The Smoker Tapes (Part 2)

Pictured: The Smoker’s victim (1) at Pride, (2)in his dungeon, and finally (3)living his new life.

***

The Smoker: Feeling better?

Eric: How do I even know that you are The Smoker, anyway? How do I know that you aren’t just jerking me around?

The Smoker: Like I said, when the owner of this apartment gets here, I’ll be happy to offer a demonstration, provided he’s interested.

Eric: Well, you have to admit that this is hard to believe.

The Smoker: Of course it is. But just because something is unbelievable doesn’t mean it can’t be true. Hunter existed. All of the men I’ve helped existed. I exist. Why the sudden bout of doubt? You seemed inclined to believe me when we spoke on the phone.

Eric: A journalist has to be skeptical of his sources.

The Smoker: Ah yes. The only way to maintain your integrity is to challenge mine.

Eric: You don’t have to get upset. If you can’t corroborate any of this, then you’re no better than the men spreading legend on the street. You just seem more interested in offering embellishment.

The Smoker: I would call them details. Embellishment implies that I’m lying.

Eric: As far as I’m concerned at the moment, you might as well be lying. I think you’re just trying to shock me into believing you.

The Smoker: If that’s really what you believe, then we might as well stop this interview now. If my testimony has no worth, why seek me out in the first place? You were, after all, the one looking for me. I only contacted you after I heard that someone wanted the truth of things. Like I said, I’m happy to offer you proof when my friend returns. Why not give me the benefit of the doubt until then? At worst, I’m just a fool telling tales. At best, I’m the best story you’ve ever found in your rather lackluster career as a lifestyle journalist.

Eric: It isn’t lackluster–

The Smoker: It is lackluster, and you know it. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say that you aren’t particularly interested in your career as a journalist. But if that were true, why pursue a story as big as this one, right?

Eric: …Right.

The Smoker: So, while we wait for my friend, I assume you have a few more questions to ask.

Eric: How do you choose your…patrons? What do you look for in the men you change?

The Smoker: Well…that’s a bit complicated, actually.

Eric: Complicated how?

The Smoker: I don’t really choose my targets, exactly. I mean, that’s not precisely true. To say…maybe here’s a better way to put it. I can’t just walk down the street, smoking a cigar, changing men left and right. There’s only a small set of men who are even receptive to my assistance. And even then, not everyone in that set is interested in being helped. Not everyone in that set even has a problem that I can solve for them. So to say that I choose anyone isn’t the best way of putting it. It’s more like…there are some people who need help, and I’m the only person who can help them.

Eric: Alright then, so who can you help? What qualities do all of your patrons share?

The Smoker: Well, they’ve all smoked at some point in their life. I can’t do anything to someone who hasn’t tasted smoke before. While it isn’t a requirement that they be gay, I can’t do anything if the person isn’t at least open to the prospect of becoming gay.

Eric: So you make all of your patrons gay?

The Smoker: Considering the sexual nature of my work, it’s hard to imagine how they could turn out any other way.

Eric: Anything else?

The Smoker: Well, they all have a problem. Or rather, they all have a problem I can solve. A problem with themselves…..Again, it’s hard to explain. They have to be dissatisfied with their lives, or with their bodies, but it’s more complicated than that even. They have to be willing to sacrifice, they have to give up and not look back.

Eric: And how do you know when you’ve found someone who you can help?

The Smoker: Well, usually they find me. Or rather, I attract them. The legend attracts them, rather. But when I meet them, I…well, when I meet them, it’s not that I can read their minds exactly, but I can sense their problem and how to solve it. That’s a rather inelegant way to put it, unfortunately, but the details of the process aren’t really…it’s rather unconscious.

Eric: None of that made much sense, unfortunately.

The Smoker: Well, it isn’t something I try and articulate very often. You do something so many times, it becomes a part of you. You don’t think about it anymore. It can become rather dominating at times, and you forget that things could have been any other way. So trying to explain it, is difficult. Perhaps if I used an example.
Last year, during the summer–during pride weekend, actually–I wandered through the street fair in the afternoon. That’s usually how it starts, I end up wandering somewhere with no particular goal in mind, but I’ve come to recognize the sensation of being pulled towards someone who’s looking for me. And in the mob of people, in the street, I saw a young man, beer in hand but not comfortable with it at all. Not comfortable at all, with any of it, and looking at him, I could just tell everything about him. Just started college, but uncomfortable in his own skin. Gay, a virgin, no confidence, desperate for attention and control over his life and situation but he was too busy doubting his own ability and desire to actually attain anything. Overbearing mother, distant father, seeking approval from older men and hating himself for it. Unhappy with his body, but lacking the discipline and determination to change it. Caught at a crossroad, unable to decide where to go. He was lost, and he saw me standing there, smoking a cigar, and I saw this flourish of jealousy there. He wanted what I could give him–well, what he actually thought was, “I want what he has,” but he got the next best thing.
I don’t know if that actually clarifies anything or not. But that’s what it feels like, finding a patron.

Eric: And what happens then?

The Smoker: Well, then I offer them help. In that young man’s case, he was rather belligerent. He didn’t want to admit to anyone that he needed help. Actually, he was one of the harder cases I’ve had recently.

Eric: What was so hard about him? From the way you talk, it doesn’t seem like there’s much anyone can do to stop you.

The Smoker: Well, I do require consent, but even with consent, there has to be acceptance. There has to be a desire to leave the old behind and welcome in the new. But once consent is given, and once the process begins, there’s no going back. It just makes it all the more difficult for me. Hunter, and men like Hunter, the easy ones, they take a matter of minutes or hours. The hard cases, like that young man, they can take days. The longest I’ve ever had took close to three weeks to finish up. Anyway, when we talked in the street, he refused help, but I offered him my phone number and he took it. A few days later, when he was drunk, he called me and wanted to know more. He eventually consented at my home, but in the middle of the process, his doubts and fear stepped in and fought back. I had to go to some…extreme measures.

Eric: Like what?

The Smoker: Well, I have an extensive dungeon in my basement, something I’ve assembled for hard cases. I kept him locked in a cell–he’d already changed quite a bit at that point. His body had grown heavily muscled, but completely hairless. In fact, his body was almost there–it was his head that was fighting back. And so…I made him start masturbating his brains out. He was jacking off almost constantly, and as he came, over and over, the air saturated with smoke, he just got dumber and dumber, and eventually he just lost the will to doubt. He lost all reason to fear. I had to put something else in there of course–he grew into a very aggressive, domineering top. Skinhead, dresses all in leather, keeps a number of slaves now, chain smoking unfiltered cigarettes. He’s very happy, but it was a lot of work getting him there.

Eric: That doesn’t sound like consent, that sounds like kidnapping and torture.

The Smoker: Well, perhaps, but that’s all the consent I require.

Eric: There seem to be a lot of rules involved in your work.

Eric: What?

The Smoker: Nothing. Nothing at all. What’s your next question?

Underwear Trade Network Pt. 2

And work it did. The next package was a rubber jockstrap, and Henry found himself in his dream body–heavily muscled, sexually confident and domineering, alpha male–everything he’d always wanted. He was rich too–the beneficiary of an old family trust which meant he could spend his days fucking and sniffing and drinking and partying and living the liufe he’d always wanted. Sure, there were some drawbacks–he wasn’t really a fan of the cigars he smoked, and his cock was on the small side. Still, it way better than any life he could have wanted. Best of all, at the end of the month–no itching–and no new package. They were his to keep, and keep them he did for the next five months, living the life he’d always wanted…until the itching came, and the next day, a new package. He did everything he could to resist for as long as he could, amanging nearly a week before he finally had to rip them off, and open the box to see what he’d been sent instead.

It was another jockstrap, but one of the filthiest he’d ever seen, and it stank to high heaven. It was so bad that he nearly gagged, but his hands wouldn’t let go, and he found himself cringing as he slid the jock up his legs, the wet mesh settling against his cock, and then he was changing again. Younger now, until he couldn’t have been older than twenty or twenty-one, and his head–it felt like all of his brains were just being turned to mush. He could barely piece together a sentence, but all he knew was that he smelled fucking amazing. He took a deep drag off the huge cigar in his mouth and sniffed his reeking pits, the room twisting around him, his apartment growing dingy, the floor heaped with trash, and on the couch–someone he both didn’t know–and knew intimately.

He was huge, nearly five hundred pounds. The man reeked, and Henry couldn’t get over there fast enough to cram my face between his sweaty thighs and start licking him clean. Memories started cramming their way into his dim mind, how his fat master had enslaved him with his foul stench, and Henry remained his personal slave for months on end, neither of them leaving the apartment, and in his mind, Henry screamed, trying to get out, trying to resist, and he was so thankful when the jockstrap started to burn, and he received the next package, and he put on the equally filthy jockstrap that was in there as well. Certainly nothing could be as bad as this, right?

He was wrong. He grew up into his thirties, a filthy workie wearing a high viz vest, his apartment even filthier, and he put on a gas mask and shoved the tube into his ass, breathing in his own fumes, nearly suffocating as he jacked himself off, over and over again. He discovered the next day, at the construction site, that his primary duty was as the men’s cumdump and personal toilet slave, and he realized that the UTN would probably never forgive him for trying to game the system, and he’d be stuck in raunchy, filthy hell after raunchy, filthy hell until he died.

THE END

The FAT Retreat (Part 4)

– Day 4 –

They woke up in the same position, the lights coming on in their room, and Max grunted and rolled away from Leon, who fumbled with his mask for a moment, forgetting what it was and why it was there, until the memory of what had happened the day before came roaring back over him, and he was able, for the first time since arriving at the retreat, to have a moment of clarity, to think about what had happened, and he just laid there, still, the mask on, trying to sort out fantasy, reality and his past.

He’d come here as a muscular man. He could remember that, a fucking stick on the verge of death, right? But that didn’t seem like it should be right. He hadn’t wanted to be fat, but why not? He’d been afraid, terrified really, but now he couldn’t even begin to comprehend that. He ripped the mask off his face and tried to sit up, but found it more difficult than before, when he’d gotten up from floor in the therapist’s office. Looking down at himself, he saw that his gut was bigger–actually bigger than it had been the day before. In fact, it wasn’t even really a gut anymore, it was an apron, and he sat on the side of the bed, hefting it up and down, feeling his heavy moobs, amazed at what had happened over the course of a night.

Max had headed straight for the toilet and with the first load of shit he dumped into the bowl, Leon felt the desire for Max well up in him again. Hefting himself up, he waddled over and got down in front of the trucker again, breathing deep of the stench wafting up from the bowl.

“Heh, looks like someone grew last night,” Max said and got up off the toilet, “Come on, I bet ya gotta go, after all you ate at dinner last night, and I hogged the toilet.”

Leon did have to go, but he couldn’t go with Max there, could he? He’d always been a bit piss shy, but he let Max help him up, and his roommate sat him down on the unflushed toilet, the stink of Max’s shit and piss wafting up around him, and he felt his cock harden up into his gut. Max came up, working both of Leon’s moobs in his dirty hands, rubbing his hairy gut in Leon’s face, and after he’d shat, he just sat there, Max’s hands working down lower, underneath his new apron, working Leon’s cock over with his hand until he came with a shudder.

“Go on boy, piss–need to wash my hand off with something.”

It took Leon a few minutes to work up to it, but he finally let his bladder loose all over Max’s hand, feeling him smear the piss around up in his new gunt and between his thighs, shivering from the trucker’s touch, and when he’d finished, Max licked his hand clean with relish, and then whipped out his cock.

“I didn’t piss this morning either yet–hold still.”

He sprayed his piss across Leon’s big belly, watching it dribble down, some of it into the toilet, some of it onto the floor, and then finished the rest off across Leon’s face, watching him shudder with lust, nearly cumming again all on his own, and Max leaned down and kissed him, licking the piss off of him, when the door slid open, the intercom letting them know it was time for breakfast.

Max helped Leon up off the toilet, and turning around he realized it was still unflushed from the night before, and now full of their moring shit and piss as well. He went to hit the lever but Max stopped him. “Leave it,” he said.

“What? Why?”

Max came close, fiddling with Leon’s fat nipples, “Think about how nice the room’ll smell when we come back later, stinking of out piss and shit. I know you got a dirty mind boy, we’re gonna have lots of fun tonight, just you wait.”

Leon didn’t want to like the idea, but he did–he liked it a lot. And so he left the room with Max, joining the throng of men as they headed for the mess hall, admiring Max’s ability to cut through the crowd with his stink, and happy with his immunity to it. In the mess hall, they worked together, both of them crowding out tables and then stuffing food into each other’s mouths, rubbing themselves and each other down as they did, Leon finishing up on his knees, sucking on Max’s cock while the older man stuffed himself. Still, the whole time, when Leon wasn’t enraptured with Max’s stench, he couldn’t stop exploring his new body. He was bigger–he was bigger, and that made him feel so good. No, more than good, it made him feel safe. The bigger he was the less fear he needed to carry with him, and beyond that, he was hot. He caught a few other guys looking at him, probably wondering what he was doing with a slob like Max, but while Leon was a bit curious what it might be like to have sex with someone else, he didn’t think he could be away from Max’s stinking body for that long.

Too soon for anyone’s liking, breakfast ended, and they all filed over to their doors. Max and Leon found they had been assigned to the same lab, and together they made the trek through the facility, arriving at a large lab outfitted with several gurneys, and Max and Leon found they were joined by other pairs of men, some of them obviously together, but others seemed to have never met before. They were all paired off and led to pairs of gurneys with a large piece of machinery between them, large enough that Leon and Max couldn’t see each other around it, and the lab technicians began strapping them down, before they inserted the needles. When Leon saw where they were putting them, it was no wonder they strapped him down first–they were inserting the needles into his balls, through the scrotum, and even though they applied an anesthetic, it still was uncomfortable, and he struggled, trying to get free. From Max’s protests, he assumed the techs were doing the same thing to him, and they eventually strapped masks over them both, the gas sedative calming them down and rendering them compliant as the machine between them came to life and began pumping.

Even so, Leon let out a groan as the crushing pain in his balls began. It felt like the machine was sucking the life out of him, and it was like someone has his balls in a vice and was slowly squeezing them into paste. He mumbled to the technicians, begging them not to take his balls away through the mask, and they reassured him:

“Calm down, subject 436–this isn’t a castration procedure, merely testosterone transference.”

Still, that did little to make him feel better, especially when he noticed his body hair starting to fall out. The technicians would occasionally go over his body, tugging at the hairs there, and it was his pubic bush that went first, and he watched them pull out huge clumps of hair, but the rest of his body was equally bare before too long, and he could tell that his face was changing, his stubble disappearing as his facial hair stopped growing altogether, leaving him perfectly smooth. He wasn’t sure whether it was the sedative or not, but he was also feeling…calmer. And his dick felt numb, and he knew that wasn’t the anesthetic. He could feel it, sure, but when the techs lifted it and inspected it, he didn’t get so much as a shiver of sexual arousal, and it felt…smaller almost. There were other changes, things he couldn’t quite see or feel, his jawline softening, his hips and ass swelling with more fat than before, his nipples growing larger and more sensitive.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there before the techs lifted his legs and put them in stirrups, revealing his ass, which they began probing with any number of tools, eventually piercing something in his ass, and he felt something start growing a bit painfully in there. It was his prostate, he realized, they were making it bigger, but it was more than that–he could feel them working in his ass, it was so much more sensitive suddenly–and with a gasp, he felt his balls contract painfully and let out a spurt of cum as they worked in his hole, and it happened again, not soon after, before they pulled out, apparently finished with their work. About an hour later, they switched off the machine, pulled the needles out and took off the mask, and Leon laid there, waiting to feel normal, but he didn’t feel normal at all–he felt so different. Calmer, more at ease.

When they took off his restraints, the first thing he did was reach down to feel his cock, and much to his horror, he realized that it had indeed shrunk–substantially in fact. He couldn’t see it, but it couldn’t have been more than two inches long, and it was flaccid the entire time he fiddled with it–he couldn’t get a response from it at all. His balls were just as unlucky, now about a quarter the size of what they had been, smaller than grapes, and then, a bit tentatively, he rolled on his side, and tested his hole, and gasped.

He’d just touched the ring, and the amount of pleasure he’d felt was astounding. He didn’t know what they’d done to him, but it was hundreds of times more powerful than his cock had been, and he slipped a finger in with a moan, revelling in the increased sensitivity, as he heard Max start cussing, demanding that the techs release him and let him up. Leon knew he should get up too, he could see other men in the lab getting up and heading off to lunch, but he couldn’t stop touching his ass. As the men filed past, he saw that all of them were either smoother or hairier than they had been when they’d walked in, but only one looked to have lost more testosterone than him, his cock not little more than a clit, and Leon couldn’t even see his balls at all.

Max finally was released, and he got up off the gurney and walked around to where Leon was, and when he saw his roommate, his jaw dropped. Max had already been fairly hairy, but after getting almost all of Leon’s testosterone production, he was one of the furriest men he’d ever seen, and he fucking reeked. The increased development hadn’t done Max’s musk any favors, and if anything it made Leon want him more, made him want Max to dominate him, to rule over him, to be his alpha, his master…

He came suddenly, although most of the sensation of his orgasm was in his ass now, his flaccid cock dribbling a bit of cum out, but he didn’t care about his cock really. He needed something up his hole, and looking at Max, he knew just what he needed. Max’s cock had grown substantially, close to ten inches, and his huge balls hung heavy below, almost churning visibly, cum leaking out of the head like a faucet. Leon noticed something new there as well–a thick, overhanging foreskin that hadn’t been there before, and he licked his lips, wondering what might build up in there by the end of the day, but he couldn’t wait that long, he needed something now. “F–Fuck me, please…” Leon moaned, his voice higher than before, “Shove that huge cock in my hole Max, come on, I need it…”

Max didn’t need to be asked twice–it was clear that he was horny as hell, and would be horny nearly every moment for the rest of his life, and he walked around and rammed his cock deep into Leon’s ass, and there was no resistance like he’d expected–it just slid in like it belonged there, and when the thick shaft started running up against Leon’s newly enlarged prostate, it ached with pleasure, making him clutch the side of the gurney in need, Max fucking him like an animal.

While Max fucked Leon, he was busy exploring his own body, feeling his massive amount of hair, his thick, wiry beard which had grown out the whole time during the procedure, his smooth dome where the hair on his head had fallen out, his thicker muscles, his cock, his balls–his huge fucking balls. He’d never felt this horny in his life, and he came quickly, flooding Leon’s ass with his cum, and then just kept fucking, cumming a second time moments later, and then a third time, each load nearly as big as the last, and the technicians just sat off to the side, watching, fooling with each other’s cocks and fat while enjoying the show.

Lunch was already half over by the time Max forced himself to stop fucking Leon’s hungry hole, and they both hurried down the hallways to the mess hall, devouring as much as they could in the time they had left, but both of them were distracted. Max had to stop every few minutes to jack off his huge cock, and Leon spent most of the meal with as many fingers as could reach buried up his ass. As much as the two of them wanted to keep fucking, it was a bit of a relief when they discovered that they were going to separated for the afternoon sessions, Max going to something vague called a Body Modification Session, and Leon was going to something called a “Personal Style and C.D./M.M. Session.” Still, they had one more rough fuck in the hallway, several fat men gathering around to watch, masturbating while keeping a healthy distance due to the stench rolling off of Max, before they split apart and headed their separate ways.

Leon walked down to the lab he’d been assigned, and found that he was in a smaller lab than he’d been in previously, and there was no one else in the room aside from a doctor and several scantily clad lab assistant cubs. “Ah, subject 436–welcome to your personal style / C.D. session. Now, if you could just lay down here, we’ll begin.”

This time, instead of a gurney, it was a chair that looked like it could be adjusted to a wide variety of positions. Still, he took his seat and waited for the assistants to strap down his arms and legs, and then, when his body was fully secure, they began attaching something to his head, a large constraint which he soon found made it impossible for him move his head or neck in any direction at all, though he could still speak. “So…uh…I get the personal style part, but what does C.D and M.M stand for?”

“Cognitive Disability and Mental Manipulation,” the doctor said, “In other words, making you stupid and messing with your head.”

Leon waited for a couple of beats, expecting the doctor and the assistants to start laughing at the obvious joke, but they weren’t laughing. And he had a feeling that they might not actually be joking. “Wait…you mean, you’re actually gonna make me…what, dumb? How in the hell are you going to do that?”

“Brain surgery. We usually like to reserve a large block of time for the C.D/M.M. process, but considering the fact you spent two days growing, we’ve had to combine a few steps in your program. Don’t worry, the neurosurgeon ought to be in soon, but we’ll get started with your styling in the meantime, with your tattoo work and hair removal.”

Leon tried to break out of the chair, but by then all of the restraints had been well secured, and he couldn’t move an inch in the chair. He couldn’t turn his head to see the doctor’s expression–and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this wasn’t a joke at all. The cubs started working around the room, gathering around what looked like a large, colorful blueprint up on the wall, and then they each picked up a tattoo gun and began work on Leon’s body, two on his arms and a third and fourth on his legs. As they worked, the doctor shaved off all of the hair on Leon’s head, and then took a small laser and swept it slowly over Leon’s scalp, burning the follicles out and leaving his head perfectly smooth. The combined pain of it all was terrible, and Leon spent the entire time screaming at them to stop, begging them to at least do only one thing at a time, when the door to the lab slid open, and another doctor came in. “So, has the patient been prepared?”

“Just finishing his hair removal, and then he’ll be all ready for you–I hope you don’t mind that we got started.”

“As long as his head and neck are frozen, I can work,” he said, and then approached Leon, “I would shake your hand, but you seem to be a bit busy at the moment, subject 436. Now, what we are going to do today is three things. First, some moderate cognitive erosion. Second, we will create a state of advanced dyslexia. Third, we will perform a pain pleasure swap. Now, we’ll go ahead and open up your skull and proceed with the operation. This will take some time–all night, most likely, so I’m afraid you’ll be missing dinner. Don’t worry though, we’ll keep you well fed.”

Leon started screaming as the doctor applied local anesthetic to his skull, and then began cutting into the bone with an electric saw, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t even paying attention to the work the cubs were doing as they meticulously worked on his tattoos, all of them adjusting his restraints to access every side of his limbs. It felt like the doctor was sawing into his head forever, and the only measure of time he had was the slow progress of the tattoos. The cubs had nearly finished both his entire arms to the shoulders by the time the neurosurgeon was ready to begin the operation, and he signaled the cubs to stop their work for the moment.

The doctor behind him started clinking some tools together, and then spoke to Leon. “Alright subject 436–while I work, I am going to be asking you some questions. I need you to answer them to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”

“Please–please just let me go, please don’t do this…”

The neurosurgeon sighed and turned to the first doctor, “I believe we might need Sedative T9 for this operation. Would you administer a dose please?”

The doctor nodded and injected something into Leon’s frozen neck–he screamed, but a moment later, stopped. He felt so calm suddenly, like everything that was happening to him was happening far away, and to someone else.

“Now, subject 436, will you answer my questions?”

“Yes, I can answer…” Leon replied, and he heard the neurosurgeon begin his work. Every ten or fifteen seconds, he would ask Leon a basic math question, beginning with multiplication and division. The first two or three he could answer, and then suddenly he found it difficult to formulate an answer. For two or three more, if he focused hard, he could come up with something he thought might be close to right, and then he just had to answer that he didn’t know.

“What is ten times ten?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“What is two times two?”

“I…I don’t know. Why are you asking me this?”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me, do you know how many states there are in the USA?”

Leon knew that he should know, but it was like the answer had disappeared from his head. “I…I don’t know.”

“Alright, and how many bases on a baseball diamond?”

“I don’t know that either…”

“Alright, let the record show that the subject’s quantitative skills have been severely curtailed. Now, subject 436–I’m going to give you three words. I need you to remember those words and repeat them back to me when I ask for them, alright? The words are: house, boat, and bacon. Can you repeat them back to me?”

“House. Boat. Bacon.”

“Good, now keep those words in mind,” the surgeon said, and went back to work for half a minute. “Can you repeat those words back to me?”

“Horse. Bed. Bacon.”

“Good. Doctor, could you present the subject with the flash cards?”

The first doctor retrieved some cards and held the first one up in front of Leon’s face. “Please read the first card, subject 436.”

“The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” The doctor then hid the card, and after a moment the neurosurgeon asked him to repeat what had been on the card. “The quick…no…the quivering food jumped…jumped over the large hotdog?” Leon replied. His head hurt, like he had a massive headache. Why couldn’t he remember? He was so hungry, all he could think about was food.

“Let the record show that the subject’s short term memory has been moderately compromised. That’s very good subject 436–now, onto the second task.”

The surgeon worked for a few moments, and then signaled the doctor to reveal the flash card again, “Please read what’s on the card, subject 436.”

Leon stared at the card hard for a few seconds, “uh…The…the…I don’t know the second word. The…fix pumped onto the…the blank god? That’s not…that’s not right, is it?”

“Let the record show that advanced dyslexia has been induced in the subject,” the surgeon said. “You’re doing very good subject 436, one last task, and this will all be over.”

The surgeon went back to work, fiddling with Leon’s brain, and he could feel the serum he’d been given start to wear off. He could fight again, but what was the point? They’d destroyed his mind already, there was nothing he could do but sit there and cry in terror. Finally, the neurosurgeon signalled one of the cubs to come over with his tattoo gun. “Would you please continue your work for a few seconds? I’d like to test the subject’s pleasure response.”

The cub returned to the line work on Leon’s thigh, and as soon as the gun started, Leon shivered and moaned. It didn’t hurt–it didn’t hurt at all–in fact, it felt amazing. The cub stopped, and before Leon could help himself, he was begging, “No–no, keep going, do it some more, come on…”

“Good–a sufficient response. Just give me a few more minutes to increase the dopamine response to induce a strong, addictive reaction in the subject…”

It was a few more minutes of work, and then the surgeon announced that he was done, and the first doctor told the cubs to resume their work while he and the surgeon put Leon’s skull back together. Now, however, the sensation of the tattoo guns wasn’t one of pain–but instead of divine pleasure. Leon was grunting and moaning, his puny cock dribbling out cum from his tiny balls the entire time, and soon, he found himself wanting it, wanting them to push the guns in harder, wanting them to make it hurt worse. “Come on, is that the fucking best you can do, fucking drill those things into me!” he shouted, shivering the entire time from head to toe. The first doctor grew tired of Leon’s shouting, and shoved a feeding tube down his throat, and Leon was silent for the next several hours the doctors used to sew him back up. Between the tattoo guns and the feeding, Leon was in heaven, the cubs finishing his arms and legs on both sides, before they all moved onto his huge gut, one of them even tattooing his tiny cock and balls.

Behind him, the two doctors were piecing his scalp back together, and then the second doctor took some strange goo and began smearing it across the incisions. “The FAT team here prides itself on making sure our members receive the best medical care–don’t worry about any scarring subject 436–by morning, you won’t even know we were in here. Of course, the tattoos on your skull would disguise it anyway, so you wouldn’t even need to be concerned.”

Leon, nearly seizing with pleasure from the tattooing, could barely comprehend what the doctor was saying. His sentences were just too long–he’d nearly forgotten what he’d said first by the time he was at the end. He felt so full though, and when the bonds holding his head in place were finally removed, and he could look down at his new tattoos. Looking at the work, it seemed like the cubs were actually being sloppy on purpose. All down both legs were massive motifs of fattening foods, all being devoured by huge men with pig faces. He couldn’t see his cock and balls to know what they’d done there, but both arms were done in tacky redneck–confederate flags, eagles, trailers, beer cans–the works, but it was his gut that attracted the most attention, where words and phrases had been tattooed all over him, all of them humiliating–“Gainer,” “Fat Ass,” “Slob,” “Toilet Slave,” “Whore,” “Trailer Trash,” they went on and on, and when they flipped him over and started on his back, the doctor was kind enough to tell him what they were putting there–a silhouette of a hog’s back, including a pig tail above his ass, so everyone fucking him would know that they were ball’s deep in nothing more than a disgustingly obese sow. His face was given a similar treatment with subtler tattoos designed to accentuate the size of his cheeks and jowls, two tusks curling from his upper lip up his cheeks, and the outline of a pig snout around his nose–and the word PIG repeated four times: on his forehead, across the back of his neck and head, and on both sides over his ears.

Now that most of the tattooing was done, though, two of the cubs brought over a huge collection of metal and began piercing his body. One cub focused on his cock and balls, inserting so many rings, bars and studs that he could feel the weight hanging off of him, every peirce of a needle another jolt of pleasure through his system. The other cub put two thick doorknockers through the flesh behind his nipples, keeping his thick aureolas intact–those were by far the most painful and thrilling, and then he began on Leon’s face. A thick ring in his septum, and then countless rings in his ears, eyebrows and lips, and after the feeding tube had been removed, ten studs in his tongue which made speaking nearly impossible. As a final humiliation, the doctor brought out a set of dentist tools and began prying teeth from Leon’s mouth, seemingly at random, leaving him gap toothed and in so much painful pleasure he could barely move. It was then that he finally felt the stress of the session overwhelming him, and the room faded from view, his last blurred image of the doctor slipping his mask over his nose and mouth, and the stench of Max’s filthy body and the sickly smell of his fat gas sending him off to sleep, and distantly, the sound of a voice in his ears, whispering to him, telling him new truths for the next day. In short sentences and with much repetition–Leon was just a simpleton now after all, and there was no going back.

The Fourth Day of Christmas

It was the smell of smoke that woke him up in bed, and Marty thought something must be on fire. He got up and hurried out of his room, but there weren’t any flames in the living room–but there was smoke, and he saw that it was coming from a smoldering cigar on an end table next to the Christmas tree.

He just stared at it for a moment, not entirely sure what to think. He lived here by himself after all, and he wasn’t a smoker. In fact, Marty was pretty boring all around–he didn’t even have a girlfriend, didn’t drink, just went to work, came home watched TV, day in and day out, but that was good enough for him. He wasn’t the kind of person who craved excitement. But then where in the world had the cigar come from, and if it was still smoking like that, wouldn’t that mean that someone would have had to have been smoking it in here…recently?

He looked around the apartment but there was no one there, but the smell of smoke just wouldn’t leave his mind, and part of him really wanted to try it. He didn’t know why really–it seemed like such a dumb, impulsive thing to do–but the more he tried to resist, the more he found himself looking at the cigar, until he picked it up with a shaking hand, put it to his lips, and took a tentative drag.

The sensation of the smoke was overwhelming, and somehow…liberating. It was like the smoke worked it’s way inside of him, loosening him up, undoing the restrictions he’d placed on himself all of these years, and then he was coughing up the smoke, and set the cigar down, he head spinning. “Fuck, that’s some crazy ass moutherfuckin’ shit,” Marty said, using more curse words in one sentence than he’d used all year, and ran his hand through his beard.

His beard?

He felt his face again, and found a thick beard had grown in all over his face, nearly an inch thick, and looking down at himself, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He’d packed on quite a bit of fat as well, and he looked hairier as well.

“Ho, ho, ho–so I did leave my cigar here, eh? Looks like someone took a bit of an interest in it, eh Marty?”

He spun around and saw that the sexiest Santa he’d ever seen had somehow materialized in his living room. No, not sexy, what was he thinking? He’d never been into guys, but damn, the way the harness was stretched across his gut…“How–how did you get in here?”

“You know, you really shouldn’t go sucking on things that don’t belong to you. Still, since you started it, you might as well finish it, eh?”

Santa walked up to Marty and pushed the cigar into his mouth, and he reflexively took another inhale, the same sensation sweeping through him, undoing all of the control he’d worked into his life, and this time he drew it in deeper, before he managed to pull himself away from it. “Fuck, what the hell is in that thing? Makes me feel fuckin’ nuts,” Marty said, but his voice sounded different all of a sudden, with a subtle country twang.

“Yeah, that’s got you looking better already,” Santa said, “You should take a look Marty, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Santa pushed Marty towards the bathroom, and when he saw himself in the mirror, his jaw dropped. His beard had grown longer by a couple of inches, and his hair had grown out as well, the front still short, but in the back it was down past his shoulders. He was even fatter and hairier than before, but none of this could be possible. “Ah don’, Ah mean, this can’t be right, Ah don’t wanna look like this…”

“Oh Marty, you really ought to lighten up–you think too hard, did you know that? You really need to appreciate the simpler things in life,” Santa said, spun him around so they were face to face, and locked lips with him, blowing a huge amount of smoke into Marty’s lungs, deeper than it had gone before, and when the separated, Marty felt like his whole head was full of cotton. He’d changed again, his beard and hair now not only longer, but greasy and unkempt. He was missing a few teeth, and the ones he did have were stained yellow from smoke, and he felt a wet fart rip out of his wide ass, but it felt good. It felt good just letting go, not thinking at all, except about how much he wanted in Santa’s pants. “Fuck Santa, yer so damn sexy…” he said, unable to resist the attraction any longer.

Santa had him on his knees in a moment, his cock shoved down Marty’s throat, and he knew there was something wrong with all of this, but he was just enjoying himself too much. When Santa finished all over his nasty beard, he let Marty take the final draw on the cigar, and he knew what he’d been missing. All this time he’d wasted working, he should have been on a Harley, riding around the country, sucking cock in every rest area, fucking truckers in the backs of their cabs–he’d missed so much! But no more. Santa helped him up, and Marty wasn’t naked anymore–he was wearing his muddy biker leathers, and when Santa handed him the keys to his bike and a few cigars, he grinned. He was just a cigar smoking, cocksucking, redneck biker now, and he’d never wanted to be anything else.

Are you never going to measure up to your goals? Do you worry that your life and future are just going to disappoint you? Then you should try Release Hypnosis! Here’s Sam’s story, whose life was much improved by our files.

Before Release Hypnosis, I was a wreck. I was in college, and excelling, but the stress was killing me. There was this pressure to succeed, it came from everywhere, from my parents, from my teachers, from my girlfriends, it was so much, I couldn’t handle it. If I hadn’t found Release Hypnosis, I might have actually made something of myself.

The effect was immediate. After my first listen, my school work just didn’t matter to me–it was so much easier just to lounge around my dorm room, eating and drinking and watching porn all day long. I just didn’t care–it was so easy! I listened to more and more from that moment on, and dropping out of college just seemed like the most natural decision. I found an easy job working construction, and I couldn’t have been happier. Well, or so I thought.

Release Hypnosis is still a big part of my life. I’ve been working on their empty mind series lately. Even after I stopped feeling the pressure to succeed, I still thought a lot. Now though, my head is so empty I can just zone out for hours in front of the TV, stuffing my face and jacking off all day long. The no-shame series was also recommended to me by the program. See, even after listening to the files, I’d always feel bad about the way I was behaving, and a bit ashamed of myself. Now though, I relish it. I love being a slob, a fucking loser, and I want everyone to know it. Fuck, I walk down the street without a shirt, showing off my filthy, hairy belly, and the looks I get from people get me so horny, I usually have to duck into an alleyway to jack off. I’d definitely recommend Release Hypnosis–it made a huge difference to my life, and I know it can make yours better too!

My Apprenticeship Part 2

I stretched myself awake and looked around, a bit bleary eyed. Who’d I gone home with again? I looked around the room and eventually recognized it as Hog’s dingy studio apartment, which was fine with me. He was fuckin’ hot, and his piss so so fuckin’ manly, I loved it. Speaking of piss, I slipped my cock out of my jockstrap and hosed myself down with my morning load, feeling it run down through my beard and soak my already stinking wifebeater.

I looked around, wondering where Hog might have gotten to, and then got off his bare mattress and went into the bathroom, admiring myself in the mirror. It really was working, just like Ivan had promised. Who would have thought that the secret to manning up was just a steady diet of hot, steaming piss? I’d been on the crew for close to six months though, and work had kind of dried up this winter. Still, when I couldn’t quite make my rent payments anymore, I’d decided it would be easier to just sleep around with the rest of the crew. I wasn’t the only guy who did it either–there were three other apprentices like me who served the journeymen like Hog.

All the journeymen went by nicknames, and they all had worked with Ivan for a long time, and they all, well, they all had their quirks about them, I’ll say that. I heard the door to the studio apartment open and Hog lumbered in, his huge gut leading the way as he snorted, hauling several bags of fast food with him. “Brought breakfast,” was all he said and then he was eating, and I grabbed a bag before they all disappeared. I finished my breakfast, and then got down and sucked his cock while he ate–Hog loved sex with his mouth stuffed, and before too long he gave me a load of piss he’d been saving. After we ate, we headed over to the latest project Ivan had gotten for us to do, and I was just thankful to have an awesome master like Ivan. He was the best, and maybe he’d have a hot load of piss for me too.

To be Concluded…

“Gosh, I sure do love these chances we have to visit together, don’t you?” Ray says.

You moan in response, and shove your dirty jockstrap deeper into your mouth, sucking your piss and dried cum from it while you stroke your cock.

“We have so much more time too, now that you’ve quit that silly job you insisted on going to the past few weeks, but you don’t want to go to work now, do you? You like this so much better, just lounging around, jacking off all day, in your filthy clothing…”

You try to say something through your jockstrap, but Ray can’t understand you, and he takes it as assent. You don’t disagree with him very much anymore–most of your brain is mush by this point, so he doubts you have many thoughts going on in there at all really. Still, he liked it more when you were disagreeable, he liked pinning you down to the carpet, and shoving your face into his armpits or his ripe crotch, feeling you struggle, relishing that moment when his stench finally shut your brain down and you turned into his pig again, the pig who would do anything for his filth, beg Ray for his cum and piss and rank asscrack.

And then, when you’d wake up again, slowly, only recalling bits of what you’d done–you were horrified, but Ray always made sure you knew that every time you fell back into your piggy space there was less of you that made it back alive. That your brain died, bit by bit, every time you became disagreeable. You couldn’t stop fighting though, and now you’re just a pig, barely capable of speech at all, but you don’t need to speak really. You just spend your days wallowing in your own filth, waiting for Ray to come visit, like he visits everyone on the block, all of his piggies, in all of their own houses, their personal filthy sties. A suburban barn full of filthy animals for Ray’s personal enjoyment.

Always Take Care of Your Toys

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by Boreas

Inspired by a comic by Kuma

Kuma’s Comic: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (requires an account on FurAffinity with adult images unblocked in order to view)

Warning: Furry and inanimate themed story. It get’s a bit strange, but I bet you’ll all like it anyway.

***

“Come on, take your shirt off.”

“Ha, well you’re not wasting any–hey, hold on–ok, ok, you don’t have to rip it off me–hey watch the horns.”

“He, aww fuck yeah, here’s those titrings of yours,” Kuma said, tugging on the rings through Boreas’ nipples, “Looks damn good on you–so glad you finally got up the balls to come over and have some fun.”

The two big guys were on the couch in Kuma’s apartment, with the bear taking up most of the space. He had Boreas cornered against one side, one paw tweaking the bull’s nipple while he took a deep breath off his cigar, and then kissed the bullbear with the smoke, making him cough and sputter after a moment. “Take it easy man, I’m not a smoker.”

“We could change that, if you want,” Kuma said, grinning, his fangs showing slightly, “I got this special mask–you could smoke all night long in it–it’d be so damn hot. You’d be a cigar smoker for life.”

“Sounds…uh…fun?” Boreas said, his eyes flicking to the door. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected when he’d finally taken the bear up on his invitation to come over for a play session. Sure, their chats and role play had always been fun, but now that he was here, and now that Kuma was getting into it a bit deeper than the bullbear had expected, he was starting to get nervous. “No, you know what? I’m not really all that comfortable with this,” Boreas said, and he started trying to work his way out from under the bear, managing to slide through a gap and onto the floor with a thud, “Can we maybe take this a little slower?”

“Heh, someone getting cold feet? Come on, I don’t bite that hard, and I know you’ll love it. How about you just try it on?”

“No, look, I think…can we just hold up here? I know we talked about a lot…of stuff…” Boreas said, blushing a bit, “But uh…what exactly did you have in mind?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be my toy,” Kuma said, getting up off the couch and coming closer to Boreas, “You told me how hot it would be to come over here, not tell anyone where you were going and let me do whatever I wanted to you. I know that’s what you want, boy.” The bear came up, grabbed the front of Boreas’ khakis, and with a growl, ripped them open down the front, destroying his boxers as well, letting his’ cock flop out, and he looked down, noticing that the bullbear’ was blushing a bit. “Heh, with all that fur and big talk, I thought I’d be bigger.”

“Sh-Shut up!” Boreas said, and backed up a few paces. Sure, he didn’t have the largest cock, only about four inches, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be made fun of for it. “Look, I’m…I’m gonna go. I don’t like where this is going.”

“Oh no–you said you were going to be my toy, and I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy, one way or another.” Kuma said, smiling again, and this time Boreas noticed something else–the bear’s paw was glowing…green. He backed away, but missed the door and collided with a chair, tripping him up long enough for the glowing paw to grab his cock and balls in one hand and send a strange, electric jolt through them that made him cry out in surprise, tumble back over the chair and hit the ground with a thud hard enough to dislodge his cock and balls from his crotch, sending them flying over his face to land on the carpet behind him.

He blinked for a moment on the ground, wondering if he’d gotten a concussion. His legs were still up on the chair that he’d tripped over, and he could see that where his cock and balls had been was just…nothing. Just a hole, or really something more like a socket. And his fur…the fur around his groin looked different…well, he wouldn’t call it fur at all really. It was smooth and had a dull shine to it, and tentatively he reached down with one paw and touched it, realizing it was rubber. But he could…still feel his claw against the surface, and he could even dent it if he pushed hard enough, the sensation making him shiver.

“Heh, looks like you dropped something buddy,” Kuma said, walking past him and over to where his cock had flown when it had dislodged itself from the socket. He stooped down and picked it up, and Boreas let out a yelp–he could feel his cock in the bear’s paws from across the room, and he quickly rolled off the chair and stood up, a bit uneasily. “Finders keepers, I guess,” he said, running a claw down the shaft, watching the bullbear moan softly as he did, “Still, this thing is a bit too small to do much of anything with. Maybe we can find you a few other things to fit in that socket there? I’m seeing…something thick, over nine inches long. What if it was ribbed, or even studded? Dang, that’d be a fun ride.”

“What–what the fuck did you do!” the bullbear said, doing his best to be outraged when all he could really focus on was how…nice it felt, having the bear stroke his cock, “Give…give that back!”

“Oh?” Kuma said, and he started stroking the cock in his hands, fiddling with it’s balls, and Boreas tried not to collapse. The sensations were so much more intense, but looking at his cock and balls in Kuma’s hands, he could see that they were different–they were rubber too, like his groin. If he hadn’t known better, he’d just have assumed that they were a lifelike dildo, if he…couldn’t feel everything that the paws were doing to them. “Are you sure you want them back? It looks like you’re enjoying what I’m doing quite a bit. Do you really want me to stop?”

“I…I don’t…” he stammered back. Kuma was stroking his cock faster now, and Boreas felt his knees crumple and he hit the floor as cum started spurting from his rubber cockhead, shooting a few feet and hitting the wall where it ran down to the carpet and ran down slowly while the bear laughed, Boreas trying to catch his breath and he pushed himself back up to standing on his hooves and teetering a bit, grabbing onto the chair for support. Kuma was looking at the bullbear’s cock and balls, the later of which had shrunk quite a bit after shooting out that massive load, and the bear started squeezing them in his paw, milking the last bit of cum out of the shaft, watching the bullbear cringe in pain.

“Looks like you’re all empty man–too bad,” Kuma said, “Wonder if we can fill ‘em back up?”

“Please, no–just…just give it back, please.”

“Heh, if you say so,” Kuma said, “Catch!”

He lobbed the cock towards Boreas, who noticed too late that his cock and balls were shrouded in the same ill green aura Kuma’s paws had exuded when he’d touched his cock. Still, it was his cock and balls! He couldn’t just let them fall to the ground. He caught them in his paws and felt the same shock rip through his hands that he’d felt in his cock, and he watched his hands puff up suddenly and harden into rubber mitts incapable of holding anything, and he fumbled with his cock for a moment before it tumbled to the ground anyway, and he stared at his rubber paws in terror, watching the rubber showly work it’s way up his arms, his fur flattening into the same smooth rubber of his crotch, and he realized he needed to get out of here, and fast. He turned around and hurried to the front door, but all he could do was squeak against it as he tried to unlock the deadbolt and work the knob before his arms turned completely rigid, freezing in place as his shoulders and chest turned to rubber, and he stumbled back, still desperately trying to move his arms and unable to comprehend why they wouldn’t respond.

He could still move his head and his neck–the rubberization seemed mostly interested in working it’s way downwards, through his chest and past his nipples, his rings staying put, and then down past his ass and to his legs. Wherever the rubber went, soon after his skin changed it quickly lost it’s pliability, becoming hard and rigid in whatever position he happened to be in. He tried to get away, but his legs were turning to hard rubber faster than he could move, and he fell forward to the ground, his body giving out a squeak of air as it decompressed from the impact and then inflated again. It was the strangest sensation, feeling the air rush out of his mouth before sucking back into him. He could sense his hollowness, actually. He felt…empty. It didn’t feel right at all, he should be full of…of something other than air–than a vacuum–but what exactly he needed was eluding him. He just felt so strange, and he tried to crawl down the hallway, away from Kuma for a couple of moments, but his hooves had already frozen and he was trapped, contorted on the floor, his entire body rubber aside from his head, his body empty, and he heard a laugh behind him.

“Looks good–how does it feel, Boreas?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ha, you mean, ‘fuck me,’ don’t you? You don’t even have a cock to fuck with,” Kuma said, coming up behind him and slipping two fingers into his ass, pushing their way down the short rubber channel and into the emptiness of his body, and Boreas gave a short inhale of pleasure. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t you just feel so empty though? We’ll see if we can help with that. Still, how about we warm you up a bit?”

Boreas couldn’t see what Kuma was doing, but he heard him take a deep drag off his cigar and then get down behind him, where he put his lips against the rubber hole and exhaled hot smoke into the bullbear’s body. It really was warm, and he shivered and moaned, his cock pulsing and leaking out a small remnant of his cum where it lay back on the floor, forgotten by them both. Kuma filled him up with lungful after lungful of smoke, and before long it started coming out of his mouth at the other side in wisps as he shuddered and moaned, feeling Kuma’s long tongue probing up his ass, but he needed more than smoke inside of him, it was like some unknown hunger was eating away at him, and it was frustrating him that he couldn’t understand it.

“Heh, well that’s enough of that. How about we move you into a…more accomodating position, eh?” Kuma said, his hands glowing again. Underneath them, the hard rubber of Breas’ new body turned pliable again, and the bear started bending the arms and legs into a new position, leaving Boreas on his rubber paws and knees, head facing forward, and as a final touch, Kuma grabbed his long bull tail, bent it back and attached the tuft to the small of his back. “There–now you even have a handle,” Kuma said, “Now, how about we take this into the bedroom? I’m horny, but I don’t think you’re quite the toy I’m looking for yet.”

He grabbed him by the tail loop and lifted him up off the ground, and he felt a sense of vertigo as Kuma carried him down the hall and into the bedroom. He was so powerless all of a sudden–he couldn’t move, he didn’t even have a body anymore. Still, that was…that was good, right? He didn’t need a body, he was just a toy, just…just a toy for Kuma to use. He did like being used. He’d always…always fantasized about being just a dumb toy, just a hunk of rubber…Boreas shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept sneaking their way into his head, making him hornier, intensifying the hunger he still didn’t understand, the need to be filled which was beginning to panic him. He had to be filled, he needed something. If he was empty for much longer, it was going to drive him crazy.

Kuma set the toy down on the floor of his bedroom, and then looked around, thinking, “Oh, of course! Your cock and balls, how could I have forgotten.” He left the room for a moment and came back with Boreas’ cock and balls in his hand, or rather, his cock. His sack had shriveled up, now completely empty, and hung down like an empty balloon. “Hmm, looks like you’re all empty–guess we should fill you back up, eh?” Kuma walked over to his closet and dug around for a few moments before he pulled out some sort of pump attached to a large, clear tank which Boreas could only assume was either milk or semen, and he didn’t really like either option. “Lucky for you, I have quite a few guys I like to play with who are…well, let’s say that they have a bit of an addiction problem when it comes to my cum. I like to keep plenty on hand for when one of them drops by, needing some assistance. Still, let’s see what we can do here…” Kuma said, fiddling with the root of Boreas’ cock, before fitting it over the nozzle of the hose connected to the tank of cum, and then Kuma flipped a switch, the machine started up, and Boreas watched his balls inflate, filling up with Kuma’s rank cum from the machine. He set them down on the bed, and the bullbear had a hard time tearing his eyes away from them, watching them fill up fuller and fuller…

“Please, Kuma…Come on, just let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I swear, but…but I’m so…so empty, please just…I don’t…just let me–” Boreas said, but before he could finish, the bear ran a green glowing claw around his lips and then down his neck, rubberizing his throat into a smooth chute, his lips pursed and ready to take a cock.

“That’s better–toys don’t need to talk after all. Now, while that’s filling up, how about we get you dressed? I did have some gear I wanted to see you in tonight, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

Kuma dug around in his closet some more, and all the bullbear could do was watch his balls slowly fill up. They were quickly outpacing his cock, making it look even smaller next to them, as they passed the size of an orange, and then a grapefruit, and then a small melon–each. They looked so full–he’d like to be as full as they were. Sloshing with cum, bulging with it, packed full of it. That’s what he needed–he needed cum. He needed to be brimming with it, all of him, and now that he knew what he needed, it was almost worse, and he found himself growing desperate as Kuma ripped away the rest of his pants and then started putting the leather gear on him, a harness across his chest, leather bands on his arms and legs, and lastly a collar with a heavy cowbell hanging from it. Then, he did something strange, and took four large objects that looked like metal staples, and with a glowing hand, inserted them into the top of his rubber paws and the bottom of his hooves.

“There. That way, if I want you strung up, we won’t have a problem,” Kuma said, testing the connection. “Now, how are those balls of yours doing?” He walked over and turned off the pump, and looked down, where Boreas’ balls were each larger than a watermelon, and pulled the nozzle out of the root, and hefted them up, the heavy sack dragging down heavily and nearly translucent. “Now, how about we get you fed, rubber bear? You look awfully empty…”

Boreas was almost screaming in his head at this point. Terror at his situation had slowly been replaced by hunger and anger at his emptiness, and everything would be alright if he could just be full again. He shivered as the bear slotted his own cock into his mouth, feeling the head push through the nozzle in the back of his mouth and down the chute, and then he started squeezing the balls in his paws, holding them up, pumping his cum down the rubber throat and into the hollow cavity, watching the bullbear’s eyes roll back in pleasure. Still, after a few squeezes, it was obvious that Kuma was getting a bit tired of it, and so he pushed a glowing finger against his rubber nose, and the mouth started buzzing and sucking on his own cock, drawing the cum into him, where it rolled down the inside of his chest, pooling in both of his paws, and he could taste it, he could taste the cum and it tasted so good, and it was filling him up, and it was everything he’d ever wanted.

Slowly, Boreas’ realized that he hadn’t blinked it what felt like ages. In fact, he couldn’t blink–his eyes had been replaced with glass beads now, the rest of his face now empty rubber like the rest of his body, but that would be fixed soon. Kuma would fill him up. Kuma would be good to him–he took care of his toys. He wouldn’t let him stay empty for long. He would fill him up with his cum, and he would be a good toy, and let his master do whatever he wanted to him. He wouldn’t think, he wouldn’t talk, he would just suck, and stay perfectly still, and obey.

Kuma let the balls go, and they dropped to the floor, dragging Boreas’ face down with them, creasing his neck, but the connection held and the mouth kept sucking it all down. Satisfied, he walked around behind his new toy, running his paw along the surface of his rubber body before coming to his ass. “Hmm…how about we make you a cock sucker at both ends, Boreas?” Kuma said, and touched the base of Boreas’ tail, and he felt his ass start sucking and vibrating like his throat was, and a moment later, Kuma slipped his hard cock into his ass and started fucking his toy roughly, denting in the rubber with each thrust. Boreas could feel the cum slosh about inside his body as the bear fucked him, and his cock responded, cumming down his throat, filling him up as fast as his rubber mouth could suck, the cum overflowing his arms, filling his gut like a small lake before slipping back and down into his hind legs, pooling in his knees and down to his feet.

Kuma shifted position and climbed up on Boreas’ back, his cock still planted deep in the bull bear’s vibrating hole, and he let out a deep grunt around his cigar. “Oh fuck yeah bitch, you’re so much more useful this way.”

He was useful, wasn’t he? Boreas knew Kuma was right, he’d always been so useless before. Hell, how much cum would he have been able to hold before? Not this much, certainly. And he was always talking and thinking before. A toy didn’t need to think, a toy just had to be there for it’s master to use. Yeah, he was much more useful as a cumdump, as sex toy for Kuma to use how he saw fit, and Boreas hoped he would be useful for a long time yet.

Kuma was bucking harder on Boreas’ back, and he was deflating a bit under the weight of the bear, sagging down a bit under him, but Kuma was almost finished, pumping a fresh load of cum into Boreas’ half full cavity, and Boreas could feel it splatter hard against the top of his chest, all the way across his body, and he was so happy. So happy that his master was using him like he’d been made to be used. Kuma climbed back down off of Boreas, and turned off the toy’s sucking ass, before walking around, bopping the rubber bull bear’s nose to turn off his mouth as well. He’d sucked down enough of the cum that the balls had become light enough that the rubber could hold them up, but they weren’t empty yet, and worse, he wasn’t full yet! He wasn’t even halfway full yet! He needed more, he needed it all! But he couldn’t talk, he just stayed there, and Kuma pulled out the cock and laughed. “Don’t worry cumdump–I’m gonna have some friends come over tomorrow, and we’ll get you so full you might explode. Still, I’m spent. How about we put you away for the night? Still, how about I fill you up with something else first? Something you’ll love just as much as my old cum I bet.”

He slipped his cock into the rubber mouth, and after a moment he started pissing into his toy, and the taste was overwhelming. It was almost better than the stale old cum that he’d already feasted on, and when the two mixed in his body, he could taste the foul combination, and it made him so happy to know he was just a waste receptacle for his master. He wanted to be full more than anything, he wanted to burst open, he wanted to explode. Through his glassy eyes he could see his cock leaking a bit of Kuma’s old cum onto the bed, and he screamed in his dull mind. That was his! He needed that, but his master didn’t notice, and the toy couldn’t do anything about it, watching as it dribbled out. Still, it felt good, and there would always be more. His master would keep him well fed–he was sure of that. He’d be full to bursting in no time at all.

The bear finished up and pulled out, and then hefted Boreas up by the tail, the toy now quite a bit heavier than before, and Kuma could hear his cum and piss sloshing around inside of him as he hefted him over to a sling next to the bed. He disconnected the leather bed, and then hooked the four chains up to the hooks he’d imbedded in the toy’s’ paws and hooves, and then rebent his joints so he looked like he was hanging with his arms and legs straight, his neck bent back so his mouth was accessible from the other side.

Boreas felt all of the cum and piss inside of him slide down the inner walls of his cavity, pooling in his empty head and against his back. He liked having his master’s cum in his head–it was so much better having cum and piss in there than brains. Lastly, Kuma picked up the rubber cock and balls and slotted it back into it’s proper socket, the heavy, grapefruit sized balls still taut with Kuma’s fluids and hanging heavy, and the bear let out a chuckle, pawing his cock. “Hell, gotta say, looking at you like that…maybe just one more fuck tonight.”

Kuma turned on Boreas’ sucking asshole again and fucked him, swinging the heavy rubber toy up and down on his massive cock, Boreas delighting in the sensation of his owner’s fluids sloshing about inside of him as he got fucked, and he loved the feeling of his cock leaking his master’s cum out the head of his rubber cock, feeling it run down his smooth belly and dribble onto the carpet beneath him. Just a dirty toy, for dirty play, and he couldn’t wait until the rest of Kuma’s friends came over tomorrow. He was a good toy after all, and he loved being used. It was the only thing he wanted, actually, and the only thing he’d ever want again.

There just had to be an easier way, didn’t there? Sure, diet and exercise would work, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put in that much effort. Part of the problem was that Vance was just a bit too clever for his own good. There always had to be a shortcut–some better way to do something, and he’d often waste hours trying to improve some process that he could have finished in less time if he’d just done it.

And so, that was how he ended up looking online for weight loss tricks, when he could have been researching diets and joining a gym. Still, he did find something a bit interesting–a hypnosis program which promised to give him the willpower to become the muscle beast he’d always wanted to be. Of course, Vance was convinced that he was too smart to ever be hypnotized, but he was curious, so he downloaded the free files and gave a listen, but as soon as the induction had played, he was nearly drooling on his computer.

The files, it turned out, weren’t really hypnosis files–they were a bit more advanced than that. Instead of suggestions, the high frequency white noise blasting into his ears was actually dismantling his brain bit by bit. Trapped inside, unable to move, Vance screamed as his intellect and his clever ideas were slowly replaced by brute instinct and drive. The files finally ended, and the beast in Vance’s body got up with a grunt and started working his body to exhaustion, no longer able to speak, no longer able to think about anything other than working out and building the body of his simple dreams.

Huey just wanted to be cool–he’d tried to be cool for most of high school but nothing seemed to work–he was just hopeless. Hell, even his tattoos had ended up coming off as “cute” instead of cool. His gauges just looking silly rather than hip. When he lamented these concerns to his friend, he recommended that Huey go to a different parlor downtown which specialized in more holistic changes. Still, he’d always liked his friend, and though he was cool, so he took his advice, and signed up at the shop for their “The Works” package.

“So, what do you want?” the guy asked when he went in for a consult.

“I wanna be cool,” Huey said, and the guy cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, being cool is more about believing you’re cool than anything. Still, if that’s what you want, we can deliver.”

Huey nodded, and he went to the shop on Saturday, but the entire process was a whole lot more intensive than he’d expected. They seemed to be tattooing him all over, and they even applied some strange creams to his head and face which itched horribly, but he toughed it out. When they finished everything, after hours of work, they finally let him stand up and take a look at himself, and he was horrified. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted.

They’d tattooed his entire body, from the tops of his feet to the base of his neck, down to his wrists. His hair had been dyed a disgusting blonde, and his small goatee had grown out into a thick horseshoe mustache, and the color difference made it obvious his hair was a dye job. He just gaped at himself, horrified, and then turned to the guy who’d done his consultation and said, “You said you’d make me cool! I look like a freak.”

“No, if you’ll remember, what I said is that being cool is all about believing you’re cool,” the man said, and then turned on the video monitor behind him, and Huey was sucked into the prismatic spiral in a matter of moments. When he woke up, he took another look at himself and smirked–damn, he looked cool as fuck. “Hey man, ya got a cig?” he asked the tattoo artist.

“I’ll trade you one for a blow job.”

“Sure man, that’s cool,” Hugh said, and swallowed the artist’s cock to the hilt.