Commission – Piggy Pizza

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

Part 1 – Staffing Solutions

It was the sudden rumble that woke Max up. It sounded like a stomach grumbling, but something about it was off. He realized that he hadn’t just heard the rumble, but he’d felt it through his hand, but his hand wasn’t…on his own stomach. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking at the back of someone’s neck, and not a womanly neck, either. He recoiled away, nearly fell off the bed in the process, and stood up, looking down at Jeremy, his roommate–or at least, someone who looked mostly like Jeremy, there on his bed, naked.

The main difference was that this Jeremy looked to be fifty pounds heavier than the Jeremy from the night before, not that he could really remember what had happened the night before. They’d gotten home from football practice, completely starving. Jeremy had seen a new pizza place had opened up near campus, and suggested it for dinner. They’d ordered delivery, the food had arrived, and after that…well, he couldn’t recall much of anything. It was then that Max realized he’d been staring right at Jeremy’s uncovered, fat ass, and his cock was…hard. Real hard. Hard enough to climb back into bed, slide his cock right in there and–

He retreated from his room and into the bathroom, turned on the light, and it was the scream that woke up Jeremy. He rolled up out of bed, waddled his way to the bathroom, where he found Max gripping his own larger, hairier gut, horrified. “What the fuck happened to us? What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Did…did you get fatter?” Jeremy asked, then looked down, “Fuck, we’re…both fatter?”

“Do you remember anything from last night that was strange?”

“Just…that pizza bro, it was fucking good, but…I felt real weird afterward, and you were acting strange too, I…I don’t remember anything, though…” Jeremy said, blushing a bit, “Do…do you?”

“No, nothing.”

“Oh, ok, good.”

“It had to be the pizza. What was the name of that place again?”

“Piggy Pizza, it’s just a few blocks away from campus.”

“Come on, we need to go there, and figure out what the fuck was in that stuff, so we can go the hospital and fix it.”

Jeremy’s gut grumbled again, and he grabbed it with both hands. “Can…we have breakfast first?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you fucking think of eating at a time like this?”

Jeremy shrugged, and followed Max’s lead as they got dressed in whatever clothes they could find that mostly fit their changed bodies, got into Max’s car with a bit of a struggle, and drove the few blocks over to Piggy Pizza. They got out, the door said the place didn’t open until eleven, but there was clearly someone inside working away. They pounded on the door until the fellow came out from behind the counter and opened the door for them both. He was an older fellow, wearing a flour and sauce stained apron, easily six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds of beef, with a thick beard braided and tied off against his chest. “Can I help you boys? I don’t open for lunch for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Yeah you can fucking help us, you can tell us what the fuck your pizza did to us last night!” Max said to him.

“Oh fuck, what smells so fucking good?” Jeremy said, his gut growling again, and he pushed past both of them and into the restaurant. The place was sizable with plenty of seating, and a lunch buffet off to one side, where a couple of pies were already resting, ready to be eaten. Jeremy stumbled over there, drooling, grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth with a moan of delight, while Max just stared at him, horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing man, don’t eat that shit!” Max said.

“Oh fuck it’s so fucking good though…”

Max went over and tried to pull Jeremy away, who just slapped at him until he backed off. He turned around, only to find the owner of the shop had locked the door behind them, and was grinning wide. “When I delivered those two pies to you two last night, I had a feeling you were just the couple of pigs I was looking for to help out in the shop.”

“What are you talking about?” Max said.

“Go on, I know you must be hungry. Those pizzas last night would have only scratched that appetite of yours, pig,” the man said, walked over, reached past Jeremy, and picked up a slice of pizza. It was so fresh, Max could still see the grease pooling on the surface, and he realized he was drooling. “Come on pig, let Boss help you out,” he said, pushed the pizza to his lips, and Max opened up and took a bite, moaning as his cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of the sweats he had squeezed into.

He felt his gut growl, and it heaved out as he swallowed, adding a few more pounds. He tried to pull away when he realized it, but Boss just pushed the slice into his mouth, more forceful this time, and Max couldn’t stop himself from taking bite after bite, begging through a full mouth for him to stop.

“I’ll stop pig, but only if you stop. All you have to do is not take another bite. Maybe I’ll even give you that body of yours back, would you like that? Wanna be muscular again? Smooth? All you have to do is stop.” Max tried, turned his head to the side, but he could feel his jaw struggling against him, twisting back, opening up, taking another massive bite, and the owner just laughed at him. “Guess that means you’re mine, pig.”

Slice after slice disappeared down his throat, and with each one, he only got worse. Fatter at first, and then he started getting even hairier. Boss started telling him about his life now, about who he was. Sure, he’d started college on a football scholarship, but that was a few years ago now. He was too lazy to keep up, and after a year, he’d added fifty pounds. He lost his scholarship, had to get a job delivering pizza, and only grew bigger. Now here he was, his late twenties, balding already, too hairy to work the kitchen for sanitary reasons, delivering pizzas for his boss. For his owner. The man shoved Max down onto his knees, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. He took one taste of his owner’s precum, and knew, somehow, this was what was in the pizza, this is what had been changing him. He tried to resist, but he sucked his new Boss dry, and when he came, and Max swallowed it all down, everything Boss had told him, that whole story, it became…real. He stumbled up, now close to 400 pounds himself, hair all over his body, head balding, beard down to his chest, sweaty and greasy and stinking. He knew he should hate it, but he didn’t–he groped his fat, reached under and found his cock and started milking it, grunting while he kissed his Boss, and they turned their attention to Jeremy, who was still stuffing himself silly at the buffet.

He was even fatter than Max now, close to 500 pounds. His eyes were terrified at what he was doing, but there was no stopping, not any more. “What do you think of your boyfriend, Jeremy?” Boss asked him, dragging his face around and showing him the hairy, sweaty pig that Max had become. “Wait…Max? What…what the fuck happened to you?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Max said, groping his fat frame, running his hands through his greasy fur, “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ horny…”

“I bet you are, watching this fat pig stuff himself always gets that cock of yours hard, but not as hard as this fat ass, right?” Boss said, gave Jeremy’s ass a slap, and they watched it inflate, growing wider than the rest of him, Max drooling again, but for a different reason.

“Fuck, he’s got such a hot fuckin’ ass.”

“Come on pig, I know you’re still hungry for dessert,” Boss said, tore open the already weakened sweats on Jeremy’s body. With a grunt, Max got down on his knees, crawled forward and shoved his bearded face into Jeremy’s crack, eating at the sweaty, rank crack, Jeremy moaning in confusion, not understanding anything of what was happening to him.

“I…what did you do to him?” Jeremy moaned, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t think too hard now, we all know you’re the dumbest fuck here, Jeremy. Too stupid to be a driver, and too fat at this point. Lucky for me you can operate an oven, with supervision. Still, you have a few good qualities, right? Well, a few things that disgust everyone else, but Max there sure loves them, like your fucking musk, and those rank ass farts of yours.” The mere suggestion was enough for Jeremy’s new ass to rip off a ripe one right into Max’s face, who moaned, his own cock drooling even more pre onto the floor below him.

“No, no that’s not, I was…big! I was a big, like, football guy…”

“No you weren’t, you stupid fuck. You dropped out of high school, and have been working here for years now. You met Max when he started working here, and you pigs moved in together, with my permission of course. I own your fat asses after all, neither of you thinks a fucking thing without my damn permission. But that asshole of yours is as hungry as dick as this mouth is for my pizza, and Max is a horny hairy freak, so it works out, doesn’t it?”

Jeremy tried to think, tried to remember, but all that came out was a loud fart from his hole, right into Max’s face, who just grunted in pleasure and dug in even deeper. Boss grabbed his head, shoved him down, and Jeremy sucked on his cock, already hard again after feeding a load to Max–but then, Boss could always produce a load for his dough, and his sauce, and his toppings. That was how he had the best pizza in town, after all, and when he saw someone he liked, well, he usually got them to work for him, one way or another. “Max, get up, I wanna see you fuck this fat pig while he swallows my load.”

“Yes Boss!” Max said, hefted himself up, dropped his gut on the small of Jeremy’s back, and worked his cock into Jeremy’s loosened hole. He drove in rough, panting and heaving, the air thick with the combined musk rolling off the three of them in the lobby of the restaurant, until Max came with a squeal, and Boss came too, Jeremy swallowing down a load and feeling everything solidify around him, just as it had around Max.

The restaurant opened an hour late that day, since the two new employees had demolished the lunch buffet. Boss got them into their new uniforms–shorts that were a bit too tight on them both, a polo shirt with Piggy Pizza across the front, neither long enough to disguise their guts hanging out below, and a ball cap with a smiling pig on the front. Then, Boss secured a leather collar around both of his new pigs, reminding him that they were his personal property. Max also got a cage around his cock, and for Jeremy, a vibrating plug in his hole to keep him excited and motivated. If Max got good tips, Boss would unlock him and let him fuck his boyfriend at home that night, but if he didn’t, well, he’d just suffer, hard in his cage from Jeremy’s gas and unable to do anything about it. Neither of them complained, though. Why would they? They loved working at Piggy Pizza–it was the perfect place for a couple pigs like them, after all.

Part 2 – Franchise Opportunities

A year had flown by since Piggy Pizza had opened, and for Max, it had been a bit of a blur. Boss didn’t let his worker slaves have much in the way of time off, after all, and so he delivered pizzas from the time the shop opened for lunch until the evening, snacking on pizza along the way, of course, until they closed at one in the morning. Then, he would drive Jeremy home in his truck, they’d usually have a fuck session if he’d earned one and fall asleep, before getting up, throwing on their still dirty uniforms, and doing it all again.

Boss took a particular interest in Jeremy over that year, feeding him almost constantly in the shop. Six months after they’d been conscripted, Jeremy had packed on another hundred pounds, and was pushing the scales at nearly 600. One evening, after a long stuffing, he couldn’t manage to get into the truck for the ride home–but Boss had a solution all ready for him. He’d made him a little sleeping area in the storeroom of the restaurant–Jeremy would be living there from now on. It would be more convenient.

Of course, Max was still horny as hell, and so he’d rush over when he woke up, get his fuck in before his shift started, and Jeremy only grew larger and larger, and muskier and muskier, since he didn’t have a shower in the restaurant. Jeremy eventually couldn’t even keep up with the baking, but Boss had a new role for him already planned–he hooked Jeremy’s cock up to a milker, and started pumping cum out of him, a new blend that Boss had been encouraging inside him, one that he had a feeling would help them grow their customer base even more. It worked–Boss’s own cum was more potent, but Jeremy’s kept folks coming back for more, and more, and more pizza every day. Business was booming, and they had to pull in a few other guys from campus as delivery slaves for the business, with Max as their general supervisor. One night, while they were tag-teaming Jeremy, the rest of the staff home for the night, Boss told Max how proud of him he was. He was thinking about opening up another franchise soon, and he thought Max might be an idea manager for a new location–under Boss’s strict control of course.

Max was thrilled by the idea. He rode that high for the next few days, until it all came crashing down with a sudden drop, when he delivered a load of pizzas, laced with a bit of Jeremy’s special sauce, to a house he…almost recalled, but one he couldn’t place. He rang the doorbell, the door opened, and he quickly realized he was delivering pizzas to a frat house. A frat house he knew. It had been his frat, a lifetime ago now, before he’d met Boss and started working at PIggy Pizza. He prayed that no one would say anything, but after staring at him for a moment, the jock who had opened the door said, “Holy fuckin’ shit, you’re…Max Grainger! Oh my fucking god, what the fuck happened to you?”

Max’s face reddened. Boss’s magic sauce could twist reality, but there were always these little pockets left behind. “Look man, I don’t wanna talk about it. Have a good night.”

The jock called the rest of the guys to the door, and they laughed, watching the player who had been recruited as a possible star waddled back to his truck, ass crack exposed, now just a loser dropout pig. Max’s face was burning, and he grumbled all the way back to the shop, angry that he was even angry about it. He liked working for Boss! He was going to have his own franchise soon! And a new franchise, he supposed, would need some more labor, wouldn’t it? He grinned then, and when he went back into the shop, he told Boss what had happened, and his idea.

Boss was skeptical of Max’s plan, but decided to give him a chance. He fed Max a big load of his cum, and Max felt something happen to him, his balls swelling and tingling. Boss told him that he had the power to change men like he did now–not nearly as potent, but more than enough for what he had in mind, this evening. First though, he had a few more deliveries to make. It was mostly to regulars around town, those who had been especially susceptible to their special ingredients. As the men opened their doors and smelled Max, they all seemed especially interested in him somehow. Max had fucked around with most of them–after all, now that Jeremy was living at the shop, he had to get his fucks in somewhere, but tonight, he was saving his loads for something special. That didn’t make it any less difficult to turn down the men who would invite him in, try and sneak a sniff of his pits, tell him that he seemed real sexy tonight. In the end, they were all mostly satisfied to take their pizzas, leave him a substantial tip, and Max went on his way back to his truck, sniffing his own pits. Sure, they were rank, but no more than usual. Is this what it felt like being Boss all the time? If it was, he could get used to it.

It was close to one in the morning, the shop was closing up, and Max loaded up a hefty stack of eight pizzas Boss had waiting for him, for one final delivery. He pulled up back in front of the frat house, already leaking into his uniform shorts, and the more excited he got, the more musk he seemed to be putting out–and maybe it was a bit stronger than before. He hefted the stack of pizzas to the door, rang the doorbell, but no one answered. It took a few rings, and a hard pounding, before any of the frat boys inside actually took notice, and one of them came to answer the door. Max grinned. He was showing good progress, a solid gut, a good amount of hair on his chest, and he was half naked, with grease and cum smeared across his face.

“Who the fuck are…oh fuck, you…smell real fucking good man,” the frat boy said, stumbled out onto the step, and shoved his face into Max’s pit, snorting in his stink.

“I got your second order of pizzas, why don’t you help me bring them inside, boy?” Max suggested.

He had to suggest it twice, and haul the young man’s chubby face out of his pit, but he finally got the hint, picked up half the boxes of pizza, and brought them inside, Max following him in and shutting the door behind him, looking at the party already in progress.

The pizzas were demolished, the room was demolished as well, and all of the frat brothers were scattered about the living room, on the furniture or the floor, in various states of fucking, sucking, licking and sniffing. None of them had gained less than thirty pounds, and some, like the one who’d opened the door, had gained more. But the one that Max was looking for wasn’t among them–the one who had laughed at him earlier, that was the one he had some special plans for. He took the pizzas one by one, opened up the boxes and laid them on the floor, calling for the little frat pigs. The smell of him, and the pizza, caught them and pulled them over, all of them grabbing for slices like greedy hogs and shoving them in their mouths, moaning and grunting in delight. That would keep them all busy, and growing, for a while longer. He saved one pie, and started looking through the house for the missing boy.

He found him after a few minutes, holed up in his room. Max could hear him on the phone with someone, trying to explain the situation–probably 911, but they kept dismissing it as a hoax. Why wouldn’t they, after all? He knocked on the door, the voice inside went quiet, and said, “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just me,” Max said, “Got your second delivery of pizzas here, but everyone downstairs was too busy to pay me. Why don’t you open up, boy, and we can settle your bill?”

“Fuck you! You fucking freak, what the fuck did you do to everyone?”

Max just chuckled, hauled off his shirt, took a piece of pizza out of the box, and rubbed it in his pits, soaking it in his stink. For good measure, he wiped some of his precum off on it too from the inside of his shorts, then shoved it under the door.

“What the, fuck why the fuck does it fucking stink!” the voice said, “Oh fuck, it smells so fucking good, and I’m so fucking hungry…”

He didn’t say anything else for a minute, just the sound of someone scarfing on the other side, and then quiet, and a belch. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and open the door, boy?” Max said.

The lock clicked after a moment, and when it opened, he saw a rather zonked looking young man on the other side, grease smeared across his face, drooling slightly. Max pushed his way in, and fed him the rest of the pizza. His name, he found out, was Doug, but Max decided Dough would be a much better name for him. Dough pleaded with him through the first few slices, begged him to stop, but by the time half the extra large pie was gone, he was ravenous. It was only natural, then, for Max to haul out his cock, and give him something to wash all that pizza down with.

Max was so horny, that he came after just a few sucks, and the orgasm was long. He could feel it, all of the corruptive potential he was feeding down Dough’s throat, and when he’d finished, a very different sort of fellow was sitting on the floor. He hauled Dough up by the collar of the shirt that no longer fit on around his nearly 400 pound frame, shoved him in front of the mirror in the room, and he gaped at his new body.

Sure, the fat was a big change for him, but Max helped him notice everything else too. The male pattern baldness that had settled in when he was twenty-five, a few years after he’d dropped out of college, too fat and stupid to keep up. Of course, he was pushing forty now, and had lost most of the hair on his head, replaced by a thick, bushy beard starting to grey, and a forest of hair all over his body–not quite as much as Max, but still plenty.

“Fuck, look at you, you fucking loser,” Max whispered in his ear, “And you thought I was bad when I answered the door, now look at you, long past your prime, don’t even have a job, just spend your days and nights stuffing yourself silly with your friends downstairs, jacking off all the time, like a proper fucking pig.

Dough tried to deny it, but Max tore off his clothes and led him downstairs, where the rest of the boys of the house had finished the second round of pizzas, and were all in similar a similar shape–older, all of them out of college now, fatter, their lives as jocks quickly being forgotten in the haze of lust that followed. He shoved Dough into the middle of them, and they all fell on him, humiliating and insulting him, and Dough found himself more and more turned on by the humiliating, begging them for their loads. Max spent the rest of the night finding the ones with a bit more resistance, and feeding them from his tap, until they too were just happy pigs, eagerly settling into their new lives.

A couple months later, a new franchise of Piggy Pizza opened on the other side of town, with Max as the head manager. Dough took up residence in the back, this location’s sauce supply, just as Jeremy was at the home location. The rest of the boys in the house, after being interviewed by Boss, were all hired on as well–as drivers, and cooks, and cleaners, depending on their personal skill sets and kinks. Business was booming, and both Boss and Max couldn’t wait to see how big this town could get.

Caption: Rest Area Tales #4 – Busted

No one wanted the job of checking in on the rest areas along the highway and busting the cruising that tended to happen there, so it got passed around from patrol to patrol. Today, it fell on Officers Miller and Peters. Neither of them were happy about it, were firmly straight, and just wanted to get it over with as quickly as they could.

Things were largely uneventful at the first few they stopped at. Miller would take the bathrooms and various shelters, while Peters would go into the woods and see what he could flush out. The most they found were a couple of truckers fucking in the woods who scattered when the cops showed up, and neither of them really wanted to spend their time booking anyone in, so they let them go. Then, they arrived at what they hoped would be their last one of the day. This one was a bit more off the beaten path, which meant it had a bit more of a reputation. They’d probably find someone here, and take them back to book them, at least to show they were doing the work.

Miller headed for the rest rooms, and Peters went around with a flashlight in the woods. Much to his surprise, he didn’t find anyone fucking in the forest. He headed back for the patrol car, but Miller wasn’t there. He usually finished first and so he headed for the bathrooms to see if he needed back up.

He went in, and froze–there sure as hell was some activity going on, and that activity was Miller on his knees in front of a burly bear of a man, smoking a cigar, one hand wrapped around Miller’s head while he happily sucked on the big man’s cock. “Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” he said, but before he could reach for his gun, the man blew a thick plume of cigar smoke in his face, which made Peters cough, his head spinning.

“There’s the other one, always travel in pairs,” the bear said, “Just means double the fun, right boy? Now, what to do with the two of you…I already got most of the cops coming through here addicted to cock, but you two look so cute together, I think I know what to do…”

He took a long drag off his cigar, and pushed a massive plume of smoke out, enough to fog up the room. When the air cleared a bit, Jamie Peters looked over and saw…saw his son on his knees blowing the hell of that sexy cigar bear’s cock.

“Yeah, pull out your dick Daddy, watch this boy of yours blow my big cock,” the bear said, “I know you’ve been a regular here for decades, sneaking out behind your wife’s back until she found out. Never expected your boy here to start following you though, did ya? Turns out cock sucking runs in the family. Two muscular, straight acting guys like you spending all your free time on your knees, worshiping cock–and now, ya can do it together. Come on Daddy, I know what you really want…”

Jamie stepped forward, almost in a daze, and fell on his knees next to his son, and together they worshiped the bear’s massive cock, who rewarded the father son tag team with a load sprayed across them both. Pleased with the result, the bear left, and the father and son licked the cum from each other’s faces, their old lives already fading with the smoke around them. A couple more truckers came in, and they were happy to be of service, and when their bellies were full, they headed home, together, happy as could be.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.

Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others.

The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.

“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”

“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.

When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”

“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”

“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”

Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”

Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear.

“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.

“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–”

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.

“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did.

“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”

He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.

“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”

“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”

Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.

After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”

With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.

Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”

“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”

“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.

“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”

Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.

They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”

He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole.

He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.

Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.

He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.

Caption: Work From Home Weight

Avery and Kent had made the decision to move in together just as the first lockdowns were beginning, and they soon found themselves stuck in a small apartment, both working from home. There had been some friction early on, that Avery could vaguely recall. It had seemed so important at the time, but now, a year later, he was finding it harder and harder to imagine a life without Kent with him. In particular, without the food that Kent fed him.

Avery had always been on the chubby side, and he’d never particularly liked it about himself. But working from home, he found that there wasn’t much else to do other than, well, eat, and Kent was more than happy to keep him fed from the moment he woke up to the moment they laid down, and Kent usually fucked Avery’s ass, both of them collapsing in a sweaty heap by the end of it. Still, it wasn’t…that much weight, was it? No, it was all perfectly normal, Avery told himself again, but then, why was he sweating so much, and so nervous about the email he’d just gotten?

The pandemic was tapering off, the bosses wanted folks back in the office, at least on a limited basis. Avery had asked to be given a remote position full time, but had just gotten a reply that he would need to be in the office at least three days a week. Kent came in, saw that Avery was looking upset, and asked him what the matter was, but Avery struggled to explain what, exactly, it was that had him so flustered.

“Ah, you know, I think I know what the matter is. Lift up the veil, little piggy.”

Avery gave a little grunt, and it was like he was seeing the world differently, remembering everything that felt so blurry before. How Kent had used the lockdown to try and force him to get bigger, while Avery had struggled against it, until…until Kent had done something to him, hypnotized him, and…and well, here he was. Over 400 pounds in about a year, it should have been impossible, but then, Kent had been working every trick in the book to get Avery as heavy as he could.

“You…no! How could you! I–” Avery said, but Kent walked over, shoved up his shirt, and started kneading his gut, making Avery moan in delight.

“How could I turn you into one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen?” Kent said, “Fuck, look at how fucking massive you are, and so sensitive…”

“No, I…why…of fuck, that feels so fucking good…” Avery muttered.

“Of course it does. You’re a fat fucking pig, Avery. You love being fat. You love how it feels, you love how you look. You couldn’t be happier with all of this. And now, next week, you’re going to the office, and all of those people are going to see you, Avery. They’re going to know that you’re a fat, greedy, gluttonous little piggy, and they’re gonna whisper about it, and all of that? It’s just going to make you hornier.”

Avery was grunting and snorting now, lost in the fantasy Kent was feeding him, and when he hauled him up and bent him over the desk and fucked him, Avery found himself pushing back, loving how his gut swayed and shuddered, how labored his breathing was, until he came first, right into his gunt. Kent filled him up soon after, and put him back in his chair. “That’s a good piggy. Now, drop the veil, little piggy.”

Avery’s eyes clouded over again, he gave Kent a kiss, feeling better after his chat with him, and got back to work on the computer. Kent gave a contented sigh, and left the room–he was almost there, just a little more conditioning to go. Then he could lift the veil for good, and he’d have the perfect gainer pig he’d always wanted.

Captions: Owned / Dirtier

Since I missed yesterday’s post, here’s a double feature!

Owned

“How long has it been since you were here, slave?”

“A…a month.”

“A month, Master,” he said, and gave the rubber clad man a smack on the ass, and left it there, running his fingers between his thighs, tracing the chastity cage locked on the outside of the rubber catsuit. “I will not have a slave disrespect me in public. We are lax at home on occasion, but I know you know your manners well.”

“Yes Master.”

“A month since you went home with me. Remember what a confident little shithead you were? Talking about how you were all top, never gonna bottom in your life? Now look at you. That big cock of yours locked away, hole loose and ready,” he said, and slid two of his fingers through the slit in the back of the rubber suit, pressing up against the slave’s hole, feeling him shudder at the touch. “You’re owned now, and once we go in there, everyone is going to know it. Everyone you’ve fucked. Everyone who wanted to fuck you. They’re gonna know that you’re my property. How does that make you feel?”

The slave didn’t respond right away, just let out a little moan.

“It makes you excited, doesn’t it?”

Another little moan, followed by, “Yes Master, it does.”

“How many men do you think I should let use your holes tonight?”

“As many as you want, Master.”

“Good, slave, you do learn quickly. The last slave I had, I couldn’t take him out in public for three months. I know you’re going to serve me well in there tonight, won’t you?”

“Yes Master.”

“And remember–always pride. Be proud that you realized who you are. Most of those men in there are too scared to accept it. But you are right where you want to be, isn’t that right?”

The slave nodded, and he followed his Master into the bar to begin his new life.

Dirtier

You hadn’t taken that old bitch seriously, of course. Who would have, really? Ranting and raving about some curse or something, while security was dragging her out of the bank where you worked, saying something about how if all you cared about was dirty money, then you might as well just keep getting dirtier.

But for the next week or so, you kept noticing things. Dirt kept appearing under your fingernails, no matter how well you cleaned them at night, and it wasn’t like you were doing anything to make them dirty in the first place. Then you noticed that, after you showered, you always still had a lingering musk around you. It wasn’t too bad at first, but by the next week, you got a couple of comments at work. You tried all of these different soaps and shampoos, but nothing helped, and by then, the dirt was starting to spread as well.

Then, it wasn’t just you, either. You went to bed in a set of clean sheets, and when you woke up the next morning, they were filthy. Stained, reeking of sweat and cum and piss, and worst of all, you didn’t mind it. It smelled good to you all of a sudden, and you couldn’t resist rolling over, grinding your cock into the sheets and adding another load to them. You showered after, of course, but it didn’t help. You could smell it lingering around you, that same grungy scent, and the more you noticed it, the hornier you were getting.

You tried to find that woman, but there was no sign of her anywhere, all of her bank records had just vanished. Your boss called you into his office, raked you over the coals for your slovenly appearance. You didn’t know where that beard had come from, or how your hair had gotten so long so quickly. You went home early, tried to shave it off and cut it away, but it would grow back faster than you could remove it, thicker and thicker each time. That day, you went to put on a suit, dreading going in to work again, but all of your suits had disappeared, replaced with grungy looking hi vis workwear and nothing else.

But then, what else would you wear? In a stupor, you pulled on some of the filthy garments and went to work–but not at the bank. You were a construction worker, right? You spent the day trying to convince yourself otherwise, but couldn’t manage it. This just…felt right. You were scared, and too tired to fight it. Maybe if you just let it happen, it would stop. This wasn’t so bad, right? And for a while, your body didn’t get worse, at least, but your mind started growing filthier instead. Working around all of those other musky, masculine men, you found yourself caught in fantasy after fantasy, about how they would use your dirty body–and as you concocted each scenario, they came true.

The foreman pissing on you in the portpotty. A father and son tag teaming your holes in the back of their pickup. Timmy, the fattest guy on the crew, sitting his grungy ass on your face while you jacked off your rank cock. You didn’t live in that nice house anymore. You lived in a studio apartment, never cleaned, never cared for. Sometimes, you would fight, try and remember who you’d been, but when you did, it would get worse somehow, always worse, but now, why can’t you find your way home?

You usually walked home, sometimes sucking cock in the alleys on your way to and from the construction site, but now, you just couldn’t find it. You ended up in an alley, and slept there, interrupted by a couple of cops walking their beat, who took a little break to fuck your nasty hole in the middle of the night. Come morning, you went back to the construction site, but you didn’t work there anymore. That didn’t stop all the men from using you of course, but you were too filthy even for that work now. You made your way back to your alley, still so damn horny, but things, at least, couldn’t get worse than this, right?

Caption: Long Distance Hypnomutt

Was it what he wanted? Banjo wasn’t quite sure he could really tell the difference anymore. He was humiliated, sure, when the message from his Master came through after his latest hypno spiral, telling him he needed to go get a sharpie, and mark himself with what he knows about himself to be true, now.

He didn’t really know what that meant, but he got himself a new sharpie, took off his shirt, and started writing on himself. When he was finished, he looked in the mirror, upper lip curled up, and gave a little snort.

“It is a dumb mutt…” he said, groping his cock, unable to stop himself from snorting as the words came of of his mouth. “It is a *grunt* sex toy.”

He couldn’t stop until he lost a load of cum right into the front of his underwear, and control returned to himself–mostly. He tried to take off his soiled underwear, but couldn’t seem to get them to peel away from his body–he was stuck with them on apparently, for the time being. He went in to message his master, the man who had been cementing control over him for months now, took a picture, and sent it to him, as he knew he needed to do.

“Good mutt–what a stupid fucking mutt, letting some stranger control you like this. Now, you know I live a long ways away, so it’ll be a while before I can use you myself, but I like sex toys like you well broken in. Go unlock your door, and wait on your knees, mutt.”

Banjo tried to message back, asking for an explanation, but before he could even reach the keyboard, he was standing and following his master’s directions, unlocking the door to his apartment, and getting down on his knees, and waiting.

He was there for almost an hour, cramping, uncomfortable on the hard floor, but he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. All he could really think about was the cold load of cum slowly drying in the front of his underwear. Then, he smelled…cigar smoke. He heard boots outside his door, it opened without a knock, and he found himself looking up at a grungy looking fellow sucking on a half finished cigar.

“You must be the mutt,” he said, stepped past him without another word like he owned the place, and Banjo tried to stand up–but couldn’t. All he could do was crawl after him, and the man took a seat in one of Banjo’s chairs like he owned the place, and gave a sigh.

“Fuck, what did he want me to say?” he said, and pulled out his phone. “Right–ok, ‘dumb mutt’, get over here you stupid, ‘sex toy’ and suck my dirty fuckin’ cock.”

Banjo gave a grunt at each utterance, felt his cock swell, and he found the rather repulsive fellow suddenly very…attractive. He crawled over, dug the man’s greasy cock out of the front of his unwashed jeans and started sucking him off. The man kept using the keywords, watching as Banjo grew more and more horny, his mind starting to fade out, and the man told him to turn around, got down, tore open the back of Banjo’s underwear and gave him a rough fuck. Banjo came again in the middle of it with a loud grunt and a moan, and that was enough for the strange to unload in him as well.

“Fuck, yer a weird fucker, but that was kinda hot,” he said. “Nice place too–gotta say. Nicer than my shithole.”

He pulled out his phone, took some pictures of Banjo’s ruined underwear and leaking hole, and sent them off, then texted for a bit.

“Good fuckin’ news, you dumb mutt,” he said. “Yer…Master or whatever says you’re gonna let me stay here for a while. You don’t mind, do you, sex toy?”

Banjo tried to object, but the man showed him a spiral on his phone that his master had sent, and soon enough, he was back in front of the computer, ready for another round of programming, and more than happy to host his new roommate, and give him whatever services he required from then on.

Caption: Daddy Issues #4 – Jace the Lout

Jace’s father was a lout, in his opinion. He’d never really been able to hold down a job for longer than a year, preferring to milk unemployment and Jace’s grandparents for cash as much as he could. Jace had resolved to never be like him, and doubled down on his efforts in school, aiming for college, as an opportunity to get out from under his father. His intellect and drive only led his father to brand him a faggot, and when Jace found that he was gay, he didn’t dare breathe a word of his to his father, who could have a substantial rage when he was drunk, which was more and more these days.

And now, after a few months of bliss, away at school, he had to go back. He pulled into the driveway, and the first thing he noticed was that someone had mowed the lawn. Usually it was a mess of tall grass and tangled weed, but it was freshly shorn. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, in all honesty. He went in through the front door, and gasped–the whole fucking house was just like the lawn. It was clean.

Pictures were hung on the walls. The carpet was vacuumed and the tile was mopped. Lightbulbs were changed that had been out when he’d left for school in the fall. He had no idea what was happening, and when he went into the living room, he found his father sitting there and waiting for him, though it certainly wasn’t the father he recalled.

He beamed at Jace when he saw him, got up and gave him a hug, telling him he was so glad he was home, and when he did, Jace felt…something start to grow and curdle inside him, something he didn’t understand at first. His dad pulled him into the kitchen, told him he had dinner all ready for him, sat Jace down and started bringing him all of this food, and Jace, who had always been careful with his food and drink, found himself stuffing his face greedily, and when the six pack of beer appeared next to the place, he pulled one free without a second thought, and guzzled it down, letting some of it run down his chin.

When he’d finished, it was a different sort of Jace sitting there in the chair. Gut doubled in size, head shaven, tattoos appearing all up and down his arms and legs, piercings in his ears and face. He sneered at his dad and said, “Fuck, at least ya can still cook a good meal, for a old faggot. Go on then, I know what ya really want.”

His dad was on his knees, face between his son’s thighs sucking on his cock, and Jace smelled something, some musk rising up around him. His musk, of course. He raised an arm and took a whiff of his own pits, enjoying the scent, knowing that it would drive his horny father wild too. School was already fading from his mind–why the fuck would he leave a cushy gig like this? A horny father who took care of him day and night, who would do anything for a load of his son’s cum? What lout would turn that down?

“Been a while since I’ve had the boys over,” Jace said, “Ya wouldn’t mind cookin’ again, right? Ya know how much they all can eat. If you’re real good, we’ll all fuck that old hole of yours, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds amazing son,” his dad said, and went back to sucking on his cock. Yep, this was the life, and Jace wouldn’t trade it for anything, anymore.

Caption: Daddy Issues #3 – Evan the Roughneck

Evan wasn’t supposed to have even gone to college, if his dad had had his way. He grew up in the sticks in a small town. HIs dad, Gary, ran the only real construction crew in town, and made good money fixing up everything beyond what a handyman could handle, and he’d expected his son to be a proper man’s man, drop out of high school, learn the trade, and follow in his footsteps. Of course, Evan had ended up, in his father’s opinion, a total sissy. He’d given up on him really, and just to get out from under his father’s house, he’d taken on a bunch of loans to get to college in the big city, just as a chance to breathe. But now, he climbed into his car and got ready for the drive home, bracing himself for the culture shock he knew he’d feel after a few months in civilization, back under his dad’s roof.

It was a good four hour drive home, and Evan spent the whole time mulling over his father. He was so focused on it, really, that he didn’t notice as things started changing around him. The pack of gum in the console became a can of skoal, and without thinking about it, he popped it open, packed his upper and lower lips, and just let the spit drool out onto the shirt he was wearing, which had come a grungy looking t-shirt, his pants now ripped camo shorts. The radio switched over to the country station, and rather than change it, he found himself enjoying it. About an hour out from town, he pulled over to use the rest area, got out, but in the bathroom, despite having to piss like a racehorse, he just…couldn’t. He had to save it, didn’t he? He went back out to the lot, climbed into the sizable pickup that had replaced his little junker sedan, and sped off down the highway, eager to get home, finally.

He pulled into his dad’s driveway, hopped out, went inside, and sure enough, there was his lazy fucking father, passed out on the couch, wearing the coveralls for work that he pretty much never took off, even on the weekends.

Evan jumped up on the couch, boots on either side of his dad’s flabby body, and spit right in his face, making him jump. “Hey pig, open yer fuckin’ mouth, yer boy’s gotta fuckin’ piss.”

He didn’t even wait for Gary to open up, just hauled out his cock, and unloaded all over him and the couch, his dad confused and sputtering for a moment, but once he smelled it, he sat up, opened wide, and drank down as much of his boy’s sweet piss as he could. Once he’d finished, the two of them looked at each other, trying to reconcile what they had expected with what they were looking at, but the smell of them both, and the piss all over them, only made them hornier.

“Fuck son, been waitin’ fer ya tah get home,” his stupid dad drawled, and shoved his face into his rank underwear, “All the guys on the crew been plowin’ mah hole, jus’ like ya told ‘em to, but it just ain’t the same as mah boy’s big ass fuckstick…”

“Don’t ya worry Daddy, yer boy ain’t gonna be goin’ away again anytime soon,” Evan said, “Now roll over pig, let me see if that slutty hole a yers is still a little tight.”

Caption: Daddy Issues #2 – Evan the Bully

James’s father, Paul, was a health freak. He went to the gym five days a week, ran each morning before work, prepared only the healthiest of food, and had used all of this to rule over James’s body like a tyrant. James’s body, on the other hand, had never taken to his father’s rule well, and he’d struggled all his life trying to conform to Paul’s expectations for how he should look, and what he should do to get there. There was always just a bit too much fat, not enough muscle, why couldn’t he work harder. The question of sexuality was complicated by the fact his father essentially demanded a family from James, something he had no intention of giving him, of course.

At college, finally free of his father’s strict hand, James had really let go, and already gained close to the Freshman 15 without even trying. He was terrified of what his father would say when he saw him, as he went up to the door and into the house, but his father wasn’t anywhere to be found. He eventually went up into the bedroom, after he heard someone grunting and groaning in there, and what he found made his jaw drop to the floor.

It was his dad, right? It had to be his dad. He could still see some of the resemblance there, but so much of it was…well, it was how fat he was, first of all. He was struggling where he was tied to the chair, and he was so heavy, he could hear the wood creaking under him, his father’s eyes horrified at what had happened to him. James felt a bit dizzy, and retreated from the room and into the bathroom, his body heating up, muscles cramping, after once the discomfort had subsided, he stood up, looked in the mirror, and was staring at a body just as unfamiliar to him as his father’s now was.

Fuck–he was…hot. He was really hot. He ran his hands over his muscled body, groped his bulge through the jockstrap he now had on, and gave a little smirk, before going back out to where his father was still tied up.

“Fuck dad, look at you, really let yourself go while I was at school, eh?” he said, walked up, and started groping and teasing his dad’s massive body. Paul squirmed and jiggled away as best he could, but James could see the confusion in his eyes, and with a little digging under his massive gut, he found out why–his dad was rock hard. “Fuck, is this turning you on old man? You fucking pig? Having your hot jock son play with your fat and tease you is getting you off?” He pulled his hand out, covered with his dad’s precum, took out his gag and fed it to him off his fingers.

“Please, I…I’m so fucking hungry, but I don’t know what’s wrong with us. Please son, we need to get help.”

“I’ll tell you what we need to get,” James said, picking his dad’s phone up off the counter. “We need five extra large pizzas here ASAP, and I’m going to feed every one of them to you. Then, when you’re good and stuffed, pig, I’m gonna bend you over and fuck that fat ass of yours. I have a feeling you’re gonna love it.”

Caption: Daddy Issues #1 – Conrad the Disciplinarian

Four freshmen in college met during a meeting of the college’s queer group, and quickly bonded over a common problem they shared–their fathers. It wasn’t uncommon for young gay guys to have daddy issues of course, but for them, coming out at home was still an impossibility. While each of their fathers was different, what tied them all together was their desire to control their son’s lives, and an unwillingness to accept anything other than the straightest of behavior from all of them. As they shared their woes, and prepared to go home for winter break, a mischievous little sprite was listening in on their discussion. It didn’t seem fair to the sprite, not at all. But magic always came with a cost. They could have fathers who were more agreeable, sure, but they too, would have to change as well.

Conrad’s father, Harry, was a cop, in just about every sense of the word. He worked on the police force of the city, but lived in the outlying suburbs. He was a real piece of work, and he’d ridden Conrad every moment of his life, trying to “man him up” and get him to follow in his footsteps, train him into what he considered to be a proper young man, and none of it had stuck. Now he was off to college and studying literature–what a waste in his opinion. He’d refused to pay for any of it, and Conrad was currently relying on loans to make it though. He couldn’t find somewhere to stay on break, and so, he resigned himself to going home for a few weeks. He arrived, stepped inside, and was greeted by a sight so strange, it took him a moment to understand what he was looking at.

It was his father, naked, wrestling with a leather harness that seemed to have a life of its own. “God damn it, what the fuck is this shit? Conrad, help!” he shouted when he saw his son, but Conrad just gawked, then looked around, and saw a box by the door addressed to his father. As he watched, something crawled out, scuttled across the floor, flew and shoved itself into Harry’s mouth, wrapping around his head–a ball gag and head harness. It distracted him long enough the harness could crawl onto him, followed by a pair of boots, and a butt plug with a curly black tail on the end, that flew into his father’s ass, making him howl as he crawled around, in distress.

Conrad took a step forward, only for more gear to crawl out of the box and start crawling across the floor towards him. He backed up, but before he could get out the front door, the arms of a rubber cat suit wrapped their way around his legs and pulled them out from under him. He fought them off as long as he could, but something…was wrong with them. He could hear something, hear a voice, soothing him, relaxing him, telling him all sorts of filthy, wicked thoughts.

He stood up after a few moments, fully clothed in his gear, and he felt different. Taller, more muscular. He walked past his father, still struggling on the floor with his gear, went to his humidor, took out a cigar and lit it for himself, before walking back, kicking him over and putting a boot on his father’s neck.

“There’s going to be some changes around here, piggy,” Conrad said, his usually meek voice now full of confidence. “Yeah…gonna…gonna train you into a proper little pig slut, yeah. You tried to make a man out of me, pig, well what do you think? Is this man enough for you?”

He pressed down, and saw his father go a little limp, aside from his cock, which was rock hard and leaking.

“I’m the man who’s gonna make a proper pig out of you, and I’ll love every second of it. You will too, soon enough. Now, I wanna hear you squeal.”