Summer Internship (Finale)

Here’s the long delayed ending for the Summer Internship Interactive. I’ll have a new one starting next week!

“What’s wrong boy?” the sergeant asked him. He was inches from Jimmy’s face, so close that he could see the individual droplets of the sergeant’s sweat running down his face. Around him, something had happened to most of the other recruits–they’d all fallen to the ground in pairs or threesomes, the sergeant’s musk washing over them and driving them into a sexual frenzy as they tore into each other’s uniforms. Now, it was just Jimmy standing there, as strong as he could, trying to resist. He didn’t know why he was resisting so hard, just that he knew it was important, that this wasn’t real, that if he gave in…something awful would happen to him. The sergeant was staring at him, unblinking, and when he realized, at last, that Jimmy wasn’t going to break, he smirked, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and dragged him off across the grounds, towards a little building that Jimmy realized was a bathroom.

“I think we need to loosen you up a little, boy,” the Sergeant said, and dragged him inside, and shoving him in a corner of the room. In the heat of the day, the stench in the restroom was horrific, the stench of piss and shit assaulting Jimmy’s already fragile mind, taking it apart, bit by bit.

“Please, I…I thought I was going to be a soldier…” he moaned, cock hard, hand unable to keep from rubbing it.

“You are–don’t you worry. But we have special roles for men like you,” the sergeant dropped his pants and stepped out of them, and Jimmy imagined that he was going to shove his cock in his face, and he’d have no ability to resist, not here. But instead, the sergeant turned around, bent over, and presented his unwashed asscrack and hole. “Here, piggy, piggy, piggy…” he taunted.

Jimmy snorted. He wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t. He let out another snort, and found himself on his hands and knees, crawling closer to the sergeant, the stench getting stronger and stronger, pushing out everything else, and then he buried his face in the officer’s crack, snorting and chewing and eating at it as fast as he could, like a glutton. It was rank, and disgusting, but already Jimmy knew he would need more. When the sergeant was satisfied the new pig was properly mind fucked, he pulled his ass away, went behind him, and fucked Jimmy’s ass until they both blew their loads, and then had Jimmy suck the filth from his cock for good measure.

After cumming, Jimmy could feel some of his will returning to him, but not quick enough. A collar slipped around his neck, and then a chain connected him to a metal ring on the floor. Enough length to move little, and he couldn’t stand up at all. “There–now why don’t you hang around here for a while, and make yourself useful. This is the officers’ facilities by the way, so be sure to be respectful.”

The virus had him cornered now, and in his bed, Jimmy began to change. Growing fatter and fatter, body stinking from months spent in the officer’s bathroom without a shower–aside from golden ones of course. The stench wearing away at his mind until he really was nothing more than a horny pig, barely capable of forming words, much less sentences. When the virus was satisfied, Jimmy woke with a start–300 pounds, hungry for piss and dirty ass, stinking up the entire room–and for the people sleeping in there, it was too late for them anyway, and so all of them were locked down in the room together, with the pig.

Some of them fell quickly. One of the older researchers who went down for a catnap, woke up and felt someone eating at his hole…but it didn’t disturb him. It was just…just the officer’s pigslave, after all, and he…he was an officer. He’d grown thicker and more muscular as he’d slept, his musk just as powerful as the pig’s stench, and he gave the pig a quick fuck, before turning his attention to the four or five other grunts now trapped in the room with them–but they’d all make good soldiers, the new sergeant was sure of it, and they’d all have a filthy pig to enjoy together, after training.

Fairytale (Repost)

Originally Published in Parts on 08/14/2012

Why do I always do this to myself? Harry thought as he wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt, and glanced over at his date next to him, who was engrossed in the movie playing on the screen. He’d met Jeff online, and was still amazed the cute cub had agreed to come out with him, even if it was only for dinner and a movie, and on the implied condition that Harry pay for everything. But now…now he’d guzzled his god damn mega-sized drink, he had to piss like a racehorse, and the movie was only half over. He didn’t want to be that guy, that “guy who disturbs everyone by going to the bathroom in the middle of a movie,” but it was starting to look like he wasn’t going to have a choice.

The whole night, really, had been going like this. Jeff had been perfectly sociable, while Harry had spent the entire time tripping over his words like a schoolgirl. He already could tell that Jeff wasn’t happy with him–probably because Harry hadn’t been completely honest. Sure, the picture he posted was a few years old…well, ten years. He was a lot greyer and quite a bit fatter in real life, and he hadn’t exactly shown off his best side at dinner, shoveling down a giant plate of spaghetti and getting sauce down the front of his shirt. Jeff had been nice enough about it, but, well, Harry had ruined his chance for anything aside from a handjob in the movie parking lot…maybe…if he was lucky.

God, he had to go, he didn’t have a choice. He stood up, and with a hushed, “Sorry…” squeezed his chubby ass past Jeff’s face, and hurried out of the theater, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Of course, before he could get to the urinal, he had to look at his face and body in the mirror, and he cringed a bit–no wonder Jeff had no interest in him. Sure, he’d showered before the date, but he’d forgotten his deodorant, and his hair was a couple of weeks overdue for a trim–not that his balding hair looked great cut back, either. And he really was a lot fatter than his pictures on the site–probably by a good fifty pounds, though he did his best to avoid weighing himself and finding out for sure. He heaved a sigh and said under his breath, “I wish someone would…help me figure this shit out…” and his face turned red as he said it. How stupid, a wish? That was ridiculous. But no sooner did the words leave his lips than a sudden wind erupted in the restroom, whipping Harry’s hair and clothes about, and when he turned around, he found that he was no longer alone.

There in the middle of the room, was a muscular, older man wearing nothing other than a pair of black boots and some grandfatherly glasses perched on his nose. In place of clothing, his entire body was covered in a series of intricate tattoos which Harry swore were dancing and shifting in front of his eyes, though whenever he looked at one straight on it stayed perfectly still. “Hello Harry. You wished for help?” the man said, smiling warmly, “I think I can be of some assistance here.”

“Who…who are you?” Harry said, backing up against the sink as the man approached him.

“Me? I’m the Fairy Godfather. Did you really need to wait so long? I’ve been getting all antsy, watching you flounder here,” the man said, cracking his knuckles, “Shall we get started?” with twirl of the wrist, a wand of some dark, slender wood appeared in his hand, and pointing it at Harry, he felt a strange force press into him, and a moment later, he too was naked, and blushing further, he rushed to cover himself.

“How…what are you doing? Bring me back my clothes,” he said.

“Those things?” the fairy said, “Oh no, those were far too classy for your true tastes, don’t you think? I mean, a polo shirt and khaki shorts? Did you really feel good in those? Sexy? Happy? I didn’t think so. I’m here to help the real you shine through, the more honest and comfortable you, because that’s the only way you’ll be able to relax and have a great time with Jeff. Now hold still, I’m thinking.”

This is insane, Harry thought, I have to get out of here, but when he tried to move, he found himself glued to where he stood. Apparently, when the fairy said to stand still, he meant it. As the man approached, Harry began to notice that he wasn’t all that…clean. He could smell him from a few feet away, in fact, and the ripe musky smell was overpowering. But…he was a fairy right? Maybe he really could make Harry’s dreams come true–and it was beginning to look like he wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter, considering he couldn’t get away.

“Hmm…yes, exactly as I’d thought,” the fairy said, whirling his wand once more, “a young man in denial of his true desires, and his ideal form. Well, the easiest solution to that is to bring the ideal form out! What do you say?” he said, and before Harry could answer, he’d waved the wand and a shower of sparks shot out, slamming right into Harry’s belly, winding him and making him double over.

His ideal form? Did that mean he would be young and muscular? Or at least attractive again? Hell he’d settle for the picture he’d taken ten years ago, if nothing else. He managed to stand back up and turn around to face the mirror, and gasped. “What in the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted, appalled at his new image staring back at him in the mirror. His hair and beard had grown longer and tangled, looking like he hadn’t bothered to care for them in months, if not years. He was even fatter than before, with a massive apron hanging down past his groin which was covered in dense, matted hair, and beneath it he could make out crude tattoos which covered him from the top of his neck down to his wrists and ankles. He made the mistake of opening his mouth in horror, spying the rotten, yellowed and crooked teeth in his mouth, and he whirled back around to face the smiling fairy, and said, “Well? This is my ‘ideal image’? What the fuck?”

“Well, what did you expect? I am the Fairy Grungefather after all.”

“Grunge…what? I thought you said Godfather!”

“Then you thought wrong–you really shouldn’t make assumptions like that.”

“Wha–but…You shouldn’t make fucking assumptions that I want to look like this!” Harry cried, “Change me back!”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be back to normal come dawn.”

“Dawn? But I’m on a fucking date!”

“Oh would you calm down? Do you think I haven’t watched you all these years? Watched all those jack off sessions in that filthy, unwashed jock of yours, while you smell your ripe pits? Sensed that tingle of pleasure you get when when you don’t wipe your ass after you take a shit? That self-satisfaction when you piss a bit in your underwear ‘on accident’?”

That’s…I mean…” Harry said, but the blush gave him away–he did have a thing for raunch, but so what? That didn’t mean he wanted to look like this!

“Yeah, cat got your tongue? Well I have a better use for it anyway,” the fairy said, and held up one arm, the reeking pit inching closer to Harry’s face. “Go on, lick it. I know you want to.”

“Fuck…Fuck no,” Harry said, “I’m not gonna lick out your nasty pit.”

“No? Hmm…Maybe I underestimated just how stubborn you are. You know what you need? You need to loosen up, so how about I take all those inhibitions of yours, sexual and otherwise, and hold onto them for the night, hmm?”

Harry tried to shield himself, but he was helpless as the fairy raised his wand once more, and Harry felt all of the walls of resistance, of social pressure, and of proper etiquette simply disappear. And a moment later, when the fairy raised his arm again, all Harry could do was grin and lunge forward, lapping up all the filthy sweat he could find. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty man, I can’t fuckin’ take it,” he heard himself say, but on the inside, he was panicking. It felt like all of the brakes had been ripped out of his head–there was literally no stopping himself now. He felt the urge to piss suddenly reassert itself, and before he even realized it, he released his bladder, soaking the underside of his grimy apron, feeling it run down his legs and start puddling on the floor around him, and he tore himself away from the fairy’s ripe pit, got down on all fours and started lapping up as much of it as he could from the filthy tile floor.

Worst of all, Harry realized that his cock was rock hard through all of this, because…he wanted to do it. Deep down, he’d always wanted to do something like this, and this rush, this freedom was unlike anything he’d thought possible, and it only made him hornier. He let go at some point, stopped trying to put his feet on the brakes and just rode along, relishing the taste of his own piss, and the stench of his own filthy puts he could smell every time he bent down. Sure, he’d pissed on himself in the shower a few times, even tasted it once, but this…this was filthy. This was raunchy. This was so fucking hot. His licking was interrupted by a sharp, cutting whistle from across the bathroom, and Harry whipped his face up, wet hair throwing piss across the room, and he saw the fairy over by the urinals, his boot up on the small one, presenting his ass in Harry’s direction.

The piss no longer interested him. He crawled across the floor, loving the sensation of his hairy belly scraping across the tile, licking his lips the whole way. With no fear or trepidation, he dove into the crack, licking and chewing at the filth caught in the fairy’s ass hair, his tongue probing as deep as it could into the hole, and a moment later, he found his reward approach. “Go on Harry, I know you’ve fantasized about this. All those pictures you keep hidden deep on your computer? Those ones you can only bring yourself to look at when you’re drunk? Time to be one of them, Harry–time to take the big leap, pig.”

Harry felt himself cum as he took it in his mouth, chewed in a few times and swallowed, thankful when the fairy turned around and helped him wash it down with some of his piss, before nutting his own load onto Harry’s tangled beard. Exhausted from the thrill and exertion, Harry collapsed back onto the cold tile, panting, and when he finally managed to roll over and pick himself up, he was alone again. Suddenly afraid, he hurried back to the mirror and let out a sigh of relief when he saw he hadn’t changed back into his old self–the freedom from worry and inhibition was too amazing to let go of just yet. He looked at the piss puddle still on the floor, but held back–after all, he needed to get back to his date. Besides, leaving it there for someone else to find…oh fuck, that was damn hot too. On the counter, he saw a pile of clothing–though not the crap he’d worn when he came in. The fairy had been right, after all, he hated wearing classy stuff like that. The tattered army shorts worn commando, yellow stained wife beater, and black work boots were a much better choice, and he saw a letter underneath them, written in rough, but legible, script.

Harry–
I realize that your date tonight probably will not be as interested in your new self as we are, so I’m lending you a few, small spells to help out. Again, these will only last until dawn, so enjoy yourselves. By the way, your pumpkin is out in the parking lot, and your castle awaits you two after the movie.
Sincerely,
Your Fairy Grungefather

On the rest of the sheet, Harry saw several spells scribbled out, along with directions for how to use them, and he grinned wide–maybe he could turn this date around after all.

“There you are,” Jeff said, as Harry squeezed past him and back into his seat, “I was wondering if you fell in or…” His voice trailed off, as he got a better sense of the filthy man taking the seat next to him–and the stench rolling off him, and he had a strange sensation that this wasn’t the man he’d agreed to go out with…or was it? His momentary unease didn’t seem to have any basis in his memory–it was the same filthy, incredibly hairy, obese slob who he watched stuff himself silly at dinner…wasn’t it? Why in the hell had he agreed to this date in the first place? This guy was disgusting.

Harry could see the confusion in Jeff’s eyes in the dim light from the screen, and he grinned. Just like the Fairy Grungefather had written, Jeff had no idea that he’d changed so much in the last half hour. “Here boy,” he said handing Jeff a large soda, “I got you another drink, after I plowed through the last one.”

“Oh…uh, thanks,” Jeff said, and took a drink, still unable to figure out why in the world he was out with this disgusting man. Harry could sense his rising disgust, but he already had the first of the three spells from the fairy in his mind, and he mumbled the chant under his breath. The spell would make his chosen target irresistibly attracted to filth, and hopelessly subservient to any man dirtier than him, though, as a twist, as the subject becomes dirty himself he will, in turn, become more and more dominant. However, Jeff was so clean right now, Harry wasn’t too worried about that just yet. He felt the power in his words burn his lips slightly as the spell wrapped its way around Jeff, and to give it a test, he reached out and put his arm around Jeff’s shoulders and pulled him close, his face dangerously close to his disgustingly ripe pit.

Jeff felt the spell hit him, but had no idea of what to make of it. He was happy when the wave of nausea he’d felt in Harry’s presence dissipated, but when it was replaced by an equal, and very forceful attraction, he tried to resist, but the spell was too strong. Suddenly, his memories of this giant slob from the past few hours were ones of giddy excitement at the other man’s filthy body. How he’d sat, agape, watching the man stuff himself at dinner, Jeff’s cock rock hard the whole time. How he’d kept trying to catch whiffs of Harry’s musk on the way to the theater. The stench of his armpit played into his new, deep fantasies, and he leaned in closer, taking a deep sniff, getting close enough for the hairs to graze his nose.

When Harry’s hand contracted and shoved him into it, he struggled with him out of reflex more than anything else. “Shush boy,” Harry said, “I know you’ve been wanting this all night, so here’s your chance–now lick it good and clean, like I know you want to.” He did. He really did want to, so he buried his face in and started licking at the funk, inhaling deep and feeling Harry’s belly jiggle as he chuckled. “Yeah, that’s it.” Harry continued, “Doesn’t that taste like heaven? Go on boy, take out your cock–show me how turned on that nasty funk has gotten you. Here, I’ll take out mine too.” Harry dug around in his camo shorts, pulling out his five inch, thick cock with ample, cheesy foreskin, and without removing his face from Harry’s pit, Jeff did the same, pulling out his eight inch, rock hard cock, which he started milking.

Now Harry didn’t begrudge his date his big cock, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous–and given how submissive Jeff would be for the moment–at least until Harry had him good and filthy–he figured this might be a good time to try out another spell of the Fairy Grungefather’s. Until dawn, the fairy had granted Harry the power to trade physical attributes with any man he was touching–and Jeff’s tongue and face against his pit certainly counted as touching. Harry concentrated, and watched as Jeff’s cock started shrinking in his hand, growing tinier and tinier until it was barely an inch long, and Harry was suddenly grasping a foot long monster cock thicker than a beer can. He decided to take what he could from Jeff’s balls as well, and soon he had an orange resting below his huge member, leaving Jeff with almost no manhood at all.

“Fuck boy, is that all you got to work with? Here, play with mine, and find out what a real cock feels like,” Harry said, and guided Jeff’s hand away from his miniscule cock onto his, both of them trying to suppress groans in the sparsely occupied theater. Jeff was in heaven–he hated his small cock, but given how much he loved bottoming for filthy men, he didn’t mind too much–especially when he was on a date with a monster like Harry. Jeff could barely contain himself, when he felt his tiny cock suddenly start leaking precum uncontrollably. He’d never been much of a leaker, what with his tiny balls, but now–he already could feel it running down the sides of his cock and onto his boxers.

Of course, Jeff didn’t know that his sudden leakage was the result of another one of the fairy’s spells. Harry had been given the ability to control the quantity of any kind of fluid excreted by any man he wanted–and there were all sorts of fluids Harry felt like toying with. He was going to make Jeff leak precum spontaneously for as long as he wanted him to–he hoped he would have a stinking wet spot on his crotch by the end of the film. Jeff’s attention didn’t stay on his cock for long, as he went back to admiring Jeff’s huge, nasty cock, and he felt Harry hand start guiding his face down into his crotch. “Go on boy, suck it–I want to feel that nasty shaft buried down your throat–and make sure you get all that cheese under my foreskin–I know that will drive you wild…”

Jeff struggled for a moment as he resisted the multitude of changes in the world around him, but the fairy’s magic shut him down at every turn. He knew this wasn’t what he wanted, that his cock wasn’t supposed to be an inch long straw leaking precum like a faucet, but for some reason he couldn’t do anything about it, and the more time passed, the more he just felt crazy. And he did want that cock, and that cheesy foreskin. When Harry’s hand pushed him down, he didn’t resist, and swallowed as much of the cock as he could, though he could take more than he’d expected, thanks to the small boost in jaw flexibility and throat size Harry gave him. In fact, he could take it all the way to the hilt without gagging once.

In the dim light, Harry watched the boy work, and decided that there needed to be a few more swaps here and there–just for some added fun. Never in his life had Harry ever had the chance to be muscular, and he’d always wondered what it would be like–so he gave Jeff a large percentage of his own body fat, while removing as much muscle as he could without endangering him. Jeff himself was already a bit chunky, but he had to keep adjusting his position as his gut grew out, his chins expanded, and his gunt swallowed his tiny cock whole. Harry was a bit worried, when he realized his planned change would make Jeff grow out of his clothes, but they seemed to expand with him–his button down shirt expanding to fit his massive gut, his khakis doubling in size to match Jeff’s wide ass and thighs.

Harry himself felt the fat melt off of him, as his body showed off muscles he’d never seen. Neither he nor Jeff had been particularly muscled, but between the two of them, Harry had managed to pick up enough to look like a decent hunk, with well defined pecs, ridged abs and thick arms, not to mention it showed off his cock really damn well, and gave him a great view of Jeff’s fat face chowing down on his filthy cock, but Harry still felt really old, with his greying hair. He decided that if Jeff was going to hold onto his fat for a while, he could hold onto some of Harry’s years as well. He decided to drop back to the age of twenty one, which would give Jeff close to thirty years, bringing him up to the ripe old age of fifty six.

He watched as his beard and hair suddenly lightened, and his new muscles suddenly filled with a new, remarkable vigor. He felt amazing, and his cock! He was so horny it took all of his effort to not cum the next time Jeff deep throated him. Looking down in the dim light, he could see that Jeff had grown up just as quickly–his hair receding back, face lined with wrinkles, and the blow job was starting to wind him. Harry decided to give Jeff a bit off his own beard, and also took Jeff’s hair, leaving him with an inch long beard and a perfectly smooth, bald head, Harry’s own hair growing a bit longer past his shoulders. To finish Jeff’s transformation into an old, chubby bear, Harry reluctantly sacrificed most of his thick pelt, watching it sprout all over Jeff’s new fatty rolls instead. Watching the bearded old man suck his cock was too much, and Harry unloaded down Jeff’s throat, cumming harder than he had in years–though that didn’t make sense. He was just twenty one after all, every cum shot felt like that.

He saw Jeff swallowing his cum eagerly, and when the flow stopped, Jeff started to come off the cock, but with one hand Harry pushed him back down and a second later, Jeff’s mouth was flooded with piss. He’d never tasted anything so rank, and he choked a bit at first, getting some on Harry’s clothes and on his new beard, but he caught onto the rhythm and was soon drinking that down just as eagerly, his new love of filth urging him on, not to mention his attraction to the hot, muscular redneck who he still couldn’t believe had agreed to go out on a date with a fat geezer like himself. After he finished pissing, Harry finally allowed Jeff up, but only after he’d sucked whatever piss he could get from the front of his shorts, and then let Harry lick the piss from his beard, and Harry decided it was time for Jeff to start getting dirtier.

While they made out, one of Harry’s hands snaked down under Jeff’s massive gut, and found the sticky mess of precum his earlier spell had generated, and he started feeding it to Jeff on his fingers, Jeff happily sucking the filth off them as well. Harry also wanted Jeff to start getting musky, so he used his spell to kick Harry’s sweat production into high gear. Beads started dotting Jeff’s suddenly red face, and sweat stains started formed under his armpits. Harry wanted to get in the middle of it, so he worked his head under Jeff’s sweaty gut and into his humid crotch, rubbing his face in the cum and sweat, listening to Jeff’s muffled groans as he licked away at his tiny cock. Harry must have lost track of time in there, because he was caught off guard by Jeff hauling him out by the back of his shirt, back into the fully lighted theater.

In the sudden light, Harry was struck by how much he had changed Jeff in the dark theater. Where a young cub had sat when the movie started, there was now an elderly, obese bear, dressed in a shirt and tie with a nicely trimmed grey beard and completely bald head–thought the shirt was nearly soaked through with ripe sweat. Harry couldn’t see himself, but he could sense from how Jeff was looking back at him that he was a fine piece of muscular redneck, though maybe it was just his funk making Jeff look at him like that–not that it mattered. They saw the ushers come into the theater, and Jeff said in a deep voice, “well young man, what say you and I zip up and skedaddle?”

“Oh, yeah, sure thing,” Harry said, tucked his cock back into his tight camo shorts and helped Jeff stand up, and together they made their way out of the theater, Harry flaunting his shorts damp with piss and the muscles stretching against his sleeveless tee, and enjoying the stench of cum and sweat rolling off Jeff next to him. Harry felt sexier, and hornier, than he’d ever felt before, and the night was still young. Jeff and him had plenty more to do before dawn, and he hadn’t even tried all of the fairy’s spells yet. Things were only going to get hotter, and filthier, from here on out.

As they left the theater and emerged into the hallway, Jeff turned to Harry and asked, “So, what sort of plans did you have for after the movie?”

“Well, I was thinking we could head back to my place and have a little fun, if you don’t mind hanging around a filthy minded redneck like me,” Harry replied, coming a little closer and sensing Jeff still raging attraction to him.

“Sounds like one hell of a plan to me, but after that drink you brought me, this daddy needs to go take a piss before any of that.”

“You managed to drink that?” Harry asked, “When?”

“While you had your face buried in my gunt, boy,” Jeff said with a grin, but Harry hadn’t really been interested in an answer–he’d only asked it to keep Jeff around for a second, while the spell took effect, forcing Jeff’s bladder to empty itself in the hallway as they stood there. Jeff felt the warmth in his crotch and running down his pant leg a moment later, and his face turned bright red with horror, as Harry grinned wide and quickly pulled him through a couple of doors leading into an empty side hallway, leaving a wet trail of piss behind them.

“Smells like someone couldn’t hold it in,” Harry said.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe…I…oh fuck, are you really…oh fuck, you nasty pig…” Jeff said as Harry got down, buried his face up under his gut and started sucking the piss from the fabric of Jeff’s crotch. Jeff’s hand wrapped around the back of Harry’s head and forced him in deeper, and the sudden assertion of control startled Harry, but also turned him on. Apparently Jeff was already getting dirty enough to assert some dominance in their relationship, but Harry was eager for more of that from him. He worked his way out and back up to standing, and gave Jeff a kiss, before pulling him towards the door out of the movie theater, but Jeff pulled him back and shoved him up against the wall. “Oh no, I pissed myself–I want you to do the same boy…I think that’s only fair.”

“But I already took a piss earlier–”

“Shut up and let it loose–show daddy what you’ve got.” Harry grinned, and decided there was no reason the spell couldn’t work on him as well, and a second later, piss was streaming out of his cock and soaking the front of his shorts, running down his legs and pooling in his boots. Jeff shoved his own leg up against Harry’s, sharing the piss and the two of them made out for a moment longer, before breaking apart and heading for the door, both of them soaked.

They took a moment to get oriented in the parking lot, and before heading for his vehicle, Harry decided it was time to give another one of the fairy’s spells a try. This one could would change the date of the last time the subject changed their clothes and showered, making them either cleaner or dirtier depending on which direction one went–but Harry knew there was only one way for Jeff to head. He decided, for a bit of fun, to make it so Jeff’s “wash date” moved back a day for every pace he took as they walked to Harry’s car…or what had been a car when they arrived.

Suddenly Harry could only ever recall owning a rusted out pick up truck, it’s bed heaped with junk and the cab filthy with trash and who knew what else. Still, they set off in that direction, Harry kept track of their steps as they went–and it took them longer than he’d expected–ninety paces, making it now three months since Jeff had last changed his clothes or showered, and when they climbed into the cab–he definitely looked like it. His shirt and pants were absolutely filthy, the wet sweat marks from earlier now dried under his pits and colored a brownish yellow. The front of his shirt was marked with grease and food stains from his meals, and his navy pants, were stiff with precum and piss. His beard had grown rather unruly as well, and when Jeff closed the door to the passenger side, the suddenly enclosed space was filled with the two men’s combined musk, making them both let out a moan and lick their lips.

“Well daddy, what say we head home and have some fun?” Harry said, went to turn the keys but Jeff lashed out and caught his wrist, stopping him cold. Jeff let go long enough to shove the smaller, younger man up against the side of the pick up, his musk overwhelming Harry’s senses, and making him suddenly feel…like he needed to obey and service this man more than anything else in the world. How powerful was that first spell exactly?

“First boy, I think you and I need to get a few things straight–there’s something funny going on here, and we aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on here. I don’t just accidentally piss myself in hallways very often, and I know I wasn’t think dirty when we left the theater. Now you’re going to fucking tell me, or we’re going to have some problems–got it?” Harry screwed up his lips, trying to keep the truth under wraps, but the sheer dominance Jeff was exuding was too powerful.

“Alright…alright, I’ll tell you everything…sir,” Harry said, “but it’s kind of a long story, so how about I tell you on the way back to my place?”

Jeff stared Harry down for a moment, but relaxed back into his seat, giving Harry a nod of agreement, and so he started up the truck, and drove off to wherever his new home was, and told Jeff everything. About who they’d been, about his trip to the restroom and his run in with the Fairy Grungefather, his own transformation and the dawn time limit, the spells the fairy had given him to use, and how he’d manipulated Jeff with them all night long. Throughout the story, Jeff was mostly quiet, occasionally asking for a point of clarification but little else, and Harry couldn’t tell whether he believed him or not. As he drove, he realized he was heading out of town proper, and after a half hour drive, they turned into a trailer park, and pulled up in front of a rickety and rusted single wide which Harry knew was his home. “That’s…that’s the whole story sir, like you asked for.”

“You realize that sounds utterly ridiculous, right? I mean, how in the hell am I supposed to believe any of that?”

“Well…uh…I could show you. I mean, I could use a spell on you, and you might notice it happening, now that you know about it.”

Jeff thought for a moment, then said, “Fine, give me your cock, boy. You’re not going to be needing it, the way this night is heading.”

“A–All of it? Can’t I–”

“Shut the fuck up, and give it to me,” Jeff said, and Jeff couldn’t resist the order, so he reached over, grabbed Jeff’s hand and swapped their cocks, leaving himself with a half inch nub, and Jeff with a huge cock a little over a foot long. Jeff rummaged around in his gunt in surprise, amazed not only that the spell had worked, but that he’d also noticed it happening. “Holy fuck, it actually worked…” Jeff said, then turned back to Harry, “Alright, now make me dirtier. Make it so I haven’t showered in a year.”

“I don’t…is that a good idea, sir? I mean–” Harry said, mostly worried that if that happened, there would be no way for him to resist Jeff’s sudden dominance.

“Just shut the fuck up, boy, and do as your daddy says, or you’re going to get it.”

So Harry did it, and he wanted to do it. He wanted to see what Jeff would look like if he were that filthy–he needed to see it. And so Jeff felt himself grow filthier, his clothes nearly turning to grungy rags hanging off his body, his pants torn, his shirt missing buttons. As the change progressed, Harry felt his will to resist simply withering away and eventually disappeared altogether. He needed to serve this man, to obey him. It was truly the most important thing for him to do. When it finished, Jeff looked over at the devoted eyes of Harry next to him, and knew he had his date right where he ought to be.

“Alright boy, now…you said that spell could transfer qualities, right? Was it only limited to physical ones?”

“I…I don’t know, sir. I only used it on physical ones, sir, so I’m not sure.”

“Alright, now here’s what I want you to do. I want you to try and transfer your ability to cast those spells from you to me, so that I can cast them all, and you can’t. After all, I think you’d agree that I’m the one who should have all the power in this relationship, isn’t that right?”

“Ye–Yes sir, of course sir!” Harry said, eager to agree, and so he he touched Jeff’s hand again and with all his might, willed the spells to transfer to Jeff, however, he had no idea whether it had worked or not, and neither did Jeff, apparently.

“Alright, how about we give this a try? I’m tired of these fucking business rags anyway–how about something a little more commanding?” Jeff concentrated and tried casting one of the spells Harry hadn’t used earlier, which allowed for the caster to change the subject’s clothes, and in turn, some of their behaviors, based on what they wore. As Harry watched, Jeff’s business casual started to twist and write, turning into a green and brown camouflage fatigues which were in relatively good shape, despite being well worn, with the name “Daddy Sarge” printed over one pocket. Even though his fat frame was stretching the fabric to its limits, Jeff laughed, amazed that it had actually worked, and Harry was next to him, awestruck. “Damn, I can’t believe that actually worked. How about you, cadet? You like the look of your new sergeant?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Harry shouted, not even noticing that his own clothes had suddenly shifted in a pair of similar fatigues and boots, though his name tag read “Cadet Pigboy.”

“Well why don’t you show off some of that enthusiasm and suck your sergeant’s massive cock,” Jeff ordered, and Harry immediately leapt to, and as soon as Jeff had his monstrous cock out, Harry did his best to choke it down, but with the extra gag reflex he’d taken earlier, he could barely get half of the shaft in his mouth, but he tried his hardest just the same. However, Jeff soon reversed that change, and Harry found himself able to deepthroat the cock with no resistance at all, as Jeff started swapping around their attributes once more.

He decided he liked being older, so he kept their ages the same, but he had to do something about this fat–he didn’t feel like it suited him. He dumped off most of the poundage onto Harry, taking his muscle, but leaving himself with a firm gut over his hard abs. He decided that if Harry was going to be his pigboy, then he was going to be smooth, and so he took all of his body hair, expanding his already thick pelt, and also took away Harry’s thick beard and hair, leaving him with a clean shaven, chubby face and a high ‘n tight haircut. To further cement himself as the leader, he stole several inches off of Harry’s height, bringing him down to five foot six, and bringing himself up to six foot seven, and to make sure Harry wouldn’t find some clever way to regain control anytime soon, he stole forty points off his IQ score, raising Harry a bit past genius and making Harry a certifiable, drooling dunce.

Happy with their new looks, Jeff said, “Alright Cadet, that’s enough sucking. Get out of the truck and stand at attention,” but Harry ignored him–and Jeff felt a sudden anger. He shoved Harry off his cock with enough force to slam him back against the side of the truck, and yelled, “I gave you a fucking order, now get out and stand at fucking attention, you piece of shit!”

“Ye–Yes sir!” Harry stuttered out, popping open the door and tumbling out onto the gravel drive below him. He scrambled back up and managed to get into attention just as Jeff came around the front of the vehicle, shaking his head.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that? No discipline, no fucking brain–I mean, look at you, you fucking mouthbreather, you’re drooling on your goddamn uniform!” Jeff shouted, closing Harry’s gaping mouth with one hand, and wiping his slobber off on his shirt. “Hell, I bet you aren’t even potty-trained…”

Harry suddenly felt a pressure on his bowels, and a massive load of shit flooded the back of his fatigues, and his face went red with humiliation, even as his tiny cock tried to get hard from the sheer stench of it, and there was just…so much of it. He felt it pack the back of his pants and then start running down his legs, and then he was pissing himself again, the front of his new fatigues soaked, and he did his very best to hold himself at attention, but his body shook with humiliation and arousal. Sarge came close to him and the sheer stench rolling off him brought Harry to his knees, head bowed, face slammed into his musky crotch, and when he started pissing, Harry started sucking it out through the fabric, lamenting every drop he couldn’t get through the fabric. “Look at you, you fucking piece of work. I don’t think you even deserve the respect of that fuckin’ uniform you have on–how about we give you something a bit more fitting?

Harry shivered suddenly, the cold night air directly against most of his fat body. In fact, the only clothes he was wearing now was a thick, heavy metal collar around his neck, a tag on it reading “Pigboy Baby Slave” and a thick padded diaper, sagging down with the weight of his massive load of shit and piss. As a final tough, Jeff added a pacifier with a six inch cock for a nipple shoved down his throat, and he laughed at Harry’s new look, the idiot just grinning as he sucked the rubber cock in his mouth, his thick mind unable of comprehending what was happening to him. He just felt so happy, on his knees before his stinking Master, his diaper full of piss and shit, this was all he knew, all he wanted. “Come on piglet, we’re gonna go have some more fun,” Jeff said, and walked over to the trailer. Harry tried to get to his feet, but found that he couldn’t walk anymore, and was forced to crawl after his master, oinking and grunting uncontrollably as they went inside.

It was many hours later when Harry, exhausted, finally collapsed and fell asleep. Harry didn’t notice immediately–he was too busy pounding his slave’s filthy hole with his massive cock for the third time, the feel, sound and stench of his slave’s shit squelching around his cock taking up all of his attention. He’d cut open Pigboy’s diaper once they’d gotten inside and forced his nasty slave to slather himself with the contents, before begging his daddy to fuck and fist his loose, incontinent hole, and Jeff had only been too happy to oblige. He came once more with a forceful shudder and heard Harry’s snores, and decided his boy had earned a few hours rest, before Jeff woke him up to eat his master’s morning shit. Fuck–morning–was it coming already? Looking out one of the trailer’s filthy panes, he could see the sky had started lightening, and as the first rays of the sun crested the horizon, Jeff looked back over his shoulder and saw that he was no longer alone.

“Ah, so, Harry, I see you enjoyed yourself tonight,” the fairy said, giving Jeff a wink, “Dang, you sure did do a number on your date, didn’t you?”

Jeff looked down at Harry, and realized the fairy hadn’t noticed the role switch that had happened halfway through the night. Hell, of course he’d think Jeff was Harry–he was the one with the spells as well. Did this mean that their time was already up? Jeff thought about it, and realized he didn’t want to go back to the prissy, uptight cub he’d been just a few hours ago–this sense of freedom, of power and dominance, it was too wonderful to cast aside now. “Is…Look, I don’t want to change back, I don’t want either of us to change back–can’t we stay like this?”

“That wasn’t the deal, Harry.”

“So then make it a deal, what do you want in exchange?”

The fairy cocked an eyebrow, “Well, I mean, since it seems like the two of you are enjoying yourselves, I suppose I could come up with an agreement of some sort. Here’s what I want. First, I want neither one of you to ever shower or clean yourselves in any way ever again. Second, I’ll leave you access to your spells, but only if, every day, you use them to make at least one man filthier and grungier than he was when he began the day. If you don’t follow through on either point, the contract is broken, and your magic will disappear, leaving you trapped in whatever form you might be in at the moment. Is that agreeable to you?”

“I’ll take it,” Jeff said, without a second of hesitation, and the fairy laughed.

“Very well, ‘Sarge’, enjoy yourself now–and I look forward to seeing your work,” with a flash, the fairy was gone, and Jeff grinned, looking over at his pig–this was going to be the start of a whole new life, even if it wasn’t the happily ever after he’d been expecting.

Home for the Holidays – Episode 2 (Part 4)

WARNING: SCAT

Mark could feel himself…growing. He tugged at the belt he was wearing, getting it off from around his thin waist, as his gut began to expand, filling with fat just as his brother had a moment before. It was…the same sensation he’d felt with his father and uncle, that the curse was rebounding on him somehow, that he was tied to it, sympathetically. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it also wasn’t exactly comfortable–and when Buzz walked up and started rubbing his belly, delighting in Mark’s changes, it only made him feel even sicker somehow, seeing the old slob enjoying his change this much.

“Why *grunt* is this happening to me,” Mark managed to get out, hearing himself grunt just like his brother had, and with one hand, he tentatively felt his face, and sure enough, a short snout had sprouted there–not as pronounced as Luke’s, but enough to be unmistakable for what it was.

“Because you’re becoming a warlock, Mark–you’re embracing the darkness inside of you. It’s going to grow and grow, and pretty soon, you won’t be able to remember a time when your head wasn’t full of this perverse darkness, same as me, and same as that friend of ours, Magnus.”

“Magnus…he’s nothing like you.”

“Oh, the only difference between Magnus and I is that he cares more about…keeping up appearances. Just wait until you lay eyes on him, once you’re ready. You’re going to see him for who he really is, and then you’ll understand what I mean.”

Mark wanted to deny it, wanted to push that darkness away, but…he could feel it, inside him. It was a power he hadn’t felt before, but also a need, a hunger. He sniffed the air, and he…smelled something. Something he wanted. He rolled over on the bed and followed his snout over to where his brother was sitting in his filthy coveralls, jacking his pig cock, smelling the shit, and piss, and cum, and musk welling up around him, and…and it was turning him on. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t, and he tried to pull himself away, but Buzz was still inside his mind, still pulling his strings, dulling his intuitions, feeding that…hunger.

“You see, being a warlock isn’t about just about forcing this darkness onto others, we revel in it as well. We share it. Everything you have forced onto these men, it’s inside you as well, it always was, just waiting to grow. Don’t fight it–you won’t win, and giving in is going to feel so good. Just…embrace it…Accept what you need…”

Mark didn’t…remember what happened next, exactly, how he dug into the back of Luke’s coveralls, devouring the mess there, unable to help himself, how it had driven him into a state of bliss, and delight, and he’d pinned him down on the bed and fucked him, both of them rutting like the pigs they were, while Buzz urged them on, eventually taking the other end of Luke, pumping a load of his own cum down Luke’s pig throat, and after Mark came in his ass, he could feel some of the darkness receding, and he was able to break away, run to the bathroom, and vomit up what he could into the toilet, horrified at what he’d done, horrified, and yet…so satisfied at the same time. So eager to try it again, so eager and hungry for more.

Buzz came up behind him, aimed his cock, and started pissing all over Mark’s head, and the hunger returned. He found himself laying back against the toilet, maw open, drinking down as much of Buzz’s piss as he could, still stroking his piggy cock, unable to help himself, while Buzz just laughed. “There’s no going back for you now, you realize that, right? Every step you take is just going to make this even worse–and I can feel how much you want it. Fuck, I fought too, when Magnus helped me down the path, but this was the best thing I could have ever become–you’ll see too, in the end, that this is what you were made for. This is what you have always needed to be.”

He finished pissing, and then left Mark there in the bathroom, covered in piss, jacking off wildly, desperate to control himself…but unable to find the will to resist. He came again, and when he did, the darkness ebbed away a bit further, and he was left on the floor of the bathroom, horrified at himself, but also…part of him was embracing it. Buzz was right, there was something inside him, something real, a twisted knot he’d always felt as long as he could recall, and now…now he didn’t think he’d be able to put it back, to shrink it, or anything…

He wanted to cry, but just felt numb. Eventually, he stood up, and stumbled out of the doorway and into the rest of the filthy house. Buzz was waiting for him, dressed, and told him it was time for them to pay someone else a visit, but who?

What should happen next?

Buzz wants to visit John, the oldest brother, with his new habits.
Buzz wants to visit Isaac, his cousin suffering under the imago curse.
Buzz wants to visit Magnus, to take Mark down the next step in his path together.
A mysterious stranger arrives, and helps Mark escape from Buzz, telling him he wants to help.

The public poll is here!

The patron only poll is here!

Voting ends in a few days!

Home for the Holidays – Christmas (Part 2)

Well, Mark thought, he was here–he might as well hear Buzz out and see what he had to suggest. After all, it wasn’t like Magnus was in any mood to help him, and if what Buzz said was right, about undoing curses being as dangerous as he said, maybe his method would be safer. “Alright, so…how to I channel it, or whatever, into them?”

Buzz got a glimmer in his eye, but rather than dispel some of his concerns, it only made Mark feel a little more…uneasy. This wasn’t the same as the first time he’d met Buzz, to get the ingredients for the curses. Magnus…had told Buzz to drop his name when he got there, that it was the only way Buzz would likely even open the door, and Magnus had been right. Buzz had been gruff, impatient, dismissive, and as uninterested as he could be. Mark had barely even gotten the ingredients out of the guy–the exchange for one of his brothers was the only thing that had interested Buzz at all. Now though…he was warmer, and more concerned. He also kept…looking at Mark, and would touch him on occasion. A hand on the shoulder, or brushing a hand across his ass…and it was making him feel uncomfortable, enough so that he was having a hard time focusing on what Buzz was even saying to him.

“So, do you understand?” Buzz asked, and Mark, uncomfortable and unsure of whether this was a good idea, told him that he hadn’t really been able to follow what he’d said.

“Look, a curse is like…a hole. You dig the hole in someone’s life, or self, and then you fill it up with the darkness they forced on you–but that connection lingers. If you don’t get all that darkness out–if you don’t fill them up with everything they gave you, then what’s left is going to wound you instead. The channel is still open, as long as you’re still changing, and so you can keep filling, got it? It doesn’t even have to be the same curse, exactly. If anything, the curse you chose for this one,” Buzz said, indicating Mark’s middle brother, “is, well, I’m not surprised you’re getting some blowback.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asked, “Magnus said–”

“Yeah yeah, Magnus…trust me, I know his skill set, we’ve been compatriots for a long time. But curses? I know curses. You…have got some beautiful darkness inside you man, and it will just keep eating at you if you don’t do something with it,” Buzz said, sliding closer on the couch where they were sitting, one hand on Mark’s thigh, his breath reeking close to his face…but then Buzz pulled away again. “Come on,” let’s get ready.

Together, Buzz and Mark selected another curse for his middle brother, Luke, something Buzz promised him would pack a significantly greater punch than the last. Then, he got his first look at his brother…and well, some of Mark’s resolve fled the room. He wasn’t the brother he remembered from a few weeks ago. Dressed in a set of filthy coveralls, reeking of piss and shit, he was sitting in his room, groping his cock through his diaper, watching some of the filthiest, nastiest porn Mark had ever seen–and he was so focused on it, he didn’t even turn to look as the two of them stepped into the room.

Mark circled around so he could get a better look, and through Luke’s short beard, he looked…disgusting, and from the flecks of brown in his beard, he could imagine some of the paces Buzz had been putting him through. “What…what the fuck did you do to him?” Mark asked.

“You gave him to me–what I do to him is my business.”

The regret and dismay he’d been feeling intensified, and again, Mark felt the second thoughts welling up inside him. Luke…didn’t deserve this. The men in his family had been shitty, sure, but this–he had gone too far, he could see that now. “Fuck this, I’m–I’m getting him out of here, he doesn’t deserve this,” Mark said, and went to heft his brother up–but before he could, it was like some…strange string in his mind pulled tight, and he couldn’t move an inch.

“Now, now, young man,” Buzz said, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to pull your strings, but I’m afraid I can’t let you…disrupt your brother here like that. After all, he’s very happy here, with me, his Master–and he’s going to be even happier after you do what we’d just planned on doing, I think.”

Mark struggled against it, but he realized, then, that he could feel them–all the little strings of control Buzz had been slipping into him during that first explanation, the one he hadn’t been able to understand, or even really remember.

“You know, if I’m being honest, I never understood what Magnus saw in you, when he told me. Even when you came here, I thought he had lost his touch–but you know what? I was wrong. Look at you now? How you’ve…matured,” Buzz came closer, running a dirty hand across Mark’s aging face. He tried to flinch, but instead, he opened his mouth, and allowed Buzz to slide his fingers inside. “There is…so much darkness inside you–we can make a warlock of you yet, I think. It was smart of him to drive you to me though–we’ll be great friends, soon enough, once you get a proper taste of it.”

Mark didn’t understand–were Buzz and Magnus working together? But that didn’t make any sense! He didn’t have time to sort much of it out though, before another string pulled, and Mark felt…something else slide into him, a sick, disgusting desire. Looking at his filthy brother in front of him, all he could feel, suddenly, was an intense, sadistic, arousal. It wasn’t his, it didn’t feel like his, really–it was coming from Buzz. It was what Buzz wanted him to feel, and as hard as he tried to resist it…he could feel more coming, the darkness inside him, which had been growing stronger, ever since he’d cursed his family, was bubbling up. He could hear himself chanting the curse he had agreed on with Buzz…but was there something he could do to stop it? He fought, but there was nothing he could do–he could feel the curse forming on his lips, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

What is the curse he uses on his brother?

An inanimate curse, he turns his brother into a half human, half inanimate, toilet.
An animus curse, he turns his brother into a pigman.
A demonic curse, he imbues his brother with a demon of sloth.
An aging curse, he ages his brother into an old, filthy man.

Here’s the public poll!

Here’s the patron only poll!

Voting ends in a couple of days.

The Unholy Trinity (Sketch)

Warning: Satanic references and scat, if that bothers you.

Do you wish to be cured of your sinful weakness?

He did. God, did he. Neville wanted to be good, had always done his hardest to be good in all things. To be christ-like, to be worthy of God, but the struggle–it was so hard now, at college, away from his family. Even at this Christian school, they were still here, he was certain of it. Faggots of all descriptions, looking at him, wanting him (or was it just him, wanting them? Seeing his own gaze reflected in their glances at him?) and he…he was too close to succumbing to temptation, closer than he’d ever been, even when he’d snuck a kiss from Tanner Abrahms in the woods, which had gotten him a summer long stay at the conversion camp. It was all he could think about. He was weak…and he was willing to try anything to be free of this sin.

So he’d found this website. A website claiming it could cure him of all the desires that ailed him, if he would just put his full faith in the Trinity. Idolatry, really, he knew that. No website could do what God alone was capable of, but maybe, at least, it would make him feel better. He hovered the cursor over the yes button, clicked it, and the screen loaded with a strange, undulating spiral, and the words:

As Christ worshiped the feet of men, so you too, worship the feet of all men, the first of the trinity.

What happened next, he couldn’t describe. It was a vision, yes, but also a memory, and a desire–so many things all at once, he didn’t know how to describe it–all he could do was experience it, helplessly.

“That’s good pig–you like the taste of that filth?”

“Yes sir, thank you sir,” he said, running his tongue along the sole, tasting the filth the man had been building up. He claimed he hadn’t changed his socks in days, and Neville believed it as he licked, stroking his own cock, feeling a load building in his balls.

“Never known a faggot who got off more on a rank foot than a nice cock–good thing I got both for ya, whenever ya need ‘em.” He took one foot and kicked Neville’s hand away, grinding it against his cock and balls, and it was too much–he exploded all over the man’s foot, and then licked his own cum off it, thanking him for allowing him to serve him as a foot pig.

Then, it was gone–well, hardly gone. It was seared into his soul. It had happened, it, and so much more. He looked over and could see the collection of shoes he’d bought off filthy men he’d met, how he knew their smells so personally–and quickly, he tried to shut to window on the computer, but it refused. The screen simply faded to black, and a new spiral appeared, and a new phrase below:

Baptized in the piss of our lord, drinking of his waters and allowing his perversion to root out the weakness inside you.

Neville tried to tug his eyes away from the spiral, but already, he could feel a second vision overwhelming him.

It was warm. He stuck out his tongue, and the man directed his stream onto it, and as soon as he tasted it…he knew he would need more.

“That’s a good fucker, drink it all down. You wanna smell like my piss, don’t you?”

He nodded, and looked up at him. It was the same man as before–older, chubby, and while a name didn’t come to him, Neville knew he always called him Daddy, his…Father. Not his real father, but that seemed…so far away now. This was the man who cared for him, who nurtured him, who taught him the ways of the true Lord.

He pulled out his own cock, pointed it up, and started pissing on himself, as Daddy directed hos own stream onto the filthy shirt he was wearing. “A fuckin’ natural–they’re gonna love ya, fuck.”

The vision left him again, but the smell didn’t. The sensation of dampness. He reeked of urinals, he could taste piss on his tongue, and it was divine. He couldn’t help himself–he hauled his cock free of the yellow briefs he had on and started jacking off as the second spiral disappeared, and a third came into focus:

You feast of the shit of men, and it shall sustain you in ways the body never could. The lord provides, and you shall be a true servant of the unholy trinity.

He tired to resist it. He knew he should be able to resist it…but his faith had been weak. He had been tempted, and now, he could feel himself falling into the clutches of Satan, a third and final vision overwhelming him.

“Tell me what you want, slave,” Daddy said.

“I want your shit, sir.”

“You wanna be daddy’s toilet pig? If you start–I ain’t gonna be usin’ that toilet much anymore. It’s all gonna go down that nasty throat of yours.”

He pushed his ass back, into Neville’s face, and let loose a wet fart. He snorted the stench down, his already rock hard cock throbbing. He’d eaten Daddy’s nasty crack plenty of times before, and he…he was ready. He wanted this, he wanted to be this…this pig, forever. Daddy grunted and bore down, and Neville ate–and as he ate, he felt the shame, the horror–all of it curdled into a single ball of lust. Lust like he’d never known before, and he devoured it all, licking his lips after Daddy helped him wash down the last of it with his piss, and then jacked Neville off with his foot. “Your mine now, boy. Mine forever. You’re Satan’s Pig–and your name is now–”

“Ville!” he screamed in his room as he came, cum exploding all over his nasty underwear he wore when he was at home, reeking of sex and musk, just how he liked them. Neville was gone–he could feel that weak thing falling down into the darkness, lost to the fires of hell and damnation–right where it belonged. Ville was free now–free, and with a new mission, to serve his own, unholy trinity for the rest of his life.

He got dressed in his favorite gear, making sure everyone could see looking at him what kind of pig he was, and lit a red as he hit the pavement. He was a missionary now–a disciple, and he would find someone to share the gospel of the unholy trinity with before the night was through–or hell, maybe two, he thought, seeing two cute college students pass him by, catch a whiff of his filthy body, and freeze. “Hey boys,” he said, putting an arm around each of their shoulders, “Why don’t you two come back to my place? We can have some real fun together, I bet.”

My Town (Part 12)

Quentin looked up at Todd from where he was on his knees. He wanted to cry…but he couldn’t. All he could feel was that same hunger beginning to build in him, and he reached around, pulled the cigar butt from his ass, and stuck it in his mouth, unlit, and began to chew. “Please…Please, I’ll do anything you want. Make me whoever you want. I’ll be your sheriff, I’ll beat up whoever you want, but not this, please not this,” he muttered to Todd.

Todd stepped into the cell with him, his leather boots hard against the concrete, and crouched down with him, watching him chew the cigar while he smoked his own. Quentin saw that his eyes had changed, from the night before–something was…wrong with them. They had been blue before, and certainly cold and calculating, but now they were something else. The iris was grey, and seemed to swirl gently as they looked at one another, and the pupil was black, but almost had a sheen of leather. Todd stroked the side of his face with one of his gloves, and he flinched away, only for Todd to grab him by the neck, squeezing him gently, tilting his head so his cheek was half an inch from the burning end of his cigar.

“This is my town now, do you understand that? I don’t think you do, really. None of you do, yet. I remember you, you know, when I was a kid. You were just a deputy then, always the perfect image of professionalism on the beat. I wonder, do you remember me at all? Do you remember watching me getting beat up in the school yard from across the street, that same grin as always plastered on your face? You didn’t do shit for me then–you were useless, and spineless. Now, at least, I have a use for a piece of scum like you. Like all of you–my dad, my brother, every man in this town. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Do you have any idea what I’ve given up for this? You can’t possibly understand–but that’s alright. I’m not keeping you all around because of your smarts, or because of your compassion. I’m keeping you all here for my pleasure–and do you know what would please me most right now? Making you a filthy fucking ash pig for the rest of your miserable life,” Todd smiled, “And you know what else? I think that’s what would please you most too.”

Quentin…remembered something then. Something he was certain wasn’t real, something fabricated by Todd and inserted into his mind, but it felt…so real. He remembered how, for so long, he’d been keeping a secret–that while to the rest of the town he was an upstanding, respectable citizen, whenever he was alone in his garage, he’d been…consumed by a desperate, insatiable desire for smoke and ash. “No–no, it isn’t true, I…I never did any of that.”

“No? You didn’t go on cam with strangers all over the world, devour full trays of ash in front of them over cam, coat yourself with it, and beg them to send them their own fill ashtrays? You didn’t do any of that? But you remember it, don’t you? I can pull up your xtube account, I can show you everything. It’s real now–it’s all real as could be. So you see, Ashtray–all I’m doing is setting you free. Setting you free to be the man you always wanted to be–because in my town, you can be exactly who you were meant to be, all along.”

He fled. He pushed himself to his feet, shoved his way past Todd, and ran all the way out of the police station. He didn’t pay attention to the other leather clad officers laughing as he passed them by, didn’t notice the thick haze of smoke in the air, from all of their collective pipes and cigars–he didn’t stop running until he was on the sidewalk, two blocks down, and crouched in an alley between a bar and a cigar shop–and he tried to deny it. Tried to find himself, but he was still chewing the cigar, still swallowing down bits of it, taking it out, licking the still warm end, coating his tongue in ash, moaning, groping himself, thinking about how…how satisfying it was. It was true–he’d hated that side of himself, hadn’t he? No–no, not that side. He’d hated his public face. He’d hated how everyone had looked at him in uniform, hated the standard he had to abide by…but now, there were no standards for him. He was free to fall as far as he could, and as terrifying as the thought was, he was so…happy, all the same, to be free at last.

Now, he walked the streets during the day, begging the men of the town for ash, smoke, spit, piss–whatever they were willing to give him, and enduring any act of humiliation to get it, and at night, he’d sleep in the alleys or get picked up by his favorite cops, and spend the night in a cell servicing them all night long. Now–now he simply was who he was–no illusions, no disguise. The ash starved pervert he’d always wanted to be…it was real now, and as much as he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t right, that he had it backwards, the relief was so real. He stepped out of the alley, wanting everyone to see him. Wanting them to know him for exactly who he was, the cigar unraveling in his mouth, leaf stuck in his teeth, and a couple of bears were coming towards him down the sidewalk, cigars half-smoked.

“Fuck, any…anything a filthy Ashtray can do for some of that ash of yours fellas?” he said. He said it. He wanted to say it, and when the two men shoved him into the alley for a little fun behind the dumpster, he felt that old Quentin withering in his mind, and he pushed him away. This is just who he was–who he’d always been meant to be–and thank god for Todd, for his town allowing him to become the nasty pig he’d never known he really was.

This is the end of “My Town” for now–there may or may not be more in the future.

Winter Vacation (Finale)

Had he been too cocky? No–he’d done his best, he was sure of it. Nate looked around the kitchen, at every surface covered with the remnants of their massive breakfast, knowing he should eat more, knowing that he had to eat more, if he was going to win, but he just…he just couldn’t do it. Brett just smelled…so fucking good–he dove back into his brother’s pit, while Brett cleaned off another plate from the pile, and let off a long belch before leaning back against the wall, and allowing his little brother better access to his massive, stinking, sweaty body.

He had to be at least ten feet tall now–too large to be able to stand up in the house, at this point–if he even could stand. It had been about halfway through the meal, that Brett was certain he was going to lose, after all. He’d been trying to move from the table to the island, in search of more to eat, when he’d felt his legs buckle under his own weight, and he’d collapsed–and been unable to get himself back up. Nate had just laughed at him, stuffing his face, their daddy looking on the scene from near the stove. He’d been doing so well, he’d nearly passed Nate entirely…but now, if he couldn’t get to the food, what was he going to do?

Daddy had offered him a deal–one he’d…been reluctant to take, but now…now he understood. He’d felt his daddy’s demonic essence flow into him, and he’d started to change, the filth pouring from him, soaking him down from head to toe. He reeked now, but not like before. It was…inhuman. He was inhuman, he could feel the thing burning inside him, burning him away, but it didn’t matter. He was big now. He was the big brother, and he always would be. As soon as Nate had smelled his intense scent, he’d been helpless–and rather than stuff himself, he’d started focusing only on feeding his filthy brother, as much as he wanted, worshiping him and his stink when he had enough food to focus on, helping him balloon larger and larger, his belly heaving out with every plate until it covered his legs, which had seemed to be…shrinking. In fact, Brett couldn’t feel his legs anymore at all–he…he didn’t need them.

He leaned forward, feeling new sets of muscles in his massive belly contracting, and sliding him across the floor like a massive slug, leaving a putrid, stinking trail of filth behind him, which Nate could no longer resist. He picked it up, feeling it dry in his hands into a tacky mass–he hauled the dip from his cheek and wedged some of his brother’s filth in instead, and it tasted so…foul, he came, spurting a massive load of cum across the floor as thick, black drool ran down into his beard.

“What do you say, little bro?” Brett asked.

“Thank…thank you…big bro.”

“If you really want to say thank you, get over here and let your nasty big bro fuck that hole of yours, like a good boy.”

Brett’s cock had changed as well–nearly a foot long, the head shaped like a spade, and…prehensile. It wormed into Nate’s hole with incredible ease, and he could feel it…squirming about inside him, his brother gripping him tight in his strong, flabby arms, thrusting deep until he came, flooding him with thick, gloppy cum, and then pulling free, Nate collapsing, feeling both utterly violated, and supremely grateful at the same time.

“That’s very good son, I’m so proud of you,” their daddy said, walking over to Brett, “Now, go up to your room for a while–let me and Nate have a little…father son chat.”

Brett slid from the room and upstairs, where he found the entire upper floor had melded together into a single, massive, cavernous space, all of it reeking of him. He relaxed, allowing his slime to spread, wondering what his daddy had in mind for his little brother.

“Please daddy, I’m sorry. Don’t…don’t punish me, I tried…” Nate said, as his daddy helped him up. He was eight feet tall now, his gut sagging low, but unlike his brother, much of the weight he’d gained was muscle. He was so wide, he would struggle with most normal doorways for the rest of his life.

“Now now, I’m proud of you too, boy. You have a role here, as well. The most important role.”

Nate looked up at him. “Are…are you going to change me too?”

His daddy shook his head. “No–No, you are the first, the leader. The missionary. You need to go out into the world, and bring us more men–men who will join you in blissful, eternal service to your demonic lords of the house–and to you, of course. You will always be first among them, my chosen one.

Nate nodded in understanding, and worshiped his daddy’s–his demonic lord’s–cock for the first time, reveling in its taste and glory, and when he was finished, he got on his hog, and rode down into town, where he sidled up to the bar, and sized up the men around him, looking for the first men to join his daddy’s fledgling cult. He didn’t have his brother’s stench to compel their minds, but he was strong–he overwhelmed a couple of hunters, bound them up, and drove them home in their own truck, where his daddy was waiting for them on their porch. He was pleased–and a week later, the two hunters were eagerly thanking their new master Nate in the garage, cleaning his feet and licking foul, black spit from his belly like the hungry pigs they’d become.

–END–

Orwell’s Demon (Part 10)

WARNING: Scat, Abuse, Filth, & other strange stuff.

Orwell couldn’t stop himself from trembling as the demon approached him. How could he have fought him for so long? How could he have ever wanted to deny himself this moment of glory? The demon’s form was grotestque, twisted–but then, so was Orwell’s own–so were they all. He’d been seeing everything through human eyes, before, comparing himself to the normalcy of earth, but why? Why had he refused?

“Now, I believe that I promised you a cock, Orwell. Unfortunately, Hurlbane is making use of your old one already–so we’ll have to give you a new one. Luckily, I have one just perfect for a piggy like you.”

The demon pressed one burning palm to Orwell’s bare groin, and he felt something stir beneath it–something was…inside him, trying to force it’s way out. A moment later, a corkscrew shaped cock erupted from beneath his skin, forming a sheath running up under his gut, and then two massive balls descended into a new sack, each of them the size of a small melon. The demon took his hand away, but the burning didn’t stop. The corrupted boar cock and balls were flooding his body with lust, changing him more. His hands and feet twisted and hardened, becoming four trotters, barely capable of holding anything==but what did Orwell need to hold anymore, beyond a cock? His face was twisting as well, a short snout pushing out from his face, two thick, dirty tusks growing from his lower jaw. Six more nipples erupted from his body, all of them cigars like the first two, and with a snap of his fingers the demon set them all alight, Orwell snorting and grunting in beautiful pain, smoke streaming from his now porcine nose and mouth. His hair returned, but not human hair–it was rough boar bristle, covering his back, leaving his belly bare, the skin hardening into a proper hide, the filthy designs twisting and contorting, mutating constantly into any number of perverse and blasphemous imagery. A short, curly tail shoved its way free above his ass, and it was done. Orwell was no longer human–just a demonic boar, enthralled to his demonic master. He lunged for the demon’s cock, sucking at it, drool pouring from his chin as he pleased him, eager to thank him, eager to prove that the demon had chosen well, when he’d drawn Orwell’s hand to the amulet that day in the store.

Behind him, Ray came, pressing his massive cock to the entrance of Orwell’s hole. “It feels…so long since I was inside you, Piggy–I missed it so much, I’m so happy you joined us, I’m so happy I can impale you whenever I fucking want…” He pushed into him, filling his ass with his massive cock, distending his belly, and rotten shit pushed out of his guts and onto the demon’s cock, spilling from Orwell’s maw.

“Aww yeah, that’s my filthy pig,” Jonathan said, and got down with him, licking the filth from Orwell’s mouth and the ground below him, “Love the taste of yer fermented fuckin’ filth, fuck! Gonna be feeding ya a whole lot–I hope yer ready tah get stuffed, cause I ain’t shit in fuckin’ ages, piggy. Gonna fill ya so full ya ain’t gonna move fer a week!”

Stewart came up next, and brought a chain whip down hard across Orwell’s back, making him squeal. Aaron came beside him, sharing smoky kisses with Officer Hurlbane, stroking both of his cocks before forcing the officer down, making him wrap his lips around his cigarcock and smoke him beside the demon skullfucking his newest pig.

“Are you ready, piggy? Spill your seed, and join us here forever. Spill it on the rocky ground, and know that you’re cursed. Give up your rationality, your will. Give me your humanity, and in return, I will give you eternal pleasure, and all of the perversity that you can possibly desire. Become mine, and you will know pleasure the likes of which mortals have never known. The demon pulled out, and forced Jonathan to turn around, so his hole was facing Orwell. Go on–give him a taste, and then fuck his disgusting hole–that’s what a dirty pig like you wants, right?”

Orwell did as the demon commanded, diving into the crack, licking at it, snorting down the disgusting trucker slob’s farts, eating the logs of shit pouring from the hole, feeling his gut distend even further as Ray fucked deeper and deeper into his ass. Unable to resist anymore, he mounted him, sliding his new boar cock into his greasy hole and began to rut, Stewart raining blows down across the boar’s hairy back, driving him to new heights of pleasure, until with a squeal loud enough to shake the cavern around them, he came. He flooded the hole with his corrupted cum, pleasure blooming within him, pushing out everything else–his memories, his human desires, his will, all rational thought. Orwell was no more–he was just a pig, just a demon, just a filthy, perverse toy for his master–just like they all were, and just like they would all be forever more.

Orwell’s Demon (Part 7)

“You know, I’m curious. What the fuck does it even taste like?” Officer Hurlbane said, sitting down again, sucking on the cigar still. Orwell could…see him changing, slowly. The demon was enjoying himself, enjoying taunting him. His clean shaven face was coated in stubble now, though it would be a full beard before too much longer. The uniform he was wearing was straining against his growing frame, as the officer packed on muscle. He wasn’t sure if it was the light, but the material seemed…strange. It wasn’t cotton, like it had been–it was darkening, and picking up a sheen, like leather or rubber–probably the former. “I mean, doing what I do, I’ve seen a lot of freaks, Orwell, but I gotta say, you’re the first fucker I’ve ever talked to who actually ate the stuff. So, what’s it taste like? And do you fucking smear that shit on you too? Cause you sure fucking smell like it.”

Since his encounter with the trucker, whom Orwell later learned was named Jonathan when the police questioned him about it–given the similar circumstances around the man’s disappearance as the Ray and Stewart–he’d discovered that normal food…he couldn’t keep it down. It tasted…vile, and if he managed to get any into his stomach, he’d just end up vomiting it up a few minutes later. In fact…the only thing he’d eaten, since that day, was shit. It was the only thing he could eat–the only thing he wanted to eat. But worst of all–he couldn’t even eat his own, because his ass, and his guts…they were different too. Nothing was connected. His ass, he realized, was designed to be fucked now–and all the shit he ate, and piss he drank, just sat in his guts, filling and expanding as he ate more and more, and slowly, his body would…process it, and leech it back out through his pores. It was vile. He was vile. He was a monster, and he hated it, but he couldn’t resist it–and somehow, when he was around, men would always forget to flush.

“What, scared that I know your disgusting fucking secret? Did Ray find out? Did Stewart? What the fuck did you do to these men? Where the fuck are they, you fucking freak!”

He had to tell him, he had to. He should have tried before, it might be too late, but he had to try. “It’s not me! It’s not me, it’s…honest to god, sir, I’m possessed. This fucking amulet,” Orwell pulled it out of his shirt, “there’s a demon inside, and he…he corrupts men, please, he’s corrupting you too! You have to get out of here, before it’s too late, before he controls you too.”

Officer Hurlbane just stared at him, not at all sure what to say. “If you think you’re going to be able to use an insanity defense with that story, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“I’m serious! Look at you! You’re smoking, have you ever smoked before? Your clothe are changing, you have a beard–look in the fucking mirror!” Orwell said, pointing to the wall…but it was gone. The mirror, and the window, was gone. It was just concrete–the entire room was concrete, there wasn’t even a door left.

Now now, that’s a very naughty piggy, trying to tell the policeman about me. It’s much too late for that though, you know. He’s mine, just like they all are. Just like you could be too, Orwell, if you’d stop being so stubborn.

“No–No! I won’t I fucking won’t. I don’t want this, let him go!”

You do want this, Orwell, I can see in your heart, how hungry you are, how much you need to be smoked. Wouldn’t it feel good, Orwell? Wouldn’t you rather have the nice officer smoking you, instead of that big, fat cigar of his? Wouldn’t that make you feel good? I can make it happen, you just have to want it–oh who are we kidding, we both know what you want, piggy.

The officer was changing faster now, his uniform completely leather, His face covered in a thick beard, hiding his lecherous grin. “Yeah, you’ve been a very bad piggy, haven’t you Orwell? He’s…he’s telling me all about you now, I…Fuck, you nasty fucking piece of shit…”

“Don’t fucking listen to him! You have to fight this, please! You’re the last one!”

“Tell me, Orwell. Tell me what you did to your fucking neighbor. Tell me what happened, I want to fucking hear it from your shit eating mouth. Get me good and horny with a nice story, and then the two of us are going to have some fun. I know how to set a piggy like you straight–I know what you need, what you deserve. I know…everything.”

“I can’t, please…”

“Fucking say it!” Hurlbane shouted at him, “Fucking tell me, you fucking pig!” He stood up, turned around, and dropped his leather pants, showing off his meaty ass. “Tell me what you did, or I won’t feed you this thick log of shit I have up here, waiting for your hungry lips. You want that, don’t you? You nasty, hungry, shitpig?”

Go on Orwell–tell him. He wants to know, he wants to know all about you. Tell him what you did to nice Mr. Piper the other night. Tell the officer what you saw that afternoon, what we did to him that night…

In The Doghouse (Part 3)

CW: Slob, Trash Eating, Light Scat

Carson didn’t sleep well, hunger and thirst gnawing at him all night long. The two bowls had a bit of rainwater in them, so he had a bit to drink, but it was the hunger that was worse. The floor of the doghouse was bare wood, and very uncomfortable. His new coat of fur was itchy, forcing him to figure out how to use his four new paws in odd ways to itch everywhere he could reach. But mostly, he was terrified. Would someone find him? He hadn’t told anyone where he was going–why would he? His phone was inside, but if Gage could literally turn him into a dog…then who knew what else he was capable of. If he was going to get out, he was going to have to be patient, and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

Still, eventually he did sleep, because he was roused by the sound of Gage opening the gate, and ordering Carson out of the doghouse. The morning light was bright–it was probably ten or eleven, and it looked like Gage had just woken up, from the bleary look in his eyes. “Saved it fer ya boy–gotta fill the bowl, right?” He hauled out his cock and pissed in one of the bowls–a long piss, filling it over half full, and Carson just stared at it, whining. When he finished, Carson saw him take a cup and dump some dark glop into the bowl as well, and he gave it a shake–it was a cup of tobacco spit, he realized.

“Best get used tah it, faggot–it’s what filthy dogboys like you love anyway–go on, give it a taste.”

He wanted to refuse, but the collar tugged him forward all the same. He lapped at the piss and spit, and was rewarded with a sickening pleasure in his cock. It didn’t taste good–it tasted like beer and cigarette butts from a urinal–but drinking it felt so…wrong, that he couldn’t help but find it arousing.

“See mutt? That cock of yers is hard already–go on now, piss in yer bowl like a good boy. Ya gotta piss, right?”

He did have to, but pissing in a bowl was a bit harder than he thought. He ended up getting most of it on the ground around the bowl, and Gage just laughed and heckled him for being so useless, and made him drink some more. Carson was a bit surprised that when he tasted the piss again–the taste hadn’t changed at all, but he enjoyed it, and he licked his chops when he was finished.

“Alright boy–time fer breakfast. Come on inside.”

If piss was his water, Carson didn’t have high hopes for what he might get for food–probably kibble, if anything. But in the kitchen, he didn’t even see a dog bowl for him or anything.

“Sorry, I didn’t get ya any food yet–but yer a dirty mutt, right? I bet you can find some stuff around here to eat. In fact, I bet a fat dogboi like you likes pretty much everything,” Gage said, and booped Carson on the nose with a finger, and when he did, the whole house lit up with smells, and his gut rumbled.

Unable to hold back, Carson crawled over to a pile of pizza boxes and started rooting through them with his nose, until he found the remains of a half eaten pie, and started chowing down, tearing into it with his new teeth.

“Good boy! Don’t worry–ya gots an iron stomach now, ya can eat pretty much anythin’, no matter how disgustin’. We’ll have some more fun when ya git in better shape, faggot.” Gage parked himself in the recliner and turned on the TV, but spent most of his time laughing and mocking Carson as he stuffed himself with whatever trash his nose scrounged up around the room. He did his best to fight it–he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, but again, the worst part was that the more he ate…the more he liked it. And the more he liked it, the harder his dog cock got–something Gage never ceased reminding him of either. His hunger never abated, no matter how full he got–but it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that Carson noticed the effect the filth he was gorging on was having on his body. His small gut had ballooned in size, hanging heavy as he walked on all fours, his thighs rubbing against one another, a second chin forming underneath his muzzle. “Heh, maybe I should have made you a pig, the way you’re chowing down on all that trash, mutt,” Gage said, and then called Carson over, “I think that’s enough for now, Faggot–yer Master needs some lovin’ now.”

Carson had purposefully avoided getting too close to his Master all morning, mostly because every time he did, he caught another whiff of his musk, and he wanted to smell more of it. Now, however, he had no choice. He walked over to where Gage was sitting, feet up in his recliner, and the smell of him had his mouth drooling in a matter of seconds.

“Ya look excited Faggot–take off mah socks, ‘n clean mah feet. Do a good job, ‘n ya might get a bone…”

With his teeth, he gripped Gage’s rank socks and tugged them off one at a time, and then licked the bottoms of his feet, trying not to enjoy himself as he did, but he couldn’t help it. He knew it was disgusting, he knew it should terrify him, but every taste–it sent a blast of pleasure right to his brain and his cock. It was even better when Gage drooled tobacco spit into his palm and smeared it on his body–he licked the rank spit up even more eagerly than everything else. Gage told him he was being a good boy, and let him lick a bit further up, cleaning his hairy thighs and calves, when Gage gave a grunt and let off a long fart a few inches from Carson’s face. Before he could pull away, Gage grabbed the back of Carson’s head and shoved his muzzle between his thighs, the stench making his eyes water even as his cock started leaking cum, and horrified, his body humped against his Master’s leg.

“Fuck Faggot! I know ya like mah stink, but ya fuckin’ know better!” Gage said, and gave Carson a kick in his balls, making him yelp, but held his face down as he released another fart. Carson managed to control himself this time, but the stench…he was drooling all over Gage’s thighs, panting and horny, and when Gage pushed his cock against Carson’s muzzle, he licked at it eagerly, no longer caring about whether he should feel this good–and just let it happen.