Tag: dumb

Was this going to be enough? Would he finally be satisfied? Erik knew inside of himself that he wouldn’t, even as he trudged through the manure in the barn, the scent of the muck already making his dick rise up inside the stiff crotch of the overalls he’d taken from The Wall at The Center–the place which claimed that it could find work for everyone that came in, and in addition, promised that everyone would enjoy their new jobs. If they still didn’t feel quite right in their new positions, they could come back the next day, where they would be given a new occupation until they found the right one for everyone.

This was Erik’s fourth job he’d gotten from the Center so far. He’d worked in construction the first two days, finding himself enjoying the act of getting dusty and dirty, muddy and grimy and musky, every day finding someone around to fuck with in the mud. On the third day, which he spent emptying porta-potties, he’d fucked a nasty laborer inside one, stinking of shit, and cleaned out his filthy hole before fucking the shit out of him literally. And now, the overalls he’d picked from The Wall had landed him cleaning out the manure on a farm, and when he caught eyes with his fellow shit shoveler, they ended up rolling around in the muck, fucking and pissing and cumming over and over again.

He learned then, that The Center wasn’t really meant to provide people with jobs–it was designed to condition people for the jobs no one in their right mind would request. The next morning, he found himself pulled to the shit covered rubber overalls and gloves, he pulled them on and went to the gay bathhouse where he worked as a full service toilet. Still, by the end of the night, his now dull mind couldn’t imagine having any other job, and he knew he was lucky to be paid to do something he truly loved doing.

Into the Night of God – Part 1

Commissioned by Anonymous

Part 1 – The Accident

The excerpts that follow were taken from Dr. Nathan Monroe’s personal journal.

***

August 16th, 2012

Just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, the world surprises you. I mean, as a doctor, I’ve seen some pretty grisly scenes, sure, and ones worse than this I suppose, but still, it’s funny how little things can lead to horrific catastrophes. Patient Z, as I’ll call him (I have to call him that not just because of confidentiality, but we don’t have any way to ID him as of yet, but I’ll get to that) was admitted around 3:30 this afternoon after a car accident on Route 93. One of the farmers out that way reported he’d seen the truck Z had been driving run off the road after hitting his dog. The man had tried to swerve out of the way, apparently, but not soon enough, but even worse than the dog dying, well, he’d crashed hard enough for the truck to burst into flames.

The farmer had seen it happen, and had run inside to call for help, but by the time he’d gotten back out, the flames had swept into the cab. The farmer (I feel bad calling him that, but no one had gotten his name that I’d spoken to about it, so I don’t know it!) had run over and pulled the man out, but not before the unconscious man had caught on fire.

It isn’t pretty, I can say that. The burns cover about forty percent of his body, which, I suppose, could be worse, but most of the damage was incurred at the extremities and his face. I got a look at him today, shortly, and well, it isn’t pretty. I honestly don’t think we’ll be able to save his hands and feet, and even if we did, they’re so damaged he’ll never use them again. Amputation, I think, might actually be best–at least then he won’t have a constant reminder. Well, amputation would be a constant reminder, too, I suppose, but a negative rather than a positive. Is it worse to have something you can’t use, or nothing at all?

Still, funny, isn’t it? You try and do the right thing, you try to miss the dog, and you end up comatose in the hospital, burned all over, about to lose your hands and feet. How fucked up is that? We need to see if we can save his hands and feet first, if not, then amputation will be best, and help get rid of most of the burnt flesh. The face, well, we can probably get a plastic surgeon to fix the worst eventually, but I don’t know. It might heal well enough that it might just scar badly while remaining mostly functional–it’s too early to tell.

On top of all of that, we have no idea who he is. When the farmer got the guy out of the truck, still on fire, something happened to the patient’s wallet, so we have no ID on him at all. And to top it all off, by the time the firefighters and ambulance got there, the car had already exploded. We don’t have details yet, but they can’t even find the license plates. It’s all very strange, actually, but that’s an issue for the police, not for me. To top it all off, he’s in a coma, probably after sustaining some head trauma in the crash, so we can’t ask him either. Still, we’ll know who he is soon enough, once the police investigate, but I’m not looking forward to that phone call. There was no wedding ring, so I hope he wasn’t married, but he’s young enough to still have parents. Gah, how horrible is that, to have this happen to your son? I can’t think about that, it’s too awful. I just have to get him better, or as better as he can be, after something like this.

***

August 20th 2012

Well, as I suspected, in the case of Patient Z, amputation was necessary. The burns were just too extensive, and the tissue is already showing signs warning signs of wet gangrene. As awful as it may be, it saves us the trouble of treating the burns there, so in the long run, it might be better for Z. For his arms, we were able to save most of the forearm, cutting just about the wrist. His legs were worse, and unfortunately, we were forced to disarticulate at the knee. Still, it has made his prognosis better, I believe. The remaining burns are not as severe and appear to be free of infection, which is lucky. Those on his face, aren’t as severe as I first thought, and seem to be healing well. I’m hopeful–now we just need him to wake up, so we can figure out who he is!

Now, leaving work aside for a moment, I submit that I have a date for Friday night! I know, who would have thought that out in this rural shithole of homophobia, I would actually find someone who not only was gay, but who was willing to risk coming out to me? It’s a bit surreal, actually, but not unwelcome. It’s been lonely out here, even if the money is alright. I thought I would be able to handle it, but as you know, it’s been rough.

The guy, as a matter of fact, is the farmer who saved Patient Z–how strange is that? I was checking in on him today, when the farmer (whose name is Jerome, I have finally learned) when he came by, asking about Z’s condition. I updated him on what had happened, and he said he and the police had searched his property for anything that might have helped identify him, but found nothing. He wondered if he’d been driving without plates for some reason, but we both agreed that was the police’s problem, not ours.

Still, he’s surprisingly bright, for a roughneck. Articulate, a nice sense of humor, but definitely a country guy, which as you know, doesn’t really appeal to me. Of course, me being a bit flamboyant cued him into my possible orientation, and while his question was a bit crude, it was nice to know that I wasn’t the only “faggot” around. He isn’t really my type, I must say. He’s a bit older–probably around 40 or so, and a bit heavyset–definitely a bear. Plus, he had a strange smell about him. Not unappealing, I suppose, but I suspect he’s a smoker, which is a definite turnoff for me. A friend would be nice though, and he didn’t seem very romantically interested himself–mostly he sounded lonely, which would be two of us. I’m going over to his house for dinner on Friday though, so wish me luck. Hopefully it won’t be a complete disaster.

***

August 25th 2012

Well, it wasn’t my usual kind of date, but I suppose I could call it a success. It was easy enough to find, I just had to look for the remnants of Z’s accident on Route 93, which is kind of awful. (Z, by the way, hasn’t woken yet, but that’s all I’ll say about that for the moment.) As I’d expected, Jerome is indeed a smoker, but not tobacco–it’s some sort of strange plant he grows himself. Supposedly, or so he claims, it’s a much cleaner smoke than tobacco, something the Native Americans around here used to grow or something, I don’t remember. Actually (and I hate admitting this) I don’t remember a whole lot about the evening. I must have had a bit too much to drink, because the evening is pretty much a blur until morning, when he woke me up, in his bed, with a rough fuck.

Did I mention how hot he is? Fuck, I love that big belly of his, and I never knew that feeling someone that hairy next to you could be so…fucking hot. I mean, I’ve always had a thing for roughnecks, why else would I have moved out to the sticks to work at a hospital like this one? Funny, that never occurred to me before, huh, but it’s true. Anyway, so Jerome fucked me, and to be nice, since he’d made me dinner the night before, I got up and made him breakfast (naked, I might add–I know, I’m such a bad boy) and after we ate, he fucked me again–God, I can’t enough of him. We’ve been sending each other filthy texts all day since I left, and I just can’t stop thinking about him, about how hot he is, about how…how safe I feel with him. He’s the kind of guy who you just…feel like opening up to, you know? The kind of guy who you just innately trust. Still, I need to try and take it slow, these quick burn relationships are the ones I tend to rush into and that bite me in the ass later, so I’m going to hold off as best I can.

***

August 26th 2012

Alright, so this is one of those angry entries, you know, the ones where my hand is shaking, and my face is red, so I’m just going to keep it short, and get it out of my system. So, since my date on Friday ran over into Saturday, I needed to go it Sunday morning to get some work done, which is fine with me, since most everyone is at church anyway, so the whole building was quiet. Z’s room happens to be on the way to my office, and as I was coming down the hallway, I saw Jerome of all people letting himself out of his room.

Weird, right? So I stop him and ask him what he was doing in there, and he tells me he was just checking up on him, which I suppose sounded reasonable enough, but what followed, well, it was fucking inexcusable. He was horny, apparently, because he pulled me into the room (which was really smoky by the way) and proceeded to fuck me right there, up against the wall, in the hospital, in a patient’s room! Fuck, I was so…well, I mean, it was hot, but just so fucking wrong. And…and it was so weird, the entire time, he kept telling me that–fuck, it sounds so rediculous writing it down–telling me that I was his God, and that I should be on my knees worshiping him day and night. How messed up is that? He left, and I just sat in my office, angry for a few hours, before I finally called him and told him off, telling him I never wanted to hear from him ever again.

Look, that’s all I can write, I just can’t deal with this right now.

***

October 23rd, 2012

I admit, that I had been losing hope in Z’s case, hardly anyone wakes up after a week, much less two months, but finally, he’s out of it, for better or worse. Still, I must say that while I expected there to be some cognitive issues…the symptoms he’s presenting with are rather strange, to say the least. On the positive side, he seems to have had no loss as far as his cognitive abilities go. He still is capable of processing language, of speaking, of visual and spatial reasoning, and yet…well, there’s the amnesia for starters. We still have no idea who Z is, and it turns out that he has no idea who he is either. The amnesia seems to be centered around the accident itself, as we expected, but beyond that, appears to be rather localized around his identity and his own, personal past. Nothing about what he was doing, where he was traveling to, where he was from, family, friends, just all of it gone.

Still, that’s not the strangest thing. I went in to see him, and as soon as I came close, he…started screaming in terror. Just, abject terror, and tried to worm his way off the bed as best he could, and the nurses were forced to restrain him as best they could. I left the room, and he calmed down a few minutes later, garbling something about “the night man” and “smoke.” Apparently something about me had scared him half to death, I’m not sure what. The nurses gave him some meds to calm him down, and when I entered next, I was able to explain his situation. Once he got calm, he was able to tell me that I smelled like “the night man,” which I don’t understand at all, but he was kind enough to tell me that I wasn’t him, and I promised I’d do my best to keep him safe. I know, silly right? But he seemed relieved.

Regardless, my explanation didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. When I tried to explain what had happened to him, and about his amputations, he refused to believe that he had ever had hands or feet. How strange is that? I have no idea what to make of it–I’m not a psychologist, and there isn’t one at the hospital capable of dealing with this kind of psychosis. I’m going to recommend his transfer to a larger hospital. We can deal with his injuries, but his mental stability really worries me.

***

October 24th, 2012

Well, just when I thought yesterday couldn’t get stranger, I get home from the hospital, and what should I find on my doorstep? Flowers. From Jerome. I mean, I haven’t heard from him in weeks, not since I blew up at him after we fucked at the hospital that day. Still, it was a nice, if belated gesture, and I don’t know what kind of flowers they were, but they smelled just like him, and like that smoke of his, and I admit, I got a bit of a hard on thinking about him again. I didn’t feel like talking to him really, but I brought them in and put them in some water, not wanting them to go to waste, and that evening, my phone rang, and it was Jerome.

I thought about not picking it up, but he had sent me the flowers, so I thought I could at least hear what he had to say. We talked for I don’t know how long–hours? And I missed him so much, that when he told me to come over, I couldn’t stop myself, and over at the farm, on the porch, I got down on my knees, and told him how sorry I was for how I’d acted. I don’t know what had come over me, to be honest, he was so sexy, I was the one who’d begged him to fuck my ass in the hospital–he hadn’t forced me to do anything. How could I have forgotten that? Still, he was good enough to forgive me, but he refused to fuck me until after I’d licked his whole body clean (which was so fucking hot, especially his sweaty ass crack, fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about it) and god, if it wasn’t the best fuck of my life after that.

I think I love him. No, I know I love him, my heart just aches being away from him like this, and at home, I just smell the flowers he sent me all the time and think of him, and how much I love him, how much I want to worship him, and how I’d do anything for him anything he asked me to, because he’s so smart, way smarter than me. I mean, he knew just what to do about Z, didn’t he? He gave me this list of drugs to prescribe, but I can’t call him Z anymore. Jerome’s right, Z’s a stupid name, I should call him Bruin, like he does. Isn’t that a good name for a dog? But anyway, he knew just what to prescribe for him, and I called the hospital and withdrew my transfer request because of course we can treat him here, just like Jerome says.

He just sent me a text! He’s horny and wants my ass–I have to go, I’ll write more later.

***

December 6th, 2012

Gosh, has it really been that long since I last wrote something? Still, I have been really busy. Jerome’s been putting me to work on the farm, and it’s getting close to harvest time, not to mention all of the cooking, cleaning and fucking I’ve been doing for him. Still, it’s a small price to pay. The only patient I’ve had any time for is Bruin, and he’s really starting to improve, I think. Those drugs Jerome suggested I prescribe have really helped his clarity of mind–he’s remembering more and more these days, the poor pup. What an awful thing, to be in a hit and run like that? Very traumatic, especially for a puppy dog like him. Sure, he still has some issues, like he keeps forgetting he’s a pup, and thinks he’s human. How silly is that? But he’s doing a lot better. Jerome thinks we’ll be able to take him home soon. Still, I wish I could do something about his night terrors–nothing seems to be working. His screams are waking up the entire hospital at times, but I just don’t know what to do.

Actually, I haven’t been at the hospital very much lately, because I’ve been getting these splitting headaches whenever I try and do my work. It seems like anytime I try to do something more complicated than cooking Jerome dinner or washing his clothes, my head starts beating itself against a wall. It means I can’t do a lot of stuff I used to enjoy, like read my medical journals or do crosswords and stuff like that, not that I really have much time anyway. When I tell Jerome about the headaches he just tells me I should smoke more–oh, did I tell you about that? Jerome got me hooked, I admit it, and the stuff is nice. Still, I don’t think it’s the same plant Jerome smokes, or if it is, it just makes me feel stupid and silly and really horny when I smoke it. He tells me that it’ll help with the headaches but it doesn’t do much at all really.

Work, with the headaches, has gotten really difficult, but someone else is going to have to deal with it this weekend, because I’m moving in with Jerome! Isn’t that exciting? I already got rid of most of my things–Jerome said I didn’t need them anymore, and he was nice enough to talk to the bank about settling my mortgage, so I’m all set. Not that I haven’t been living over there nearly full time anyway, but it’ll still be nice to make it official.

***

December 11th, 2012

Fuck.

Naturally, I take a weekend off, and everything goes to hell. Thank god Jerome was there, or I don’t know what would have happened.

I’m getting ahead of myself. So I spent the weekend moving my things to the farm, so I wasn’t at the hospital. However, from the sound of things, Bruin’s night terrors and screams only got worse, and apparently, one of the night nurses just went and lost it, took a scalpel, and tried to cut his throat. I mean, thank God Jerome was there, watching out for Bruin, or he might have died. The police took him into custody, but our poor pup–I don’t know if he’ll be able to bark, but he certainly won’t be speaking anymore. Jerome sounds hopeful, and that makes me feel good, but still, how crazy is that?

Jerome wants us to bring him home, and I agree. He’ll be safest home with us, taking care of him. Besides, he’s Jerome’s pup after all, where else would he go?

But didn’t he I don’t, it’s another headache coming on

Hurt so gotta stop

Fuck, oh my god, it’s never been this bad,

I…I remember, he’s not…not a pup? But then

Don’t know how long I can keep fighting it, so much pain. He’s not a pup, I think Jerome’s done something. I tried to stop smoking but it hurts so much, I feel like I might pass out any moment. I hear his truck, he’s coming in, I have to stop him, I have to stop this, but hide this first, where he won’t find it, and hope I’m strong enough.

***

[Undated]

Jerome was right I was thinking too hard. I’m just a stupid slut after all just his stupid slut and Bruin is his pup and of course Bruin needs to come home with us. Well, I’m not just any stupid slut, I’m his stupid slut. Jerome own’s my faggot ass, or at least that’s what he says to me when he’s fucking me. He fucks me so hard, I love it when he fucks me. I love it when anything fucks me, that’s what Jerome said, Jerome said my ass exists to be fucked, and it’s a shame that such a smart guy had to be attached to such a fantastic ass but that’s not a problem anymore I’m just a dumb slut like Jerome wants me to be yep just a dumb slut no more headaches for me just fucking and sucking and doing chores for Jerome because I love him I love him so much diary I can’t tell you because it’s like as big as the sky.

I’m not supposed to be writing in you by the way so this has to be our little secret. Jerome says I can’t have any secrets that I can’t tell him anything but I haven’t told him about you, and we’ve been good friends for so long I’m sure one little secret won’t hurt, right?

I can’t wait for Bruin to come home. Jerome says he’s been watching over him all nights and getting him started on his obedience training but that when he’s home the two of us will make him a proper puppy, and eventually Bruin will fuck me isn’t that exciting!!! Jerome can’t wait for Bruin to try on the paws Jerome made for him, I saw them and they look perfect Bruin will walk around just like a real doggy, and Jerome can’t wait to teach Bruin how to fuck me he wants all the animals to fuck my hole he said and I can’t wait because I love to get fucked I’m practicing now diary on a big dildo Jerome just gave me it feels so good I’m gonna go practice now and hide you again where Jerome won’t find you. Goodbye diary I don’t think I’ll have much time to write again but I’ll keep you safe I promise. And Bruin too. I promised him too, can’t forget that too. Ok I have to hide you now, gotta keep you safe. I’ll try to write soon I swear.

Birthday Boy

Commissioned by Anonymous

Someone commissioned me to expand this caption from a few months ago. Remember, if you have a favorite caption you’d love to see me expand, I’m still open for commissions!

***

Oliver felt his head come back to him slowly, as he tried to remember what had happened to him. He’d been coming home from work late, on his usual route, when a van had pulled up next to him, and some men had jumped out, drugging him and dragging him inside the van. His head hurt and was very foggy, but he shook himself awake as fast as he could, and got his bearings–but that didn’t help make sense of what had happened.

He was in a small room which had been decorated to look like a baby’s nursery, all bright blues, toys in every corner, and he was in a massive crib, on his knees, with plastic handcuffs holding his wrists to the bars. He was wearing some ludicrous outfit too–a full fleece onesie with his hands mittened so he couldn’t even grab anything, and as he struggled, he realized he had something else on underneath that–a diaper. “What the–what the fuck is this?” he shouted, “Let me out of here, you sick fucks!”

He struggled for a few more minutes, and then he heard a click of a lock and the door opened, and in stepped a massive bear of a man. He was probably in his fifties or maybe even his sixties, and something about him, maybe it was his smiling, beaming face, or his fuzzy beard, he just looked…sweet and kind, and like someone Oliver might have wanted to meet in any other situation than this one. “Hows the baby today? It’s your birthday today! Isn’t that exciting? How does baby like his birthday outfit? I think you look super handsome in it.”

“What the hell, let me go man, come on…” Oliver said, pulling at the cuffs again, but the big man grabbed his wrist hard enough for it to hurt, and he froze.

“Now, now, daddy can’t have his newest baby boy getting out on his first birthday, now can he?” Daddy said, “No, we have to keep you secure for a little while, until I can trust you to stay in your crib like a good baby.”

“I’m not staying in here asshole, let me out, let me–” he said, but the man pulled out a big pacifier and stuffed it in Oliver’s open mouth and strapped it around the back of his head so he couldn’t spit it out.

“Babies aren’t supposed to talk like adults, you know. I think this’ll keep you quiet until you’re talking more like yourself,” the man said, and then walked over to a massive TV on the wall across from where Oliver was handcuffed to the crib, “Now, I can’t play with you until a bit later, so we’ll just have to keep you occupied with the electronic babysitter for now, eh little boy? And I have just the show for a little baby like you to watch, I’m sure it’ll keep your attention.”

He turned on the television, and the bright cheery colors of some toddler’s TV show came on, and then the man gave Oliver a forced peck on the cheek and left the room. Alone again, Oliver renewed his struggles for a few minutes before he tired himself out again, and without really thinking about it, he started watching the show on the big television. It was so big that he couldn’t really avoid it after all, and it turned out to be really soothing, actually. The show was simplistic and relaxing, and the music sounded like Mozart, but a bit too quiet to hear clearly, and without realizing it, he started sucking on his pacifier, his eyes glazing over as they focused on the TV, and then suddenly, it shut off.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and realized he must have dozed off while watching the show, or something. It was obvious that some time must have passed, because his legs were asleep from staying the same position, and he just ached. He looked over and saw that Daddy had turned off the TV, and was coming over to the crib where he was. “Well birthday boy? How are you doing? Did you enjoy the show so far? You’ve been watching for a few hours now. I bet it’s time for a diaper change.”

Diaper change? Oliver had forgotten he was wearing a diaper, and his cheeks flushed as he felt the cold sensation around his groin–had he pissed himself while he was watching the show? How could he have done that? How had he not even noticed it happening? He tried to keep Daddy from undoing his onesie and checking, but it was obvious what had happened, but Daddy just beamed. “What a good boy, going pee pee in his diaper just like he should. Still, no poop yet though. That’s ok, you’re a very good boy for going pee pee just like Daddy wants.”

Oliver tried to fight back as Daddy undid the handcuffs, but he felt so weak for some reason, like he just couldn’t get his hands and feet to do what he wanted. In the end, while he fought as best he could, the big man managed to undo Oliver’s onesie, change his diaper, and get him sitting up in the crib, before removing Oliver’s pacifier.

“Pwease,” Oliver immdediately begged, “Pwease Daddy, please just let me go, I don’t like it here, I’m scared.” After Oliver spoke, he realized that he’d called the big man Daddy, and that…that he thought of his as Daddy too. His Daddy, his big, important, amazing Daddy who he…he loved? No, no that so wrong, what was going on? “Pwease, I won’t tell anyone, I just wanna to go home.”

“Silly baby, you are home. You’re home here with Daddy, safe and sound. Now, here’s baby’s bottle, drink it all down like a good boy.” Daddy shoved the nipple of the bottle between Oliver’s lips, and while he told himself he wouldn’t drink it, for some reason as soon as the nipple was in his mouth, he couldn’t help but suck on it, and it did taste…kind of good. It was milk, but it had some other, slightly medicinal tang to it, but with his Daddy urging him on, he drained the whole thing, and the warm solution left him feeling full, and a bit groggy.

“That’s a good boy, you like being a good boy for Daddy, don’t you?”

Oliver felt himself nod, and agreeing with his Daddy sent a surprising jolt of pleasure through him, and his cock got hard in his clean diaper. He blushed, and was thankful his Daddy couldn’t see what had happened–that would have been embarrassing. Still, he was sleepy–it was hard even keeping his eyes open. He slumped over in the crib, fighting against sleep as long as he could, but Daddy turned on the music from the TV show again, and it was so soothing, so comforting, he couldn’t help but drift off almost immediately.

He woke up hours later feeling…good. Relaxed and happy and just…at ease. Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so nicely, and he rolled over, feeling the shit he’d packed into his clean diaper during his nap squish around, but even that felt kind of good. He’d been a good boy, filling his diaper with poopoo like daddy wanted, and he’d even peed too. Daddy would be happy when he came in to check on him, he just knew he would. He loved making Daddy happy, he loved seeing that bearded face smile, it made him feel so good, and made his pee pee hard. Just thinking about, his pee pee was hard even.

He humped the floor of the crib a couple of times before Oliver realized what he was doing, and what he’d been thinking. He snapped out of it and rolled over, disgusted that he’d apparently lost all control of his pissing and shitting for some reason. Still, he had to get out of here. If he could just find a weapon, or something to fight Daddy off with…but he didn’t want to hurt Daddy…did he? He shook his head, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and then…then nothing.

He looked up, and the rim of the crib was so high–how could he get up there? He could…stand? He tried pushing himself up onto his feet, but it was like his body had forgotten every position other than crawling. He managed to make a little progress by gripping the bars of the crib which helped him balance, but he was too weak to pull himself over. He was just a little baby anyway, he needed to stay safe in his crib. If he got out, Daddy would be sad, and he didn’t want Daddy to be sad and disappointed in his little baby, did he?

What was happening to him? He felt so strange. His thoughts felt like they were pushing their way through some sort of thick muck, pushing back against something he couldn’t even sense, something that was crushing the life out of him. He was just…just so scared, and he didn’t know what was happening, and then he was crying and bawling as loud as he could. He wanted Daddy, he wanted Daddy more than anything. Daddy would make him feel better, Daddy would know what to do.

After a couple of minutes, sure enough the door opened and Daddy stepped through, cooing at him, and he hugged Oliver close, patting him on the back and whispering softly in his ear until he calmed down. “There there little baby, what’s the matter? Do you need your diaper changed?”

“Ya Daddy, I went pee pee and poopoo, but I scared Daddy, what wrong wit’ me?” Oliver said, not quite able to get the words to come out of his mouth right.

“Oh, that’s ok baby, I’ll just get you cleaned up, alright?”

“But I scared, Daddy.”

“Sush,” Daddy said, pulling Oliver into a tight hug, “I’ll keep you safe, ok? You just focus on being a good baby for me, and then everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

Oliver nodded, still crying a little, but he started sucking on his thumb, and that made him feel better. It felt good to just…suck, comforting, like Daddy. He laid still as Daddy undressed him and changed his diaper, congratulating him on going poo-poo like a good baby, and seeing how proud his Daddy was of him, Oliver felt his peepee get hard, and a little too late he realized that his daddy could see it.

“Uh oh,” Daddy said, looking down, “It looks like someone’s gotten a little excited. That’s ok, but we’d better diaper you up in case you have an accident, right?” Daddy diapered Oliver back up, his peepee staying hard the entire time, and he felt such an odd mix of awkwardness, embarrassment and happiness that he nearly started crying again.

When he was all set, Daddy decided it was time for Oliver to have some playtime, and Daddy let him out of the crib. Oliver immediately looked up at the door handle, but it seemed…so far away, and he had no idea what might be on the other side. That was scary. He was safe in here with his Daddy, why would he want to leave? He had a very fun afternoon playing with his daddy, stacking blocks and then knocking them over, and they even played with dolls for a little bit in a big dollhouse Daddy showed him, where two big daddy dolls lived with their big baby doll.

“But where’s the Mommy?” Oliver asked, searching for the other doll.

“Silly baby, there isn’t a Mommy, you know that. Daddy’s take care of big babies just fine. You do like having a Daddy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Oliver shouted, and threw himself at his Daddy, hugging him, “I love you Daddy,” Oliver said.

“I love you too, baby,” Daddy said into Oliver’s ear, and felt his Baby give a shudder against him, and Oliver pulled away, redfaced. That had felt so strange, his pee pee had gotten hard, and then, it had peed something into his diaper in big spurts, but it wasn’t pee…

“Did Baby have an accident again?” Daddy asked, and Oliver nodded, letting his Daddy change his diaper again, and after that play time was over. Daddy gave him another bottle to drink, and turned the TV on again before leaving, and Oliver sat in his crib, watching the TV, sucking on his thumb and drinking his bottle like a good Baby.

There was something strange going on, something wrong with all of this, but Oliver couldn’t get his thoughts in order. Every time he did, they’d just sink out of his grasp or scatter, and every time he tried, it was like there were even fewer pieces than before. Still, as he watched the TV, the gibberish the characters had been speaking was starting to become clear, and everything they said was true.

…feels so good to be a Baby. You love your daddy very much, more than anything. Daddy makes your pee pee hard. It feels good having a dirty diaper. Having a dirty, filthy diaper makes your pee pee hard. It feels good to cum in your diaper. It feels good to be dumb. You’re just a dumb baby. You can’t talk. You can’t walk. You’re just a dumb, horny, dirty baby, and you love it…

As he watched, Oliver felt poo flood into his diaper again, and he peed too, but it didn’t scare him–it felt good. In fact, it made his pee pee hard again, and he started rubbing the front of it with his mittened hands until he moaned loudly and felt his body spasm. The same thing that had happened when his Daddy hugged him earlier happened again, and he shot a load of special pee into his diaper again.

“Pee feel goo goo…” Oliver said, and shoved his thumb into his drooling mouth. Daddy would be coming in soon, and he’d change baby’s dirty diaper, but he’d enjoy it for a little while longer first…and maybe…maybe he’d rub his pee pee a few more times. Slowly, Oliver’s mind dwindled until all of his doubts disappeared, and he managed to cum in his diaper two more times before his Daddy came back in and changed him. He was happy to see that in the baby’s empty eyes all of his intellect had disappeared, and as soon as his daddy set him back in the crib and given him his bottle, little Oliver sucked it down, cooing and giggling as he watched the TV set, the final bits of programming implanting themselves into his ruined mind, ensuring that he would remain a baby for the rest of his life. Tomorrow, he’d be put up for adoption, and after some personalized conditioning, ensuring that the new fathers would get exactly the kind of baby they wanted, he would be shipped off to his new home, where he’d make his new family very, very happy–daddy was sure of it.

Identity Crises Part 2

Commissioned by Scot158f

***WARNING*** This has been pretty cleanish up until now, but it’s only going to get worse from here. In this section: inanimate TF (smoke related), farting, and scat.

Terry watched the eight foot tall man tromp down the stairs, his hair mostly grey, a massive, tangled beard stretching all the way down to his belly button, the rest of his body covered in grey hairs as well. He had a massive, taut get, but the rest of his body was packed full of muscle…and as he came downstairs, Terry caught a whiff of his daddy’s musk and felt a shiver and moan rip through him. He loved how his daddy smelled after one of daily workouts, it was the best.

“Hey son,” Caleb asked, “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Just cartoons,” Terry said, and he looked at the TV, a bit surprised. Sure, he was a teenager, but he still liked watching them, right? Then why had he expected it to be some show about food? It was strange, that was for sure. “Are you done with your workout?”

“Sure am–nice and musky, just how you like me, boy. You want my jock?”

“Aww hell yeah dad,” Terry said, “You know I’ll never turn down your stinking jockstrap.”

“Heh, well, I’ll trade you my sweaty jock for a smoke, boy. Get ready, would ya?”

“Sure thing!” Terry said, and got out of the recliner, but his body just felt odd. He was chubby, like always, but shouldn’t he be…well, fatter? And something about his cock and balls, they were…heavy for some reason, and…hard? He reached down out of curiosity, and peered over his small, soft gut and just gaped at his cock and balls–his cigar and pipes, he meant, of course. He didn’t have a cock and balls like his dad…which was…weird, right? Instead he just had a cigar jutting out from his crotch–a long one, almost nine inches, and below that, swinging heavily and clacking into each other, two massive pipes…but that was how things had always been right?

No…No this was too much. This was all too much, and he pushed back against the wave in his mind, but it was too hard, too all encompassing. He knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things should be. He didn’t live with his daddy…he…he was the daddy. And he had a normal cock, and it was small, or was it big? And he’d been–fatter? Thinner? More muscular? But older, definitely older.

“Boy, get smokin’–I ain’t got all night,” Caleb said from where he was sitting in his chair, and Terry blushed, rushing over to his smoking stuff, his worries forgotten in the sudden fear that he might disappoint his dad somehow. He walked over and started packing his pipes full of tobacco, the sensation of the wood and briar both familiar and…so strange. Would it hurt…when he lit his pipes and his cigar? Of course not, it had never hurt before, right? But how would he know–he’d never done this before, but if he’d never done this before, how was he packing his pipes so well, and so evenly, tamping the tobacco down carefully, making sure he could pull an even draw from his lungs once he’d lit them? Still trying to understand what was happening, he walked over to where his dad was lounging back, his jockstrap off, his ten inch cock erect in the air, and before Terry even realized what was happening, his dad had picked him up–all of him, and was dropping him down on his cock. He opened his ass like he’d been trained to, letting all ten inches slide up his ass, making him shiver, and as it did, he saw his cigar grow a bit, like it always did when he was horny.

“Oh fuck dad, that feels so good…” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah? Well go ahead and smell this jock of mine, and tell me what you think,” he said, and pressed the wet mesh into his son’s face, watching him take it in his mouth and suck some of the sweaty grime off of it, the boy’s cigar cock growing a bit longer still, now about a foot in length, jutting up between them. “Yeah, that’s it–now how about we get you lit?”

Caleb picked up a big zippo off the table next to him, and started with his son’s cigar cock, lighting the end until it had a bright red tip, and then worked on his bowls, the smoke already pouring out of his son’s mouth by the time he had them both lit–and then he locked lips with Terry, the jock caught between them, and he inhaled, drawing the smoke up through his son’s body and into his own through the mesh, cigar burning bright orange as he sucked it down, and the same with his boy’s pipes.

“Mmmm…” Caleb said, when he finally pulled away, “Now that’s a nice smoke.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Terry said, “Your jock isn’t so bad either.”

Caleb laughed, and pulled his son close, taking one of his son’s meaty nipples between his teeth and sucking more smoke out through that, feeling his son gasp and clench his big cock with his ass, and he took a moment to admire his boy’s body. He was growing up to be a beautiful cub–not a furry or muscular as his dad, but with a nice chubby gut and moobs, and a hot set of junk, which Caleb used at every opportunity. He leaned in and took another drag off his son’s other nipple, chewing on his nipple a bit and making Terry groan, before exhaling the smoke into Terry’s mouth, filling him to the brim with it.

They stayed like that for a long while, Terry impaled on his dad’s cock the entire time. Caleb would take a long drag off his son’s cock, and relax back, letting his son spend a few minutes cleaning off his sweaty body, the heat of the pipes and cigar resting between them. As Terry’s cock burned down further and further, Caleb started spitting into his hand, lubing it up with the cooling ash and spreading it up and down his body and his cub’s, streaking them both black, and then Terry would lick it off, hungry for the smoke and anything it made. As horny as Terry was though, his cigar cock couldn’t grow as fast as his dad smoked it, but he did his best to keep it as big as he could.

As his daddy smoked him down, the worries and concerns which Terry had been wrestling with seemed to diminish slowly. This–this here–was important, not those imagined things. Being smoked by his dad, fucked on his massive cock, cleaning off his sweaty body like a good boy–those are what mattered more than anything else in the whole world. His dad was getting more and more excited, and started working his cock around in his ass, and then he wrapped his massive hands under his armpits and started fucking Terry up and down on his massive cock. The sensation of being powerless in the hands of his daddy–it was turning him on so much, his cigar was growing almost as fast as it was burning, and smoke was pouring out of his mouth and tits now. “Oh fuck dad, oh fuck! Fill me up, pump your boy full of your daddy seed!” Terry moaned.

“Oh yeah boy, burn that fuckin’ cigar down–I don’t want anything left but a fucking nub!”

With a shudder, Terry came, smoke gouting out of his mouth, and Caleb locked lips with him, inhaling as much of it as he could, his son’s sweet smoke pushing his own cock over the edge, and he pumped his load into Terry’s hole, his ass milking him as dry as he could, the cigar, now less than an inch long, burning out between their bodies, the pipes below empty as well. Still, Caleb took a few moments to suck his son dry, getting as much smoke out of him as he could, and then he let Terry pull himself up off his softening cock, and get down.

“Thanks son, that was a real nice smoke,” Caleb said, and then hefted himself up off the chair, and stretched. “Damn, I think I’m too old for this,” he said with a chuckle.

“Ha, you’ll never be too old for me,” Terry said, and gave him a hug. He only came up to his massive dad’s chest, but when the big man wrapped his arms around him too, he’d never felt so safe and secure in his whole life, especially since his wife had left him.

Wife? Wait…no, his…mom?

When Terry pulled away, he realized he didn’t know if he had a mom, and he looked up at his dad, and asked, “Dad, who…who was my Mom? I don’t…” The look of surprise that crossed his dad’s face seemed strange to Terry, almost like he hadn’t even been expecting the question. And why would he, really? It was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He just…didn’t have a mom. That was normal, wasn’t it? “I–I’m sorry, just forget I asked.”

“No! No, uh…don’t worry about it. Look, I have to go do something upstairs for a bit, but then I’ll come back down, and we can talk about it, alright? Why don’t you just get your pipes cleaned out?”

“Sure, dad,” Terry said, and blushed as his dad’s big hand tousled his hair.

The big man tromped off and squeezed his way up the stairs, and Terry thought he heard him say something as he left, “Man, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dad–that was way harder than I thought. Being old kind of sucks–I don’t know how he does it. Still, it’s better than being a teenager.”

Terry just watched him go, wondering what in the world he was talking about. But those creeping doubts came back, and when he reached down and knocked the last bit of ash from his cigar, and worried for a minute that he’d destroyed his cock–but that was silly. All he had to do was get horny, and it would grow back, like always. Always–had it always been like this? Had he always been a teenager, with his big manly dad? With pipes and cigars where his cock and balls ought to be?

It took Terry a second to realize that he was having a panic attack–nearly hyperventilating–and all he wanted to do was run upstairs and find his daddy and make sure everything was ok, but he got a grip on himself, and walked over to his smoke gear, and focused on cleaning himself out, knocking the ash out of the bowls of his pipes, before running big pipe cleaners through them, shivering a bit. He wished he wasn’t so ticklish, but it just felt so strange, running the fuzzy wires up his pipes. It took quite a while for him to get it all clean, and he was just about done with his second pipe, when he heard his dad coming back downstairs. Good, maybe they could talk–Terry had…some questions for him, and he really wanted some answers.

The reality wave hit him again as his son turned the corner, but he barely even noticed it. One second he was cleaning out one of the big pipes stuck to his crotch, and then the next he had the pipe up in his hand. The sudden shift caught him off guard, and he just stared at it for a second, then at himself. Hell, he was normal sized–he wasn’t a short cub anymore–in fact, he seemed to be about seven feet tall now, and the sudden vertigo caught him off guard, as he wobbled a bit, rebalancing to counterbalance his massive gut with his fat ass. Wait, he was fat again? Wait, fat…again? And a cub?

It had happened again, he was sure of it now–things were changing, but how? Why? He looked down at himself, but everything seemed right…didn’t it? The brief moment of clarity was already gone, and he couldn’t hold onto any of what had just happened–this was how he’d always looked. His massive gut ganging down past his waist, several inches falling down below the food and ash stained wife beater he wore all the time, and he reached around and gave his ass crack a good scratch where it popped up over the top of his ratty boxers, and then itched one of his hairy pits for good measure. What had he been thinking about again? He shrugged his shoulders and went back to packing his pipe, and as he did, let off a big belch.

“Hot damn Pa, that was a good one. Taste as good comin’ up as it did going down?” Caleb asked, picking a cigar out of a humidor, before biting off the end and lighting it up.

“Ha, sure as hell did,” Terry said, and then looked a bit puzzled, when he heard the deep twang of his own voice, “What in tarnation…” he muttered, trying to figure out what had happened to his voice.

“What’s up, Pa?”

His son had it too, but he hadn’t noticed…but why should he have? It was normal for a son to talk like his Pa, right? Where else would he have picked it up? “Nah, nothin’, just bein’ thick I guess. Ya know yer Pa, I ain’t too bright.”

“Ha, that’s alright, ‘cause yer damn sexy,” Caleb said, taking a deep drag off his cigar.

Terry went back to packing his pipe, and tried to remember what had been bothering him, but couldn’t find it. His head just wasn’t quite working fast enough to keep up with what was going on, but hell, it didn’t matter–he was just horny! He lit his pipe still chuckling, when he let loose a loud, wet fart that surprised both he and Caleb. “Well damn,” he said, “Guess it needs tah come outa both ends, eh son?”

“Sounds like it,” Caleb said, walking over and wrapping his big arms around his Pa and taking a deep sniff of the air. “Damn, it’s a hot, stinky one too–I fuckin’ love those.”

His son still was the same size as his dad had been–wait, his dad? No, he was…well he was big, that was all that mattered. Big, and hairy, and musky…Terry growled low and started grinding his big ass into his son’s legs–feeling the bulge of his son’s cock pressing into his flabby back, as Caleb grabbed both his flabby tits in his massive hands and started squeezing them. His boy wasn’t relly a “boy” anymore, Terry knew. Hell, he hadn’t been a boy in years now. At 27, he was one hot bear, and Terry was just happy to have him in his life. They’d been fucking for so long Terry didn’t think they would ever be apart–he could still remember their first fuck on his son’s eighteenth birthday–that had been one special fucking day. He was so happy to have a son as gay as he was. He reached around and gripped his son’s beard–he was too short to reach much else, and pulled him closer. “Ah fuck son, ya sure know how tah git yer Pa ragin’ horny.”

“Oh yeah? Well ya know what I want Pa?” Caleb asked, “I want a taste a this big, fat ass of yours.” Caleb set his cigar off in a nearby ashtray and shoved his hand down the back of his dad’s boxers.

“Fuck…aww damn boy, ya sure? It’s pretty filthy back there…”

“Just how I like it,” Caleb said, yanking down the back getting down on his knees. He kneaded his dad’s wide ass a bit and then spread the cheeks and started rubbing his greasy, tangled beard up and down his dad’s crack, listening to the fat man moan. Terry leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall and spread his legs apart, still puffing on his pipe, giving Caleb better access to his crack, and felt his son’s tongue start cleaning out his sweaty crack, probing up his shithole, and he moaned, feeling his own large cock start pressing up against his gut.

Again, Terry found himself distracted. Big cock? He hadn’t had a very big cock last time he was this big? Last time? What last time? He’d always had a cock this size…right? Or had he…had he had a tiny cock before? No, he’d always had a cock this size, this big foot long cock. Yeah, a massive foot long cigar sticking out between his legs. How else was he supposed to fuck his son, with this big gut in the way? Yeah, he might not be smart, but he more than made up for it downstairs. Caleb sometimes joked that he did a better job of thinking with his cock than with his head, and he was probably right. Thinking with his cock was a whole lot more fun too.

“Aww yeah son, that feels so good…git that tongue up there.”

“Fuck dad, yer hole’s so fuckin’ nasty–I love it,” Caleb said, and he groped for his cigar, took a deep drag off of it, anf then locked lips with his dad’s hole, pumping his ass full of smoke, the warm air making Terry shiver. He did it a few more times, pumping Terry good and full, and then, when Terry couldn’t hold any more, he bore down, a loud, long, smoky fart streaming right into his son’s face, who inhaled as much of it as he could.

“Aw fuck…fuck that’s nice…” Terry said, smelling it himself, “Yer smoke gives me the best goddamn gas, boy.”

“Sure as fuck does, I fuckin’ can’t get enough of it.”

Terry grinned. “I know somethin’ else a pig like you can’ git enough of,” he said, and stood up, stepping out of his boxers and plopping down into his recliner, putting it up so his feet were level with his son’s face, “Go on, I know how much mah filthy feet turn ya on, boy.”

With Caleb on his knees in front of him, Terry was oddly struck by just how…big his son was. He was big, like…just really damn huge. Even on his knees, his face was still level with Terry where lounged in the recliner, and he had to hunch down to press his nose between his dad’s toes and take a good whiff of the nasty funk that had built up there. Wide too–his son was so big they’d had to keep building out the doorways as he grew up. Even now, he had to fit through them sideways, or else his shoulders would get stuck. It was lucky their house had ten foot ceilings, but he had the curious thought that his son still wasn’t done growing, even though he was probably one of the biggest men on the planet. He was definitely one of the hairiest too–his entire body was covered with curly brown body hair, which was usually matted down with sweat and grime, since he worked out close to eight hours a day. Still, Terry didn’t mind–he loved his sweaty, filthy boy, and when they went to bed, he’d usually give him a nice long tongue bath, before his son took his turn, licking the sweat from between his fatty rolls…

Terry groaned as Caleb ran his big tongue up the sole of his foot and then started sucking on his toes. In his recliner, Terry tensed up for a moment, and then let loose another fart, the stink wafting out right into his son’s face, and the look of desire that shot across it and he smirked. “God, I can’t believe I raised ya tah be such a damn stinkhound.”

“Well, yer so fuckin’ nasty dad, what else would I have grown up tah be?” Caleb said, “Hey dad, ya know, why don’t ya wear those big boots ayers fer the rest of the weekend? Even when yer fucking sleepin’? Then I can clean ‘em out and yer nasty feet too on Monday, after ya git home from work.”

Work. Where did he work again? Wasn’t it…wasn’t it doing like…cooking or a chef? No that wasn’t it, where in the hell had he gotten that idea? He was a forklift operator at a warehouse–sitting on his ass all day in the hot building–his son loved how nasty and sweaty he was after a long day of work, and his booted feet would be absolutely howling by the time he took them off. Just imagining his son sucking on his grimy feet after a long day of work was enough to raise his big cock to over half mast, and Caleb reached up and wrapped one hand around it, so he could worm a finger under his thick foreskin and collect the cheese, which he then smeared on Terry’s feet before licking away.

“Alright dad, I think yer good ‘n clean. I got somethin’ I wanna try though,” Caleb said, standing up to his full height, “Now don’t move, I want tah see if this’ll work.”

Terry watched as Caleb walked around to the side of the recliner, and then in one fluid motion, kicked his foot over so he was straddling the entire recliner, his ass towards his dad’s face. “What’cha doin’ boy?” was all Terry had time to ask before Caleb reached down and yanked on the lever, the chair ratcheting back and slamming Terry’s fat face between his son’s muscular, sweaty ass.

He didn’t have time to breathe, and as soon as he was firmly planted, Caleb let loose with a fart of his own right in Terry’s face, and he gulped it down, his ten inch cock now absolutely rigid, and Terry was lapping up the gunk from his son’s crack and probing down the hole with his tongue, listening to Caleb moan, relishing the sensation of being slammed up his son’s ass.

Then Caleb bent over at his waist, and Terry felt him start sucking on his cock, and the dual assault was enough to send shivers all over his body. It felt like his head just shut down, and all he could think about was how hot it was to clean out his boy’s crack while he got his big cock sucked off. The ten inch monster would have been rough for a normal person, but Caleb’s throat was as big as the rest of him, and he took it without a single gag. Terry waited until he had his face against the base of his cock before he let off another giant fart, listening to Caleb groan in stinky pleasure, and his son followed suit, sending him another fart of his own right into Terry’s face.

Terry was close, and Caleb could tell–his father’s big cock was gushing precum like it always did when he was about to shoot. Terry started to shake, his fat belly jiggling and shuddering as he came, burst after burst of jizz shooting into his son’s mouth, and he swallowed all of it down, and then when he finally relaxed, he let out another massive fart…except it wasn’t just a fart this time.

Terry felt the shit squirt out of his ass and squish between his cheeks as he tried to hold it back, but he wasn’t able to do anything about it, because he was still trapped between the chair and his son’s ass. He groped for the lever and was able to push himself back so he was free, and Caleb unstraddled himself from the recliner, and then took a sniff and said, “Damn that one was stinkier than usual.”

Terry just blushed, and without saying anything, raised the recliner back up and hefted himself out of the chair, and when Caleb saw the brown streak on the chair, he realized what must have happened, and he just looked shocked. Terry didn’t notice, he had waddled off immediately, unable to believe he’d lost control like that, and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, where he lumbered over and sat down on the toilet, unable to believe he’d just shat all over his favorite chair. The same damn chair his dad had fucked him on, and smoked his cigar cock…right?

Terry tried to figure out where that memory had come from, but he just couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense at all. I mean…Caleb had been…his dad? And he’d had a cigar and pipe…

His head was hurting, but instead of retreating, he pushed in further, trying to separate out what had happened to him over the last few hours. He could…remember cooking dinner, but his son hadn’t been as big, and fatter. And before that, upstairs, hadn’t they…fucked? But none of those things actually seemed real–what was real was his massive, hairy and filthy redneck son, and he, his fat, sweaty equally filthy redneck dad…right?

He did his best to wipe his ass, but gave up pretty quick–he was just too big to reach around well enough, and why was he so embarrassed by what had happened? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shat himself on accident–he and his son were trading farts so often that things had a way of slipping out on occasion, he thought with a chuckle. But then why couldn’t he ever remember doing it in the past?

“Hey Pa,” Caleb said, knocking on the bathroom door, “You alright in there?”

“Yeah,” Terry said, jus’ cleanin up.”

“Oh…” Caleb said, and after a pause said, “You…you uh, need any help?”

“No Caleb, I got it,” Terry said.

Then, the bathroom door opened anyway, and Caleb was there in the doorway, a grin on his face that Terry didn’t like the look of…and a massive hard on sticking straight towards Terry. “You sure? I think I know how to help out.”

Before Terry could do anything, Caleb had grabbed him by his fat gut, swung him around, and bent him over the bathroom counter, before slamming his cock up his dad’s ass. “Caleb! What the fuck, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood boy!”

Caleb, however, wasn’t listening, he was just fucking, and from the look on his face…he was down right enjoying the sensation of fucking his dad’s still shitty hole, and all Terry could feel was..disgust. “Caleb! Caleb, get the fuck off of me!” He screamed, and shoved himself back against his big brute of a son, who stumbled back, his shitty cock coming free of his dad’s hole.

“What the hell dad? What the fuck’s up with ya?”

“I fuckin’ said no, boy!” Terry hollered, “Now git up in yer goddamn room!”

“Why the fuck should I?” Caleb shouted back, “You’re not the fuckin’ boss a me!”

“I am yer father, boy, ‘n if I git anymore fuckin’ lip from you, yer gonna fuckin’ regret it.”

The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Caleb relented, and left the bathroom, squeezing his way up the staircases to his room, and slamming the door behind him, and then Terry let himself collapse to the floor. He honestly hadn’t expected him to stop–and Terry knew that his son was big enough that if he’d really wanted to keep going–he would have. Fuck, Caleb hadn’t always been like that, what happened to the sweet chubby loner he’d been when he was a teenager? Now, he was this hulk in his mid-twenties, still living with his dad–he needed a damn job, and a life!

Something he’d thought stuck out to Terry though–Caleb hadn’t been a chubby teenager–he hadn’t been chubby ever in his life. But still, he had a…clearish image of a son–his son, sweet hairless face, pudgy body, on the short side…but he couldn’t actually say when the image was from, because…well, it had never happened, right?

No, it had happened–it must have. But when? Again, Terry found himself looking through these impossibly tinted glass walls at the edge of his vision, like if he could turn his head fast enough and squint, he’d see something different, some other reality than his own, just as real as his…but impossible to access. But this wasn’t really right was it? He hadn’t always been this fat, filthy redneck, had he? Fuck, he needed a smoke. He got up and returned to where he’d set his pipe, finding it had gone out, and he relit it. He didn’t sit in the recliner, but just paced the room, puffing his pipe, wondering what to do about Caleb.

They needed to set boundaries–he needed to reassert himself as the father here. Sure, he loved having sex with his son–of course he did, but if he said no…well, Caleb had to respect that. There just weren’t any ifs, ands, or buts about that. And he needed to get a job–no more working out all day every day. And he needed to start picking up after himself, he figured, looking around at the cluttered den–the place was a sty. Sure, neither he nor Caleb were the cleanest guys on the planet–hell, hardly so–but they could still make an effort to improve. He smoked the rest of his pipe down, and then cleaned it out. He’d let Caleb sweat it out enough by now, he figured. Hopefully he’d had a chance to jack off, think about what he did, and realize what he’d done wrong, and they could have a conversation like real men, instead of a tantrum or argument.

He set his pipe back up on the rack, and then sighed, letting out a big belch. There wasn’t any use putting it off any longer. He hefted himself up the two staircases, pausing at the top of the second to catch his breath, before heading to his son’s room, and knocking. “Caleb, are ya in there? I’d like tah have a talk wit’ ya.”

“Sure thing dad, come on in.”

To Be Continued

Oh man, when I look back, I mean, there’s just one thing I can’t believe–I was such a drag man, just a total lame ass motherfucker. I mean, look at that, look at that saggy fucking body–that used to be me, before I learned how to have fun. Damn, it’s so lucky that I found that self-help program online, because man, that helped me turn into the fun guy I am now.

I mean, the first thing I learned–and I learned it real quick, was that one of the best fucking ways to have fun is to work out. I didn’t believe it at first, and I mean sure, it was hard work too, especially when I first started out, but pretty soon, fuck I was having so much fun at the gym! I mean, it was getting to where I didn’t want to leave some days, I’d just keep working out the whole time.

And jobs–fucking jobs, am I right? So not fun. Man, I quit mine, I mean, sure, I had to find some kind of income, but luckily the program hooked me up with this real fun fucker. I just live with him now, and he pays for my gym membership, and he taught me so many other fun things! Fuck, like how much fun it is to look like a freak, and get yourself tatted and pierced, fuck–I’m gonna get my whole body done eventually, I can’t fucking wait. And man, I have so much more fun now that I’m dumb as a fuckin’ brick. I didn’t need those fuckin’ brain cells anyway, they were just holding me back.

But you know what’s the most fun of all? Sex. I fucking love sex. I’m a fucking addict. Think you could fuck me with this dildo while we keep talking? Man, that would be so much fun. Come on, I you look like a total bore. I should give you a link to that website–I think that would loosen you up good. Just think, before long, you could be having as much fun as me!

Smoked

–Day 1–

I woke up, and I couldn’t see anything. It was terrifying, that first time, when you open your eyes and you still can’t see a thing? And even worse, when you try to talk, and say something, and you find something in lodged in your mouth? I could scream–and I did scream, that was for sure, and did my best to escape, but my hands had been locked behind the chair I was sitting on, and my legs were tied to the chair, and the chair must have been bolted down, because my flailing didn’t move it an inch. Where in the hell was I? I didn’t know. I mean, I remembered the smoke shop, the one that everyone on the forum had been talking about, and I remember going in and asking for his special smokes, and the burly man behind the counter had given me one to try, and then…nothing.

I kicked and fought for a few more minutes, but I couldn’t get loose–all I did was tire myself out, and make it even harder to breathe through the tube in my mouth. I could breathe through my nose still, but the air was stale inside the mask, while through my mouth the air was clean. I sat there, panting for a bit, trying to figure out what to do, when I heard him speak.

“Ah, so you’re awake then. Good, that means we can go ahead and get started. Well, you fucking prick, you asked for one of my special blends, so here you go–we have a long week of changes ahead of us, so we might as well get started, eh?”

I couldn’t breathe as well, suddenly, and then I heard the sound of a lighter being lit, and then smoke started flooding my mouth through the tube. He must have stuffed a cigar in the other end or something, and I tried to just breathe through my nose…but this smoke, fuck, you don’t understand, whatever blend it was, it was…irresistible. Before long, I couldn’t get enough, I was inhaling deep off the tube in my mouth, sucking down as much smoke as I could, and he was chuckling, encouraging me to take as much as I needed.

I don’t know how much I smoked, but I know it was at least three cigars in a row. The guy’s special blends, the ones I had wanted, they could…change people, or at least that’s what the rumors claimed. But what in the hell was the guy talking about? I hadn’t acted like a prick! I mean, maybe I had been a bit rude…and maybe a bit of a snob, but fuck, I think I’ve been a weakling long enough to earn the right to be a fucking man, right? I mean, sure, I was impatient, but I didn’t give a shit about how to use the fucking product–you just smoke it–how hard could it be?

Well, not as hard as my cock. Fuck, by the time I’d finished the first cigar, my cock was aching in the chastity device he must have put on me while I was asleep–I mean–I was horny as fuck, and by the time I was through smoking it, I just wanted to cum, but there wasn’t exactly anyway for me to make my desire known, aside from moaning like a fucking whore. Still, eventually the smoke cleared away, and I could breathe again–for a moment at least.

He fiddled with the tube leading into my mouth–I could feel it being yanked around–and then something new flooded my mouth. It was the consistency of a shake, and it came so fast that I nearly choked–I didn’t exactly have many options beyond swallowing it all down. My gut felt like it was going to burst by the time the flow stopped–I don’t think I’d ever eaten anything as massive as that meal, but then it was back to the smoke. He kept it up, and he hasn’t said a word to me. I’m on my fourth feeding now, and I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep though, I have to keep eating. I’m…I’m so hungry, and so horny. The flow’s easing up, thank god–I think I have to try to sleep. There…there’s the smoke again, fuck, that feels good on my gut. Maybe…maybe I’ll sleep for just a little bit. I have to keep my wits about me, and the smoke…so good…horny though…so horny…

–Day 3–

Goodness, he’s looking good already, and we aren’t even halfway there–of course, I’ve been pumping him full of more smoke than any of these guys usually get–I usually only supply them with a dozen “special” cigars for a week of changes, but this guy, well, he’s already gone through a dozen, and I’m going to put another dozen more in him by the time we’re finished. The feedings and immobility are having the desired effect too–he’s plumping up nicely. Of course, he might have been slim walking in here, but he’s not going to be slim walking out. He’s probably at 250 pounds right now, but hell, we’ll see how big we can get him over the rest of the week. Still, I think it’s time for something new.

I’ve been waffling, I admit it. A dumbass redneck? A cock-starved retiree? A piss guzzling trucker? I mean, I have a lot of options, but I think I’ve settled on something. I want a fist pig–a preference for leather, but with more personality than a leather bear. Still, leather is a fine place to start, I think. I have him on a round of cigars at the moment, but lets go ahead and get him all dressed up. First, a harness, but we’re going to have this one spiked, I think. Yeah, I’m definitely feeling a certain punk vibe off of him–this is going to be hot.

Now, chaps? No, I don’t think chaps…hmm…how about. Yeah, I’m going to have to undo his feet for a second, but he’s so smoked out I doubt he’ll even notice. Hell, even I untied him, I don’t think he’d want to leave at this point. Besides, I still have his key–not that he’s going to give a shit about his own tiny ass cock by the time we’re done here.Still, I think some jeans…but distressed. Yeah, lets rip up the knees here a pit, and rip out the ass and crotch of course–he’s a fucking slut after all–no shame there, and then we’ll just…slip these babies on…yeah, that’s looking good.

Now, how about a beat up biker vest, and a bandanna–deep red of course. His hair’s growing out nicely, after all–and I kind of like it–though maybe a mohawk…mmm, yeah, that’ll be fuckin’ crazy. Now then, just add some of these old combat boots and tie his feet up again, and we’re all done–perfect.

Let’s see, how about that last accessory though? I’ve been stretching his ass out nicely since yesterday–aw yeah, look at how easy that plug slips in and out now–that’s so damn hot. We’re going to give this punked out bear the loosest hole in the city. I wonder…hell, why not? I’ll just give it a try. Pull it out and start out with a few fingers…aww fuck yeah, he’s fucking eating my hand with his hole, that’s so hot–but can he…yeah, he’s moaning, it hurts, but he wants it, he’s opening up perfectly–just a little more…fuck yeah, take my fist you fucking cunt, that’s so fucking hot. Feels good, doesn’t it? Having my fist pummel that prostate of yours? You like it, I can tell, but we’re not done yet, not by a long shot. Still, that’s enough of that for now. I’d give you a proper fucking, but I can’t get to your hole, so we’re just going to have to give you a bigger dildo for now. How about nine inches and as big as my fist? Still, even that isn’t going to be enough for a hog like you, just you fucking wait.

–Day 5–

Holy fuckin’ shit, this music is really starting to get on my fucking nerves now. Fucking metal? And fuckin’ Screamo at that? It’s just a bunch of dumbfucks playing guitars as badly as fucking possible, and some dude screaming his fuckin’ lungs out. What’s the fuckin’ point? It’s been playing non-stop since yesterday, and I mean, sure, I think it was even worse then. I dunno, maybe I’m just gettin’ used to it or somethin’.

Ow! Fucking hell, it fuckin’ happened again! My right fuckin’ ear this time, somethin’ fuckin keeps poking me every few minutes. I swear, like fuckin’ needles or somethin’. God damn, if it don’t make my fuckin’ cock ache every damn time though. Who knew a chastity device could feel so damn good though, eh? I’m so horny, but damn, if it don’t make my piggy hole feel so damn good. Aw yeah…yeah, he’s pumpin’ the dildo, oh yeah, fuckin’ righteous man, feels so damn nice, gettin’ reamed like that. Wonder how big it is–feels like a fuckin’ two litter bottle. Yeah, I’m gonna have to give that a try when he let’s me out–I bet I can take it. Hell, I’ve already taken both of his fuckin fists, I wonder…wonder if I could take three? Oh yeah, bet that would feel so damn good…

Fuck I’m hungry. I could eat a fuckin’ horse. Gotta keep this big gut a mine fed after all, gotta get bigger too–just…just a fat ass metalhead…yeah–ow! Fuck, again? and my tits this time? What the fuck is up with that? And this fuckin’ burnin’ that’s gettin’ on my nerves too. First it was just my arms, but now my whole gut feels like it’s on fire or somethin’. All itchy and shit. Man, my head…just feels so fuzzy all the time, gettin’ harder to think ‘bout anythin’ other than my…hole…yeah…fuck, feels so good, getting fucked like that…

…Shit, think…I think I zoned out for a bit there. Yeah, fuck, I remember this album, he played it yesterday. Man, it made me so angry yesterday…and…and I’m still angry, but also…kind of…kind of pumped up. Yeah, what a fuckin’ amazin’ solo, listen to that fucker shred! Man, if I didn’t have this fuckin’ smoke tube halfway down my throat, I’d be totally into this, I wonder if they tour. I bet…bet their mosh pits are fuckin’ out of this world, man. I’d love…love to find some big fucker in there, drunk off his ass, and just get down and dirty with him in the mud, get him to fuck my sloppy hole right there in front of everyone, like a fuckin’ punked out pig!

No–No, that’s not me, I don’t mean it. Did I really just think that? What in the hell is happening to me? I can’t even remember what I used to look like. I mean, all I see is this fat, tattooed and pierced thug, but that’s not me, it’s not. I–I mean…it would be…kinda hot if that were me. Yeah, with “SEXXXPIG” tattooed across my gut, and massive fucking gauges in my ears. Big doorknocker hangin’ from my septum, just…just a dumbass, punked out, bear whore.

Oh is…he fuckin’ is, workin’ both his fists in there with the dildo now. So damn full…of fuck yeah, the food’s starting! Yeah, I’m fuckin’ starved, fucking stuff me full at both ends, I’m such a hungry pig, just a hungry ass punked out piggy bear…yeah…feed me, stuff me, smoke me…that’s what I need, that’s what I was made for…

–Day 7–

Hot damn, what a fucking whore. As soon as I let him out, he’s on his knees, cigar clamped in one jaw, and he’s begging me to fuck him. Of course, his hole is so damn loose that I can’t feel a thing–I end up jacking my cock off with my fist inside his ass, and he fucking loves it. You should see him, he’s a fucking freak. Piercings everywhere–and I mean everywhere. When I took off the chastity belt, his cock and balls, they looked like a god damn pincushion. And even with the device off, I saw he’d chastized himself already–the massive PA through his three inch cock was padlocked to a ring in the massive ball stretcher he wore, pinning his cock against his massive sack. I asked him if he wanted to cum, and he told me he’d lost the key years ago–he could still cum on occasion, sure, but he loved how it felt when he got hard, like the ring was going to rip out of his cock head.

Well, he’s definitely a man, I’ll say that. The cigars put on a massive amount of hair–but it’s…well…manicured in some interesting ways. The hair is thick except for on his gut, where it accentuates the tattoo–SEXXXPIG–on a completely bare patch of skin, and his arms, where a riot of tattoos, some of them from metal bands, most of them sexual, form full sleeves to his shoulders. His beard is down to his gut and thickly tangled–he stinks like he hasn’t showered in a week, which I suppose he hasn’t. And his long hair has been spiked up into a deep red mohawk. I sent him on his way, and promised him cigars for life, so long as he stopped by for a rough bondage and fisting session once a month–like he’d turn down an offer like that. Still, he apparently had some metal festival to get to or something–he was going to see if he could turn to mosh pit into a metal orgy–and with that ass of his, I bet he’ll do just fine.

“Fuck, Ah gotta stop this, Ah gotta, can’t cum no more, I ain’t gonna have anythin’ left a me!”

Taylor really should have learned to keep his mouth shut, but when someone goes his whole life, being treated like a star, one tends to pick up a very large ego, and a certain sense of entitlement. However, making fun of people in high school isn’t the same as making fun of people in college–especially when the person you’re trying to tease is your professor.

“Ah didn’t…didn’t know bin’ this hairy could…could feel so nice though, ‘n who knew a gut could turn a guy on so much? Gotta–Gotta resist it, I can’t cum anymore, if Ah do, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Maybe…maybe I’ll just tweak these thick nips a mine a bit…oh yeah, that feels real good…”

Dr. Ralston, Professor of History, wasn’t, perhaps, the kind of person you would expect to be a world renowned teacher and lecturer, with his tendency towards an unkempt look–but with tenure, he dressed in what was comfortable. However, when Taylor had seen the elderly man dressed in flannel and overalls approach the front of the class, and start speaking with a thick southern accent…well, he just couldn’t resist. No one else in the class had thought his joke funny, and Dr. Ralston had been unfazed, suggesting that Taylor could leave if he thought he had nothing to learn. Taylor had left–but Dr. Ralston still intended to teach the young man a lesson.

“Fuck, gittin’ close…mmm…aw yeah…just stroke it a little more, ‘n…’n…Gah!” Taylor said, milking his fourth load of the night out in front of the mirror, “No! No, fuck–Fuck!” He watched in the mirror as his already long hair and beard tangled down further and acquired a few strands of grey, and when he next opened his mouth, he saw that quite a few of them had gone missing. His football shirt and gym shorts shifted around his fattening body, becoming a set of grimy work gear he wore nearly all the time, and he grinned, licking his cum off his filthy palm. “Mmmm…finger lickin’ good!” he said with a guffaw, and tucked his cock back into his jeans. Still, he had to get to work down at the site, or the foreman would fire his ass. As he left, he happened to see his high school class ring–ah, those were the days! Too bad he hadn’t gone to college though–maybe he could have made something of himself.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-no, sir…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No shit, dumb-fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“WHAT ELSE DO WE EAT, PIG??”

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

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

“We- *snort!* We drink piss, SIR!”

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

“I hope your thirsty, pig!”

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

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

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

Well, it’s important to remember that I didn’t lie to him–he’d come into my smoke shop, and he’d heard the rumors–guys like him always hear the rumors. That my smokes can…enhance people, make them more who they want to be. I get the wimpy, the small, the nerdy–and really all they want to be are men. Real men–and I am usually perfectly accommodating. 

Usually.

I mean, they always end up closer to what they want, it’s just that some of them, well, they come in with this attitude. They think they deserve to be men, that they were somehow slighted by the universe when it decided to give them this weak, hairless body they have now. I can always tell, when they come in, if they’re going to be grateful or not, and if not…well…

Heh, I have a little room all set up for them. You see, it takes a week of pretty constant smoke to reach the full change, and what sort of man you become depends a lot on what you do. If you work out that week? You’ll be a sweaty muscle bear. Hike in the outdoors? You might come back looking like Paul Bunyan. And the grateful ones, they get it–they craft themselves, but the ungrateful ones, well, I craft them myself.

Each one is a little bit different, but this one, well, he’s got the mask on so he can have way more smoke than normal–he’s going to be hairy as fuck by the time this week’s up. And keeping him bound up and unmoving? Pair that with the massive feeding sessions and he’s going to waddle out of here one fat fucking bear. But why the chastity device? Well, the cigars have a tendency to encourage…rapid growth down there, shall we say. Locking them up though–the sexual energy breaks down their minds–and keeps their cock small. No, the only satisfaction this dumbfuck will be getting is a good ass reaming every night. Yep, just my kind of fat ass bear slut–I can’t wait.

(This is sort of a sequel to this caption and story)

***

LttlPig3: Do you want a pic? I can send one.

TrkrFkr11: Sure.

<Pic received: piggy003.jpeg>

TrkrFkr11: Wait, seriously?

LttlPig3: What, you don’t like it?

TrkrFkr11: No I don’t fucking like it, it’s fucking ridiculous. You’re not a fucking pig at all.

LttlPig3: Who fucking says?

TrkrFkr11: Nah–here, let me fucking help you out. Let’s see…first, a screen name.

NstySemiHog18: Screen name?

NstySemiHog18: Wait, NstySemiHog18? How the hell did you do that…wait, I…what’s going on? My hair’s fucking growing!

TrkrFkr11: Hell yeah it is, I love a furry fucking pig. See, you aren’t going to be wasting your time with rubber or shit like that. A pig like you–well, a trucker pig like you especially. All you fucking care about is getting your next dose of cock. You’ll take it anywhere, begging random guys at rest areas to pump you full of cum in the woods.

NstySemiHog18: No, I don’t. I mean, that sounds fuckin’ hot actually, but I’m not a trucker. I mean, I wait

TrkrFkr11: Sure you’re a trucker–an old redneck like you is too fucking dumb to do much else.

NstySemiHog18: I have a beard. A long ass beard n I cant head hurts

NstySemiHog18: What the fuck r u doin? Im truckin sure but I coulda sworn I wasnt tho. Fuck im horny where u at?

TrkrFkr11: Outside of Cheyenne, Wy.

NstySemiHog18: Noshit? Im bout to cruse thrugh their. Wanna fuck my sloopy piggy hole?

TrkrFkr11: Love to. Just tell me where.