Deal of a Lifetime (Part 4)

The hotel was large enough that it served as an anchor for a couple of restaurants–the first was a much more highbrow affair, and while Carmichael simply knew he would have to sample it’s fair at some point this weekend, he decided on the other restaurant for his first meal–a more casual restaurant with a bar inside. His piggy was growing a bit restless, and he always had a better chance of finding someone for his piggy if he stuck out a bit. It was slightly early for dinner, but a number of other bears were there, scattered around the restaurant, most of them eating as well, but Carmichael neither joined them, nor found any of them particularly intriguing. He asked the hostess to seat him at a small table with a clear view of the concourse of the hotel, giving him a good view of men walking past–as well as giving them all a clear view of him. He ordered a bevy of appetizers for himself–including a couple plates of wings so he could make a mess of himself, and when they arrived, he ripped into the food–after tucking his napkin into his shirt like a bib. He’d never really been able to contain himself around food; the messiest side of himself always seemed to come out, no matter what he did.

The people around him kept glancing at him, a bit aghast at the massive man stuffing himself at the table there, and knowing how disgusted they found him made his cock harden and leak a bit in his slacks. He would occasionally look around and meet their stare, daring them to come over and say something, encouraging them to come play with him, but none of the men at the tables answered his desire. If anything, they seemed embarrassed, and by the time he moved onto his entrees he was becoming a bit discouraged–but then he walked by.

One of three young muscle cubs who were obviously acquaintances. They were all wearing some variation on shorts and tanks, displaying their wares, giving the men a peek at what they might find underneath if they were worthy. A great snort escaped from him, as he chowed down, loud enough to draw their attention, and while all three gaped at him in utter disgust, one of them in particular stood out to him. Finally, someone interesting. He locked eyes with him a moment, and unlike the others around him, he didn’t flinch away–he stared right back, the utter disgust apparent in his eyes, and he only turned away when one of the other young men got his attention, and they continued on their way–but Carmichael knew he’d made an excellent first impression–he’d be back soon enough.

He finished his three entrees and ordered a trio of desserts. With these, he took his time. He no longer needed to perform as grotesquely as before, now that someone had taken the bait. His cock was hard and quivering with excitement, but it wasn’t until the young man walked back past the restaurant–no longer in the company of his two friends–saw Carmichael still stuffing himself, sneered, and walked over.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you one of those fucking gainers? Is that what you’re fucking doing? Because it’s fucking disgusting, and you should be fucking ashamed of yourself,” he said, standing across from Carmichael.

The insult brought a sharp, erotic heat to his groin, and Carmichael moaned, mouth full of cake as he did.

“You fucking piece of shit, did that fucking turn you on?” he asked.

Carmichael nodded, slowly, watching the fury build in the young man’s eyes. Yes, he was going to be a good one.

“So that’s you’re fucking fetish? You like making a pig of yourself in public?”

“Oh, I can make a pig of myself in private too.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“No–I know you want to. That’s why you walked over here, sir,” Carmichael said, “You get as much of a thrill from insulting me as I get from your cruelty. You want to punish me, don’t you? You want to abuse me, and humiliate me, and you’d love every moment of–”

The young man, rattled, picked up the rest of the cake and shoved it into Carmichael’s mouth, and he moaned, taking as much as he could, feeling the rest spread around his face, while the young man tried to figure out why his cock was so hard all of a sudden. He pulled his hand away, wiping it off with a dirty napkin, while Carmichael chewed the massive bite, and swallowed it. “Goodness sir, this pig wants to play with you real bad.”

“Fuck you. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“No sir,” Carmichael said, a strange sternness slipping into his voice, “We’re going to go up to your room, and you’re going to play with this little piggy, because that’s what you want. You want to abuse me, to use me, to rape me. Well here is your chance. What do you say, sir?”

The young man tried to speak, he tried to deny it, but…but it was true. He’d never once imagined having sex with someone who looked like this, this fat, old ugly fuck, but looking at him, standing right here, suddenly…it was all he could think about. “Get up then.”

“No sir–help me finish dessert first, and then we can go.”

“What?”

“Stuff my face like you’re going to stuff my holes. I know you want to. Show the rest of these people what a pig I am. Think of it as a warm up.”

So he did, standing there. He shoved the rest of the food on the table right into Carmichael’s mouth, listening to his grunt and snort, wondering what it the world he was doing–and when every plate was licked clean, Carmichael paid his sizable bill, left ample gratuity for the embarrassed staff, and the young man led him up to his room to play.

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 3)

“Oh my dear heavens, this can’t possibly be real…”

Carmichael was in the hotel room’s bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Staring at a reflection he’d never seen before in his life, but which he somehow knew was…him. But this couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be him…He didn’t want to be this!

The pain had eased up after a few minutes, leaving him gasping and panting on the floor, clutching himself. He’d managed to use the side of the bed to help heave himself back up–but it had been a struggle. For one thing, every joint in his body suddenly ached–not from the pain that he’d just been through, but from age–and from the fact that he was no longer 220 pounds with a potbelly–he was easily closer to 400, or more. He got himself righted and just stared down at himself, at the sheer mass spilling over him, and stifled a scream, managing to waddle into the bathroom instead, where he’d been staring at himself for the last few minutes, unable to believe what, or rather who, he was looking at.

He was looking at himself. He was looking at Carmichael Emmett Fields, a sixty-seven year old retired insurance salesman who was now living off his sizable retirement account. He enjoyed his groceries, and was resting at around 460 pounds or so, after his last visit to his physician, but surprisingly enough he was still healthy as a horse, much to the doctor’s disbelief. His size was only exacerbated by his short height of five foot four inches. Still, the image before him was…blurry for some reason, and he couldn’t quite make out the details of himself–one hand fished around on the counter in front of him, searching for something, and after a moment found his glasses, and he put them on–the world coming back into true focus, and then he did scream.

“No–No, no no…” he said quietly, shaking his head, watching his three chins sway slightly with the movement. The short beard he’d had was gone–replaced with just a walrus like mustache covering his upper lip, and leaving nothing below to the imagination. He looked bloated and puffy, with full jowls and deep crow’s feet around his eyes. His hair had receded badly and was completely white on the fringe that remained. “No, this will not stand–I am not going to be some old, fucking pig!” he said to the mirror, but as he did, he felt a sudden heat in his groin, his old cock hardening deep in his gunt.

He was old. He was disgusting. Fuck, he was repulsive! One hand grabbed a meaty, flabby teat of his, tugging on the full nipple, while the other reached under his fat, digging around for his short, stubby cock which he could barely reach any longer, but fuck, looking at how ugly he was always had turned him on helplessly, he was such a pig. He tried to resist, to stop himself, but instead he humiliated himself in front of the mirror, jacking off, watching his fat heave to and fro, his smooth, hairless body shining with sweat until he came with a pant and a groan into his hand, pulled it out and licked up the cum. Now…what had he been doing again? Carmichael’s gut rumbled. Dinner! Of course–but he couldn’t go down looking like this mess. Instead, he hoped into the shower, hosing himself down carefully, enjoying the feel of his body hanging off him, and how much space he took up in the sizable tub. Once finished, he dried off well, combed down his mustache and what remained of his hair, and went to get dressed.

He was surprised to see the clothes he’d arrived in just lying there on the floor, and he quickly hung them back up before picking out another one of his suits for the evening, excited to get amongst the bears, excited to see who would be disgusted by him the most, and–

Carmichael shook his head, wondering where that thought had come from, oddly disturbed by that train of thought, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Still, dinner came first, regardless, or perhaps he’d find someone interesting in the restaurant downstairs and kill two birds with one stone. He dressed himself in his massive briefs and undershirt, then his dress shirt–the starched collar cutting into his flabby neck in the most delightfully uncomfortable manner, and then his pants pulled up over his belly and held in place with his suspenders–and lastly his suit coat, socks and shoes–always the hardest part for a man of his size, but looking in the mirror, he felt like…himself, but something was still…amiss. Something gnawing at him, trying to remind him…

He looked around the room and spied his pipe box. Of course! How could he have been so thoughtless as to forget that. Still, while he’d chosen a smoking room for himself, he couldn’t very well smoke elsewhere in the hotel–instead, he slipped the smaller of the two pipes–his piggy pipe as he referred to it–into his breast pocket as well as a small pouch of tobacco and his necessary tools, in case he should meet someone of interest while he ate. He always seemed to find interesting men while he ate to be honest, but then again, his appetite was one of his most appaling qualities. His cock shivered again at the thought, thought of the pipe in his pocket, but he contained himself. “Calm yourself, little piggy,” Carmichael said to himself in the mirror, “We’ll find someone for you to play with soon enough.”

Deal of a Lifetime (Part 2)

“So wait–you take that part of me,” Carl pointed at the cage, “And I get…something else instead? But what do I get?”

The man laughed, “Ah, well, I’m afraid that’s dealer’s choice. I don’t take money, I’m afraid–I provide this service because I enjoy it. Because I like helping men like yourself live more interesting and exciting lives, but you shouldn’t focus on what you will be if you take the deal–think about what you’ll be if you don’t.” He gave the cage a kick, and the thing in there yelped. “Do you really want to let this thing control your life anymore? Look at where it’s gotten you–fucking nowhere, and you were going nowhere fast. Let’s be fucking honest, Carl–you were never going to go down to that pool. You might get drunk and have an awkward, terrible hookup with some rando, but then it’s back to the wife, back to straight acting, back to being a coward.”

“It wasn’t…that bad.”

“Oh please, you don’t have to defend the thing. We both know you were miserable. You know that anything would be better than that–admit it.”

“Please, ya can’t!” it said, gripping the bars, “We got a whole life tahgether! Ya can’t just throw it all away, don’t that terrify ya?”

Surprisingly, it didn’t terrify him at all, actually. The very idea of just being free thrilled him. He could finally be free of everything that he’d always believed to be holding him back…but that didn’t make him any less leery of trusting the man. “If I don’t like it, can I get my old life back?”

“Sorry, but I don’t offer refunds or exchanges. If you take the deal–that’s what you get. I can promise you, that if you accept it, you’ll love it before too long–you won’t even be able to imagine things being different. This old life of yours will just seem like a distant, terrible dream.”

“But what do you get out of this?” Carl asked, “I mean, why do it?”

The man scowled a bit, “If you don’t want to take me up on the offer, I’ll just let him back out, and be on my way.” A key appeared in his hand and he went to unlock the cage, the other him inside, that terrible bundle of everything he hated, started clawing at the door, desperate to be free again, and the terror that welled up in him at the thought of living with that thing still, especially knowing he had a chance to be rid of it–he hurried over and stopped him from unlocking the padlock. “No! No…I’ll take the deal.”

“Ya fuck! How could ya do this tah me, ya fucker!” the thing in the cage screamed, but the man smiled.

“That’s a good man,” the stranger said, and shook Carl’s hand, “Looks like we have ourselves a deal. Now let me introduce you to your new companion.”

Carl heard something between a grunt and a squeal as some massive thing barrelled into him from behind, pinning him down, and then he was flailing in the covers, awake again, sitting up on the bed, panting, wondering what in the world he’d just dreamt. Had that been real, or just some fucked up fantasy his mind had created? He certainly didn’t feel any different–or look any different…but maybe there was one way he could test it.

“My name is Carl Fields, and holy hell, I sound like a normal fucking person!” he exclaimed. His accent was gone, just like in the dream–could it have actually been real then? But what about the end of it? If the trade really had happened, then what had he gotten in exchange? Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have done anything to him or changed him thus far–but what he really felt like doing was hitting that pool, and hitting on a few guys. The shame and terror which had kept him glued to his room thus far had evaporated, and he wanted to get out there. He got off the bed, but doubled over, his stomach cramping with a sudden cramp of hunger–and all he could think of was food. Hunger, starvation–he needed to eat before anything else! Still, he couldn’t very well go downstairs naked. The clothes he’d had on earlier–jeans and a grubby Carhartt t-shirt with a leather Harley jacket–were lying there on the floor. He bent down to pick them up, but as soon as he grabbed them, he saw the fabric…shudder and shift in his hands, changing into something else entirely. The jeans softened, becoming a flimsier pinstripe fabric even as they grew–tripling in size, suspenders appearing where his belt had been moments before. His shirt cleaned up, sleeves growing to full length as the front split, becoming a button down with a stiff collar, and his jacket turned into a suit coat matching the pattern of his pants. “What in all goodness is this? I don’t remember wearing anything like this before…and this certainly isn’t my size–they’re all much too large for me…” he said, but his voice had shifted, becoming stiff–almost snobby and a bit nasal. Something was definitely happening to him–but what?

The pain in his stomach struck him again, even more violently, crumpling him to the floor, but it was the pain in his mind which was even worse. There was someone–or something–inside of him. Something new. It had spent the last couple of minutes realizing that it was free, that it was back in a real body, and now it felt like it was storming through him, rearranging the furniture of his body and mind to it’s personal fancy, and all Carl could do was find every scrap of himself he could and hold on tight, hoping and praying he might still recognize himself when this was finished–hoping that he’d still want to be himself when this was finished, hoping that he hadn’t just made the worst deal of his entire life.