Dream Camp (Part 10)

Kyle was in a space–outdoors, but nondescript–a thick collar around his neck with spikes, attached to a heavy chain, attached to a post rooted in the floor. Barry was standing a few yards off, watching him struggle and fight against it, trying to get loose, but there was nowhere for him to go now, nowhere he could go to escape this anymore. But still, he was stubbornly resisting, his will bouncing off of him, but he’d anticipated this–and he had an idea for how to finally get Kyle to accept his dream.

Max appeared, looking around, confused, like he’d been somewhere else entirely a moment prior. He had the same collar on as his father, but was unchained, and seeing his father panicking and terrified, he knew what he needed. He flinched away from his son when he tried to come closer, and Max began chasing him around the post, until Barry began shortening the chain, giving Kyle less and less room to avoid him, until Max finally pinned him in place, and swallowed his cock into his hot throat. The initial pleasure overwhelmed him, Barry feeding his libido, encouraging him, convincing him to enjoy his son’s beastly throat. He came to his senses after a few moments and pushed his son away, but it was too late–he was weakening. His…cock. It wasn’t human anymore. It had gone into Max’s mouth human, and what emerged was…pink, inhuman, and slimy, with a sheath. Stunned, he allowed Max an opening to keep sucking, and the pleasure now was impossible for him to deny, and his instincts began to overwhelm him, making him grab hold of his son’s head and ramming his new cock down his throat, Barry watching as the rest of his body began changing as well.

His nails lengthened into claws, giving him a better hold on his son as he skull fucked, him, the rest of the changes radiating from his groin. Fur spread across his body, even as what little fat melted off him, his muscles bulging with power. Barry could see Kyle there still, in his eyes, both trying to understand what was happening to him and still trying to fight it, but as the fur grew over his whole body, it was obvious that he was growing weaker. Finally, his head and skull began to reshape, his snout pushing out, and there was nothing he could do to fight it any longer–or contain the anger he had always kept barely contained within his body. He threw his son off his now thirteen inch cock and mounted his ass, grunting, snorting and slobbering, licking his emerging tusks with his now long, prehensile tongue, hungry for pain, hungry to fuck, hungry to dominate. Barry saw what was happening, saw he was growing larger than he’d anticipated and tried to push him back, but his will was rebuffed–Kyle’s muscles swelling even larger, his bones and frame growing to support him, until he was at least seven feet tall, Max limp and whimpering beneath him like a ragdoll, simply trying to survive being pummelled by his beastly father’s now foot and a half long cock. He came with a thunderous roar, cum spewing with such force that it spurted out of Max’s now wrecked hole, forming a puddle around his body, his father removing his cock from him. Barry wondered if he was still alive–he didn’t seem to be moving.

Kyle, at least, turned to him. The collar was now comically tight around his neck, and with one hand, he reached up, grasped the leather, and ripped it apart, letting it fall behind him as he stalked towards Barry, eyes full of fury, his massive cock jutting out in front of him. He was taller than Barry was now, and Barry felt…something he hadn’t felt in days now–he felt fear. That same fear he’d always had, before all of this, the fear of this man, of Max, of what this brute might do to him, and too late, he felt the amulet feed off his fear, and Kyle grew larger and bulkier, looming over him now. Should he run? Should he fight? He was strong, sure, but was he that strong? He didn’t know, he didn’t know anymore.

He was losing control, just like he’d lost control the night before, in the tent with Christian, allowing his friend desires to warp him. He tried to hold on to himself, tried to focus on the power, on shrinking him down, on making him weaker, anything at all, but he couldn’t–he couldn’t do it because…because.

“Because you’re weak, pig.”

It was Kyle who’d said it, his voice impossibly deep, almost entirely a growl, but he understood it all the same.

“Because you’ve always been weak–but I should thank you,” he said, “I…I hadn’t realized, how strong I could be, but don’t worry piggy, we’re gonna have some fun. We have all night, right? In our dreams?” He took a step closer, and Barry tried to back up, but it was like his feet had been sucked into the earth, and all he could feel was terror, as the beast he’d created stalked toward him, licking it’s chops and stroking it’s gargantuan cock.

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.

Dream Camp (Part 8)

They returned to the rest of the hiking group, pushing through the trees, the scout now sporting a full beard, a small gut, and a longer cock he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from. Barry watched something pass through all of them, almost like a wave of some strange energy, the scouts all turning more…manly, all of them except Kyle Hoffson, who remained stubbornly unchanged…even when he saw his son Max, come lumbering out of the woods behind them, shorter, no longer wearing a uniform other than his neckerchief, soaked with sweat and cum, his paws glued to his thick, bestial cock.

“M-Max?” he said, mostly to himself, “What…I…”

Kyle couldn’t take his eyes away from the strange, disturbing beast. That…that couldn’t be his son. He would never…never, have a son like…like that, right? Max grinned up at him, baring his strange teeth in that inhuman snout, and then walked over and hefted a heavy pack onto his muscular back, and Kyle…Kyle felt something inside him, something he’d never felt before, grow tighter. It had been getting tighter all weekend, ever since he’d seen that obese monstrosity of a man in the parking lot dropping off his son, this strange sense that his hold on reality, it was becoming strained. He was trying to hold it together, trying to keep in mind what was real and what wasn’t, but increasingly he’d felt like he was living in some twisted, perverse dreamscape. First, Eric and Alex Mendel with their, freakish leaking chests. Then the disgusting perversity of Barry Brooke and his overgrown boy, and now…now his son? His own son? He couldn’t look like that! If…if Max looked like that, and if Max was his son, then…then what would that make him?

It grew tighter, he didn’t feel like he belonged in this place anymore. He looked around at the scouts, his scouts, and realized he barely recognized any of them, anymore. All of them were suddenly hulking, hairy young men, stinking with musk, all of them obviously corrupted by that filth Barry Brooke put out from his disgusting body. The disgusting fucker, he revelled in it, in his…his power and authority. Look at him, his cock hanging out openly, all of the scouts staring at it, smelling it, smelling him and each other. He had to get out of here, he needed to get out of here, and with a sudden terror, he grabbed his pack and started off back on the trail, leaving the rest of them behind. He had to get back to camp, he had to escape, before whatever this insanity was overwhelmed him.

The rest of the scouts watched him leave, and then looked to Barry. He could…sense it now, Kyle’s hold on reality beginning to fray slightly. He wasn’t sure whether it was simply stubbornness or just a lack of imagination that made him so resistant, but now he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist his dream forever. “Well boys? What do you think? Should we get back to camp for the evening?”

His young men all nodded, and Barry led the way, Max behind him, carrying his scoutmaster’s pack along with his own, happy to serve as beast of burden, like always. The boys followed behind, enjoying the musky scent of their ScoutMaster leading the way, their bodies developing as they did, bodies growing hairy, beards filling in and growing long, their own bodies becoming sweatier, their cocks and balls growing, leaking in their uniforms. More than once, on the way back, one of them would begin to have doubts, begin to fear what was happening to them, and they would try to hang back, to get away, but Christian, following up at the end, was waiting for them. They would, spend a bit of quality time together, their faces buried in Christian’s reeking pits, our slurping at his engorged cock, until they no longer questioned what was happening, until the desired it, and then the two of them would double time and catch up to the main group.

Up at the front, Barry kept the pace quick, not necessarily because he wanted to make it back to camp quickly–if anything, he would have preferred a few more breaks, so he could see how his scouts were all developing behind him, wallowing in his cloud of perverse musk, but no–he was keeping his eyes ahead, to where he could see Kyle trudging along as quickly as he could, desperate to put as much space between himself and Barry as he could. Barry could smell him on the wind: his sweat, but also his terror and confusion. He saw him ditch his pack to the side of the trail, look over his shoulder at the band of scouts behind him, led by their massive, obese ScoutMaster, his eyes wide with the terror of prey, and he started running proper, with about two miles left before they reached camp. Barry let him pull away from them, keeping the pace steady. Kyle was strong, but he wasn’t that strong, to keep up a run like that for much longer than a mile. Still, Barry wanted him exhausted. Barry wanted him stinking, and scared, and too weak to fight him. Let him run, he thought, he can’t run from what’s been coming to him for years and years.

Kyle reached camp, and found himself staring at something just as disturbing, his fellow leader latched to Alex Mendel’s tit, now the fattest man he’d ever seen, his arms and legs beginning to wither and atrophy, all of their muscle now concentrating themselves in his neck and chest, his eyes becoming swallowed in fat, his ears growing smaller as he became more and more cut off from the world, now just a body made to suck and swallow. The man, hearing him coming, pulled away from Alex and looked over at him, his mouth toothless, just two swollen lips, a thick, grotesque tongue licking them clean of milk, before Alex guided his face back to sucking, which the man would be doing for the rest of his life. Alex smiled at Kyle, and beckoned him closer, squeezing out of his tits, spurting out a bit of his sweet milk, and Kyle…Kyle felt himself stretch to the brink. With a primal scream, he ran to his SUV and started clawing at the door, needing to get away from this nightmare, when a bod slammed up against him, pinning him to the side, a voice in his ear growling, “No Kyle, I don’t think you get to leave yet–what would the troop do without their favorite pig?”

Dream Camp (Part 7)

Is he dreaming now? The thought occurs to him too late to do him any good. One moment, he was certain he was awake, lounging with his son, the next, he is no longer certain of anything, the sky oversaturated with color, Max crawling towards them both across the ground. He seems scared, but his terror is no longer enough to keep him away from what he wants. He circles around them, keeping his distance, snorting and huffing, but Barry knows that if they just remain still, he’ll approach eventually. Each time Max reappears in his field of vision, something…changes. His nose flattens. His bottom incisors have grown out past his lips. His muscles have bulged out, especially his shoulders, collapsing the length of his neck. His hands aren’t hands, his feet aren’t feet. He’s making this…noise, a desperate whine, snout twitching with need, a dark red, almost purple tongue hanging from his mouth, glistening with spittle in the harsh light. His clothes have disappeared, revealing a body coated with hair including much of his face by a thick, but short, beard.

His circling has become tighter now, and he finally stops at Barry’s side, sniffing him, his cock hardening, nose snuffling at his pit. Barry lifts his arm, and his own musk–it’s so much stronger suddenly, so strong even he can barely contain the lust that pulses through him when he smells himself, Max digging in, licking and slobbering, Christian, in his lap, groaning, rubbing his cock, his dad pulling him closer, into his stench. He can sense it spreading to him, encompassing them both like some strange cloud. Max is now licking his body mindlessly, but Barry and Christian are focused on their combined stench, their unwashed bodies, their greasy hair and tangled beards–

“Ummm…Mr…Mr. Brooke?”

The sun felt so good, so warm.

“Dad? We should get going–we still have five miles.”

Barry stretched on the ground, still against the tree. Max, whatever he was now, something between…well, he didn’t really know, really, but he was happily licking his grungy hiking boot, one strange paw like hand groping at his hard, strange looking, cock. He looked up and saw Christian standing already, pulling on his grimy, sweaty uniform. It was another scout who had come to find them, a guy in another patrol named John, eyes still wide at the scene he’d stumbled upon, but by the time Barry had stood up, everything seemed so…normal, suddenly. Barry pulled up his pants, soaked in his musky sweat, and buttoned them, but left his huge cock flopping out the front where it could air out a bit. “Thanks, must’ve fallen asleep there,” he said, walking past John, placing a hand on his shoulder, his stench making the young man tense up and spasm, as he spontaneously shot his load into his underwear. Barry chuckled. Fuck, he loved his boys. He leaned in and gave him a forceful kiss, one hand shoving its way into the young man’s pants, coating itself in cum before pulling out, feeling John moan into his mouth, hungry for his spit. Barry drew away and licked the cum from his fingers, and the scout leaned in, rubbing his face against his scoutmaster’s hairy chest.

Barry looked over, and saw Max was busy cleaning off his son’s cock, and now he could actually get a better look at what, exactly, he was. He was indeed something between a man, a pig and a dog, if he had to try and pin it down. He had a pig’s snout, definitely, with two short tusks pushing out on either side. His tongue was…very long, he saw, as he watched it lick Christian’s cock–it could stretch from head to root with no trouble at all. The rest of Max’s body, however, was a bit…harder to describe. He was coated with fur–not like a person, more like the pelt of an animal. His hands were closer to paws, but his feet were more like trotters, or hooves, and a short, bushy tail stuck out above his hairy ass. His body was substantially more muscular, but in a rather beastly fashion, and the muscle was covered with a thick layer of fat as well, giving him a firm and brawny physique. As he licked, he was busy rubbing his own cock, which was bright pink and…and definitely not human, with it’s odd slimy texture and narrow, pointed head. It was big, too–at least ten inches, which looked larger on him, because Max had shrunk considerably, down to about five feet tall, though his new posture didn’t help, hunched over like that.

The scout licking and chewing at his chest hair was getting him all riled up again, and he pushed him back gently, knowing that if he got started all over again, none of them would get back to camp before nightfall. But when he saw the young man’s face, he gave a bit of a start–his previously smooth face was now coated with dark stubble. Had he…done that? He couldn’t know for certain, but it looked good on him. Every boy looked better as a man, after all, and if he could, he’d make men out of all of them, he thought with a chuckle.

“Come on, ya’ll, let’s get back and get moving,” Barry said, “We’ve rested long enough, I think.”

Together, the four of them walked back to the troop. Barry led the way with Christian, the scout rubbing his stubbly face and wondering what had just happened to him, and Max following behind them, snorting and grunting happily, still stroking his cock with one paw, licking the palm clean of its slime on occasion, his old life now well and forever behind him.

Donkey Dick (Part 1)

“Jude, I told you before, I just don’t want to, alright?”

“Come on, it felt amazing last time!”

“Maybe for you–I couldn’t feel anything in there,” Derek said, looking at the strap-on cock Jude had in his hand. He had no idea where his friend had even found it–it was massive, and shaped like (he assumed) a donkey’s cock. As far as dildos went, it was amazingly lifelike–the latex even felt like flesh, or what he assumed the flesh of a donkey dick might feel like. He had never seen one, but Jude–one of his friends-with-benefits, had confessed to a fantasy of being fucked by a donkey. Derek had been game once, but it had simply been boring for him–the strap-on might be life-like, but it was so thick that he got no pleasure out of it. Besides–it made him feel a bit…insignificant. However, now that he looked at it, this one seemed different from the last one he’d worn at Jude’s request.

Jude got excited, “No look–I did some investigating, and I found some more stuff. Look, there’s this specialty lube for strap-ons that can make it feel amazing for you and this dildo is made of a really special rubber that’s just as sensitive for you as it is for me, and I thought…well, I did some reading on hypnosis….”

“Hypnosis?”

“Well, nothing big–but I found some files that might help. You’ll think that the strap-on is your own cock–and your mind will make you feel things even though your body isn’t really. Between that and this cock, I promise you’ll have a good time.”

Derek was suspicious, but Jude was nothing if not persistent. He did eventually give in and let Jude use the strange, sticky lube on his cock and help him into the strap on–the plastic donkey cock hard and dangling between his legs–but he wasn’t interested in the hypnosis. Jude, however, seemed insistent. Derek said it would never work on him, but when Jude asked him to keep an open mind and parked him in front of his computer screen–the swirling patterns were…oddly captivating. He didn’t even notice Jude put the noise cancelling headphones on over his ears, words barely discernable through a subtle static that made him focus harder on them. A couple of minutes later, Jude wiped some spit from his slack lip, and smiled, stashing the specialty glue he’d used back in his drawer. The program would take a few hours–but he could wait.

***

“Hey, Derek…you waking up?”

He was, but slowly. What had just happened to him? He was sitting in front of Jude’s computer, and he could…kind of remember something about hypnosis, but everything was a bit fuzzy.

The chair was on wheels, and his friend pulled him back a bit, and came around in front of him. “How about we see how well that worked for you, eh?” Jude reached down, gripped the donkey cock between his friend’s legs, and Derek groaned. “How does it feel?”

“Fuck…it feels good…” Derek said, looked down, and for a second just stared at the strap-on…except he wasn’t seeing a strap-on. He was just seeing his cock. His long, thick, donkey dick. In his mind, he knew that it couldn’t be real, but with a tentative hand, he reached down to feel it, and to him, it looked and felt, like flesh. And it felt…amazing. He looked down, and he couldn’t see the straps running around his waist, but they had to be there, right? “How…how did you do that?”

“Hypnosis can be a powerful thing. Now come on–how about we give this big cock of yours a test drive?”

Jude had already lubed himself up and got on the bed, Derek lining his hard cock up and pushing it inside. Before, he hadn’t felt a thing, but this lube and hypnosis was amazing. It was like it was his real cock. He’d gotten the shaft halfway inside Jude’s ass, when the first bray popped from his mouth unbidden, and he stopped.

“What’s wrong? Keep going!” Jude said.

“But I just…did I just ‘hee haw’ like a fucking donkey?” Derek asked, but he did as Jude said, and kept pushing himself inside, another bray slipping out as he did, but rather than ask about it, he just went with it. It felt so damn good to fuck–every inch of his cock was so sensitive suddenly, and he didn’t last very long, before a massive spasm ripped through him, accompanied by a series of very loud brays that he was certain must have woken the neighbors in the next apartment over. Still, Jude wouldn’t let him stop–and it wasn’t like his cock would go soft anytime soon. He kept fucking until Jude shot a huge load onto the bedspread, and then they finally separated, and Derek started looking for the seam to the strap-on, so he could take it off. Jude saw what he was doing, and pushed his hands away.

“Don’t be so hasty…wouldn’t you like to keep it on?”

Derek started to say no, but as he thought about it, he realized…that he did want to keep it on.

“After all, it’s always been a fantasy of yours, hasn’t it? To have a big old donkey cock, instead of some small three inch thing like before? Doesn’t this just make you feel like such a sexy beast?”

“Fuck, it….kind of does,” Derek managed to say, a bray escaping from his lips as he spoke, “But what’s with the donkey noises? I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Don’t worry about those–you like making them.”

Yeah, actually, he kind of did.

No…wait.

“You…you fucking hypnotized me, and now, you’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

Jude did that thing where he looks innocent, but he was guilty as fuck, and Derek went back to trying to find the seam…but it wasn’t there. Or rather, he couldn’t see it. “Help me get this off, I have to piss.”

“You can piss through it by now, don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

Jude pursed his lips, “I…might have lied a bit when I said that was lube earlier.”

Derek just stared at him. “What the fuck have you done to me, you fucking asshole?”

Master of Men (Part 3)

WARNING: Furry, Feral, and Mind Death

Craig turned back to him, and Paul screamed and snarled once more–but then continued to do so. Slowly he became aware that he was no longer doing it because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. This wasn’t him. Craig had done something to his mind, had broken in and changed him…but that wasn’t right. This rage he felt, he knew this rage. This was a rage he’d felt all his life, the rage that he’d used on his little brother whenever he’d beaten him into the dust, the rage that had pushed him into sports where he’d revelled in breaking other men and sending them from the field screaming, the rage that had propelled him to murder men he’d never met in foreign countries and cities he’d never bothered learning to pronounce. Craig had simply undone it’s chains, the chains he’d learned from society to channel his anger in acceptable directions, and now it felt like a beast was loose in his mind, rampaging around, bristling with hate and fear and loathing for everything beyond itself, including Paul. He realized too late that he had counted on those walls and chains to protect him from his own wrath as much as society had, the beast ripping through him, his memories, his thoughts and desires. It was eating his mind from the inside out, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The man named Paul was no match for his own beast, and he was devoured in a matter of minutes as the men watched, his eyes growing dull, the screams and howls becoming less human, the beast’s body changing before their eyes. His body grew hairier, and was soon coated with a thick pelt all over, including his face. It remained fat, but the rage poured itself into muscle, the animal growing taller and thicker, and its face. It was no longer a human face, with a powerful set of jaws lined with teeth, something between a wolf and a bear, and two thick horns bursting from his head, turning forward, points sharp and ready to gore. They expected it to tire at some point, but the transformation only seemed to give it more power, and it fought harder against the metal binding it in place, it’s paw like hands tipped with sharp black claws tensing and untensing, trying to leap at any of them. It could smell their fear, their hatred. Their blood.

“Fear not, my Men–it cannot get loose,” the Master said, coming close to the beast, which tried to twist it’s head and snap at him. “This is rage. This is false masculinity. This is the corruption of a man’s spirit, rendered flesh. This is not a miracle–this is shockingly common. The world is filled with men like him who have allowed their rage to consume their better selves. But I am the Master of Men–I possess the true power necessary to tame this beast. Bear witness.”

The metal retracted, and the men scooted back to the edge of the dias, suddenly aware of just how high up they were from the ground below. The beast shook, and pushed itself up, revealing just how large it had grown. It was easily eight feet tall, with a huge, bright red cock emerging from a sheath running up it’s furred torso. It flexed it’s body and howled, turning to Craig, the fat, pudgy, sweaty man unafraid and facing the beast. “Fuck…you. Fuck you and eat you and tear you apart!” it screeched at Craig. It charged at him, and he stepped to the side out of the beast’s way with a surprising amount of agility.

The beast charged again, and Craig continued dodging. The men noticed that the beast was favoring one leg over the other–the remains of Jason’s damaged knee, but they knew their Master was outmatched–and when the beast had consumed him, it would take them next. Craig seemed unworried, but the beast knew it could win. It could smell him, it could smell that musk, and…and…

And it felt fear. This was no simple man. This man did not smell like the others. The beast redoubled it’s efforts, growing more crazed, when the Master slammed one fist into it’s wounded knee, bringing forth a crazed howl as the beast crumpled to the floor in pain. Before it could react, the man had shoved the beast’s long tail to one side and plunged his cock deep into the beast’s ass. It screamed, but already it could tell that it was too late, that the man had beaten him, that this man would always beat him, had beaten him before in a hundred other lifetimes. Still it fought, trying to crawl away, but the man was gentle, petting it’s hair softly. “Accept your defeat beast, and rage no further–for I am Man, and I will tame you.”

Tame. That scent, that musk. it was so close now, and the more the beast smelled it, the quieter it’s howls became, the more it began pushing it’s hole back, allowing the man to penetrate deeper, the more it felt like it’s very nature was being slowly manipulated and transformed. Indeed, the awestruck men outside the circle watched at the beast’s form began to shift once more, it’s muscled body dissolving into fat once again as it shrunk in size, becoming as large as the Master, and then even smaller, no more than five feet tall at most. That gaping maw full of teeth had softened into a pig’s snout filled with short, stubby, harmless teeth, the horns on it’s head shorter and rounded at the tips, it’s clawed paws becoming clunky trotters. Now it was grunting and squealing loudly, rage forgotten in pleasure, and it’s short, stubby cock exploded with cum, the men watching it’s balls shrink in size, pulling up into it’s belly. The master continued fucking for another moment before cumming as well, and the men cheered, unable to believe the miracle they had just witnessed. The beast, now simply a pet, turned around, grunting softly, and began sucking it’s Master’s cock clean with it’s long tongue, looking up at him lovingly as a strand of metal curled up from the floor, wrapped it’s way around it’s neck and detached from the floor, leaving it with a thick metal collar.

“Men, let us celebrate my victory!” Craig shouted, and the men revelled, an orgy erupting on the dias, their new pet crawling among them, licking their bodies clean, sucking their cocks and begging to be fucked. It lasted for hours, until the men, exhausted, climbed back down from the dais and returned to their homes, and Master’s newest pet stood on it’s hooves and followed his Master down the stairs as best it could, but the path was treacherous, and it’s knee ached. Master could see this, and knelt next to his pet, holding it’s wounded knee in his hands, a dull light coursing beneath them as the pain dissolved. “Thank you,” Craig said, “Your sacrifice was great, for my Men, but you will be happy, I promise.”

His pet grunted it’s thanks. It knew. The rage had hurt so much, all it’s life. To be rid of it was enough for him to follow his Master anywhere, until the end of it’s days.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables – Charlie’s POV (Patreon Commission)

“Beautiful, simply beautiful,” Master Fitzroy said, as he walked along the length of Charlie’s body, one hand beginning on his rump, rubbing the horse hair backwards until he came to the sudden transition to supple flesh. He couldn’t believe how smooth the blend was–he really would have to find some way to reward Professor Bimmel for his extraordinary work here. Charlie, however, was trying to make sense of what was happening to him, of what had happened to him. He could vaguely remember being taken from his room by several butlers, and dragged to the basement, but then he woke up here, curled up in the stable straw, and his body…it was wrong.

He looked over one hulking shoulder at his hind end, at the horse tail flicking away a few flies at the other end. He hadn’t had a tail before, he knew that. He’d had…different legs. He’d been able to stand on them. But it was fuzzy, everything was fuzzy. His head felt like it had become a swamp, and he had to work so much harder to slog through even simple thoughts, but he’d been different, he knew that. He’d stood up this morning, on his own, on all fours, and he’d tried to stand up more…but he couldn’t bend like that anymore. Master Fitzroy made it look so easy, as he sauntered around in front of him, his hands exploring Charlie’s new body. Master Fitzroy made everything look easy though. Master Fitzroy was amazing–he could do anything, he knew everything, he was the most important man Charlie could imagine. He would know what had happened to him–he had to know. It was hard to get the words out–his mouth was normal, but his head had to fight to get them out, “Sir…what…happened to me? I don’t understand…”

“Shhh,” Master Fitzroy said, and pressed one finger to his lips, “I understand that this must be difficult for you. Your mind is having to do many things that it’s never had to do before. It will get easier for you, I promise.”

“But I was…like you before. And now…now what am I?”

“What are you? Why, you are magnificent! You are my greatest creation to date. You should be filled with pride–why just look at you! You are a first, a marvel, an utter curiosity. Why, men will be lining up for the opportunity to feel that massive horse cock in their holes, don’t you worry. And Mr. Grant–oh, just you wait until Mr’ Grant sees you, then that fucker will get what’s coming to to him.”

Mr. Grant. The name meant something to him, but he didn’t quite know how. Mr. Grant was the name of the man who cared for him, and…and something else too. Something that made his stomach churn a bit, something that made the head of his cock slide from its sheath.

“In fact, speaking of Mr. Grant, I’m certain he will be here soon–I really should greet him. Now stay here, and wait for me to return Charlie, I promise I won’t tarry.”

With that, Master Fitzroy left the room, but Charlie was still thinking of Mr. Grant, and reaching back with one long arm and huge hand to his growing cock. His hand was so big, he could actually wrap it around most of the shaft, and he gave it a few experimental pumps, snorting a few times as he did, eyes rolling at the pleasure. It was like a wave of new sensations crashing over him. He could remember having a cock before, but not like this, nothing like this pleasure in his whole life.

He was startled by the door opening again, and he quickly let go of his cock, returning to all fours. Master Fitzroy walked in, and after him came Mr. Grant–and he recognized him, but the smell of him. It sent shivers through his entire body, it made his heart and cock throb. Fuck him. He had to fuck him. Mr. Grant needed cock–his cock, horse cock, yes, he needed to rip him open, he needed to rip him to shreds, he needed…

His mind was slowing down again, even more this time. Mr. Grant and Master Fitzroy spoke, but he couldn’t quite follow what they were saying. He spoke too, but it felt unreal, like a dream, and he couldn’t quite…hear himself. His experience was shrinking down to his nose, that scent, his heart, his cock, that ass. He saw one of his hands reach out and yank down Mr. Grant’s breeches, he saw that ass, he needed that ass so badly. Mr. Grant fell, he tried to crawl, but then he stopped on his hands and knees, allowing Charlie the opportunity to walk over him, to stoop down and thrust his huge cock towards the hole.

It took them a few tries to successfully couple. Mr. Grant had to shove his ass higher; Charlie had to crouch slightly, but it was worth it, feeling his cock slide into that tight hole. Hearing Mr. Grant scream, hearing the screams turn from agony to joy, feeling his massive cock shove itself deeper and deeper, as deep as he could. Master Fitzroy was taunting Mr. Grant, telling him to take his punishment, and yes, Master was right, he deserved it. He had been bad, very bad, and now he had to be punished, now he had to feel pain. A new smell wafted up to him–cum. Mr. Grant had cum, like a slut, and he began thrusting harder and faster, feeling his own orgasm building. He flooded Mr. Grant’s hole with cum, so much that it pumped back out, dribbling from his old loose hole down onto the dirt, and finally, when he was no longer stiff enough to stay inside, he plodded back on hands and hooves, huffing and sweating with exhaustion, but Master was happy, Master was grinning at him. He had done good, he had done very good, and Mr. Grant, he had enjoyed it too, he could tell. And he knew he would be enjoying Mr. Grant’s old hole many, many times in the future.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

Leopold Grant woke up in his small twin bed in the servant quarters of Fitzroy Abbey. He wasn’t at all sure how he knew that–he had never seen this room before in his life–and while he knew his name had not been Leopold Grant before waking up here, that was the only name he could recall. He could vaguely remember fucking a young twink named Charlie one evening–fuck, that slut had had a tight hole–and then someone barged in while he was mid-fuck, and then nothing after that. As he recalled the memory, however, he had a sudden pang of guilt. That had been bad. A bad thing to do. He…he ruined that young tight hole with his big cock, the whole Master had wanted…he…he…

He looked down, past his furry paunch of a gut, and didn’t see his massive cock. He reached down and groped for the thick shaft, but only found the edge of the bed, felt closer to his body, and only when he reached under the gut did he find his small, shriveled cock and balls. In his mind, he knew he should feel terror at what had happened, but all he really felt was a strange sort of resignation. After all…he deserved this, didn’t he? Of course he did. He was being punished, and he should take his punishment like a gentleman…right?

He knew that these thoughts weren’t his, or that they weren’t the thoughts he should be having, but it was like he no longer quite knew his own mind. How could he resist or fight back against these changes if he didn’t even know what had been changed? He knew there were seams where his mind had been ripped apart and put back together, he could tell there were different fabrics, but the thread itself was invisible to him. For example, he had spent several minutes pondering this conundrum, before realizing that he was no longer a muscular young jock in his twenties, but rather a stout, short middle aged man.

His growing horror was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a fellow servant, Mr. Livingston peeking in, unfazed by the old, naked man sitting on the bed. “Oh good, you’re awake. Master Fitzroy would like to see you in the stables, so he can elaborate on your role and punishment here at the abbey. Do get dressed quickly? He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He closed the door before Mr. Grant could reply, and thankful for the excuse to not think too hard about what was happening to him, he walked over to his small closet and got dressed. The breeches and shirt were a rough linen, and there was no underwear. He pulled on his knee length socks, high leather boots, a vest and a cap to cover his balding head, and hurried off to the stables…though again, he wasn’t quite sure how he knew where the stables even were.

Fifteen minutes later, he was outside, huffing a bit and sweating in the summer sun, not at all used to his body or the clothes he was wearing. At least in the stables it was cooler, though the air stank of manure. Master Fitzroy was waiting for him just inside, looking calm and collected as ever, even in the heat. Seeing his master there made Mr. Grant feel even worse. “Ah, Mr. Grant–my new stable groom.”

“I…I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, sir,” Mr. Grant stammered. His voice sounded so strange to his ears, gruff and slightly gravelly, with a natural british working class accent he never could have faked.

“Oh goodness no, you were very prompt. Now, I’ve made sure you are well prepared for your work here, but there is one special animal here that I wanted to introduce you to myself. It is a very special creature, who requires very special care. In fact, I have no doubt that he will be the focus of the majority of your time in the stable. If you’d kindly follow me, Mr. Grant.”

They walked down the stable together, past lines of horses–somehow, Mr. Grant already knew each of their names, their temperaments, their particular requirements, even though he also knew that he’d had no idea that the abbey even possessed a stable before any of this. They passed through a door into a small room, and Mr. Grant witnessed the first thing which legitimately shocked him all day, so much that he had to choke back a bit of bile from his throat.

What even was it? He’d seen it from the side at first, and the rear was normal enough, a normal, dapple grey rump of a stallion, but halfway along it’s body, the hair faded to pale flesh, and the upper body of a man, it’s arms far too long and large, the same length as it’s back legs, the head too large as well. The face turned to them when they entered, and he realized he knew that face–it was the young man he’d fucked with his huge cock, whose hole he’d ruined. What had Master Fitzroy done to him?

“What do you think, Mr. Grant? I must say Charlie turned out rather well–one of my most successful projects to date. Still, why don’t you come over and say hello to your lover?”

At the word lover, it was like everything in his mind shifted. The twisted form in front of him was no longer disturbing in the slightest…in fact, it was rather…appealing? There was some sort of stirring in his gut and chest, and he saw Charlie look at him, and sniff the air. “Mr. Grant? Is that…you?”

He walked over, his face at the same height as Charlie’s, though it seemed much too large. He kissed him anyway, feeling their tongues intertwine. Mr. Grant didn’t want this, and yet he could…smell something in the air, something that was making him horny. From the way Charlie was snorting the air, it seemed something was affecting him as well. “Smell so good…Mr. Grant…gettin’ horny…”

Charlie let out a snort, and Mr. Grant pulled away, seeing his lover’s eyes dimming somewhat. “I’m afraid that when the beast becomes horny, most of his concerns become rather…instinctual. And considering the fact that you smell just like a mare in heat, Mr. Grant, I’m afraid he’s going to be rather horny whenever you’re around.”

Mr. Grant was too busy absorbing what his master had said, when he felt the tug on his breeches, yanking them to the ground. Charlie had pulled them down with one big hand, and when Mr, Grant tried to step away, he tripped and fell into the dirt floor of the stable. Charlie was huffing deeper now, and from where he was on the ground, Mr. Grant saw Charlie’s new cock, slide from it’s sheath. It was so massive, and he could only imagine where it might be headed.

He started to crawl, but Master Fitzroy stood in his way. “Now now, Mr. Grant, don’t you think you ought to take your punishment?”

Yes, of course. His punishment. How could he have forgotten? He hiked his ass into the air, and Charlie spent a moment trying to find the best position to fuck from, eventually working his cock head into Mr. Grant’s tight hole, the older man trying to suppress a scream at the size.

“Don’t worry too much, Mr. Grant. That old hole of yours is loose enough to take that big cock, but it will hurt going in,” Master Fitzroy had his cock out, and was stroking it to life, “Yes, I hope it hurts quite a bit, you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”

“Y–Yes sir, I do,” Mr. Grant said, and pushed back against the horse cock, accepting the pain, accepting his punishment, and he knew he would need to be punished much much more. Multiple times every day, in fact. And as much as he tried to fight it, his puny cock kept pumping cum into the dirt below him, and he didn’t think he’d be considering this to be punishment for very long at all.

Gordon’s Wish (Patreon Commission)

“That’s it?” Jerry asked, taking the collar from Gordon’s hand, “I just put it on you?”

“Ideally, yeah,” Gordon said, “And, thank you. I mean, for doing this for me. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember, but, well, when you tell people you want them to turn you into a…a dog, they tend to freak out.”

Gordon had met Jerry at a bear run the year before–he was looking slightly pathetic, a pudgy middle aged man dressed in mitts, a pup mask, a dog tail butt plug and not much else, and ended up servicing a rough looking top dressed in a leather uniform. They’d run into each other a few more times that weekend, at first by accident, and then on purpose, and even after they’d flown back to opposite sides of the country, they’d stayed in contact. It was a few months later, after they’d been chatting as both friends and as long distance dom and sub, that Gordon sprung the request on him. Jerry, admittedly, hadn’t known what to think about it, and had figured Gordon was just taking his roleplay a bit too far, but in fact he was perfectly serious–and that, much to Jerry’s surprise, had turned him on much more than he’d expected.

“Well, we don’t even know that it’ll work, right?”

Gordon nodded, but from the look in his eyes, Jerry could see that if it didn’t, it would hurt him to the core.

“Stand at attention, pup.”

Gordon hurried to follow the order, standing rigid, hairy gut thrust out, shivering with excitement. It had to work, it just had to. Jerry unhooked the collar and wrapped it around Gordon’s neck, but as he secured the metal clasp in place, something pricked his finger, drawing a bit of blood–breaking through the leather gloves he had on–and when he pulled his hand away, the collar had become a solid band of leather around the sub’s neck. “T–thank you, master,” Gordon said, and unable to help himself, licked his face. “Sorry…sorry Master, I don’t…I don’t know why I just did that.”

A gloved hand wrapped around the back of his head, and Jerry pulled him into a kiss, and as much as he tried to kiss him normally, Gordon kept returning to licking, and Jerry felt his sub’s tongue lengthening as it scraped across his face, growing thinner, and then their mouths didn’t fit together quite as well as they should. He pulled back and saw that the shape of Gordon’s head had changed significantly–his mouth pushing out into a short snout, his nose blackening. His beard had expanded all over his face and was now of two colors–around his mouth it had become pitch black, but as it grew up over his face and head it was a golden brown. Jerry pulled off a glove and stroked his fur with one hand, seeing Gordon’s still human eyes look at him with something between terror, excitement and love.

“Does it hurt?”

Gordon tried to speak, but it came out as a garble. In the end he shook his head ‘No’.

“That’s good. Here’s let’s get those clothes off of you, I doubt they’ll fit for much longer.”

Together they got off Gordon’s harness, leather shorts, jockstrap and boots. It was both easy, because Gordon was slowly shrinking out of them all anyway, but also more difficult, because before they were finished, his hands had fully morphed into paws, covered with the same golden fur as his head, which was spreading up his arms as they grew thinner. His legs were changing similarly, and as Gordon tried to get the boots off, he discovered he couldn’t balance on his two pads like they were feet, and he tumbled forward into Jerry, who caught him and lowered him down. At first he tried to stay on his hands and knees, but his legs wouldn’t bend right to allow it, his new bones forcing him onto all fours.

He looked over and saw the full length mirror that hung in Jerry’s play room, and took a few steps forward. First, he was trying to figure out how to make his legs work, but soon he realized that they worked just fine–he already knew how to work them, didn’t he? If anything, this felt more natural to him than walking on two legs ever had. And yet, it still felt…so strange. He’d imagined it for so long, in so many different ways, that the reality of it. He approached the mirror, saw his mostly German Shepherd face, and saw himself pull his tall ears back a bit, nervously. He could see that his arms and legs had fully changed–it was the bulk of his human torso which was left, the golden fur spreading over his heavy gut, pulling it up into a leaner frame, the black fur spreading over his back and down to his…tail. He hadn’t even noticed it pushing it’s way out above his ass, and he gave it a tentative wag, seeing his new mouth smile.

Jerry had followed him over to the mirror, still unable to believe that any of this was actually happening. It would be a lie, however, to say that he wasn’t turned on. This was a fantasy of his own–just not one he’d ever imagined he’d be able to experience in his life. In fact, Gordon was the first partner who had managed to coax it from his imagination and out his mouth. Gordon looked up at him, and nuzzled the crotch of Jerry’s breeches. He could see the bulge as well, and he licked at the leather. Jerry unzipped the fly and let his cock out. Gordon was careful to keep his new fangs well away from his Master’s flesh, and focused on licking the length of the shaft with his tongue, wrapping it around the head, listening for his master’s moans, and his smell!

Something shifted in his mind, and the entire world lit up for him in a completely unfamiliar way. He could smell…everything. He could smell where he’d been, where his Master had been–the whole room smelled of his Master, and that made him so incredibly, indescribably, irrationally happy. Happy and safe. He licked a bit harder, and then too his Master’s cock in his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth, feeling him shudder. “C–Careful pup, not too hard…” Jerry said, but Gordon…he could sense that he liked the feeling more than he might be willing to let on, and did it again. Jerry didn’t protest. He shuddered, and flooded his pup’s mouth with cum, Gordon licking the head and drinking it down happily, and then sat back on his haunches, tongue hanging out, panting, and trying to figure out what had just happened to him.

It didn’t really matter, did it? He had Master, and Master would keep him safe. Jerry put his cock away, and looked down at his dog–his new German Shepherd…and yet, he could remember owning him for years now…right? He noticed something glinting on Gordon’s collar, reached down, and looked at the tag that had appeared. It had his name and address on it, but surely it hadn’t been there before.

Gordon let out a whine, and looked over to the door, where several leashes hung.

“What, you wanna go for a walk, pup?”

Gordon let out a happy bark and charged over to the door, sitting patiently, looking back over his shoulder at his Master. Jerry walked over, clipped a leash to his collar, and they walked on into their dream together.

Patreon Commission: A Pig and His Sty

“Those fuckers…” Barry said, tracking mud across the floor of his friends’ farmhouse as he made his way to their bathroom for a shower. Jerry and Mac had a fondness for pranks, and he could still hear them laughing outside by the pig sty, where the two of them had grabbed Barry, chucked him over the low wooden fence and into the mud on the other side. He was covered, head to toe, and after shouting at them, they’d suggested he just calm down and go inside for a shower.

He turned on the water, and then started stripping off his muddy clothes. How in the hell had he gotten as much mud under his clothes as on them? He didn’t even know what he could wear–both Jerry and Mac were big farm boys–he’d never be able to fit into anything of theirs. He could worry about that later though–first he just had to get some of this damn mud off of him.

The water had heated up, he stepped inside and felt the mud start to sluff off him as he wiped it away. He focused on his head for while, trying to get all the mud out of his short hair and off his face, and then looked down at his body, and saw that while some of the mud had just come away with the water, large patches of remained behind all over his body. He grabbed the soap, lathered it up between his hands and started washing at the large splotches, and then grabbed the brush and attacked the mud as hard as he could, but for some reason it wasn’t coming off at all.

He inspected the splotches a bit closer, picking at the mud with his fingernail, but realized he wasn’t picking at dirt, he was looking at his own skin. Somehow, large patches of his body had turned the same dark brown as the sty’s mud. He climbed out of the shower to get a better look at himself in the mirror, but it had steamed up. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom, heading for Jerry’s room where he knew there was a large mirror on the wall. As he walked, the towel kept wanting to come undone, and then it couldn’t quite fit around him at all, and Barry was left clutching it around him as best he could.

Luckily Jerry wasn’t in his room, and he gave up on the towel, standing in front of the mirror naked–but more shocking than the splotches of brown all over his body and face was the fact that between getting out of the shower and entering Jerry’s bedroom, he had somehow gained close to 200 pounds. No wonder the towel hadn’t been able to reach around his body–his flat stomach had grown past gut and turned into a full blown apron that sagged down and covered his entire crotch. He grabbed the fat with his hands, confirming that it was indeed his, and screamed.

He lumbered out of the bedroom, still naked. He had to find Jerry and Mac, he had to figure out what was happening to him. He was out of breath by the time he stumbled out onto the porch, hot, heaving for breath, and snorting loudly with every other breath of air. He stepped out into the midsummer sunlight, his skin burning and itching. He had to cool down, he couldn’t get enough air. He had to get away from the sun. Forgetting aboutJerry and Mac, he instead wandered around the farmhouse until he spotted the muddy sty, and breathed a sigh of relief. The mud would be cool, he’d feel better in the sty.

It took him a few minutes to figure out how to get past the fence. He couldn’t get the gate to work, or rather, his hands seemed too clumsy to get the latch to open, so he ended up hefting himself over, tumbling off and into the cool mud with a loud thunk. The impact knocked the breath out of him, but he was in the mud again, the cool mud. Snorting and grunting, he rolled around a few times, coating himself all over, already feeling cooler in the summer sun.

“Well look at that, bro. Looks like our friend loved the sty so much he got back in all on his own!”

Barry looked up and saw Jerry and Mac on the other side of the fence, leering at him. He rolled over and tried to stand up, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be working right, and looking down, he realized why. He already was standing up, on all fours. The rest of his body was still human, but his arms, legs and haunches had all morphed into pig legs, his hands replaced by solid trotters. He looked up, terrified and tried to speak, but even though his mouth and throat were human, the only sounds that came out were a series of grunts, oinks and squeals.

Jerry and Mac just laughed, and started stripping off their clothes, before climbing in naked. Barry led them on a chase around the sty, the two brothers laughing, their cocks hard, until Mac finally tackled him to into the mud, and slipped his muddy cock into Barry’s ass. As soon as he did, Barry felt a pleasurable calm wash over him, and when Jerry came around to his face and presented his cock, he swallowed it and suckled happily, feeling his own cock and balls start to pulse in the mud. Jerry reached under him, and said as he fucked, “Looks like he’s enjoying himself–his new piggy cock is rock hard!”

Barry had no idea what they meant by that, but he didn’t want them to stop. Jerry shot first, milking his cock into Barry ass, and Mac shot second, coating his face with cum, that Barry found himself licking up hungrily. Then they rolled him over, but his gut was so large now that he couldn’t see his crotch at all. While Mac teased him, Jerry ran inside for a mirror.

“Dang Barry, you sure seem to be enjoying yourself. Jerry ‘n I, we were just gonna keep you as a pig part time, but from the way you’re muckin’ up, I think you might be hangin’ around a lot more than that.”

Barry tried to talk again, and found that, if he concentrated, he could just barely make out words that could be understood. mac made him repeat himself a couple of times, just to tease him. Barry wanted to know why.

“Oh Barry, so naive. Friends, Barry? We’re lovers, and we’ve had our eye on you for a while now,” Jerry returned with a small mirror and hopped the fence, careful to keep the glass from the mud. They positioned it so Barry could see his new sheath, heavy bulging balls, and the bright pink, corkscrew cock emerging from it, and he squealed in terror. “Now Barry, calm down–you fuckin’ love it,” Mac said, and went back to milking the pig’s cock. “Now give us a load, Barry. Shoot, and then you’ll understand.”

Barry fought, but his new arms and legs could only do so much, especially once Jerry pinned him down. Mac rubbed, sucked, stroked, and Barry finally gave out a high squeal, shooting a huge load up onto his gut, and when he did, he…what had he been doing? The orgasm was still ripping through him, dulling his mind, and he rolled over into the mud, settling down, snorting and grunting contentedly, as his master’s laughed and climbed out of the sty, leaving Barry to his new, muddy, life.