Pigtown Prison (Part 5)

CW: Rape

“You were telling the truth, weren’t you slut?” Keith asked as he reentered the room, “Because if Rod or I find out that was some fucking bullshit, you’re going to be wishing you’d never been fucking born.”

“Please, it wasn’t–it didn’t even work after I left the bar, please, just–I’m sorry, tell him I’m sorry,” Oliver said.

“Oh, don’t worry boy, you’ll get a chance to tell him yourself,” Keith said, “But first, don’t you want that fuck? That’s what started all of this, right? You wanted me to fuck you? That’s what I am now, someone who can fuck you nice and rough, like you asked for.”

“Please, I don’t want–”

“Who gives a fuck what you want? Interrogations always get me horned up–so you’re gonna get that fuck whether you want it or not.”

He unlocked the handcuffs holding Oliver to the radiator and dragged him into the bedroom, laughing at the small man’s attempt to free himself from his tight grip. He threw him onto the bed, pinned him down, and started forcing his cock into his ass, raw and unlubed. Oliver fought against it and tried to get away, but his fight only seemed to make the fuck better for Keith, who dragged him backward by the hips, impaling him on his massive shaft, inch by inch. Eventually, he gave up, and Keith climbed up, hammering into him, taunting him, checking underneath to see if Oliver was even getting hard–which he was, to Oliver’s own disgust.

“I guess you really do like it rough, you slut–is this really what you fucking wanted all along? Well, you only have yourself to thank for this, you know. The only reason I’m here is because you were stupid enough to think you could cross Pigtown and get away with it. Well don’t worry, slut–we have all night and day tomorrow to play. I’ll give you what you fucking need, plenty of it, and then we’re going to pay Rod a visit, eh? I think you have an apology to give the boss, don’t you?”

He wrapped one massive, hairy arm around Oliver’s throat and hauled him up. Oliver struggled for breath and arched his back as much as possible–his body was raised completely off the bed now, and with one thick hand, Keith reached around, gripped Oliver’s cock in one huge hand, and started tugging on it roughly in time with his own thrusts. He was…close, Oliver realized, and he found himself looking forward to an orgasm at least–but as he crossed over the edge, Keith gripped his cock hard, making him scream, his cum trickling out but ruining the orgasm completely.

“What, you thought you’d be getting another orgasm ever again? You fucking cunt!” Keith laughed, pounding in harder now, shoving Oliver down onto the bed and giving him the full length of his cock for another minute until he unloaded deep inside him. “Fucking whore–you’re mine now, and I’m going to payback the pain you put me through a hundred fold, just you fucking wait,” he said, pulling his cock free. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel Keith’s fist force its way inside him with a pop. He screamed again, but the night was young, and his new master was only just getting started.

It was around nine the next night, that Keith dragged a handcuffed Oliver down the steps and back into Pigtown. The previous day had seemed like they would never end. Keith’s new mind had a never ending capacity for abuse–he would transition seamlessly from fucking, to fisting, to torture and back again in sessions that stretched on for hours. Every time he saw Oliver’s cock rising thanks to the treatment, he would taunt and toy with him, and each and every time he had ruined his orgasm, leaving him shaking, sobbing and hornier than ever, even as exhausted as he was. He was allowed to rest a few times, but never for longer than a couple of hours, and always handcuffed to the bed. He thought about trying to escape…but he was terrified of what might happen if Keith caught him. He’d never met someone like this, and all he really wanted was for all of it to stop. He was thankful when Keith told him it was time to head back to the bar–no matter what Rod might do to him in there as punishment, he was somehow certain that it would be better than this–it had to be, right?

The bar was sparsely occupied when he stumbled in, but behind the bar Rod’s eyes lit up with excitement. “There you two are–I was getting worried.”

“No need to worry about me, boss,” Keith said, dragging Oliver over to the bar.

“You took care of the little shit’s magic whatever?”

“Sure did–some ring from his witch of a grandmother–had a ward of protection or something. Stopped working after he came in here though, and I smashed it for good measure.”

“Good to fucking hear,” Rod said, coming around the bar to where Oliver was standing, “So, what do you think? Is your old boyfriend everything you wanted him to be? You have a good time with him? It sure as fucking hell looks like he enjoyed the shit out of you boy, you look like a piece of shit.”

“Please–please, I’m sorry. I…I was wrong, please just let me go.”

Rod laughed, “Boy, get on your fucking knees.”

Oliver tried to resist, but the magic of the place, the compulsion in Rod’s words, brought him down, his face inches from Rod’s crotch.

“Now see? You broke the rules before, boy. You know what that makes you? It means you’re a lawbreaker. You know what happens to lawbreakers, right? Lawbreakers have to go to prison. And who better to keep an eye on a lawbreaker than a man of the law, like Keith here?” Oliver whimpered a bit, watching Rod massage his growing cock through the front of his grungy jeans. “Yeah–I like that idea a lot, don’t you Keith? You willing to keep an eye on this slut for me?”

Use It or Lose It (Part 12)

He went home after work, horny but so excited at the same time. Part of him could barely believe that he was preparing to actively lose another inch of his cock, but that old part of him was so far away and so small now that it was easy to ignore. He’d cum once on the bus, just from the vibration of the engine, but he went into his bedroom, laid down on his cum crusted sheets, and kept still, feeling the need and desire rising within him. He was impatient and growing desperate, but he made himself lie there for two hours–long enough to feel the curse kick into high gear. Then he got up, shoved one of his favorite rubber fists into his hole, and started fucking himself, expecting to cum in a few minutes–but while his cock quickly reached the edge, it stubbornly refused to shoot. Twenty minutes later, he collapsed back on the bed, drenched with sweat, cock and balls aching to release and yet unable to do so.

He waited fifteen minutes, until he had his breath back, and tried again, but like before it refused to cooperate. Like the last time, he had a distinct sensation that his cock was somehow resisting him. It didn’t want to shrink any further, it wanted to grow again–but he couldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t going back to that old life, he wasn’t going to be some stupid Christian breeder. He was a pig now, a filthy perverted sex pig, and he had no intention of ever being anything else for the rest of his life. Still, after four or five sessions, he still had no luck, and his hunger was increasing. He decided it might be best to take a break, have some dinner, and then see if he could find someone willing to help him out.

Most of his contacts weren’t available–generally everyone had something more important to be doing on a Monday night other than abusing a pig, but Randal was becoming more and more desperate. He had to go to his B-list before he finally found someone willing to come over–a fat, greasy skinhead sadist he’d played with a couple of times, but who was always…too rough for Randal’s tastes. Still, it would work, wouldn’t it? The man wasn’t willing to come over, but he gave Randal his address, and told him to wear nothing other than leather and rubber. He got dressed and set out for the man’s place at around ten in the evening, not even embarrassed that other people were staring at him in his fetish gear–it was more important to get off.

The ride over on the bus only made him hornier–as soon as the skin opened the door, smoking a cigarette in his bleached jeans and rubber vest, Randal was on his knees, begging him for release, that the man could do whatever he wanted to Randal, just as long as Randal came. The master chuckled, and dragged the pig in by the collar, making him service his rangers before getting to work on the pig’s hole.

With two hands buried in up to the elbow, Randal finally came. It felt like a torrent, but Master said, afterwards, that it had only been a few pitiful spurts. Still, the pleasure blooming inside him was so powerful, and Randal was so thankful for the man who’d given it to him. He looked back at the chubby man, and he’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life than his Master, not noticing the scars appearing across his back from whips and chains, the shaved scalp he now had, the tattoos running up and down his arms marking him as a skinpig and slave. He was close now–so close, and after Master had his pleasure, Randal begged him for one last scene–tie the pig down for two hours, make him completely immobile, and then make him cum through any means possible. Do that, Randal said, and he’d be his slave forever.

The man didn’t need much convincing–he forced the pig into a rubber suit and bound him tight for three hours, watching the pig squirm and beg to be released, slowly working his cock while he did, and when he let him free, the pig’s appetite was insatiable. It took hours of abuse before the pig finally came, and when he did, Randal felt his cock squirm and fight, but there was nothing it could do. He’d won. He’d beaten it, finally. He didn’t deserve a cock, he didn’t deserve anything. He was nothing.

When he inspected the area later, while cleaning his wounds, all he found at his crotch now was an old scar. He didn’t remember what it was from, at first, but he recalled in time. His master had always hated how often Randal had jacked off, and so one night, he’d drugged him and while he was asleep, had castrated him and removed his entire cock. He’d protested at the time, but he’d learned soon enough that this was a change for the better. Now, without his own cock as a distraction, all of his energy could be focused on making his Master, and any other man, really, happy. And of course, making them happy was about them abusing the pig in whatever vile, ways they could imagine. He wasn’t a person, not anymore. He wasn’t a pig, either, even if that was his official title. He was an object and a tool. Something men could use to masturbate. That’s what made him happy now, and within a week, the new skinpig couldn’t even remember a life before this one, or having ever been as happy as he was now.

Use It or Lose It (Part 11)

I thought your videos were getting a little one note–this should broaden your horizons. What do you think pig? Think you can manage to lose those last three inches? You don’t really deserve them, do you?

The other notes had all faded from his focus within a few hours; Randal could never quite recall what they’d said, and on the occasion, once or twice, that he’d scrounged around to find one again, he’d never been able to figure out where he’d abandoned them. But as the weekend roared by, from his marathon fisting session on Friday, when Master Max had forced five loads out of him, to his tour of the filthy clubs, bathhouses, bookstores and theaters all over the city until Sunday afternoon, he found the words haunting him. Did he deserve his dick? What did he really deserve? What did he want, and who was he–both before this, and becoming? He could barely grip the shaft anymore–it was a challenge to just wrap three fingers around the head as he was fucked or fisted–but the sensation was so strong that he’d shoot with just five or six firm tugs. He found himself in the bathroom, still in his stinking leathers, smelling of smoke, booze and grease, ass and piss on his tongue, staring at himself. It wasn’t pride that he felt, but it was an acquaintance of pride. A satisfaction.

That afternoon and evening, he abstained. He told himself, at first, that he was doing it to try and save himself, yet again, but most of him knew it was a lie. That if he’d been honest with himself about his true intent, he’d…well, he didn’t know what he’d do. The desire built up–quicker this time, in only a couple of hours–but the wait was…excruciating. He wanted to jack off, but he had to be patient. The reward, or the punishment, would be worth it, he assured himself. What the result would be, however, was a question he was terrified to have answered, but he had to know, all the same.

Once he was certain that the curse was prepared to trigger, he shoved his rubber fist deep into his ass, made sure the camera was on (if he could capture the event, would he post it? Of course he would post it, of course he would, but what would they all think? And would it be easier to believe it all himself?) reached under his gut and stroked. It was hard going, his cock was resisting. Perhaps it didn’t want to shrink more, or perhaps he was losing the will he’d thought would come easily. In the end, it took close to half an hour, and a severe pounding, before he finally emptied a sizable load into his hand. He slurped it, up, feeling the curse’s heat suffusing his body, and again, he grew. He looked at the camera, and waited until he was certain it was finished, and then went into the bathroom.

He was at least 400 pounds now, or perhaps closer to 500. The weight gain was only one change however, even if it was the most obvious. His body hair, which had been steadily decreasing, was now completely gone–his body was smooth, and even the beard he’d grown looked thinner and more wispy than before. The stink wafted around him, like someone who only showered rarely–more rarely than he had been, apparently. He…he felt good, though. It was good, wasn’t it? He certainly felt sexy, looking at the pig he’d become. But then, with some panic, he reached under and discovered he’d grown so large, and his cock so small, that he could no longer reach. He looked around for a note, and found one on the counter:

Becoming a proper pig now, you faggot. Good thing those fatty rolls of yours can get you off better than your hands.

He started swinging back and forth a bit, testing it out, and groaned. The note was right–the feel of the fat rubbing along the shaft and head of his cock was…divine.Just walking back into his room, he found himself close to cumming, and he ended up thrusting into his fat a bit more, and filling his gunt with a load of cum. The camera was still rolling–good. His fan’s loved seeing his hand’s free sessions–of course, most of them were at this point, unless he was using his wand or a vibrator on himself. He checked the camera, but there was no evidence of his change–he was the same obese slob at the beginning of the video as at the end. It was a bit disappointing, but not too much of a loss–he uploaded the whole video, jerked off to the comments for the rest of the evening, and then went to bed.

Work was challenging in new ways, he discovered. Just walking around the school in his jumpsuit was enough to make him cum, and he found he loved the idea of pumping load after load of cum into his pants, right in the hallways of the school, stifling his moans. He felt like a pervert, and yet he couldn’t remember ever being happier in his whole life, than at this moment. He felt…like he was finally becoming the person he’d always been meant to be, a kind of person he’d never considered possible before. He didn’t deserve his dick, he realized. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted one, even as much as he loved masturbating. In this body, the constancy of it was growing tiresome–it was no longer an act he indulged in, it was just a fact of his body in motion–pleasurable, sure, but now somewhat…of a hindrance. He was already planning on losing his next inch that evening. He’d show that witch–of course he didn’t deserve to have a cock, but losing another inch proved harder than he expected.

Use It or Lose It (Part 10)

Staring at himself, watching himself in all of these videos, Randal was puzzled by how muted his own horror was at the sight. Why wasn’t he more disgusted with himself? No–the disgust was there, but it was different than it had been before, from that old life that seemed so distant now. Before, whenever he’d seen a faggot, the disgust had been visceral and stomach churning. The idea of someone doing this to themselves…it seemed like such a perversion of God’s gift, that he would have never been able to tolerate even being in the same room as someone like this. Now, the disgust was there, and just as visceral, but wires had been crossed. He was disgusting, it was true, but now that disgust was wired directly to his cock.

He hadn’t even noticed that the entire time he’d been looking at his own videos, picking some out at random to watch, he’d been jacking off and rocking back and forth on his favorite dildo, reading comments he’d missed, enjoying how people loved to degrade him. This wasn’t him, though. Something was happening to him, or something had happened. His mind had split, or the curse had corrupted it. This didn’t just seem normal anymore, to him–it seemed…preferable. He found himself enjoying this life, and thinking back to who he’d been–that middle aged, hetero jock Christian freak–now that was the thing which terrified him. Why in the world would he want to fuck pussy, when he could spend his time masturbating instead?

Randal forced himself away from the computer, pulled the dildo out of his ass, and went into the bathroom to take a shower. This was the curse too, he realized. This is what that cunt had been talking about. It was going to get harder to climb back out, in part because…because he’d started to lose the will, and the reason, to see why he wanted that life back. The shower worked, but there was no soap to be found–at least rinsing himself off in cold water took a bit of the edge off his horniness, and helped him think straight. He knew he didn’t have the strength to fight this right now–it was late, and he was exhausted. Give it a couple of days, he thought, and then he’d start climbing back out.

So he did his best to keep his desires under control. Work was easiest, though each afternoon one of the male teachers at the school usually hunted him down for a fuck. Randal recorded them all, though secretly, and uploaded them each night. To keep the urges under control, he had to masturbate every two hours or so–even in the middle of the night. He would go to bed around ten, and spend the next half day dozing, waking up to jack off before slipping back into sleep. As controlling as his desires and needs were, he felt…free, all the same. He could be exactly who he wanted to be now–he didn’t have to keep pretending all of the time. Randal had hoped a few days would help clear his head, but instead, the opposite happened–that old him was slipping further and further away. He couldn’t remember his wife’s name, or the faces of his girls. On Friday, he decided to try again–if we went through a weekend like this, by Monday, he doubted that he’d have the will to fight any more.

Thursday night, he refused to jack off while he slept. He called in sick to work, to avoid running into any teachers, and holed up in his apartment, but the boredom became grating. He’d filled his days with so much before this, but now there was only masturbation, porn, and sex. Without that, all he could do was watch TV, and beg the clock to tick a bit faster. His new self was frustrated at first, and then angry and bitter. He argued with himself in the apartment, screaming in the mirror, losing track of what was happening, and gave in Friday afternoon–jacking off with a mix of horror and relief, spraying another huge load–his biggest yet, all over the carpet for the camera, and then licked it up, knowing he’d changed again, but rather than the apprehension he was expecting, he was…excited. After all, it was the weekend! He’d made so many plans, and he couldn’t fucking wait to get started with them all. Tonight, a muscle daddy was coming over for a livecam fisting session with everyone online, and then Saturday and Sunday would be spent at the bars and bathhouses around town, finding as many perverts as he could to service.

He stood up, having finished eating up all his cum, and saw that his grubby clothes from before had disappeared, and it their place was nothing other than a leather harness, a collar, some clamps on his nipples and leather boots. He looked like a freak, but at the same time, he knew he was a sexy pigwhore, and a fucking kinky one at that. Yeah, there wasn’t much which was too extreme for him now–but what turned him on more than anything else was having some sexy fuck fist his ass into oblivion. He reached around and started to pull out his dildo, only to discover that it was substantially larger than the one he’d put in. Instead of being shaped like a cock–like his old cock–this one was a thick fist attached to muscular forearm and elbow. Looking at it…he recognized it. Just like the dildo, it was a copy of his old body from before all of this, when none of this had seemed possible. Would…would that old version of him wanted to rape him? That would have been kind of hot, actually, getting a bit thick daddy, married with kids, so hot and bothered that he’d rape a fat, disgusting pig like him.

There was a knock on the door, and he went to let in his master for the evening. The rubber clad fucker shoved Randal into the bedroom, barely giving the pig time to set up the livestream, before he was on the bed on all fours, the man lubing the pig’s hole up for a good long fisting, Randal already rubbing his three inch cock in eager anticipation. On the computer keyboard, a note had appeared, but he didn’t read it until later:

Use It or Lose It (Part 9)

Around seven, he finished his work and left the building, but the parking lot was empty. He was too poor to afford a car now–he waited for the bus, his cock burning frustrated, already feeling like it was too late. Could he really wait until he got home? Did he have a choice? Was this a life he was willing to accept. He saw a bar nearby…and he knew he could probably go in there, get a drink, and find a rude fucker willing to fuck him, but he didn’t want to be that person. He’d hold it. On the bus, the need only got worse, and by the time he was home, it was clear he’d have to hold out, or he’d lose another inch.

He lived in a different apartment now–smaller than the last, and even more filthy than before. It hardened his resolve–he couldn’t imagine living here for the rest of his life, settling for this. But a new voice piped up in response for the first time, familiar and alien all at the same time. It was him–his voice–but it was a voice from this life. It was insulted at the idea that this life was somehow inferior to the one he might have had before. What was so good about that life? Who wanted to deal with a wife? Who wanted to deal with kids? Here he could jack off all he wanted, he had an easy job that kept him afloat (and a few hot teachers willing to use his hole never hurt either!) What was so bad about this exactly?

Randal knew there were reasons, but they were slipping through his hands like straw. Still–if he jacked off now, things would get worse. He couldn’t let things get worse. At least hold out for another day, regroup, and go from there. What he needed most was a beer, and some food. He’d feel better with something in his belly. He threw a frozen dinner in the microwave and then popped a beer, chugged it, and opened a second, drinking it nearly as fast. By the time he’d finished dinner, he was feeling a solid buzz, his rational voice was spinning, and his body was on it’s way to the bedroom. It needed a good fuck, and he needed to cum–why hadn’t he gone to that damn bar earlier? He would have loved another fuck, but a dildo ride would have to do.

Reason put up a weak resistance, but Randal was in no mood to listen to it. Where had it even gotten him now? That old him–that was the whole reason he was in this mess to begin with! Maybe…maybe he deserved this. He certainly felt like he deserved this. The dildo slid in, his hole still a bit loose from his fuck earlier, and he started groping his cock through his filthy whites, the sensation of the crispy fabric against his cock doing wonders, bringing him closer and closer. There was a grungy mirror in the room, and reason made himself face it, hoping it would bring him back to his senses, but his new voice found the fat bearded slob in the mirror fucking himself on a dildo through a hole in the back of his underwear so sexy that his cock exploded, pumping a huge load into the front of them–and the euphoria! It was the hottest cumshot of his life, somehow, and one of the largest. He rubbed his underwear, getting them good and soaked, and then stripped them off, dildo still in his ass, and sucked the cum out of them for the camera.

It surprised him, for a moment. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, there next to the mirror, but seeing it now, and that red light–fuck, it made him so fucking horny, knowing he was taping himself. He loved taping himself, and later tonight he was going to put on the internet, and show the whole fucking world what a fucking slut he is. He sucked harder, bouncing on the dildo some more, his four inch cock barely visible under his sizable gut, but he wanted to make this one a double–his fans loved his double shots. Yeah, it was coming–his arm was tired, but he could make it, he knew it. He shot the next load into his palm–it was smaller, but he had a sizable pool in it. He got up off the bed and went in for a close up, smearing the cum into his tangled beard for the video, sucking some of it out of his mustache.

“My name is Randal Gray, and I’m a fucking cumpig faggot,” he said, and then turned off the camera.

An hour later, he was in front of his computer, his newest video uploaded, still fucking himself silly and jacking off, watching the views start to climb–watching the humiliating and degrading messages come pouring in. Part of him was absolutely horrified by this, but why should he care? Soon enough, that old him wasn’t going to matter anymore, right? No–this was the way things should be. He was a faggot–a weak willed, masturbation addicted faggot who craved humiliation and a well fucked hole all day long. He came another couple of times, before the old Randal could take over again, before reason conquered lust for the moment, and he could look on in horror at his online legacy.

There were hundreds of videos here, all of them featuring him. About a third of them were videos of him getting fucked by men who at first appeared to be strangers, but as he saw them, contexts began to fill there way in: men from the apartment complex, a couple of teachers from the school (including a couple with Mr. Jones), and plenty of hookups from bars around the city and online. Most of the others were just him fucking himself with various dildos and jacking off, usually while humiliating himself and begging others to expose him far and wide, to spread his pictures and videos all over the world, to show him off as the faggot pig he was born to be.

Use It or Lose It (Part 8)

“I said get up, you stupid pig!”

The janitor grabbed the front of Randal’s shirt and hauled him up from his chair. He was surprised by how strong the young man was–he could remember being that strong once, but now, he…he was so weak. Mr. Jones slapped him across the face, and the sting of it–fuck, he needed him. Needed his cock more than anything else now, there was no denying it. “Sorry–I…please just fuck me, please…” he moaned, ashamed at the simper in his voice, the desperation. The least he could do was not beg for it, but after he’d dropped his pants to the floor, the janitor teased him, sliding the spit-slick cock up and down his crack.

“What do you need–I wanna hear you say it pig.”

Don’t say it, don’t fucking say it, he thought to himself, but his mouth was already open, words spewing out and making his face burn red, “Please sir, please fuck my ass sir! Fuck me, make me moan, make me fucking cum! Show me what a real man fucks like, please, I need it so bad, sir…”

“Yeah, that’s what I like to fucking hear,” the janitor said, and slipped the head in, making Randal’s breath catch.

One hand started to reach for his own cock, but he kept it away–the janitor wouldn’t last for very long, not as horny as he was–if he could just outlast him and restrain himself, then he still had a chance. The rest of the shaft slid into Randal’s loose hole easily, and even if it was a bit smaller than his dildo, it felt so much…better than rubber. The heat inside him, the throbbing flesh, knowing that someone else was penetrating him, ruining him, owning him. His cock leaked a stream of precum onto the floor under his desk, but still he resisted, even as the janitor picked up the pace, his own breath starting to quicken.

“What’s the matter pig? You’re not stroking off–I thought you wanted to cum?” the janitor said, slowing down slightly.

“I just…just fuck me sir, that’s what I really need.”

“Now don’t get me wrong, faggot, I’m perfectly happy to fuck you, but I just don’t think you’re enjoying yourself properly. You’re too tense. Where’s the pig I saw yesterday? The squealer and moaner? He’s the one I want to fuck.”

“Quit talking and just fuck me already! Fill my fucking hole!” Randal was frustrated, and immediately he knew he’d reacted poorly…and the worst thing happened. The janitor pulled his cock out, and his entire body quaked with need. The only thing worse, apparently, than not getting fucked, was a fuck denied.

“Well if that’s the attitude you’re going to give me, I think I’ll fucking pass.”

“No! Wait! I’m sorry, don’t go, I…I want it…” What was he saying, he asked himself. This is what had to happen–this would keep him from cumming! Just let him go, he told himself, but his body couldn’t bear it. “I need it, I’m sorry, please, I’m just…just a dumb faggot, please don’t leave…”

The man slipped the head back in, and Randal thanked him. “Jack that cock–show me you’re enjoying this. I wanna fuck that horny pig, not a fucking statue.”

Maybe it wouldn’t count, he told himself as he stroked his cock, moaning and grunting and begging Mr. Jones to fuck him harder and deeper, losing himself to the pleasure of the moment. He wasn’t…really masturbating, right? This was sex! He was with someone else, so maybe…maybe it wouldn’t count. It was the only hope he had left, because he could feel it building in his balls. The janitor came, filling his ass with his seed, and with a loud moan Randal started unloading another massive load all over the floor under the desk, and while he felt a bit dizzy…maybe things hadn’t gotten worse after all. Maybe he’d tricked it.

Mr. Jones pulled his cock out, and Randal stood up straight, reached down to pull up his pants…but they weren’t the pants he’d put on this morning. The shirt was wrong too. The dark blue uniform he had on now–it was the uniform the janitors at the school wore. Stomach knotted, already feeling the new reality seeping into his mind, he turned around and faced the new Mr. Jones–the young, athletic health teacher and wrestling coach, pushing his thick cock into the front of his khakis and carefully tucking in his polo. “Well pig? Don’t you have some cleaning to do now? That is your job, right?”

It was now, but it didn’t have to be. He could still fight this, he could, but his body crawled under the desk and sucked his cum up from the carpet–but not because he’d been told to, he thought. He was doing it because he wanted to, because no cum should be wasted, ever! That would teach the cocky fuck. Five minutes later, he was back to his cart, getting ready to clean the rest of the offices while Mr. Jones packed up the rest of his supplies and left, taking the remnants of Randal’s life with him. Along the way, at his old desk, he found a note:

“Down to five now–halfway gone. It’s probably best we limit your interaction with children, considering your preoccupations. Certainly the old you would have agreed. You should probably just accept this, you know, it’s only going to get much worse from here.”

He crushed it and threw it in his bin, angry…but maybe the note was right. Still, he could worry about that later–he still had hours of cleaning left to do, but in less than an hour, he needed to cum again…and he didn’t dare resist it. He didn’t have the strength, not right now, but without his dildo, he’d have to improvise. The handle of the toilet brush wasn’t…perfect, but it proved to be good enough.

Use It or Lose It (Part 7)

The one thing that didn’t change at all, however, after a day without masturbating, was how horny he was. By the time he got home, it was even more intense than it had been the day before. He’d hoped, at least, that as the curse wore off the urge would dissipate as well–but it appeared that things were going to get harder before they would get any easier. Still, he managed the evening well enough, in the same way he’d done the day before–taking a long walk around the neighborhood–which was much easier now without an extra hundred pounds to lug around–stopping at a restaurant for dinner, and then going back home for an early bed.

Trouble came in the night. His dreams were vivid and filled with men. Sexy men. Cocks in his mouth, cocks in his ass. He was lost. It was too late by the time he began to struggle awake, and realized how close he was to cumming. “No!” he said to himself, desperate trying to will his hand off his cock, “No–not now, not after getting this far, you will…you are not–”

His objections dissolved into moans as his body unloaded a massive amount of cum all over his body and his sheets. A minute later, his body was back to the way it had been–a hundred pounds heavier, no body hair, reeking of cum…and as much as he hated it, the relief at finally releasing his load flooded through his body like lemonade on a summer day. Still, he hated himself. He’d managed to crawl one rung back up the ladder, and he’d lost it almost as quickly. Still–if he’d managed to do it once, he could do it again–at least he’d get a better night’s sleep this time.

In the morning, he checked the nightstand and saw the dildo had reappeared, good as new, but left it there. He didn’t even dare touch it, not as horny as he was. The morning went well enough, and by lunch he knew he’d passed the point of no return–he was either going to climb back up, or fall down yet another rung. It was clear that he was going to have to be smart about this, and so he started planning things out. So long as he managed to go two days–and reverse two sets of changes–he could afford to slide back. It wasn’t ideal, but two steps forward and one step back would have to do. In less than a week, he’d be back with his wife–and as long as he fucked her regularly, he’d be home free!

The day wore on. He was impatient with his students. They no longer respected him, now that he was a fat slob, and not the commanding sort of muscle pig he’d been before. Fuck, he could use a muscle pig fucking his old right about now…if only his dildo hadn’t left it at home! He snapped out of his fantasy, and refocused. At last, school was out, but Randal lingered in his office, twiddling his thumbs. It seemed harder today than it had the day before, and his dildo was there at home, waiting for him. He couldn’t face it, not yet. He worked on some lesson planning instead, playing with himself gently as he did–it seemed to help, though it did make him leak into his underwear.

“Not even bothering to slip into the bathroom today, eh Mr. Gray?”

The voice made him jump, and he spun around in his chair to find Mr. Jones, the janitor, behind him. He was younger, probably in his thirties, and not particularly attractive…though from the bulge in his uniform pants, it was clear he had plenty to work with.

“Like what you see, Mr. Gray?”

His eyes snapped up. “N-No…No, I…I think you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken, Mr. Gray. You slip off all day long into the bathroom. I can hear you, moaning. Watched you just yesterday, after than meeting, how you fucked yourself silly. Busted a load myself, listening to a slut like you! I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Gray–and that no one else is. I can offer you a real cock this afternoon instead, right here at your desk.”

The young man zipped down his fly, letting his seven inch cock out for air–no underwear to be seen. It smelled musky and ripe, but as delicious as it probably was, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t afford this, not right now. “I…maybe…I can’t, not right now…” he muttered, but the young man stepped forward, pushing the head to Randal’s lips, and they parted easily, his tongue slipping out for a taste, and he moaned.

“Don’t be a fucking tease–I know what you want.”

More of his cock slipped into his mouth, and he moaned around the shaft.

“Yeah, I know what you need, you old faggot.”

He sucked harder, getting it good and wet, his ass clenching and hungry for a taste as well. His cock was leaking more, and was hard as a rock–if he kept this up, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. Maybe he could salvage this–after all, if he came without jacking himself off, it wouldn’t count, right? He pulled away from the cock, and trying to sound as seductive as possible, he said, ”Suck me off first, then you can fuck me all afternoon.”

“Hell no!” Mr. Jones said, “I’m not some fucking faggot. You’re just a hole–now get up, and bend over that desk–this thing has a date with that ass of yours. I might not be as big as that dildo of yours, but I think I can make you moan like yesterday all the same.”

Use It or Lose It (Part 4)

He didn’t sleep much that night. Something was happening to him–but all of the changes felt so natural, that he found himself happily accepting them, even though in his heart, he knew this wasn’t right. That his life, in a matter of days, had crumbled to pieces. He’d been a successful, happy father, a good Christian man, a pillar of the community–and now, who was he? An overweight slob, reeking of cum, paying men to fuck him, masturbating all day long like a pervert. How had it come to this? He thought of the notes, trying to pin them down, wondering who could have sent them–and he remembered that cunt from school, that afternoon, the concerned mother. She had been complaining about his lie, about masturbating–and now, it was coming true…sort of. It didn’t make sense, actually. Whenever he jacked off regularly, nothing happened to him, but as soon as he tried to resist, he’d have one of those…intense episodes, and afterwards everything would be worse than before! So what should he do? Should he keep jacking off like a freak, or should he resist and fight back? He couldn’t let this get any worse, but he also couldn’t just…accept this as his life either. There had to be some way back, right? But how?

He was certain God could help. God had always been there, guiding him. He’d been successful because of his belief–he’d always felt that, in his heart and soul, that God would never turn his back on him. He’d allowed himself to be led astray, but no more. He’d confess–he’d admit what he’d done, and he would ask for help and guidance. It would be hard, but he’d do it–there was simply no other option for him. So he abstained in the night. He got up early, and found a third note on the table when he entered the kitchen:

“Seven inches left. I don’t think you need to trouble women anymore, Randal. In fact, maybe it’s time you learned what it feels like to be used.”

He crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash, containing his anger as best he could. He focused on making a good breakfast and then exercised to keep his mind off his growing need. He got dressed in the nicest clothes he could find, and drove to the megachurch where he’d always attended services–but where before everyone had known him by name…now, he was a stranger.

He sat through the service, and found himself growing restless. He’d never had a problem paying attention before, but his cock was demanding–he could tell that it had passed the point of no return again–if he gave in now…things would only get worse once more. The fear was enough to keep his hands at bay–he sat on them. When the service was over, he went down to the head pastor, a friend from another life.

“Benjamin–it’s me, it’s Randal. Can I speak to you, please, in your office?”

Benjamin looked at Randal, confused. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t…do I know you? I don’t think we’ve had a chance to speak yet. You must be new here.”

Randal bit his lip, embarrassed. “Yes–this is my first time. But can I…speak to you? Alone perhaps?”

“I have office hours every weekday in the afternoon. I’d be happy to speak to you then, Randal.”

“Please! Today, it’s urgent. I’m…in a crisis, and I don’t know who else to talk to about it.”

“But we don’t even know–”

“Please, sir…please…” Randal felt an odd tingle at the word ‘sir’ but ignored it. It was enough to sway Benjamin at least, and the pastor led Randal back into his office, and shut the door.

“Now, what did you need to speak about?”

Randal let it all come pouring out. How he had fallen over the last few days, how he’d given into temptation. How he’d abused his body, how things had only gotten worse, how he’d allowed a man to fuck him and use him–and then paid him for the pleasure. He was about to ask for guidance from Benjamin, when he saw the sneer on his one-time friend’s face, and froze.

“You faggots–you’re all the fucking same,” Benjamin spat, “You aren’t misled–you’re fucking broken. There’s no helping you.”

Of course, Benjamin had never been kind to homosexuals and their agenda from the pulpit, but the words, now directed at himself, stung Randal in ways he couldn’t explain. “I’m trying…to ask for help. Please.”

“There’s no helping freaks like you,” Benjamin said, and stood up, “Here–let me show you.” He dropped his pants, and revealed his cock, half hard. Randal couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “See? This is all you care about. You could never love God the way you love cock. Now make yourself actually useful, and stop wasting my time.”

Randal tried to object, but somehow he still ended up on his knees, his old pastor’s cock slamming into his throat. It didn’t take long before Benjamin fed him a load, and then slapped him across the face.

“Now get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you in here again, I’ll call the fucking police.”

And so, Randal left the office, but didn’t make it out of the building. Instead, he ran right for the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and started masturbating furiously. Benjamin was right. There wasn’t going to be any salvation here, not for him. It had felt too good, feeling that warm cock in his mouth, the taste of that cum! He was a faggot–a disgusting worthless cock hungry faggot! It was a few minutes before he finally exploded–he caught as much of his load in his hand and guzzled it back, feeling a heat in his gut as it expanded, packing on even more weight as his muscles began to recede again. When he left, he barely recognized himself in the mirror–but he didn’t bother washing his hands. He didn’t…want to look too closely, and so he didn’t see the full scope of changes until he got home half an hour later.

Use It or Lose It (Part 3)

He jacked off when he woke up the next morning, later than he would have ever before, in that old life. It was so distant now, that he could barely recall any of it–not even the names of his wife and daughters. No–in this life, he’d lived as a perpetual bachelor. He’d been in a few relationships over the years, but he’d never found them particularly satisfying, and few women had been able to put up with his rather brutish behavior. The church had receded from his life–he no longer attended with any regularity–but the misogyny had remained unhindered. If anything, it had intensified.

Still, as the day progressed, with no company beyond his thoughts and his hand, there was restlessness, and there was shame. What was he doing with himself, on a Saturday, just sitting in his apartment, jacking off over and over again? He needed to get out, he decided. It had been a while since he’d last fucked a broad–some company would be a nice change, he supposed. Through the afternoon he resisted the urge to keep jacking off and felt better for doing so, for demonstrating he still had some willpower, at least. By seven he was good and horned up, he got in his car and headed for a nearby bar where he had a bit of a reputation as a regular.

The drinking was new, but he hadn’t noticed the shift. Before, he’d never been much of a drinker, considering it to be a sign of weakness to rely on alcohol. On the weekends, he might have the occasional glass of whiskey, but nothing beyond that. Now, however, he bellied up to the bar and started hammering back beers. He told himself he wouldn’t drink too much–just enough to help him loosen up around the women. Still, as soon as he started striking out with every woman he chatted up, three drinks became six, and he was lost. He was so fucking horny, that he thought about slipping off to the bathroom to jack off quickly, but that would amount to admitting defeat. No–he might not be able to get a woman to want to sleep with him, but he could at least pay someone, right? There were a couple…regular woman he slept with on occasion, who were willing to tolerate him for slightly inflated rates. He got back in his car and drove home, went inside and placed a call–the sensual woman on the other end promised to be there in half an hour, but that seemed like forever, suddenly.

His cock was raging like the day before, and the intensity was only increasing. He started stroking, telling himself he was just going to edge himself for a moment, to make sure he could stay hard for the bitch who’d be arriving soon, but the heat of it was too much. Still, he was sweating and panting by the time he finally managed to push himself over the edge, the world lurching around him as his cock exploded, coating his belly and chest with a massive load of cum, leaving him panting and heaving in the mess, head spinning, and feeling like an idiot. How was he supposed to perform now? The whore would be here any minute, and he’d just shot his wad!

There was a knock at the door–heavier than he would have expected from a woman’s hand. Shit–should he just tell her to forget it? He’d probably still have to give her some fucking money, or she’d throw a fit. Not bothering to clean himself up–forgetting, in fact, that he was coated in his own cum–he went and answered the door, but his mouth went agape when he saw the older man on the other side of the door. He was so shocked, first, because he hadn’t expected a man, and second, because the man was so…damn sexy, and he’d never once thought that of a man before in his life.

Or had he? At the sight, he suddenly couldn’t remember being with many women before this. Or…any women, really. “Hey daddy–looks like someone got a bit too excited already.”

Randal blushed, “I…yeah, I don’t think I’ll…be needing anything tonight, actually.”

“Oh, but daddy–we both know what you need more than that, don’t we?” he said, stepping inside, pulling Randal into him, squeezing his ass and making him moan, “Yeah–it’s my cock you need, right daddy?”

Randal tried to object, but his body was like putty in the man’s hand. They ended up in the bedroom, Randal bent over the side of the bed while the man slid his cock up and down his crack. He should say no. He didn’t want this, did he? It didn’t matter–as soon as the whore was inside him, the pleasure of it wiped away all doubts he might have felt, and he was begging for it, shoving back, demanding the young hunk seed daddy’s dirty hole. The whore was more than willing, and fifteen minutes later he was on his way, two hundred dollars richer, and Randal was feeling the cum leak from his ass while he stroked his cock off again, unable to believe what he’d just done–but he’d needed it, right? He needed to get fucked, almost as much as he needed to jack off. He tried to convince himself it was a lie, that he’d called a woman, that he’d been married before all of this, but none of that even seemed possible anymore. No–he was a faggot. A faggot who loved to get fucked. A faggot willing to pay to get fucked by a nice, massive cock.

A cock like he’d had, once. He could remember that better, his ten inch tool–but now it was just seven. He wasn’t imagining it, it really was getting smaller–still larger than average, but for how much longer? Was it because he was jacking off too much? It had to be. He’d stop–he’d get help. He’d go to church tomorrow, and talk to someone. They would have to remember him, right?

Use It or Lose It (Part 1 & 2)

Sorry for the missed post yesterday! Today’s will be a double to make up for it.

“You told my son that masturbation will make his penis shrink, and you’re accusing me of being immature?” she said, resisting the urge to shriek, but losing to her anger at Mr. Randal Gray, the health teacher and wrestling coach sitting across from her. “I thought your job is to educate our children, not flat out lie to them!”

“Ms. Eleway,” he said, emphasizing the fact that the mother had no weding ring, and without a man, no real standing in his eyes, “The bible is clear that masturbation, and lust, are sins. Sex and ejaculation are for procreation, not recreation! A little fib here and there is worth the preservation of innocence, in my eyes. Besides, it’s motivation! The only men who need to masturbate are worthless lazy slob who are too ugly to get any action–is that who you want your son to be?”

“This is a public school–it’s facts that matter, not your fucking beliefs!” she seethed, “I’ll fucking report you to the school board.”

Mr. Gray scoffed, and leaned back, flexing slightly against the polo he wore. “Well before you do, maybe sit on a nice thick cock, you fucking cunt,” he said, groping himself, “because that’s obviously what you need to sort your issues out.”

She glared at him, and stalked off. She was bluffing–they almost always were bluffing. And if they did call the school board? Well, half of them attended the same massive chruch he did–things would get swept under the rug as usual. God always wins in the end. It was improper of him to use such coarse language at a woman, but she had cursed at him first, and more importantly, she fucking deserved it.

Thankfully, the rest of the teachers’ communal office space was empty, aside from a few stragglers, so there had been no witnesses. Randal packed up his gear and headed towards the gym–the bitch had made him late for practice on top of everything else, and he believed in setting a good example for the youth. After all, masturbation didn’t actually shrink your cock, but abstinance was still best–goodness, he jacked off one a year at most–and that was plenty. Of course, his wife put out every night like a good christian slut should, so it wasn’t like he was lacking in action. He ran the young men a bit harder than usual, to make up for his tardiness, and then went home. He felt an odd shiver up his spine after dinner, while playing with one of his daughter’s, but forgot about it by the time he and his wife went to bed. He fucked her slower than usual, making her moan properly around his ten inch cock–thinking about that bitch from earlier while he did. He came in deep, and then pulled out. She rolled away, not expecting Randal to do anymore for her, and he fell asleep quickly–only to wake up again a few hours later with a raging hardon.

Still, that was no problem–he had a cunt to fuck after all. He tried to rouse her, but she was deep asleep, and the way she was curled up didn’t allow for…easy use. He rolled back over, determined to just ignore it, but the desire only grew. He reached down, and found himself fondling it, wondering how long it had been since he’d last jacked off. Months, at least, if not a year. What was the harm, really, in a little self pleasure? Still, heaven forbid his wife should hear him–he slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and on the toilet he stoked himself. It took longer than he’d expected it to, but it felt wonderful–better than the sex he’d been having lately. She’d taken to being a dead fish, uninterested in him, just…letting him do his business. But his hand…knew him, somehow. Stifling a groan, he exploded. He wasn’t prepared for the size of it, as it shot across the small room and splattered on the wall opposite the toilet. He felt…good. Sleepy as well, and a bit exhausted, sure, and a little…wore out? It was hard to describe, exactly.

He got off the toilet and cleaned up his mess with some wads of toilet paper, and flushed away the evidence, before going to the sink to wash his hands. In the mirror…something seemed off about his reflection. As a gym teacher, he’d always kept his body in solid form, even as he’d gotten older. He’d crossed fifty a few years back, and had only resolved to work harder…but it seemed like some of his gains had disappeared. His gut was bigger, and looked to be more of a potbelly. His arms lacked definition as well, and his chest was flabby. His smooth face looked unshaven, and his hairline had receded more than he recalled. He dried his hands and stared at himself, certain he’d looked better earlier. Still, he’d get himself back into shape–he’d done it before. That, or maybe age was just finally catching up to him. He went back to bed, and the worries didn’t stop him from sleeping–he awoke the next day, and while his appearance hadn’t improved in the night, it at least seemed more…normal to him. What wasn’t normal, was that he was horny again.

Of course, being horny wasn’t an issue itself–Randal was horny often. But what he wanted…was to jack off again. In the shower, he tried to resist, but couldn’t stop himself. The load wasn’t as powerful as the one before, in the night, but it also didn’t leave him feeling tired like that one had either. He was a bit worried, when he got out, that he’d…be different again, but nothing had changed–though he did notice one more thing. Stroking himself in the shower, his cock had seemed…off, and sure enough, when he measured it, it was shorter than before–nine inches, instead of ten. Still, he could worry about that later–he was running late. He got his clothes on, surprised how well they fit despite his body being so off his usual form, and headed to school for another day.

He got to his desk and set down his things, but found an odd note on the desk, written in careful script on a blank piece of parchment:

One inch down. Keep up your new habit, or what you teach will keep coming true.

Randal looked around, but none of the other teachers were looking at him. He asked a few, if they’d seen someone leave anything on his desk, but the early arrivers hadn’t seen anyone come or go since they’d gotten in. What could the note mean? It was probably just some weird prank by some of the kids at school. He threw the note in the trash, and got ready for the day. Still, he found himself…getting hornier throughout the day, and once at lunch, and again after school, before practice, he slipped into the bathroom and jacked off again. He was starting to become a bit…worried, actually. This wasn’t healthy–he didn’t need to jack off, he had a wife to fuck, right? Still, he couldn’t resist the urge, once more in the evening, and when he and his wife climbed into bed–it was the first time in months that they didn’t have sex. He just…didn’t feel like it, and from the way she’d been looking at him, so disinterested, it was clear that she had no interest either.

It kept him up at night, all the same. It was his Christian duty, wasn’t it? Best to nip this habit right in the bud–no more jacking off. It had been a mistake to give into temptation the night before, but he was strong. His cock wasn’t going to control him! He did manage to fall asleep again, and slept soundly through the night, but when he woke up, his cock was erect…and plenty eager. He tried to suggest a morning round of sex with his wife, but she insisted that she had to be at work early. He chastized her for refusing him, but she just blew him off–the reaction stunned him. No one treated him like that, especially not his own wife! They fought that morning, and he insisted she was going to fuck him that evening, or else. She left, he moped–thought about jacking off, but resisted the urge. He was going to save it for the bitch later, he told himself.

It was Friday, and Randal was as distracted as his students–though for different reasons. He’d managed fairly well through the morning, but by lunchtime, his horniness had grown…insistant. He’d tried to find ways to stand in front of the class to disguise his tent, but he’d heard a couple of snickers–after an uncomfortable lunch, he taught the afternoon classes from his desk, to avoid further embarrassment. There was no practice that afternoon, at least, but after packing his things at his desk, he’d decided he couldn’t stand it any longer. One quick shot wasn’t going to do any harm, certainly. In the bathroom, he wrapped his hand around his cock, and once again…the experience was different than usual. It was like that first time, the day before last in the middle of the night. His cock wasn’t simply eager–it was almost aflame with desire. As quiet as he was trying to be, he couldn’t help but release a few moans into the air, but as quick as he tried to make the session, it dragged on. His cock seemed to rest on the edge forever, but finally he managed to push himself over the edge, a load even larger than that first one spilling out of him, onto the stall door, onto the tile floor. He was left sitting, shaking, feeling like an earthquake had passed through him.

Still–he’d needed that, apparently more than he’d realized. Cleaning up as best he could with the single ply the school provided, he left the stall…afraid to look at himself in the mirror when he washed his hands, but nothing seemed to have changed. His stubble was a bit thicker, perhaps, but beyond that, everything looked…normal to him. Happy, he gathered up his things, got in his car and drove off, but as he did, he found himself growing more and more confused. His hands, and his memories–they weren’t taking him where he was supposed to be going, or at least not to the home he could recall with his wife and three daughters. Instead they drove him to a rundown apartment complex in a much cheaper part of town, and parked in a covered spot, like he belonged here.

But he didn’t belong here, right? He got out with his things, still not completely in control of himself, but unable to explain how he knew that, and walked up to one of the buildings, to the second floor, and there, on one of the doors, was a parchment note, similar to the one he’d received the day before:

“Two inches gone–and quite a bit more this time. If you keep resisting, things will only get worse. Don’t worry, your wife and daughters will have a much happier life without you, and you only need your hand now, right?”

He fumbled with his keys–the house key he’d had was gone, replaced by another, which opened the door in front of him. Inside, he found…his apartment. An apartment he could suddenly recall perfectly, as those other memories of a house and a family began to dissolve like a dream. The air was stale, and there was another smell too, that he knew he should be able to recall, but couldn’t. Still, it couldn’t be real–what was happening to him? He looked for the note on the door, but it had disappeared, and his terror was relaxing as well. He was home, right? Shouldn’t he feel…comfortable?

He shut the door, and stripped off his clothes–down to his underwear. That was better–he liked being alone after all–no one to worry about impressing. Plus he could jack off whenever he wanted! That had to be a plus, right? In fact, he was pretty horny right now. He sat down in his recliner and pulled out his cock, to stroke it. This was wrong–he knew this was wrong. The shame was there, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from shooting a load all over his gut. He wiped it off…and noticed something else, as his cock started to soften. It was shorter–again. Eight inches now, when he measured it later. Still, it seemed normal enough that perhaps he was mistaken. He jacked off another couple of times, and then fell asleep in his bed, alone.