Commission – Bottom-Up Selling

This was a commission from last year I’ve been sitting on for a bit, but wanted to finally share it. It was commissioned and edited by J. Swartz. He’s a very fine author himself, and published a book called “The Initiate” a few years back that I was quite fond of. If you like bears, bondage, BDSM, and some sexy artwork to go with it, I’d recommend taking a look! You can find it over on amazon here, if you’re interested. Hope you enjoy!

John looked up at the clock and sighed. These last couple of hours were always the worst part of the shift. He loosened his tie a bit and straightened up the desk. Noah, the night auditor, was a stickler for neatness, and if the front desk wasn’t just so when he arrived to relieve John at eleven, there would be passive-aggressive notes left in his mailbox the next day. Still, the job wasn’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things. John had started here a couple months back, on a recommendation from one of his professors, Dr. Farnham.

Having been accepted to UCLA on a football scholarship. John wasn’t the best when it came to school work. As such, he was pursuing a relatively easy business management major. Farnham had recommended the position to him as a good way to bulk up his relatively weak resume, and was offering him extra credit too. That was handy since John hadn’t been doing great in Farnham’s Psychology class either. Working on the weekends sucked, knowing he couldn’t be out at the bars having fun with his college friends. Still, LA was an expensive city, so he wasn’t going to complain about his generous compensation. So three evenings a week, John was planted behind the hotel front desk, checking folks in mostly in the afternoons. By the time evening rolled by, aside from the occasional late businessman, there wasn’t much to do. The door chimed, and an older fellow in a suit walked up to the front desk, rolling a suitcase behind him. “Welcome to Windell Suites,” John said, “Do you have a reservation?”

The man smiled and shook his head. “No reservation, I’m afraid.”

“No worries, I have some vacancies,” John said, and pulled up the available inventory on the computer. “Okay Sir, you’re in luck! I have a single queen, lake view, available for $120 a night–”

“Oh, that won’t do,” the man frowned, “I’m going to require the executive suite.” John was taken aback at this, and the businessman cleared his throat. “And quickly, if you would, young man.”

“Oh, well…” John muttered, wondering if he could come up with a good excuse. The manager hated it when the executive suites got reserved first. They cost more, sure, but they took three times as long to clean, and it was cheaper to leave them empty until the end of the night, selling the less expensive suites first. Bottom-up selling, his professor had called it once, he thought. Trying once more to steer the guest away from the top level of the hotel, John explained, “Sir, I assure you, our smaller rooms are quite comfortable.”

The businessman’s smile hardened and his tone became icy. “The suite is available, isn’t it?” John gulped at this. Apparently, he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one. “The executive suite is available, yes Sir. It runs $540 a night.”

The businessman chuckled. “Actually, I’ll be getting the specialty rate.”

John winced. “Excuse me?”

Nodding towards the back office, the guest explained coolly, “You’ll find my name on the VIP list. Kip Walker, friend of the owner’s family.”

John resisted the urge to grumble, slipped into the office, and checked the owner’s personal VIP list. Sure enough, there he was. Closing his eyes, John rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. Not only was this guy going to be a high maintenance guest, he was buddies with upper management. John had to give Mr. Walker what he wanted, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Masking his annoyance with a cheery smile, John re-emerged from the office. “Sorry about that, Mr. Walker,” he said. “Let’s get that reservation straightened out.” John took the guest’s credit card and created his room key. All the while, he kept getting a rather peculiar vibe from the older fellow. He wasn’t particularly imposing, an average frame concealed in a suit, glasses, short haircut, mustache, but the way he kept looking at John was unsettling. Relief washed over the him as Mr. Walker made his way to the elevator, and especially thankful he’d only reserved the room for one night. He’ll be the night auditor’s problem soon enough, John thought. The rest of the evening was smooth and dull. Noah arrived on time as always, and John filled him in on the shift’s events, including the odd businessman in the executive suite. Noah just nodded, like he was familiar with this particular customer, but didn’t share insight. John was about to clock out, when the front desk phone rang. Noah answered it, then handed it to John. Wondering who in the hotel would ask for him, John took the receiver, listened for a few seconds, and hung up.

Without saying anything to Noah, John clocked out. However, instead of heading for the parking lot, John entered the elevator and rode it to the top floor. Noah just chuckled. He should have known the new guy was one of Walker’s boys, it made sense now. Noah got the receipts in order and began working on balancing the accounts for the day, while John got ready for a party he didn’t know he’d been invited to, where he was going to be the main attraction.

***

“Well Al, I must say you have out done yourself with this one. Truly one of the nicest specimens you’ve brought to our little club to date.”

John shook his head, and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he clearly recalled was picking up the phone at the desk, and then…nothing. Now, he was standing in the middle of a room that he slowly recognized as the executive suite, the one he’d given to that strange businessman earlier in the evening. Sure enough, Mr. Walker was in the room with him, along with his professor, the one who had gotten him the job here to begin with. Al Farnham was a taller fellow, mostly slender but with a bit of a gut. Now in his sixties, he’d had a rather wild youth, before going straight. Farnham’s hippie roots still shone through, and his theories about psychology were rather unorthodox, but what was he doing here, with Mr. Walker? And why was John here at all? John started to ask, but then caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room, and a more pressing question posed itself. What the hell was he wearing?!

John’s hotel uniform was gone, and on his legs clung a pair of black stockings, attached to silk garters, pulled up over his hairy calves, and strapped to a belt around his waist under his gut, which left his crotch and ass exposed. Or at least, it exposed the black lace panties he’d been squeezed into at some point while he was out. The fabric was cutting into John a bit, especially at the parts of him where he had a little extra weight; his ass, under his gut, and around his thighs. John’s thick cock was bulging out, and his muscular ass had the material stretched thin. He had a silk and leather harness buckled around his chest, with a cut out for his pecs. The material seemed to actually push them up and out, making them even more prominent than they usually were. His hands were bound above his head, and then the rope was wound into an intricate weave between his upper arms and around his shoulders, before reaching above him to a beam in the ceiling. It was effective at suspending him upright, and the rope had been pulled tight enough that he couldn’t quite rest easily, forcing him to keep his heels raised up and standing on the balls of his feet.

“I should have gone a size up, didn’t expect him to be quite so thick,” Farnham mused, as he groped John’s ass with one hand, squeezing his cheek through the silky, thin panties.

“What–what the fuck is going on? What the fuck did you two perverts do to me?” John slurred, peering at the two older men in the room.

“Us? Perverts?” Walker exclaimed, “Why, we’re not the ones wearing garters and strung up like a piece of meat, panty boy. If anyone here is a pervert, it would seem to be you.”

His mouth agape at the businessman, John turned to Dr. Farnham. “Professor, what is going on? Why…why can’t I remember anything?”

“Now Johnny, don’t worry your pretty little head about any of it. Just enjoy yourself tonight–I have no doubt that you will put on quite the show. After all, I’ve been training you for it for a month now,” Farnham said, but his usually kind smile seemed quite a bit darker than usual.

John tried to figure out what he meant by that, and he realized, slowly, that he’d been visiting Farnham’s office hours regularly for about a month. But he’d been working on his classwork, hadn’t he? He’d been doing poorly, but why couldn’t he recall what they’d talked about there? Had…had he been hypnotized, or something? He struggled harder, but the professor stroked John’s bearded face, gave him a little shush, and said, “Relax now–we can’t have you getting all worn out before the main event. Relax.”

John moaned, and felt some of the fight go out of him, and he slumped slightly into the ropes holding him. “But…why am I here? What are you doing to me?”

“We’re hosting a party tonight, for one of the city’s most exclusive clubs. You, John, are going to be our full service boy. You remember what that was from your hospitality classes, don’t you? Don’t tell me you fell asleep during that lecture too.”

John gulped, figuring he had a good enough idea, but Farnham just stroked his cheek, imploring him to relax again, his voice growing softer.

“That’s it sissy boy, just relax,” Farnham said, dropped his hand lower, and groped John’s sizable cock through the panties he was wearing. At that moment John realized, with some horror, that he was semi-hard. “Just relax and enjoy yourself,” Farnham whispered. “You want this, don’t you? Aren’t you excited, and you don’t even know why?”

John shook his head, but moaned loudly when the professor kept teasing his cock, causing him to leak into the front of the panties.

“Quit playing with him already,” Walker snapped, and handed Farnham a masquerade mask, just enough material to hide his identity. Walker was already wearing one. “The other guests are starting to arrive. We should get the cameras rolling.”

“Cameras?” John asked in a stupor, and struggled a bit, but found it hard to put that much effort into it. His body just felt so slack and at ease. He had to fight, but it was difficult to convince his body to agree with him.

Professor Farnham smiled at this. “Well of course, Johnny. We always tape our sessions here. Now, you will only refer to me as Mr. White, and Mr. Walker as Mr. Grey, until I say otherwise, you will forget we have any other name. Better yet, you don’t really need to say anything at all. We take the confidentiality of our clients very seriously.” The white-bearded man then pulled a small remote out of his pocket, and turned the various cameras installed around the room on. Together, they would give a complete record of everything that happened in the suite that night, but most of them were pointed at John, to capture him at every angle.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Walker opened it and welcomed in another masked man, also wearing a suit. For the next ten minutes, a steady stream of other men followed. Most of them arrived alone, but some arrived with young men at their side, also masked, many of them wearing rather skimpy, sexy attire–leather, rubber, silk–all of them clinging to their older date’s arms rather happily. Every guest greeted Mr. White and Mr. Grey, and then came to admire the newest addition to their collective stable.

They gathered around John, running their hands over his body, groping his cock, squeezing his ass, and while John pleaded with them all to stop, begged them to let him go, they all would just laugh and continue on, before congratulating Mr. White on his latest catch from the college. John realized, then, that the only person unmasked in the room was him, and the men were all using his first and last name. Everything was on camera! What if the team saw this? What if his parents did?! He struggled against the bonds, but he also knew it was too late. The only thing he could do was get through this, and figure out how to destroy the footage after, maybe.

When all of the men had arrived and been poured a glass of champagne, Mr. White got their attention and gave John a proper introduction. A sophomore football player, a rather impressive tight end (bringing laughs from the men, and a blush to John’s cheeks), and of course, a secret sissy with a rather humiliating collection of fetishes that they would be displaying for all of these men this evening. “One of those fetishes is hypnosis,” the professor said, “please take the panty boy’s protestations this evening with…a grain of salt. He asked to be made unaware of the fact that he had asked for this–or rather, begged for it, repeatedly. I’m sure that by the time we’re through this evening, he’ll remember perfectly well just what kind of slut he is.”

John looked at the professor in confusion. That couldn’t be true, could it? He wouldn’t…want this to happen! “That’s not–I didn’t ask for this!”

The men all laughed, and John’s face burned hotter still.

“Now, Mr. Grey put up the initial investment for John here, and so, as usual, he will have the honor of breaking him in. After tonight, John will, of course, be available to all members through the usual avenues. Now, Mr. Grey, if you would,” the professor said, and bowed off to the side while Walker stepped up next to where John was suspended. The men clapped, and he took a bow.

“Now, Mr. White here has asked me to demonstrate a few of our newest boy’s proclivities, which I am more than happy to do. First on the list, is that the sissy boy loves to be disciplined, don’t you?”

John started to object, but not before Walker brought one of his palms down on John’s pantied ass, making him gasp in surprise. The sheer fabric did nothing to disguise the pain of the slap, but what surprised John most was that it felt…good, somehow. Not that it didn’t hurt, but that with the slap, there had been some strange burst of perverse delight in his mind, making his lip curl, and cock throb in the front of his panties. Walker gave his other cheek a smack, and this time, John groaned audibly, swinging out slightly from the force of the impact, and the men around them laughed.

“You were going to say something, sissy boy?” Walker snarled.

John panted, and then heard himself bleat, “M-More Daddy, please…I’ve been a naughty sissy boy.”

“Yes you have, going around the school, pretending to be a big *smack* strong *smack* butch *smack* football player, all the while thinking about dressing up in panties and having a mean, old Daddy bend you over his lap and give you a proper spanking, you slut.”

Walker fell into a rhythm after that, alternating cheeks, bringing out a collection of whimpers, moans, and shudders from John that horrified him, and yet felt so completely natural.

The suspension only increased his predicament, as he swung out slightly with each blow, only to come back as Walker brought his hand back down on his ass again. He stopped, and John came to rest again, and then heard him pick up something behind him, step around, and hold up a thick, wooden paddle.

“What do you think of this, you little spank slut?! Think this will teach you your lesson?”

Part of John was terrified, but all that escaped from his mouth was a moan, followed by, “Yes, Daddy.”

John didn’t know how hard Walker was really swinging it, but each connection stung, and made John let out a scream. He twisted a bit further now, trying to evade the paddle, only for gravity to drag him back into position for another strike. Too late, he felt his cock throbbing, harder and harder with each blow, and with a loud cry, he came, filling the front of the sheer panties with a massive load of cum. He looked down, watched it spurt through the fabric and onto the floor, the men around them cheering and hooting at him, John’s face burning in absolute shame.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but his professor stepped up, whispered something in his ear, and John relaxed, deeper than he could really have thought possible. Distantly, he felt the ropes around his shoulders loosening and he was let down to the floor, where he collapsed into the professor’s arms. He was put on his knees, and Walker was saying something, while the professor fit something in his mouth, and then, everything was a blur.

***

The next thing John knew, he was unbound, and lying against the foot of the bed on the floor, facing the TV. Looking around, the men had all disappeared other than Professor Farnham and Mr. Walker, who were sitting in a couple of chairs, smoking cigars, and watching the screen. John looked up, and saw that it was a video of him taken by the cameras in the room. He was on his knees, a spider gag stretching his mouth wide, while men surrounded him, jacking off, dumping their loads into his open mouth on splattering them across his face, all while John’s clearly hard cock hung out the front of his panties.

“What do you think, John? It’s a good debut, don’t you think?” Farnham smirked, and sat back in the chair. “Should we post it on xtube tonight?”

John stood up on aching legs, and sat on the bed, head in his hands, trying to figure out what to do about any of this. Beg? Plead? Fight?

Taking a puff from his cigar, Farnham continued wistfully, “Then again, no one has to know about any of it. All you have to do is sign a two year contract as an escort with our exclusive club, and this video will stay in our archives, instead of being distributed to your parents, and blasted onto every computer on the college network.”

John shuddered, and tried not to think about what a turn on that was for him all of a sudden. The idea of everyone on campus knowing he was a sissy panty slut, all of his coaches, his…father. His cock throbbed at the thought, and he pushed it away, horrified. “You–you did this to me, you made me want this.”

“Did I?” Farnham chuckled, “Or did you ask me to do this to you? Come to my office with all of these secrets, wanting to make them a reality? You don’t remember, do you?”

John gulped–he didn’t remember. He didn’t know at all.

“Come on now, John. Be a good sissy boy, and put your name on the line,” Walker goaded impatiently, holding out the pen. “Do it quickly now, and you’ll get your reward.” What choice did he have? John tried not to think about how thrilling it was to put his name on the dotted line, knowing that any of those men from the night before would be able to use him now, whenever they wanted, that he was essentially a slave for all of them to spank and humiliate and degrade whenever they wanted to. As John signed his rights away, a look of evil satisfaction came to the businessman’s face.

“That’s it bitch… Now get down here and thank me properly for disciplining you earlier,” Walker barked, and John looked over to see the man’s rock hard cock jutting out of his slacks. John gulped, then got down on his knees in front of him and started sucking. He hadn’t sucked many cocks before, and it wasn’t more than a minute before he grazed the shaft with a bit of teeth, and Mr. Walker picked up the riding crop from the table and brought it down hard on John’s ass, making his gasp. “No teeth, or I’ll have to gag you–but you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? Go on, gag on it, get it good and wet for daddy, or you’re going to be at this for a while.”

John redoubled his efforts, doing his best to lick and suck as Mr. Walker requested, until at last, he was rewarded with a load of cum. Finished with one, he moved over and sucked off his professor as well, who shot his load all over his face.

Speaking softly, the professor’s gentle tone was undercut by the harsh directive. “Now, you fucking slut… Get dressed, and wear that load all the way back to campus,” Farnham said, and handed him a small flip phone. “This is for work. Always answer it, no matter when it rings. You’ll be given instructions and a location each time. Don’t be late, don’t be disobedient, and the video taken last night will never see the light of day.” He paused, grinned, and cooed, “Unless, of course, you want it to.” Farnham leered down at John, like he’d known the filthy thought that had crossed his mind a moment ago, his burly father seeing what a slut John was, bending him over his knee, and…

John nodded and gulped, removed his party attire, and changed back into his hotel uniform before slipping out the back. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, but John took a moment to jack off in his car, his ass aching against even the soft seat, thinking about how it would feel on the hard classroom chairs. Fuck, what had his professor done to him? He came in the front of his slacks, cheeks burning with shame, and headed home. It was just two years, right? He’d be done by the time he graduated, and the fee he’d receive for each escort would be…substantial, according to the contract.

John got what little rest he could, and in the morning, did his best to pretend that everything was normal. That is, until the sound of an unfamiliar ringtone interrupted his homework. He answered the flip phone, and a computerized voice on the other end instructed, “The executive suite has been reserved for a special guest after your shift this evening. He requested the same outfit as last night, you’ll find it in the drawers of the suite’s dresser. The party last night was a great success, you’re already booked out every night for the next two weeks. Get your rest, sissy boy.”

They hung up before John could reply, and he felt his stomach churn in anticipation, terror, or both. Apparently, the only bottom at the hotel being up-sold now, was his.

The Family Portrait

This is…technically an older story that I never got around to finishing at the time, and at the urging of a patron, I returned to it, revised it a bit, and gave it a conclusion. Hope you all enjoy it! Also, the new series I mentioned, “Pigtown Chronicles”, is in early access over on Patreon, and I’ll be posting it publicly next week! If you missed the first three chapters, you can go check them out there, or wait and read them here. If you’re still over on tumblr, I created a new blog for this series–that way it won’t be stuck behind the nightmare that is NSFW tumblr, and have a searchable, accessible archive. If you want to follow it there, you can go ahead and follow it here. I’ll also be reposting all of them to my old tumblr as well.

It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed.

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying.

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, were friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Or rather, his dad Gary, a conservative city councilman who couldn’t afford to have a gay son in the news, made his say it, and Keith went along with it. Marty had had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself.

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly traced back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide.

Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.

When reality snapped back to order, the effects were seen far beyond the run-down house where Keith now lived with his older brother–his now ex-wife and sons were forced into new realities as well. The two older sons, David and Terrance, were living out on their own, working and renting an apartment together while they attended the local community college, trying to make the leap to a four year college when they could afford it, and both of them avoided their father like the plague. His youngest son, Bobby, split his time between his mother’s house and his father’s house, but only because he was still seventeen for a few more months. In all honesty, he hated every second he had to spend with his filthy uncle and father–he was ashamed to even be related to them. His mother understood, but there was nothing she could do, until he reached eighteen and could legally decide for himself. And so, Marty decided that the next easiest target would be Bobby, when he arrived to stay with his dad and uncle the next week.

That gave him plenty of time to get adjusted to life with his new stupid, lazy younger brother, and he loved every second of it. While he couldn’t make any massive changes to him, now that the picture had become static again, just like his wizard friend had said, he could continue making small changes and suggestions for another few days, all of which Keith was more than happy to obey, and by the end of the week, he reeked of cum and sweat, he hadn’t had a shower in months, and he spent all day and night drunk, passing out on the couch with the TV on every night, when he wasn’t busy in his brother’s bed, servicing his every sexual desire. Still, they both knew that as soon as Bobby arrived for his week of custody they would have to control themselves…for a little while. Marty didn’t think Bobby would be returning to his mother’s house anytime soon, that was for sure. All he’d have to do is get the young man relaxed and focused on the portrait, and everything would be perfect.

However, from the day Bobby arrived, it became clear it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Marty had thought. The boy had some…problems with authority, especially parental authority. He spent almost all of his time in his room, giving his uncle no real chances to exert much influence on him in any way. Marty thought he had him the second night, when he managed to successfully enchant Booby with the portrait, causing a third blurry figure to appear beside the images of his father and uncle, but when he tried to influence the boy, and turn him into a chubby, submissive cub for them both to use, nothing seemed to work–Bobby fought his suggestions, and after an hour, the image of him had faded from the picture entirely.

Angry and frustrated, Marty called his wizard friend, demanding to know what was wrong–the wizard was a bit flummoxed, but said that the reason for Bobby’s resistance probably had to do with his perceived relationship to his family–that is, he didn’t want to perceive himself as Keith’s son, but he didn’t have an easy solution for him. Marty’s mood stayed sour for a few days, until he overheard a fight between Bobby and his father one night. Bobby told him that Keith had never been his father, that Bobby was the only person in the room who could act like an adult–and that gave Marty an idea: if Marty thought he was the adult in the room…well, why not make him one?

The fight ended, Bobby stormed off to his room. Marty waited for half an hour, and then knocked on the door, letting himself in–the portrait had appeared on the wall of Bobby’s room, looming over him. “Bobby, I know you aren’t a fan of us, but you need to accept the fact that we’re your family, and there isn’t anything that can change that,” he said, and pointed at the picture, “Look at us up there, wasn’t that a good day?” Bobby looked at the swirling paint, his eyes drawn in immediately, a fleshy blob appearing in the picture, but Marty could see him fight, see him resist his placement between them, where a son belonged. So Marty tried something different, “But you’re a man now, you know? And you know, we don’t treat you like that enough. You aren’t a boy anymore, Bobby–no, not Bobby–Bob. You’ve grown into a fine young man, haven’t you?”

Bobby resisted for a moment more, but then visibly relaxed where he was sitting on the side of the bed. Marty could see his body changing, hair growing up his forearms, thick like theirs, his body bulking, as he grew older, into his mid 20’s. Finally, finally he had him, and Marty knew exactly what this young prick needed–if he wanted to be an adult, then fine, let him.

“You know Bob, I’ve always admired you. I’ve never seen you as a nephew, not really. I’ve always thought of you as a real brother to me. And I know Keith gets on your nerves, but he’s, well, he’s younger than us, right? He’s always going to be a bit immature.”

Bob kept growing older, his face growing a bit more lined, hair receding back past the crown of his head, becoming flecked with gray, and he chuckled, “He acts like a fucking child,” Bob said, “I wish…I wish…grandpa had been sterner or…or something, he…why does my head hurt all of a sudden?” Bobby said, rubbing his temples, “I…I feel like I’m forgetting something…”

“You mean dad, don’t you?” Marty said. “You wish dad had been stricter.”

“I…I guess.”

“Look, you’re not one to run away from Keith when he gets on your nerves. You know what he needs–you’ve always known what we both need, as the oldest.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right Marty–you always have a way of…of making so much sense, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, now come on. I think you should go have another word with Keith, don’t you?”

Bob nodded, and turned to leave the room. Marty checked the portrait, and sure enough, there was Bob level with them both–but Marty wasn’t really interested in having another brother. Since Bob wanted to be an adult so badly, why not go a little further? He smiled, and joined the rest of the family in the den.

The now middle aged Bob went and stood in front of Keith on the couch. He looked up at him, confused for a moment, before the magic helped him along. Bobby his son didn’t exist for him now–he was looking up at his big brother Bob.

“Yer blocking the game Bob, get out of the way,” Keith said, craning around him as best he could.

“Yeah? That so? What’s a fat fucking piece of shit like you gonna do about it?” Bob asked.

Keith glowered at him, and hefted himself to one side, but Bob just shifted along with him.

Marty stepped up, and saw that the family portrait had followed them, and was now hanging above the fireplace. “Come on now Bob, you know what Keith needs, don’t you? Ever since he was a kid, you knew exactly what kind of worthless piece of shit he was going to be, and you never hesitated to put him in his place.”

Bob’s gaze grew a bit harder, and he undid the belt around his waist, pulling it free of the loops with one pull. Keith’s eyes went wide, but he couldn’t move before Bob’s hand was around his neck, gripping tight enough to make him gasp for breath. “Apparently someone has forgotten who the boss is around here,” he said, “get up, knees on the sofa boy, I think you need a good reminder.”

Keith tried to mumble something, maybe an apology, but Bob’s grip tightened enough that he only managed a squeak. He released him, and Keith did as he was told, hauling his fat body up and onto the couch, letting Bob tug the back of his grimy underwear down, and pushing his body over the back of the couch, so his ass was high. The first smack made Keith holler, and that was enough to shake Bob as well, and he looked at the belt–almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“Don’t worry about the screams, Bob–we all know that just makes that big dick of yours even harder. All those years working construction put a whole lot of muscle on you, and you love using it on the pig–even more than the pig likes the abuse. Go on, see how much that fat pig’s puny cock is leaking.”

Bob ran a hand between Keith’s legs, and sure enough, it came back coated with precum that he wiped across both cheeks. Leering now, he brought the belt down again and again on Keith’s ass, stopping only to pop open the buttons on his jeans, letting his own sizable cock free. Unable to resist anymore, He tossed the belt down and drove the cock into Keith’s loose hole, making them both cry out in delight.

“That’s it Daddy,” Marty said, coming close and stroking Bob’s body as he fucked the pig’s hole. “You’re such a good daddy to us boys, aren’t you?”

Bob was too eager to fuck to even muster much of a resistance, as the portrait began to shimmer again, Bob’s image migrating behind Keith and Marty, where the patriarch would be.

“Retired now, sure. Past your prime, maybe. But you trained the pig well, didn’t you? You knew before he could walk that he wasn’t going to amount to shit, and no amount of discipline would stick, because the pig just wanted more. More punishment, more humiliation, more, more, more. But that’s ok, isn’t it? You do love him, you want to give him what he wants. It just so happens its exactly what you want to, right Daddy?”

Bob swelled larger, body filling out with more fat and muscle as his hair all turned a stark white, beard down to the top of his gut, snorting and grunting in time with his son as he thrust harder and harder, until he came finally with something like a roar. He pulled free, and his cum drooled out Keith’s hole, who was coming down from his own orgasm, having soaked the couch cushion below him.

“Fuck Daddy–you’re so fucking hot. Take care of me now, come on. I’ve always been the favorite. Your oldest, I could never do anything wrong. You want to make me happy all the time, don’t you Daddy? You can’t resist anything that I say,” Marty said, grabbed his burly father by the shoulder and shoved him down to his knees, Marty’s own cock out. “Come on Daddy, suck your boy off, you love the taste of my fuckin’ cum, you fuckin’ need it.”

Bob swallowed Marty to the hilt in one practiced motion, and he didn’t last more than a couple of thrusts, before exploding in his Dad’s mouth. He could feel the magic tightening around them all as the portrait turned solid again. It wasn’t quite what he’d planned, Marty thought as he pulled free, watching his new father lick his lips and thank his favorite boy for his load, before getting up, grabbing a beer and a cigar, and sitting down next to the still panting and huffing Keith to finish the game. Marty could make this work, though. He’d pay a visit to Keith’s sons soon, once he was sure these two were well under his thumb, and his new family would be nearly complete.

It had been a bigger change than Marty had planned on for Bobby, and he was a bit concerned that he might try and push back against the magic, but for the rest of the weekend, everything progressed smoothly. If anything, Bobby was revelling in his new found authority and power over his new son, humiliating and abusing him all day long, cementing Keith’s new role as the family loser more and more. But much to Marty’s surprise, the change to Bobby was having an impact on him as well.

Apparently, by making him his dad’s favorite son, that changed some of his own past in the process. Over the rest of the weekend, as his dad showed him his new found affection, pleasing his favorite boy as much as he could, while he did everything he could to punish Keith, Marty found he was losing weight, and putting on muscle. New memories came to him of playing football in high school at his father’s urging–it clashed uncomfortably with his other, older memories of being kicked out of school at Keith’s father’s behest. Needless to say, Marty was thrilled that he could be affected as well, and once he realized the effect it was having, he pushed his dad, and himself, to be more manly, more masculine, both of them sprouting thick beards and bigger cocks, ending Sunday night with a family spit roast in their leather gear–father and his favorite son skewering the family pig at both ends, while they both smoked their favorite cigars, before dragging him down into the basement dungeon, where they took turns flogging him until the pig’s puny cock exploded in delight against the wall.

Marty had spent a bit of time trying to work out how to get the rest of the family under the portraits influence as well. Talking to his friend, the portrait was bound to the house–it would only affect people while they were here. That meant he had to figure out some way to get Keith’s other two sons, Jack and Eric, over here–but neither of his older sons wanted anything to do with him. In the end, the situation with Bobby, now Bob, created a solution to the problem. When Bobby didn’t return to his mother’s house on Sunday night, and with no word from Keith, and after a call to the police turned up no record of her son at all, she asked Jack and Eric to check up on Bobby and make sure he was alright, and to bring him home.

And so, Monday evening there was a pounding on the door. Bob and Keith were downstairs taking care of some discipline, and so it was Marty who opened the door, and found both of his nephews standing on the doorstep, looking rather angry. “Marty,” Jack said, “Is Bobby here?”

“Bobby?” Marty asked, a bit confused. He’d almost forgotten that his father downstairs had been a teenager a couple days before this.

“Stupid fucking freaks, where the hell is he?” Eric said, shoving his way inside and looking for Bobby in the living room and kitchen. Jack followed after him, and Marty shut the door, smiling that his next two targets had entered the web so willingly.

“Boys, I think you’re confused. Who’s Bobby?”

“Our brother, you know who.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I had any boys other than you two,” Marty said, looking up at the portrait up above the fireplace, watching the image of both young men materialize in front of Keith for a moment, but Marty had a better idea. Keith was a loser pig, and these boys didn’t deserve that. No–he had a better idea for both of them, that he’d been mulling over for the past couple of days, and with some focus, he watched the images of them scooch over, and take their place in front of him instead. These were going to be his son’s now, and he would raise them just right.

He saw that slight daze come over both of them as the portrait took hold of them, and smiled. “Come on boys, I know you’ve had a long day at work on the site. Crack open a beer and let’s have some family time, while Grandpa’s taking care of your uncle downstairs.”

“What…no, we….we came here for…for Bobby,” Jack said, trying to push through.

“No, you’ve been working on the construction site all day, like usual. Now you’re home, where you belong, with your family. You’re thinking of Bob, your grandpa. You two aren’t too bright, I know you can get confused easily.”

Marty was a bit worried that they’d put up as big a fight as Bobby had, but he watched as Eric’s clothes shifted to some grungy workwear and boots covered in dust and dirt, and seeing it happen to his brother, Jack changed quickly after that. Apparently, the two of them had a good affinity for each other–Marty could work with that too. The two of them followed Marty over to the sofa and sat down together, while he got the remote, fiddled with it, and found an old boxing match to put on. “There we go, that’s what you boys like, isn’t it? A good bout, right?”

Jack and Eric watched the fight go on, while Marty kept talking.

“Yeah, the two of you have always been fighting each other, ever since you were kids. I was always hollering at you two to cut it out, but that just seemed to encourage you. But you’re both sadists, just like me and your grandpa–it shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose, all the roughhousing. You two were always so easily matched though–identical twins, and damn, did both of you grow big and strong, just like the real men of the family.”

Jack gave a groan, and was the first to pull his cock free of his pants, with Eric following along soon after. The two of them were swelling larger now, packing on a substantial layer of beef across their chest, arms and legs as they grew larger, topping six and a half feet. Their features were melding together–Jack’s hair lightened to the color Eric’s shaggy brown mop, while Eric’s eyes grew more sucken and his brow grew in to match Jack’s own forehead.

“Fucking inseparable, the two of you. Always have been. Only way I can tell you apart at this point is that Jack, you lost both of your front teeth to a game of backyard football when you were fourteen, and Eric, you pissed Jack off so much a year later he pummelled your face and flattened that nose of yours to your face. But you love each other, deeply. Been catching the two of your fucking around with one another for years now, and I swear you know what the other is thinking half the time. Of course, both of you are such dimwits that it makes sense the two of you would only have one brain between the two of you.”

At the same time, their hands moved and took hold of each other’s cocks, and the two boys moaned simultaneously. One eye each still on the screen, taking in the blows of the bout, obviously excited at the bloodsport, they leaned in and started kissing each other, pressing closer, Eric wheezing through his busted nose, his tongue sliding through the familiar gap in the middle of Jack’s teeth.

“That’s it you two. Fuck, I couldn’t be more pround of my two handsome, dirty, sadistic boys. Hardly ever showering you, pretty much always have a thick cloud of musk and cigar smoke clinging to you, covered in dirt, but not so much that we can’t all see the riot of matching tattoos the two of you have gotten over the years together, all over your arms, your chest, even your cocks have twin snakes down the length of them,” Marty said, came around the front of the couch, and climbed up, one foot between each boy’s legs, his cock thrust between their faces, his twins slobbering all over their new father’s cock as the portrait swirled, coming more and more into focus, the old Jack and Eric fading away, and replaced by the two massive twin bruisers parked on either side of their massive father. “But most of all, you two boys love your Daddy, don’t you? You’ll both do anything for me, without a moment’s hesitation–and your Grandpa too. We’re the only guys who ever fuck you–aside from each other. But that’s what guys in a family do for each other, right? Besides, I know how the two of you love to fight over my cock.”

Jack won the day not long after that, taking his dad’s cock in his mouth while he shoved his brother’s face lower, Eric relenting and lapping at Marty’s balls until he exploded in Jack’s mouth. He pulled free and fed the load to Eric, the two of them sharing it, watching it drool into their tangled brown beards. “Fuck dad, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Eric said when they pulled free, “Can I suck it next time?”

“You know the rules boys, Daddy likes watching you fight for it,” Marty said, getting down from the couch. “Now come on, let’s go see how grandpa’s work on your pig uncle is going.”

They all went down into the basement dungeon, where they found grandpa with his flogger, coated with a sheen of sweat, laying into Keith’s back with a whip. The smell of blood and sweat mingled in the air, and from his sons’ panting, Marty could tell the scent was getting them excited. “Hey dad, Eric and Jack are home from work, why don’t you let the youngin’s take over for a bit?”

Bob looked over his shoulder, confused for a moment, but the magic took hold after a moment, and he remembered his two grandson’s properly. “Sounds good to me–I think the pig’s just getting warmed up, isn’t that right?”

He walked around, and there was a puddle of cum under Keith from where he’d lost any number of loads already, but from the look of bliss across his face and his still rock hard little cock, it was clear he was ready and eager for more punishment. “Fuck yeah boys, come teach your naughty pig uncle a lesson already,” he said, leering at the two of them. Jack and Eric stripped down repositioned Keith so his hands were together and suspended from the ceiling, pulled tight enough he couldn’t quite touch his entire feet to the ground, and then started using him as a punching bag, one twin punching his uncle’s fat gut while the other held him fucking or fingering his ass while he did, and then trading positions. Meanwhile, Marty took a seat where he could watch his boys work, and Bob came over, got down, and started sucking on his son’s cock.

This was shaping up to be a better family that Marty could have ever dreamed of–but it was still missing one last person, he thought. Gary, the old patriarch of the family, was going to have to be given a new position, since Bobby had already taken his. Now with his two sons in place, Marty knew just where to put him, and then, the portrait would be complete.

Over the next day or so, as Marty made sure his twin boys were well cemented in their new lives, he could feel the magic of the portrait beginning to ebb and pull back. If he was going to bring Gary into the fold, he had to do it soon, or he would miss his opportunity. Thankfully, Gary still lived in town, though his years as a councilman were behind him at this point. He’d used his local connections well though, ending up on the board of a sizable corporation, doing very well for himself. It was time, in Marty’s opinion, to take the old man down a few notches. The disjoint between the two realities–between the portrait and how things used to be–made it difficult to see how to get him close enough for the magic to work on him. After making a call or two, he didn’t even recognize Keith as his son, whether that was because of the magic, or because he wanted nothing to do with a pig like Keith, well, it didn’t matter that much.

In the end, the simplest solution proved to be best. Marty told his two sons to go get the old man and bring him back here, no matter what it took. It took a little breaking and entering, and a little bit of a beating, but not long after midnight, Jack and Eric returned with a well bound, and slightly bloody Gary between them, that they dragged into the house.

“What the fuck is this? Do you fucking know who I am?” Gary shouted when Marty pulled the gag from his mouth. “Is this about money? Well, you’re not getting any, you’ll all fucking rot in jail!”

“No Gary, this isn’t about money,” Marty said, “This is a family matter. You remember your son Keith, don’t you?”

Keith stepped forward, battered and bruised, stinking of cum and musk, covered in hair. Gary stared at the pig, horrified, but after a moment, there was recollection as well. “K-Keith? What…I…what happened to you?”

Keith, on the other hand, didn’t know who this man was. As far as his simple mind was concerned, Bob had always been his father now. An uncle, maybe? He looked over at Marty, unsure of what to do or say, and the pig knew better than to act without direction from his superiors.

“Yeah, your boy,” Marty said. “Or at least, he was your boy. How about me, Gary? Do you remember me? Marty Hackman, that ring a bell?”

Gary shook his head.

“You ruined my life, Gary. Your son gave me a blowjob in high school, and rather than deal with the fact that your kid liked dick, you decided to demonize me, and get me kicked out of school. Now do you remember Gary?”

Gary’s face went a bit pale, then. “I…What is this, what are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I suppose you could say, I’m going to give you another chance, boy, to do right by your family. Boys, pick him up, bring him into the den, so he can see our family portrait.” Jack and Eric dragged him along, following their dad into the family room, where the portrait was hanging over the fireplace. “There, Gary–doesn’t that look like a happy family?” Marty said, grabbing Gary by the hair and making him look up at the picture, “Still, it’s missing something. It’s missing you, Gary…”

Gary watched as the image began to shimmer, and after a moment, a new image appeared in it, behind Keith and next to Bob–his own image, in fact. “What? How…how did…” Gary said, but trailed off, the magic already taking hold, putting him in a light trance.

“Oh, but that’s not where you belong in the photo Gary, not after everything you’ve done,” Marty said. “No, not someone as petulant as you. As greedy. As cruel and conniving. You don’t get to be the head of this family anymore. But there’s always room for another pig, right nephew?”

Gary watched as the portrait shimmered again, and his image in it moved and shifted, moving from the back beside Bob, down to the front row, in front of Keith and next to Jack and Eric. “How…I don’t understand…”

“I know it’s hard for you, pig’s aren’t very good at thinking, right Keith? You wouldn’t expect a pig son of yours to be any good at thinking hard, would you?”

“No way bro,” Keith said, “No son a mine would be a good thinker. He’d just be a stupid, gluttonous, cocksuckin’ pig like me, if I had anything to say about it.”

“Fuck Gary, you hear what your Daddy is sayin’ about you?” Marty said.

“No, I’m not…I’m not…” Gary said, but watched as the image in the portrait began to change–and to his horror, he could feel his own body begin shifting to match it. Gary, as he had gotten older, had spent his time maintaining his physique as well as he could, and he had quite a reputation as a silver fox. But now, the silver was beginning to fade, and his body began to expand with fat. He pushed back with his hands, trying to stop it, trying to cling to his old self, but he was finding it harder and harder to think, as his mind slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t fight it, pig, you know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want,” Marty said. “Just a short, obese, hairy, stinking piggy. Not many good genes on that side of the family. You got your daddy’s tiny dick for one thing–hell, we tried to measure it once, but couldn’t really get a good read because of how fat you both are. Hair all over. Your fucking musk could peel paint off the wall, and it doesn’t matter if you shower or not, it comes back in just a few minutes. We don’t mind of course, as family, it doesn’t bother us. All that hair though, and you’re still balding at…how old are you? Twenty two? Ugly fuckin’ mug too, but that can’t be helped. Not many women were willing to have sex with that pigdad of yours. We found one willing, but he couldn’t even get inside her–we had to inseminate. We paid her plenty, of course, but even she thought you were the ugliest baby she’d ever seen. Never wanted to see you again, if she could help it.”

Gary could only watch in horror as everything Marty said came true. He lost a few more inches in height, even as his weight exploded–ending up at five foot six and nearly four hundred pounds of mostly fat. His skin was coated with hair, aside from his hair, which was balding, the rest of it buzzed short. The thick beard on his face did some to conceal his ugly looks, but you couldn’t hide the big nose and ears, the thick brow, the crooked teeth. His clothes had disappeared, but that wasn’t shocking. Pigs didn’t get to wear clothes in the house, and it wasn’t like Gary got to leave that often. Between the stink rolling off him, and his ugly looks, the family decided it was best if the pig just stayed home and took care of the family.

“But every generation has to have their pig, right? Yer Daddy was my pig, and that means you get to be my boys’ pig. That excites you, of course. Getting to service two big, burly sadists like them, day and night, doing whatever sick, twisted things they want to you. They’ve been training you real well for the last couple of years. Just last month, they finally managed to fit both of their fists inside you at the same damn time. You make my boys so damn happy, and you’re happy doing what you do best, being a stupid, ugly pig cocksucker for your whole damn family.”

Unable to help himself, Gary gave a snort, remembering how happy he’d been, feeling histwin cousin’s fists deep inside him, pummelling his prostate until his little cock jizzed all over his gunt. Across the room, uncle Marty had been busy working over his Daddy with a paddle, working out some sadistic aggression on his ass, turning it bright red. Every once in a while, Keith would shudder and grunt, adding to the pool of cum drooling off the fuck bench he was strapped to.

“You like being a pig, don’t you Gary?”

“Yeah Uncle Marty, of course I do.”

“You like being your family’s fist hole? Their urinal? Their ashtray? You like how we treat you like a fucking garbage can and cum dump? You love being humiliated.When my boys brought home that tattoo gun, you begged them to use it on you, to mark you as theirs forever. Of course, the only place they could tattoo you where anyone would see it was your face, since the rest of you was so hairy…”

Crude writing appeared across Gary’s face, scrawled there by his cousins over the last few months. Gary didn’t mind. He loved being marked by them, owned by them. What else was there for a pig like him to do anyway? Too stupid to work, too horny all the time to do anything other than beg for sex, he thanked his lucky stars every day that he had been born into a family that understood what a pig like him needed, and treated him right.

“Open pig.”

Gary did as ordered, opened his mouth, and Marty tapped the hot ash from his cigar into his mouth, then shoved his nephew down to his knees. “Open up boy, let me help you wash that down.”

Marty started pissing all over his nephew, watching the young pig chase the stream all over, the rest of it dribbling down into his hairy body. The rest of the family gathered around–even Keith–and added their own piss, baptizing the newest, and youngest member of the family as one of their own. Marty could feel the magic thrumming around him and through him–this was the last one, he could already feel it beginning to seal, but he had gotten what he wanted. He pushed Gary down, climbed on top of him, and drove his cock into his loose hole, Gary grunting with excitement as his uncle took him for the first time, for the hundredth time, he didn’t know. All he knew anymore was that he was a horny, cockhungry pig, and he was here to service his family as they required. Gary’s hole wasn’t tight, but Marty was so horny he didn’t last long. He exploded deep in Gary’s hole, and felt the magic contract and solidify around all of them. Looking up, the portrait was still there, but perfectly stable now–but a piece of artwork, nothing more.

“Come on boys, let’s get these pigs downstairs. I think we’re just getting warmed up, right?”

Everyone hollered in agreement, and dragged Keith and Gary down to the basement, for their nightly ritual. None of them could be happier, of course, especially Marty, whose own memories were fading away, and had disappeared by dawn. He had what he’d always wanted, a loving family. A perverted, stinking, roughneck family of pigs, sure, but a family all the same.

Patreon Teaser – The Cursed Elf

Hey all, I’ve been doing some short flash fiction Christmas tales for folks over on Patreon! I’m gonna post a couple of them here for the next few days, but if you want to read them all, you’ll have to head over here! Supporters at the $5 level or higher get access to those, and a bunch of other stuff in the archive. Here’s part one of a little tale about a cursed Elf on a Shelf, enjoy!

Dec 1st.

Mitch blinked awake and checked the clock–not too long after midnight. He wasn’t quite sure what had awoken him, but he did need to take a piss, so he got up out of bed without disturbing his wife, and walked to the bathroom attached to their room. It was too early to even try and aim, so he turned around and sat down, took a long piss, and as his vision adapted to the light, he noticed something odd. There, on the counter with its legs dangling off, was one of those…elf things. The elf on a shelf, right?

Linda had bought one when they’d first come out for Jeremy, their son who was in college now. She’d changed locations every day, Jeremy had needed to hunt for it, and it helped encourage good behavior, since it was allegedly reporting back to Santa each night. But they hadn’t used it since he was ten or so–almost a decade ago? Why on Earth had she gotten it out now?

Looking at it again, he noticed something else odd about it. It didn’t seem particularly…jolly. The elf had been thin, with a big grin. This one though seemed fat, its clothes dirty looking, with a mischievous sneer across its face.

“Ya just gonna stare at me, Mitch, or are ya gonna say hello?”

He nearly popped up off the toilet when he heard the voice come from the elf. Then the thing…moved. It got up on the counter, a hairy belly poking out from under the ratty shirt it had on…and was that…a bulge? “What…what the fuck are you?”

“I’m an elf. A bad elf, I suppose Santa would say. Had a pretty good gig for a while, you know? Report on the kids, have a little fun with their dads, harmless! Got fired, stuck me in one of those damn dolls! Well, good news is, I still have my Christmas magic left, and look at you, sexy fella. I’ll be happy to keep an eye on you for the next twenty five days.”

Mitch tried to say something else, but a strange beam shot out of the elves eyes and into Mitch’s own, and his hands flopped down at his side, eyes gleaming, smile wide.

“That’s it, Mitch. You just relax and let me take care of everything. Aren’t you horny, Daddy? Don’t those big balls of yours just need release?”

The elf hoped over onto Mitch’s thigh, as his cock was beginning to stand upright, his balls sagging lower into the bowl of the toilet. The elf wrapped both arms around his cock and started pumping it, making Mitch groan.

“That’s it, just stokin’ off, like guys do. You love masturbatin’, don’t you Mitch? Bet you love it more than fucking, you pervert. Looking at porn every chance you get, whacking off in the bathrooms at home, at work. You don’t care if anyone hears you, do you Mitch? Wouldn’t getting caught be kind of…exciting?”

Mitch’s groans got louder and louder, until the bathroom door opened, his wife standing in the doorway as Mitch stroked himself off, shooting a huge load all over the floor in front of him, while Linda just stared, horrified. He looked around for the elf, but the little fucker was nowhere to be found. He tried to sputter an explanation, but she just said that if he wanted to be gross, he could sleep on the couch for the rest of the night, and went back to bed.

Confused and a little scared, Mitch went downstairs and made a little bed on the couch. He didn’t even get settled in before he saw a pair of eyes gleaming at him from a high shelf. Before he could stop himself, he was drifting off into some of the filthiest dreams of his life–at least, until the next night, and the night after that, the elf assuring Mitch this would be a Christmas season he’d never forget.

(Caption) Hide and Seek

October Caption Challenge (26/31)

“Found you Jimmy!”

“God dang it, how’d ya guys do it again?” Jimmy said, stepping out of the doorway, a little drool running out of his mouth, as the other frat brothers laughed at him.

“Your big fucking belly was sticking right out into the hallway, dumbass!”

“Wha?”

“You know that we can see you even if you can’t see us, right?”

“I…I don’ know…my head hurts.”

It wasn’t surprising, really. Jimmy had been everyone’s least favorite frat brother, and when Gregory had found the spell book, and realized it worked, the other guys were more than happy to make Jimmy the butt of the evening. They’d decided to play a game–hide and seek. But if you got found within a time limit, then you had to get changed by one of the spells.

So far, Jimmy had gained 200 pounds of fat, he’d lost fifty points from his IQ, and now they were just forcing him to hide over and over again, just so they could keep changing him for fun.

“Come on guys, can I change back now? I don’t like this anymore,” Jimmy said, pouting a bit, puffing out his fat cheeks.

“Sorry man, you gotta get changed again,” Gregory said, and said another spell. But little did the frat know, this one wasn’t targeted at just Jimmy, but at all of the brothers. After all, Gregory was tired of being in the closet, and Jimmy had been such a homophobe, he deserved to be the house cumdump from now on. “Tell you what, Jimmy. Why don’t we take a break, and you can suck us all off, eh? You love cum, don’t you Jimmy?”

Jimmy nodded vigorously, got down on his knees, and hauled Gregory’s cock out of his shorts for him, and started sucking with gusto. The rest of the guys all found their own cocks getting hard at the sight, and were more than willing to feed their loads to Jimmy as well. Of course, Jimmy got changed back come morning–or at least, he thought he did. Instead, Gregory just warped all of their memories to think that Jimmy had spent the night as a muscle bound top–but now he was just regular old Jimmy–fat, stupid, and always thirsty for cum–and as far as he was concerned, he never wanted to change again.

(Caption) Family Blackmail

October Caption Challenge (21/30)

Coming from a rich family has plenty of perks. The trust fund is a big one. I mean, my father expects me to hold down a job, something to show I have some sort of incentive to improve myself. I do have papers verifying a kind of employment as a consultant with a variety of companies downtown, mostly thanks to the many friends I’ve made at the gay clubs since I moved to the city here, away from my father’s estate where he retired. So yes, I work. By which I mean, I fuck my way through piles of drugs, men, and all manner of depravity on a daily basis, because that is how I wish to spend my time and my father’s money. I’m an only child–what other choice does he have?

Well, imagine my surprise when I get an email from him, along with a photo attached:

Yes, that’s me. I counted myself lucky, I suppose. There were many others, far more filthy that he could have found, which would have resulted in something more immediate than the ultimatum he gave me. I was to return home. I would marry a young woman, approved by him, immediately. I would work at his business for the rest of my life, or all of my privileges would be revoked.

Now, I couldn’t have any of that spoiling my fun, of course. Thankfully, quite a few of my contacts in the city had rather…unsavory connections in the world, and I was promised, for something as weightless as my soul, that they could help me with my little problem. I was more than happy to pay up of course, I was hardly convinced that souls existed in the first place, after all. There was a marketplace, I was told, where they could be bought and sold. The things we’ve learned to commoditize.

The results were quick. I received, two days later, a series of photos, some of them tastefully anonymous, like the one below.

Others far more revealing, and filthy. I had no idea my father could be capable of such filth, to be honest. I was proud of the little hypocrite.

So, I sent them along, telling him that this revelation would be far more damaging to him than the little activities I entertained myself with. Unless he wanted them seeing the light of day, he ought to just keep the trust fund flowing.

My father was horrified. He had no idea when these photos had been taken, no memory of any of this occurring. It didn’t really matter to me whether his denials were true, or whether someone had drugged him, hypnotized him, brutalized him into disgracing himself for a camera. I had my money, and that was all that mattered to me–at least, until I was told that my soul had been sold.

Apparently, souls are very much real, and being in possession of one allows a remarkable level of control. I’m owned by my Master now, and reside in his dungeon as his full time gimp.

The trust fund is his. He also, apparently, was the one who manipulated my father, and so he pays me visits on occasion as well–it’s the only time my hood is removed, when I get to watch my old father being beaten in the dungeon by my Master, fucked and pissed on and fed the ash from his cigars. I don’t know if he knows its happening to him. I do. Then he is gone, and the hood returns. But I can’t object. My soul is his now. I love him. I could never disparage him. I will serve him for the rest of my life, or until he sells me off again. I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think I could stand to lose him.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares IV

October Caption Challenge (19/31)

In business, you can get away with a certain amount of sleaze, and Carl tended to push the line a bit more than most. But mostly, what Carl was looking for was power, and now, as a hiring manager for a major company, he could wield a good amount of it, and fuck, did he like ruining someone’s day. Hell, just today, he’d had some middle aged guy come in for a job interview–they couldn’t legally screen for age, but needless to say, he was not looking for someone this old. Still, why not fuck with the guy a bit? They had a nice chat, and Carl did everything he could to butter the guy up a bit, even sharing a cigar with him in the office.

But finally, at the end of the interview, he told the guy that the position had already been filled–but he could offer him an unpaid internship instead. The guy’s face just melted–after all, those fucking internships were designed for kids with trust funds, not for older fellows with bills to pay. He asked Carl to reconsider, and instead, Carl just starts selling him on the position, telling him it will be great to build experience, and he can see the guy getting angrier and angrier, but he finally realizes he’s been played, and stormed out.

Carl had a good laugh with some buddies after that one. The dream imp wasn’t laughing, however.

That night, Carl found himself sitting in a chair in a waiting room. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there exactly, but he knew that he was waiting to be interviewed for a job of some sort, but he didn’t know what. He started to panic a bit, in fact, trying to wrack his head and remember what, exactly, he was here for. Then, his name was called, he stood up, and went into the room.

It wasn’t an office though, it was a spacious living room–and there, in a comfy armchair, was the older fellow he’d interviewed that day, except…not quite. He was more muscular for one thing, and he was wearing this strange leather gear, and these boots shined to perfection. There was no chair in front of him, and he did not motion for Carl to sit anywhere–so he just stood, awkwardly, in his suit.

“Well Carl, I must apologize. I’m afraid the position of Master that you’d applied for has already been filled, by me,” the man said, taking a long draw on the cigar he had between his gloved fingers. “Luckily though, we do have a few other openings–unpaid, sadly.”

“I…I don’t understand, I don’t need a job from you.”

“Yes, but don’t you want one?” the man asked. Carl felt something in his head flip, and looking at him now, the leather, the boots, he…he was horny. Why the fuck was this making him horny? “Why don’t you get on your knees, boy.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order, and Carl found himself compelled to obey him. “Please Sir, I think there’s been a mistake.”

“I should say so–I can’t believe you wore a suit to your interview with me. Everyone knows that good slaves ought to show up in the gear they want to serve in.”

The suit on his body started to wriggle, becoming a pair of bleached jeans with yellow bracers, and a black tank top. “Please, this has to be a dream, just let me wake up!”

Something cackled behind him, and there, he saw the imp crouched, watching the two men in delight.

“Don’t worry about him, slave,” Master said, “Why don’t we start the practical interview?” He clicked his gloved fingers, and something appeared in Carl’s mouth, a gag attached to a short rod, with an ashtray at the end of it. Master put his booted feet on Carl’s crotch, mashing his cock and making him moan in something between pain and delight.

“Now, I’m going to smoke, and then I’m going to fuck your hole slave, and then we’re going to do a few hundred more things, and by the time we’re finished with this interview, I think you’ll be ready to come serve me in real life, how does that sound?”

He crushed Carl’s cock again, and he groaned through the gag. Apparently, it didn’t matter what he wanted. This dream wasn’t going to end anytime soon, and by the end of it, Carl would have a brand new position in life, whether he wanted to or not.

(Caption) Two Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (12/31)

It was hard not to feel self conscious.

Taking selfies helped. Aaron usually took a couple before leaving, just to help psyche himself up. They weren’t…great photos, but it helped a little. He always felt a little silly going to Pigtown looking like this, dressed like he was going to some business conference or something, but he didn’t exactly have any of the gear that he saw a lot of guys wearing in the bar and the neighborhood. Why did he keep going back there? He knew he didn’t belong, but he wanted to. That was it, wasn’t it. He wanted to belong there, so badly, but he knew he never would, not really.

It didn’t stop him from going. He still went to the bars, to the shops, to the events. He went to see what he could have if he was less afraid, if he just…let go.

Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he would do more than stand and stare, and then slip into the glory holes, and suck cocks where no one could see him, and then wake up back home, with no memory of how he had gotten there.

Then, he saw him–or rather, he was seen by him. That was more important.

A handsome muscle bear, smoking a cigar. He smelled of fresh musk and light beer. Aaron looked away, embarrassed, but the man came up to him and started talking to him, asking him how he’d been, like he was just an old friend, and they were getting reacquainted. Talking to him like he’d known him forever. Talking to Aaron like he belonged there.

It was only natural to drink a bit too much. And the more he drank, the harder it became to really focus on his fellow. He realized he didn’t quite know his name, that his face was just as slippery as all the things he was learning about him, but despite all of that, he still craved the acknowledgement, and so, it was only natural to bring him home. What happened after that, was less clear.

And then in the morning, things were much, much too clear.

Aaron woke to the smell of rough cigars and rancid musk–not the same as the man he’d met outside the bar, the man who had known him so well. He was already awake and had made himself coffee, smoking a cigar in a filthy undershirt he had not been wearing the night before. Aaron was sure of it, wasn’t he?

“Mornin’,” he said. The voice was right, almost.

“What…who are you?”

“Come on, after that nice time last night, pig, ya gonna pretend ya don’t even remember?”

He didn’t remember, did he? But looking back, all of the memories of that handsome bear were gone, replaced by this lout, this slob, this pig. How had he been so wrong?

“Gotta say pig, you were delicious. Best meal I’ve had in ages. Might as well give ya something yummy in return, eh? Ya want yer breakfast?”

“I want ya out of my apartment, is what I want,” Aaron said, but his voice–it was wrong too. And his arm, had he had those tattoos? And he was fatter, and…and what the fuck had happened to him? And to his apartment? His well kept two bedroom was just a filthy studio now, and from the sound outside, he wasn’t in the quiet suburban neighborhood from before.

“In a minute, piggy–come on now, drink up,” the man said, shoved his cock in Aaron’s mouth, and let loose a stream of piss. He choked on it, feeling it dribble down into his beard and the filthy bed below him, and it was…delicious. He tried to remember who he’d been, his job, his life, but it was…gone. This man, this shifter, had stolen it all from him, and left him with this. With that, the stranger left, leaving Aaron on his knees, horrified, with no clue what to do. And at night, his hunger led him back to the bar. He only lived a few blocks away now, and he had a gloryhole reserved for him. It was his place. He finally belonged, somewhere here. Even if most only knew him as a cundump or a urinal. It was something, at least. He could be happy with that.

(Caption) One Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (10/31)

It wasn’t Peter’s first time in Pigtown. The bar was legendary in the city, and the entire neighborhood around it just as much. There were stories, tall tales really, about the bar having some sort of magic. Peter didn’t know about magic, but the energy there was unlike any bar he’d ever been to, in any city, on any continent. It thrummed in him, pushing him to dance harder, kiss more, drink heavy, and no matter what, he would never seem to remember how to got back to bed each night–though he rarely went back alone.

But tonight felt different. Tonight, there was more energy than before, pulsing through him. Everyone was looking at him, everyone wanted him, and he wanted them all just as badly. He was out of control. It culminated around midnight, with him getting up on the bar, already naked, and sliding up and down on a dildo one of the other patron’s placed there, drunk on both drink and the cheers and lusts of the men around him.

Another patron came up, blew him while he fucked himself, and eventually, he made his way back onto the dance floor for a few minutes, but it wasn’t long before he was in the backroom, countless hands on him, countless cocks sliding into him, overstimulated and overwhelmed, he managed to crawl away, deeper than he’d gone before into the maze, so deep he wasn’t quite sure where he was going, anymore.

“There you are, I was hoping you weren’t too lost, yet,” a voice said.

Peter looked up, and found a bearish leatherman looming over him, his face and beard lit only by the light cast from the cigar gripped in his maw. “You seemed to have lost yourself in there a little while ago, got a little out of control.”

Peter tried to respond, but his body was still thrumming with need and lust and anxious desire. He found himself crawling over to the man, licking at the crotch of his leather pants, and the man laughed.

“Lucky I found you before something else down here did,” he said, “Let me help you.”

Peter felt something heavy slip over his head. A chain collar, secured with a padlock with the key still inserted in it, and the man pulled the key free. As he did, something…shifted in Peter’s mind, the energy turned solid, and looking up at the man, all he knew was that he was his master, and he had to obey him, and service him, and do everything that he demanded.

“That’s a good boy, come now, I’ll show you the way back out of here. And then, you can thank me properly, how does that sound?”

Peter thought it sounded very nice, and did just that.

But the next morning, something was wrong. When he awoke, his body was…different. There were more tattoos, his nipples were pierced, his cock as well. He found himself craving cigars, and even stranger, there was a humidor sitting on top of his dresser. He was wearing a leather harness he’d never seen before in his life, but which he was somehow certain was his. And lastly, there around his neck, was the chain, the padlock, and the key still in the lock.

It had gone on so easily before, but now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it off. The chain wouldn’t slip over his head, and the key wouldn’t turn in the padlock, or even come out. He struggled with it for a while, before eventually, and a bit shamefully, going to his neighbor’s next door, and asking them for help. He was a straight guy and married, but a bit of a handyman. He fiddled with the key, and it came right out of the lock–and as soon as it did, the same urge to submit overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees in front of his neighbor–who didn’t miss a beat, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. That evening, he had his first adventure in pigtown as well, guided by his slave for the evening, and the next morning, Peter was right back in his apartment, collar secure, key hanging free–and he realized then, that Pigtown was magic, and it had its hooks in deep.

(Caption) Pig Rehabilitation Program

October Caption Challenge (9/31)

“MMmm…MMmfffff…” Officer Barrett said, trying to get something out from around the gag strapped in his mouth. A curse, a cry for help, anything at all. He’d woken up here a few minutes before, tied up in his uniform, unable to remember how he’d gotten here, or who had taken him. The last thing he could remember clearly was getting ready to police another one of those fucking protests, but on his way, well…someone must have jumped him.

He heard steps coming down the stairs into the basement, and a couple of young men in black with their faces covered, stood in front of him. “Well, Officer Barrett–we got a hold of your records a while back from an info dump, and we were amazed. I didn’t know someone could wrack up so many complaints from the public, and not face any disciplinary action at all.”

Barrett scowled at them. Sure, he had a rough hand, but it was punks like this that deserved it. One of them picked up a strange looking helmet, and placed it over his head. He couldn’t hear anything in the room, once it was settled in, but noise was piped in through headphones in the sides. “Don’t worry, we’re only interested in rehabilitation. You’re going to be helping us, Officer, perfect our method for turning the most hardened, violent, cops into upstanding, obedient citizens. Now relax, Officer Barrett, just relax…”

There was a burst of color in front of his eyes, a thick kaleidoscope of color dazzling him, making it impossible to focus, streaming in even if he tried to keep his eyes shut. The noise was deafening in his ears, white noise, but he was sure he could hear words too. He tried to concentrate, tried to resist, but he found himself drifting off–and then, eventually, he wasn’t in the basement anymore. He was…well, he wasn’t sure where he was.

He sat up, looked around him, and found he was in an alley. It was dark, there was the sounds of chanting and music not too far off, sounding like the protests that had been happening nightly in his city. He’d…been attending them hadn’t he? He tried to remember more, but it was like there was a blanket of noise, or fuzz, over his memories. He stood up, feeling…younger than he thought he should be. He was shirtless, and just wearing a pair of leather shorts–and tattoos all over as well. What had happened to him, exactly? He left the alley, turned the corner, and found himself face-to-face with a police officer, but not quite right either. His riot gear was gone, and he just had on a leather uniform, a beard longer than regulations allowed, and a cigar clamped in his mouth.

“There you are, you fucking piece of shit,” the officer said, and before Barrett could do anything, he was on the sidewalk, hands yanked behind him painfully, and cuffed. “Thought you could hide from me, eh? Well, I know what you need, even if you don’t, you fucking pig.”

“Pig.” That word reverberated through him, somehow. He…he was a pig, wasn’t he? People had called him a pig before. But…but that wasn’t quite right, none of this was right. He tried to ask what he’d done wrong, why the officer was arresting him, but all he got instead was the officer’s baton wedged in his mouth and pulled tight, while the officer came up behind him, rubbing his stiff bulge against the back of Barrett’s head.

“I thought you pigs knew to remain silent,” the cop said, “Well, at least until the screaming starts.”

He had Barrett pinned to the sidewalk then, one boot on the back of his neck, pressing hard enough to make him gasp, and with the baton, started pounding on his ass, the sharp sting even penetrating the leather shorts he was wearing. But the pain–it hurt, but it also felt good. It felt good because he deserved it. Because he’d been a bad pig, a naughty piggy, yeah…

When the simulation was done, Barrett’s mind rebooted, processing what it had seen, and then began again, while the two young hackers watched. Starting off with the protest scenario was, perhaps, unfortunate, but the scenario would change slowly, as more and more of Barrett’s mind was rewritten with the code being pumped into his mind by the headset. They anticipated that rehabilitation would take a week, but much to their delight, Officer Barrett–or rather, Pig Barrett, as he preferred to be called, was ready to be reintroduced in just five days.

He thanked the two young men for helping him understand his place in the world, and happily worshiped their cocks, their feet, their holes, and begged them both for loads from their own–his own cock perfectly soft in the chastity cage he now wore. After all, pigs didn’t need release like that. They got their pleasure in other ways, in servicing their betters, in acts of worship. In two days, he was in his new home, servicing a proper Master, and the two young men took their bounty and funneled it into their research. There were still a few kinks to work out, and then they’d have to scale it up–but they had no doubt that before too long, their plan to abolish the police would be well on its way.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares #2

October Caption Challenge (8/31)

Times had changed, he supposed.

Jack remembered when he’d been a teenager, and it felt like he’d had all the time in the world to play video games. But now he was almost 30, with a job, and a physique to maintain. Now he was lucky if he managed to play a couple of hours a day on the weekends, and maybe sometime during the week.

But it wasn’t just that. It was that the fuckers were so fucking mean! If you wanted to play with people, that meant going online, and he was so tired of fuckers calling him whatever foul language they wanted. Sure, he understood a little trash talk, but it was ridiculous. It was enough that, tonight, he lost his temper. After getting clobbered in a round, he let loose, “If I was a fat fucking pig like you guys, I’d be good at this game too,” he said.

The guys on the other end just laughed at him, and he felt his cheeks growing red. Little did Jack know, that the demon was listening in, cackling to itself. It wasn’t long after that, that Jack went to bed, and the demon followed him into sleep.

Jack found himself on his couch again, controller in his hand, playing a game–but it seemed…harder than it should be. After struggling for a while, a dialogue popped up on the screen, asking if he’d like to decrease the difficulty. He grumbled to himself, selected yes–and felt a strange gurgle in his gut. Looking down, he saw his flat stomach bulge out into a gut, his muscles beginning to atrophy right there where he was sitting. He heaved himself up and got to the bathroom to look at himself in shock and horror. He…fuck, he looked like he hadn’t set foot in a gym in his whole life.

Then again, of course he hadn’t. He spent all that time gaming now! When the game had asked him if he wanted to make it easier, it hadn’t made the game easier–it had changed his whole life instead!

Something chuckled behind him, and he found himself looking at a strange little beast crouched in the dark. “How does it feel, being a fat fucking piggy?” it asked.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Hush now, Jack, don’t you want to keep playing?”

He found himself back on the couch, the controller in his hand. He tried to get up, but he was stuck to the cushions. He tried to throw the controller, but it was glued to his hands. “What the fuck is this?”

“Play the game, Jack–I can always make it easier, if you want,” the demon said from its perch behind him on the couch.

He started playing again, and sure enough, it was easier. Everything that had flummoxed him before, his hands just…performed without any sort of effort. At least, until he passed the easy levels. Things got harder and harder, but he refused to increase the difficulty–at least until he noticed the counter for his lives at the top of the screen. It was low–only five left. How had he not noticed that before?

“What happens if I lose all the lives?” he asked.

“It’s game over, then,” the demon said, breath hot on his neck, “Which means I get to play with you next, forever. Sure you don’t want to make it easier?”

“Please, I don’t want to play anymore. I don’t care! Make it so I’ve never played a game in my life, anything you want, I’m tired of this, please, I just want to wake up.”

“Don’t tell me you’re really going to be a quitter,” the demon said, sounded a bit disappointed.

“Yes! I quit! I’m done, I never want to play a game as long as I live.”

The demon sighed, “Well, if you say so. I guess you can spend the rest of your life on the couch, jacking your tiny cock into your fat gunt, toying with your gaping hole and fat tits, watching the most disgusting, humiliating porn you can find.”

“Wait, what?”

The next thing Jack knew, he was awake from that horrible nightmare. Imagine, him gaming! He hadn’t touched a video game in his life–though he did, on occasion, like to listen to videos of them hurling insults, imagining they were all humiliating him. He moaned, and started tugging on his fat tits, looking for the remote on the nasty couch he was sitting on. He needed to jack off, and he needed something especially filthy to take his mind off that horrible dream.