Breaking Point (Part 5)

It was the end of August–the Friday night when, in his old life, Leon would have been finishing up all of his college packing, and getting ready for college orientation next week. Instead, after spending the week working on the site, finishing up friday completely coated with mud and filth–as usual–the guys on the site gathered around him for his weekly shower, pissing some of the muck away while he grunted and snorted, trying to deny the fact that he was enjoying this, sucking down cigar smoke as he did. But he was grinning for a different reason–I’d been hinting that I’d felt like he’d seen the light, that I’d be willing to give him back his life. When he was done with his shower, I went into my trailer, opened the safe, and pulled out the cigar that contained all of his old life, and slipped it into my pocket. He saw me, of course–he thought better than to ask when I’d let him smoke it, but the way he held his head high…he was certain everything was going to sort out right in the end. He’d have his old life back, the one he “deserved”–yeah right.

He expected us to drive straight home; instead, we drove into town. He probably thought we were going to a club–I’d started taking the pig out in public, to a few bathhouses and leather clubs, where I’d rent out his mouth and ass. I have to give him credit–as much as he hated his body, this life as my pig–he relished the attention. He’d found…a bit of a calling, in fact, in his new desires, not that he dared admit that to me.But tonight, we kept going, past the club district, down to a…less friendly part of the city, and I gave him a task–that the first thing he’d have to do, his first task to prove to me that he was ready–was he’d have to find a some poor homeless soul willing to let Leon suck his cock, and bring him back to the car so I could talk to them.

Finding guys off the street willing to get their cock sucked wasn’t difficult–but I had veto authority. Each one he brought back that I didn’t feel…fit the picture I had in my mind, I’d make Leon suck them off as promised, in the cab of my truck, and then send him off to find another. Finally, he returned with someone I felt was worthy. He looked like he’d been on the streets for quite a few years, hair and beard overgrown and ragged, but in the old man’s eyes–I could see…worth. It’s difficult to explain, perhaps it was just intuition. I told the man that I’d like him to come home with me for a thousand dollars up front, for a night, and a thousand dollars more if he helped me with my pig. He was wary, but he wasn’t willing to turn down an offer like that. He piled in–it was hard to decide who stank more–Leon or the derelict–Leon of course couldn’t figure out why this guy was returning home with us. This weekend, after all, was supposed to be about him. About his redemption. This fucker had nothing to do with him, so he thought.

Back at the house, I got the guy’s name–Ned–offered him a drink, and said I had to get my pig ready. He was happy enough to drink a straight from the whisky bottle, and I led Leon down into the dungeon in my cellar, where I told him the next part of his final punishment would take place. I got him bound standing, arms pulled high, legs spread wide, and gagged him quiet. Then I went back upstairs and invited Ned downstairs. I pulled a chair over in front of Leon, had Ned sit facing him, and he was obviously confused. I reassured him–and offered him a cigar. He tried to refuse, but I insisted, placing it between Ned’s bearded lips, and lighting it for him. He took an inhale, and it was clear he enjoyed it–then again, who wouldn’t enjoy the taste of youth and vitality when you’ve had neither in decades?

Ned slouched back in the chair a bit, breathing deeply off the cigar. Each time he exhaled, there wasn’t nearly enough smoke–he was absorbing almost everything he took in, just like I’d hoped would happen. Now that he was relaxed, I took some scissors and began cutting his clothes away from his body–it was a few minutes into that process that Leon, behind me, began to realize that something was amiss, and started struggling and snorting, hoping to get my attention. I made him squirm for a few minutes, until I made sure Ned was comfortable, and then walked over to where Leon was rattling his chains like a needy prince.

He couldn’t speak, but I knew what he wanted to ask, from his gestures and the desperation in his eyes. So I told him the truth, finally. That I didn’t think he’d earned his life back, but that I hadn’t wanted his opportunities to go to waste, languishing away in my safe. So I figured I might as well give them to someone else, who would probably get more out of them than Leon ever would.

He was sobbing, he was yanking on the chains hard enough to bruise his wrists, and all I could think about was how hard my cock was, watching him crumble–I walked behind him, and slipped my cock into his ass, fucking him slow while we watched Ned suck down Leon’s life in that cigar…and he broke. He broke…completely, into tiny pieces. He couldn’t even hold himself up–he just went limp in his chains, staring at Ned, tears streaming down his face, making paths through the mud crusted there, and dripping onto the concrete below. He was mine. I’d broken him, and that made him mine, and when I came, oh fuck, but I wasn’t done yet, oh fucking no, I wasn’t done yet–

Always Another Curse (Sketch)

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

Jerry looked next to him, and saw Mac–by far the fattest kid in school–had waddled up next to him and was staring at him. Of course, Mac hadn’t been the fattest kid in school for very long–before, that title had belonged to Jerry, and Mac had been one of his biggest bullies. “You did this to me, fucking fess up, you…you said something to me yesterday and I…” his pudgy jowls turned bright red, and he looked away, unable to keep going.

“Tell me everything you did yesterday–but make sure you speak loud enough that everyone in the hallway can here,” Jerry said calmly. Mac’s eyes went wide, but words were already tumbling from his mouth.

“I was gonna beat you up yesterday, but you…said something, and I decided I had better shit to do, but…but my ass was itching really bad when I got home…”

It was obvious from his face that he was desperately trying to keep the words back–Allie was right there–and her loose lips murdered reputations just as easily as the sucked down cum behind the bleachers. Jerry knew that she was there, of course–this was too perfect.

“…When I got home, I…I got undressed and I stuck a finger in my ass to…to try and itch it, but it felt really good, and I had two fingers in there, when I started growing fatter! I tried to stop, but I kept using my fingers, and now I’m like, 700 pounds. So…so what did you do to me?”

Allie’s eyes had lit up at the mention of anal pleasure–she’d already fled to tell everyone she could find. “Do you have something up your ass right now, Mac?” Jerry asked.

“One…one of my mom’s…dig dildos. Please…Don’t make me keep talking!”

Jerry smirked. “Meet me in the bathroom after school, and try not to cum–you won’t like what happens.”

“I can’t even reach my cock! I haven’t been able to cum all day,” Mac said, but Jerry just turned and walked away, leaving Mac to heave himself to class, until they met up in the bathroom after school, where Jerry immediately told him to strip naked. Mac did as he was told–standing there in his obese glory. “Please, just fix this, please…”

“Lift up your gut,” Jerry said. Mac did so, and he got down on his knees and started fiddling with Mac’s cock. “The only way to get your body back is to cum three times–but you’ll keep twenty five pounds for each day you remain in this form, so I’d suggest you hurry.”

There was a click, and Mac felt something pulling his cock down slightly–and like his cock was…restrained. “What…”

“I just put a chastity cage on you.”

Mac just stared at him. “But…But you said–”

“Well I didn’t want it to be easy for you, you fucking asshole. Besides, the only way you can cum is with a cock in your ass–a real cock, not a dildo. Anyway, I have to get home–I have homework to do.”

Mac screamed and tried to grab him, but he ended up just falling to the ground, Jerry stepping out of the way.

“Screaming isn’t going to make a difference–I suggest you find some guys to fuck you, and soon, if you don’t want to be that fat permanently. Of course, with that stubby cock of yours locked, you’re going to have to rely on anal stimulation, so fisting would really be the best option.”

“Fuck…fuck you.”

“Heh, no Mac. Fuck. You.” Jerry said. “But if you ask me nicely, maybe I’ll give you some help.”

Mac glared at him, and spat at his feet–he didn’t give in and accept Jerry offer until after school three days later, after he’d been relentlessly bullied by all of his previous friends, and spent every evening fucking his ass raw with his mom’s stolen dildo. Jerry made him beg, and suck his cock, before giving him assistance, mumbling a second spell over him. Mac didn’t notice a difference; Jerry told him he would soon enough. Mac was pissed, but he walked home–and nothing at all seemed strange until his dad came home, and they smelled each other…

They ended up in the garage, his dad’s cock buried deep in Mac’s asshole, fucking him deep, but as good as it felt, with the cage on he couldn’t cum–that didn’t stop his dad from fucking him again that evening, twice during the night, and one last time before work. Worse than getting fucked by his dad, was that Mac liked it. He wanted to submit, he wanted to be fucked by him, and it felt…it felt so fucking good, to have his dad’s cock in his hole. Still, it was time for school–he passed several men before another one caught his nose–a chubby roughneck wearing some dirty workgear, and they fucked in a narrow gap between two houses. At least twenty men smelled attractive at school, including several teachers and his old coach, but between the orgy that kept him occupied in the bathroom most of the day, he managed to eek out one load from his locked cock.

It took him all weekend and two more days to come all three times, and then, finally, he felt the fat beginning to fall off his body–but not all of it. He had been a muscular 225 before all of this, but after the curse, he only lost about half–resting at a still obese 450 nine days later. But the men still smelled amazing…and he quickly realized that just because he’d overcome the first curse, didn’t mean he’d beaten the second–who knew what sort of demands Jerry was going to make if Mac wanted all his freedom back?

Make Up (Part 3)

“…Ten. Wakey, Wakey.”

It was hard, hard being awake. It felt like he was trying to make his head do things that it hadn’t had to do in ages. He could remember, remember Rudy, remember some…filthy video. Something…he’d done something to him, but the thoughts were all jumbled together, and sorting them apart was too hard. He fumbled for a cigar on the table next to him, lit it, and that helped–only then did he realize that the apartment was different.

It was bare.

It had been furnished before–sparsely sure–but furnished. But now everything was in boxes, the furniture gone aside from the couch he was sitting on and the table next to him, where his cigars and lighter had been sitting. He also saw that he was alone. But if he was alone, then who had woken him up?

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, I really did plan on being with you forever, Ned.”

The voice. It was his nephew Rudy’s voice. No, not…not nephew. Not really. He looked over and saw an old tape recorder running on the side table.

“But, well, people change, you know? I decided I couldn’t stay tethered to my past forever, you know? You were stifling me. And Richard…he’s good to me, you know? But I could never let him see you–I mean, if he knew about you, what would he think of me? I have to leave. You understand, right?”

He didn’t understand. He tried to sit up, but he was so heavy. How long had he been asleep this time? He had no way of knowing, all he knew was that he felt different. The tape kept playing, Rudy kept talking and he didn’t care, he hefted himself up and waddled to the bathroom to look at himself. Once he got there and looked, he screamed louder than he believed he could.

What had that fucker done to him? He was a freak! Before he’d been obese, but now he had to weigh at least five hundred pounds of nearly pure blubber, all of it falling off him in chubby rolls in every direction. He was either naked, or nearly naked–he couldn’t see what he might have on under his apron–but every inch of skin was covered with tattoos–even his face, with the word “Pig” in bold type across his now shaved skull, aside from his mutton chops, which were now dyed a bright red. Piercings too–everywhere. He looked like how a pin cushion must feel, but all of them looked well healed. He must have had them all for months at least, the tattoos too, and this much ink couldn’t have put on him in a short time. He must have been out for two years at least, or maybe even longer. He had to find Rudy. He had to fix this somehow, there had to be something he could do.

Back in the main room, the tape was still playing. “…proud of you, you know. I never imagined that you’d take your perversion so far. I still can’t believe you let your Master cut off your cock and balls, videotape it, and put it on the internet.”

He froze.

No.

He hefted up his fat and started feeling around. Sure enough, he was naked, but he couldn’t find his cock, because…because even before he felt the empty space, he knew didn’t have a cock. He eventually found his piss hole though, buried in his gunt. But he had balls, right? He could feel them swinging there, though they seemed kind of heavy. He reached down to find them swinging between his fat thighs, but instead of his balls, he found a sack stuffed with two huge steel balls instead.

“Anyway, now I’m just drawing this out. It’s over, Ned. Your Master will come pick you up and take you home with him for good. But I couldn’t bear the thought that you’d never be fully awake again, you know? To go through life like a zombie, never knowing what you’ve done to yourself? Never knowing proud you should be of what you’ve done? It would have been such a shame. But you’re awake now–awake for good, ready to live your sick and twisted life to the fullest, just like I have to go live mine too, you know? So this is goodbye. I did love you, and I did this all because I love you. But people change. I hope you understand.”

The tape kept running, but it was just silence.

“Mo…Mo! Mu Mucker!” He put his hands to his mouth, and realized that he had no teeth, and something was wrong with his tongue–it had been split in two. He didn’t know how to talk anymore. He didn’t know anything. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t leave like this, he was trapped–

There was a knock at the door. A very specific knock–three hard raps, evenly spaced. He immediately walked to the door, opened it, and kneeled to the side, allowing his master to step inside the apartment–all while trying to figure out what he was doing. It had just felt…instinctual.

“All set then, pig?” Master asked.

He nodded. He didn’t know this man, but his voice…he knew this voice. This voice was…important to him. Necessary. Master looked to be in his early fifties, and was very out of shape with a heavy gut, though nothing like his own massive flabby form. If he fought, he could probably overpower him, but he couldn’t do that. That was a bad thought. He shouldn’t have bad thoughts like that, he knew better, Pig knew better. Pig knew lots better.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Master chuckled. “It’ll take some getting used to, Pig. But don’t worry–you’ll remember what to do. Hell, you’ve been my bitch for nearly seven years now–serving me’s like second nature to you, awake or not.”

Seven years? Seven fucking years? No, probably even longer than that, assuming they hadn’t met right away. Still, when Master presented his cock, he sucked it like he already knew precisely what his Master wanted, then swallowed his cum, and the full load of piss that chased it. Only then did Master give him a pair of leather shorts, and help his pig into them.

“Rudy said you’d best move in with me full time, now that he’s gone. You’re lucky you’re the best pig I’ve ever seen, or I’d probably just turn around and sell you off to these nasty, perverted bikers I’ve played with a few times. Still might do that, if you start to bore me.” He attached a leash to the thick chain collar around your neck, “Alright pig, I live across town. We’d better get going while the buses are still running. Rudy said he’ll take care of selling your shit for you. Say goodbye–you’re never gonna see this place again.”

Pig’s mind was still trying to process the fact that he was going to be seen in public like this, leashed with his Master, during the day. He couldn’t do this, this wasn’t him, this wasn’t his life. Rudy could just walk away from their history, but the past wasn’t something he could just leave. The past was scrawled all over him, the past was his fat body, his missing cock, his steel balls. And not even his past! Some other person’s past, he’d been asleep for all of it! Sleep. At least he could sleep again, perhaps. “Pleaz…pleaz Mhir, pleaz pu’ me back under, I’ll do anyming, pleaz…”

Master simply slapped him across the face. Hard, and without pity. “You know pigs don’t speak, bitch. And don’t think you’re going back under either. The only reason I agreed to this was if Rudy woke you up. Makes things more interesting for me–gotta have something to chase away the boredom. You know I hate being bored. Now come on, we can get home in an hour while the buses are running rush hour routes.”

Pig followed. Pig didn’t know how to do anything but follow his master. Out into the sunny afternoon, where everyone stared at him. He could hear them whispering. “Was this a new show?”-“A comedy sketch?”-“Is there a camera somewhere?” In Hollywood, there’s always a camera somewhere. But for the first time in his life, Pig didn’t want to exist in that lens–for the first time, he wanted to disappear, to be no one, but they could all see him. They could all see him, and their phones were taking pictures, and he was going to be a star–everyone would be talking about him, about the pig they saw. But what about him? What about the man behind the character? Who could see him? Who even cared that he existed? No one. A heart that he didn’t even know could break, broke, and he started sobbing, standing there on the bus.

“Definitely not boring,” Master said, smiling for a camera, and Pig had nowhere to look away.

The Morning After – Billy Part 1

Always trying to fit into daddy’s shoes, daddy’s clothes, daddy’s life. Who even are you, Billy?

Billy tried to push himself awake from the dream, but it pushed back. Who was that, in the dark? Who was talking to him?

Who are you?

“I don’t know.”

Who do you want to be?

“I don’t know!”

He sat up suddenly, gasping for air. His head ached like he was in the middle of the worst hangover of his life. He sat up on the asphalt–the really god-damn cold asphalt. Where was he even? He looked around–it seemed like an alley somewhere downtown. He was hidden from view in sidewalk between two dumpsters…and he was naked. Completely naked. He looked around for clothing, and clothing, but there was nothing to be found around him; he peeked out around the dumpsters, but the alley was similarly devoid of anything that might be his. He stood up, being careful where he put his bare feet, and looked around. There was an unmarked door behind him–had he come out of there? He knocked, and then pounded, and when no one answered, he was almost thankful. What would they do, if they found some random guy in the back alley, naked, pounding on their door, asking for his clothes back? They’d call the police for sure. What in the hell was he going to do anyway? He couldn’t exactly just stay here all day–he was bound to be discovered at some point. But if he left, then what? He’d get arrested for sure. He was stuck.

It was just a bit past dawn. If he hurried, maybe he could get to somewhere that might have something he could wear. He should at least look around the alley a bit more, in case his stuff was somewhere nearby. What had he been wearing, anyway?

He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember anything about the night before.

No…No, it was worse than that. He couldn’t remember anything about himself, either. Just a name. Billy…no, people just called him Billy, his name was William Jr., named after his father…right? At least, that made sense. But why would he remember that, and nothing else? He couldn’t remember his father either in any real detail. He couldn’t keep thinking about this, he couldn’t. He had to focus on finding something to wear, and then he could worry about…whatever was wrong with him.

He took one last glance down the alley in both directions, and then scampered around, looking in various nook and crannies nearby, but there wasn’t anything at all wearable, whether it was his or not. He was rummaging about when he heard the grumble around the corner, looked up like a rat, and saw the bright headlights of a trash truck bearing down on him.

“Fuck.”

There was nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. He could see the man in the cab of the truck blinking at him, obviously confused, and Billy blushed red. The truck stopped, the door opened, and the man leaned out the window. “Rough night, eh man?”

What should he say? What should he do? “Y-Yeah, I suppose so.”

It would be so much easier to know if he was lying or not, if he could just remember what he’d been doing in the first place.

The garbage man opened the door and climbed down. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve found someone naked in the alleys around here. Lots of guys get too drunk and their friends abandon them around here as a prank.”

That did make sense…sort of. Assuming he’d been out with friends, of course. “Look…I’m just trying to find my clothes, but I haven’t found anything.”

“No worries man, I can help you look.”

Together, the two of them prowled the alley for about ten minutes, but neither of them found anything. The guy asked him what he’d been wearing the night before, and Billy bluffed. He had no idea what he’d been wearing, so he just said it had been jeans and a t-shirt. It didn’t really matter, because there wasn’t anything in the alley to wear at all.

“Well dang man,” the garbage man said, taking off his hat and scratching his messy, shoulder length hair. “Maybe they’re planning on coming back to find you?”

“I don’t know…maybe…”

“Well, I have something at least, though it’s kind of gross. I always keep an extra set of coveralls with me in the truck, and I just wear whichever one is cleaner. Problem is, I haven’t washed either of ‘em lately, so they’re both pretty nasty. Still, its better than nothing, right?”

Billy looked him up and down. The coveralls the guy had on already looked filthy, with a name tag peeling off that read, “Derek”–he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what the other pair looked like. Still, what choice did he have, really? “I mean, I guess that’ll have to do, right?”

Derek climbed back up into the cab, rummaged around for a moment, and returned with a crumpled ball of fabric, which he shook out into a pair of coveralls. It was a bit of a toss up to say which one was grimier–both were obviously supposed to green, but were more of a mottled brown. This one, had a name tag on it too. “Damn, when’s the last time you washed them?”

He shrugged, “I don’t get to the laundromat often. If you don’t want ‘em, you can be naked for all I care. You’ve already made me late, so do you want them or not? It’s better than being buck naked like you are now, right?”

That was a good point. He took the coveralls from them, tried to ignore how crispy they were in his hand, pulled them on and zipped up, careful of his cock, but as soon as the zipper hit his neck, it was like some strange shock ran through him, and he looked at Derek, who looked at him back. His eyes were vacant, like he wasn’t quite aware of what was going on around him, one hand pawing at his crotch.

“Get…on your knees.”

Rick and the Beast – Part 3

It’s been a while since I started this one. Here’s parts one and two as a refresher.

The next couple of weeks were a new kind of hell for Rick, as he fell under the tighter and tighter control of Jim Newman, known around campus simply as “The Beast”. He no longer had the option of ignoring the texts he received, at least, not if he wanted to cum again. The Beast took full advantage of this, and regularly forced Rick to excuse himself from his classes in order to go pleasure his master wherever he happened to be at the moment. More often than not, the need for Rick’s holes would arise somewhere public, usually the bathroom, locker room, or even out on an athletic field behind the bleachers. He lived in constant terror that someone would see what was happening, and yet discovery would also have brought some relief–at least then his secret would be out; he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to keep it burning inside him at this rate.

His moments away from his master were just as terrible for different reasons. He lived in constant fear that someone would discover his chastity, which required him to shower very late at night, and experiment with a variety of different ways to try and keep his roommate, Josh, from seeing him naked. As such, his hygiene began to slip. Wearing the same clothes for days on end–even sleeping in them, became easier than daring to change underwear. The same with showering–it became much easier to simply not bother at all. But, he discovered that he was beginning to pick up new habits, the more he interacted with The Beast. The most obvious was his appetite–it seemed like ever since his feeding out behind the kitchens that night, it was now impossible for him to be full. Each week, The Beast would text him late at night, demanding that he return to the dumpsters, where he would again be stuffed. Those were the only moments he’d felt the least bit full, and he was growing increasingly terrified that The Beast was turning him into someone he had no interest in being. It was that fear that finally pushed him over the edge–he simply had no choice anymore. He would have to report what was happening to him.

But who should he tell? His first thought was a teacher, but given his poor attendance and shoddy work, he hadn’t developed a close relationship with any of them. In fact, they all seemed to rather despise him, including his advisor. A friend? He had no friends. Besides, who could even understand what he was going through? They also wouldn’t have any power, and if The Beast found out that he’d told a student, he feared for their safety almost as much as his own. That left one final possibility in his mind–he would have to go to campus security and talk to someone there, and then go to the police. It took him a few days to work up the courage to go into the building, and finally say to the young man working at the desk that he needed to report a rape. Much to his surprise, he was very understanding, and escorted him into a small interview room, asked him a few basic questions about himself, and then left, telling him that someone would be with him shortly to talk to him.

For the next several minutes, Rick allowed himself to feel relieved. It was all going to be ok after all. He’d just tell them what had happened, and he’d be free at last. And then the door opened, and in there in the doorway was a man so large he had to stoop slightly and turn to the side to enter the room. He was older, with short greying hair, dressed in a security uniform stretched tight across his muscular physique, and for some reason Rick couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s crotch as he walked around to the other side of the table. He sat down across from Rick, introduced himself as Officer Pike, and began asking him questions about the rape–Rick did his best to answer him, but it was getting harder and harder for him to focus. The questions became more intimate and personal, and Rick was feeling uncomfortable answering them, in part because he didn’t quite like the answers that were coming out of his mouth.

“And how did it feel, when Mr. Newman thrust his big, fat cock inside you? Did it hurt?”

“Yes sir…Yes, it hurt more than anything.”

“But it was worth it, in the end, wasn’t it? Because that big cock ended up fucking the cum right out of you.”

“”I mean, I came sir, but I didn’t–”

“I suppose, my main concern is–how can it have been rape if you came? I mean, that means you must have enjoyed it on some level.”

“I mean, it did feel kind of good, but…but I didn’t want him…to…”

“You didn’t what, what him to make you feel good?”

“No! I mean, that’s not…”

The officer leaned back, and put his hands back behind his head. Rick found himself staring at the sweat stains in the pits of his uniform, and licked his lips.

“Have you had any contact with Mr. Newman since that initial incident?”

“I mean, yeah…I gave him my phone number–”

“You gave your alleged rapist your phone number?”

“Not…I mean, not because I wanted to, sir, but because he made me…”

“Why didn’t you just give him a fake number?”

Why hadn’t he done that? That made so much sense, but it hadn’t occured to him at the time. “I…I don’t know.”

“So, you have seen him since. Have you had sex on any of those occasions?”

Rick was silent. He suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore. “I think…I think I should go, I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Officer Pike said, “Stand up and strip.”

Rick wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but his body was already moving, getting up from the table and removing all of his clothes, until he was completely naked, aside from his metal chastity device around his cock, which was desperately trying to harden within the confines.

“Tell me what you want to do right now.”

“I want to lick your pits sir. I want to lick your sweaty body clean, and I want to suck your cock, and I want you to fuck me sir, I want you to fuck me rough.” Rick kept trying to tell his mouth to stop talking, but it just fell from him, all the fantasies that had been flying through his mind since Officer Pike had entered the room.

“Get down here and lick my boots clean, pig, and if you do a good job, maybe I’ll put my big cock in your hole.”

Rick got down without a question, crawled across the tile floor and began licking the Officer’s boots clean. This close to him the smell of him was overwhelming, but it wasn’t until he was bent over the table, the officer’s cock buried in his ass, that he finally realized what he was smelling. He was smelling The Beast. It was the same smell–if he closed his eyes, he could smell his master behind him fucking him deep, except Officer Pike’s cock was slightly shorter, but quite a bit thicker. After he came, he ordered Rick to sit down in a chair, handcuffed him to the back, and left the room, telling him that he’d receive the rest of his punishment in a few hours, when their Master finished with practice and came to deal with Rick himself.

Baby Bear – Part 3

Such a sweet baby bear. A fighter to the end. But now those big eyes of his are empty, ready to be filled with whatever I want–still, that can wait until morning. He’s very tired after all of that, and so am I for that matter. I get him changed into a fresh diaper and then put him to bed–he’s sleeping in the nursery now, of course, not the guest room. He’s so cute in his crib, binky in his mouth, clutching a blanket.

The next morning, I wake him up, and after a morning blow job, I see what remains after the battle the night before. He is quite stupid, I must say. A pity too–I was hoping he’d be smart. I’d been wanting to raise a businessman, but it looks like I’ll have to change my plans. His vocabulary is very simple, his math and reasoning skills are stunted. Still, he has a good sense of humor, and goodness is he eager to please! That’s such a good sign–that means he’ll be all grown up again in no time at all.

Of course, the first few months were spent getting baby to a place where we could start his education proper. Helping him remember how to walk, for instance. He may have been a baby, but I certainly couldn’t carry him everywhere, especially with his developing appetite. This was going to be a chubby bear, I’d already decided–he’d arrived husky, and I wanted to see what he looked like with some more meat on his bones. And of course, I reinforced his oral fixation–he just wasn’t happy without something in his mouth. That helped inspire his new name, too–Orel. A good name for a fatass, dumb baby bear who loves to suck on anything he can get his mouth around.

After those first few months, he was finally walking again, and had recovered some of his vocabulary, but not very much at all. I realized I was going to have to lower my expectations for Orel rather substantially. That’s not to say I don’t love him! I love all my boys, but some rise higher than others. Once I felt like I could trust him to not drop it, I got him smoking. All my boys smoke, of course, just like their daddy. We started with cigarettes, and once the addiction had him smoking two packs a day, I switched him to cigars, which he enjoyed much more, because, as he said with his characteristic enthusiasm, “they’re shaped like cocks!” That had him so excited, he giggled about it all day, but watching him suck on those tobacco shafts sure did get me hornier for his throat more than anything else.

He stayed with me for a few years. Pretty soon, he was tipping the scales at 400 pounds, and it was getting hard to find diapers large enough for him to wear. Potty training was proving difficult. In fact, it seemed that he liked soiling himself. Of course, all my boys like it to some extent–it reminds them of their second childhood more than anything else–but for Orel, he eventually confessed that he just liked how it felt to have a heavy diaper on, that it made him feel like a bad boy who needed to be punished by his daddy with a fuck or a spanking. He liked feeling like a bad boy, he added, and then he giggled like a fool. I suppose I shouldn’t have been all that surprised–someone who’d put up as much of a fight as he did was bound to have a rebellious streak in him, so I decided to just go along with it and encourage him. If he wanted to be stuck in diapers for the rest of his life, then so be it–I certainly wasn’t going to complain about it–but forcing him to take responsibility for it…well, that proved to be a bit harder.

Sometimes, I’m sure he just forgot to change himself, but other times, I knew he’d just keep his filthy diaper on because he liked it. He liked being dirty, and he liked being a slob. Part of that was my fault, I suppose. I’d conditioned him to enjoy humiliation, especially being belittled for how stupid he was, and so it isn’t surprising that he enjoyed the fact that he was a sat around in his own filth as well, but It was a bit of a complication in my plans. By this time, he was pretty much all grown up again–just another one of my bears–and that meant it was time for him to move out and move on with his new life. But to do that, well, he needed a job, but that was going to be a challenge. He was too stupid to do anything with a computer from home, which would have let him be as much of a slob as he’d like, and he couldn’t do anything social with his poor hygiene and lackluster social skills. Thankfully, one of my other boys, Barry, came through for me. He had a fuckbuddy who ran a delivery company, and he was willing to let Orel drive one of his trucks. He’d be working nights, so he wouldn’t have to talk to many people, and as long as he could drive well enough, and provide his boss with a throat to fuck on occasion, it would work out fine. Now all I had to do was teach him to drive–a challenge, but not an insurmountable one, and giving him something that he could succeed at made Orel happy. “I might be dumb as a rock, ‘n I might be a nasty poopypants, and I’s a fat slut for sure, but at least I can drive a damn truck, right Daddy?” he told me one day with that big grin of his, sitting in the driver seat of the truck we were using for driver’s education and I could tell everything would work out alright for my baby bear in the end. Now I just had to get to work on finding one to replace him.

Baby Bear – Part 1

I was a junior, and I was sick and tired of living in the dorms on campus. The creaking heaters that refused to turn off, the mold, the toilets that couldn’t flush shit–all of the buildings should have been razed twenty years ago, but school instead had built a bunch of other dorms they could charge more for, that I couldn’t afford, naturally. So I figured, “Fuck it,” and I managed to find a room to rent a few blocks from campus from a nice older gentleman named Willard. He’d lived in the neighborhood for years, but he told me when I came to see the room that he didn’t really need the rent money–he just hated being all alone in the house more than anything else, and so he usually rented it out to students at the local college for some company, and to help the house feel “lived in.” It was a little pitiful, but the rent was so cheap, I figured I could give him some company on occasion.

In fact, as the first semester wore on, I discovered that Willard was one of the best landlords a college student could ask for. He had dinner for me every evening if I was home–all I had to do was give him some extra money for the grocery bill. He was a bit of an insomniac, and since I often stayed up late studying, he let me use his office to work in, and he would sit in there with me, usually smoking a pipe, and we would chat. It never really struck me as odd, however, that I never seemed able to remember the things we’d talked about, or even remember doing any work for my classes. He started sitting in the study wearing less and less clothing, usually opting for an open robe, his cock hanging out, and I was, for some reason, completely unfazed as we chatted, his pipe billowing smoke, while we both had some of his whiskey.

Those first few weeks, I also noticed that, for a lonely old man, he sure did seem to have quite a few visitors who came around regularly. Some were only a bit older than me, while a few others were approaching middle aged, but they all seemed very familiar with him. They shared some other similarities too–they all were smokers, and all of them were big, hairy, burly guys. One other thing, is that they all gave me this…look. Like they were trying to suppress a laugh, or were in on some joke I had no idea about yet. I suppose I should have seen something coming, but I was just oblivious.

Then, during midterms, I wet the bed for the first time. I was mortified–I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something like that. I managed to get the sheets through the washer and dryer without Willard noticing, but the next night it happened again. I knew I couldn’t tell him, I was too embarrassed, and yet, in his study that night, it all came tumbling out, how ashamed I was of it, how I couldn’t believe I’d lost control like that, how I was afraid I’d do it for a third night in a row. He was very understanding, holding me close on his lap until I’d stopped sobbing, and then he suggested that I start wearing diapers every night “as a precaution”.

I should have thought he was crazy. I should have left right then and never come back. But for whatever reason, his suggestion just made perfect sense to me. Diapers–of course I should just wear diapers. I never asked why he already had a supply ready for me–he just helped me strip, got me powdered and diapered, and put me to bed with a kiss on the cheek like all of this was perfectly normal. I woke up with a heavy, cold, wet diaper, but Willard was there, ready to get me changed out of it. I never bothered asking why he was so intent on helping me–I just let him, and then I went off to school like everything was normal, until a few weeks later, when I wet myself during a lecture.

I couldn’t stop it. I noticed after a few seconds, feeling my crotch turn warm, but I couldn’t do anything. I panicked. I heard it dribbling off the seat and onto the tile floor. I could smell it. I grabbed my things as quickly as I could, and fled the room, piss still running down my leg and into my shoe, and I didn’t stop running until I got home. Sobbing, I was barely able to get the words out to Willard to tell him what happened to me. He seemed…perfectly fine with it, as he hugged me tight, and when he told me that I would just have to start wearing diapers all the time from now on, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion. He helped me out of my wet jeans and underwear, got a diaper for me and helped me into it. But this time…this time, something else happened. I got hard. I got hard in the diaper–just the feeling of it was turning me on, and I started…doing things. Humping the air, grinding my crotch into Willard’s side, and my landlord shoved his hand down into the front of the diaper, finding my hard cock, and started jacking me off, his other hand pulling my face to his, and he kissed me deeply, shoving his tongue into my mouth, the taste of his pipe overpowering everything else.

I ended up on my knees, his old, hard cock working its way into my throat. I couldn’t put my hand in my diaper for some reason, and so I was forced to rub my cock through it, humping it, getting myself closer to cumming, but he came first, filling my mouth with cum. Even though I knew I had never sucked him off before, the taste was so familiar and comforting, and I came soon after that, filling my diaper with a load of cum. I pulled away from his cock and licked my lips. He said, “Time to remember everything, Baby Bear–we should have a talk,” and suddenly I could remember everything.

And never have I felt so used in my entire life.

The Power of Belief – Part 3 (Patreon Commission)

Carter felt a hard slap across his face and he woke up, feeling a bit disoriented. Had he fallen asleep? He was in the basement, tied to the table–he remembered that, and fuck, there was Master, his Master, the Master he’d always dreamed of, standing next to the table. He had stripped away his suit, and was now dressed in his other gear of choice–a leather police uniform he’d had personally tailored for his bulk, which he kept meticulously shined. He was leering down at Carter, a cigar stuck in his mouth, glasses perched on his nose.

“You know Carter,” he said, “I feel like we should take a moment to…chat.” He walked down the length of the table, running the belt he had in his hand down the length of Carter’s young, firm body, watching his young student shiver with anticipation. “The first thing I want to say, is that I underestimated you, at first.”

“What…what do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, when you showed up in my office that evening, spouting all those crazy ideas, I thought you were rather insane. And then…well, and then things just kept changing. I mean, like most subjects, I’m only marginally aware that anything is different, but things are different, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know what–”

Harold suddenly brought the belt down hard, right across Carter’s semi hard cock, and he watched the young man fight off a scream. “I am really rather smart–after all, you made me that way. Please do not try and toy with your master and keep up these little games. I know all about your theory, and all about what you’ve been doing to me, with those phone calls. You don’t think I realized what you were doing? But I liked it, you know. I liked what you were doing to me, I like who I am, I can’t even imagine being someone else, and I have you to thank for that, but all the same, I do believe that your manipulations of me deserve a great deal of punishment. I do not like being manipulated, boy, and so I believe it’s time you learned your lesson.”

Carter realized then, what his momentary lapse of consciousness had been, and be began to struggle in earnest. But he hadn’t been changed yet…had he? There was a mirror hung over the table–his Master liked his boy being able to see what was being done to him–but would he even know if he had been changed?

“Now, you’re probably wondering what, exactly, I’ve made you believe. I haven’t changed you yet, don’t worry. I wanted you to be able to understand and witness what you are going to become. Because here’s what you believe niw, Carter–you believe that everything I say about you is true.”

Carter looked at him, eyes wide, “Wait…what? That’s…that’s not even how it works!”

“Are you certain? I mean, look at that tiny, miserable cock of yours. One inch long, and you can’t even get hard. It’s dwarfed by that massive ball sack of yours, which is incredibly sensitive to pain, isn’t it? And you love that, you love it when I beat your balls black and blue, don’t you slave?”

Carter shook his head, watching his cock shrink down to a tiny nub, even as his balls exploded in size, tripling by the time the growth had stopped, and then Harold began beating them with the belt, and Carter let out gasp after gasp of pleasure. Harold kept beating his balls, Carter happily begging him for more, begging him to hit harder, even as his guts twisted into knots from the pain.

“See slave? It works just fine, I think. Now, why don’t you take one last look at that young, slim body of yours? Because while I do find it incredibly attractive, I don’t think you deserve it, do you?”

“No…no, please, don’t…”

“Don’t what, slave?” Harold said, ceasing his wiping and walking up to Carter’s head, bending down so he can whisper in his ear? “Don’t what? Don’t make you some fat, worthless old man? Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, because that’s just what you are. You’re seventy years old, you weight five hundred and thirty-seven pounds, which looks even fatter on you, since you’re only five foot two. You’re completely bald on your head, but have a body covered with white hair, a thick mustache, a wrinkly face with heavy jowls. You’re a troll, a pervert, a masochist, you crave punishment at my hand, it’s what you live for. You’re worthless. You’re whole worth in this life is as my slave.”

Carter was shouting, trying to drown him out, but his eyes were locked with the mirror, watching his body contort. Watching his slim body disappear under mounds and mounds of fat, his miniscule cock disappearing under a massive apron. His hair was disappearing, aside from a thin horseshoe of white hair, and a mustache sprouting from his lip, even as his skin became lined with creases and wrinkles, heavy jowls over double and triple chins. He was shrinking on the table, his body pulling up into itself as he shrank almost a foot in height, his fat concentrating even more in his huge apron, which hung down almost to his knees. He felt tears well up in his eyes, but a leather glove wiped them away.

“Now, now, don’t cry. You love it, really. You know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want–you want to be old and fat. You want to be worthless. You want to be a slave, a whore.” The thumb slipped into his mouth, and unable to stop himself, Cater licked and sucked at it, feeling his heart rate quicken, as cum started leaking from his tiny dick. “You’re addicted to cum. You’re addicted to smoke. You’re addicted to humiliation.” Harold locked lips with Carter and exhaled a full lung of smoke into him, and Carter, who had never felt the desire to smoke, felt need well up in him at the taste. Seeing the want, Harold gave his slave the cigar he’d been smoking, watching him suck down smoke, and lit a new one for himself. “Now, I think we need to discuss what sort of role you’ll have in this house, don’t you? After all, a worthless old faggot like you couldn’t possibly be a graduate student. Besides, you really aren’t very smart. You barely graduated from high school–you had no hope of going to college. You need powerful men like me to guide you–to order you around. You don’t feel right unless you’re obeying a superior man like me. So I think…I think you’re my personal slave butler. Waiting on me hand and foot, for the rest of your life–how does that sound? Heh, then again, it doesn’t matter how it sounds, because it’s simply true, isn’t it?”

Carter tried to fight it, tried to resist having his mind rewired, but he couldn’t. He was just so stupid–not smart like Master Larson. His master was a real man, a man worth serving, and Carter would know–he’d spent his whole life in service–sexual and otherwise. He was only fit to serve, after all. Still, he tried to push back, he tried to disbelieve, but his Master was too smart. He’d been outwitted, and he shed a tear for a life his old, feeble mind couldn’t even manage to remember.

“Now, now–don’t be sad, Carter. This big house you gave me probably feels rather empty right now, but in no time I’ll have it fully staffed with chubby cooks and bearish gardeners and plenty of sex slaves of all shapes and sizes. After all, I have so many students, wasting their lives with their youth and their protests and their drugs. I’m sure they would be so much happier with a life of servitude, don’t you agree?”

He did think so. After all, if Master thought something was true, why wouldn’t he agree with him? And besides, he was happy, after all. He’d found his true calling, at the feet of his master. Master Larson released him from the table, and Carter hefted his old, aching body up, got down on his knees and began kissing and licking his master’s boots, before begging him to allow him the pleasure of worshiping his cock. Harold was more than happy to oblige–and after he came in his new butler’s old, loose hole, he fisted him until the old faggot couldn’t take it any longer, and his tiny cock finally pumped a massive load of cum out into his fat apron. Still, Harold really did have to be on his way. He left Carter with a series of tasks to be finished by the time he returned from the school (organizing the dungeon, cleaning his fat filthy body of sweat and cum, cleaning the foyer and of course, dinner promptly at six-thirty for Master and one…perhaps two…guests) and then he hurried to the master suite to get changed, relishing the feeling of his shirt and pants, his starched collar cutting into his fat chins, the the vest pulled tight over his gut–and then drove to school, Carter’s sonic equipment in the back. He had a feeling his office hours were going to be particularly interesting today–he couldn’t wait to introduce some of his students to the joys of serving him in the rich, privileged life he now led.

The Worst of Luck – Part 1

Ivan was walking up to the club where he was supposed to meet Terri–or was it Trish? He should probably check that Tinder profile again and make sure he had it right. He could forget their names after he fucked them, after all, but not before. He pulled out his phone and noticed an email notification–from some strange email address–noreply@curses.wiz.

Sorry, you’ve been cursed!

Someone would like you to know that they have brought a curse down upon you. They have chosen to remain anonymous. The curse they have chosen is “The Worst of luck (Friday the 13th Special)”.

Ivan just stared at it, not knowing what to think, and he shook his head. Probably just some strange spam or something. He walked up to the club, showed the bouncer his ID, and got an odd look from him, almost like the bouncer was flirting with him. He ignored him and went inside–only to discover the room was packed with men.

A fucking gay club? What the hell? Why in the world had Tammy wanted to meet here? He pulled out his phone again and checked her messages–and discovered that he had managed to flip two numbers in the address somehow–the bar she was waiting at was at least six or seven blocks up. He cursed at himself, tried to put his phone in his pocket, but managed to miss it entirely, dropping it right on the floor, watching the screen crack and go black. He shouted “Fuck!” bent down quickly to try and do something–anything, and heard something else–a loud rip, as the seat of his jeans split open up the entire back seam.

He froze. Everyone around him was staring at him…some with a look of pity, but more than a few were looking right at his ass…because he didn’t have any underwear on. He usually didn’t wear any–with his tight jeans he could show off his package better without it, but that, obviously, had been a miscalculation tonight. Unable to believe that quick succession of terrible luck, he picked up the bits of his phone from the floor, hurried over to the nearest place he could sit, and plopped down, trying to figure out what to do.

He had ended up making his way over to a cozy ring of couches surrounding a small table, and one man sitting there had witnessed the entire event. He got up, made his way around the table and sat down right next to Ivan, shocking him–especially once he looked at who exactly had joined him. Ivan was fairly bulky, and spent quite a bit of time at the gym getting larger, but at five foot six inches, he could only be so intimidating. The older man, clad in a black leather uniform, was nearly a foot taller, and rather menacing. If he hadn’t just ripped open his pants, he would have booked it, but he decided that he’d rather not expose his ass to a room full of faggots again unless he had to.

“Well that was quite the show there,” the man growled. The implication was humorous–his delivery was rather more sinister. “How about a drink to make things a bit better? Bitch!” he shouted at the man he’d been sitting with. He was smaller, dressed in far less clothing, with a chain collar around his neck, “Get me and my friend here two double whiskeys.”

The man scrambled up–Ivan inched away from the man towards the edge of the couch, but he couldn’t get up, or at least, not without everyone seeing him–but the man in the uniform wrapped an arm low around his back, and pulled him back over.

“Now where do you think you’re going, buddy?” he said, “I sure did like that view you gave me, and I think I might like playing with you a bit more.”

Fuck this, Ivan thought, he didn’t care who saw him, he was getting out of here. He stood up, but the man grabbed his pants, ripping the seat open wider, the gash in the fabric opening under his crotch all the way to the front fly, revealing his cock and balls as well. The man took advantage of his surprise, and yanked him back down.

“Goodness, those pants of yours sure aren’t made of very good material–I don’t think we can let you leave now, with that cock of yours hanging out.” The bitch returned with two whiskeys, and he helped his master hold open Ivan’s mouth as they poured his in, the pill still dissolving in the bottom. “Don’t fuckin’ worry man, we’re gonna have lots of fun with you and that hole of yours, and you’re gonna love every second of it–I fuckin’ guarantee it.”

He wasn’t on the couch anymore. He was swinging on a sling in some void, or maybe just in the air. His clothes were gone, he could see his blurry naked body, legs thrown up and attached to chains, and there were men all around him, so many men, all of their faces blurring together, but Master was there, he could focus on Master, leering down over him.

“…for the fun to start?”

Men cheering, the noise made him want to vomit, but he couldn’t quite hold his head up, couldn’t quite keep his limbs from going completely slack. He rolled up, using as much effort as he could muster, and saw someone step up to his ass, a hand running along his crack. He shivered. Why did he just shiver? His ass felt wet and loose, like there was lube in it, and then a pressure, something pushing inside of him, and he let out a loud groan, feeling his cock start pulsing and spraying cum up his chest, more cheering.

“…Fucker just can’t fucking contain himself, I told you you were going to enjoy this. Now about about we plug up your other hole too?” Master was grinning, he came around to his face, and there was his cock, and then it was in his mouth, it was in his mouth, and Ivan was gagging on it. He couldn’t get air, he couldn’t breathe–

“Relax man, fuckin’ relax.”

–He was choking, he was going to die–

“Calm the fuck down!”

–he didn’t want to die he didn’t–

A scream.

The taste of blood in his mouth.

“He bit me! That fucker bit me!”

He couldn’t stay awake, he was fading again. His vision was spinning, but Master was angry, he was holding his cock, hand bloody, and oh was he angry. He was just having the worst of luck tonight, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any better from here, and then he was out.

“Pull over. I gotta piss and yer gonna help me.”

“Please, I–just leave me alone, I don’t–”

“What the fuck did I tell you about talkin’ back, bitch?”

The large man in the back seat heaved himself forward between the front and passenger seat, breath stinking of tobacco. He reached forward and began kneading the driver’s cock through the ratty camo shorts he’d forced him to buy off the redneck they’d met at the truckstop fifty miles back. All it they had cost was one blow job, no teeth. They were grungy and a few sizes too big, but with a belt they stayed up.

“How about we remove a couple of inches, eh? Make you a tiny dicked little piggy? Maybe I’ll give them back when I’m done pissing.”

It was curious sensation, feeling his cock retract back into itself. Four inches? Three? Smaller. He signaled and pulled off the highway and into the rural rest area. It was early evening on a weekday, and aside from a few trucks in the other lot, largely empty.

The huge redneck he’d picked up a few hundred miles back as a hitchhiker hefted himself out of the backseat. He said it was more comfortable back there, where he could stretch his legs a bit. Plus, it let him keep an eye on his captive in the driver’s seat. “Well come on then, I need yer fuckin’ help.”

“What the fuck kind of help do you need to piss? Please, just let me go.”

“Bitch, do you want me to leave you here with a fuckin’ nub?”

He really didn’t want a nub. He got out of the car and followed the man into the bathroom at a lumber. Inside, it was all stainless steel and none too clean. His hitchhiker passed the urinals and went for the handicapped stall, and when the driver tried to wait, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in with him, locking the door behind them both. The man dropped his shorts and stood in front of the steel toilet.

“Aim for me–I can’t fuckin’ see past my gut.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to dig around in the man’s gunt and fish out his thick, short cock, but aiming it proved to be a challenge. For one thing, the man started pissing even before he had a good grip, soaking down his hand. Piss flew everywhere for a few moments, soaking the floor and the seat, before he got it pointed into the water, and waited for the big man to finish.

“Shitty job–someone’s gonna have tah clean that up, ya know?”

The driver wiped his wet hand on the camo shorts, a bit disgusted, “Did you have to piss on me? That’s fucking disgusting.”

The hitchhiker stared him down, “Ya know, I’m gettin’ real sick a yer attitude boy, we really need to find something more productive for ya tah do wit’ yer mouth. Get down there ‘n lick up the piss ya spilled.”

“No! That’s fucking disgusting!”

The man spit a wad of tobacco juice into the toilet, and then grabbed the driver’s wrist. “Get down there and lick up my piss, or the next thing you know, you’re just gonna be a toothless beggar sucking dick at this rest stop for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t. The driver got down and tentatively licked the cool rim of the toilet, and as he did, a shot of pleasure coursed through him. He licked it again, and soon he was licking happily. Not long after that, he had his cock out of his shorts and was jacking his three inch dick while the redneck stood over him, supervising and suggesting.

“Yeah, see? Doesn’t that taste good pig? Make sure you get everything you spilled on the floor too. Fuck, look at that nasty concrete, I can’t believe you’re actually gonna put your tongue on that thing.” He slid a boot between the driver’s legs as he lapped up the piss and started tapping the pig’s balls, making him groan. Before he’d finished all the piss, he’d already shot his load across the bottom of the toilet and the floor–he licked that up too, when ordered to do so.

They left the bathroom together, the driver shaking with terror and rage at what he’d just done, but when he went to tackle his passenger, he felt a curious warmth in the front of his shorts as he pissed himself. Fuck, it smelt great, maybe he could just whip out his cock for a quick wank out in the open, but he was able to control himself long enough to climb in the car. The next rest stop was fifty miles down the road, and his hitchhiker promised him they’d find a couple nasty truckers willing to give him a good soaking. He let out a quiet sob as he drove off, but the anticipation was building in him. When the sign came, he pulled over eagerly–what a thirst to quench.