“So? How was my famous ‘Beefcake’? You enjoy it? Sure looks like it–there ain’t none left!” the chubby chef of the small roadside diner said, taking away Robbie’s plate.

“Don’ know…Feel…real strange. Is–Is I bigger?”

“Sounds like those ‘dumb-dumb shrimp’ ya had fer an appetizer are workin’ hard too!” the chef said. Now just hold on, dessert’s on its way, boy.“

Robbie looked around, his eyes dull. He hadn’t seen anyone else come into the dinner since he stopped…was that weird? He felt his body, the firm muscle covered with a thick layer of fat. He barely fit in the booth anymore…or had he never fit in it? And what was with this singlet? There were so many strange things going on, but his brain…it felt so empty now. He flexed his arms, watching his biceps and deltoids bulge out in the mirror behind the counter, and laughed loudly. He was big, like, big-big. And hairy–he could see the pelt on his chest and arms growing in thicker every moment, a thick bush underneath each armpit, and the shadow of a beard darkening across his face. He shouldn’t look like this…but why did he think that? Why did he think anything? It was easier–better, not to think at all, he remembered, and went back to just flexing.

"Here you go boy, my favorite dessert, my Homo’shake’sual!” the cook said, putting the milkshake down in front of Robbie. “Well? Go on, suck it all down like good little beefcake.”

Robbie expected the cook to return to the kitchen, but he just stood there, waiting and watching. Robbie wrapped his lips around the straw and sucked, the shake oddly salty, but still good. As he sucked it down, he found his eyes drawn up to the cook looming over him, his big belly covered with his soiled apron, his fat greasy face leering down at him. If Robbie had been smarter, he would have felt scared, but he was just feeling warm…and horny. He sucked down the last of the shake suddenly, surprised how fast he’d gone through it, and licked his lips. He was still thirsty, but for what?

The cook had taken off his apron, revealing clothes that looked like he hadn’t changed them in several days, if not longer, unzipped the fly of his jeans and pulled out a thick, smelly cock. “Well go on, my dumb-dumb beefcake homosexual. Give me a good blow job, and I’ll jack you off in that tight singlet of yours.”

Robbie let out a guffaw, and without a thought, inhaled the cook’s cock, flexing his muscles as he sucked him off. He was a dumb-dumb beekcake homosexual, wasn’t he? Guess he should have been more careful when the cook had warned him that he was what he ate.

July 11th 2012

The hormone supplements have produced stunning results in farmhand A in a single month, the most noticeable being the rapid muscle growth all over his body, and the bony protrusions on his temples, which I believe to be the beginning of horns. Unfortunately, there have been a number of personality changes as well, particularly increased aggression and libido. While his penis size has remained constant, his testicles have grown both in size and production, and he appears to have taken a liking to mating with the cows. Any attempts to stop the copulation are met with fierce resistance–this leads me to conclude that, regardless of the amazing physical results this test has yielded, the personality shift has rendered this particular blend unworkable. For the next month, I plan on using a slightly different formula, introducing some female hormones to promote docility and submissiveness without diminishing the physical growth.

***

August 13th 2012

I must conclude that this new mixture has been a success, even if some of the side effects are extreme and potentially untenable. The aggression previously exhibited has been greatly reduced, and is replaced by a obedience and submission which exceeded my expectations. However, the farmhand’s libido has not reduced, though he now appears to emit a pheromone attractive to bulls, leading the stud to mate him regularly in the field.

As strange as this might be, it is the new physical changes brought on by extended exposure which are more troubling. The farmhand has grown a fine pelt of fur, and the bony protrusions on his temples have extended into short horns. The addition of the feminine hormones have caused some fatty weight gain, though the farmhand’s musculature appears unaffected. Strangest of all are the farmhand’s genitals. He appears to have been rendered impotent–however, his testicles have grown even larger, each to the size of grapefruits, and they produce copious amounts of fluid, his penis functioning like a udder. Without a daily milking the farmhand appears to suffer great distress and pain. The fluid appears to be a mixture of milk and semen–and though hardly scientific, I tasted it, and found it to be quite delicious, high in protein, and naturally low in fat.

Regardless, I feel that further experimentation with farmhand A will yield little progress–it is, I believe, time to put him out to pasture. Since he has long since lost most of his human cognitive capacity, euthanasia would be simplest, but I’m ashamed to admit that I have grown fond of my daily protein shake, so I think I will keep him alive for now. In fact, I think I’ll go indulge right from the source right now. I always feel so pumped up after a good, long drink…though my temples are starting to itch. I’m sure it’s nothing though. Still, I’ll have to acquire a new farmhand for further testing when I go into town tomorrow. A breakthrough is close at hand, I can almost taste it.

Source: Flickr / phaenon

“Please, no more, change me back.”

“Why? You sure seem to love the taste of that pit of yours. Fuck you’re ripe–I can smell you across the room. I love that in a roommate.”

“I just–I’m only fucking looking for a place! I’m not your roommate.”

“Details–before I’m done with you, ain’t no one gonna want to be your roommate other than me. Face it, your apartment hunting’s over. Now, how about some tatts? I love a man with tatts.”

“But I work in an office! They’ll fire me if I have tattoos.”

“An office? What kind of sissy are you? You’re gonna be workin’ construction with me, anyway–don’t worry.”

“No fuckin’ way is I…I ain’t gonna work somethin’ like…like that. Ya…Ya did somethin’ tah me, wha’ the fuck’d ya do!”

“Sorry, I hate having roommates smarter than me. I only got an IQ of 95, so yours is 70 now. Don’t worry–with those big muscles and big cock, you’ll be too busy workin’ out and fuckin’ to think.”

“Ha–ha ha, yeah…yeah that sounds fuckin’ hot, roomie. Could…could I suck ya now? I’s pretty horny.”

“Sure. What are roommates for?”

You meet some of the craziest guys at the public golf courses–You’d rather play at the private clubs, but you can’t afford the membership fees–so you’re stuck playing a round with a fucking redneck. He comes over to you, smoking a cigar, well over 300 pounds, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and khaki shorts, and all you can do is make the best of it.

He suggests upping the stakes, and letting the winner of each hole take something from the loser. You don’t really know what he means, but you accept, knowing you’ll be able to outplay this fat redneck any day of the week.

Well, you thought you could. He birdies the first hole to your double bogey, and you ask what you owe him, pulling out your wallet, but he just grins. “I don’t want your money–yet,” he said, “First things first, I want that slim figure of yours, pretty boy.”

Great, a real nutter, you think, but something is glowing–an amulet he’s wearing, and a second later, you feel different. Looking down, you’re stunned to find that you’ve somehow gained close to two hundred pounds–all of the weight the fat redneck just dropped off his body.

“Come on, fatty–we got seventeen more holes to play.”

Unaccustomed to your fat body, you lose round after round to this crazy redneck, who starts dismantling your life. By the end of the front nine, you’ve lost your expensive clothes, your house, your car, your marriage, four inches off your cock, your college education, and six inches of your height.

There’s no hope left for you, really. On the back nine he strips you of your ambition, your heterosexuality, your dominance, your full head of hair, fifty points off your IQ, your virility, and your job. With two holes left, you’re little more than a fat, dithering idiot, hacking at the ball as best you can–and that’s when he starts mocking you, barely hitting the ball further than you on purpose. To your surprise, he lets you win, but when he asks you want you want…you’re stumped. You’re so dull witted now that you can’t even remember what he took, and then he starts talking about his cigar, about how nice it is being a smoker, how he’d hate to give that up more than anything, you bite, and steal away his nicotine addiction.

Before the eighteenth hole the two of you nip off to the woods for a moment–you’re ravenous for a cock. In return, he lets you win the final hole as well. He suggests you take his skill at golf, but in that thick head of yours, a dim bulb still glows.

“Nuh-uh,” you slur, “Gimme yer amulet–that’s wha I want.”

Surprised, but not really minding, he hands it over to you and walks off without another word. Sure, you don’t know how to use it, but maybe you can figure it out, and steal someone else’s life before too long.

Unsuited

Commissioned by Humilisub2

***

“Just consider it an early retirement.”

“Early retirement? What retirement? Everything–all of my savings in wrapped up in this company–in my pension!” the older man shouted in Andrew’s face, who just sat there calmly in his posh desk chair.

“Oh–you were grandfathered into that? I didn’t think anyone here had those anymore. I’m sure you’ll be able to convert some of it into a 401k–”

“Fuck you and your 401ks! I’m sixty two, and you’re just going to fire me? After all these years cleaning your fucking toilets and emptying your trash?”

“It wasn’t my decision, sir. You’ll find some way, I’m sure. Now–I need you to wait outside–security will be by shortly to escort you out.”

The older man stormed to the door, face red, shouting, “You fucking suits–you don’t fucking get it. Ruining people’s lives for the fun of it–as if you’ve ever worked a day in your life. It probably gets you fucking off!” and then slammed the door shut behind him.

Andrew smirked and gave his cock a squeeze. It was a bit hard–fancy that. Maybe he did enjoy this. The company had been thick with layoffs this quarter, in an effort to cut costs and make their lackluster earnings look a bit nicer, and while some people in his position might hate this part–Andrew relished it.

Of course he’d known Bill, the old janitor, had had a pension with the company–that was one of the primary reasons Andrew had been told to fire him. Besides, the guy was sixty-two, and barely got much cleaning done anymore. He could hire two Mexicans for half the payroll to do four times the work the old bastard was putting out. He heard a ruckus outside his door–security arriving–and the din disappeared down the hall. Andrew shuffled Bill’s discharge papers around on his desk, and checked the clock–4:30, almost the end of the day–and figured it could wait until the morning, giving him a chance to sneak out early for an afternoon round of golf. He spent fifteen minutes or so getting his things together and answering one last round of emails, and then realized that he had to take a piss.

He set off down the hall, into the restroom, and headed for the urinal, but as he was getting ready to unbutton and unzip his pants, he caught a strange aroma on the air–smoke. It was almost sweet, but also a little dank–definitely was some sort of tobacco, probably a cigar. He’d certainly been to plenty of smoky poker games with executives, but had never partaken himself. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice his cock release his piss into the front of his pants, down both of his legs where it pooled in his almost new leather shoes. “Sh–Shit!” he cried, trying to stop his flow, but there was nothing he could do, as the puddle of urine around him spread wider, the smoke growing thicker in the room, giving him a headache, and making his stomach knot. He’d never felt like that around cigars before–but he could barely walk straight. He tried to get to the door, to get out, but all he could manage was to slump up against the sinks in pain and nausea.

It was difficult to see himself in the mirror, between his double vision and the growing cloud of haze in the room, but he looked–odd. There was something wrong with his face…no, there was something growing on his face. He reached up with a hand and felt a beard filling in all across his chin, as his hair started pulling back, making him look ten years older than he was, but other things were wrong too. His clothes felt so tight and constrictive all of a sudden, and he started clawing at his tailored suit but it was too late. The fabric began tearing apart at the seams, buttons flying away across the room. When he got the clothes off of him, all that remained were tatters. Looking down at his naked body, he saw that he was growing a large gut covered with hair. He had to stop this–it had to be the smoke, it had to. He started busting into the stalls, finding them empty until the final handicapped stall, where he found a muscular young man, pants off, grinning around a smouldering cigar.

“I was wondering when you’d find your way in here, asshole,” the man said, stroking his dick, and as he took a big inhale off his cigar, Andrew watched as the man’s cock started to grow, increasing in length and girth with every pull, soon passing nine, then ten inches in length. Andrew’s gaze was locked on it, his now bare feet stumbling forward until he fell to his knees and began licking up and down the massive shaft.

“Yeah, you like that big dick, don’t ya?” the man said, grabbing the hair remaining on Andrew’s head and slamming the massive cock down his throat making him gag, “If you like it so much, why don’t you choke on it?” Andrew did his best to oblige him, and after a few minutes was rewarded with a blast of cum shot acros his now heavily bearded face. Andrew gasped for a second, trying to catch his breath, as the man got up, shoved his face down into the toilet with his booted foot, and started pissing all over the back of his head, the stream running down his face and over his eyes and mouth, and the man left, without another word, leaving Andrew soaked and still trying to digest the suddenness of the assault.

The smoke was clearing as the fans worked the room, and Andrew felt some clarity return to him, enough to cough and sputter on the ground, staring down at his changed body and wondering what in the world had happened to him. He heard the door to the bathroom open, as some of his co-workers came in, and he quickly locked the stall door shut, realizing it wouldn’t be good to be found naked in the bathroom. Checking under the partitions, he didn’t see any of his clothes–the smoking man must have taken them as he’d left. Andrew was essentially trapped–he couldn’t go out like this. Perhaps luckily, he’d just fired the janitor, so he’d be safe as the floor emptied for the night. Maybe then he’d be able to sneak out.

The next few hours didn’t pass quickly, and Andrew found his new body had some…unhealthy fascinations. He was so horny now, but he could only get hard when he was smelling or drinking piss. He couldn’t resist lapping up his own mess from the floor, followed by the spunk he shot doing so, and then he cleaned all of the urinals for good measure. The entire time, he tried to stop, telling himself this was wrong, but his body was running on autopilot. His brain kept saying that he needed to do this. He felt guilty, but for what, he didn’t know, and this was almost some sort of…penance.

He didn’t notice the door open as a pile of clothing that was dropped on the floor with a note telling him to get dressed and come down to the shipping bays. What he did notice was the smell–the same smoke from earlier permeated everything, and Andrew felt himself slip back into the fog from before, dressing himself in the dirty jeans, boots and cap (there wasn’t a shirt) and followed the scent of smoke all the way down to the back of the building, where he found the same man smoking what looked like the same cigar, though it looked no shorter.

“Who–Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” Andrew said, his voice sounding strange, so deep and slurred.

The man didn’t say anything immediately–he just dropped his pants and as soon as Andrew laid eyes on his huge dick again, he got down and started sucking it, helpless. After a chuckle, the man finally spoke:

“Me? My name’s Dustin Leaver–you might recognize the last name, since you fired my dad last week. A year before retirement even. Well, when I heard about all the layoffs you’ve been making, I got to thinking that you weren’t suited for your job, so I’m helping you find a new one.

“Now, these cigars are nice, but I think I’ve reached the limit of what I can do to you–I think you’re going to have to do the rest yourself. See, you know you’ve done wrong–I can tell. You know you deserve punishment for the suffering you’ve caused. So I’m gonna give you this cigar, and you’re gonna smoke it, and we’re just gonna see what happens. How does that sound? Because I haven’t done anything to you–this is all you, and I can’t wait to see what happens when you get a good dose of this smoke. Though thanks for the big dick, I wasn’t expecting to get anything out of this. I bet it’ll feel damn good up your ass once you’re all finished.”

Andrew didn’t understand anything that Dustin had said, but he let out a moan of dismay when the cock was pulled from his mouth. The younger man hauled him up to his feet and shoved the cigar between his teeth, forcing Andrew to take a deep drag of smoke deep into himself…and then he understood–he understood all of it. He’d done bad things–horrible things to people. Destroyed lives, ruined retirements, all for the sake of making more money. He needed to be punished–and bad. He felt a quiver in his dirty jeans and pulled out his cock, finding it rapidly shrinking to less than an inch long, as his balls swelled up. There was a sharp pain as metal appeared in his cock and both nipples, but he deserved more–so much more.

He pulled in more smoke, fueling his own latent guilt, feeling his gut balloon out even further into a ball which slowly softened and sagged down over his crotch, a thick layer of gunt absorbing his new nub of a cock. The fur on his body thickened and started losing color, becoming a dingy grey, his beard growing out until it rested on his new moobs, his hair receding back to a wispy fringe of long, greasy hairs. Tattoos blossomed on his body, images of filthy sex acts and degrading names, more piercings springing from his flesh in his ears and face, making him look like a freak. As a final tough, his big balls descended, the sack stretching until it reached his knees, the flesh in between a riot of metal rings and studs. He’d never be able to wear underwear again, and he’d have to keep his balls dangling down one of his pant legs, crushing them with every stride. The cigar in his mouth crumbled to ash, and he licked his lips, feeling around his rotten teeth badly chipped by their collisions with his tongue stud. He fell back down onto his knees in front of Dustin, wincing as his balls smacked against the concrete. “Please sir, use me like the filthy whore I am. Punish me, I deserve it.”

“I’d be happy to, bitch–but I have a few friends who’d love to play too. See, I thought we’d throw you a little party, to break you in–and I think you’ve met all of them before. Come on out, guys!” Dustin shouted, and a crowd of men filed into the room, Andrew vaguely recognizing them as a collection of men he’d fired from the company over the last few months–including the janitor he’d fired just hours ago. He serviced them all night long, drinking down their piss and cum, cleaning out their dirty holes while they tortured his balls and ridiculed his miniscule dick. As the night wore on, Andrew felt his old life drifting further and further away, his mind growing feeble and weak to match his new body. When Dustin offered him a new job in the shipping department the next morning, Andrew was overwhelmed with thanks. He didn’t deserve such kindness, not that he got much of it in his new job.

He was at the bottom of the totem pole now, just a freight worker, but he didn’t do much heavy lifting. He spent most of his days cleaning the bathrooms with his tongue, and chain smoking cigars while he begged the men to use their massive cocks on both his holes. That, it seemed, was his one gift–every dick he saw grew enormous–all the better to rip apart his holes. It was the least he could do. He was far more suited for this position, he knew–and while he wouldn’t say he was happy, he knew it was what he’d earned.

Hot damn, did I do a number on this pig’s head; it’s a fucking mess. I don’t know any gang in the city who would want something like this for a bitch. I usually try to start with the sharpest guys I can find–graduate students, young hot shot bankers, those sorts–because the drugs really do a number on their thinking abilities. It was the same with this one, he sure seemed sharp, but after his treatments he can barely walk, his mouth is always gaping open, drool leaking down his chin, he doesn’t even obey orders. I think the only words he really understands are ‘cock’ and ‘boot’.

Well, he is kind of cute though, and he does seem taken with me. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself. I don’t think he’ll be able to manage being more than a dog, but hey, it might be kind of fun walking him down the street in pup gear to the clubs. Wait, did he…oh god damn it! First things first, though, we’re going to have to get this skinpup fucking housebroken. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.

“You thought you were a sexpig, that’s what you told me, remember? Well, I don’t think you’re a sexpig–a real sexpig doesn’t care about anything other than where he’s going to get his next fix. They don’t have jobs, they don’t have brains, all they want to do is fuck and cum. Well, don’t worry, you’ll be a real sexpig soon enough.

"It’ll hurt when the demon possesses you, trust me, I know–but he won’t be there forever. It can’t live forever outside the immortal realms, but for a few nights? While we have an orgy? It’s going to feast on you, all your dreams, your intellect, your fears and worries, they’ll all be gone down the demon’s gullet before long, and then you’ll be a real sexpig for the rest of your life.

"Now how about we get this ceremony started? I’m going to have to make you cum–but all that viagra you took earlier should help. Look at you, leaking already. Your eyes say no, but I think your cock is saying yes, yes, yes…”

Matt pulled into the rest area needing two things–a cigarette and a piss. Unfortunately, he’d smoked his last one fifty miles back, and he was desperate for another one. Still, he could at least take a piss before worrying about that.

The only other guy in the restroom was a huge, imposing redneck at a urinal. He had to be close to seven feet tall, and thickly muscled. Matt felt rather inadequate standing next to him, especially when he caught a peek of his huge cock. He stared for a few seconds before the man asked, “Like what ya see?”

Matt blushed and shook his head no, the redneck chuckling as though he were used to that reaction, before leaving the bathroom. Completely embarrassed, Matt finished up and left as well, but soon found that the parking lot was completely empty, aside from the redneck’s truck. He couldn’t really ask him, not after that, but god he needed a cigarette.

“Hey, do…do you have a cigarette?”

“So ya are interested then. Ya can suck me off in the woods if ya want.”

“No…No, really. I’m sorry, I just need a cigarette.”

“Oh…suit yerself then. All I got is chaw.” He pulled a metal tin from his back pocket, opened it up and presented it to Matt, “Go on, it ain’t gonna bite ya, bro. You’ll like it.”

Mike gave the man a glance of suspicion, but took a wad of the tobacco. He felt a near immediate rush of nicotene when he stuffed it in his lip…but also something else. Looking down, he could see his small gut start to shrink back into his stomach, as hair grew in all over his body. Unsteady on his feet, he felt almost as if he were being stretched, and was overcome with vertigo as he passed six and a half feet and kept climbing. He tried to get away and spit out the tobacco, but it tasted so good he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

His clothes shifted into a western style denim vest and jeans, size eighteen cowboy boots, and his crotch began to bulge out obscenely. As the onrush of horniness overwhelmed his mind, he dropped to near idiot IQ. His last thought was a realization that he now looked identical to the redneck next to him. “Fuck man, that’s hell of a rush,” he said with a drawl thick enough to match his new friend’s voice.

“Nah bro, that’s nothin’ compared tah this,” the redneck said, leaned in and started kissing his twin, swapping tobacco spit as sexy memories flooded Matt’s head about his twin brother Jack.

“Damn Jake, ya sure know how tah get me goin’. How’s about we finish this in the woods?” Matt said, groping his ten inch cock.

“Sound’s good tah me bro, soun’ds damn good tah me. But yer suckin’, I’m horny as fuck.”

Here at WaleMart, we have spent several years trying to capture shoppers belonging to a wider variety of demographics, yet our core consumers, and our most reliable shoppers, still share a few, common qualities: they come from lower income households, are overweight or obese, and possess IQs below 100. However, rather than struggle to attract other demographics, Walemart will embark on a bold new approach–bringing these shoppers into our core demographic.

Here we see a man being assisted by one of our helpful new demographic associates, trying on clothes which have been treated with special chemicals which, even now, are causing weight gain, as well as promoting hunger, encouraging a trip through our grocery aisles once he’s finally settled into his 54 inch waist overalls. The food itself is not only laced with addictive chemicals, but also decreases intelligence with repeated consumption. With time, his lack of energy and diminished faculties will force him out of the upper income bracket he currently occupies, and he will be one more loyal WaleMart customer cemented in our key demographic for life.

He keeps staring at you…you think. It’s hard to tell with those strange lenses in his mask. He’s watched you since you arrived at the bar, and the mesmerizing attraction you feel towards him is easily countered by his strange, not-quite-human movements. You decide to leave–but he follows you, grabs you and drags you into an alley, stripping away your clothes with amazing strength.

His red cock spews a strange, black liquid onto your flesh, and when you try to wipe it off, you realize it is latex which had already adhered to your body. He pumps more and more, coating you, bringing you under his physical control, and when all that remains uncovered is your mouth, he shoves in his cock and begins pumping the latex into your body.

It is a strange sensation, feeling your stomach and lungs fill with fluid until they burst in your chest. No longer able to breathe, you sense, more than know, that you should be dead–but strangely you can still think. You feel the rubber flowing directly into you now, filling your chest cavity, coating your muscles–your heart pumping liquid rubber to every inch of your body for a minute before stopping all together.

You sense that you are full, and yet still it flows, and you begin growing. The rubber pulses and bubbles under your skin before layering on top of your muscles and bones, expanding them to inhuman proportions, your veins bulging from your black, shiny skin. Your cock grows as well, dropping down and growing to nearly two feet long, with massive balls suspended beneath. They feel surprisingly heavy, and a moment later a strange liquid begins to pump from your cock–the fleshy pump of your own body. Only one part of you now remains–your brain–but not for long, you realize. Your new body is nearly complete–and the rubber is already creeping up and over your fleshy mind.

You imagine that it will simply coat it, but when the headache starts, you discover that it has no intention of allowing you to continue thinking. It is crushing you. Destroying your brain, turning it into pump to be discarded and replacing it with a small, rubberized computer. It isn’t much, but it need only regulate a few simple tasks. You no longer need to think–only obey. The red man removes his cock and the last rubber seals your mouth shut. You stand, the last of your humanity dribbling from your now hollow balls. They can now be filled through your anus with any liquid one might desire pumped from your massive cock. The master’s will enjoy pumping you full of their cum, before having you serve it to their prisoners and human slaves in training. You do not care–you only serve, and you follow your compatriot to your master’s lair, where you will serve for eternity.