Curse of the Homophobe (Part 12)

Evan pushed the temptation away. He didn’t…want this life, did he? He just wanted to be normal. He wanted to go back to the way things were before, he wanted to just…be himself. Alone in the locker room, he sat down on the bench and just thought about himself, about all the selves he’d been, trying to piece something together about who he’d been, but everything was such a jumble now, that nothing seemed…right. Everything he could recall about who he’d been seemed right when looked at from one angle, and wrong from another. He just…wanted to be happy, didn’t he? When had he last been happy?

I know what makes you happy, Evan.

Robbie popped into his mind then, and his stomach turned. It wasn’t true. What he’d done with him was sick, every time he and Robbie got together, no matter who he was…it was awful. Back in that trailer, when he’d turned him into a pig, in that apartment when he’d worshiped his young, dirty, athletic body, in the apartment earlier, thinking about…about all the filthy fun they got into when they were alone…

I know what makes you happy, Evan, because it makes me happy too, watching you give in. You don’t want to want it, but you can’t help yourself, can you? Well, don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re together again, since that’s what we both want, right?

[random check, dirty sheriff or mall cop…dirty redneck sheriff it is!]

He…smelled himself then. The musk wafting up around him, growing stronger, and he pushed back. He wasn’t some dirty construction worker, he wasn’t! He…he was an officer of the law, he was in control, he had power, he was important!

Yes, you are, aren’t you? A very important man in these parts…

On the bench, he felt himself shifting, growing taller, feet expanding, his hefty gut pushing out, covered in grey hair, the smell of himself shifting. It was more than sweat now–it was…whiskey, and dirt, and…and cigar smoke. Plenty of smoke, after all, he was never without a cigar in his mouth, usually. He shook his head, trying to focus, trying to push back, but the world around him was already here–he wasn’t in a locker room, he was in his…office. The county sheriff’s office, that is. He wasn’t naked anymore either, he was in his tan uniform, sweat marks under his arms in the summer heat, a full ashtray on his desk, cowboy boots on his feet, his beard trimmed back into a set of friendly mutton chops, just like his pappy had, when he’d been sheriff. He groped himself, feeling his anxiety and fear dropping as he settled into his new life, and leaned back in his chair. “Harry?” he hollared around his cigar, “Got one last thing fer ya, deputy.”

After a moment, Harry came to the door…looking rather similar to the short, chubby cub he’d been in the locker room earlier, but with a few…redneck twists, including his own cigar shoved in his young mouth. Evan couldn’t stand the idea of a boy like that not smoking like him, after all, so he’d been working hard on getting the young cubby deputy well addicted to them over the last few months. “Y-Yes sir?”

“Come on boy, get yer mouth o’er here–fergot tah piss.”

Harry gulped, but got down in front of his sheriff, drank down his piss and ate his ash, before being excused for the evening. He’d have the deputy spend a weekend with him and Robbie soon enough–then he’d have a full service toilet for himself both at home, and at the office. This was good enough for now–he’d chosen well, after all, finding this willing young pig desperate to serve him on the force. Once he’d left, Harry closed up his files and hit the road, climbing into his patrol car, which he had smelling nice and smoky, lit up another cigar, and drove home.

He and Robbie were together, and most everyone in the county knew about the arrangement, but most everyone was scared enough of Evan that they knew better than to say anything. Besides, crime was down (not that it had ever really been up) and he had his Pappy’s name, so Evan wasn’t too worried about having anyone contest him in an election. If someone did…well, he’d be able to put them in place quick enough, he figured. He could afford to live in town somewhere, of course, but he liked…his distance. Fewer questions, and Robbie wasn’t usually fit for polite company, anyway. No use scaring anyone with his filthy pig of a boyfriend, after all.

He did stop on his way out of town and picked up five pizzas–his usual order, and then headed home. He parked on the gravel outside the trailer, and undressed there–wouldn’t do to get his uniform dirtier than it had to be, after all. Naked, he got his pizzas out and headed for the door, cock already hardening from the smell of their grungy life together. Inside, Robbie was where he always was, on the filthy couch in his piss and shit stained clothes, watching old porn on VHS–the classics. Evan stuffed his fat face, and then made the pig beg for the load of shit he’d been carrying around for him all day. He never got tired of listening to the pig beg, after all.

Later, as they fell asleep on the bed, and Evan came back to himself…somewhat. He couldn’t escape this–the spirit wouldn’t let him escape it. It wanted to see him suffer like this, wanted to see him succumb to this…corruption. Worse…he really did enjoy it. He was happy here, as sick as that was…and maybe, the curse would finally let him rest.

***

I’m gonna call it good here on this one! I’ll run a poll here in a bit (probably for Patrons only) on some possible ideas for another interactive that I’ll start next week sometime.

What Would I Do To You (#1 – Dippig)

A new sort of thing I’ve had on my mind, ever since this post blew up a couple months ago. Not sure how often I’ll add entries, but it’ll be a different sort of thing each time. This one is dedicated to someone in particular, you know who you are.)


What would I do to you today?

Let’s start you off with some dip. If you’re a novice, even better–I show you how to pack that lip your first time, see that buzz in your eye, and you smile, but before you can finish jacking off, you have to race to the toilet to throw up. It happens–but it’s good to see how you take it. We don’t do anything else with the dip right then, instead, I wait for you to bring it up again, because even after that, you’re still curious…and a bit humiliated. You should have been able to take it, you tell yourself. It wasn’t even that much. So you ask, and I oblige. A bit less this time, get you comfortable, get you spitting in a little bottle, and you’re feeling good. You jack off, and you leave it in after, dropping it in the trash before you go.

We see each other more often, and everytime, we pack that lip for you. It helps you enjoy yourself–you feel more relaxed, and more energized with it. But for the moment, you still only do it when you’re with me–but why? You know the brand I give you, there’s nothing stopping you from stopping by the gas station as you leave to buy some of your own. You drop the occasional hint that it would be nice to have a tin of your own, but I don’t give you what you want–you’re not going to get any from me, no, you need to get it yourself. Finally, you do. You don’t use it often–maybe once every couple of days to jack off with, but that’s ok–we can take it slow.

You arrive with a packed lip, and you leave with one now. It isn’t long before spit begins to play a larger and larger role for you in sex. I make you watch me drool, I spit in your face, I lick your body, and I stop giving you a bottle. I want to see you drool. I want you to feel it running down your chin and onto your chest. I want to rub it in there, smear the dark, tacky liquid all over you where I can lick it off later–maybe.

When does an obsession become an addiction? When do you go from dipping because you want to, and start dipping because you need to? Is it the first time you sneak a lipper at work? You keep it small, so no one can notice, keep the trash can nearby for spit, and be sure to enunciate. You’re hard though, and you slip off to the bathroom to jack off, drooling a bit down your chin as you do, and wipe it clean with some toilet paper when your finished. Your chin feels a bit sticky for the rest of the day, all the same.

But I want to take things further–and you do too. You’re enjoying yourself too much to say no. I suggest you grow out your beard, and you agree. We have off your hair, once you have a decent scruff balance the bare skull. More and more often, I start feeding you during our sessions together. It takes some practice, not swallowing the leaf and spit while I stiff you full, but you’re smart, aren’t you? You figure it out, like a good pig. Did you know how erotic eating could be? I don’t think you did. You’d read stories about it, sure, but had you ever experienced it? You start buying snacks when you stop at the gas station to get more dip. You become a frequent customer at the vending machine at work. You bring doughnuts for everyone–but eat a half dozen yourself. You feel less obvious, that way.

We carry on, for a while. It begins to feel normal, now. Your boss catches you using tobacco at work, and you get written up. It feels unfair–it’s not like you’re smoking after all–but rules are, apparently, rules. You try to stop for a day, figuring it would be good if you scaled back somewhat…but the withdrawl hits, and by the end of the week, you’re back to covertly dipping again, and being more careful this time. Is that all the willpower you had? Two days without? Not even without–just for an eight hour stretch at work. You jack off that night, thinking about it, realizing how much you need it–and wondering if you can even stop now, if you wanted to.

You’re spending the night regularly now. I make sure to stock up on all of your favorite snacks, and keep them close at hand all night long for you to binge on. He strip you down, pack your mouth full, and you start drooling like a beast, watching it run down into that beard of yours. I get plenty of spit elsewhere too–all over those soft pecs of yours, over your small gut, drooling all over your dick and balls until they’re good and brown, eat out that ass of yours too, before I fuck you. And you? You’re just in a stupor of pleasure, stuffing your face, with food and more dip, needing it to get hard now, needing all of it.

Do you want to move in yet? Ready to go all the way? I don’t let you quit your job–no, I want them to fire you. I want you to see just how much they’ll let you get away with. But no more showers, not for you. No bottles, either. That spit just drools right out your mouth and into your beard. The chin is stained several shades darker than the rest of your hair now, like some strange dye job, and the hair is crusty and matted together. I put you on a strict gaining diet, and you take most of your meals out of a small trough in the kitchen. Pretty soon, you crest 300 pounds, and not too long after that, they finally fire your ass–and you realize, then, that I’m the only thing you have left to rely on.

But that’s alright, isn’t it? You like being here. It feels good–you feel good, being my dippig. I slowly start breaking down the rest of your social shame, I warp you into an exhibitionist, I make you get off seeing other people see you dipping, seeing you filthy, seeing your fat ass in too small of clothes, covered in muck they can’t even recognize. You don’t carry a can anymore–no, we’ve switched to a different storage system, now that you’ve got that nice wide ass. We just pack chaw in between those cheeks of yours, and let you walk around with it all day long. Fuck, watching you rummage around in your underwear in the supermarket, haul a damp wad of chaw out and shove it in your mouth, right in front of a couple of breeders who just stare at you in horror–I drag you right into the restroom for a good fucking–and in your eyes, I see that that’s exactly what you’d hoped would happen.

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 7)

Brett heard his big brother disappear into the garage, and wondered why he was heading there, when Daddy had told them both to go to their rooms. Still, something told him he didn’t really need to worry much about that–Nate could take care of himself, after all. He hefted himself upstairs, surprised by how hard it was with the extra weight of his new gut. He paused about three quarters of the way up, and wondered how in the hell Daddy was going to get up these stairs to go to bed, and thought about it, about daddy’s massive apron, covered in hair, wondering what it would be like to have one himself. His cock got hard, but he resisted touching it. Something…still just didn’t seem right to him, about all of this, even if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was exactly.

At the top of the stairs there was a hall with several rooms splitting off. A second bathroom–also equipped with a urinal, like the one downstairs, and a few bedrooms. He went to the next door, opened it, and as soon as he did, he gagged. Whatever was in this room…it reeked. He stepped back a bit, shaking his head. That couldn’t be his room. It just…it couldn’t be. But the stench, now that he smelled it…it did seem familiar somehow. Comfortable, even. He tried to leave, fully intending to get out of the house and never come back, but instead he walked into the room, eyes watering, and shut the door behind him.

Once shut it, he felt better. The air was muggy and humid–and almost immediately Brett felt himself start to sweat. He wiped his brow and looked around, disgusted by the room around him. It was filthy. Empty food wrappers and containers were scattered everywhere, mixed in with the dirty laundry that made up most of the clutter. There was a closet lying open, but there was nothing inside but even more clothing, also dirty–why in the world was there so much of it?

He felt dizzy in the heat of the room, and he went over to the bed and sat down on it…and when he did, he felt it…squish beneath him. The surface was wet, and a thick plume of filthy air billowed up around him, and when he inhaled it this time, he just felt more of his mind shut off, his jaw dropped open, one hand went to his cock and started stroking it slowly. Yeah–this was better. Much better. He was back where he belonged now, he could tell. He’d been wrong before, when he thought about leaving this–and he laid back on the damp, stinking mattress and jacked off a bit faster.

As he laid there, he could start to pick out some of the specific odors around him. Piss–there was lots of that. His stomach turned for a moment, as he finally realized why, exactly, the mattress felt so soggy…but then it just didn’t bother him at all. In fact, knowing the thing was leaden with his own stale piss somehow made everything so much…hotter. There was sweat, too–his own sweat rolling off him. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of himself, still unwashed after days of looking after daddy, and it smelled amazing. It wasn’t enough though–it still just wasn’t quite right. He’d missed something, but what?

It clicked in his head, and he smacked his forehead. He could be such a stupid, stinking boy sometimes. He wasn’t dressed, of course! He rolled over, intending to sit up on the bed, but it was hard work, for some reason, liks his body wanted to move as little as possible. He managed, however, to make it back to the edge, and he fished around in the piles around him, looking for something that smelled…right, tossing things back that dissatisfied him, and pulling on the things he found that interested him. A nasty wifebeater, some ratty briefs, some socks–and then a couple more socks on top of those–he liked it when his feet got nice and rank. Satisfied with his choices, he laid back down with a contented sigh, and continued masturbating, face snorting from his pits now, hand shoved down the front of the briefs, working on his cock, which had started leaking precum profusely into the fabric.

His balls were growing–swelling in the stank briefs, and as they grew, he could sense his own mind growing dimmer. He tried to cling to his thoughts of escape, but they slipped away from him, and soon he didn’t even feel like he was missing anything. He was just a nasty slob in his stinking room, jacking off like he always did, when Daddy or his brother didn’t need him, not that he was good for much. He was…fucking worthless, actually. He could cook, he supposed, but that was about it. He knew that should bother him, the fact that he was just wasting his life up here, but he loved it. He wanted to be worthless. He wanted to waste himself on porn and masturbation, living in his stinking man cave. The first orgasm came, but it only got him hornier. Brett could chain ten or twelve loads a day, his underwear eventually completely saturated with his fluids, and he’d still usually have a wet dream or two in the night, humping his nasty mattress until he came.

He needed to piss, and he knew he should use the urinal, but when he tried to get up from the bed this time, inertia won. Fuck–he was so fucking lazy, he wasn’t even going to make it to the bathroom. Not this time, at least. The piss started to flow, and there was so much of it, flooding through his briefs and soaking into the bed below him, and he came again, and again, and again, until he couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do than waste his life as a worthless slob.


The next few days were quiet. Daddy and his two boys adjusted to their roles rather quickly, and it wasn’t long before they had forgotten about their old lives entirely, their gear thrown out into the backyard by Nate, who only saw the four duffel bags as junk. They ate–with Daddy always pitting his two boys against one another to see who would be the big brother for the day. Nate usually won, but Brett could pack away his groceries on occasion, and when he did, he loved bossing his brother around, ordering him to suck on his huge, nasty feet while he jacked off onto him. Nate, on the other hand, would use his brother as a biker pig out in the garage, when he won–at least, when daddy wasn’t using them both for his own pleasure.

It was about a week later, halfway through their alleged vacation, that a new car pulled up into the driveway. The mastermind had been watching the events unfolding, and was very, very pleased by the four young men’s progress–but now it was time for stage two, whatever that might be. So, who is our perverse Mastermind, anyway?


  1. It really is Rich’s mysterious uncle, who brought along Rich’s father for extra fun.
  2. A group of nerds they bullied looking for revenge.
  3. The football coach, who is possessed by a demon of sloth, lust and gluttony.
  4. A mad scientist, happy some guinea pigs wandered into his trap.

Polls will go live in a few minutes!

Stinker’s Drive (Sketch)

It had been a gag, one day–a prank by one of the guys on the football team, and no one had ever fessed up to it, not that Jeff would really give a fuck who it was. He’d gone out one afternoon, after practice, to find that someone had slipped his keys from his locker, gone out, and hung his dirty jock from the rearview mirror, like an air freshener. It had been a gentle ribbing, aimed at Jeff’s hygiene, because he almost never washed his jocks and other gym clothes, so the rest of the team could smell him coming around the corner, but rather than humiliate him, he just considered it to be a source of pride–and so, rather than take it down, he decided to just leave it there for the rest of the semester.

It wasn’t like his decoration went unnoticed around town, either, since it was a small college town in a rural part of the state. He didn’t really mind the reputation though–he didn’t give to fucks what anyone thought of him, because when it came right down to it…he liked the way he smelled, and he wasn’t going to change for anyone, just to make them more comfortable. So it was, one afternoon, that Jeff climbed into his car, at the end of the day, and when he did…he noticed that something stank a bit more than usual.

He looked around at his car, which was a bit of a mess, but there wasn’t any food or anything in the back. Besides, it didn’t smell like rot–it smelled like…sweat, and piss, more than anything else. Still, he couldn’t find the source, and figured it wasn’t a big deal–he buckled up and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the house he was renting with some friends a few miles away from campus.

Still, the smell lingered, and while it didn’t bother him, he was…surprised to find that it was making him a bit horny. He hadn’t gotten laid lately–most of the girls on campus avoided him because of his musk, but it didn’t bother him all that much. He liked his hand more, in some ways, because a pussy always seemed to be attached to something complaining. But he did want to know what in the hell the smell was, and so, stopped at a red light, he looked around again–and noticed his jock, hanging from the rearview mirror–or at least, what should have been his jock, but it wasn’t.

This thing–it was almost grey brown in color, and looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. How in the hell had he not noticed that? Was this another prank by one of the guys on the team, pushing him a bit further, since the first prank hadn’t worked? But…maybe it was his jock. It looked right, to him, and part of him was telling him that it…smelled right too, somehow, but he couldn’t quite be sure. Against his better judgement, he leaned in, took a whiff, and as pungent as it was…it did smell amazing.

He shuddered in his seat, groping himself waiting for the light. It seemed…hotter in the car, than it usually did, somehow. Sure, the sun was out, beating down on the chassis, but this…it was an internal heat too. Something inside him, making him sweat–and by the time the light turned green, it was pouring off him, soaking his hair down, and soaking into his clothes too. It didn’t feel right–in fact, he was feeling dizzy and lightheaded. He…he needed to smell that jock again. Yeah, that would make him feel better for sure.

He took another whiff, shivers crawling up and down his spine. He kept driving, but his mind was focused elsewhere–he didn’t notice his college t-shirt soaking through with sweat under his hoodie begin to dissolve away, the same with his jeans–the denim around his ass succumbing first, and then the rest down his legs, to his feet, which were similarly melting his socks and shoes. He started groping his cock openly now, looking around at the drivers in the other cars, wondering if they could see him. It felt…good to be driving naked, actually. Risky. He liked risks, and he liked showing off too. He unhooked the jock from the mirror and looped it over his neck–better to smell it, and better to let other people see what a fucking pig he was too.

The air was heating up inside the car, the seats blistering and popping, the metal warping and reforming around him as he drove. Over the course of the next two streets, Jeff’s little sedan swelled and grew into an old grey pickup, paint peeling and rusted, but man, did the cab smell good. It smelled like the jock–it smelled like him. He was breathing deep, sucking in as much of the filth off his jock as he could, hair growing in all over his chest, shoulders and back, and something else was happening to his body too–color swirling to life all over his chest and belly, down onto his legs. Thankfully, he had a ways to go before he would be home–give him plenty of time to sniff and edge himself while he drove, passing the little house where college students usually lived, and got on the highway out of town. He enjoyed the ride, sniffing his ripe pits, stroking his long, sweaty cock, hotboxing in his own heat and sweat. He got to the house after about half an hour, pulled into the garage and finally opened the door of the truck–and the scent of the place–oil, dirt, smoke and beer. He started stroking faster, jock out in front of his cock, and he shot a massive load into the pouch, feeling a pair of leather biker boots form around his feet, along with a leather bracelet and cock ring–his usual driving gear.

As he recovered from his orgasm, Jeff realized that he had no clue where he was, or how he’d even known to come here. Still, just like the jock, he could tell, from the smell of the place, that he was home. He was home, and he was finally the man he’d been meant to be, all this time.

Cleaning House (Part 7)

CW: Scat


It’s…hard to talk about, honestly.

I mean, I don’t remember it that well, either. I showed up in Daddy’s clothes, reeking, almost 200 pounds heavier than she remembered me…

I drank a lot, that night, and smoked a lot too. Still, I tried to help, after I cleaned myself up and took a shower. Being clean…I felt so naked, and so worthless. Amy didn’t…want me there, and there was nothing I could really do to make anything better. I was just…something else to manage. She did everything without me, and I just sat there in a stupor, drunk, and she cared so much. The only…

The only family I could care about anymore was Daddy. I missed him so much, more than I missed my mom. I needed him to know what to do, I couldn’t…I don’t know how to be alone anymore, I don’t know how to live for myself, if I ever really did.

Amy, I still feel awful. She even ordered me a suit, knowing I wouldn’t even think to buy one. It chafed, I was so hot and sweaty in that tiny church, listening to everyone drone on about my mother. I jacked off, I was so bored, I jacked off into my filthy underwear at my mom’s funeral, got drunk after, jacked off some more and hit on a few older guys who reminded my of Daddy–none of them took me up on the offer.I didn’t even stick around to the next day–I junked the suit, got back in my real clothes, and drove off.

I got back to Daddy and I sobbed. I was so sorry for leaving him, I was so upset, and he was there for me, he…he understands me, and he knows me like no one else I’ve ever known. He knows what I need better than I do. He held me for an hour in bed, telling me that I was safe, that I would never have to leave again, that he’d never make me leave, that he’d never let me leave. That I belonged with him, that there was nowhere else that I could ever belong anymore, other than here. He fed me a big dinner, I drank a huge load of piss he’d been saving for me all day, I cleaned his nasty crack…and by the next morning, I could almost pretend that none of it had ever happened. But it had, and I don’t…it changed me.

I saw how worthless I am. How stupid I am. I couldn’t understand what Daddy saw in me, I couldn’t understand why he loved me, unless it was pity. I thought about leaving, I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting someone to me, but I was too scared. I acted out, I pushed back, I made him spank me, and I liked it, and he liked it, and he got rougher, and meaner, and I begged him for more. I didn’t deserve to be his boy, I said. I’m too much of a fuck up, I’m a waste.

He made me eat his ash one day, right out of the tray. I licked it up–it was so…dry, but some of his piss helped wash it down. He fed me his cigar butts, and some of his trash. I…I begged him for his shit. I wanted to be his toilet. I wanted to prove to him, and to myself, that it wasn’t a lie, that I was as low as that, that I was a toilet. He refused, and so I filled the back of my briefs with a load of my own, dropped them to the ground, got down and started eating my own shit, right there in the kitchen. I’d…practiced already. I knew I liked it, and when I saw how hard he was in his briefs, I wondered why he’d refused. He fucked my shitty hole, made me clean off his cock, and then I was under his rim chair, eating his shit straight from the source, and it only…I only got hungrier, after that.

It was summer again, already. Most of my days were spent outside doing work around the cabin, naked aside from a pair of Daddy’s old boots, my shit, piss and cum stained briefs or jockstraps, and a pair of work gloves. I lost a bit of fat and bulked up again, but when you crest 400, there’s only so much that muscle can do to make you not look like a tub of lard. In the mirror I barely recognized myself anymore. I looked so much like him now, it disturbed me. Still, he’s happy–that’s what matters, right? That’s why I came here, that’s why I agreed to be his cleaner. It seems so far away now, but it’s only been a year and a few months. I feel like I’ve known him for years, and that he’s known me my whole life. I have no secrets from him, I can’t lie to him, I can’t lie at all, really. My sister called, worried about me, and I told her everything, or as much as I could before she hung up, and she hasn’t called again since.

Fall is here again, and everything is dying. I feel like I’m dying too, day my day, curling up into myself, into this cabin, into Daddy. I’ve…been pissing the bed, most nights, and Daddy started forcing me to wear diapers at night, for protection. I feel so small in them, and he looms over me, grinning down, humping the front of my diapers with his cock until I cum, gasping, and then he shoves his cock down my throat, and when he cums, I keep sucking, hungry for more–more food, more piss, more cock, more ass. I want him to fill me up, because all I ever feel, when I’m alone, is empty. I shouldn’t be here. I should run, but I won’t. I can’t. Even…going to town now, fills me with such anxiety, I can’t go without him anymore. We’re supposed to have the first snow tonight, and everything will be white again. Maybe it can cover me up, until I disappear too.

Interactive: Dale’s Story (Part 3)

 “Whatever Mike, you know she’s hot for me.”

“Fuck no, bro–she wants me!”

The two younger men laughed and paused a moment to light up a couple of cigarettes. Dale recognized them–they were Mike and Jerry, a couple of young fraternal twins in their late 20’s. They’d moved here from a couple of towns over to work as a couple of mechanics–they were still dressed in their coveralls from the day, coated with grease and grime from boot to face. They were both is solid shape–muscular and beefy from the heavy lifting they did all day long, but each of them with a fair sized paunch as well. While not exactly identical by any means, you could definitely get them mixed up if you weren’t careful, and the two were rarely seen separated.

Dale wondered if he should call out to them. Maybe they could go get help? They at least needed to get away from this crazy lunatic. He had to say something, but the breath was still locked in his lungs, the stranger smirking at him struggling to speak. “Well lookie there Dale! If it ain’t yer two boys–ya didn’t tell me they were joinin’ us tonight. Come on over here and have a seat”

Dale just gawked at him–and the brothers did as well…but neither of them found themselves capable of resisting the suggestion. Still…they didn’t know these two older guys, did they? They set themselves down on either side of Dale at the round table, slightly uncomfortable and quiet.

“Well Dale? Aren’t you proud of these two boys of yours? I must say they’re fine looking young men! Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“I can’t introduce you, I don’ even know yer name!” Dale said, his tongue untied, “Ya guys, git the hell outta here. I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s fuckin’ insane!”

“Come…come on Pa, why would we leave? We just sat down…” Jerry said, his voice with an odd slowness to it, his eyes a bit hazy, like they were clouded with smoke.

“Yeah Pa, let’s have a beer–who’s your friend, anyway?”

Dale glowered at the stranger, “I ain’t gonna their damn Pa!”

“Now now Dale, words can hurt!” the stranger said, “Still, I suppose you can’t introduce me, can you? I mean, I have claimed this town here, but no one’s really met me yet! You’re the first person I’ve had much conversation with, really. But I don’t really want to talk about me anyway–I’d rather talk about you! Eh boys? Why don’t you tell me some things about your Pa here.”

“Pa? Oh, he owns the shop where we work–he taught us everything we know about engines. He didn’t finish high school, and he isn’t too smart, but he can tell you anything you want to know about any damn car!”

“Yeah–he was a trucker for a long time when he was younger. Wasn’t til our mom dumped the two of us on him that he settled down here, but we’re happy here, right Pa?”

“No!” Dale said, and forced himself up from the table and backed up a few steps–looked down at himself, but he too was now clad in a massive set of coveralls, coated with grease from the cars he’d spent all day working on–right? No, no this wasn’t right, this wasn’t real–it was a trick! “I don’ know what game ya think yer playin’,” he said to the stranger, “But I ain’t havin’ no more a it, ya hear me?”

“Now now, Dale, I know you aren’t too bright, but double negatives can be especially dangerous in situations like this, don’t you think? Still, it does seem like we’ll need to give you some…extra incentive to settle in to your new life a bit better. What do you think boys, you want to help you Pa out?”

“Please, just let me go…” Dale said, trying to back away, but his feet were glued back to the floor.

The stranger smiled, and said…


Alright, here are your options for what the stranger says:

  1. “Now we both know how much you love your son’s musk after a day at the shop–go give him a taste boys, and jog his memory.”
  2. “How about we give you something else to occupy your mind–like a ten inch cock and lemon sized balls to keep your horny boys happy.”

  3. “Now daddy, get on your hands and knees. We all know how much you like feeling them plug you up at both ends.”

  4. “Boys, why don’t we make sure your daddy doesn’t run off with a few more pitchers of beer and some greasy bar food.”

Tumblr won’t let me add an answer box! You can answer by clicking the reply button below, if it’s visible for you, or send me a message an ask, or use this post here!

Male Bonding (Part 4)

The game continued. Under the table, Jared had finished with Jared cock, and at his son’s orders had begun sucking off the remaining four men, while Maurice crawled around with him, draining bladders as the men needed–and they needed to often, as Trevor kept forcing drinks down their throats, and kept lighting more and more cigars for each of them. Kirk went down next–he’d never had that good of a poker face. Trevor had him eating out his armpits within moments, and then made the middle aged man get on his knees, and beg him to allow him the honor of licking his feet clean. Trevor was all too happy, but forced him to untie his shoes and pull off his socks with his teeth–and then made him promise that he wouldn’t shower more than once a week from that day on, and never with soap or deodorant–all the better to enjoy his own stink, right? Kirk was more than happy to agree, as he shoved his nose between Trevor’s toes and took it great heaving, piggish snorts, running his entire tongue from heel to toe, moaning and stroking his own cock like mad. He shoot on the floor, and Trevor made him lick it clean, before ordering him under the table as well to give the remaining three players foot massages and to lick them clean.

Carter, Dustin, and Ryan were the only remaining players. A strong rivalry had developed between Carter and Dustin, between ruler and usurper. It didn’t help that, with the fewest clothes, they each were the most vulnerable at being removed next. Ryan, on the other hand, still had the most clothes, and he was more than happy to keep it that way. He lost a few more, but it was Carter who fell next, pulling off his underwear as Trevor strode over, laughing. “Oh, and the boss falls! Still, we’ll have to find you something to sit on, don’t you think? Kirk! Get out here, and help me out with your boss here. Get on your hands and knees, Carter.”

Kirk was only too happy to clean out his boss’ hole. Well, at first he was disgusted, but the more he licked it, the more he…couldn’t stop. The more he enjoyed it. The more he loved the sensation of burrowing his tongue in there, getting it slick and wet. Trevor had to haul him away by the hair so he could line up his cock with Carter’s hole and slide it into the well opened hole, Carter immediately fighting the pleasure of it, of being penetrated, of being filled. His resistance didn’t last long, however, and he was shoving his whole body back, desperate to get more of Trevor’s cock inside him. Trevor told the two men at the table to get back to the game, that he had more to do with this pig here. A few rounds later, Carter was howling in some mixture of pain and pleasure as Trevor slipped his fist into his hole, the boss’ cock exploding across the carpet, Kirk diving for it and eating it up from the carpet. Trevor kept an eye on the heated battle going on between Dustin and Ryan. Neither had much left to lose in the game, and Dustin had come back from losing to being neck and neck. Ryan was terrified–but he hated Dustin, and he refused to lose to him. In the end, he counted the deck better, and beat him. Dustin was furious and went to jump across the table and throttle that “fat bitch,” but Trevor stopped him, and then told his father to take over loosening up his bosses’ asspussy for him. Jared dutifully got down and pushed his own fist in Carter’s hole in his son’s stead.

“Dustin, sit back down. Aren’t you hungry?”

“No I’m not fucking hungry, I’m–” he started to say, but Trevor shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth as he spoke.

“No fucker–you’re hungry. You’re fucking famished. You’re going to eat. You’re going to eat, and you’re not going to stop until I tell you to, got it?”

Dustin tried to fight the command, but he couldn’t. He went over to the mostly untouched snack table, and started stuffing his face with everything Laura, Maurice’s wife, had prepared earlier, shoving food in his mouth with his hands, terrified not only at the ferocity of his hunger, but also how horny he was at his sudden lack of control, at the sensation of his full gut.

Trevor ignored Dustin, however, and sat down next to Ryan. “Well done Ryan, looks like you win! Congrats–I kind of hope you’d be the one left standing.”

“Does…does that mean I can go? That…that you won’t do anything to me?”

Trevor laughed. “Let you go? Of course now, Ryan! No, you get the very best prize of all, in fact. No, forget…this. No, you’re a piece of shit, Ryan. Not because you’re fat–I love your size. No, because you’re the smartest fucker in this room, but you don’t believe it. You fucking hate yourself. No, Ryan. I’m not going to let you go–I’m going to kill everything in you that makes you weak, and then you’re going to help me break in these nasty sluts–how does that sound?”

Ryan tried to object, but Trevor just leaned in and started whispering in his ear. Slowly, Ryan stopped trying to fight back, and his face went…blank. Almost featureless, at the debauchery going on around them. Then, his mouth curled up into a smirk–a cruel smirk which was utterly alien to his face. His eyes took on new life, looking around him, at this nasty fucks around him, thinking about…about how much he was going to enjoy this. How much he’d always craved this, this ability to become a brutalizer, and he’d never even known it was inside him all along. Trevor released him, and he immediately got up from his chair, went over to Dustin, and started feeding him, faster than he could hope to keep up with, mocking him as he gagged and choked, trying to swallow everything Ryan shoved into him, and he smiled at Trevor. Trevor–he’d enslaved all of these men, sure, but not him. No, he’d simply told Ryan how to be free.