Deal of a Lifetime (Part 8)

“What’s the matter, daddy?”

Daddy gave a another growl of frustration, hefted his gut a bit higher on the pig’s back, and kept trying to work his cock into the pig’s hole, but as horny as he was, his cock simply wasn’t responding. “Yer too fuckin’ tight, pig.”

“Oh trust me daddy–after that nice licking you gave my hole earlier, I’m as loose as can be. You need one of your little blue pills to help you out?”

“Fuckin’ piece a shit! If I wasn’t looking at ya I could git hard, but yer fuckin’ grossin’ me out.”

“Don’t lie to me daddy–I might disgust you, but that just turns you on more. Still, if you can’t get hard, I guess we’ll have to figure out some other way for you to make my little piggy cock cum.”

“It’s daddy’s cock you should be fuckin’ concerned with. Ya can cum after I get mah own damn rocks off.”

“That’ll be a while, and you don’t have that much time left.”

“What the fuck do ya mean?”

“Well daddy, if you want to change back, you’re going to have to drink my cum–but the longer you wait, the more this becomes the real you. If I finish my pipe before I cum, I won’t be very happy, and you’ll be stuck for good.”

“Wait…what?”

“Can remember daddy, who you were? That’ll all be gone soon, if you don’t hurry, I don’t have a whole lot left in this bowl. Too much longer, and this little piggy will be gone again, and you’re going to be this disgusting daddy forever.”

He looked at himself in the mirrored doors of the hotel room closet, his 400 pound body covered with hair, matted with sweat, reeking of piss and musk, beard and hair grown long and ragged. That…wasn’t him. He knew that, but he could barely remember who he’d been before meeting this fucking pig hours earlier. “Fine, fuckin’ roll over, ‘n let’s git this over with.”

Carmichael did as he asked, rolling over onto his back, piggy cock jutting straight up into the air. “You can suck all you want daddy, but I simply can’t cum without something in my hole, and if that cock of yours can’t get hard…then again, a perverse, dirty minded, kinky daddy like you can probably figure something out.”

He was still looking at himself in the mirror as the tattoos appeared, snaking up his arms and legs onto his chest and belly, his mind–every empty spot was suddenly filling up with the sickest, most disturbing fantasies he could imagine. His gear shifted–a studded leather harness appearing under his vest, his gloves growing and turning to rubber, reaching up to his elbows. His nipples grew large and inflamed, pierced with thick rings, and his bulge grew as well, his cock and balls pumped and inflated with silicone. But he did have ideas–oh, did he have plenty of ideas for how to get this nasty piggy to nut his load down daddy’s throat.

He went to the closet, dug around for a moment, and returned to the bed with a tub of shortening, slathered one of his gloves, and started working his fingers into the pig’s hole–he’d been right, it was loose, and it swallowed his whole fist in less than a minute.

“Oh fuck daddy, that’s what I’m talking about…”

“Yeah, ya slutty fuckin’ pigs, daddy knows what ya really want…”

He pushed in deeper, up to his elbow, deep enough that he could get his mouth around the pig’s cock and start sucking, hard, milking it for all it’s worth.

“Oh fuck daddy, that feels so good, but I don’t know if I want to cum–just think, I could play with you anytime I wanted.”

The daddy didn’t like just how appealing that sounded to him. He sucked harder, pounding in deeper, before sliding back out a bit and milking the pig’s prostate until at last, with a grand squeal, the pig exploded into his mouth, and he drank all the cum down that he could–but there was so much of it.

“Careful daddy–you really don’t want to miss *grunt* a single drop.”

He could feel it working, feel some of the changes receding, but the flow stopped long before he felt normal again, and looked over at himself in the mirror. He was still at least fifty, with some of his original color back in his hair and beard, both of which were quite long. He still reeked of musk, and only a few of the tattoos had receded–but with some relief, he felt a stirring in his crotch, his cock returning to life and coming to full mast, but the view of it was still obscured by his massive gut–he had to be at least 350 pounds still, and a fucking hairy beast. “Feed me more a yer cum,” he said, “I can git another load out a ya.”

“Sorry daddy, but it doesn’t work like that. But let your little pig take care of you for a while,” Carmichael said, sitting up and pushing his daddy away, feeling his fist slide out of his hole, “After you cum, you won’t even want to go back–you’ll be a good dirty daddy, just how I want you.”

Half an hour later, Carmichael stepped out of the hotel room, and adjusted his cuffs and collar.

“Fuck man, I don’t know what the fuckin’ hell that was, but that was the nastiest sex a mah life,” a voice said behind him. He looked over his shoulder at the leering, bearded daddy grinning through a crack in the door. “When can I fuckin’ see ya again? I wanna play with that little pig some more.”

“Oh my,” he said, blushing a bit, the taste of tobacco still fresh in his mouth, “ Well, I was planning on finding a gentleman or two at the party tonight for another play session. Perhaps I’ll give you a call once we are underway, and you can come join us?”

“Fuck, sounds amazing.”

“I’ll be in touch then.”

The door shut, and Carmichael strutted down the hall, whistling a tune. He had a feeling he would enjoy this new life of his–maybe this had been a good trade after all.

“Daddy, I’m home!” Sammy said, shutting the door behind him. He dropped his backpack by the door, took off his shoes, and then started pulling off the rest of his clothes as he walked through the house, towards the TV den. “Sorry I’m home late daddy, traffic around the university was a nightmare.”

He stripped off his pants as he entered the den, where his daddy was on the couch, longways on his forearms and knees–where he was required to be as soon as the clock his 4:30 and his boy might be home. He had three dildos balanced across his flat back, and a tub of crisco at the top of his ass. He was sweating slightly from the exertion of holding the position, but nothing had fallen today. Too bad–Sammy had felt his daddy was getting too cocky lately, so he’d have to devise something else to knock him down another few pegs. The three dildos were sizable, but none were as large as Sammy’s ten inch cock, which he released from his underwear, half hard and already leaking. Sammy had banned toys bigger than his tool from Daddy’s house–but perhaps it was time for Daddy to take something larger than even his cock.

He went through their usual routine. Daddy kissed his cock and thanked his boy for choosing him as his daddy–said through gritted teeth, as always. Still, he said it–he’d learn to like it eventually–they always did. Sammy had only been training this daddy for a few months, since arriving here to attend school. Daddy had tried to pick him up at a bar, but had ended up on the receiving end instead. After paying tribute to his boycock, they started on the dildos. Daddy tried not to let on how good it felt, having his hole plugged, but like all of them–the more they had their boy inside of him, the more they needed to be filled. The poor daddies he’d left back home when he’d left for school–miserable, desperate creatures, all of them. He’d made them all life sized casts of his cock as souvenirs, but nothing could match the real thing.

Finally, after all three dildos in sequence, Sammy slid into his hole with no resistance. Daddy tried to fight back, but after two thrusts he was gone–his cock spewing cum, eyes vacant, drool flowing from his mouth as his boy rode him. Perhaps it was time to branch out–this daddy, he was thinking, could be a fist daddy. And so the boy started speaking to him in his trance, telling him that he’d always want his boy’s cock, but also his boy’s fists–and the fists of any man his boy took a liking to. Yeah, when daddy has to beg men at the bar Friday night to fist his hole, Sammy had a feeling he wouldn’t be feeling so cocky anymore.

Features & Bugs (Part 4)

Now that I had been away from the damn computer for a moment, the sense that something was…different was only growing stronger. I could hear Austin in the kitchen, cooking I assumed, and so I went into the bathroom to get a look at myself, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with my reflection, even though, I somehow knew that it wasn’t quite right. I mean…later…but then, at that moment? I looked at myself–at the beard, at the extra hundred and fifty pounds, at the tattoos and piercings, at the hair falling off my head in clumps…and I honestly couldn’t see anything wrong with it, and befuddled, I found Austin and ate, and ate, and ate. Dinner was massive, but my appetite was larger than I thought possible, and I stuffed myself. In the end, it was ten at night when we were finally ready to leave the house. I had no idea where we were going that late, but I went with Austin and climbed into his car…which was now much smaller than I thought it should be, and we drove into the city, parked, and walked a couple blocks to a rundown club, in a alley, and I followed Austin inside.

It looked like the setting of the videos I’d been watching–dingy, all tile and dim lighting and bodies pressed too close. It stank of musk and piss, and my little cock got hard instantly. My doubts started to fade, and I remember I was drooling uncontrollably as Austin led me deeper and deeper into the club, men crowding their way around me, touching me, smacking me, shouting at me. I don’t really know what happened when. I drank piss. I sucked cock and got fucked by who knows how many different men, all of them raw. At some point, strangers dragged me over to what looked like a converted sawhorse. They bent me over, strapping my hands and legs to the frame, the top cutting into my huge gut, and they opened up my hole how I’d…I’d always wanted. Fingers and cocks, and then fists. I don’t know how deep they went, or how many, but I was begging for it. I was in those videos, I was one of them, my fantasies were real.

I do remember one thing. Something I now know I wasn’t supposed to see. Austin hung around a bit at the beginning, but he soon abandoned me to the mob, once he saw I wouldn’t be trying to get away or resist. I was sucking cock, and trying to keep an eye on him, in case…he needed me, I suppose. And I saw him talking to someone, an older man in a leather uniform smoking a thick cigar. I wasn’t jealous or anything–I was just a pig after all, he could talk to or fuck around with whoever he wanted. No, for a while, I wasn’t even sure what had caught my attention. I thought I knew him, somehow. Recognized him from somewhere, but why would I know anyone here? It wasn’t until Austin and the man got closer, Austin pushing open the leather jacket the man had on, revealing his firm gut and the lines there, the lines I’d see forming through that crack in a door. It couldn’t have been him though, right? There was no way! He’d been…young, and thin, and this man was old, and sexy, and powerful and…and I knew it was true, but I was too horny to think, too weak to do anything. All I wanted was for him to come use me too–both because I wanted him, and because I wanted to see if I was right.

If two points make a line, how many until a shape forms in front of you? I couldn’t really see it, because I was too close–inside the boundary of the entire event, but everything linking up around me, the room spinning…it was too terrifying, and so I pushed it away. I focused on being a good pig, but doubts don’t go away that easily.

It was four in the morning, the bar was closing. Austin unbound me from the horse and helped me stand. The air on my hole felt so strange, as he helped me from the bar. I think I shit myself, but it might have just been a wad of cum running down my leg, I didn’t want to look–either possibility was horrifying. The cum more so. If it was cum…if it was cum, part of me wanted to eat it. We got back to the car, we drove back to his place, both of us exhausted, and we fell right to sleep. Sunday, my entire body ached, but it was a good ache. It was a hunger as much as a pain. I wanted to do it again. I wanted to do it every night. The excitement scared me–I couldn’t anticipate my own thoughts. I expected to feel disgust, but all my body told me was how good it felt, how much I wanted even more. And the doubts, the shape forming. We fucked all Sunday long, but come Monday I was going to get answers.

That morning, he tried to sneak out, but I got up with him, telling him I needed to go into work too. He told me he’d already called out for me, telling them I wasn’t feeling well. I got angry, said I was going, and he got angry. Frustrated, might be a better word, looking at me like I was just another computer not working like it was supposed to. It all came pouring out soon enough. I demanded to know who that man had been, and he denied at first, and then refused to tell me anything else. I wanted to know what I’d looked like, last week. I demanded to know what he’d done to me, what he’d done to both of us. He smiled, and promised me that he’d tell me everything when he got back from work that evening, but for now, I was to stay here, and not leave under any circumstance. Then, he left and shut the door behind him, locking it.

Features & Bugs (Part 2)

I nodded, even hornier than I’d been before I’d started the film, packed up my stuff, and left with Austin to head for his place, driving separately. The entire time, I couldn’t get that movie out of my head, it felt like the entire thing was looping over and over. Still, when I got there and we got busy with each other, I was still too nervous to suggest trying anything that I’d just seen, and Austin didn’t even bring it up, keeping things relatively vanilla.

In my previous relationships with women, I’d always enjoyed a more dominant role, and when I’d first hooked up with Austin, I’d tried that with him, but it wasn’t long before things had reversed. By this point, I was exclusively bottoming for him, and while I’d grown to appreciate it, that was the first night where I actually enjoyed the experience. Suddenly, having his cock in my ass…it wasn’t an intrusion, it was welcomed. Needed, even, and I kept thinking about that fist, thinking about how wide that pig’s hole had stretched to accommodate it, wondering what it might feel like to have someone inside me like that. The one thing I did do, while he fucked me, was start grunting and snorting a bit–not really on purpose at first, but doing it made me feel so damn sexy-dirty that I kept going, and Austin ramped up the nasty talk, calling me a little piggy, and that was when I blew all over his sheets.

We fucked a few more times that evening, which was more than we had before. I was insatiable, now that I knew how good it felt to be filled up, and Austin was more than happy to help me out. He couldn’t get it up the fourth time, but he seemed unfazed, and we dug around in his collection of toys, found a dildo substantially larger than he was, and now that I was well loosened he worked it into my hole…and I swear, I shot another load without even touching myself, just like that damn pig in that video, and as disgusted as I knew I should be…what I actually felt was pride, if you can believe it. I know I couldn’t, at the time. He worked me over for close to an hour, and I…I think I shot three more times before I’d finally had enough. I was sweaty and gross but I didn’t care…but I couldn’t get to sleep. My hole ached. At first I thought it was sore, but it was just…empty. I slipped out of bed and found a plug, and once that was in me I felt much better immediately, and drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

The next morning, Austin laughed when he found me plugged up, but he was ready again, and so we fucked one more time before work. Austin wasn’t small by any means, but after that dildo the day before…getting fucked was nice, but it just didn’t quite do it for me. I still came, but I was thinking more and more about that fisting session in that video. We carpooled to work together–it was Friday, and had already made plans to spend the weekend together like usual–and I went to work with the plug still in. Honestly, I’d just forgotten to take it out, and didn’t realize it was still in until the vibration of the car got my cock hard as a rock. I told Austin what I’d done, and he smirked, suggesting I just keep it in–after all, who would know, other than him of course. The thought had occurred to me of course, but having him validate the desire made me more comfortable with the idea. It wasn’t like I couldn’t take it out when it got uncomfortable, right?

Comfort wasn’t the issue, it turned out–it was stimulation. I couldn’t focus. I had to keep slipping off to the bathroom every hour to jack off, still snorting like a pig. I couldn’t get through tickets–I’d just stare at my computer screen, rocking on my plug, thinking about that video, wanting to watch, terrified someone might see, groping my leaking cock through my khakis. Before lunch, Austin sent me a link–another video. I skipped lunch, and watched it instead in the empty office while everyone else was out.

It was shorter, but featured the same pig as before. It was soaked in piss again, crawling around the floor, licking boots, licking cocks, licking pits, licking cracks. The lighting was better, and camera more focused on the pig this time, his body covered with less rubber. I could see that his entire body was covered with tattoos, face covered with piercings. It’s small cock was studded with metal, with a huge PA bigger than one of his balls through the head. His skin was totally smooth, it shone like it was covered with grease or oil, head shaved, but with a thick, grungy beard. I couldn’t finish the video before someone came back, and I rushed off to the bathroom to finish up my own load.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why this was affecting me so much. I’d always been a pretty level-headed guy. I’d never been that interested in sex. But now, I reeked of it, and all I wanted was Austin to take me home and plow me to the ends of the Earth, but I needed to finish the day at least. I managed to hold my focus for a hour, solving a few tickets, and one happened to take back to the building of the guy who’d had that screen flicker the day before. I’d completely forgotten my promise to check in on him and see how his computer was acting, so I was glad I’d remembered. I finished the ticket I’d picked up first, and then swung back by the guy’s office. The door was closed, so I knocked, but didn’t get an answer…but I could hear noises coming from the other side of the door, so someone had to be in there. I knocked again, and this time the sounds grew quieter. But were still there, and after a few moments, they got louder again. I was curious, so I tried to knob. It wasn’t locked, and I slipped the door open quietly–just a crack, but enough to see inside.

The Catcall Curse (Part 4)

In the dimness of the bar, it seemed to the pig that he’d been surrounded by a single wall of flesh, the lines and boundaries between men indiscernible from the shadows. The wall was in constant motion, the faces at the top shifting as men jostled for position at either end. No sooner would a cock slip into his mouth or ass, that someone else would push him away and take his place. There were…too many of them. Too many men. He couldn’t do this by himself, he couldn’t please all of these men. The spell needed outlets, and so, the singular mass around Clyde began to break apart, smaller bubbles forming.

The jeers would start out as benign, masculine posturing. One man would challenge the other’s prowess or form. But always one or two would be isolated, torn down further, unable to muster a returning challenge, finding the constant barrage of humiliation from the men now surrounding them to be…turning them on, not making them upset or angry. Soon, they were asking for for, begging the men to abuse them further, unable to keep their hands from their cocks, licking their lips, thinking about how good all of these men’s cocks would taste. From one pig came four. When four was too many, the spell made twelve pigs scattered throughout the room. Twelve was still too few–so it made twenty. All of them were slightly different–reflections of the particular crowd that shaped them and called them forth.

The spell tended to focus on deserving parties. Two of Clyde’s lieutenants, who had often been the crudest and loudest calling to the women, always competing with the old Clyde for the best comment of the day, found themselves surrounded by men, who began taunting them together:

“Look at you two, like a couple of faggots. Bet all you two brutes want is to have your cocks in each other’s faces!”

“Yeah, they might look like men, but you know they’ll moan like a couple a whores!”

The constant barrage of comments formed a constant static. They heard all of it, and yet couldn’t separate any one bit from the mass of sound, as they stroked and rubbed each other’s hair bellies, leaning in close for a deep kiss that only grew more intense as the crowd pulled in tighter around them. The two of them were still kissing, face to face, as the men forced them over a table and started working their asses over, first with their cocks, then with their fists, the two men’s construction gean becoming leather and rubber highlighted with red.

Others were pulled in by the spell because they showed an odd resistance. A younger man, who’d remained pressed to the wall–caught between a terror at what he was seeing urging him to flee, and a strange, external compulsion planting his feet and urging him to join in. The men noticed his reluctance, they began to break off, laughing, pointing and jeering at him:

“Hey little boy, don’t be shy, I know what that pretty ass of yours likes!”

“Got nothing to say? Good! Everyone knows a mouth like that isn’t meant for talking.”

One man stepped forward and started working the young man over, and the crowd surrounded them both, urging them both on, the daddy finding himself holding the leash of his cub’s collar, proud of how good his little boy was doing, his first night out. He was nervous, sure, but the catcalls were turning him on–everyone could see it–and after he’d drank a full load of his massive daddy’s cum, he was more than happy to be led around on his hands and knees, servicing anyone else his daddy liked.

Eventually, enough attention was diverted away from Clyde, that he discovered there was no one else around him–they had all lost interest, and gone off to look at the new whores forming their own orbits around the room. He was angry, frustrated. People were supposed to be looking at him, wanting him, disgusted by him, and he looked around until he laid eyes on the one person still paying him attention–a man he could just make out through the grimy window of the bar, hunkered down and staring at him. He beckoned him in, and saw the man’s eyes go wide.

Jack hadn’t wanted to be noticed. He’d been…happy observing the festivities inside the bar, content to avoid the full force of this incredibly savage curse as best he could. It wasn’t like it could do him any real damage–or at least he hoped it couldn’t. He hadn’t made one of these storms in a while, and he’d always been careful to keep his distance before. Now, he didn’t really have a choice, but to try and keep to the edge, and hope the wind wouldn’t pick him up with a sudden gust and whirl him in closer.

Then, Clyde saw him. Clyde didn’t just see him, however–it was more that Clyde knew him. The spell, through Clyde, recognized him, the power he had in him, and it was…hungry. It wanted to be bigger, it wanted to exact more justice. He was too close, this was too powerful, even for him. The pig…wanted him. He stood up, and fought his body moving him inside the bar, trying to protect himself from the power threatening to engluf him, but he felt helpless. That was, really, how curses worked–the harder you fought, the more they ensnared you until you couldn’t even fight anymore, until you couldn’t even imagine why anyone would fight this. But he had to fight, he had to. With all of his will, he froze himself a few yards inside, focusing his mind as best he could, pushing against the spell, trying to create a zone of protection for himself.

That, of course, couldn’t stop Clyde from approaching him. The pig could sense the power rolling off him, and he was so hungry for it. So hungry to be punished, desperate for it now. And this man, whoever he was–he could sense that no one would be able to punish him like he would, and with a laugh, he whispered in Jake’s ear with a voice not quite his own, “Come on now, don’t be scared–don’t you want to play with a nasty pig like me?”

Another long day on the convention floor, and he was itching to be out of his damn suit. Literally itching. Ever since…since that wild night in pigtown, anything that wasn’t rubber or leather was just so difficult to keep on after a few hours. Part of him just wanted to rip the clothes apart, but he restrained that desire. He’d been working on this, he’d been working on controlling this. As much…as much as he wanted to just give in (and god did he want to just give in, fuck, he’d been fighting it for what felt like an eternity and it hadn’t gotten any easier) he made himself slowly take off his coat, undo his buttons one at a time, his hands shaking, drop his pants, and breathe a sigh of relief. At least he could wear the rubber underneath–that helped more than anything else. He laid back on the bed, groping his hard, leaking cock through the jock, moaning softly, feeling so much better now that he was free again, now that he was…himself.

No–No, that was a lie. This wasn’t him, this was just…just a need. Once he released it, he’d feel better again, he knew he would. He always did feel better for a time. He’d just spent the day cruising the convention floor, and he’d arranged a few…dates with several men, at hour intervals, all night long. He looked over at the play pen he’d brought along in a massive trunk. It seemed…too elaborate, but he couldn’t very well play without his dungeon, right? He couldn’t be…be a proper pig without it. Couldn’t help more men see…see how good it would be if they were pigs too.

He was so close now, to cumming, to losing himself. He tried to contain it, to at least…focus it. He looked at the clock–ten minutes until the first one would be here, but he didn’t know if he could wait that long. He stared at the clock, watching the numbers, staring at them, and thankfully the man was early. He flung open the door and dragged the man inside–the stranger barely recognized the man clothed head to toe in rubber as the sweet, seductive man in the tailored suit from earlier, but after a few minutes, he didn’t care. After thirty minutes, he didn’t care about anything, with the man’s fist burrowed deep in his ass to the elbow, grunting and squealing and…and changing.

Sure, they may not deserve it. But it was better them than him. Somehow, he knew that if…if he could just keep making other men into pigs, then he would be spared. He could keep his life, the life he’d fought so hard for. The second date arrived, and he dragged him in as well, making him eat out the first pig’s sloppy hole. Was he just lying to himself? Maybe, but he didn’t have to care right now, his mouth turned into a vicious grin, listening to the man gasp for breath, smothered in the pig’s ass. He loved this too much to question it now, and he’d keep bringing home more pigs as long as he was able.

Source: bootedray

“How does that feel, Timmy? Does it feel as good as you’d imagined it might?”

“Oh God Grandpa, it feels…it feels so…so full, in there! So…good…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now that grandpa has his whole fucking hand in you, do you know what that makes you, Timmy?”

“N-No…?”

“It means you’re my puppet, Timmy. It means I have my whole hand in you, and now I can control you, can;t I? You can feel my hand getting bigger inside you, pushing deeper, your body hollowing out? Feel yourself going limp?”

“Y-Yes…”

“That’s a good boy, that’s a good puppet. My hand’s so big now, it’s all the way up in your brain–you can feel it in there, I bet–because I control your brain now, because now, we’re going to get rid of all that shame, all that fear, and the only thing this puppet’s brain is going to want is to be grandpa’s little pig–would you like that? To be a piggy puppet, just for Grandpa?”

“I…it hurts…”

“Oh, it won’t hurt for long. Look how fat you’re getting, how pudgy, little piggy. No more talking for you, all you’re gonna do is oink and squeal, right pig?”

*SNORT*

“Yeah, that’s good–you’ll feel empty without me, you you’ll feel me in there again soon–for now, I wanna get my cock in that fat piggy hole, and I wanna hear by grandpig squeal!”

The Trophy (Part 2)

***WARNING*** Abuse, rape, and physical mutilation ahead.

You have to start off by destroying their pride, you see.

You have to figure out what, more than anything else in the world, they treasure–that thing about them they love more than anything else, that thing where they store their idea of themselves. If you aren’t very experienced, you might need to rely on trial and error, though for most guys, it’s pretty obvious, I suppose. Got yourself a muscle man? Chain him up immobile for a few months with a catheter, feed him some gainer shakes until he’s good and plump, along with his own piss–ruin his body, and you can ruin his spirit faster than anything else. He’ll do anything you want so long as you don’t make him eat anymore. But for some guys, it can be as simple as a good, cleanly shaved head.

This one, it was so fucking obvious. His hair was the cleanest thing about him, primped and curled and flowing down past his shoulders. Sure, it looked nice, and there’s nothing wrong with a guy who wants to look pretty–everyone wants people to think they’re pretty, at the end of the day. But you want to break someone like this? Make them ugly. Of course, you can’t *just* shave their head. I coddled him for a few days, got him feeling better, gave him a bit of hope as his wounds were healing. He thought, just like a good beta, if he could perform submission well enough, I might just let him go. Then, when I couldn’t stand his false simpering anymore, I drugged him, hauled him out of the cell in my basement where he’d been staying, and bound him up naked–leaving just one arm free. I laid out the tools of his torture, while he slept–scissors and an electric razor, both within his reach, and then I waited for him to wake up, so I could explain the rules to him.

The game was simple enough–he had a choice to make. Either he could cut his own hair and shave himself bald, or he could take his punishment, whatever that might be. I remained vague, on that last part, of course. In his mind, he knew what I might be capable of, but a man’s vanity can be much stronger than good reason. He laughed, he thought this was ridiculous. Didn’t I know how long it takes to grow out hair like this? In truth, this was a test to see if I had guessed right. Any normal pragmatist would, perhaps, balk at shaving their head, but they would all do it, in the end. But him? No, his hair was the one thing about him which, in his mind, redeemed the rest of his failed life. Without his locks, what even was he anymore? I told him he had half an hour to complete the task–he didn’t even pick up the scissors once. So I bound his arm back down, and set up his punishment.

I hooked his cock up to a milker, put electrodes on his sack shoved a plug in his ass designed to vibrate against his prostrate, turned them both on, and sat back, to watch. He shivered at first, until the first load exploded out of him, and into the milker, which pulled out and dribbled into a quart mason jar, which I had set in his vision. He turned to me, and asked me how long this would take, and I informed him he could return to the cell when he had filled the jar. This, he thought, was ludicrous–a fucking quart of cum? I, however, was completely serious, and knew how long it would likely take–I kept him in that chair for six days straight, feeding him, giving him only two breaks a day, to shit and piss in a bucket under the chair, before hooking him back up. By the end, his cock was red and inflamed, he couldn’t even speak, having lost his voice after all the screaming, and I returned him to the cell to think about it for several days, before I dragged him back out, tied him down, and gave him the same choice: cut your hair, or take your punishment.

He actually picked up the scissors, that time, hands trembling, but he couldn’t do it. Still, progress. I knocked him out again, and hooked him up to a fucking machine–pounding his hole relentlessly until he could take my arm to the shoulder. As a relative virgin, his was…fairly tight–it took two days of work before he finally did it, and I locked him back up. At this point, I was sure he was imagining that this abuse was the worst I could do, the furthest I could go. I could wreck him, certainly, but I couldn’t destroy him. As expected, he again refused to cut his hair, certain he could take anything I might throw at him–but I had anticipated this, and so I took the thumb and index fingers from his left hand. He screamed for days, unable to believe what had just happened to him, what I had just done. This time, I let him stay in the cell with his ruined hand for close to a month, allowed him to heal slowly, without any relief from the pain. Then, I put him back in the chair.

He was terrified, but I told him that, this time, if he still refused, he could take his punishment and I would release him. However, I told him what that punishment would be. I would place a rubberband around his balls every ten minutes he failed to have his head completely shaven, and at an hour, I would take his nuts. He picked up the scissors before I even started the timer, and was hacking away at his locks. I got three bands on him, the pain and terror of his balls dying making his hand shake so much he had trouble finishing the job, but he made it, sobbing, and when I cut the bands, he shot a load from the sensation alone. I told him I was proud of him, and threw him back in his cell.

Case Closed (Part 4)

He yanked him off his cock by his hair, and Richard nodded. “Yes…sir. I…I wasn’t…telling the truth.”

“Yeah, now why don’t you go ahead and tell Bailey here what really happened last night?”

“I…It was me, sir. I begged them all to fuck me. At…at first they wouldn’t because they were all straight, but I had to get…get down on my knees and…and beg. Beg, and…and plead. And finally they gave…gave me their cocks, sir. That’s…what happened. I was lying before. I’m…I’m sorry.” The last syllable was cut off, by Walker impaling his mouth on his cock again.

The thing is, it didn’t sound like he was telling the truth, but now that I was in here again, my earlier convictions were fading. It really did seem, then, that the fucker had been lying to us, and that meant, that if it wasn’t the second, then it had to be the first. “So what then, Richard? Why go to all this fucking trouble then?” I said, and then squatted down next to him, watching him suck my partner’s cock, “You see, I was doing some thinking, while I was out getting some cigars for me and my partner. I think, the reason you did all this? The reason you had to make up this whole fuckin’ story? Because you need attention. Because you need fuckers like us to feel sorry for you, so we’ll give you a pity fuck, is that it? Did you think that, if you just told us some sob story, about getting raped, that we’d just let you suck our cocks, just like that? You fucking pig, you fucking disgust me.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool me and my partner, you fucker,” Walker said, “Bailey, I think we should do a contraband search on this fucker, what do you say?”

“I think it might be good to check him out, fuck yeah.”

Walker uncuffed him, and together we hauled him up and started stripping him out of his clothes, poking fun at his fat body, twisting his nipples jiggling his fat, stroking his big cock, telling him that if he didn’t want this, then why in the hell was he so fucking hard? He wasn’t even fighting us at this point, the pig knew we’d caught him, and good too. Still, when Walker bent him over the table, holding him down while I gloved up, making sure my sleeves were rolled up well past my elbow, he started protesting again, begging me to not make him do this, to just let him go, but I gave his fat ass a few smacks, and that got him settled down, before I lubed up and slipped my fingers in his ass, listening to him moan.

“Listen to this fucker–I bet he hid something up there just so we’d have to find it.”

“Yeah, why else would the pig be moaning like this?” I said, but I didn’t feel anything near the entrance. I pushed in deeper, widening the hole, but it was so damn tight. If the pig had been fucked by an entire frat house the night before, it sure didn’t feel like it–no, it felt fucking amazing. At some point I must have undone the front of my pants, my free hand stroking my cock as I thrust my fingers deeper and deeper into the pig’s hole. It was…fuck, it was big! All of me looked big, all of a sudden, though. Walker walked around to the other side of the table, which Richard’s head was sticking off of, and started fucking his throat again, and before too long I had my whole fist buried in the pig’s ass. “Fuck, this pig’s so tight, man.”

“Heh, probably didn’t even get fucked at all last night–that’s probably why he’s so desperate. He sure doesn’t look like he goes to fucking college either–heh, maybe a decade ago, eh Richard?”

“Is that what you do, Richard? Nah, not Richard, I bet everyone calls you Dick, don’t they? You’re so fat, so ugly, so old, that the only way you can get someone to pay any attention to you, is if you beg cops like us for fucks, is that it? Well fucking fine pig, have it your way!” I shoved in deeper, feeling him squirm and groan in pain, but as he did, his body started spasming and his cock started spraying cum under the table…and shrinking. It had been fairly sizable before, not that I’d gotten a good look at it, but almost as it shot, it seemed to dwindle, until it was only about three inches long. I looked elsewhere, and the rest of his body was also changing, right in front of my eyes, or at least, that’s what it seemed like at the time. Shit like that can’t really happen, right? He was getting older, his hair turning grey and balding, leaving him with a mostly bald scalp and some stringy hair around it. His body got fatter too, spreading out on the table around him, but I recognized him now–Dick. Fucker’s a regular here, always coming in, claiming he’s been raped and abused, but it’s just a fucking game to this pig, getting the two of us all hot and bothered until we give him a good working over. And fuck if it doesn’t work everytime, but then again, it doesn’t take much for Walker and I to get revved up–the two of us are always fucking horny, and usually always fucking–each other, or tag teaming some pig we pulled off the street and into an alley.

His pig’s tight hole was finally starting to loosen up a bit–I hauled out my arm and slid my big cock inside him and pounded it in up to the hilt over and over, and table screeching across the floor a bit each time from the impact, shoving his throat deeper onto Walker’s cock each time. Finally, the two of us came–I don’t remember who first, but it was close enough together that it didn’t really matter, and we each pulled free. I made Dick get down and lick up the load of cum he’d shot all over the floor, the two of us watching and smoking, making sure he got every drop, and only then did we let the old fag get dressed again in those grungy, stained clothes he’s always wearing. He didn’t look very happy, and he tried to just leave! Well I wasn’t going to have any of that–fuck no. I shoved him up against the wall, and cuffed him for filing a false report.

Dream Camp (Part 9)

“No…No! This can’t be real, this can’t be fucking real…” Kyle muttered, unable to believe how hard his own cock was, unable to believe that he…a part of him, a growing, part of him, wanted this.

“Oh, but it is real, and it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Barry growled in his ear, with one hand, he grabbed the back of Kyle’s pants, took hold of them, and ripped them apart, revealing his lightly haired ass, and with one grimy finger he started probing inside him, licking the side of Kyle’s neck, feeling him shiver at the invasion, and push back slightly. “That’s good, real good,” Barry said, “You know, I was a bit worried about you, you know, that you might not want to join in here, but maybe you just needed a bit more work than everyone else. Still, I think we’re gonna be spending the night together, but I’m not quite tired yet–why don’t we find a way to keep you occupied until then?”

Barry looked over his shoulder, and saw the knots the fatter scouts who’d stayed back at camp had been working on, and chuckled, “Who wants to earn their ropework merit badge? Mr. Hoffson…would like to be restrained–you scouts think you can work on that for a little while?”

The chubby scouts were more than happy to do anything their ScoutMaster wanted. They grabbed the rope and hurried over, collectively pinning down the still struggling Hoffson and working on binding him tight. Barry supervised, giving advice and encouragement to his loyal scouts, and when they were finished, after an hour, Kyle Hoffson wouldn’t be going anywhere, his arms and legs behind his back in a hogtie, his balls bound up and strung up to his ankles, his muscular body crisscrossed by rope, his mouth gagged. Barry picked him up by his bound hands and feet, like a basket, listening to him groan as he tugged on his bound balls, and carried him over to the middle of camp, where any number of scouts had given into their burgeoning desires, fucking and sucking and licking out in the open, no longer able to resist each other. The scouts who had remained behind seemed to have taken on their own qualities, all of them weighing at least five hundred pounds, after sucking down as much of Alex’s milk as they could drink. Some of the musky, hairy scouts immediately gravitated to them, fondling their fatty rolls, pushing them down and mounting them, others preferring to worship their fat bodies, the chubby young men shivering with pleasure.

Barry set Kyle down on his side, hearing him sigh when the tension on his balls is lessened, and then he called Max over from where the strange mutt was busy servicing Christian by one of the firepits. Max came bounding over, eager for anything his Master might desire–and Barry pointed him to his father. “Max, why don’t you entertain your dad here for a while? Suck his cock, finger his hole, lick him clean–but don’t fuck him. I do, however, want that ass of his nice and loose by nightfall, so make sure you at least work your fist in, got it?”

Max nodded eagerly, and Kyle tried to struggle away, calling to Max, telling him to stop, to not do this, that he was his father for Christ’s sake, but Max was too far gone now to even consider obeying him, his simple, near feral mind focused on his master’s and their commands. He slobbered all over his paw like hand and started rubbing it against his father’s backdoor, gently massaging it, Kyle trying to pull away, but unable to do so without yanking his nuts and making himself nauseous, and before too long one finger was inside, and Max rewarded him by sucking his cock. Kyle sobbed, unable to believe that he was somehow hard, but the stench of musk in the air was beginning to affect him, make it harder for him to think. He fought against feeding his own son that first load, begging him to stop when he felt his balls constrict, but Max wanted it, wanted to taste his dad’s cum, wanted to see if it was as delicious as he’d always imagined it might be. He fought less during his son’s second suck, and by the third, with his boy’s feral fist buried in his hole, drilling his prostate, he had begun to beg for it, plead for it, encourage his filthy animal of a son to suck him harder.

He realized that, at some point, it had become night. The young men in their patrols had eventually grown hungry and were busy cooking their dinners, though some of the fatter young men had decided they would rather feast at the tit for the evening, and were jockeying for position in front of a quivering, milk soaked, Alex. Eric was still focused on his newest addition to the harem, molding his strange form to better serve as his one of his whores, and Barry had finally found a moment to pull his son aside and mount him next to the fire, slowly and gently, enjoying their mutual musk in the night chill. It wasn’t too much longer after that, when the campers, exhausted from a busy day, began to go off in groups to their tents for one final romp before sleep, and Barry knew it was time. “Son, I think you’re gonna have to sleep without your daddy tonight–I got some other business to attend to.”

Christian objected loudly, but Barry stood firm, consoling him with the fact that Max would sleep with him, keeping him happy all night long, but Barry, well, Barry needed some time with Kyle. His son wasn’t happy about the arrangement but he knew better than to disobey his father–so he led Max off to his tent, and Barry again picked Kyle up off the ground and carried him over to his tent, set him inside, and started untying him, but left his hands bound in front of him, his ankles bound as well, and then pulled him close, sliding Kyle onto his cock, feeling the older man sob even as he enjoyed the wonderful fullness, the hot rod buried inside him, the musk of the ScoutMaster shrouding him, making it hard to think. Barry was fighting the heat of the amulet, trying to stay awake and relish the moment, but he finally succumbed to sleep as he worked his cock in to the hilt, started snoring, and immediately began to dream.