Persistence’s Rewards – Part 1

It had been a long day, and today Shane knew he should have just taken the elevator. It was summer, it seemed like all he did was sweat, and it’s not like his climbing made much of a difference anyway. Certainly his physique was nothing to marvel at–he was still chubby, still hovering a little under 240 pounds, still not back to where he was when he was playing football in college. He paused to heave a few breaths on the eighth floor of his apartment building. Two more floors to go, and he’d already loosened his tie, his white buttoned shirt damp with sweat. If he could just get that damn promotion at work, he could afford to get a damn mortgage on a house in the suburbs, but for now he was stuck in this damn low rent building with no air conditioning, making never ending payments on his student loans, and he couldn’t even afford a gym membership, so he was climbing stairs. It seemed hopeless, like all of it seemed hopeless, but if anything had ever gotten him anywhere, it was persistence. He kept climbing and finally shoved his way through the door, panting, and started down the hall to his apartment, only to have the door next to his open as he passed by, revealing a short, squat man, close to his age if not a bit younger, who nearly walked right into him. “Oh fuck, sorry ‘bout that!” he said, “Just moved in–the name’s Greg.”

“Hey, I’m Shane,” he managed between huffs.

“You work out?”

“Just…take the stairs.”

“Damn man, to the tenth floor?”

He nodded.

“That takes some effort! And some perspiration it looks like,” he added with a wink, Shane feeling horribly self-conscious all of a sudden. “How about a beer as a reward, and a chance to get to know your new neighbor?”

He shrugged. Why not? He was trying to cut down on the beer, but he’d earned it today, right? Besides, it was fucking hot out, and he didn’t have anything cold in his fridge. “Only if it’s cold.”

Greg laughed, clapped a hand around his back and led him into his apartment. It was laid out the same as Shane’s, and it was obvious the guy was still in the middle of unpacking. The furniture was in place, but surrounded by boxes in various stages of unpacking. “Go ahead and have a seat on the couch, I’ll get you a brew,” Greg said, and returned with an open bottle of beer, cold, but without a label. “Sorry it’s missing a label–I got it cheap at the store because it was. Some IPA or something.”

“No worries, Shane said, and took a sip. It was bitter, but refreshing after his hike upstairs earlier, he took a few long slugs, emptying half the bottle as Greg sat down, and asked him what he did. Shane told him about his office job, sparing him some of the gory details, but he kept feeling distracted. The heat was terrible for one, and even with the cold beer, he was sweating heavily. He unbuttoned his shirt all the way, Greg watching him as he did, and then pulled it off, before also stripping off his undershirt, pants and boxers without a second thought. He was starting to feel a bit loopy from the beer, and he couldn’t quite keep his thoughts in order, lapsing into “hmms” and “ummms”, and Greg made small talk at him, one hand toying with his cock openly in front of his new neighbor.

“So, how do you feel, being a nasty pig?” Greg asked during one such lull.

“W-wha?” Shane asked, letting off a belch.

“Yeah, a nasty, sweaty, dirty pig?”

“F-Fuck…” Shane groaned, his cock now fully hard, bottle of beer empty on the table next to him, stroking himself slowly, just staring himself stroking, mouth open.

Greg got up, shucking off his own sweaty clothes as he went back to the kitchen, and returned with a second beer, now naked as well, and pressed it into Shane’s hand. “Here you go, have another drink, on the house.”

Shane felt like the entire world had collapsed in on him. He knew this was wrong, that something in the beer had drugged him, and he resisted, but all he could do was let the bottle drop from his hand, spilling it on the couch next to him, Greg cursing. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he muttered, “I’ll fix you…”

Shane tried to peel his hand from his cock, but couldn’t. He did manage to push himself up off the couch to a teetering stand by the time Greg returned, carrying several bottles of his brew, as well as a plastic hose and funnel. He shoved Shane back onto the couch, and pushed the hose into his mouth and down his throat, making him gag. Before he could spit it out, he had a beer in his hand and was pouring it in, and Shane had to either swallow or choke, making it through most of a second bottle before he got the hose out, covering his chest and gut with bitter beer. “What…why you doing this?” He moaned, the sensation of his cock suddenly heightened, “Fuck…” He could feel it, feel his cock getting bigger, his balls heavier. Felt so good to just sit and stroke, and he relaxed back into the couch, pumping his now nine inch cock a bit faster.

“That’s better, you fuckin’ pig. From the second I saw you, I knew you were gonna be my first, sweaty and soaked and musky in the hallway,” Greg said, leaned in, lifted one of Shane’s arms, licking at the sweat there, watching his neighbor’s already thick bush of underarm hair grow in even thicker. “That’s right, you’re mine, and we’re going to have so much fun together, neighbor–not that you’ll remember much of it. Have another beer–we’re gonna get you blackout drunk tonight, but don’t worry–tomorrow’s a brand new day. A brand new stinkin’ day for all of us.”

Baby Bear – Part 3

Such a sweet baby bear. A fighter to the end. But now those big eyes of his are empty, ready to be filled with whatever I want–still, that can wait until morning. He’s very tired after all of that, and so am I for that matter. I get him changed into a fresh diaper and then put him to bed–he’s sleeping in the nursery now, of course, not the guest room. He’s so cute in his crib, binky in his mouth, clutching a blanket.

The next morning, I wake him up, and after a morning blow job, I see what remains after the battle the night before. He is quite stupid, I must say. A pity too–I was hoping he’d be smart. I’d been wanting to raise a businessman, but it looks like I’ll have to change my plans. His vocabulary is very simple, his math and reasoning skills are stunted. Still, he has a good sense of humor, and goodness is he eager to please! That’s such a good sign–that means he’ll be all grown up again in no time at all.

Of course, the first few months were spent getting baby to a place where we could start his education proper. Helping him remember how to walk, for instance. He may have been a baby, but I certainly couldn’t carry him everywhere, especially with his developing appetite. This was going to be a chubby bear, I’d already decided–he’d arrived husky, and I wanted to see what he looked like with some more meat on his bones. And of course, I reinforced his oral fixation–he just wasn’t happy without something in his mouth. That helped inspire his new name, too–Orel. A good name for a fatass, dumb baby bear who loves to suck on anything he can get his mouth around.

After those first few months, he was finally walking again, and had recovered some of his vocabulary, but not very much at all. I realized I was going to have to lower my expectations for Orel rather substantially. That’s not to say I don’t love him! I love all my boys, but some rise higher than others. Once I felt like I could trust him to not drop it, I got him smoking. All my boys smoke, of course, just like their daddy. We started with cigarettes, and once the addiction had him smoking two packs a day, I switched him to cigars, which he enjoyed much more, because, as he said with his characteristic enthusiasm, “they’re shaped like cocks!” That had him so excited, he giggled about it all day, but watching him suck on those tobacco shafts sure did get me hornier for his throat more than anything else.

He stayed with me for a few years. Pretty soon, he was tipping the scales at 400 pounds, and it was getting hard to find diapers large enough for him to wear. Potty training was proving difficult. In fact, it seemed that he liked soiling himself. Of course, all my boys like it to some extent–it reminds them of their second childhood more than anything else–but for Orel, he eventually confessed that he just liked how it felt to have a heavy diaper on, that it made him feel like a bad boy who needed to be punished by his daddy with a fuck or a spanking. He liked feeling like a bad boy, he added, and then he giggled like a fool. I suppose I shouldn’t have been all that surprised–someone who’d put up as much of a fight as he did was bound to have a rebellious streak in him, so I decided to just go along with it and encourage him. If he wanted to be stuck in diapers for the rest of his life, then so be it–I certainly wasn’t going to complain about it–but forcing him to take responsibility for it…well, that proved to be a bit harder.

Sometimes, I’m sure he just forgot to change himself, but other times, I knew he’d just keep his filthy diaper on because he liked it. He liked being dirty, and he liked being a slob. Part of that was my fault, I suppose. I’d conditioned him to enjoy humiliation, especially being belittled for how stupid he was, and so it isn’t surprising that he enjoyed the fact that he was a sat around in his own filth as well, but It was a bit of a complication in my plans. By this time, he was pretty much all grown up again–just another one of my bears–and that meant it was time for him to move out and move on with his new life. But to do that, well, he needed a job, but that was going to be a challenge. He was too stupid to do anything with a computer from home, which would have let him be as much of a slob as he’d like, and he couldn’t do anything social with his poor hygiene and lackluster social skills. Thankfully, one of my other boys, Barry, came through for me. He had a fuckbuddy who ran a delivery company, and he was willing to let Orel drive one of his trucks. He’d be working nights, so he wouldn’t have to talk to many people, and as long as he could drive well enough, and provide his boss with a throat to fuck on occasion, it would work out fine. Now all I had to do was teach him to drive–a challenge, but not an insurmountable one, and giving him something that he could succeed at made Orel happy. “I might be dumb as a rock, ‘n I might be a nasty poopypants, and I’s a fat slut for sure, but at least I can drive a damn truck, right Daddy?” he told me one day with that big grin of his, sitting in the driver seat of the truck we were using for driver’s education and I could tell everything would work out alright for my baby bear in the end. Now I just had to get to work on finding one to replace him.

Baby Bear – Part 2

How could I have forgotten? I’d sucked his cock nearly every night, and most nights he’d fucked my ass as well. I’d licked his body clean from neck to toes. He’d fed me pipe smoke right into my eager mouth. And I had somehow forgotten all of it, gone off to school each day like nothing strange was going on at all. I realized I had done none of my studying that I’d needed to do, and I was failing all of my classes. The semester was nearly over, and I had no idea how I was going to turn any of it around. Perhaps it was silly to worry about school when you discover some old man has been manipulating you and forcing you into diapers, but it was something I could think about. I didn’t want to think about his old cock in my mouth–I didn’t want to think about how much I wanted his cock in my mouth, really. Because I did. And I wanted him to fuck me. And so I ran.

He probably expected me to try and run; he didn’t even try and stop me. I didn’t even care that all I was wearing was a diaper soiled with my own cum, I just wanted out of that house. I flung open the front door and ran out across the lawn, but as soon as I was outside, this monstrous fear rose up inside me. I was outside. More than outside, I was lost. I didn’t know where I was. The world was gigantic, and I had no idea where Daddy was, and I might never get home, and who was going to take care of me? I made it to the curb, tears rolling down my face, no longer able to focus on getting away, not even really understanding what I was feeling, and then he was beside me, pulling me close–Daddy. I was so happy to see him. I gave him a huge hug, and he led me back up the driveway and into the house, where the fear immediately disappeared, and my mind tried to get a grip.

“I wouldn’t try to run away again, baby bear. You all try it once, but if you keep trying, then I’m going to have to punish you,” he said. Daddy said. I struggled with his name, trying to find it in my mind, but his name was just that–”Daddy”. I remembered that was the same thing all those strange men who visited called him, and before I could ask, he explained what he had done to me, and to the rest of them over the last several decades.

It was true–he was lonely. He had been a very skilled hypnotist when he was younger, and he decided to make himself what he called “Baby Bears”–young men he’d keep in diapers, and raise to be better men than what they might have otherwise been. Better from his perspective, of course–I was horrified at the thought, but he assured me that there would be no escaping my new fate. He told me that I had already accepted the first round of conditioning, and now it was time for us to decide what kind of bear I was going to grow up to be, and how much work it was going to take for me to grow up.

You see, he would only be able to make me into a “proper bear” after he’d destroyed and erased most of who I was now. This could be, he told me, a rather violent process, and leave a person’s mind quite damaged, unless they went along with him, and willingly allowed him to destroy their old selves so they could be reborn again. I, of course, was freaking out. He assured me that the more I fought, the worse it would be for me. I was convinced that if I tried hard enough, if I proved indestructible, he would have to let me go. He smiled. It was almost like he liked the idea of me fighting back. And then he said something, some phrase I can’t remember, and things grew slippery. I could feel him ripping out chunks of my personality, and I was fighting him, trying to hold onto them, but he would just tear harder, and it would hurt, like a massive migraine, but I couldn’t let him win, I couldn’t.

I don’t know how much time passed before I came back to myself again, shaking on the floor in a fetal position, Daddy sitting in an armchair beside me. I was still me. I still had lost some, but I still remembered who I’d been. He told me to quit fighting him, that if I kept fighting him, he was going to have to make things worse for me. I laughed, and told him to give it his best shot. He looked disappointed, repeated that mysterious phrase, and this time, I had no real understanding of what was happening. When I resurfaced, however, something had changed in my mind. I was moving slower. I tried to ask him what had happened, but all that came out was baby talk. I also realized, to my horror, that I had pissed my diaper again–and that I had also taken a massive shit as well. I tried to get up, I tried to stand, but my body wasn’t working quite right. All I could do was crawl. Daddy got down at eye level with me, and told me that I was being a very dumb baby bear. That I was going to grow up and become a very dumb baby bear, and if I didn’t let him win, I was going to be the stupidest bear he’d ever raised, that I’d never even be able to go potty like a big boy again. I didn’t want to be that stupid, I really didn’t. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life wearing diapers. One day, I wanted to be a big boy, I wanted to grow up again. I was crying, and he asked me if I was done fighting him. I wanted to say no, but I was exhausted, and I knew he would win. When I went under that final time, I let him remove every bit of me that he could find. This is the last of me, this is the last little bit, the last chunk, and I’m holding on, but he’s coming, he’s coming and–

Master Fitzroy’s Stables – Charlie’s POV (Patreon Commission)

“Beautiful, simply beautiful,” Master Fitzroy said, as he walked along the length of Charlie’s body, one hand beginning on his rump, rubbing the horse hair backwards until he came to the sudden transition to supple flesh. He couldn’t believe how smooth the blend was–he really would have to find some way to reward Professor Bimmel for his extraordinary work here. Charlie, however, was trying to make sense of what was happening to him, of what had happened to him. He could vaguely remember being taken from his room by several butlers, and dragged to the basement, but then he woke up here, curled up in the stable straw, and his body…it was wrong.

He looked over one hulking shoulder at his hind end, at the horse tail flicking away a few flies at the other end. He hadn’t had a tail before, he knew that. He’d had…different legs. He’d been able to stand on them. But it was fuzzy, everything was fuzzy. His head felt like it had become a swamp, and he had to work so much harder to slog through even simple thoughts, but he’d been different, he knew that. He’d stood up this morning, on his own, on all fours, and he’d tried to stand up more…but he couldn’t bend like that anymore. Master Fitzroy made it look so easy, as he sauntered around in front of him, his hands exploring Charlie’s new body. Master Fitzroy made everything look easy though. Master Fitzroy was amazing–he could do anything, he knew everything, he was the most important man Charlie could imagine. He would know what had happened to him–he had to know. It was hard to get the words out–his mouth was normal, but his head had to fight to get them out, “Sir…what…happened to me? I don’t understand…”

“Shhh,” Master Fitzroy said, and pressed one finger to his lips, “I understand that this must be difficult for you. Your mind is having to do many things that it’s never had to do before. It will get easier for you, I promise.”

“But I was…like you before. And now…now what am I?”

“What are you? Why, you are magnificent! You are my greatest creation to date. You should be filled with pride–why just look at you! You are a first, a marvel, an utter curiosity. Why, men will be lining up for the opportunity to feel that massive horse cock in their holes, don’t you worry. And Mr. Grant–oh, just you wait until Mr’ Grant sees you, then that fucker will get what’s coming to to him.”

Mr. Grant. The name meant something to him, but he didn’t quite know how. Mr. Grant was the name of the man who cared for him, and…and something else too. Something that made his stomach churn a bit, something that made the head of his cock slide from its sheath.

“In fact, speaking of Mr. Grant, I’m certain he will be here soon–I really should greet him. Now stay here, and wait for me to return Charlie, I promise I won’t tarry.”

With that, Master Fitzroy left the room, but Charlie was still thinking of Mr. Grant, and reaching back with one long arm and huge hand to his growing cock. His hand was so big, he could actually wrap it around most of the shaft, and he gave it a few experimental pumps, snorting a few times as he did, eyes rolling at the pleasure. It was like a wave of new sensations crashing over him. He could remember having a cock before, but not like this, nothing like this pleasure in his whole life.

He was startled by the door opening again, and he quickly let go of his cock, returning to all fours. Master Fitzroy walked in, and after him came Mr. Grant–and he recognized him, but the smell of him. It sent shivers through his entire body, it made his heart and cock throb. Fuck him. He had to fuck him. Mr. Grant needed cock–his cock, horse cock, yes, he needed to rip him open, he needed to rip him to shreds, he needed…

His mind was slowing down again, even more this time. Mr. Grant and Master Fitzroy spoke, but he couldn’t quite follow what they were saying. He spoke too, but it felt unreal, like a dream, and he couldn’t quite…hear himself. His experience was shrinking down to his nose, that scent, his heart, his cock, that ass. He saw one of his hands reach out and yank down Mr. Grant’s breeches, he saw that ass, he needed that ass so badly. Mr. Grant fell, he tried to crawl, but then he stopped on his hands and knees, allowing Charlie the opportunity to walk over him, to stoop down and thrust his huge cock towards the hole.

It took them a few tries to successfully couple. Mr. Grant had to shove his ass higher; Charlie had to crouch slightly, but it was worth it, feeling his cock slide into that tight hole. Hearing Mr. Grant scream, hearing the screams turn from agony to joy, feeling his massive cock shove itself deeper and deeper, as deep as he could. Master Fitzroy was taunting Mr. Grant, telling him to take his punishment, and yes, Master was right, he deserved it. He had been bad, very bad, and now he had to be punished, now he had to feel pain. A new smell wafted up to him–cum. Mr. Grant had cum, like a slut, and he began thrusting harder and faster, feeling his own orgasm building. He flooded Mr. Grant’s hole with cum, so much that it pumped back out, dribbling from his old loose hole down onto the dirt, and finally, when he was no longer stiff enough to stay inside, he plodded back on hands and hooves, huffing and sweating with exhaustion, but Master was happy, Master was grinning at him. He had done good, he had done very good, and Mr. Grant, he had enjoyed it too, he could tell. And he knew he would be enjoying Mr. Grant’s old hole many, many times in the future.

The Power of Belief – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

Carter felt a hard slap across his face and he woke up, feeling a bit disoriented. Had he fallen asleep? He was in the basement, tied to the table–he remembered that, and fuck, there was Master, his Master, the Master he’d always dreamed of, standing next to the table. He had stripped away his suit, and was now dressed in his other gear of choice–a leather police uniform he’d had personally tailored for his bulk, which he kept meticulously shined. He was leering down at Carter, a cigar stuck in his mouth, glasses perched on his nose.

“You know Carter,” he said, “I feel like we should take a moment to…chat.” He walked down the length of the table, running the belt he had in his hand down the length of Carter’s young, firm body, watching his young student shiver with anticipation. “The first thing I want to say, is that I underestimated you, at first.”

“What…what do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, when you showed up in my office that evening, spouting all those crazy ideas, I thought you were rather insane. And then…well, and then things just kept changing. I mean, like most subjects, I’m only marginally aware that anything is different, but things are different, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know what–”

Harold suddenly brought the belt down hard, right across Carter’s semi hard cock, and he watched the young man fight off a scream. “I am really rather smart–after all, you made me that way. Please do not try and toy with your master and keep up these little games. I know all about your theory, and all about what you’ve been doing to me, with those phone calls. You don’t think I realized what you were doing? But I liked it, you know. I liked what you were doing to me, I like who I am, I can’t even imagine being someone else, and I have you to thank for that, but all the same, I do believe that your manipulations of me deserve a great deal of punishment. I do not like being manipulated, boy, and so I believe it’s time you learned your lesson.”

Carter realized then, what his momentary lapse of consciousness had been, and be began to struggle in earnest. But he hadn’t been changed yet…had he? There was a mirror hung over the table–his Master liked his boy being able to see what was being done to him–but would he even know if he had been changed?

“Now, you’re probably wondering what, exactly, I’ve made you believe. I haven’t changed you yet, don’t worry. I wanted you to be able to understand and witness what you are going to become. Because here’s what you believe niw, Carter–you believe that everything I say about you is true.”

Carter looked at him, eyes wide, “Wait…what? That’s…that’s not even how it works!”

“Are you certain? I mean, look at that tiny, miserable cock of yours. One inch long, and you can’t even get hard. It’s dwarfed by that massive ball sack of yours, which is incredibly sensitive to pain, isn’t it? And you love that, you love it when I beat your balls black and blue, don’t you slave?”

Carter shook his head, watching his cock shrink down to a tiny nub, even as his balls exploded in size, tripling by the time the growth had stopped, and then Harold began beating them with the belt, and Carter let out gasp after gasp of pleasure. Harold kept beating his balls, Carter happily begging him for more, begging him to hit harder, even as his guts twisted into knots from the pain.

“See slave? It works just fine, I think. Now, why don’t you take one last look at that young, slim body of yours? Because while I do find it incredibly attractive, I don’t think you deserve it, do you?”

“No…no, please, don’t…”

“Don’t what, slave?” Harold said, ceasing his wiping and walking up to Carter’s head, bending down so he can whisper in his ear? “Don’t what? Don’t make you some fat, worthless old man? Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, because that’s just what you are. You’re seventy years old, you weight five hundred and thirty-seven pounds, which looks even fatter on you, since you’re only five foot two. You’re completely bald on your head, but have a body covered with white hair, a thick mustache, a wrinkly face with heavy jowls. You’re a troll, a pervert, a masochist, you crave punishment at my hand, it’s what you live for. You’re worthless. You’re whole worth in this life is as my slave.”

Carter was shouting, trying to drown him out, but his eyes were locked with the mirror, watching his body contort. Watching his slim body disappear under mounds and mounds of fat, his miniscule cock disappearing under a massive apron. His hair was disappearing, aside from a thin horseshoe of white hair, and a mustache sprouting from his lip, even as his skin became lined with creases and wrinkles, heavy jowls over double and triple chins. He was shrinking on the table, his body pulling up into itself as he shrank almost a foot in height, his fat concentrating even more in his huge apron, which hung down almost to his knees. He felt tears well up in his eyes, but a leather glove wiped them away.

“Now, now, don’t cry. You love it, really. You know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want–you want to be old and fat. You want to be worthless. You want to be a slave, a whore.” The thumb slipped into his mouth, and unable to stop himself, Cater licked and sucked at it, feeling his heart rate quicken, as cum started leaking from his tiny dick. “You’re addicted to cum. You’re addicted to smoke. You’re addicted to humiliation.” Harold locked lips with Carter and exhaled a full lung of smoke into him, and Carter, who had never felt the desire to smoke, felt need well up in him at the taste. Seeing the want, Harold gave his slave the cigar he’d been smoking, watching him suck down smoke, and lit a new one for himself. “Now, I think we need to discuss what sort of role you’ll have in this house, don’t you? After all, a worthless old faggot like you couldn’t possibly be a graduate student. Besides, you really aren’t very smart. You barely graduated from high school–you had no hope of going to college. You need powerful men like me to guide you–to order you around. You don’t feel right unless you’re obeying a superior man like me. So I think…I think you’re my personal slave butler. Waiting on me hand and foot, for the rest of your life–how does that sound? Heh, then again, it doesn’t matter how it sounds, because it’s simply true, isn’t it?”

Carter tried to fight it, tried to resist having his mind rewired, but he couldn’t. He was just so stupid–not smart like Master Larson. His master was a real man, a man worth serving, and Carter would know–he’d spent his whole life in service–sexual and otherwise. He was only fit to serve, after all. Still, he tried to push back, he tried to disbelieve, but his Master was too smart. He’d been outwitted, and he shed a tear for a life his old, feeble mind couldn’t even manage to remember.

“Now, now–don’t be sad, Carter. This big house you gave me probably feels rather empty right now, but in no time I’ll have it fully staffed with chubby cooks and bearish gardeners and plenty of sex slaves of all shapes and sizes. After all, I have so many students, wasting their lives with their youth and their protests and their drugs. I’m sure they would be so much happier with a life of servitude, don’t you agree?”

He did think so. After all, if Master thought something was true, why wouldn’t he agree with him? And besides, he was happy, after all. He’d found his true calling, at the feet of his master. Master Larson released him from the table, and Carter hefted his old, aching body up, got down on his knees and began kissing and licking his master’s boots, before begging him to allow him the pleasure of worshiping his cock. Harold was more than happy to oblige–and after he came in his new butler’s old, loose hole, he fisted him until the old faggot couldn’t take it any longer, and his tiny cock finally pumped a massive load of cum out into his fat apron. Still, Harold really did have to be on his way. He left Carter with a series of tasks to be finished by the time he returned from the school (organizing the dungeon, cleaning his fat filthy body of sweat and cum, cleaning the foyer and of course, dinner promptly at six-thirty for Master and one…perhaps two…guests) and then he hurried to the master suite to get changed, relishing the feeling of his shirt and pants, his starched collar cutting into his fat chins, the the vest pulled tight over his gut–and then drove to school, Carter’s sonic equipment in the back. He had a feeling his office hours were going to be particularly interesting today–he couldn’t wait to introduce some of his students to the joys of serving him in the rich, privileged life he now led.

Stinkers (Part 3)

Jed slammed the door, and then punched a hole in the apartment wall. That was the third one. The third fucking prostitute, and every single one of them had reeked. Not unwashed reek, but this fucking reek of woman, and Jed hadn’t even been able to get past the nausea to fucking tough any of them. He stared at the hole he’d made, his arms raised up on the wall, his own unwashed stink calming him down, making him horny, making him hornier. He should take a shower. He’d already taken three showers, in fact, but as soon as he stepped out, it was like his body would immediately start sweating, and in less than five minutes, he’d be as filthy as before. But he had to do something, right? He had to try to get this faggot stink off of him somehow. He tromped back into the bathroom, and while he waited for the water to heat up, he stared at himself in the mirror.

What had that faggot done to him? He didn’t even look like himself anymore. He looked to be a good three or four inches taller, and his entire body was built like he’d been pumping iron at the gym for years. He was hairier, especially his chest, but even his arms and legs had a thick coating which hadn’t been there before, and his pits! They looked like fucking nests now, and the hair was always sopping wet with sweat. The same with his bush. If his cock hadn’t grown several inches longer, it would have been completely swallowed up by the mass of hair. Yeah, his cock. With that new foreskin which had grown over the head, he pulled it back and saw all the cheese he’d eaten off his fingers earlier (he hadn’t been able to control himself, he’d just had to taste it) had already been replaced with even more than before. It was disgusting. He was disgusting, he was turning into some freak faggot, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

There was another knock on the door. Probably that prostitute angry that he’d refused to pay her. He could set her straight, get her and her stink the fuck away from him, but as he stomped towards the door, he smelled something else. Something familiar on the other side. Something far more…appetizing. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let him in, he wouldn’t do that to himself, he wouldn’t be some stinking faggot like that! He’d fought it this long, he could fight it some more, he could bottle it up all over again, like he’d had to do before, but fuck. Fuck if his cock wasn’t hard as a rock. Fuck if his ass wasn’t twitching. Fuck if he wasn’t drooling into the two inch long beard he’d grown out in a single day. Fuck. Fuck it. He opened the door, and there, in the hall, was Sam.

He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him inside, shoving him up against the wall, door still open, and just smelled him. Smelled his pits, smelled his neck, fell to his knees and pressed his face against his crotch, smelling his cock, the cock he’d been wanting to taste all day, the cock he fucking wanted so fucking much. Sam reached out, and swung the door closed. Jed kept sniffing for a few minutes, fighting the urge to rip the jeans apart and swallow him then and there, but he pulled himself back from the brink, and stood back up.

“How…how did you find me here?”

“How do you think I found you? I can smell you across the city, you idiot. Why’d you run off like that?”

“I’m not…not gonna let you make me a faggot.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I can’t make you a faggot man, you just are one.”

“No…Fuck that. I’m not.”

“Look, this is my fault, I should have made sure you were finished before finding someone to stink up together. Let me help you man, cause you smell fucking amazing, and I can’t fuckin’ wait to see what you’re gonna be once you really let loose.”

Sam brought his mouth close; Jed could taste his hot breath. He’d never wanted to kiss a man before, that was true faggot territory, but…but he was so hungry, he was so horny, he closed the gap, pushing their mouths together, sucking Sam’s tongue into his mouth, chewing his lips, licking his mustache, pulling him closer, tighter, and then shoved him away, turning back, retreating into the apartment.

Sam stripped off his shirt, dropped his pants and dirty brown underwear, kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks. Jed just watched from a distance. “Please, just leave. Don’t make me do this.”

Sam walked past him, Sat down on the couch, and put his feet up on the table. “I’m not going to make you do anything. You just do whatever feels good.”

So many, different, smells. Crotch, feet, ass, cock, balls, pits, neck, navel. Why was he fighting this? Why? He got down on his knees, and started at Sam’s feet up on the table, licking the tops, and then the bottoms, burrowing his tongue between the toes, milking his cock with one hand, licking his own precum off his palm. Sam was nursing his own hard cock, Jed could see the cheese under the foreskin, and he ran his tongue underneath it, collecting it, savoring it, and then took the head and sucked, and then swallowed the whole shaft. Faggot. He was a faggot. But instead of shame, he just felt…nothing. He just felt like himself. He felt more like himself. He felt his muscles swelling, his beard growing longer, hair coating his body in an even thicker layer than before. Sam pushed him off his cock, rolled over, got on his knees, ass towards Jed’s face, and he shoved his tongue as far up the chute as he could, grinding his beard into the shitty crack, and when Sam farted directly in his face, he almost lost it, he almost shot his load, but no, no, he needed to fuck. He stood up, licking the scum from his lips and beard, pressing his precum slick cock head against Sam’s dirty hole and forced it in. humping and fucking, holding out as long as he could, but he was shooting, and shooting deep. And he felt…free.

Free.

He stayed in Sam’s ass as long as he could, licking the sweat from his friend’s back, sniffing his pits, Sam telling him what a good fucker he was, what a good stinker he was, what a good faggot he was. He was a good faggot. And Sam was a good faggot. Or maybe bad and good had nothing to do with it, maybe they just…were. His cock slipped out, and he finished Sam off, sucking the cum out, letting most of his load splatter into his bushy beard, smiling up at Sam, seeing him smile back. Just a couple of stinking fags, like Jed had always wanted, even if he’d never really known.

Stinkers – Part 2

They had gotten off the bus at around 5:15, and the sidewalk was swarming with men in business suits. Sam was quick, cutting against the flow with ease–more than once, Jed lost sight of him in the crowd, but discovered he could find him just as easily with his nose, if he focused on the foul stench coming off his body. The two of them swam through the current of men, any number of them throwing Jed nasty looks, wondering what a filthy worker like him could possibly be doing on their sidewalk. Jed eventually stopped following his eyes and relied on his nose–and he ran right into Sam’s back, discovering his strange acquaintance had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and was sniffing the air.

“What are we doing up here, anyway?” Jed asked.

“Eh,” Sam said, took a long snort, and sighed, “I was bored, wanted to play. I wasn’t expecting to find someone like you on the bus though.”

“Like me?”

“Another Stinker like me.”

“A Stinker?”

Sam took another deep breath, and gave a shudder, “Can’t fuckin’ concentrate with you stinking like filth behind me, fuck…”

Before Jed could do anything, Sam grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him across the sidewalk’s flow, towards a narrow alley between two large office buildings. There were a couple of dumpsters a fifty feet back or so, and Sam pulled him behind one, shoved Jed up against the wall, and pressed his body into him, licking Jed’s neck, sucking at the sweat there, listening to him moan and grind his cock into Sam’s filthy jeans. “Look…just…just stay here for a bit, I’ll be back in a moment with something fun to play with.”

Jed waited. Sam went back to the alley entrance, sniffing at the men who passed by without them really noticing. Something caught his attention, and he stepped back out into the flow of men, Jed struggling to see him in the throng of businessmen. A minute later, He stepped back, pulling someone with him–one of the businessmen. He was younger, probably in his late twenties. Well manicured, with that greased back hair that was so popular these days, and a smooth face. He was a bit taller than Sam, but probably a bit shorter than Jed was now. He didn’t look particularly happy, being dragged along by some strange filthy man, but Jed could see the tent in his tailored pants, and he could…smell him. He didn’t smell quite like Sam and him, not filthy, and he didn’t just smell “clean”, he smelled…like fresh meat. He smelled like prey, like a target, and without really noticing, Jed felt his mouth start drooling a bit, and he was stroking his cock.

Jed wasn’t a faggot, but he’d had sex with men before, always as a top, and now he realized that every single one of them had smelled exactly like this young man smelled. And every single one of them had done everything he’d said, no matter what it was, and in all of those situations, Jed had always been…surprised by the depths and filth of his imagination. He recognized that look in the businessman’s eyes, that confusion as he leaned in closer, Sam lifting one arm, the man sniffing, then giving in and burying his face in the stink. Sam spit in the man’s face, and Jed watched his anger turn to humiliation, then turn to arousal. Sam eventually walked away, deeper into the alley. The man didn’t want to follow, but he wiped the drool on his hand, sucked it up, and then followed him, staggering a bit.

“Ready to have some fun?” Sam said, when he rejoined Jed.

“I’ve…smelled men like him before, what the fuck is that?”

“Heh, don’t fuckin’ worry about it, just enjoy yourself.”

The businessman came around the dumpster, saw Jed there, smelled him…but this close, Jed couldn’t stop himself. He shoved the businessman back, hard enough to knock him onto his ass, surprised at his own violence. His hands quickly dropped his shorts, grabbed the back of the man’s head and forced him down on the shaft, enjoying the sensation of him gagging around it.

Sam came up behind him, pressing his body against his back, holding him tight. “Fuck, I forgot…what it’s like when two of us play together, fuck…and you’re still fuckin’ changin’, so fuckin’ excited man, can’t fuckin’ tell you…”

Jed, however, was having doubts. He wasn’t a fucking faggot. He’d had urges sure. He’d fucked pussy fuckers like this one, but he couldn’t explain Sam. He couldn’t accept that this man like him could be turning him on. That, when he felt Sam’s cock sliding up his ass crack, that he…wanted it inside of him. As much as it hurt–and it hurt a surprising amount, he got out from between them and stepped back a few paces. He needed some air–some fresh air. He couldn’t get the smell of Sam out of his nose, or the smell of this worthless business faggot. His head felt like it was slowing down, like he was just running on instinct, and his new instincts terrified him.

Sam stepped up. He said something to him, but all Jed could think about was how much he wanted to get on his knees and smell his ass, smell his crotch, smell his feet–all his faggot smells, fuck! He looked down at the man in the suit, and he looked different. He’d grown a beard, he had a gut, he had the hungriest look in his eyes and he was staring right at Jed, licking cum from his lips like a whore. Not this, he can’t do this, and he shoved Sam to one side, pulled his shorts back up and bolted. Sam shouted for him, but Jed just ran. He ran down the busy sidewalk, he ran as quickly as he could, until he couldn’t run anymore, until he’d finally gotten that smell from his nose, from his lungs. Home, he had to get home. Had to get home and just…forget any of this faggot shit ever happened. And once he calmed down, he could find some pussy (even though pussy was the last thing he wanted, the last thing he had ever wanted) and feel like a real man again.

(I felt like doing some short captions today. There will be two of them. Hope you enjoy them! I already posted one, so if you missed it, check back one post.)

Caption Day (2 of 2)

Dustin knew things had to change. He was just so tired of being fat, of the looks people would shoot him in the office, of the sighs from his doctor. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it by himself, he would need help. So he asked around, and everyone seemed to recommend this particular trainer, Eddie Willis. He’d gone in for a meeting, which had turned into an impromptu work out. He’d been so impressed, Dustin had signed up for a nine month program on the spot.

“And how’s Dumbo doing today?”

“Dumbo’s super good today sir, feelin’ super pumped.”

“Because Dumbo likes lifting, right?”

“Yes Mr. Willis, Dumbo good at liftin’ heavy stuff!”

The results had been even more than Dustin could have imagined. In just a few months time, he’d lost close to fifty pounds, and he was feeling better than he ever had in his life. Sure, it was strange that he never seemed to remember his sessions with Mr. Willis, and…and there were some…other strange things too, he supposed.

“What else is Dumbo good at?”

“Suckin’ cock!”

“What else?”

“Gettin’ fucked!”

“And…?”

“Obeyin’ Mr. Willis, cause Mr. Willis is my master!”

He’d started having these…fantasies, where he was getting fucked by muscular men, or sucking their cocks. His dreams were always sexual now as well, and usually even more obscene, and more than once, he’d discovered that he’d cum in his sleep like a teenager. But when he started wearing butt plugs regularly to work, when…when that man had stopped by, and he’d sucked him off. It had felt so…normal.

“That’s very good, Dumbo. And why do we have to make sure Dumbo gets big and strong?”

“To get rid of Dustin!”

“That’s right. Because Dustin is bad, right?”

“Right!”

“You’d much rather be Dumbo, right? Lifting, sucking, fucking, too dumb to write your name, too dumb to ever question your master, right?”

“Fuckin’ right, Mr. Willis…Mr, Willis, I’m super hard, sir. Can…Can I jack off?”

“Get down and suck my cock, slave, and then you can cum.”

“Thank you sir!”

And lately, lately he was having trouble remembering things. Sometimes, he’d black out, and wake up without any recollection of what had happened. His quality of work had been slipping. Apparently, in one paper, he’d misspelled his name as “Mr. Dummbo” or something strange like that. Thinking was just…so much work. Maybe…maybe he should talk to Mr. Willis about it. Mr Willis would know what to do, Dustin was sure of it.

“Go on and jack your cock slave, but don’t cum until I allow you. I want you to think about what you’re going to look like in a year. I want you to see yourself even more muscular, we’ll even start giving you steroids, turn you into a real beast. We’ll tattoo the shit out of you. You’re going to be covered in them, just a dumb, tattooed brute, and then Dumbo, when Dustin is completely gone, when you’re just a drooling hunk of tattooed and pierced slave meat, I’m going to sell you to some old pervert, for millions of dollars. F—fuck! Think about that hard, Dumbo, think about serving some old pervs cock all day, every day, and shoot! Shoot the dumb load of yours, and feel a bit more of Dustin leave when you do, and swallow my fucking load, you dumb whore, swallow it all!”

Earl’s Truck Stop – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

After watching Paul for a couple of minutes, long enough to make sure the spell had settled in well–and long enough to shoot a load of his own against the outside wall–he headed back to the counter, and asked one of his employees to mind it for him. He had some customers to chat with for a while. He found Matt in the diner, a heaping helping of chicken fried steak and potatoes drowning in gravy before him, and a pile of wide plates stacking up beside him, evidence that he’d been very busy for the last several hours. The young man’s face was one of disgust, confusion, and helplessness. Nothing much about him had changed–he was still his muscular self, but his stomach was taut with food. He wasn’t sure how he was even still eating. He felt sick with food and shame. Why was he even doing this to himself?

Earl settled into the seat across from him, smiling. “How are doing, Matt? Enjoying your meal?”

Matt struggled to choke down a mouthful, but before he could say anything, his hand shoved another chunk of steak into his mouth. Earl waited patiently until Matt finally gave in and just started talking a garbled sentence with his mouth full.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Matt tried again, and this time managed to make himself understandable. “Please, there’s something wrong with me, I can’t stop eating.”

“There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with you Matt, you’re just stuffing yourself like a fat pig because I wanted you to.”

Matt looked shocked, but kept eating. Earl had done this to him? He recalled his earlier confusion, and tried to piece together their previous conversation as he chewed. “You…you did this?”

“Oh yes, I certainly did,” Earl said, “But you like it, don’t you? You like the feeling of having your gut stuffed. You like how everyone here has been staring at you with disgust, while you stuff your face. Stuffing your face has your cock harder than it’s ever been in your life. You can jack off, if you want. Everyone will understand–we all know pigs like you have a hard time controlling yourselves.”

Matt’s eyes went wide, but just like before, he felt his mind shifting underneath his feet. He…did like it. He liked it a lot. The feeling of his bulging gut, his hard cock. He tried to fight it, but while one hand kept shoveling food into his mouth, the other reached down and started groping at his bulge. The button on his jeans released happily, the zipper dropping all on it’s own by the force of his gut. Fuck, he’s such a horny pig.

Earl got up and came around to his side, running his hands over Matt’s body. “This body doesn’t feel right, does it? No, you should be one big mass of fat. Go on, think about it. Think about yourself. Think about how you’ve spent every spare moment of your life up to this point eating. Think about your apron, your fat man tits, your triple chins, how you wheeze as you eat, how hard it is to walk, and how you love all of it.”

With a shudder, Matt came, spraying cum under the table, and as he did, his body began expanding, muscles atrophying as they were encased in fat. The table squealed as his huge gut shoved it away from him, Matt could barely keep his chubby hand on his cock. It was gone. His body was gone, but his past too. All he could remember now was eating–it was all he did, and he fucking loved it. He finished off his plate, mopping up gravy with a biscuit, grinning, chins jiggling as he gulped his meal down.

“That;s better,” Earl said, “Now, how about dessert? I’m thinking one of everything on the menu, and then you should get to bed, I think.”

Matt didn’t want to be this excited…but he couldn’t quite figure out where his reluctance was coming from. He loved dessert, after all…right?

Earl found Jack holding down the bar by himself. The ashtray beside him was already full, and the bartender had finally just left him a fifth of cheap whiskey which was already nearly empty. Earl took the stool next to him, and an old fashioned appeared in his hand along with a lit cigar, which he sipped. “How are you doin’, Jack?”

“Fuck…I fucked up…” he groaned back, “What the fuck am I doin’?”

“Looks like you’re enjoyin’ yourself to me,” Earl said.

“No…I don’t fuckin’ smoke. I don’t drink. What the hell am I doing here?” Jack looked up, took a long, deep drag off his cigar, and sighed, “Fuck I’m drunk, what was I saying?”

“You know what, Jack? You’re just too fucking uptight, that’s your problem. Don’t you know how to relax? Come on, admit it. This is kind of nice, isn’t it?”

Jack didn’t say anything, but he knocked back the rest of the whiskey in his glass–Earl poured him some more, and he didn’t object. After a moment, he said, out of the blue, “Fuck, why am I so fuckin’ horny?”

“There’s just something about smoke and drink that makes your cock hard, I bet.”

“Fuck.”

“Go on, let loose. Let’s see that drunk cock of yours.”

Jack just stared at Earl, unable to believe what he’d just heard, unable to believe he was actually considering it, unable to believe that, without even making up his mind, he was already unzipping his fly, pulling out his cock, stroking it nice and slow.

“I love dumb bear’s like you, Jack. You love simple pleasures–nothing gets you harder than a little smoke and a little drink, right? Laid back and easy-going as fuck. Who cares when you had a shower last por changed your clothes? Who cares when you last got your hair or beard cut? You sure don’t. But more than that, you’re simple minded too, right? Not too smart at all, but that doesn’t bother you. Crude, nasty, and a horny hairy bear of a man. Nothin’ bothers you, except when you run out of cigars and drink, right?”

“F–Fuckin’ right…” Jack grunted, “Gonna, fuckin’ blow…” With a loud snort, he shot several ropes of cum all over the underside of the bar. The smell of booze and smoke intensified around him along with a heavy pang of BO ground into his clothes, which were growing older, tattered and dirty. Jack scratched his face, feeling a beard sprout and grow long and tangled down to his chest, his hair growing out as well, caught in a lazy ponytail. His body softened and expanded, a thick gut pushing his shirt out, ass filling out the back of his jeans, but plenty of muscle too. You had to be strong to survive on the road, had to be strong to…to fucking fuck, yeah…fuck. “Fuck, what was I doin’? Fuckin’ forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jack.”

“Heh, I don’t worry ‘bout shit, Earl, you know that.”

“How about you finish off that cigar and whiskey there, and head for bed.”

Jack shrugged, Earl finished his drink and left the building, pulled the second key to room 102 from his jeans, and figured it was time to check up on Paul.

Good Things – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

Just how much was too much anyway?

Eddie was in the bathroom again, leaning on the counter, his gut pressing against the lip, looking at himself in the mirror. His coveralls were unzipped down to his belly button, and he ran one hand across his hairy chest, over to one fat nipple and gave it a tweak, feel his cock pulse and leak. He couldn’t fucking stop himself. He just couldn’t. But he knew this was too much, that this had simply gone too fucking far now. I mean look at him! Look at him, yeah, fuck, look at how fucking sexy he’d become.

His driver license said he was sixty, and fuck, he felt sixty when he was on his knees in the garage, sucking his fellow mechanic’s cocks. He’d been good with cars when he was younger, sure, but he was just a bit too slow now. It was easier just to…to hang around the bathrooms, yeah. Hang around sucking all the cock he could get, begging anyone who came in to fuck him. Oddly, no one ever seemed to turn him down, not that he minded, he could never have too much cum in his belly or up his ass. Cum was such a good thing.

His hand had migrated down to his crotch and was milking his cock; he yanked it away, and rubbed his eyes, smacking his face, stroking his massive beard crusty with cum. He had to focus. What had he even come in here for? He couldn’t fucking remember. God he was fucking stupid now. He’d never been this dumb, but now it was becoming a struggle to just string together a sentence, and his memory was shot. He’d come in to jack off right? He always came in here to jack off, but there’d been something else…something…

He focused on stroking his cock some more, figuring he might remember after he shot a load. Two loads later, he remembered. He’d come in for…for piss? No, he’d come in…to piss, right? His head didn’t seem to be thinking straight, he was pointing his cock up towards his mouth, shooting off a blast of piss, and he drank down as much as he can, though it was hard arcing the stream up over his belly. He ended up soaking himself in more piss than he drank, and just stared at himself, reeking, unable to believe he’d just done that…and that he had never done that before. It tasted so good! So good he…he just had to jack off some more. Three loads of cum later, Big Red came in–now nearly as big as he was red–and Eddie dropped to his knees, ready to drink. Piss was almost as good as cum after all, and he could never have too many good things…right?

Eddie groaned, and opened his eyes a bit. Fucking hangovers. He reached out to the table next to him, trying to find a cigar, but something kept shaking his arm, making it harder for him to grab anything at all–and he realized he was in the middle of being fucked. Big Red was behind him, already awake, and in the middle of his morning fuck–Eddie hadn’t even woken up when he rolled him over onto his fat belly, and plowed his massive cock into his loose asshole. He grabbed his lighter, but couldn’t find a cigar; he looked over his shoulder and saw Big Red was smoking. “Gimmie some a that ‘gar, man…” he said.

Big Red took a deep suck, and then handed it to Eddie, who clamped down on it and let Big Red go to town on his hole. The bed beneath him was cold and clammy–he must have wet it again. That was getting to be a fuckin’ habit–he’d pissed himself twice at work yesterday. Luckily it had been in the bathroom (granted, he spent almost all day in the bathroom, sucking cock and drinking piss) so he just cleaned it up off the floor with his tongue, but he’d been wetting the bed every night lately. Heh, Big Red was threatening to force him to wear fucking diapers, the shit head. He’d never follow through–Big Red loved the stench of piss almost as much as Eddie did.

Fuck, last night though, what had that even been? He’d come home with Big Red like always, they started fucking like always, and for the first time in a long while, Eddie had shot a big load of cum out of his cock. Just like that, his usual raging horniness had disappeared, and he’d been in this weird fuckin’ mood, talkin’ about how he’d been cursed or something, how he needed to get to a computer. Fuck, Eddie didn’t even know how to fuckin’ use a computer, he’d been talkin’ so damn crazy. Thankfully Big Red had fucked him straight in the head again, got him all horned up with a few loads of piss and cum.

Fuck, if only he could be horny all the time, right? Who in the hell could have too much fuckin’ horniness? As he thought it, it was like something around him started turning again, something which had paused. His balls were churning, he was getting close to cumming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cum so much…and yet, some part of him told him to stop. To resist. To keep it from happening. He was caught in the middle of it–it felt so good getting fucked, but…but what? With a groan, he felt Big Red spasm, filling him up with his cum. “Got…somethin’ else for this filthy hole this mornin’,” he said, and a second later, Eddie felt something else warm his ass.

Piss. Big Red was pissing in his ass, like he was a fuckin’ urinal. By then it was too late–he was cumming, and cumming hard, and there was something…cold around his cock, something a bit painful. With one hand he reached down to feel what it was…and felt the chastity cage that had locked itself around his cock…but that wasn’t odd. He’d…he’d had that thing on for…for years…right? Big Red had locked him up one night for fun, but then they’d lost the key in the mess that was their single wide trailer. He hadn’t…cum since, except for painful, unsatisfying milkings that only made him hornier than ever.

It was like he was drowning in desire. He’d just shot his load…hadn’t he? No, he couldn’t have, right? All those doubts he’d felt, they just washed away. All that mattered was fucking. All that mattered was making himself even hornier. He didn’t care if he ever came again, so long as he could be this horny for the rest of his old, fat, stinking life. Being horny was so fucking good, and who’d ever said you could have too much of a good thing? And Eddie had so many good things, he could never wish for anything else.