas.”

His life stretched out before him, in his mind. How…things had started so differently for him, when he was young. How…how that first time with his cousin, how much he had loved the touch of men, but in his conservative family, any sort of desire like that had to be starved into nothing. And so, Nicholas ate. He ate, and he ate, and he tried to fill that hole inside him, thinking about him, about so many men, and hating himself for it. God seemed to be the only hope he had left anymore, and so he devoted himself to the church, first as an altar boy, and then finding his way into seminary.

It was there, that the discipline had been driven into him, by his teachers. They were disgusted by him, by his weight and his gluttony, which he had used to cover up his deeper sins. They shamed him, and humiliated him, wore him down and starved him until he was thin and muscular and willing to do anything for God–but what had God ever done for him? In all of this denial, in all of this rejection of the world, what had he gained, really? Happiness? Satisfaction? He was hungry, but he realized now, that the hunger was older–much older than the last few days. He’d been hungry all his life, and now, here he was, face to face with a being that could, at long last, feed him.

“I…please, I starved myself, I…I’m so hungry I don’t know what to do anymore,” Nicholas said between sobs, “Please help me, please, I…please forgive me…”

“I forgive you, priest, now feast on my seed. Join me. Do your penance.”

Nicholas allowed the cock into his mouth, sucked on it, draining it of everything he could. The precum was thick and creamy, coating the inside of his mouth, filling his gut–warm and solid and so satisfying. He drank and drank, letting it all go, letting all of his control drop for the first time in his life, ready to…embrace everything. Everything he could have been. With a roar, the demon’s cock erupted, and he drove his cock deeper down Nicholas’s throat, draining his corrupt balls deep into his guts, and Nicholas felt himself swell, and swell, and swell, so full he was certain he would burst from the love of his new God, but it would be worth it, worth everything to feel full, to feel this divine presence inside him, and just as he was certain he would be able to take no more–

He awoke.

He awoke from the most exquisite dream he had ever had in his life. He awoke reborn. He threw the sheets down, looked and saw his new body, nearly 400 pounds, and with his hands, he groped his fat, feeling his new folds, groaning and moaning in delight from the sensation of so much weight pressing down on him, and he grasped his cock, grunting and snorting, and within a minute, he shot one of the largest loads of his life all over his belly–and he rubbed it in, relishing it, thanking his God for accepting him in all of his folly, for showing him the way to pleasure, for giving him this true gift of a new body.

He rolled up and stood with some difficulty, and just stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He was beautiful, so beautiful. Full breasts hanging from his chest, wrapping around under his arms, with massive swollen nipples on each. Three chins cascading from his now fat, round face. His thighs touching most of the way to his knees, his ass jiggling slightly as he moved. He had already shot once, but he was already so horny…he struggled with his harness, but found his way into it, and left his room to join the monks.

The monastery had dropped all pretenses–the monk’s old robes folded away, all of them wearing the same harness and nothing else. He passed several pairs fucking in the hallways of the abbey–and while Nicholas longed to join them, he…he knew where he was needed, what he needed, and he found his way to the prior, to Timothy, down in the dark, and with their God in audience, Timothy gave Nicholas a proper whipping, and now, every grace of the lash against his flesh brought forth such brightness and pleasure that Nicholas’s cock would spontaneously explode, splattering load after load on the stone walls, until at last, Timothy fucked him roughly, and so pleased with with their devotion, their God allowed each of them to suckle on his milky teats until the time for the evening feast was upon them.

It was weeks later when Nicholas bade farewell to his brothers one morning, climbed into the car that had been sent for him, and left the abbey behind. He had gained more weight now–closer to 450 pounds–struggling to fit in the back of the small car, but it did not matter. He had found himself, who he was always meant to be, and he had a new mission now, one far, far more important than any he had been sent on before. He patted his satchel, a hunger gnawing at him, but he knew better than to feast on these himself–inside, were several vials of his God’s seed, each with a particular target designated in Rome, and in the world beyond. Cardinals, mostly–each of them with a weakness the demon could exploit, and each of them a potential new pope, as this one’s breath was growing ragged. It was time for a new church. A church with a real God, one you could touch. One you could serve. One who would ensure you would never be hungry again.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 8)

Marcus crawled forward, but before he could reach Mr. Woodrow near the ladder leading up, something appeared around him–a circle not unlike the one that had surrounded the demon before, except now he was on the inside. He tried to cross the barrier, but it was like some sort of forcefield–he could hammer on it all he wanted, but he couldn’t cross the line, no matter how hard he tried. He was panting, his whole body getting hot, and without really thinking about it, he stripped off his clothes, sweat pouring off his body, head spinning, and all he could do was croak at Mr. Woodrow, begging him to help him, to do something, that everything hurt.

Mr. Woodrow just watched. Demon seed could be…tempermental, and while one dose was rarely enough to cause the full corruption of a man’s soul, it certainly wouldn’t be without repercussions–some of them more dangerous than others. Until he saw how the seed affected Marcus, he was going to keep him in the circle, just to be safe. He could already see the changes starting, the hair beginning to sprout across Marcus’s shoulders and down his chest, the slight swelling in his gut. It was only a matter of moments before Marcus noticed them as well, but he was feeling too weak to do anything about it. Instead, he sat back on the floor in the circle, lying on his clothes, and just watched as the changes began to warp and corrupt his body.

It was the stench that he noticed first. As his body heated up and started to sweat, the smell that came with it was something entirely unlike anything he had smelled before–aside from the demon he had just sucked off. But that had been…pungent, and also…also pure somehow. This didn’t smell like that, it smelled like…like something inside him was rotting, like his soul was rotting, and pouring out of him in a heady musk that…fuck, the more he smelled it, the hornier he was getting somehow. It didn’t make the smell any more pleasant–but he couldn’t stop himself as he reached down and started working his cock, throwing up an arm and snorting up the scent from his pit, all as the rest of his body started to grow and expand.

He was getting fatter. Not just a little fatter, but piling on the pounds rapidly–so much so that with a bit of will, Mr. Woodrow expanded the circle around him, just to give him some additional space. His body grew out and softened, a full, heavy apron that grew down and over his crotch, making it harder for him to work his cock, but Marcus couldn’t stop himself. His arms and legs grew thick, their own rolls hanging off of them, his ass spreading out underneath him like a puddle. And all over the larger surface, hair was sprouting, the same coarse, bristly hair as the demon’s hand been, so thick that it looked more like a pelt.

Marcus had to put his other arm down, and use it to hoist up his new fat to keep working his cock–but there was another reason he was struggling. His cock was bigger–easily nine inches long and thicker than a beer can. It was his balls though, that had grown the most. Each was around the size of a large grapefruit, and precum was gouting from the head, soaking the inside of his thighs and pooling on the ground, as Marcus got closer and closer to orgasm. He came, expelling a chunk of his humanity, and as he did, Mr. Woodrow watched his face contort, nose turning up and growing wider, ears longer and nearly flopping, a wider mouth, his teeth looking a bit sharper, especially the small tusks that were beginning to sprout where his canines had been.

The load was massive, and marcus found himself sitting in a shallow puddle of his own semen, heaving for breath, stuck in a magic circle in a new body he barely understood, more tired than he could really imagine–and he passed out, with a bit of help from Mr. Woodrow, who figured the young man had suffered enough. Now, he just had to decide what to do with him. He wasn’t abnormal enough that a human life was impossible for him–though it would require some editing to get him to accept it. On the other hand, looking at the fat, hairy pig…Mr. Woodrow wondered if he might not push him a little further in his own way–either for the benefit of the men moving into his house, or even for his own research. After all, he had never had the chance to document corruption like this before…and maybe this was too good of an opportunity to pass on.

Here’s the poll! You can make up to two selections. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 7)

He almost missed it, lying there on the floor under the desk. Marcus had to get down on all fours and crawl under to grab it, but he managed to fish out the odd little key he found there, and held it in his hand. It was quite small–most likely the key to a padlock, or perhaps a little chest. It was also quite old, looking a bit rusted, though not rusted enough to be unusable. He figured he should probably ask Mr. Woodrow about it, but decided against it–he was nice, but there was something…off about him. Of course, there was something off about Taylor and Quinn too, but that was harder to sort out. Marcus was certain that something strange was going on here, but didn’t know what exactly–he had his doubts that a little key would answer the questions for him, but it wasn’t like it would hurt, right?

So he left his unpacking for a while, absorbed in his mystery, and started snooping around. None of the doors had locks on them, so that was a bust. Quinn and Taylor were…busy down in the basement, from the occasional moans rising up from the stairwell, but he didn’t know what would be down there anyway to unlock. Instead, he checked the attic, but there wasn’t anything up there at all, much to his surprise. He was about to give up, looking out his window, when he noticed something in the yard he hadn’t before–back behind a row of overgrown hedges, there was a small roof–probably a shed of some sort, out behind the pool–but not the pool house itself. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to look, he went out into the backyard, and found his way through the garden to the door of the shed.

Sure enough, it was secured with a padlock. He tested the key in it, and while the lock was about as rusty as the key, it did finally give way and pop open, letting Marcus undo the hook, and swing open the door…and he let out a little gasp. 

It wasn’t a shed…exactly. It looked more like, well, a workshop. Something he might imagine out of a fantasy novel, if anything. There were flasks and vials on shelves all over the walls, several benches with papers strewn across them, most of it looking like no one had been out here in quite a long time. He poked around, carefully, looking at the books laid out–most of them grimoires written in languages he didn’t even recognize…and that kernel of doubt and suspicion that had been rising in him was getting larger. Something was going on here–he was sure of it–but even for him, with the evidence looking him in the face…magic seemed a bit far fetched for an explanation. 

He kicked the latch, before he knew what it was–a trapdoor set in concrete floor of the shed. He hauled it open, and peered down into the dim light below…but he wasn’t sure exactly where the light was coming from. Still, he climbed down the ladder, hit the ground, and heard the snorting behind him–he turned around, and just…stared at the thing there, across the room, also staring at him.

It…was a pig? It was a man? No–it was something between them, standing on hind legs, cruel, yellow tusks pushing out, with two equally vicious horns pushing from the things forehead. It’s eyes were bright red, and…and the air stank. It stank of piss, and shit, and musk, and manure, and all sorts of vile things. He was staring at Marcus is calm, measured silence, and then it spoke.

“Come closer, boy–let me get a look at you.”

It wasn’t…speech exactly, and Marcus took a few steps forward, the smell intensifying…and the terror mounted as well, when he saw the thing’s cock slip from its sheath, a massive, twelve inch member with massive hairy balls below it…he wanted to run, but something…had him, was forcing him forward, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

“Yes, you’ll do nicely, it’s been so long since I’ve had company. You want my company, don’t you boy? Yes, of course you do, you can’t stop staring at it, can you?”

There was…a circle on the ground. A foot away. He tried to stop himself, tried to hold back, but…but that cock, it was fascinating to him, he…he needed it. He crossed the circle, felt the power it held collapse, and then he was on his knees, worshiping the demon’s filthy cock, and the beast laughed, and snorted, and grunted–free at last!

He rutted against Marcus’s face, and came, his vile, yellow grey cum filling the boy’s mouth, spewing from his nose, forcing its way down into his guts, filling him up with the demon’s corrupt seed, and Marcus sat back, dazed and horrified at what he’d just done, but unable to stop it. “Good boy–you’ll be my first. A few more loads, and we’ll be ready to show that warlock a thing or two of our own, don’t you–”

There was a bright flash, and then the demon was gone–banished, back to where he’d come from, leaving Marcus groaning on the floor, as Mr. Woodrow stepped forward, shaking his head, looking at all of the demon seed absorbing into Marcus’ body. It was too late now, he knew–he would just have to wait and see what sort of corruption spread through the boy’s body–then, maybe, he could come up with a solution for him. He cursed himself for losing the key in the first place! Still, at least it had been found, in the end.

Marcus moaned, feeling his body shifting and aching as the seed spread inside him, begging the older man for help as he began to change…

Here’s the next poll! I’ll be mixing and matching a few of the more popular options from the selections below. You get three choices in the poll. My patrons get an extra bonus poll over here as well, which is weighted five times heavier!

Caption: A Demon’s Help (Part 1)

This is the first part of a caption story I did for patrons at the $5 tier and higher! If you want to see the second part, as well as all the other captions I post for them over on the discord, you can sign up on my page here!

Marvin had been going too fast. He was drunk, and he’d been going to fast, and now he’d gotten pulled over by some highway patrol fucker, and now…now he was going to get fucking arrested.

Maybe he wasn’t that drunk. Oh who the fuck was he kidding, he was way too fucking drunk to think he was going to get away with this. Maybe…maybe he could talk him down to a warning. He wasn’t like those other guys drinking and driving, he…fuck, Marvin thought, please God, I don’t ask for much, but please, don’t send me to jail tonight.

Oh Marvin, God can’t hear you. God can’t hear anyone anymore.

That…wasn’t his voice. The usual voice he heard in his head. It didn’t even seem to come from his head–but from a mouth, right beside his ear, like someone was in the car with him, behind him, leaning between the seats to whisper to him. He could almost feel the hot breath, but he couldn’t turn to look–his body was frozen.

God can’t hear you, but I can. I’m better than God even, I can grant little wishes like that, little selfish needs. Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine.

Marvin finally managed to spin around, but no one was in the car with him. Now he was drunk, and hallucinating–fuck!

There was a rapping on the window–the trooper was there now, and Marvin rolled down the window, and as he did, a voice came out of him–the same voice, and the things it said–he said, the most…horrifying, naughty, filthy things…it was only a matter of time before he had the trooper horny as hell, and then the handcuffs were on him, but he wasn’t going to jail–not this time.

The trooper took him home, took him down into the basement, and down there, the thing played with them. Twisted them, toyed with them, pitted them against each other and their own base natures. Marvin watched as the trooper became…someone else. The basement twisted into something new, full of smoke, and leather, and chains, and in the midst of it, Marvin was suspended in delight and terror, the demon (he was sure it must be a demon) and the trooper taunting him, fucking him, beating him…so many vicious, delightful things.

The next morning, the trooper dropped him back at his car, and Marvin sobbed. He hadn’t wanted that–he hadn’t wanted any of that to happen, and now…now what.

Don’t cry, Marvin. I’m here for you, I’ll always be here. Ask, and I’ll do anything for you, anything at all, I promise.