Tag: furry

Taming the Beast (Part 3)

What Jacob had hoped would be a short stay, was rapidly becoming something much, much worse than he’d imagined it might be. He’d thought he was fine. Perhaps it was easier, because he didn’t remember much of his time away, and because he hadn’t really had much of a life to return to, once he was free. It was easier to compartmentalize everything he’d done, everything that had been done to him, as a dream. Something he could just put behind him, and forget. But this–this was just as bad, as before He was still in a cage, still treated like an animal in a cage, too. But this time, it was for his own good–and for the alleged safety of the staff and the other patients. It had been better before, at least that had been a kind of freedom. Baccanal had, of course, held the lead…but beyond that, the beast had been free to enjoy itself. It…wanted to…enjoy itself.

While he still detested group sessions, they were rapidly becoming the only place where he had any socialization, beyond nervous staff members clutching tranquilizers, and Mark, who seemed as unfazed by everything as always, though Jacob could…sense a shift in him, somehow, though he couldn’t explain how he knew that. This was becoming a common occurrence, and it took Jacob some time to realize that the voices and ideas in his head, that he’d always experienced as some odd conscience, were in fact the words and thoughts of the beast inside him. It all seemed so obvious now, but he’d been so clueless this whole time. Now, however, all he really wanted was for it to stop. He’d give up…everything, if the beast would just go away for good. He vented in group about that, about how he felt like he’d lost every remnant of control here, how he’d been freed from one enslavement, and was now stuck in another. The other inmates would commiserate, but none of them could really understand, he didn’t think. He knew he was dangerous, and yet…and yet the beast was assuring him that as long as they got out, it would calm down. It just…didn’t want to be caged anymore. It wanted to enjoy life, it wanted pleasure, and sex, and food and wine, all the delights it had become accustomed to, with Baccanal. Jacob found himself wanting them too, just so the beast would finally quiet down.

He shared all of this with Mark, in their sessions together. Mark seemed less interested in what had occurred with Baccanal, however, and wanted to know more about how Jacob’s powers had developed. He was especially fascinated when the dreams began again, though they were…different, this time. He still felt pursued, and attacked, but Jacob found himself witnessing it as both predator and prey. When he awoke, afterwards, he also wouldn’t be caught in the midst of a slippage–he might see just the last bit of nail or fur disappearing in the dark, unsure if he’d seen anything at all.

“I believe, Jacob, that this beast, as we call him, is in fact a separate entity inside both your body and your mind–but when you were both growing up, neither of you understood yourself as separate entities. You were, in fact, much closer in identity than you have become. The events you suffered…created a break in your unity, likely because the substances Baccanal made you consume affected each of you differently. You, Jacob, they put to sleep, but the beast was invigorated by them. I don’t know if it is possible for the two of you to find the same sort of synchronicity you once established so naturally, but I think things are only going to improve after we find a way to communicate with the beast, and after we understand how it uses these dreams to manifest itself, because they are…clearly connected, somehow.” Mark looked up from his notes. “I would like to try a few sessions of hypnosis with you, focusing on dream control, and see if we can better understand the link between the two of you. If we can help you exert a bit more control over the form the beast takes, then you may be able to establish a healthier relationship with your own power, in time.”

At this point, Jacob was willing to try anything, if it might mean getting away from here, though he could feel the beast was anxious about it. It didn’t want Jacob to be in control–all it wanted, was to be free. He told this to Mark, that he wasn’t sure the beast would be very cooperative, and Mark had a simple answer.

“I think the beast is smart enough to understand that, until we find a way to train it and control it, there is no way it can be allowed outside of these walls. I want to help both of you–but if either of you puts up any resistance, then you will both be stuck here for the foreseeable future. Progress is entirely in your hands–both of your hands–and I trust you will both cooperate to the best of your abilities.”

They could both see the truth in that–though when they arrived for the first session, and saw the bed and the straps and the guards looking on nervously, neither of them were feeling very trusting of the doctor. It had to be done, Mark insisted. After all, it had been shown that they both could react very differently to the same stimuli–and it was likely that by putting Jacob into a hypnotic sleep, the beast could very possibly manifest itself while Jacob was in a suggestable state. A few minutes later, Jacob was lying on the bed, watching the flashing screen in front of him while Mark whispered softly in his ear–and then he remembered…little else. He dreamed, he knew that, but what dream it was, was something he couldn’t recall beyond a general sensation of…peace and relaxation. When he was next woken, everyone in the room appeared to be at ease as well, though Jacob didn’t really understand why–it wasn’t until Mark showed him the footage from the session the next day, that he understood.

Taming the Beast (Part 2)

Mark stared at him over the edge of the tablet for a moment, made a note, and then moved onto someone else, with some other unique trauma that Jacob couldn’t care less about. He was hungry, and group therapy was always right before dinner. He had such an appetite now–Baccanal had fed him well, and the extra fifty pounds on his frame showed. He wanted to lose it…but the hunger was worse now. Better than it had been, those first days, but would he ever feel normal again? He hoped so–or maybe he just couldn’t really remember what normal felt like anymore.

“So no more dreams?” Mark asked. He and Jacob were alone in his office, for some one-on-one therapy. The tone of his voice was neutral, but it was clear that he was skeptical.

“I wasn’t lying at group yesterday, no.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Good. I mean, shouldn’t I feel good? Those dreams…they were disturbing. I’m glad I’m not having them, at least. I feel like I’m getting better.”

The dreams Jacob had been having, ever since he’d regained control over the beast, usually precipitated one of his…slippages. He would wake up, howling and barking, nails like claws, fur all over his body, two minds panicking at the same time, and he would have to fight to put the beast back where it belonged, deep in his mind, where it was supposed to be–where it had always been, at least. But he hadn’t been dreaming, and he hadn’t had a single slip in a week. How could that not be good?

Still, it was clear from the look on his therapist’s face that he was missing something. It made him feel…crazy, when he did that, keeping cards close to his chest. He could handle the truth–he didn’t need to be coddled like some drooling, drugged out problem. Like the rest of them.

“You don’t seem…convinced.”

“I honestly hope you’re lying to me Jacob, because if you aren’t, I’m afraid things are getting worse.” Mark said, and set down the tablet. “You have to be honest in these sessions. I can’t help you regain control of your powers if you don’t trust me.”

“I…I am in control of my powers.”

Mark sat back, said nothing, but the stony look didn’t change on his face.

“Is…there’s something you’re not telling me? What am I missing?”

Mark sighed, toyed with his tablet a moment, and then the screen on the wall lit up, showing a video feed from surveillance footage–footage of Jacob’s room.

“You…you were recording me?”

“We record everyone. It’s for your own safety, and all the files are encrypted and destroyed after your discharge. It’s all in the privacy policy included in your admission packet.”

The admission packet was an entire three inch binder, and Jacob hadn’t exactly been given time to pour over it, before being committed to the center. Mark ran the tape forward a bit, and Jacob watched himself get ready for bed, and then climb in. Nothing happened for a moment, as two hours slipped by. “Was this…when was this?”

“Three nights ago, though there were similar…events during the night’s since, as well.”

“Events?”

“You’ll see.”

It was shortly after one in the morning that it started. In the video, Jacob say himself begin to turn, and then thrash. He was breathing heavily, then panting, then growling, from the look of his mouth, though the video was silent. He started to change, then–fur growing in all over his body, a short snout pushing out his mouth and nose…then his eyes opened, he sniffed the air, and looked around. The beast paced the room for close to half an hour, watching out the window for guards, testing the window and the grates…obviously planning on some sort of escape plan…and Jacob had absolutely no memory of this ever happening. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t tell the doctor that.

“I…I was lying before. I did…I did have, some dreams, I…” Jacob didn’t know why he was so terrified. He felt like he’d been…caught, but he hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t his fault.

“Actually, Jacob, I believed you the first time,” Mark said. “I don’t think you had any dreams. I think the beast persona inside of you has been testing ways of gaining control over you, and it has…succeeded, for moments, while you sleep. It doesn’t seem to last too long, no more than a half an hour or so at a time…but my worry is that it will get better, and it will seriously injure someone, trying to escape. I’m afraid that, for the time being, we are going to have to move you to a secure cell, until we get a better understanding of what, exactly, is happening with your power.”

Jacob was still watching the screen, unable to believe he was looking at himself–at something…using his body like that. He started to shake. It was a…thing that kept happening, ever since he’d gotten free, this anxiety. He’d lost a year of his life, a whole year to that fucker and the animal inside of him, and now he was going to lose, what, years to this place? Was he going to be like Richie, still here in five years, just an animal locked in a cell? He didn’t remember starting to scream, just when the guards came in, tranquilized him, and dragged him out of the office, to his new cell. Mark just sat behind the desk, watching, trying not to give away the sizable erection the entire scene had given him, and he played back the video feed, pulling his cock free, and stroking it slowly, watching that beast pace back and forth, looking for a way out of this cage.

Well Mark had broken bigger monsters than this in his tenure here. He’d break this one too–and he already had a thought of how he was going to do it. He’d give Jacob some time to adjust to this new revelation, settle on a new drug cocktail, and then the real tests would begin.

Buried Treasure (Part 3)

We got to the farm after driving for most of the day. It wasn’t the first time we’d been there by any means, but none of us had been there in quite a few years at this point. As we drove past along the road, I saw that the fields, which were usually neat and tidy, looked a bit weedy and overgrown, like no one had been paying them much mind for the last few weeks, or even longer. We turned down the road leading to the old farmhouse where Bill and Cody lived, and it looked like someone had spent a lot of time digging–there were holes and trenches everywhere in the fields, and they grew more numerous the closer we got to the house, where it looked like bombs had been dropped all over the yard. We all got out of the car together, and we could see someone digging dirt out of a hole–except it didn’t look like a person, from what I could see. Before we could get a better look, though, the front door of the house burst open and Cory ran out and headed straight for Mike, who looked to be torn between the terror I knew gripped him and his compulsion to love our cousin all the same. They embraced for a few minutes, kissing and grinding against one another, and then pulled apart. The ring was still on his finger–but now, there was a second one as well.

“Hey dad! Why don’t you get out of there and come say hello to your brother and nephews,” he shouted towards the person digging, and they stopped, shoved the shovel in the ground, and…and what came climbing out of the hole there only bore a passing resemblance to the Uncle Bill I remembered. No–this wasn’t a person, it was a fucking minotaur–eight feet tall standing upright, his entire body packed with muscle and covered with a rough hide and fur, looking at us with eyes that…I didn’t know what Cory had done to him. I didn’t understand how any of this was possible.

“I found another one Mike, just like I told you! I can fucking…see them, when I sleep. They’re in the ground here, and when I get them all, no one’s going to be able to stop me, Mike,” Cory said, and then kissed my brother for a moment, before pulling away. “Go inside–have a drink, and then get on the bed. You want me to fuck you, right? You always want my cock inside you. So go get ready, and I’ll be in right after I…show your dad and asshole brother their new assignments.”

“Cory–Cory, please…this isn’t…you,” Mike managed to say, but Cory just slapped him across the face.

“Shut up! Never speak to me like that again, you fucking know better. Now go get ready.”

Mike went inside quickly, nursing his cheek, and then Cory came over to me and my dad, Uncle Bill standing off a few paces away, unable to look us in the eye.

“My dad is a good digger–better now, after I found this one,” Cory said, pointing to the new ring I’d noticed, “But he needs help. You’re both going to be helping him out. Still–if you’re going to be little more than beasts of burden, you both might as well look the part, right?” The ring glowed, and the light shining from it enveloped us both. It…hurt. It hurt in ways I can’t even begin to describe, right down to my very core, like…like some key part of me was being ripped apart and put back together again in strange new ways. I blacked out at some point, and I awoke on the ground with a snort, Cory looming over me, grinning. “Yeah, who’s the fucking pig now, Darren?”

Looking down at myself, it was pretty clear that I was going to be the pig–boar really. He told me later that he’d rather have made me a nice soft hog, but he’d have to save that until after we’d finished working, until after…he was complete–whatever that means. My hands are human enough to handle a shovel, and…and the mud and dirt actually feel really nice on my hide, I admit it. My head’s slowed down again–even more than before–and this time it’s not because Cory is controlling me, it’s because my brain is just…dull. My dad though–fuck. He’s a fucking draft stallion now–or at least halfway to being one. Even taller than I am, though stupider, I think. He…hasn’t said a word to me or Bill since Cory changed him–I don’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to talk, or because he can’t. But for days now, all we’ve been doing, from dawn to dusk, is digging. Digging for Cory.

He’ll come out in the morning and point us to a new spot to focus on, and all three of us will attack it together. Sometimes Cory will supervise, bullwhip in hand, Mike a little ways off in the shade waiting to be used by Cory when he wants a fuck. We go hard all day, stopping only at noon for a brief lunch, and when it’s dark we stop. The three of us…we sleep in the barn. Of course, my dad and uncle…they can only sleep after a fuck, and Cory designated me as the hole…it still hurts, a lot, especially my dad’s horse cock, but even worse, I’m actually starting to…to enjoy it–their massive cocks in my ass. It’s making my piggy cock hard just thinking about it. But Mike snuck this stuff out to me, last night–a pen and paper. He can’t write–he’s too close to Cory–he’ll get caught. But me, I can still think…kind of. For the moment. Cory won’t look out here, I hope, and maybe we’ll figure out how to stop him–and whatever power is in those fucking rings of his…but he says he’s getting close to another one. He thinks we’ll find it tomorrow. God, I fucking hope not–I don’t want to know what this one will do next, but I have a feeling I’ll be finding out whether I want to or not.

It doesn’t sound like this should be the end of the story, but it is for now. I really like the direction of it, but I’m not sure where it goes! There might be a longer version someday.

VIP Package (Part 10)

WARNING: DARKER STILL! Scat, incontinence, furry, snuff, abuse.

Every few days, Gerald–in the middle of the night–would cart his filthy body downstairs to collect the mail from their box. However, after several paranoid rants, he’d been forbidden from opening any of it before Sammy had inspected it–and so it was Sammy who gave a squeal when he found the letter addressed to them both from Gay Fantasy Cruise Lines. It seemed to Gerald, that he’d been expecting it for some reason, and so he was filled with terror as his petulant master read the first note aloud with great excitement.

Dear Samuel L. Prescott and Jeremy T. Lute,

We want to thank you again for participating on our VIP Package Program on your recent cruise with us. It requires all of our hard work to ensure that our VIP guests truly have the cruise of their fantasies. The VIP who purchased you as part of your package, a certain Mr. Bishop, was so pleased with you both, that he has requested that you be added as a part of his package on his next voyage! The details of his next trip are outlined below:

Cruise Destination: VIP Exclusive Six Month Around-the-World Trek.

Departure Date: January 18th

Arrival Date: June 23rd

It should be noted that terms of service for VIP exclusive treks are somewhat modified from standard voyages. We are required to inform you that due to the length of the voyage, any Salon Modifications maintained for an extended period are likely permanent. Given this fact, VIP members are given the opportunity to craft new post-cruise identities for individuals who are a member of their package. Any individuals who are removed from a package early, or who are not provided with a post cruise identity, will be converted into standard crew personnel at the end of the voyage.

Your VIP has included a personal message for you both. If you wish to join us in helping our VIP’s experience their perfect fantasies, please register your affirmative consent online, and we will arrange travel for you to join us.

Sincere thanks for sailing with us,

Gay Fantasy Cruise Lines

On a second sheet attached to the cover letter from the cruise line, they found the letter Master Bishop had included for them both. Sammy read this one silently, and then read it again, demanding Gerald masturbate him while he did. Only after he’d cum, did he allow Gerald the chance to see what details Master Bishop had added for them.

Dear Sammy and Gerald,

As I told you both, my fantasies are complicated. I must say that the two of you have been developing quite well, over the last year, and I have…enjoyed much of the footage I’ve gathered from the cameras I had installed in your apartment before you arrived back at home. That said, I want the two of you to know exactly what I have planned for you both–and I do emphasize the word both. I simply won’t sail with just one of you. If one comes without the other, I’ll be forced to do without–you’ll be slave gym bunny like all the rest of the waiters after the first day at sea. But if you both come, well, then we’ll all have some grad fun.

Sammy, my sweet boy. After six months at sea with me, I’ll be proud to call you my son. In fact, you will be my son–or rather, my genetic duplicate, with a few extra splices to keep things interesting. You’ll be groomed into a proper sociopath–unfeeling and uncaring about the needs and emotions of others, consumed by your own desires, greedy, deceitful, lustful, proud, completely incontinent and full of rage. While you’ll always prefer having daddy’s cock plowing you into oblivion, you’ll be given a sizable endowment of your own, and learn how to use it very effectively. Yes, balls the size of grapefruit, a cock over a foot long and permanently erect. My son, you will become a proper freak as well–covered with tattoos and piercings, obsessed with violence and pain. You will be one of my masterpieces, and live with me and my other sons for the rest of my life. You will enjoy them, I promise–our special family is like nothing you can possibly imagine, but it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of having for a life.

Gerald, on the other hand–there will be nothing on this ship for you but misery, though I can assure you that you will enjoy every moment of it. The Salon has been doing some amazing work with animal splicing, something I have been desperate to try, and watching you over the past several months, seeing you fatten up and stuff you face…I can’t help but imagine you as a disgusting hogman. Weighing over a thousand pounds, castrated, nearly mindless, utterly filthy, living life on all fours, your body no longer capable of standing upright, hands and feet and face all twisted into monstrous caricature. It will be a slow process. You will witness yourself lose your own humanity–it will horrify you and thrill you, in equal measure. Watching you suffer this loss will bring me such pleasure, however, and I know that is most important to you–it always has been, right Gerald? Sammy, of course, will have the honor of castrating you himself. But in the end, if you please us well, I will give you what you desire most. I will fuck you, once. I will ram my massive cock into your new piggy cunthole, where your balls had been days before, and you will squeal so deliciously. You will have the most powerful orgasm of your life, as the last remaining bits of your human mind die, and you will be left as nothing more than a filthy pet for me, and especially my new son, to abuse until he likely butchers you in a petty, childish fit of rage a few years–or months–down the road, depending on his eventual temperament.

With that, I’m sure I have secured your mutual interest. After all, what else is left for either of you, besides a life with me in my fantasy? I’m eager to receive notice of your affirmative consent, and will see you on deck in a month for our very special cruise.

Regards,

Master Bishop

Gerald tried to throw out the letter, but Sammy refused. Sammy wanted to go, Sammy saw nothing wrong at all with anything that their Master had told them. Gerald was terrified. He wasn’t terrified of what might happen to him if they went–he was terrified by his own desire to experience it. He had spent the last year constantly fantasizing about his master’s cock, but he’d given up on ever receiving it inside him, and that had made it easier to consider leaving all of this behind him. But now…now he had a chance at happiness, didn’t he? Isn’t this what he’d wanted? At least, that’s what Sammy told him he wanted. But simpler than that, this is what Sammy wanted to do, and what Sammy wanted, Sammy received–like always. In the end, Gerald’s resistance lasted only a few hours, and they both sent in notification of their consent that evening, and sealed their fate.

A month later, Gerald watched the Florida coast recede, while Sammy was having his first reunion fuck with their Master on deck. Soon, all that surrounded them was a brilliant blue haze, the sea and the sky melding together at the horizon. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, mouth pressed to his husband’s stinking hole, feasting on Master’s cum at his favorite trough. At least, if nothing else, they’d be together until the end.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 8)

Erik…wasn’t sure he wanted to put on his old jock. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to being that old him. He liked this body–the fur, the stink, the power, the brutality–but he did as his coach told him to do, and pulled on the jock, being careful not to rip it on his claws. It was tight, and while it did fit–it felt weird, over his fur, like it didn’t belong on him at all. Then, he helped coach, both of them hauling the other, much tighter, jockstrap up Paul’s thick legs and thighs, getting it to settle under his gut and around his sheathed cock.

By that point, Erik had noticed that some of the changes his body had gone through were beginning to fade. His paws were becoming hands again, his claws returned to nails (though they seemed harder, and sharper, than before), and his snout was pulling back into his face. Still, not everything changed back. He kept quite a bit of the hair–in some places, it was still thick enough to completely obscure his skin–and he also didn’t lose any of his new height or mass. He didn’t have an exact measurement, but he had to guess he was close to six foot five at this point, and he probably weighed in at over 300 pounds of fat and muscle. In a locker room mirror, he looked at his face–which was mostly the same, aside from the much thicker beard, and the thick head of brown hair he had…but it didn’t feel like his face. It felt like a mask. Underneath…he was still the bear, still that monster. He hadn’t changed back, so much as covered his new self up with the skin of his old body. He peeked into the pouch of the jock, and sure enough, nothing in there had changed at all–his skin just as hairy, his cock still…inhuman. It made him feel at ease, seeing that.

Paul gave a groan, and rolled over. The orgasm had been so powerful, that he hadn’t really been able to focus on, or do, much of anything as long as it had lasted, and it had lasted close to twenty minutes. He’d been able to feel Coach and Erik moving him around, and even felt the two of them forcing some tight jock onto him in his stupor, but he hadn’t been able to do anything to help them, or stop them. Now, however, he was able to at least roll up, and see that whatever strange body he’d had had also faded away somewhat. Like Erik, the obvious animal traits–the snout, the ears, the trotters, the tusks–had all disappeared for the most part–though his incisors were still peeking out over his lip, he was still massively fat, and his skin still felt so rough and thick, like before. Paul peeked in the pouch of his own jock, and saw that his strange cock had slipped back into its sheath, his massive balls still churning below, and just the sight of it made him get a bit horny all over again.

Coach explained the rules of their new bodies to them both, while Sponge worked behind them, scouring the floor for any drop of moisture and filth it might have missed earlier. If they had their old jocks on, both of them would be…mostly human. But when the jocks came off, they’d be themselves again in a few minutes, proper sexy beasts. The jocks wouldn’t rip, and they wouldn’t age, so both of them wouldn’t have to worry about destroying them, but if they were ever washed, their old selves would be washed away too, and they’d be trapped in their real, bestial forms forever. Should that ever occur, the coach advised that their best bet, would be to go live in the woods somewhere.

Paul was only half listening at this point–the powerful musk coming from beneath erik’s pouch had drawn him back, and he was sucking at the bear’s cock while coach kept talking, groping his own piggy cock through the mesh. “I should also mention, that since you two…transitioned together, you’re going to have a fairly strong bond for quite a while, as you can see. I don’t think you’ll mind, however. And if you need to let loose with someone else, well, you always have me and Sponge, as well as a few other choice alumni I can put you both in contact with.”

Erik and Paul were more than happy with one another, however, though no one else at the school could figure out why, one day, two straight football players had simply gone gay for one another…or why the two of them stank so much…or any of the other oddities of their new bodies. Their musk, even with their human skins on, was so powerful that few people could stand to sit anywhere near them, and when they were together…well, it wasn’t long before they were in the rest room, banging each other’s brains out. They each decided that they couldn’t do the college thing, not like this, and instead they got jobs out of school with a few of Coach’s contacts in the Stinker network. It was a few years until they were able to afford a cabin up in the mountains, but no one saw much of either of them from that point on, and anyone who coach sent to pay them a visit seemed to disappear as well.

Sponge, on the other hand, never left the locker room again. Coach introduced all of his teams to the dummy the next week, and soon, they were all happily using the thing as their cum dump and urinal. After a few months, the thing was utterly sodden, and was having a hard time keeping all of its moisture in. By the end of the school year, it had passed capacity, and constantly wept filth which it tried to wick back into itself. Coach let it dry out a bit over the summer, alone, and it served the teams well over the next decade, before it finally started to rot dissolve away. Coach salvaged the jersey for his personal collection, sold off the rubber head to a collector, and looked forward to the day he’d find another one like Anton. They were, after all, his favorites, and he knew just how to treat them right.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 7)

Robinson was pleased to see that the two beasts had become so well acquainted with their new bodies, and with each other, while he’d been tending to Anton. Usually, when he did this to his players, it took a bit of coaxing from him before they sank as deep as this. The echos of the two were loud in the tiled room, and the stench of their filth was…heady and intoxicating. Despite the fact that Robinson had cum less than a minute prior, he was already excited again–but he could wait a moment longer. He dropped Sponge, his newest dummy, to the ground, where it bounced slightly, the helmet rattling against the floor. It tried to sit up, but it still wasn’t quite familiar enough with it’s new form to really understand that it no longer needed to try and move like a human. Still, it was close enough to the two rutting beasts that it could sense filth. It flipped over and started crawling over towards them, the mouthhose dragging on the ground. Erik saw it, and while his eyes were a bit puzzled, he didn’t stop fucking Paul’s hole deep. The boar, on the other hand, didn’t realize they’d been joined by something else until Sponge started forcing itself between his huge belly and the floor, Sponge feeling it’s body flatten under the weight of the animal above him, spreading wider, soaking up all of the cum and sweat that had dripped from the two of them over the last several minutes. The one part of Sponge that wasn’t at all flexible was it’s head, and that ended up in the larger gap between Paul’s thighs, the pig now driving it’s cock into the cushiony mesh of the Sponge’s jersey, and the dummy just stayed there–the puddle soaking up into its body, the pig rutting against it, leaking more cum on top of it. Here, it would be properly used, like it was supposed to be.

Robinson watched Sponge settle in, and then walked around in front of Paul, where Sponge’s feet were sticking out, and ran his hands over the boar’s face–feeling the rough skin, tugging at the floppy ears, examining the tusks and the nose. “What a nice boar you made, Paul, simply handsome–and stinking as–fuck, nothing smells quite a good as nice boar. Open up piggy, Coach wants to spit roast this hog.”

Paul was all too happy to have another cock inside him, and started slobbering all over his coach’s knob. It was hardly the first time he’d tasted it, but the smell and taste of the rank meat was so much more intense than before, and so much more pleasing. Paul had always hated the taste, but now, he couldn’t get enough of it, taking it to the hilt, grunting and snorting, bucking back to meet Erik’s thrusts, and an intense pressure built up in his groin. His nuts constricted, and he started pumping his load all over Sponge beneath him–soaking the jersey with even more of his seed, which the dummy was all too happy to store for him.

Coach could see Erik growing closer as well, and he left Paul to his massive orgasm, straddled the boar’s body, and pulled himself close to Erik. “Shame you weren’t born one of us–you should have been. You would’ve been an amazing Stinker. I can at least give you this though, you fucking monster. Now come on, cum in this fucking pig, I wanna see you breed his fucking hole, Bear.”

He grabbed Erik by the fur on his cheeks, and pulled him into a kiss, shoving his tongue between his sharp fangs, tasting one another’s rank breath, and with a muffled roar, he came, flooding the pig with his cum, his snout never leaving the coach’s mouth. Robinson pushed Erik away from Paul for a moment, his cock popping free, and he grabbed the end of Sponge’s tube, and pressed it over the pig’s asshole, as Erik’s cum was about to come spurting back out. Sponge tasted the vile filth pouring into him, and began shuddering and shivering beneath Paul–who was still in the throes of a massive orgasm, his entire weight pinning Sponge to the floor, where all it could do was wiggle.

“Fuck…oh fuck, what the fuck did you do to me?” Erik asked, looking down at himself, at his strange new body. He looked more bear than human at this point–but what in the world was he supposed to do? Go out and live in the forest? He stared at Coach, but the older man seemed to sense his worry.

“Look, hold this tube for me, and I’ll ease some of your worry, alright?”

Erik nodded, and walked over. It was hard to grip the tube with his strange hands, but he managed. Coach went back to a locker, and pulled out a jockstrap from a bag, sniffed it to double check he had the right one, and tossed it to the bear. Erik smelled it too, and knew the smell immediately. It was his–the jock he’d worn with Coach all these years. “Will this…change me back?” he asked.

“You’ll see–I’ll explain everything in a moment. But first, help me with this pig–he’s fucking heavy, and I’d like Sponge to not be a pancake.”

“Is…is that Anton in that gear?”

“It was Anton, yes. But Anton doesn’t exist anymore–that thing barely has a mind at all. It’s just a dummy now–all foam, through and through. It’s only desire is to be used for sex, and to store men’s filth inside it’s body. It takes a special kind of man to make one, and Anton, well, he was a rare bird. I’ll be enjoying him for a while–and you can always use it, whenever you visit. Too bad they don’t last longer–the will holding what remains of his spirit to the thing usually fades away after six or seven years, and it’s not too long after that that the thing will start to rot from the inside out–but the stench of that! Fuck, it’s crazy, I tell you.”

Suddenly Erik was no longer jealous for not being chosen for the coach’s special treatment. Clearly, of the three of them, he had gotten the best gift he could have imagined. Coach waved the bear over, and together they rolled the grunting and moaning hog off of Sponge, who crawled back onto the pig’s leaking cock and kept rubbing the remaining cum onto its body, until Coach shoved it off and away.

“Now, put that jock on, and then help me get Paul’s on too.”

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 5)

Erik wasn’t sure if Paul was trying to push him off, or was merely pushing up against him. Either would have been fine with him–after all, whether his teammate was enjoying what was happening to him or not, it was happening to them both. He would either enjoy it or not–whichever it was, it was likely that Paul had no control over his own feelings, or his own body, or his own destiny, at this point. Erik had long since given up any sort of belief that he might become anything other than what his coach wanted–and indeed, had begun to relish everything Coach Robinson had chosen to do to him.

The hair which had sprouted from the jockstrap was slowly eating away the very mesh of the pouch, and after a few minutes, he felt his cock flop out, and his balls as well. Reaching down with a hand, he felt them, giving the musky shaft a good stroke–it was longer than it had been before, and shaped…slightly different. His balls were fuller as well, and coated in fur. His belly and the front of his legs were becoming covered now, and his previous flat stomach was beginning to round out, as a small, hard gut formed over his abs, but the rest of his muscles were heating up, and expanding. The heat was even penetrating his bones, making them lengthen as well–it was painful, but…worth it. Worth it, if he could become what his coach wanted, even if that meant he couldn’t be as special as Anton–it wasn’t up to him, though this thought did little to curb his disappointment.

Instead, he took that anger out on Paul, beneath him, pinning him to the concrete, grinding their crotches together, snarling and growling at him with his bearish muzzle, licking his lips over foul teeth, leering down at the boar beneath. He’d hoped that Paul would hate this, that this would be torture, or punishment, but after his initial hesitation, he was grinding back, rearing up to meet Erik’s face and mash their snouts together in strange, unfamiliar kisses.

Paul’s own jock was undergoing changes that were quite different from Erik’s. The pouch had dried out and hardened, but rather than become solid and brittle, it had become leather–or perhaps a better word would be hide. It had covered his cock and balls for now, making them disappear, but it was clear that something was happening beneath it. Paul could…feel his cock, working hard to push it’s way back out, and with a painful tear, the hide broke towards the top, and a strange, pink cock pushed it’s way out, like a drill emerging from the earth. Even the head was corkscrew shaped, and covered in a foul smelling slime. The base of the hide began to distend now, as his new balls descended. True to his new form, they were heavy and large, hanging low against his thighs. Done with his crotch, the rest of his skin began to change now as well, becoming the same leathery hide as the jock had become, though some areas turned quite a bit darker than others. What emerged was a piebald pattern–much of his skin was the same light pink as before, but large spots of deep brown had filled in as well. With a grumble in his gut, fat began to pile on his body–far more than Erik, though Paul got a fair share of muscle as well. His tits swelled in particular, which Erik began groping roughly in his hands, other nipples sprouting down the front of him, swelling to the size of thumbs.

Paul slid down, underneath Erik, searching for his new cock amidst the hair coating his body. It was rank and matted, dripping sweat on his face, which his tongue happily lapped up between grunts and squeals. Erik found the boar’s mouth first, driving in, filling his snout and touching the back of his throat. The changes had covered their torsos and most of their legs, and were now progressing down their arms, and up their necks to their new faces. Erik’s ears shifted up to the top of his head, as hair filled in all over his face–Paul’s ears also shifted to the top of his skull, but grew out and flattened, the edges cracked slightly, his eyes shrinking and setting back a bit deeper into his skull. The hair on the top of his head fell out, but long bristle sprouted all along his back and neck, but left his underbelly barren and rough. Erik’s hands gripped Paul’s head, his nails thickening and darkening into long claws. He dug in–enough to hurt and perhaps scratch, but not enough to truly make the boar bleed–and began slamming his cock in deeper, as deep as it could go, Paul hungry for cum, hungry for piss, desperate for anything wet.

The bear man finally rolled the boar over, tugging at the curly tail which had sprouted above Paul’s ass, and reached back to feel his own, stubby and furry one behind him. He ate out the pig’s hole for a bit, tasting the rank sweat and dirt, before sliding his cock into the hilt, Paul letting off a loud squeal–likely loud enough to be heard in the school proper, though at this time, the only people around were the janitors, who knew better than to disturb Coach Robinson’s time with his athletes. Paul groped around underneath his flabby body, looking for his cock–which he managed to grab hold of eventually. It wasn’t easy gripping it–his fingers had fused together into semi-worthless trotters, but the rough hoof against his slimy cock only made his squeal more, his balls pumping out a massive puddle of precum, which his belly slid around on. With a growl, Erik planted his hairy, wider and clawed feet on the tile, gripped the pig’s hips tight in his claws, and kept fucking. Their humanity seemed so distant now–more like a dream, some strange fancy their animal minds might have invented–but this…this is who they were now, and neither of them was sure they’d go back, even if they could.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 3)

Out in the locker room, Erik and Paul had both spent the last ten minutes becoming acquainted with their gifts. Even though they were only a few feet away from one another, they had nearly forgotten about the other’s existence, and the locker room entirely. The jocks…the scent imbedded within them (or the scents they were made out of–it was difficult to know, exactly, what this gear was) was incredibly powerful and overwhelming, but not by force–it was the nuance and the detail which had absorbed the attention of the two jocks so intently.

For Erik, the scent wasn’t only musk, though it was plenty heady. There was also loam, and tinges of evergreen. The chill of a cave, or perhaps a den. Smelling it made him feel both…sleepy, and yet also incredibly powerful, like a boulder at the top of a spruce covered mountain, waiting for a single tap, to send it careening down the slope, flattening anything in it’s path. There was the sweetness of fresh berries, and the pungent rot of raw fish in the sun, the taste of iron and blood in the back of his throat. He was gnashing at the jock now, filling it with spit, and then sucking it down his throat, tasting everything more intensely by the moment.

Paul had begun on the bench, but at some point, had fallen off and onto the concrete floor, where he was rolling about, the jock almost draped over his face, as he snorted at it, grunting, grinding his crotch against the rough concrete. His jock smelled of food–fat and sugar and grains, fermented slightly and beginning to foam. There was mud and dust as well; the jock was incredibly dry, and seemed to be sucking the moisture from him, almost pulling at his face, in some strange way he couldn’t quite explain, even to himself. He felt lazy. He felt like he never wanted to stand upright again, if he could help it. He felt hungry, and thirsty, and as horny as could be. But in his rutting on the ground, the jock came loose from around his head, and without it, he felt a bit of clarity and focus return to him, letting him sit up and stare around him, blinking.

It was a familiar confusion. Every meeting of his with the coach left him in a similar state–exhausted, confused, mortified at what he’d just done, and certain that–if he could–he’d just climb into bed and sleep for days, and days, and days…but he should keep…smelling it, right? Coach would want him to keep smelling it. He grabbed the jock in a hand, but kept it from his face–and took a moment to look over at Erik, where he was huffing his own jock on the bench.

Where Paul was an offensive lineman–wide and thick and designed to be a wall–Erik was a running back–all muscle, lean, and ready to charge into, and run over, anything or anyone in his path. His teammate had almost the entire jock stuffed in his mouth, where he was almost…chewing on it, rolling it over in his mouth, but this gave Paul a clear view of the fact that Erik’s mouth…it wasn’t quite human any longer. The more he gnashed at the wad in his mouth, the more his mouth and nose seemed to extend, pushing out into a thick, short snout. His beard was filling in thick, turning a dark brown, while his nose flattened and widened, turning black. The changes were spreading down his throat and over the rest of his face–especially the thick pelt of brown hair, and Paul–with his free hand–gingerly touched his own face, recalling the strange sensation of pulling he’d felt earlier.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t human. He too, had a snout–perhaps slightly longer than Erik’s now was, but not nearly as hairy. His nose was flat, dry, and he could feel wrinkles along the side, with two open nostrils, making him snort slightly with each breath…and he had tusks jutting out from his lower jaw, out of his mouth by an inch or so on each side. He looked down at the jock in his hand, feeling it, wondering what in the world coach Robinson was doing to them both. Wondering what they were becoming.

Erik gagged, and with a hack, threw up the jock he’d nearly swallowed into his hand. It was soaked with spit, and Erik’s face looked more like a grizzly bear than human. He looked over at Paul, where he was sitting on the floor–trying to understand why Paul had put on a pig mask of some sort…only to realize that it wasn’t a mask at all.

“We…we have to stop,” Paul said, “I don’t want to do this anymore, I never wanted to do this.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a stupid pig,” Erik said, standing up, unwringing the jock, and pulling it on, “I can’t fucking believe I wasn’t the only one. I can’t believe–fucking Anton. But fuck, I feel fucking good, and I’m going to feel better, soon enough.”

“Erik, we have to get help, we have to tell someone.”

Erik just looked at him, and laughed a bit. “If you’re so scared, then why’s the jock around that bulge of yours?”

Paul looked at Erik, and then looked down. Without even realizing it, he’d pulled the jock on, where the pouch had settled around his crotch. It felt…warm. Comfortable. He was horny, but also…kind of sleepy. Lethargic. He tried to get up, using the bench beside him, but couldn’t quite manage to get his feet under him. He was just so…heavy, all of a sudden. He could see Erik’s jock was beginning to sprout hair, like his saliva had been enough to make it germinate. His own pouch seemed to be drying out, darkening, becoming almost skin colored, though slightly darker than Paul’s own flesh. Erik got down on his hands and knees, on top of Paul, and pushed his muzzle to Paul’s snout, each smelling the other’s breath, the strange animal musk they’d begun to produce, and the world began to fade away again for them both.

The Power of Society (Part 7)

“Come on Brodie–just come lift with us! Classes aren’t for fucking jocks,” his two frat brothers guffawed and laughed–that was about as close anyone in the house got to a joke these days. After all, Jocks weren’t really known for their subtlety. Well, except for Brodie, and a few others. Against the orders of the study, Brodie still showered himself down at nights, when no one else was awake, and that helped him keep his mind clear enough that he could still go to a couple of classes on campus, even if he was nearly failing both of them. The professors were patronizing–they knew he didn’t really belong there as much as Brodie did, but they also found his attempt charming, and tolerated it. Brodie ignored his bros, and left the frat house, heading for campus–it wasn’t until after a few blocks that he felt warmth in the pouch of his constantly wet uniform, and realized he was pissing himself in the middle of the sidewalk–but the piss streaming out wasn’t what unnerved him–it was that he had completely forgotten to put anything else on over his uniform.

He was standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight, wearing nothing but his yellow and brown, cum and piss stained uniform, cock bulging in the pouch, his muscular, dirty, hairy ass hanging out for everyone to see…but that was normal, wasn’t it? He entertained the thought of heading back to campus and putting on some other clothes–or at least a pair of shoes–but that was ridiculous–the house didn’t have any other clothes. Jocks didn’t get to wear clothes–what did he think he was…a normal person? He felt frozen there, on the sidewalk, not really certain how to take what was happening. He’d worn clothes yesterday, hadn’t he? When he’d gone to class? Or had he? It was hard to focus, with the stench of his piss wafting up from the pavement, and he kept walking before he gave in and started lapping at the puddle. It would be delicious, of course, but if he got distracted he’d never make it to class on time.

He kept going, crossing the road onto campus proper and headed for his campus building. He saw, up ahead, a crowd gathering around a bench–some Nerd was making a scene on the bench. He took a different path, wanting to avoid it. Nerds could be…distracting, for a Jock like him, and that one looked…especially dirty.

“What the fuck is up with that Jock?” he heard someone say, as he walked, “They don’t usually walk like that do they?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird–almost looks like a human or something, when it does that.”

God, what was he doing, Brodie asked himself. He knew better than that. He hunched forward and crouched down a bit, so his hands were on the ground and kept walking. He was aware that this position should be…very uncomfortable, if not impossible…but something odd had happened to his body. It was like his legs were shorter–squat and thick–and his arms had lengthened. He seemed almost simian, as he walked, and the copious amount of hair coating his body didn’t help. Still, he felt less naked, with his pelt on. He always felt sorry for swimmers, and the shaving and waxing they had to put up with. So much easier just being a dumb football jock like he was.

He was almost to the building where the class was being taught, when something flying through the air caught his eye. He dropped his books to the ground in a heap and launched after it, tongue hanging out of his mouth, every concern in him pushed aside. A thing was in the air! A ball? No–no, a frisbee! Brodie fucking loved frisbee! He launched himself into the air–a sense of vertigo washing over him when he saw how…high his squat legs could propel him–and intercepted the disk in the air, grabbing it with a sound something between a howl and cheer, and landed on the ground with a roll. Some focus returned to him, and looking around, he realized he’d interrupted a game of catch being played by three normal guys on the quad, and he felt a bit embarrassed.

“God, fucking Jocks,” one of them said.

“Hey, be nice! It’s not like they can help it.”

He loped over, holding the frisbee in his mouth, and handed it to one of the men, who tousled his hair like a kid, or a dog…and Brodie felt a surge of pride.

“Throw!” he said, his voice gutteral, almost a growl. “Throw again! Brodie catch! Brodie good catcher. Brodie play football.”

The guy rolled his eyes, “Hey guys, the jock wants to play.”

“Of course he fucking does.”

“Throw!” Brodie said, jumping up and down, an odd glee and exuberance filling his chest. “Throw for Brodie!”

“He’s not going to stop, is he?”

“How about keep away?” one of them suggested, and the other’s agreed. So the three of them began throwing the frisbee between them with Brodie in the middle, chasing after the disk like a pup, intercepting it often…and sometimes letting it go, because he liked seeing the people happy. Jocks, after all, wanted to make men happy, right?”

They stopped after an hour. Brodie hadn’t thought about his class once, and to thank the men for letting him play with them, he blew them all in sequence, and drank down their piss on the quad. No one really batted an eye at that–after all, Jocks could be a bit…forceful if the didn’t get their way. In the end, Brodie heard the four o’clock chime ring from the bell tower, said a hasty goodbye, and took off in the direction of the fieldhouse. Practice started at four fifteen, after all, and Brodie didn’t want to be late. Brodie wanted to play football! Maybe tomorrow, those guys would be playing frisbee again. He liked frisbee too, and their cum had been delicious as well. Maybe, if he was extra good tomorrow, they’d fuck his dirty ass too.

The End for now…

The Facility (Part 6)

WARNING: Strange TF 

Holden’s body seemed to be…quivering and shaking all over, and expanding. It was all fat, that Quinn could see, and it was happening so quickly that his skin could barely keep up–even tearing the flesh at parts, though it healed over within moments, leaving him covered with scars and stretchmarks. He tried to speak, but something was wrong with his mouth–his whole face really. There was blood running from his nose and mouth down his chin as it pushed out, his jaw and skull reforming into some strange new shape. Quinn couldn’t look anymore–he got up and shook the doors again, but there was no opening them. He had to fight. He had to, there was no option. Beside the door, he saw a fire extinguisher in a glass case. He smashed it and hauled it free, charging at the monster with it raised over he hurled it at the things head, dealing it a glancing blow–the thing roaring in surprise and pain, before hauling itself out of Holden’s ass and charging at Quinn.

He dodged it’s first charge, but wasn’t expecting it’s tail to move as quickly as it did, tripping him and then wrapping itself around him tightly, so tight he could only manage ragged breaths. It was strong enough that it could lift him off the ground entirely, long enough to haul him around to face the thing’s snarling mouth, before it lowered him onto it’s cock as it stood there. He kicked and struggled, but there was no fighting it–the beast impaled him on his cock, making him scream in pain, his ass loosening immediately just like Holden’s had, and then he too, felt something begin pumping its way into his bowels, some of it seeping back out and dribbling to the floor from his now wrecked hole.

It was the pleasure which surprised him the most, catching him completely off guard. He hadn’t been able to see earlier, from how Holden had been face down against the floor, but Quinn’s cock hardened immediately, he gasped, and sprayed a massive shot of cum from his cock, and then another, eyes rolling back into his head, and even the horrific pain he felt as his body swelled with fat, skin ripping and healing as he grew, couldn’t beat the pleasure, couldn’t stop him from…wanting this. The cum was still pouring out of him in a torrent, his scrotum swelling larger and larger as he spewed, his cock growing as well, even as his new fat threatened to overwhelm it. He could…smell it. He was dimly aware that he could taste blood, that something was wrong inside of him, that his face ached–especially his teeth, but he could smell so much now. Smell his cum. Smell the monster’s cum forming a pool below him, how delicious it all smelled to him, suddenly.

Apparently satisfied with the result, the beast pulled him free and dropped him to the floor, where he landed on something large and soft, before rolling off to the side. It was Holden, he realized. It had been Holden. Whatever it was, it had crawled over from where the beast had been fucking him to the puddle beneath them, and had spent the last several minutes lapping up and eating whatever cum had dribbled from them both. Both of his arms seemed…smaller, almost atrophied. It was desperately groping it’s fat and trying to reach his groin–and his own strangely deformed cock and balls, but couldn’t do so. It took a moment for Quinn to realize that he too, was desperately trying to reach himself. He could only turn his head so far, enough to see his oddly misshapen limbs flailing about helplessly, but he managed to crawl forward somehow, his own face battling with Holden’s for whatever cum it could find on the floor.

Doctor Sondew was pleased with the results of the initial seeding. Further exposure to the beast’s seed, beyond another threshold, would trigger the complete transformation of subjects two and three–their arms and legs disappearing entirely, leaving them as little more than fat worms with a single minded thirst for cum, and whatever else the dear doctor felt they deserved. Of course, their human minds were relatively untouched, though no longer in control of their bodies, which would be governed by instinct from this point forward. Still, best to leave them…recognizable for what would come next. He would leave these two in the main facility, where they would be found, where the rest of the men in the camp could find them, know what they were, so they could see what they two would become tonight when he turned his beast on them. The woods were dark and terrifying, especially after the doctor’s small EMP had plunged their camp into silence, and killed all of their communications. After that, there would only be them, the darkness, the trees, and the beast from their nightmares fucking each of them in turn, until all that would remain come morning were the monstrous worms they all deserved to be.

Doctor Sondew would be recording it all, of course, and come morning, it would be broadcast to the entire world for them to see. To see what this company was capable of, to see what they had done. He and his beast would be gone by then, of course–and if that wasn’t enough, then he’d set the beast loose in a major city, and see how the world might respond to that.

The puddle of cum was been depleted, and both might worms had inched their way to his beast, their strange mouths and tongues licking at the monster’s massive balls. They could smell what was in them, and as much as they might fear it, they also knew that they needed it to survive. The beast was obedient, however, and refused to provide it, though it looked up to it’s master and gave a whine, telling him that it would very much like to continue with subjects Eta Two and Three. But no, there was work to be done. Two robots entered, wrapping up the Quinn and Holden and dragging them out to the room, to the elevator. His revenge would come tonight, at last.