Breaking Point (Part 1)

There are always a few, every summer. The jocks needed summer jobs, after all. The rich ones had enough family connections to find something better than building and painting houses, but the poor ones, well, they usually answered my Craigslist ads. I give them a month, get to know them, see what they’re like. If they show some promise, some willingness to engage in hard work…I help them out a bit. But if they’re an asshole..well, what would you usually do with an asshole? I mean, I don’t know you that well, but hey, when I see an asshole, I fuck it, you know?

Leon was an asshole. I knew he was an asshole, in fact, when he showed up to the interview, wearing a tanktop, showing off that body of his that he worked so hard on. He smelled like he hadn’t had a shower recently, and I admit it, it got me a bit hard, smelling him, but that’s the kind of smell I like, you know? He was cocky. He gave all the right answers, but with a smirk that told me he’d be slacking off all day if I didn’t have someone keeping an eye on him day in and out. High school senior, heading off to college on a big football scholarship, he just wanted some extra cash but had no interest in working for it. Still, it was gonna be one of those summers, you know? I could just feel it. A boring, slow summer, so I figured why not? Might as well keep myself occupied, right?

I only needed two weeks to get fed up with the boy’s attitude. My instincts had been right, and so Monday I showed up with my special cigars tucked in my pocket. Now the rest of my crew, they’re pretty well inoculated. I’ve fucked around with all of them a bit–hell, a few of them were assholes in their time too, but my smoke just sends ‘em into a bit of daze at this point. They all like it, of course–makes them feel good and horny; they all tend to spend their lunch breaks fucking and sucking instead of eating, but a new guy like Leon? I smoked for ten minutes about twenty feet away that morning, and he was gone. I helped him into my trailer for a few hours, and we had a productive discussion, and that afternoon, I switched back to my normal smokes, and he was none the wiser, for the moment.

One thing about this summer was that we were having strange, heavy thunderstorms almost every afternoon, heavy enough that we’d have to stop working and take shelter in the shell of the house for twenty minutes or so, waiting for the rain to lighten up. Usually some guys would sneak around into the empty rooms and fuck for a bit–Leon hadn’t noticed of course, he was too fucking thick. Probably couldn’t even imagine that a bunch of rough looking construction workers like us might be, in his mind, complete faggots. Sure enough, that afternoon the rain came down and we took shelter–well, we all did, but Leon couldn’t get inside for some reason. The confusion on his face was lovely to witness, and the harder the rain came down, well, I saw his eyes glaze over, he gave a few snorts, and then he found a growing puddle of mud and started rolling in it, grinding his crotch into the muck, oinking and snorting, and the rest of us, fuck we were busting a gut at him! He sure seemed to be enjoying himself too–well, of course he was, he couldn’t help it.

The rain started to let up after fifteen minutes, and I knew, inside himself, he was hoping he’d be able to stop when the rain did, but instead, he found himself compelled to keep rolling in the mud, shoving it into his pants, getting his cock coated in it, grinding it into his face and hair. The rest of the guys went back to work, and we left him there in the muck for the rest of the day, helpless, listening to his grunt, oink and squeal in pleasure every time he came, and when quitting time came, the rest of the crew packed up and went off home, while I crouched down in front of him. I told him he had two choices–he could either spend all night in this muddy puddle, acting like a pig, hoping no one found him squealing and moaning like that, or he could let me fuck his ass, shoot in his hole, and he’d be able to go home.

He didn’t want to beg, he stayed silent, just grunting and grinding in the muck. I shrugged my shoulders and started to leave and got in my car, but once he realized I truly intended to abandon him, he had a change of heart–and so I gave him a good long fuck in the mud, and when it was finished, he finally crawled his way free, panting, exhausted and covered with grime, eyes filled with hate, but I just gave him a wink, and told him to be sure to be on time tomorrow. After all, I’d already forbidden him from quitting, and he wouldn’t be able to mention a word of this to anyone else. I wasn’t about to let this monster go so soon–I can’t let a man like that go without pushing him to the breaking point.

Brad’s Junker

***CAUTION*** This one’s a little…strange. Extreme grunge and some car sex. As in, sex with a car. Because why the fuck not?

He’d known it was a junker, however, he hadn’t expected it to be this frustrating of a project. Brad stood back up from where he was leaning over the car’s engine and scowled. He’d purchased it from a police auction the week before, planning on fixing it up in his garage and reselling it for a bit of a profit, but he’d been fiddling with it for two days now, and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it. Well, other than the fact that it simply wouldn’t start. He’d gone over the whole car several times. It had been towed to his house, so he’d expected it to not run, but everything seemed to be working fine. Then he’d put the key in, tried to turn it on, and just…nothing. But more than once, the last few nights, he’d heard an engine revving in his garage, an engine he’d never heard before, but by the time he got out there to see what was happening, there was nothing beyond the faint scent of exhaust in the air.

He decided that he might as well check out the undercarriage one more time, see if there was something there that might explain any of this, although he doubted it. He got down on the greasy garage floor and slid under the car with his flashlight, checking for anything that might signal the problem, when he noticed the glint of liquid dripping under the engine. He scooted over, and sure enough, he could see something black and oily seeping from a connection between a pipe and some cable he didn’t recognize. He got closer, trying to figure out what was leaking, when the pipe burst open without warning, spraying his whole face with oil. He sputtered, trying to wipe the filth from his eyes, but the stream just kept coming, he coughed, and something shoved it’s way into his mouth and down his throat. It was the leaking cable, and he could feel the filth being pumped into his mouth and down into his stomach, making him want to vomit. With both hands he tried to yank it out, but it fought back, burrowing in deeper…and that’s when he realized that the car above him was running.

It was a very cold winter, and so he’d chosen to work with the garage doors closed. He didn’t know how the car had started itself, but if he didn’t get out from underneath it, he’d suffocate. He left the cable in his mouth and tried to push himself out from under the car, but for some reason he couldn’t move. Feeling around with his hands, he realized that the filth pumping into him had expanded his gut so much that it was pressing up against the underside of the car, pinning him to the ground. But…but was that so bad, really?

Brad shook his head, trying to clear it. The exhaust must be getting to him, he was feeling so lethargic all of a sudden. He could smell it now, the exhaust wafting back towards him under the car, a sickly smell, and he could see something else through the fumes. More cables were detaching from the car, winding down and ripping open his jumpsuit, attaching themselves to his nipples and the head of his cock. They were…sucking at them, and the pleasure was starting to overwhelm his terror, and he let out a loud groan around the tube in his mouth. Don’t fight it, he thought. Just…just accept it. He felt a spasm as he came, rubbing his taut gut with his hands, and that was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

When Brad finally awoke, it was the next morning, and he was still underneath the car. In a panic, he hauled himself out from underneath it and stood up shakily, unsure if what had happened was a dream, or a hallucination, or who knew what. What he did know, however, was that he was horny. Very, very horny. Unable to stop himself, he undid the front of his jump suit, reached down, and pulled out his cock. It was huge–at least ten inches, with massive, low hanging balls to match, but something was strange. Looking down at his sack, while the skin was still flesh, it was like whatever was in there had turned black–he could see the color through his skin. This realization wasn’t enough to keep him from stroking his cock, and as soon as he did, a black, oily liquid started seeping from the head. Terrified, but curious, he got some on his finger and tasted it.

His mind immediately flashed to the oil the car had force fed him. It was the same substance, and while it tasted foul…some new part of him craved it. He coated his hand with the oily gunk and started licking it off, groaning, when he heard a pop from the car next to him.

The gas tank cover had flipped open, all on it’s own, and looking at that hole…just looking at it…he walked over, stroking his shaft, and fed it down into the tank. Immediately, the pipe came alive, sucking at his cock. It was all he could do to just grab onto the car and hang on, panting and groaning as the car sucked the oil from him into it’s tank, and revved to life. The exhaust filled the garage again, but rather than make him sick like before, the foul odor only made Brad even hornier. He ran his hands over his body, and realized that he his body had changed in the night, growing more muscular and defined, with a layer of hair all over his chest, and a short beard coating his face, and then he ran his hands over his hard nipples and…and they were so sensitive, and wet. Looking down, he saw the same black oil from his cock was seeping from them as well, running down into his hairy chest, and he looked down at the car–his car. He loved this car so much. He couldn’t imagine being away from it. The car stopped sucking on his cock, the tank full, and Brad pulled his cock free. The car was still running, and without any doubts, he opened the garage door and climbed into the driver’s seat. His car needed to be free, needed to be out on the road, and he had to go with it. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but he had a feeling he would know when he got there.


Sketch #9 – Mark and Jerry

Mark furrowed his brow, not entirely sure what to make of the email he’d just received from his boss down the hall. Part of it he could understand, but about halfway through it all just sort of…became a bunch of gibberish. Looking it over again, he didn’t want to have talk to him about it. Jerry had been acting strange all day, and he’d seemed a bit meaner than usual lately, and Jerry already hated Mark—he’d rather hire someone younger to replace him for half the wage, but Mark was too good and Jerry knew it. Any sign of weakness could become an excuse.

Still, he did need to know what in the hell Jerry was talking about. He got up, and brought up the email on his phone as he walked down to Jerry’s office, knocked on the door and stepped in before he could hear Jerry warn him not to. He gaped at the sight of his boss, naked aside from a pair of filthy looking, oversized underwear, tattoos coating his body that Mark had never seen, and was he jacking off?

“Get out! Get out, you fucker!”

Mark got out. He got out and he left work and he headed home before the shit could hit the fan, but something wasn’t right, a smell he couldn’t get out of his head, a buzzing at the base of his skull. He arrived home and immediately lit up a cigar—it was an old habit, but one that kept his nerves under control all the same—but this wasn’t the usual brand he smoked, was it? It was sharper and foul and…and…

Mark groaned and started rubbing his cock in his pants, his suit was changing, morphing around him into a pair of overalls that started out clean, but quickly became grubbier and full of holes, his beard whitening and growing long and tangled, his head balding aside from a thin horseshoe, but all he could think of was Jerry, that brief glance he’d gotten at the office, he couldn’t even remember what his face had looked like, but he wanted that filthy cock. He fumbled with his phone, snapped a pic of his dirty old cock and sent it to his boss.

horny wanna cum over

It was a few anxious minutes that he waited, until he got a reply.

still at office, cum fuck me daddy

Mark grabbed a couple extra cigars and climbed in his old, beatup truck. He had a boy to pick up, and they were going to have a wild night together.

He stepped out of the elevator and found a bear fucking a young, chubby cub on the carpet right in front of them.

“Fuck dad, you’re cock is so fucking big, I hope my cock is as big as yours when I grow up.”

“Well, if you want to get bigger, yer gonna have tah eat a whole lotta protein son,” the bear panted, biting and licking at the boy’s neck. “Good thing daddy’s got plenty tah feed ya.”

Mark was really fucking turned on watching them, but he had another date with Jerry. All through the office he could hear the hoots and hollers of rednecks fucking each other’s brains out, and in his boss’ office he found Jerry still in his chair, and he was even filthier than Mark remembered. Tattooed from head to toe, he reeked from across the small room, it was humid with his sweat and musk. He wasn’t alone–some overly buff brute with a shaved head and vacant eyes had his nose suffed in Jerry’s armpit, snorting and licking, jacking his cock wildly, his hairless muscles covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Fuck boy, yer even hotter ‘n I remember,” Mark said.

“Shut up ‘n fuck my filthy hole,” Jerry groaned, putting his legs up on the armrests of the chair.

Mark already had his cock hanging out of his crotchless overalls, and he worked it into the hole. It felt loose and sticky–he wasn’t the first in, but he didn’t care.

“I always hated you most of all, Mark,” Jerry said, and Mark immediately felt his balls tense up and shoot a huge load into Jerry’s ass. He couldn’t stop fucking though, he had lost all control of himself suddenly. "Fuckin’ hated you so much.“ Another massive orgasm, it nearly crippled him but he had to fuck, had to fill the hole up, had to keep going. Jerry was in his head now, he could feel him there, and he came a third time, his balls shooting dry now, blue with pain, he couldn’t think straight, and finally Jerry let him pull out. But his cock was small now, and his balls had shriveled up.

"Bet you’re hungry Mark. Come on piggy, I got some food for you right here,” Jerry said, and let loose a wet fart, cum leaking out of his hole. Mark just stared at it, knees collapsing, crawling forward, lapping up the sweaty, shitty crack, eating his cum out of his boss’ hole, eating all of the cum out of his hole.

“Gonna be my cumpig Mark, fuckin’ hate you, always fuckin’ hated you. Hey, Devon,” he added looking at the muscle brute beside him who had been the office intern, “You hate Mark too now. Fuck Mark’s nasty pighole, fuck it rough, and make him scream, big boy.”


–Day 1–

I woke up, and I couldn’t see anything. It was terrifying, that first time, when you open your eyes and you still can’t see a thing? And even worse, when you try to talk, and say something, and you find something in lodged in your mouth? I could scream–and I did scream, that was for sure, and did my best to escape, but my hands had been locked behind the chair I was sitting on, and my legs were tied to the chair, and the chair must have been bolted down, because my flailing didn’t move it an inch. Where in the hell was I? I didn’t know. I mean, I remembered the smoke shop, the one that everyone on the forum had been talking about, and I remember going in and asking for his special smokes, and the burly man behind the counter had given me one to try, and then…nothing.

I kicked and fought for a few more minutes, but I couldn’t get loose–all I did was tire myself out, and make it even harder to breathe through the tube in my mouth. I could breathe through my nose still, but the air was stale inside the mask, while through my mouth the air was clean. I sat there, panting for a bit, trying to figure out what to do, when I heard him speak.

“Ah, so you’re awake then. Good, that means we can go ahead and get started. Well, you fucking prick, you asked for one of my special blends, so here you go–we have a long week of changes ahead of us, so we might as well get started, eh?”

I couldn’t breathe as well, suddenly, and then I heard the sound of a lighter being lit, and then smoke started flooding my mouth through the tube. He must have stuffed a cigar in the other end or something, and I tried to just breathe through my nose…but this smoke, fuck, you don’t understand, whatever blend it was, it was…irresistible. Before long, I couldn’t get enough, I was inhaling deep off the tube in my mouth, sucking down as much smoke as I could, and he was chuckling, encouraging me to take as much as I needed.

I don’t know how much I smoked, but I know it was at least three cigars in a row. The guy’s special blends, the ones I had wanted, they could…change people, or at least that’s what the rumors claimed. But what in the hell was the guy talking about? I hadn’t acted like a prick! I mean, maybe I had been a bit rude…and maybe a bit of a snob, but fuck, I think I’ve been a weakling long enough to earn the right to be a fucking man, right? I mean, sure, I was impatient, but I didn’t give a shit about how to use the fucking product–you just smoke it–how hard could it be?

Well, not as hard as my cock. Fuck, by the time I’d finished the first cigar, my cock was aching in the chastity device he must have put on me while I was asleep–I mean–I was horny as fuck, and by the time I was through smoking it, I just wanted to cum, but there wasn’t exactly anyway for me to make my desire known, aside from moaning like a fucking whore. Still, eventually the smoke cleared away, and I could breathe again–for a moment at least.

He fiddled with the tube leading into my mouth–I could feel it being yanked around–and then something new flooded my mouth. It was the consistency of a shake, and it came so fast that I nearly choked–I didn’t exactly have many options beyond swallowing it all down. My gut felt like it was going to burst by the time the flow stopped–I don’t think I’d ever eaten anything as massive as that meal, but then it was back to the smoke. He kept it up, and he hasn’t said a word to me. I’m on my fourth feeding now, and I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep though, I have to keep eating. I’m…I’m so hungry, and so horny. The flow’s easing up, thank god–I think I have to try to sleep. There…there’s the smoke again, fuck, that feels good on my gut. Maybe…maybe I’ll sleep for just a little bit. I have to keep my wits about me, and the smoke…so good…horny though…so horny…

–Day 3–

Goodness, he’s looking good already, and we aren’t even halfway there–of course, I’ve been pumping him full of more smoke than any of these guys usually get–I usually only supply them with a dozen “special” cigars for a week of changes, but this guy, well, he’s already gone through a dozen, and I’m going to put another dozen more in him by the time we’re finished. The feedings and immobility are having the desired effect too–he’s plumping up nicely. Of course, he might have been slim walking in here, but he’s not going to be slim walking out. He’s probably at 250 pounds right now, but hell, we’ll see how big we can get him over the rest of the week. Still, I think it’s time for something new.

I’ve been waffling, I admit it. A dumbass redneck? A cock-starved retiree? A piss guzzling trucker? I mean, I have a lot of options, but I think I’ve settled on something. I want a fist pig–a preference for leather, but with more personality than a leather bear. Still, leather is a fine place to start, I think. I have him on a round of cigars at the moment, but lets go ahead and get him all dressed up. First, a harness, but we’re going to have this one spiked, I think. Yeah, I’m definitely feeling a certain punk vibe off of him–this is going to be hot.

Now, chaps? No, I don’t think chaps…hmm…how about. Yeah, I’m going to have to undo his feet for a second, but he’s so smoked out I doubt he’ll even notice. Hell, even I untied him, I don’t think he’d want to leave at this point. Besides, I still have his key–not that he’s going to give a shit about his own tiny ass cock by the time we’re done here.Still, I think some jeans…but distressed. Yeah, lets rip up the knees here a pit, and rip out the ass and crotch of course–he’s a fucking slut after all–no shame there, and then we’ll just…slip these babies on…yeah, that’s looking good.

Now, how about a beat up biker vest, and a bandanna–deep red of course. His hair’s growing out nicely, after all–and I kind of like it–though maybe a mohawk…mmm, yeah, that’ll be fuckin’ crazy. Now then, just add some of these old combat boots and tie his feet up again, and we’re all done–perfect.

Let’s see, how about that last accessory though? I’ve been stretching his ass out nicely since yesterday–aw yeah, look at how easy that plug slips in and out now–that’s so damn hot. We’re going to give this punked out bear the loosest hole in the city. I wonder…hell, why not? I’ll just give it a try. Pull it out and start out with a few fingers…aww fuck yeah, he’s fucking eating my hand with his hole, that’s so hot–but can he…yeah, he’s moaning, it hurts, but he wants it, he’s opening up perfectly–just a little more…fuck yeah, take my fist you fucking cunt, that’s so fucking hot. Feels good, doesn’t it? Having my fist pummel that prostate of yours? You like it, I can tell, but we’re not done yet, not by a long shot. Still, that’s enough of that for now. I’d give you a proper fucking, but I can’t get to your hole, so we’re just going to have to give you a bigger dildo for now. How about nine inches and as big as my fist? Still, even that isn’t going to be enough for a hog like you, just you fucking wait.

–Day 5–

Holy fuckin’ shit, this music is really starting to get on my fucking nerves now. Fucking metal? And fuckin’ Screamo at that? It’s just a bunch of dumbfucks playing guitars as badly as fucking possible, and some dude screaming his fuckin’ lungs out. What’s the fuckin’ point? It’s been playing non-stop since yesterday, and I mean, sure, I think it was even worse then. I dunno, maybe I’m just gettin’ used to it or somethin’.

Ow! Fucking hell, it fuckin’ happened again! My right fuckin’ ear this time, somethin’ fuckin keeps poking me every few minutes. I swear, like fuckin’ needles or somethin’. God damn, if it don’t make my fuckin’ cock ache every damn time though. Who knew a chastity device could feel so damn good though, eh? I’m so horny, but damn, if it don’t make my piggy hole feel so damn good. Aw yeah…yeah, he’s pumpin’ the dildo, oh yeah, fuckin’ righteous man, feels so damn nice, gettin’ reamed like that. Wonder how big it is–feels like a fuckin’ two litter bottle. Yeah, I’m gonna have to give that a try when he let’s me out–I bet I can take it. Hell, I’ve already taken both of his fuckin fists, I wonder…wonder if I could take three? Oh yeah, bet that would feel so damn good…

Fuck I’m hungry. I could eat a fuckin’ horse. Gotta keep this big gut a mine fed after all, gotta get bigger too–just…just a fat ass metalhead…yeah–ow! Fuck, again? and my tits this time? What the fuck is up with that? And this fuckin’ burnin’ that’s gettin’ on my nerves too. First it was just my arms, but now my whole gut feels like it’s on fire or somethin’. All itchy and shit. Man, my head…just feels so fuzzy all the time, gettin’ harder to think ‘bout anythin’ other than my…hole…yeah…fuck, feels so good, getting fucked like that…

…Shit, think…I think I zoned out for a bit there. Yeah, fuck, I remember this album, he played it yesterday. Man, it made me so angry yesterday…and…and I’m still angry, but also…kind of…kind of pumped up. Yeah, what a fuckin’ amazin’ solo, listen to that fucker shred! Man, if I didn’t have this fuckin’ smoke tube halfway down my throat, I’d be totally into this, I wonder if they tour. I bet…bet their mosh pits are fuckin’ out of this world, man. I’d love…love to find some big fucker in there, drunk off his ass, and just get down and dirty with him in the mud, get him to fuck my sloppy hole right there in front of everyone, like a fuckin’ punked out pig!

No–No, that’s not me, I don’t mean it. Did I really just think that? What in the hell is happening to me? I can’t even remember what I used to look like. I mean, all I see is this fat, tattooed and pierced thug, but that’s not me, it’s not. I–I mean…it would be…kinda hot if that were me. Yeah, with “SEXXXPIG” tattooed across my gut, and massive fucking gauges in my ears. Big doorknocker hangin’ from my septum, just…just a dumbass, punked out, bear whore.

Oh is…he fuckin’ is, workin’ both his fists in there with the dildo now. So damn full…of fuck yeah, the food’s starting! Yeah, I’m fuckin’ starved, fucking stuff me full at both ends, I’m such a hungry pig, just a hungry ass punked out piggy bear…yeah…feed me, stuff me, smoke me…that’s what I need, that’s what I was made for…

–Day 7–

Hot damn, what a fucking whore. As soon as I let him out, he’s on his knees, cigar clamped in one jaw, and he’s begging me to fuck him. Of course, his hole is so damn loose that I can’t feel a thing–I end up jacking my cock off with my fist inside his ass, and he fucking loves it. You should see him, he’s a fucking freak. Piercings everywhere–and I mean everywhere. When I took off the chastity belt, his cock and balls, they looked like a god damn pincushion. And even with the device off, I saw he’d chastized himself already–the massive PA through his three inch cock was padlocked to a ring in the massive ball stretcher he wore, pinning his cock against his massive sack. I asked him if he wanted to cum, and he told me he’d lost the key years ago–he could still cum on occasion, sure, but he loved how it felt when he got hard, like the ring was going to rip out of his cock head.

Well, he’s definitely a man, I’ll say that. The cigars put on a massive amount of hair–but it’s…well…manicured in some interesting ways. The hair is thick except for on his gut, where it accentuates the tattoo–SEXXXPIG–on a completely bare patch of skin, and his arms, where a riot of tattoos, some of them from metal bands, most of them sexual, form full sleeves to his shoulders. His beard is down to his gut and thickly tangled–he stinks like he hasn’t showered in a week, which I suppose he hasn’t. And his long hair has been spiked up into a deep red mohawk. I sent him on his way, and promised him cigars for life, so long as he stopped by for a rough bondage and fisting session once a month–like he’d turn down an offer like that. Still, he apparently had some metal festival to get to or something–he was going to see if he could turn to mosh pit into a metal orgy–and with that ass of his, I bet he’ll do just fine.

Serving the Cloth

Ty pulled his car into the driveway, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened to him at the store. It had just been a regular grocery store, and yet, when he’d gone back to pick up some more cleaning equipment–everything was gone. The shelves were simply empty, and when he’d asked an employee what was going on, they hadn’t even been able to give him a straight answer. He’d left the building in a huff, but as soon as he had, a short elderly man with a beard running down to the pavement had stopped him and shoved a spray bottle into his hand.

“Here boy,” the man said with a chuckle, “You’re going to need something extra-strength to deal with that house you’re trying to clean up!” Before Ty could even say anything, the man had run off, laughing. He must have just been a crazy guy–but every store he’d been to after that had been just as empty as the first. It seemed that no one in town had any cleaning equipment–well, aside from the bottle of “Clean-All” the old man had given him. Annoyed, he climbed out of the car and went up to the front door of the house he and his dad were cleaning after their lessee had skipped out on them, and went inside.

“Dad! I’m back. You’re not going to believe this–I went all over town and no one had anything! How crazy is that?”

“Pretty…pretty damn crazy. Son…Son, get in here, I got…we got something you need to do. I’m in the living room.”

Ty walked into the next room, taking the bottle of Clean-All with him, turned the corner, and froze when he say his dad sitting on the chair, a half-smoked cigar clamped in his maw, wearing a filthy yellow jockstrap he was certain he’d thrown out, along with a black muscle shirt and denim vest. “Dad–what the fuck are you doing? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“Son–I need you to…to get over here, and lick…lick up all the piss–all the fuckin’ piss!” Mick said, laughing then, and he stood up, “Gonna make you fucking lick it up, son. Gonna…Gonna turn you intah mah little pigcunt!”

Mick charged Ty, tackling him to the ground. He went down hard, scattering a pile of trash all over the floor as he landed, the spray bottle skittering from his hand, and then his dad was on him, pinning his son’s arms to his sides with his piss damp thighs, grabbing the back of his head and shoving him face first into the filthy jock he was wearing. “Dad! Dad, what are you doing, let me go!”

“Now now, jus’ calm down son, it’ll all be alright soon, we…we have it all planned out, don’t you worry, we have it all planned out.”

Ty tried to fight back, but when he opened his mouth to fight–the jock wiggled and then shoved its way into his mouth like it was alive, and as he tasted the rank piss, musk and cum of the jock, he felt–and heard–a voice. A strong, powerful will assaulting his mind, telling him to suck on it, to lick it to worship it. To crawl over, snorting and grunting, and lick up all his Pa’s piss while his Pa fucked his fat–fat piggy hole, how hot it was gonna be, servin’ his Pa, ‘n cleanin’ his filthy body, ‘n wearin’ all these fuckin’…fuckin’ filthy clothes. They needed to be worn, he could hear them, and he would, he’d wear them all he’d wear them–

With a scream, Ty managed to block out the voice for a second, long enough to put his hands up on his dad’s back and shove himself underneath him, disgusted as his nose squeezed past his dad’s reeking taint, but he was free, and he rolled over onto his hands and knees, grabbed the closest thing to him as a weapon, and stood up.

The spray bottle. He’d grabbed the fucking bottle of Clean-All–what fucking good was that going to do? Still, it was better than nothing, and he held it out as his dad stood up, laughing. “Slippery little pig–not gonna matter. Gonna rape ya little pig, gonna rape yer hole till ya like it, we’re gonna wear ya little pig, we’re gonna wear ya, ‘n wear ya out!”

His dad charged him again, and Ty squeezed the trigger, a cloud of spray slamming into his dad, who screamed in pain and stumbled back. As Ty watched, he saw the shirt and vest he was wearing writhe in agony, before they dissolved into some sort of goop on the ground, and his dad looked clean–normal–or at least the top half did. In a panic, Mick grabbed the jockstrap and clambored out of it, wadding it up and hurling it across the room, where it slammed into the wall, landed on the floor, and…stood up.

Ty couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then he noticed that the whole room was shuffling–all of the clothing was climbing out of bags, and then they swarmed. Ty was able to keep them back from him and his father for a few moments, long enough for Mick to stand up, and then they were rushing through the house, a horde of filthy clothing pursuing them, and a few seconds too late–Ty realized they were actually herding them deeper into the house. A grungy flannel shirt opened the basement door, and the clothes surged forward, shoving Mick and Ty into the doorway, sending them tumbling down the stairs and into the darkness below.

Neither of them had been down into the rental’s basement yet–they’d been too afraid. Mick quickly untangled himself from his son and stood up–his head bonking the chain attached to the single light. Thankful he’d found that at least, he reached up and clicked it–light flooding the basement–or what had been a basement. Now, well, he didn’t know what their lessee had been up to, but the room looked more like a dungeon more than anything else. In the room, he saw a sling and some sort of wooden cross, and the walls were lined with all sorts of paddles, dildos, whips, and then he saw it. The mass of leather and metal coalescing in one corner of the room–there was so much of it. He watched as the mass stood up–a seven foot tall golem of leather and chain which stalked toward them. “Ty! Look out!” Mick shouted, but one thick arm swung out, extending as it flew and slammed into Mick, throwing him back against one of the concrete walls if the room, before wrapping itself around his son and dragging him into the mass.

“No!” Mick shouted, and crawled up, his head spinning. He had to find the bottle his son had used, he looked around the room, saw it lying below the stairs and ran over, only to have something fly into his face and send him stumbling back–the jockstrap.

No, no–not the jockstrap. His jockstrap. His favorite jockstrap. His one and only jockstrap. He wore it everywhere, all the time, why in the world had he taken it off? He took a deep inhale of the pouch, and then pulled it back on, shivering as the pissdamp pouch cupped his cock and balls, gently massaging him until he was half hard and leaking like a faucet. He let out a groan of pleasure, and felt his body growing grungier as he stood there–and took a deep whiff of his pits. Not dirty enough–he wasn’t dirty enough. Still, he…he could fix that, but he had to…destroy it. Yes, destroy the evil thing, destroy it destroy the thing that hurts them destroy it–

He tromped over to the bottle of Clean-All and picked it up, but before he could obey the jockstrap, because he knew he would only have one chance–he turned the nozzle towards his crotch and sprayed.

The scream that ripped through his mind was excruciating, but only lasted a moment, as the jockstrap, caught in the full blast, dissolved in moments, leaving Mick panting and shaking. He did it–he didn’t know it that would work–but it had.

“Dad! Help!”

Mick turned and saw his son tangled up in the mass of leather. As soon as he spoke, however, a strap of leather wrapped around his throat, turning his face blue, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the beast. Mick ran over, bottle outstretched, and sprayed the leather before it could smack him again. The golem yanked itself back and then recoiled, his son dropping unconscious from it’s body to the concrete floor as the leather retreated to its corner. Mick grabbed his son under his arms and flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and tromped up the stairs, one hand steadying Ty, and the other brandishing the spray bottle.

At the top of the stairs, it was clear that destroying the jockstrap had meant something to the rest of the clothing. They menaced them, but kept their distance, well out of the spray bottle’s range, and so Mick, huffing and puffing by the end, managed to weave his way out of the house, stumbling down the front steps naked, threw open the car door with the keys from his son’s pocket, and laid Ty out in the back seat. He hurried around before anyone could see him, climbed in and started the car, driving off as fast as he could, before he slowed down and pulled off to the side of street, shaking and panicked and terrified of what had just happened. He laid his head on the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths…and then he heard his son chuckle.

He looked back, past the center console, and saw that Ty was awake–and that he’d changed. His son had been a string bean, but in the course of a few minutes, as they’d driven away, he’d put on a ton of muscle, and as Mick watched, tattoos snaked their way past his bicep and down his forearm. “Too…too tight…” Ty said, his voice deep and thick. He grabbed his shirt in one hand and ripped it away with a grunt, revealing a thick leather harness underneath. It must have wormed its way on when Ty had been in the grip of it, and Mick hadn’t checked–

Before he could grab the bottle of Clean-All, however, a slender leather collar which had twined its way around one of the harnesses straps shot out and coiled its way around Mick’s neck, choking him. He clawed at it, but it was no use–he was too weak, too…too submissive, too pitiful he had to serve, serve his son, serve the master the master was more important. Struggling for air, and for his sanity, Mick watched his son continue to change, growing taller, and more brutish by the minute, his eyes dull and cruel and masterful and Mick loved him so much, didn’t he? Loved him as a son as a master yes his master. His one and only master.

“Back.” Ty growled, sneering at his pitiful father as he spun around, turned the car on and sped back towards the house, desperately fighting with the collar for control, but realizing he’d already lost. Ty, however, grabbed the bottle of Clean-All from the passenger seat, considered in dumbly for a moment, and then tossed it out the window. They weren’t going to need that. He had more important things to do. They pulled back into the driveway, and Mick was pleading with his son, “Please, please Ty, snap out of it–don’t do this, don’t do this to us! You have to fight it–you have–”

He was silenced by Ty grabbing him by the throat with one massive, furred hand and squeezing the voice out of him, “Shut up slave. Inside, now!”

Mick felt his cock pulse in desire, and then he was out of the car and hurrying up the walk and back into the house, his son lumbering after him. Inside the living room, the clothing had all gathered, and Mick stood there–terrified and naked. “This one,” Ty growled, shoving Mick forward, “Yours–This one–ours, in the basement. Leave collar.”

The clothing swarmed then, tackling Mick to the floor, all of it so filthy, so wonderfully, amazingly filthy. They fought over him, and he wanted to wear them all, he did, but he couldn’t. A disgusting wifebeater several sizes too large slipped onto him, followed by a muddy pair of overalls with a bit too much room for a gut, and a pair of grungy socks and boots, and then the rest backed off, and Mick stood up, feeling his body change as the clothing wanted. He was growing, his gut filling out with fat, the collar needing to expand as his neck thickened, and was soon covered my a massive wiry beard that grew out of him chin.

“Aw yeah, filthy fuckin’ redneck hick, gotta cum, gotta git dirty, we gotta git so fuckin’ filthy, fuck…” Mick groaned, massaging his cock into the denim. But almost as soon as he had changed, the clothes were ripped away by others which pulled themselves onto his body, and changed him again. He lost track of how many outfits he wore over the next few hours, his body changing to suit each other, and they all wanted him–needed him. He could never leave, there were too many–but then, he heard the voice, the deep roar of his son from the basement, “Come. Time for punishment.”

The collar wouldn’t let him say no, and he hurried down into the basement, where he found his son. He was massive, at least eight feet tall, and it looked like every bit of leather in the basement had managed to wrap itself around him. His eyes were cruel and angry and vicious, and as soon as Mick fell in front of him, straps shot out and wrapped their way around him, and then it began, his son beating and torturing him for hours, the leather feeding off his pain and agony. This was their life now, serving the cloth, and it would consume him before long, like it had consumed the ones before him, but he would serve, and serve happily.

A week–Matt had never been gone this long. He and Cal, well, they’d had their fights, usually about Matt’s wandering eye, and he’d storm off, spend the night with some dude and come back the next morning, and Cal was such a sucker, he’d take him back every time. But a week? Cal knew he shouldn’t bother looking for him, that he was a lout, and a shitty boyfriend, but god help him, he couldn’t help caring for the asshole. He at least wanted to make sure he was alright. So here was, at the seedy leather bar where Matt always hung out. He walked up to the bartender and asked if he’d seen Matt lately.

He didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it. After some weasling, Cal finally got a bit of information out of the guy, who told him to go find a guy named Lug. Lug–what the hell kind of name was that? Still, Cal did find him–a filthy guy dressed in ripped jeans and a leather vest, tattoos and a big beard. Cal, nervous, sidled up and asked, “Hey…uh, are you Lug?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Look, the bartender…he said, he said you might have seen my boyfriend–Matt. He went out a week ago, and hasn’t come home.”

Lug grinned, nodded, got up and walked off, looking back to see if Cal was following–he was. In a secluded corner, Lug turned around, dropped his pants, and revealed some of the nastiest briefs Cal had ever laid eyes on. “Sure–here he is,” Lug said, cupping his balls through the nasty underwear.

“W-What?” Cal asked, disgusted.

“Dude was pissing me off, so I turned him into my new briefs. Ain’t so new anymore, but he’s grown to like it.”

“That…what? I don’t–”

“Still, I didn’t know he was hitched. You’d better have him back, I suppose. Here, put ‘em on.”

Cal did as he was ordered and stripped down, fighting the compulsion the whole way, and Lug took them off, handed them to Matt, who pulled the damp, yet stiff briefs up around his waist…and he heard, or felt, or knew it was Matt. Or, sort of Matt. Cal groaned and leaned against the wall as the briefs contracted around his cock, milking him for his cum. Hungry–it was so hungry, even Cal could sense the need.

“Yeah, he’s a needy fuck, I’ll give him that. Good luck keepin’ him satisfied on your own,” Lug said, pulled up his pants, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Cal moaning until he came, the briefs absorbing his entire load. Piss, he heard the word, and unable to stop, he pissed right into the briefs, some of it dribbling down his legs but most going into the hungry fabric. Cal tried to take the briefs off but they wouldn’t budge an inch–they were definitely still Matt, and Cal realized that Matt was still going to control his life, even if he was just his underwear.

When I switched bodies with that redneck I swore to myself that I was going to try and make the best of the shitty situation and turn this life around. I mean, I still had  my mind, right? I figured I’d be able to do anything. Besides, he was a good ten years younger than me, I figured that shouldn’t waste them.

Well, here I am a year later–it turns out this body is a lot harder to control than my old one. I mean, I haven’t even been able to quit smoking–I thought that would be an easy one, and I still drink too much, but I can’t stop myself. I’ve tried landing decent jobs, but no one is willing to take a chance on someone someone who doesn’t even bother showering before the interview, so I’m still stuck working in construction. I’m horny all the time too. I jack off ten times a day, when I’m not having sex with random men off the street. We like to tell ourselves that our identities are in our heads, but its the habits of our bodies that really define us. 

“Come on son, please let me take these off? I’ve been pissing through them for weeks now, they’re vile.”

“Dad, at least be thankful that I let you cut a whole in the back so you haven’t been storing your shit that long too.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even let me wipe! I…I think the guys at work can smell them through my clothes.”

“Are you sure they aren’t just smelling you? I mean, you haven’t showered in ten days? I mean, have you smelled those pits of yours? No, go on dad, smell them, tell me what you think of them.”

“No, please…oh fuck, it’s so fucking nasty…I think I’m gonna–”

“Don’t throw up, you fucking pussy. Besides, it’s growing on you now, isn’t it? You enjoy your stench, judging by how your cock is tenting out your filthy underwear.”

“Please…Please don’t, I’m your father! Don’t touch me there!”

“Shut up and smell your pits, pig! Smell ‘em and enjoy them. Here, you want to take these shorts off? Here, I’ll take them off for you…damn dad, these are rank–God, I love the smell of pissy shorts. Here, you smell them, get your nose right in there and don’t fucking stop.”

“Son, please–”

“Shut up bitch, and focus on the smell, focus on how filthy and rank it is, focus on how hard that stench is making your cock in my hand–your son’s hand no less, you pervert. Yeah, look at yourself in that mirror, unwashed body, your nose buried in your own piss sodden underwear, your son jacking your rock hard cock…you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? You can’t stop it, because all of this is making you so turned on you can’t fucking help yourself!”

“Oh for the love of God, please! Please don’t–oh…Oh! god…damn it…”

“Now wipe up that seed with them and now you’re gonna suck it out…yeah bitch, get it in that hole of yours and suck–aww, is the faggot gonna cry now? Don’t cry dad, this is how men enjoy themselves, this is how we bond. Don’t be a fucking pussy about it…Now take ’em out and put them on backwards.”

“Backwards? But…”

“Talking about you storing up a few loads of shit in those was just too hot to resist, but don’t worry, at least you’ll be able to reach your cock, because from now on, you’re gonna be pissing up and all over your clothes, and whenever you drop a load of shit in those shorts, you’re gonna jack off and love it–oh quit your fucking blubbering! You’re the one who wanted more father-son bonding time! I can’t help it if I only like bonding with dirty, filthy pigs like you’re gonna be. 

Hank had been so wrong when he’d walked into the leather bar that evening, in his new, shiny pants and jacket, scanning the room. He’d imagined himself a master. He had thought that looking the part was enough to gain a slave–to gain respect. He’d been wrong–the Masters had been kind enough to show him that.

No, his place, where he belonged, was beneath them. Not next to them, on his knees like their many slaves, waiting to be called upon and served. No, he was lower than even them, only worthy of crawling along the filthy floor, licking up their spilled beers, piss and cigar butts, but most importantly, cleaning the filth from the bottom of their boots. 

They stepped on him without paying him any regard, and he bore their weight like a good worm, orgasming helplessly whenever their soles crushed his worthless groin. One day, maybe, one of these leather gods would take him as a slave. Perhaps, even later, he might earn the right to become a Master himself, but for now, he finally knew his place. 

He never knew where the first one had come from. It had come in an bubble envelope in the mail, and when he’d opened it and pulled out the filthy, yellow stained jock, he’d dropped it, disgusted beyond belief. He could…smell it. He had immediately thrown it in the trash, and then gone to wash his hands, but that smell. He couldn’t not smell it, and he’d gone back, again, and again, and again.

Now, his collection was growing. Soon, one wasn’t enough–he’d needed more. At first, he had tried to make his own filthy jock straps, soaking them in his piss, sweat and cum, but it was never enough–it was never right. It needed to be someone else’s filth for him to get off. When the link arrived in his email, it was a godsend. A site devoted to young athletes auctioning off their smelly jocks to old men like him. The bidding wars were outrageous, but he had to win, no matter the cost, and all orchestrated by the jocks, getting rich old men addicted to their stink. They had to pay for booze somehow, after all.