I Dream of Bacchus (Part 7)

He hid the truth from his roommate for as long as he could. He had some savings at least–if he managed it well, he’d be able to scrape by for a couple of months at least. He pretended to go to work each morning, and then would usually head for the liquor store, buy some fortified wine, and then sit in a park for most of the day, sleeping on a park bench. He felt most at home there–close to the trees, playing with the beasts, demanding they fuck his holes, and the beasts were all too happy to oblige. In the afternoon or evening, he’d return home and watch Jared get fucked by a guy or two, and then sleep–it was as close as he could get to an ideal life, he supposed, but it came to a crashing end, when Jared found a notice that they were behind on rent–Raury had skipped a payment in order to pay Jared–watching him get fucked was more important, right?

He’d had to tell him the truth, Jared was furious–Raury tried to console him. He could find another job, right? He’d be able to keep paying him, if he was just patient–but Jared stormed into his room, packed a bag of things, and said he was moving out.

“I don’t even know why I live with a disgusting fuck like you–I get offers from guys every day of the week to live with them, and at least they wouldn’t disgust me on a daily basis. If I ever fucking see you again, you’re going to fucking regret it.”

Raury pleaded with him, got on his knees and begged. “Please! I..I need you Jared, you’re all I have left. If I didn’t have you, I…I think I’d go insane, please, you can’t leave me!”

It was the truth. Jared was the only person he felt a connection to anymore. He spent the rest of his time speaking to beasts that were only real to him–everyone in the park assumed he was a lunatic, and he’d nearly gotten arrested the week before, when he’d mistaken a policeman on horseback for an especially handsome centaur, and begged the beast to fuck him. But he knew Jared was real–he was the only thing holding him here. If he didn’t have that, then who even was he?

“You’re ours, our Bacchus!” he heard the beasts shout around him. They had appeared in the apartment around them, and Raury looked around in horror, “You only need us, Bacchus, we’ll keep you happy, we promise.”

Jared stepped around him, and Raury grabbed him around the knees. He kicked him off, leaving him with a bleeding nose, and then left–slamming the door shut behind him, abandoning Raury to the beasts around him, who began to close into a ring.

“You don’t need him.”

“We’re all you need, all you want.”

“We make you happy, only we know what you need, Bacchus.”

“No!” Raury shouted, sending them all scattering back, “Him! I need him! The rest of you all get away from me, get away!” by the time he’d finished shouting, the beasts had disappeared, and all he felt instead, was loneliness–he hefted himself up, got a bottle of wine and chugged it, and chased it with another–with a couple of hours he was passed out on the couch, and again, found himself in a dream.

It had been months since he’d last experienced one so vivid. The smell of the forest, of the loam–it was welcoming, and yet, he couldn’t suppress the terror welling up in him. He wouldn’t be able to resist them for long–he knew this, but somehow, the loss of Jared had brought back some of his old sense of self. This…wasn’t the way things were supposed to be–it was Aarin’s fault, he had done this to them both, he’d cursed them. If he could just find him, maybe there was a way for him to fix this, to make it right for them both. He hadn’t really wanted to hurt anyone, with his cheating; he’d just cared more about his own satisfaction than anything else–but he could change, couldn’t he?

His feet were dragging him closer to the center of the woods now, and he could see the flicker of the beasts’ bonfires, the sound of their warped, jittery tunes. Even at his current size in this strange realm–at least 500 pounds, if not larger, rolls upon rolls of fat falling off him, he felt lighter than air, and he began to dance and skip as he approached the circle, though he hardly felt like dancing at all. The beasts were waiting; he took his honored place in the midst of them, lounging upon his pillows and carpets, expecting to be taken immediately as usual–but this was different. It wasn’t that the beasts were angry with him–but they seemed…nervous. There were fewer of them than usual, as well–he’d learned their names and forms at this point, and several of the more powerful satyrs were missing from the circle.

“We want you to be happy, Bacchus.”

“Happy with us!”

“If we do this, you have to stay, you have to become ours, forever, beyond the contract.”

Contract? He didn’t know what that meant, but before he could ask, he heard the sound of pipes, and a moment later, the missing satyrs came skipping into the clearing, and following them dancing along with the tune, was Jared. His face seemed sleepy, eyes unfocused–what was he doing here? Raury looked around, expecting Aarin to appear as well, but no one else came.

“He can be yours Bacchus.”

“We can make him yours! He will desire only you, like all of us.”

“Like us! Like us!”

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 6)

Raury was, in many ways, a sugar daddy–although he knew that if he so much as touched his young roommate, there would be hell to pay. No, Raury paid the rent, the utilities, the bills, the food–and in exchange, Jared had sex with as many men as he wanted, and gave Raury the occasional privilege of watching them fuck. It wasn’t easy–in this new life, Raury was no longer a high level executive, but just some middle manager with a greatly reduced salary, but if Jared demanded, then he found himself helpless–he’d pay anything to make him happy, even though it wounded him to know that he should be the one making Jared scream–but that was a different life now, and he had a feeling he’d never have the opportunity to get back.

Still, he sought out Aarin, tried to apologize, but the gypsy lover had since moved on to some other city, and hadn’t bothered to leave a forwarding address. Still, it would have been…manageable, he supposed, if it weren’t for his other job, the one in his dreams. At first, the time with the beasts was a welcome respite from his new life, and he’d often look forward to his nights spent in the wood with them, finding some small measure of comfort in how much the animals adored him, how they’d use him as a vessel for their pleasure, but where before he had still felt somewhat removed from them, after that final ceremony with Aarin and Jared, the link between them had intensified somehow. At first it was small changes, barely noticeable, but in time, he found himself losing his grip on reality in ways he could barely explain.

The woods simple seemed so much more real to him, after that ceremony. Even in the dark, the colors were more vibrant in the bonfirelight, the sounds clearer in the silence of the trees, the sensation of the beasts’ flesh against him more pressing than anything he’d felt with a human–well, perhaps anyone other than Jared. Every dream he could recall in immaculate detail, but his time in the waking world began to fade. He struggled to recall conversations and events from a week prior, and soon he was struggling to even feel present in the moment. The real world felt like the dream–without reason or logic, without pleasure. The only moments where he felt the world push back was when he was watching Jared get fucked–but even then, it only felt real because of the great pain they caused him still.

In the dreams, his body continued to change–it wasn’t long before he was cresting six or seven hundred pounds, reeking of manure and livestock, hair coating his entire body, feeling more and more like a beast himself. His waking form continued to disgust him, but now it was because he wasn’t as extreme as he desired, but no matter how much he tried to change himself–no matter how much he binged and drank and refused to shower–he no longer seemed to change at all. No, it was only when he was sleeping that he ever felt like himself–that he felt like he belonged.

His work started to suffer, and he was written up several times for falling asleep at his desk. He knew it should worry him, but the world no longer bore any real consequence for him. He didn’t exist here, in this office, in this city–not truly. No, his life, his reality was elsewhere now. This was now just a shadow, or a ghost, or a placeholder left over from some other world. It didn’t help matters when he noticed that the beasts were beginning to force themselves into his waking life as well. At first it was just the occasional sound, or the strong scent of musk, but soon satyrs would appear beside him at work, urging him to sleep, to come play with them, to let them serve their Bacchus. No one else could see them, but for Raury, they were fully real–so real that even when he sampled their cocks, on his knees in his cubicle, it tasted like he was there, and he’d quickly nod off for a quick fuck in the clearing.

Still, like all dreams, it didn’t seem possible that it might ever end. The constant days spent in the office melded together into a timeless mash. The men streaming into Jared’s room were endless instances of some faceless horde. How had he allowed himself to become trapped in such a nightmare? Why couldn’t he figure out how to stay home in the forest, in his real body, with his real servants, in his real life? He’d become so convinced that nothing would ever change, that when his boss finally called him into his office to tell Raury that he was being let go, it took the man three repetitions before Raury finally grasped what he was saying.

“You mean…I can go? I don’t have to come here anymore?” He grinned, “Oh god, I thought I was going to have to keep coming here forever!”

His boss just stared at him. “If you were so unhappy, then why didn’t you just quit?”

“I…I guess it just didn’t occur to me that I could do that,” Raury said, a bit bewildered himself. There was some reason he needed to have a job, right? He was certain there was something to that, but he was so happy he wouldn’t have to come back here again, that he decided to worry about that later. Instead, he cleaned out his desk in an hour, and hurried home–eager for a nice long nap–but when he arrived early and saw Jared, he realized why the job had mattered–how was he going to pay for Jared, if he didn’t have a job?

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 4)

How much did Terrance like football? Not at all. In fact, Terrance hated football. He hated most sports, in fact. But within a moment after Jeremiah pressing a button on the Chronivac, all of that changed. Now, he didn’t just love football–it was his life. He watched as much of it as he could, all the time, followed both the pro leagues and the college teams, and so much in his head was pushed out to make room for what he would have thought of as useless stats and figures before, but now…now football seemed like the only thing that mattered to him.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me a fucking football player?”

“No Tubbs–don’t worry about that. Someone with your physique? You’re too big to even be a defensive lineman. Sure, you might have played football back in high school,” he pressed another button, “but you were much too stupid to get into college, even on an athletic scholarship, if you’d been a good enough player to get one,” he hit another slider, “Now, all you are is just a middle aged loser, a pathetic worthless slob who obsesses on football because that’s the only thing in his life that has ever given him any meaning.”

Terrance did his best to fight it, the sensation of his entire history shifting away underneath him. Some of the details were the same as before–growing up gay in a small town–but most of it began twisting into something entirely new. Jeremiah saw him begin to shift again, though more subtly than before. His eyes lost a bit of their intelligence and dimmed, a thick layer of stubble filling in across his flabby face as his hairline began to recede. His body began to smell from a lack of care and washing, and he grew even a bit larger. In thirty seconds, Terrance was essentially gone–now there was just Tubbs, a thirty-five year old faggot pig, who spent his days working a shitty job delivering pizzas, and every second of his free time was devoted to his one true love: football.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy Jeremiah. After all, even Tubbs could figure out that knowing a secret like this of a local college football star could be…rather worthwhile to the right ears. No–what he needed was a much more personal loyalty. “Tell me Tubbs,” he asked, typing in a new specification, “Who’s your favorite football player? The one you idolize over everyone else?”

“Aww fuck man! It’s fuckin’ you!” Tubbs gushed, his voice picking up the long drawl of the rest of the hick locals around here. “First time I saw ya play last year man, I knew I was lookin’ at someone special. I…I dreamed about you man, I know you’re gonna be pro, you’re gonna take a damn lucky team to the superbowl one day! I…fuck man, and…and I…” he got off the bed and onto his knees in front of Jeremiah, looking up at him with an almost childlike adoration, “I…anything I can do for you sir. Use me, my holes–I…You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen on a field, and if I can do this for you, if I can make you happy, fuck man it would be such a fucking honor. I know…I’m not much to look at, hell, I’m a dumbfuckin’ loser, I know it, but my ass is a good fuck, and its always open, whenever ya need it.”

“What I need right now, pig, is someone to clean my filthy fucking feet.”

“Oh fuck…Fuck *snort* fuck sir, yes sir!” Tubbs got down and started licking at Jeremiah’s foot, grunting and moaning, supporting himself with one hand while the other fucked himself with the dildo he had in his hole nearly all the time. Yeah–now this is something he could get used to, Jeremiah thought, hopped up on the desk behind him and started shoving his foot into Tubb’s fat mouth, jacking his cock while he watched the pig humiliate himself in front of his young football idol.

“You like those nasty feet pig?”

“Yes sir!”

What do you say pig, when your idol–when your fucking god is nice enough to let you lick your feet?”

“Thank you sir, *grunt* Thank you!”

“That’s right pig–you’ll take anything from me, won’t you, and you’ll thank me afterwards–isn’t that right?”

“Anything sir, I’m your fucking pig sir, anything, please, I’d be honored.”

“Get back on the bed pig, I got one last load of cum for you, and then you’d better get going, or you’ll be late to work.”

Twenty minutes later, Tubbs left the dorm room, adjusting his too small uniform from the local pizza delivery joint where he’d worked since he was a teenager. The front was stained and grubby, but he didn’t care–he had the best football player’s cum leaking out of his hole right this very second, and the world couldn’t get any fucking better than this.

Inside the room, laughing, unable to believe what had just happened, Jeremiah picked up the Chronivac, stepped out the dorm room, and triggered reality to alter and adjust for all of the previous changes he’d made. The room he’d just left was suddenly occupied by a completely different student, and Terrance–investigative journalist and notorious queer–ceased to exist for anyone other than Jeremiah. Later that night, he ordered a bunch of pizzas for the frat house for fun, and sure enough, Tubbs pulled up in his pickup truck, hauled out the six pizzas and took them to the door, gushing over the football players inside, who were a bit…put off that the filthy slob knew their own stats better than they did. But Jeremiah gave him a wink, and that alone had Tubbs fucking himself with his special, Jeremiah shaped dildo in a parking lot until he came in the front of his work uniform, looking forward to the next time he’d have the honor of serving his idol–which he’d have the opportunity to do many times over the next few years, until–as everyone knew would happen–Jeremiah graduated and got drafted immediately by a pro team across the country, and he was gone.

Still, Tubbs didn’t resent him–how could he? He’d settled into his life well–packing on another hundred of pounds thanks to drinking problem and binge eating Jeremiah had helped nurture in the pig. He liked to think that, maybe, he’d helped him a little. That with his sorry life, he’d done something for the one person in the world who really mattered. He watched every game that Jeremiah’s team played, lounging on his couch, drunk, one of his idol’s dirty jockstraps or jerseys from his private collection pressed to his face, bouncing on his dildo, wishing for at least one more fuck from him–and at the end of the season, he got a package that had his squealing with joy. Jeremiah remembered him, and liked him enough to send the pig a ticket to the superbowl–and after winning his first ring of what would be many, Jeremiah gave that pig a night long pounding he was certain would last Tubbs a good long while. After all, loyalty and silence had to have its rewards, right?

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 3)

No, he supposed it hadn’t been a very nice thing to do, when he’d thought up the idea the semester before–the first time he’d heard the rumor about Jeremiah’s sexuality. But on closeted football player wasn’t that large of a story–or at least, it wasn’t the story he really wanted. No–it was the corrupt athletic staff and coaches he’d been after–that was the real scoop. Millions of dollars had disappeared from various funds over the last decade, and it was lining someone’s pocket–Jeremiah had been his ticket into the organization, to bust it wide open. But now–well, he’d thought he’d been setting up a honeypot, only to get stung by the hive instead.

He’d woken up a minute earlier, and Jeremiah had told him to go ahead, stand up, and look at himself in the mirror. It was obvious that he’d changed substantially from his real body again–it felt a bit like Terry as far as size was concerned, but it wasn’t muscle he was carting around anymore. No–in the mirror he was looking at a massively obese body–and a tall one at that. He had to be at least six four, and judging by the massive rolls hanging off him, he was close to 400 pounds. He’d never been a hairy fellow before, but now it didn’t look like there was a single hair anywhere on his body, aside from the short buzz cut on top of his head. He ran his meaty fingers over the top, disgusted by his particularly fat face–heavy jowls, three chins, small nose and close set eyes with big ears.

“Yeah, fuck–now that’s a sexy body right there,” Jeremiah said behind him. He was naked and sitting on the bed, looking at Terrance’s new body and jacking his cock–his now ten inch cock. Big enough to fit in his uniform still, but a much nicer tool than the four and half he’d been packing an hour ago.

A bit embarrassed, Terrance checked under the apron of fat hanging off of him, but all he found was a thick fat pad where his cock and balls should have been.

“Don’t bother–you’ve got half an inch now. Doubt you could even reach it if you wanted to. It isn’t your dick your body wants to please anymore anyway, trust me.”

“Look–this…this was a fucking mistake, I admit it. I’m sorry, I was wrong. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Of course you won’t,” Jeremiah said, toying with the Chronivac for a moment, “I can make sure of that–but for now, why don’t we pick up where we left off? You wanted to have sex with me, if I remember right. So come on Tubbs, get on the bed, and let’s fuck that wide ass of yours into next week.”

Jeremiah hit a button, and Terrance felt a massive amount of information surge into his head, displacing a bunch of other stuff which just…disappeared. When the sensation disappeared, he was left drooling at the sight of the massive football player just sitting on his bed, with that huge cock–he needed it inside him. He needed it fucking bad. But as he walked over, he caught a whiff of Jeremiah’s musk that remained from his workout earlier, and felt his guts knot up–he lunged and shoved his face into Jeremiah’s pit, snorting and grunting like a pig as he licked up as much sweat and stink as he could, drool pouring from his mouth, his tiny cock leaking cum into his fatty folds below his gut.

“Yeah, fuck! You even sound like a fucking pig, Tubbs. If you make my dick good and happy, I might let you sniff my feet later–how’s that sound?”

He didn’t want it to sound as good as it did, that was for sure. After cleaning out both pits, Jeremiah shoved him onto the bed on all fours, got behind him, and started working his big cock into Terrance’s now very loose hole, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, a chorus of grunts and snorts falling out of his mouth as Jeremiah fucked him deep and rough.

“Yeah Tubbs, that’s real nice. See? This is the kind of bitch I want–not some muscled out guy like me, but a fat fucking pig, tiny cock, who can only get off by being fucked nice and long. You like that Terrance? You like being my fat, disgusting, bottom pig?”

“Oh *snort* oh fuck! *Grunt* just don’t fucking stop, please!”

With his new tool, Jeremiah had plenty of stamina to keep the pig happy–he managed to hold off for fifteen minutes before he came once, but his cock didn’t go soft. He just kept fucking, feeling the massive load of cum leak out around his cock and down the pig’s thighs for another half an hour, until he came again. Terrance had cum twice in the meantime, and the sheets below him were soaked with sweat and cum, his muscles quivering as Jeremiah pulled out, leaving him with the worst sensation of emptiness he’d ever felt. He…he needed it. He needed to get fucked again, just like that, he had to have something in his hole.

“Please…please keep going, *snort* it hurts without you in there.”

“Sorry pig, but I have class in the morning, so we need to wrap this up soon, and you still need some more work, don’t you think?”

Terrance wasn’t really listening–he was reaching around and sliding as many fingers into his ass as he could. Jeremiah rolled his eyes, fiddled with the Chronivac, and a moment later, Terrance’s hole was sealed with a massive dildo–a replica of Jeremiah’s own cock, and that settled him down, and allowed the pig to think.

“Fuck–please change me back–you have to. I can’t just stay like this, no one will believe it.”

“What–knowing what you know now? Sorry Tubbs–but this was always a risk, you know. I can’t change you back, and I…really like that ass of yours, so I’d like to keep you plenty available in the future. So we’re going to have to find a way to keep you nice and compliant for the future–but don’t worry Tubbs, I have just the solution for us both. So tell me Tubbs,” Jeremiah said as he pressed a button and adjusted a setting, “How much do you like football?”

What Comes Around…

It wasn’t that Professor Hargrove was a particularly vengeful man; it was that he hated Mason–the frat boy football jock currently ruining his class–with such a passion that it was making him understand, for the first time, the appeal of revenge. Perhaps the worst part was that they both knew there was nothing Hargrove could do to him–football was so important at the school that athletes could get away with pretty much anything, while Hargrove was still fighting for a shrinking number of tenured positions. If he flunked a star player he’d never get his contract renewed. So Mason could make him look like a joke and humiliate him in front of the rest of the class while drinking beer in the back, and Hargrove had to take it. At least Mason hadn’t figured out he was gay–apparently the jock had a particular distaste for faggots.

But what could be done? Hargrove humored him and did his best to mitigate the damage, but inside he fumed and wished there was some way he could get back at him. Cruising the internet, looking for porn one night, Hargrove found a strange site he’d never seen before–a video service calling itself “What Comes Around Media”. The videos were all free, and all of them seemed to be focused on revenge fantasies–mostly making men commit humiliating acts on camera–and Hargrove found them all, very arousing, particularly the ones featuring jocks like Mason.

After a little while on the site, a pop-up alerted him to the fact that he could request a particular video if he wanted to. He expected such a service to come with an astronomical cost, but after poking around, it seemed that the service was entirely free of charge–all it required was joining the site as a registered video creator–a process which seemed…very intensive for whatever reason. It required a photo taken with his webcam, a slew of personal information about him, his job and his hobbies…still, Hargrove was a trusting, older fellow. He doubted anything would come of it.

Once he’d finished that process, he discovered that requesting a video was more than a simple suggestion box–the site even gave him a space to suggest a target for the video. Was this for real? How could it be? Still, he did hate Mason, and watching that jock get his comeuppance would be so…fucking satisfying. He put in the young man’s name, the reason why Hargrove wanted him to be in a video, and followed it up with suggestions of what should happen to him. That was something Hargrove hadn’t quite considered completely–but he did have a basic idea. He wanted to see Mason humiliated–in public. Paraded around on a leash by older men, who each take their turns fucking him in every hole, before they auction him off to the highest bidder, making him the personal slave to the winner.

Maybe he had put more thought into it than he was comfortable admitting.

He thought about deleting the whole thing, but decided to just submit it–and then jacked off afterwards, thinking about the whole scenario. The site thanked him for the submission, and told him he’d hear in a few days if it was accepted. It wouldn’t be, he was certain, but it was fun to imagine. Then, three days later, Mason didn’t show up to class–he was a complete no-show. This was strange–because attendance was the one thing every football player knew they couldn’t mess up. He might be late every day, but he always made an appearance, because not even the friendly dean could change attendance records. Hargrove went home and found a message from the site telling him his request had been accepted, and that the video would be released in a day or two. He couldn’t believe it–and when Mason was missing the next two days as well…he started to feel a bit uneasy. Then, that weekend, the video came out, and it was everything Hargrove had asked for.

Mason was dragged into a room full of older men on a leash, dripping with sweat, sobbing. The older men all examined him, toyed with him, and then raped him for close to an hour, before he was finally sold off to the highest bidder. Had it actually happened? It had to be fake…but then where had Mason gone? He asked around campus the following Monday, but he’d disappeared entirely, and no one knew where. It was a dream come true, until Hargrove got a new message from What Comes Around Media.

“By granting your request, as stated in our video creator agreement, you are now obligated to participate in videos yourself. Compliance is required–you may try to resist, but subliminal commands will ensure your compliance, so simply try to enjoy yourself. We will deliver any required equipment to your mailing address. Thank you for choosing to become a part of What Comes Around Media!”

Hargrove thought it had to be a joke, at least until the dildo arrived on his doorstep the next day. It was massive–easily as large as a fist–and he found himself compelled to bring it inside, sat down at the computer, and found an email had been sent with his first request to fulfill. He was to spend at least ten minutes licking and sucking on the dildo, making himself gag on it repeatedly, before fucking himself on it as painfully as possible, and riding it until his legs give out and he collapses down onto the entire length, cumming spontaneously as he does.

He wasn’t going to do that! That was insane. But he began stripping off his clothes, turned on his webcam, and started sucking on the dildo with great enthusiasm, being sure to make himself gag loudly.

With his lack of exercise, his legs gave out after half an hour, and he had to lie on the ground, sobbing in pain for a while before he could haul the massive cock free from his ass and stand up again–when he heard the doorbell. Still naked, he opened the door and found two muscular young men on the doorstep. “Ready to shoot I see,” one of them said, and stepped past him–he spent the rest of the night worshiping their young bodies while they humiliated him over and over again. He hadn’t thought of the possibility that what went around, might come back to him as a nine inch jock cock, just like Mason’s, planted deep in his ass while he begged for more, and more, and more until the early hours of the morning–but you can’t always plan for how revenge will turn out in the end, can you?

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 8)

Roger arrived back at the house and let himself in, pleased to hear the sounds of fucking coming from the den. He dropped the paint by the door and headed in that direction, where he found Gary bent over on the floor, Shane behind him slamming his cock into his father’s hole, growling as he did–at least until he looked up, saw Roger, and realized what, exactly he was doing. “No–No no no…” he said, pulled his cock out and backed away a few steps.

Gary, confused as to why he wasn’t getting fucked anymore, looked behind him and saw Shane had retreated. “What’s wrong fucker? This faggot hole ain’t gonna fuck itself! I though you were gonna show me what a real man fucks like?” He shook his ass, and Shane stared at it, rapt, but tore his eyes away and glared at Roger.

“You fucking did this, sir, you set this up!” he shouted.

Roger shrugged, “I suppose your father here wasn’t very interested in escaping, eh boy? Did that surprise you?”

“The fucker–all he fucking wants is a to sit around, drink and smoke, and get fucked!” Shane shouted, “He fucking wants this, and this is all your fucking fault!” Shane said, stalking towards him. “We were happy! All of us, and you just fucked everything up. Why couldn’t you have just left us all alone!”

Roger leaned on the doorway, and looked from Shane to Gary. “You want me to leave the two of you alone? I could do that, you know. I’ve been alone a long time, and I don’t want to spend years of my life with someone who doesn’t want to be with me. If you want to be here, with him, I can arrange that. I just…well, you didn’t strike me as someone who’d want to live life as a faggot pig,” he walked towards Gary, “What did my boy think of you, Gary? Do you think he likes you?”

“No sir,” Gary said, face to the carpet, “He thinks I’m disgusting sir. He said so himself. He thinks I’m wasting my life. I got him so angry, he was gonna fuck me real rough like before you came back.”

“That’s not–I didn’t mean that,” Shane said.

“You didn’t?” Roger asked, looking back at him, “So you’d be ok if I made you a faggot pig like your old man here? Just think, the two of you lounging around together all day, doing nothing, men coming over at all hours to fuck your holes, feed you piss–feed you shit, even, if you beg hard enough. A nice family of faggots–like father like son. Sounds hot to me boy–get out of those coveralls and boots. We can find some nasty underwear of your dad’s to wear, I bet.”

Shane started stripping, but as he did, he found himself gripped with fear and loathing. No–he didn’t want to be like him, he wanted to be free of this, didn’t he? “That’s not–I don’t want to be like him sir! I’m not like him!” Shane shouted, but his hands were stripping off his clothes already. He hadn’t been naked in ages, and the thought of it was…unsettling to him.

“I thought you wanted to be with your father, boy.”

“Not like this! I hate this, I fucking hate him!”

“Well boy,” Roger said, walking over, “You only have two choices here, so let me spell them out for you. You strip off that gear of mine and join your father as a total faggot, just as disgusting and appalling and shameless as he is, or you stay with me, and be my boy. My boy for real–you fuck that faggot’s hole, and you cum in deep, and you ain’t gonna remember that old life of yours anymore. You’re gonna be my boy for good–forever. But put on that underwear, and you ain’t never gonna forget what you were. You won’t be able to stop being a faggot, of course, but you’re gonna know boy. But it’s your choice. What’s it gonna be?”

Shane was naked now. He knew there were other options, but what? If he stayed with his dad, there was hope–a thin sliver. He might be able to tell someone. He’d at least know–but did he really want to know? Did he want to live like this? He imagined himself there on the ground beside his father, that hungry look in his eye. “Please, I can’t…”

“I’ll tell you something else, boy–right now? Your father knows too.”

Shane felt his stomach twist.

“He knows who he was. If you fuck him, though, he’ll forget. It’s torture for him, you know. He hates himself. He just wants to be free. You can give that to him, to you both, if you just fuck him.”

It could be a lie, he knew that. He couldn’t very well ask his dad and know for sure. It didn’t change anything, really. He couldn’t imagine being trapped like this–knowing what his life had been, and forced to humiliate himself day in and day out. He walked over, drooled some spit onto his cock, and shoved it back into Gary’s hole. “I’m sorry dad, I’m so fucking sorry…” he muttered.

“Don’t be sorry, you hot fucker! It’s what we both fucking want. Now breed my piggy hole, like a proper fucking man!”

“Yeah–fuck that pig rough. Be selfish. I want a selfish boy,” Roger said, “A boy who only cares about his pleasure, and mine too, of course. Who takes what he wants, and doesn’t bother asking. Who’s greedy, and nasty, and rude. Come on boy, smack that pig around, show him who’s boss around here!”

Shane smacked his father’s ass, and felt a jolt of pleasure. He was close–so fucking close. Could he do this? Was he really going to give into this? He tried to hold back, but Roger urged him over the edge, and…and why fight it? It felt fucking good, didn’t it? Yeah–raping a pig’s hole always felt fucking good though–not that you could really rape a pig like this. They would take a fuck any day, and anywhere–fucking disgusting, but what did he care? Still, he took his own pleasure after, eating his own cum back out from the pig’s hole–he did love a filthy ass, after all, and he was pretty sure this pig hadn’t wiped up in days.

“Boy, you can eat hole later–we gotta finish painting.”

Reluctantly, he pulled free, licking his lips. “Yes sir, sorry–just hungry is all.”

“You’re always hungry boy!” Roger said, but hauled him up and kissed him, “That’s just how I fucking want you though.”

Shane laughed, “Yes sir! I’m your greedy fucking pigboy sir!” he laughed, and lit a cigar. He felt…good for the first time in a long time. He felt like himself. He felt happy, and free, and as always, it was all thanks to Sir.

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 7)

The next few days, while they were alone in the house together, Shane realized that he was zoning out more than he had in quite a while. In fact, over the past month, he’d been surprisingly lucid and aware of himself–and of what Roger was doing and saying at any given moment, but this reminded him of when he’d just arrived home from college. Roger was changing things again, planting ideas and directions in his head, but he had no idea what they might be. College–that was something he hadn’t thought about. The trees were starting to change color, and he should have been back on campus weeks ago–but that wasn’t his life, not anymore, and he was starting to doubt it ever would be again.

After all, even if he could figure out what Roger was doing to him and his father, what then? It felt like his imagination had shrunk–the idea of ever being without Roger, without being his boy, it seemed so far-fetched as to be impossible. Still, it was his father he felt the most sympathy for, more than himself. Watching him everyday, in the same ill-fitting suits, leaving the house for work with a belch, half drunk from the beers Roger made him drink each morning–there was no sign at all that he could even tell something was wrong with all of this. But worse–he seemed so happy now. Before, he’d always seemed so stressed, and angry. It had been hard at times, especially for his mom, but this wasn’t better.

Then, on a Wednesday, Shane was painting when he heard the front door open, and his father came in. At first, he thought he must have zoned out longer than he’d thought, but it really was only shortly after noon–far too early for him to be home already. He came in and found Roger, a big grin plastered on his bearded face, and announced, “Fuck feels good–finally got my ass fired today! Don’t have to wear this fuckin’ shit anymore, don’t have to go to fuckin’ work, fuck!”

He started ripping off his clothes while Roger congratulated him, but Shane could only see the glee on his father’s face–and in that moment, something shifted in him. He knew, as his son, he should feel sympathy for him, that his father had loved his job–but instead, what welled up was contempt. He was so fucking happy about not having to work anymore, but here Shane was, working up a sweat every fucking day. He was too stupid to even realize he was being controlled by Roger! He pushed the feelings aside, but by the time they left, his dad was planted in a recliner, naked aside from some nasty looking underwear, smoking and drinking…and Roger winked at him as they stepped out the door, but didn’t broach the subject.

From that day on, his father was always home while they were working, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in Roger and Shane–that is, unless they were having sex. Then, it seemed like he was always there, watching, staring at Shane in particular with a look of desire in his eye that made Shane…hate him. Didn’t he realize it was his own son he was lusting after? Why couldn’t he fight it? Why couldn’t he at least try and help? Did he want this? Had he been wrong about him all of this time? That weekend, the first of many visitors appeared at the house, other men arriving to see his father, “friends” of his that Shane had never seen before in his life, and his father had sex with all of them, begging the fat, dirty fucks who came by to fuck his drunk ass. Worse, listening to his father beg for cock would make Shane incredibly horny–and Roger, seeing his boy with a hardon, would of course encourage Shane to take a break, and go watch his father get fucked while he jacked off. Shane didn’t know if he obeyed because he had to, or because he wanted to. Still, he held out hope all the same–and then, he was given an opportunity so golden he couldn’t resist it.

One afternoon, they ran out of paint. When they needed supplies, Roger almost always made Shane go with him to the hardware store, but today, he wanted Shane to keep working while he ran over there quickly–alone. That meant, for close to an hour, he’d be alone with his father in the house–if ever there was a chance to escape, this would be it. He watched Roger go, and as soon as he’d heard the truck drive off, he ran for where his father was in his recliner, drunk. “Gary! Gary, come on, we have to go,” Shane said, “Roger’s gone for a while, and this is the only chance we’re going to get.”

His father just looked up at him in the recliner, and nodded. He stood up, groping himself, and leered at Shane. “Yeah boy, let’s go to the bedroom–I was worried you were just a bottom for him, but looks like you can’t resist this ass of mine either.”

“No, don’t you get it? We can fucking escape!” Shane shouted, shaking his father by the shoulders, “Don’t you fucking remember fucking anything?”

His dad didn’t pay any attention–he just dropped to his knees and dug Shane’s cock out through the hole Roger had cut in his coveralls for easier access. “Yeah boy, let me see that fuckstick of yours–fuck, hard already! You really do want it bad.”

He backed up, and slapped his father across the face, “You fucking idiot, you have to fucking wake the fuck up!”

His father just groaned, “Fuck–god, ya really know how tah treat a faggot properly, boy,” his dad said, hauling his cock out of his underwear, “I love the rough ones.”

“You’re disgusting,” Shane said.

“Fuck–you fucking know it, just a disgusting faggot–that’s all I wanna fucking be. So fucking use me! Beat me, I don’t give a damn. Just make sure ya fuck me with that big cock boy, because that’s what makes this faggot pig real fuckin’ happy.”

Gary crawled forward on his knees and licked at the head of Shane’s cock, making him shiver. He should run. Just forget him, and save himself. But that wasn’t what he really wanted, was it? It wasn’t what either of them really wanted. Instead, he shoved his cock down his father’s throat, listening to him choke, and slapped him again. “Be careful what you ask for, faggot,” he growled.

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 6)

He didn’t give up hope, however. He didn’t know how Roger was doing this to him, to his family, but there had to be someway to convince his parents that he was their son, there had to be someway they could fight this. After an early breakfast on Monday, they got in the truck together and drove back into town to get to work, and Shane had a plan–a long shot, but a plan all the same. He remembered being their kid, but they wouldn’t believe him–still, there was a record of him. His room, photo albums–his school photos hanging in the hallway upstairs. If he could get either of his parents away from Roger, and show them the facts, then he was sure they would remember.

When he stepped inside, however, he realized Roger had been one step ahead of him–he didn’t recognize the home he stepped into. It was the same house, of course, but the family photos which had adorned the tops of cabinets and the walls were gone, just little pinpricks from where the nails had been before. His parents had the same uninterested look in their eyes when they saw him–he was unimportant, he was just a laborer, someone neither of them would need to remember a year from now. Well, that was what his mother saw, certainly, but his father–the look in his eye was…more complicated, but he couldn’t quite decipher it. Roger gave Shane’s father a smoke filled kiss in front of both Shane and his mother, and then his parents left for their jobs, leaving Shane and Roger alone in the house.

It wasn’t until midmorning when Shane managed to excuse himself for a bathroom break, and snuck upstairs. His room was gone. Emptied, stripped. His parents must have spent the last day removing every piece of evidence that he’d ever existed here. It was so complete an erasure, that he found himself questioning his own memories. It wasn’t any real confidence which convinced him otherwise; it was Roger’s grin when he returned and saw how despondent Shane was. “Don’t think too hard about the past, boy. It’s gone. Besides, you got a great future ahead of you with me, don’t you?”

“I still don’t understand, sir,” Shane said, “What’s going…I mean, what is this room we’re working on even going to be?”

“Well boy, it was always just an excuse,” Roger said, looking around at the space. It had come together quite well, at this point. It was larger than the bedrooms upstairs, and besides from painting, the flooring, and installing the lighting it was largely finished. “Besides, once she leaves him, he ain’t gonna be able to afford a big place like this, not on his own. Gonna have to go on the market, I think. Still, we won’t have to worry about that for a little while yet–not while they still got savings to burn on home improvement!”

Shane knew he didn’t have long, if he was going to get his parents back to their old selves. Roger could tell, of course, that Shane was trying to fight him, but he seemed unconcerned. Another week passed by, and he’d made no progress. If anything, everything seemed to be…solidifying. He knew the house had been different, but he couldn’t quite remember how. His parents no longer seemed familiar either–no more familiar than a couple of clients he’d gotten to know over a few months time. Roger taunted him, when they were at home, filling in bits of memories, talking about their life together while Shane ate out his ass.

Then, his mother was gone, from one day to the next. They arrived, and found only Shane’s father in the house, crying, but not quite able to articulate why he was so upset. He said he’d lost something, but he couldn’t remember what, exactly, but it had been important. Roger suggested he take the day off from work, and then sat him down and they shared a smoke, Shane sucking Roger’s cock, while he talked Gary through his grief, deadening him to the divorce, making it an old wound, something he’d wanted–and by the afternoon, he was a happy bachelor, lounging about, smoking and drinking…his eyes rarely leaving Shane, watching while he sucked Roger’s cock, or licked his ass clean after Roger had taken a shit.

On the way home that night, Shane had a thought–a hope really. “You wanted my dad, didn’t you? First?”

“Don’t be getting jealous now, boy–trust me, I much prefer you,” especially now that you’re comin’ along so fuckin’ nicely.”

Shane had changed quite a bit over the last few months. His beard had filled in, making him look quite a bit older, to his surprise. He’d packed on close to 40 pounds, as astounding as that was to him, and the hunger had become…normal for him now. He’d had the privilege of a shower only a handful of times, and the funk rolling off him was rather awful–but he loved it, as did Roger–who showered about as rarely as his boy. The coveralls were fitting him a bit better these days, though the ass had been ripped open during a rather…rough session with Roger, who’d wanted to fuck him bad one night, but hadn’t wanted to wait to get the coveralls down. “I know, I’m not jealous, sir…but why not have us both? You could do that, couldn’t you?”

Roger glared at him, “Boy, you must think I’m thick.”

“Sorry sir?”

“You still think you can save him? Save yourself?”

“I just…wouldn’t two make you happier, sir?”

Roger laughed. “It’s been fun watching you struggle, boy, I admit it. But your dad is gone, boy. Long gone. You’re gonna be gone too, sooner than you might think, if you keep this shit up.”

“Sorry, sir, I…I didn’t–”

“Shut yer mouth, boy. Don’t dig your hole any deeper than you already have,” Roger said, and shoved a couple jets of smoke from his nose with a snort, “You aren’t gonna be able to save anyone, boy–so you should just worry about yourself.”

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 5)

They ended up driving for nearly an hour out of town, the suburbs Shane had known all his life slowly giving way to small farms and rural homes. He finished his dinner on the way, Roger making sure he ate everything he’d given him, and then offered him dessert–making Shane wedge himself under the steering wheel so he could suck him off while Roger smoked and drove. He made him pull away as he got close, and Roger finished all over Shane’s face–he allowed him to lick up everything he could reach, and left the rest of it to dry. It was late in the evening when they got to Roger’s home, a small two bedroom house on a parcel of property surrounded by trees. They went inside, and Roger showed Shane his room–little more than a closet, with a small cot inside, and told him to get some rest–they had a day off tomorrow. Those were rare, and Roger said he had a lot planned for the two of them. Shane was ordered to get up at five, and have breakfast ready by six.

He didn’t sleep well. The cot was uncomfortable, the room was cramped, and he kept thinking about the disgust in his mother’s eyes when she’d looked at him. What could Roger have done to make her hate him so much? There had to be a weakness. Maybe if he could just get them away from him, they’d become normal again. Or maybe it was an object which gave Roger this…power, and if he could just figure out what it was, he’d be able to stop him. He had to stop him though–there was no other option. If he didn’t…well, he didn’t think Roger would be letting him keep his mind mostly intact for long–and if he didn’t figure this out soon, then there probably wouldn’t be anything he could do about it. In might already be too late anyway. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with him, but his alarm went off right at five, and he got up, found the kitchen and the fully stocked cupboards, and started cooking.

This, at least, he’d gotten better at. He had a massive breakfast made by six, when Roger walked into the room. Shane saw him smirking, as he lit his morning cigar, and asked him what was wrong. “That’s a whole lot of food, boy, and I don’t let anyone waste food in this house–so you’d better have your appetite ready.”

Shane was confused–he’d made the amount he usually did, hadn’t he? It took him a moment to realize that he’d always factored his father into the equation, but now, it was just the two of them here. Roger ate little, picking at the food, and instead made Shane gorge himself. He was so full, he could barely stand it by the time he finished, and he had to lean back in order to relieve some of the pressure.

“Damn boy, that was excellent work. You’re gonna be making at least that much for yourself every morning from now on, right?” Roger said, and Shane nodded, with a whimper. “Don’t be scared boy–you want this after all. Still, why don’t we relax for a while? I could take a load off and relax for a bit, couldn’t you?”

He could. The events of the last 24 hours were still fresh in his mind, but Shane doubted he’d be able to relax in this situation. He followed him into another room of the house, and there, along the wall, he saw something he hadn’t noticed the day before–what looked like a toilet seat propped up on four metal legs.

“This is my favorite chair, boy, but it’s been missing a key component–a nice mouth underneath it. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna shit in ya–but man, nothin’ helps me relax after a long week a work than a hot, eager tongue on my dirty hole–and that’s where you come in. Get under there.”

He shook his head, and begged him not to, but Shane couldn’t resist. He looked up at the ceiling, with Roger looming over him and framed by the toilet seat. “Please…I don’t…why are you doing this to me, sir?”

He just chuckled, and dropped his own coveralls down and stepped out of them. “I did you a favor and wiped this morning boy–but I don’t usually keep toilet paper around. Still, you’re gonna be loving this soon enough, I promise you that,” He stepped over the seat and sat down, his fat ass descending until it was all Shane could see, and the smell…fuck, it smelled so fucking good–but then again, Sir…Sir always smelled good. “Go on boy, lick it! Like an ice cream cone–taint to crack.”

Shane did as he was told, and to his own horror…he liked it. Hell, he more than liked it, he was hornier than he’d thought possible. Soon enough, he was grunting and snorting as he licked, and Roger unzipped the front of the boy’s coveralls to let his hard cock loose. “Stroke all ya want boy–but don’t cum. I always cum first. Still, the more you stroke, the more you’re gonna love eating ass–so be careful.”

Shane didn’t care, he started milking his cock anyway. His jaw hurt, his tongue was sore, but he kept at it, now digging into the hole, tasting him, groaning out a “Thank you, sir,” as he did. He only had a dim memory of what else happened–the ashtray that rested on his chest while Roger smoked, dropping the occasional cinder onto his belly. The clamps he used on Shane’s nipples, tugging whenever the boy started to lick too slowly for his liking.

Shane found himself feeling…so much better. He loved this, didn’t he? A nice day off, spending it eating out Sir’s filthy hole, smelling his cigar smoke wafting down around him, tits aching, cock leaking…it’s what he loved, right? Something didn’t seem right about this–he should be fighting harder, or should he be licking harder? Roger was jacking off, tugging, telling Shane to go digging, and he did–it wasn’t too long before Roger came, and he gave permission to Shane to cum as well–he rubbed their cum together with the ash from his cigars, coating Shane’s growing belly, and then zipped him back up.

“Alright boy–time for a late lunch, and then we’re gonna get you started on smoking cigars yourself, and talk about my house rules for boys.”

Late lunch? When Shane got up, he discovered he’d been under the rimchair for nearly three hours. His face was greasy and wet with his own drool, but when Roger kissed him…he leaned into his Sir, sucking smoke from his mouth, and wondered if he really was home after all.

The Contractor’s Boy (Part 4)

“No–No, you can’t do this sir, you–they remember me–they have to! I’m their fucking son!” Shane shouted, looking back at the house. At his house. At his parent’s house where he grew up. How could they not even recognize him?

“Them? Trust me boy, they don’t have a son. Don’t even have sex anymore–haven’t had sex once since I started working for them. He’s a closeted faggot, and she’s fucking her boss, and planning on leaving his sorry ass in a month or two. He’ll keep the house though–sort of. It’s the least I can give him, I suppose.”

“No way, my mom would never, she’d…and my dad isn’t gay!” Shane said, “I don’t…I don’t want to go with you, sir, please, let me go home.” He tried to open the door, but while his hand could grip the door handle of the truck, his body refused to pull it and open the door. Why wasn’t his hand working right? What in the world was wrong with him?

“I’ll tell you what, boy–I’ll let you go talk to them, see if you can convince them. If they believe you, that you’re their son, then I’ll let you stay with them–if they want to take you in. But look at you–fucking smell yourself, you fucking pig.”

Shane couldn’t resist the order, and fuck, did he reek. Then again, he hadn’t changed clothes once in weeks, and he spent all day and night sweating hard and cumming all over himself–and that was before Roger had started using him as a cumrag. He was filthy, stains up and down the front and back of him. But still–he knew he was right. He knew it. His hand worked, he got out of the truck and ran for the front door, pounding on it, terrified that Roger would chase him and order him back, but Roger just got out, leaned against the side of the hood, and watched.

His mom answered the door, and she…didn’t look happy to see Shane there. “Oh…uh, did you or your boss forget something?” she asked.

“Mom–Mom! It’s me, I’m your son. Please, let me inside.”

“Excuse me?” she said with a laugh, “I don’t have a son.”

“Who is it?” his father asked, coming to the door as well, smoking a cigar.

“It’s…I don’t remember his name–Roger’s boy. He…it’s nothing. You were just leaving, right?” she said.

“Dad, please–I’m not…I don’t know what he did, but you remember me, right?”

His dad raised an eyebrow and looked to his wife, who rolled her eyes. “He…says he’s our son, as if that cock of yours has ever gotten hard in the same room as me once,” she said. The tone was acid, and Shane saw his father wither slightly, turn, and retreat back down the hall.

“Mom, this isn’t you! Why are you doing this?” She tried to shut the door, but Shane forced it open and tried to bully his way inside.

“Roger! What is the matter with your boy?” she shouted, but Roger was already walking over.

“Don’t worry Ma’am, I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” he said, grabbed Shane by the collar of his coveralls and hauled him back from the doorway. “It’s time we left, right boy?”

Shane was crying again, looking at his mom, terrified that she couldn’t remember him.. Her eyes–she was scared of him, but why? He hadn’t done anything wrong!

“Apologize to her. You were very rude, boy.”

“S-S-Sorry…Ma’am…”

“Now, get in the truck,” he said, and shoved Shane down the steps. “Don’t worry Ma’am,” Roger said to her, “As soon as you close the door, you’ll forget this even happened.” She nodded, still a bit shaken, but Roger knew that would settle it, and kept pushing Shane to the truck.

They rode in silence for a while, Shane still stunned. Everything had been normal that morning. He’d made breakfast, he’d talked with both his parents for a bit before getting started on the weekend’s tasks with Roger. Just another Saturday. “Why do I remember them, though?” he asked himself, but Roger heard him.

“Because I want you to. Because–fuck–it’s gonna be fun breaking you, boy. It’s been fun already, but it’s only going to get better from here. Fucking lucky I found you boy, you fell right in my lap. Now, how about dinner?”

They pulled into a fast food drive through, and Roger ordered a ton of food. Shane didn’t feel hungry at all, but Roger told him to eat, and he couldn’t disobey. “I…You did something to them. What did you do?”

“Same thing I’ve been doing for months, boy.”

“Wait, months?”

“Been doing it to you too, boy. I could make you forget them if I wanted. I could make you forget everything. Make you dumb as a brick. Still might do that, later, but I wanna see how you do at home first. See how agreeable you are.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“It’s a good racket, boy. Pick a rich mark, start a nice long project. Free food, maybe fuck a handsome husband for a few months–year if I’m lucky, before they start to run dry of savings. Then I move somewhere else, pick a new target. But I’ve been…lonely, boy. You’re dad back there–I liked the look of him a lot–he was someone I could really have some fun ruining. Was going to take him under my wing, sell off the house once we fixed it up together–but then you come home! Fuck boy, handsome as shit, an athlete–I just had to fuck you up. Was just gonna make you drop out of college and become a proper workin’ man, but…but the longer we worked together, the more I wanted you instead of your daddy. You’re just so…soft,” he said, stroking Shane’s face, “Malleable. You’ll do anything, and you don’t even question it. I can control anyone, but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who wants to be controlled like you do.”

“I don’t want to be here! I want to go home!”

“Ha, your mouth says one thing, but your heart says another. Your heart wants me to collar you, to humiliate you–make you into a fat, dirty pigboy for me to use for a good long time–so that’s what we’re gonna do, right boy?”

“Y-Yes sir,” Shane said, much to his own surprise, but whether it was Roger’s tricks, or his own secret willingness, he didn’t know anymore–he just kept eating. When Roger told him to jack off, he did that too–and then they headed home, and Shane slowly resigned himself to the possibility that it was far, far too late to do anything about the nightmare he’d found himself in, other than live in it.