“Hang on, I just gotta take a quick piss,” Nick said to his friend Doug waiting by the truck, smoking a cigarette, heading home from their summer road trip. A biker smoking a cigar watched Nick head into the rest stop bathroom, and followed after him.

At the urinal, Nick felt a hand cup his ass suddenly, a plume of smoke blowing across his face. He looked up, still pissing and saw the biker staring at him. The hand slid up the butt of his jeans and down the back, the biker groping his ass. “Wanna be mine, boy?” the biker asked, leaning in close, “Could make this hole of yours happy as fuck.”

Nick was frozen in place, the man’s hand sliding down his crack, one finger at his hole, “Say it boy, all you have to do is say yes.”

Nick’s breath was quick and shallow, and all he could get out was a stammered, weak “No.”

Still, the biker, chuckling, slid his hand back out, sniffed his hand, and clomped out of the restroom. “Suit yourself. I always get what I want though.”

Alone again, Nick collapsed against the urinal, nearly crying. What in the hell had just happened? A couple of minutes later, Doug popped his head in. “Are you still pissing? Come on, let’s get home before dark.

On the ride home, Nick was silent, and Doug could sense something was wrong, but couldn’t drag it out of him. How could Nick tell him he’d just been molested by an old biker in the middle of his piss? Doug hated faggots—and he didn’t want his friend to think he was a faggot.

Doug dropped him off at his dad’s doublewide and drove off. Nick did his best to forget that anything had even happened, and went inside, told his dad he was tuckered, and went to bed without dinner. Down the block, a motorcycle idled, and the butt of a cigar burned in the dark.

***

It was a couple of days later that Nick came home from hanging out with Doug, and found his dad on the couch, home from work, smoking a pipe. Nick found this odd–his father always preferred to chew, and when Nick asked him about it, his dad didn’t seem quite able to tell him where the pipe had come from, or why he was smoking it. The smoke smelled familiar, and Nick was uneasy all evening until he finally realized it had the same stink as that biker’s from the restroom. Still, it was probably just tobacco from the same brand, right?

His dad was acting strange. He kept…staring at Nick, and not in a normal way. In a…hungry way. When he thought Nick was out of the room, he kept seeing his dad grope himself in his camo pants, but never when Nick was around. His dad broke out the whisky early, and was out on the couch by midnight when Nick went to bed himself. It was several hours later that the door to his room opened, and his dad staggered in, pipe lit, cock hanging out the fly of his pants. He threw the covers off Nick, waking him up, but forced Nick onto his stomach and climbed on top of him. Nick tried to scream, but his father shoved his face into the pillow as he rammed his cock into his hole raw and unlubed. It was quick–four thrusts, and his father exploded in his ass, before collapsing on him, breathing hot smoke and whisky breath onto his son’s neck. Without speaking, he got up and stumbled back to his room.

Nick couldn’t move. At first, he thought he just didn’t want to move, but then he realized, he actually couldn’t move. Another man was in the doorway–the biker, his room full of smoke, but he didn’t say anything. The room was full of smoke now, and Nick realized he must be dreaming. Not all of it was a dream. He woke up, feeling his father’s cum dried down the crack of his ass, but that was normal, right? His dad always liked fucking his hole when he got too drunk. Nick stopped, realizing what he’d just thought. His dad had never done anything like that to him before–so why in the hell had he thought…

The door opened, and it was his dad, morning wood jutting straight out. Nick lipped his lips as his father climbed on him and skullfucked him, blowing his load across his son’s face before getting dressed in his workgear and heading to the construction site. Nick got cleaned up, everything feeling more normal suddenly, and then left and started walking to Doug’s house, when a motorcycle pulled up next to him, the biker smirking at him.

Nick went to run, but the biker grabbed him and pulled him close, one hand twisting Nick’s nipple. “How about now, boy? You’d rather have your hole fucked by your dad, or by me? How about a nice ‘yes’?”

Nick was frozen, but again said no. The biker released him, and drove off, saying once again, “I always get what I want boy!”

***

Nick arrived at Doug’s place, knocked on the door, and was his friend opened it, cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. Nick just stared at him, and asked him where the cigar had come from. Doug told him he always smoked cigars, and pulled him inside. Doug suggested that they take a walk in the woods, but when Nick told him he just wanted to stay in today, Doug instead insisted. His friend had never been so forceful before, and something in Nick…something made him feel compelled to obey.

They hiked out into the woods, and Nick swore that as Doug smoked, something was happening to him. He was getting…bigger. In fact, by the time they reached the river, his friend, who had been an inch or two shorter, was now six inches taller, his body filled out with muscle, and his eyes. His eyes were cruel. They reached the river, and Doug turned to him, “Kids at school–you know, they’re saying your dad’s a faggot.”

“He’s…he’s not a faggot,” Nick said.

“They say he’s a faggot, and they say you’re a faggot too. That you let your dad fuck your ass, that you want him to fuck you.”

“That’s not fucking true!” Nick shouted, but Doug grabbed Nick’s groin in a huge hand and squeezed it until Nick let out a groan.

“Not true? Then I suppose that the thought of your dad’s old cock won’t get you hard eh? I suppose that the thought of him coming in your room doesn’t get you all excited, that you don;t get hard at the thought of sucking his scummy cock? Of taking a load of his in your asshole? I bet you started it. I bet you’re the one who begged him to fuck you, you made your dad into a fucking faggot for your hole.”

Nick was listening, but there, across the river, was the biker. The smoke was flowing over the water like a fog, about to envelop them. He was hard. He was hard, thinking about his dad’s cock, thinking about how he’d gotten his dad drunk and sucked him off that first time, how his dad hadn’t wanted to, but Nick was so fucking horny, he was such a fucking faggot for nasty cock…

“It..it’s true…”

“No shit–I’ve been friends with a faggot this whole fucking time.”

Nick nodded, and was unprepared for Doug’s fist to slam into the side of his face. There was so much smoke, and yet his view of Doug was perfectly clear, the biggest guy at school, he’d wanted his cock forever. He could see the bulge, probably close to nine inches–how would that feel buried in his ass?

“Please…please, I just want…I just want to serve you, please…”

The words were him, but he couldn’t imagine himself saying them.

“Clean my fucking boot, faggot.”

Doug smashed his boot onto Nick’s face, and he licked at the dusty tread, anything for his friend’s cock, anything, he was just a worthless faggot for cock. He licked both boots clean, and only then did Doug reward him, shoving his giant cock deep into his hole, making Nick scream, but it felt so fucking good. Doug came in his ass and tromped off into the forest, telling him he never wanted to see the faggot again, and Nick looked down between his legs, and saw that he’d shot his own load on the dirt trail.

The smoke had cleared. He stood up, and started out of the woods, pleased with himself. Sure, Doug would tell everyone at school he was a stupid faggot, but he’d finally got that massive cock in him. It was worth it. Besides, he was just a worthless faggot, after all, right?

Waiting for him at the head of the trail, he found the biker, cigar burning. Nick approached him, hesitantly, felt the leather jacket–it was too cold compared to the summer air. “What do you say now, boy? You want to be mine? Be my little cubby faggot?”

Nick reached down and felt the biker’s cock through his jeans. Big, but not as big as Doug’s. And he liked his dad. He liked getting fucked by him. And maybe…maybe more guys at school would want to fuck him now. And he knew Doug would want to fuck him again, sometime. No one could resist his faggot ass. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Nick said, and walked on. The biker looking at him as he left, a bit perturbed, but he got on his bike and drove off.

***

Nick found his dad’s truck in the driveway when he got home, and was excited for an afternoon fuck. He went inside, but the father on the couch was not the one who had left home that morning. The pipe…it was much bigger now, as was his father. Sometime during the day, he’d packed on close to three hundred pounds, and now, heaps of blubber cascaded off of him. Nick could smell him from across the room, the stench of cum and sweat and…piss? He stood in the doorway, not noticing the tendril of smoke curling in from the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, faggot? Get over here and suck daddy’s cock.”

Nick wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted to resist. He didn’t want to serve this fat, disgusting man, but the smoke curled around his feet and drew him closer. He knelt down, feeling the smoke wrap around his body, dissolving his clothes, leaving him naked aside from a set of manacles on his wrists and feet, chained together so he couldn’t walk upright, only crawl. He shoved his face under his father’s apron, searching until he found his short, three inch cock, and started sucking. He hated his father’s cock–mostly because it meant on fuck was satisfying, and his father said his slave’s ass was reserved for him alone. Most fucks were just his father grunting and grinding his tiny cock up Nick’s ass crack until he came–it was miserable. It was difficult breathing as he sucked, but he’d learned some tricks in his years of service, ever since his father had enslaved him. It took some work, but he managed to suck out a load of cum, but he remained, waiting for…something. He didn’t remember until his father released a load of piss for him to swallow; only after could Nick extract himself.

“Footrest,” his father said.

Nick crawled over dutifully and allowed his father to set his booted feet on his hunched back. He remained perfectly still for hours, eventually cramping in his tight position, but he didn’t dare move. Eventually, he heard the grumble of a truck outside; it was Doug’s. What would his friend think if he saw him like this?

That thought struck him as strange. Doug was no longer his friend….Doug was….something else to him.

“Sounds like your trainer’s here,” his dad said, and removed his feet, allowing Nick to uncurl slightly. “Gonna work on your pain tolerance tonight, he said. I do love hearin’ my bitch scream, so be good and loud tonight.”

Doug tromped up and let himself in–now even larger, his body packed with hair and muscle, wearing leather pants and a vest, tattoos covering his body. “Into the dungeon, slave.”

Nick crawled after Doug into the room which had been his, but which now contained a large selection of dungeon gear. He was paddled and whipped until he bled and sobbed. His balls and nipples were stretched, Doug telling him how, soon, his father might let Doug castrate him, and replace his balls with a couple of heavy, iron eggs instead. Doug taunted him with his ten inch cock, telling him he’d never let a slave as worthless as Nick serve it. How Doug would only be serviced by real men, not faggots like Nick.

The room was filled with a haze of smoke, and in the doorway, the biker. Nick pleaded with him silently, begging him to be merciful. The biker simply regarded the scene in silence, until Doug finished training and left, leaving Nick restrained on the table, balls stretched out to the wall, nipples dragged up to the ceiling. Only then, did the biker approach.

“I think…I think I will only ask one more time. Would you rather this be your life? A worthless, castrated pig for your father and his sadistic friend’s twisted pleasures? Or would you rather be my cub? What do you say boy, can I have a yes?”

Nick nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y–yes. Yes, please.”

***

Nick blinked, and when he opened them again, he was back in the rest area bathroom. But now…now things were different. His master leaned over, watching his leather biker cub piss in the urinal.

“I like the look of that PA, cub. Makes you even sexier than you already are.”

“Thank you sir,” Nick said, looking down at the thick ring in the head of his cock, the piss spraying out around it, some of it splattering against the leg of his leather chaps. He took a drag off his cigar–and shared the smoke with his master as he shook piss off the head, and then the biker grabbed his boy by the thick chain collar he wore, dragged him into the stall, and fucked his hole.

Outside, Doug finished his smoke, and felt like he was forgetting something. With a shrug, he climbed back into his truck and started home, but saw a biker and some disgusting fag leave the restroom together. He rolled down the window and shouted, “Faggots!” as he rolled past.

The biker smirked, “Nice friend of yours.”

Nick looked over at him, confused, “I don’t know him, sir.”

“Well, what do you say we follow him, and when he stops next, we turn him into a nasty trucker, who cruises for piss as truck stops?”

“Only if I can make him four hundred pounds with a tiny cock and a hungry hole I can fuck,” Nick said smiling, and they climbed on their bikes, smoke trailing behind them as they drove off down the highway after Doug.

Renovations (Part 3)

– July –

The clouds hovering in the high afternoon were so dark as to almost belong to the night. Carl, feeling restless, was in the living room looking out the window at the thunderstorm building overhead, annoyed that the cloud cover wasn’t actually cooling down the house at all, and the humidity was making everything feel even stickier than usual. He reached behind him and gave his damp asscrack a deep scratch and belched a bit, before taking another drag off his cigar which he had resting in an ashtray on the windowsill.

Around the fourth, the summer monsoons had started just in time to dampen all of the firework displays in the area, and the refreshing rain after two months dry was quickly displaced by fears of flash floods and lightning strikes. This summer, it seems, was not one for anything done halfway. Carl gave his cock a rub, reaching under his gut to reach it, but he wasn’t even horny. He felt…he felt like he had forgotten something, misplaced it, but he’d misplaced it so long ago now that he couldn’t even remember what it was, only that it was important. When Bud was around, he never really had a chance to do much about the feeling, because Bud usually kept him occupied with food, booze or sex, not that he minded, but when he was alone for these brief moments, when Bud ran to the store or out for take out, Carl would feel uneasy on the couch, and end up wandering the living room or the rest of the house, unsure of what he was doing.

He walked into the kitchen, wondering if he should just eat something. Food had become his filler over the past month–if he had nothing else to do, he could always eat, and he loved it. His gut had gone from what he’d thought of as huge at the beginning into a true apron. Two weeks ago was the last time he could remember being able to see his cock, and over the last few days in particular it was becoming a bit too much effort to jack off even, and he usually had to beg Bud to play with his cock for him when they were fucking, something Bud mocked him for ceaselessly, but he’d usually do it if he pleaded enough. Still, he wasn’t hungry, and he foraged through the fridge and pantry, grazing a few chips and some bits of candy here and there, but he wasn’t satisfied.

He walked back into the living room and as he did he passed by the staircase, and came up short. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d gone upstairs. He and Bud had fucked in his bedroom once or twice a while back, but…but hell, he hadn’t slept in his own bed in almost a month. In fact, it felt more like that was Bud’s room, to him now, but that wasn’t right. It was his house after all, not Bud’s, but he was having a hard time suddenly imagining what it might be like living alone. He was uncertain when exactly Bud had moved into his house, but unofficially he was Carl’s roommate–well, his boyfriend really, he might as well just admit it.. First he was just staying over on occasion, bringing in more and more of his things as he did, slowly filling up the house, and then he simply never left again one day, sleeping in Carl’s old master bedroom while Carl slept on the couch most nights, passing out after drinking buckets of cheap beer, and usually after several hours of Bud using him however he wanted.

Carl grabbed the banister and started hauling himself upstairs, but it ended up taking more effort than he’d expected. How heavy was he now, anyway? He can’t remember the last time he’d weighed himself, but at his last doctor visit, he’d been 180 pounds or so. He certainly wasn’t that small anymore, and if he had to guess, he’d put himself around 250 or so, right? The truth was that he simply didn’t know. He was just bigger. He knew there was a scale in the bathroom, under the sink, and as he rested halfway up the flight of stairs, listening to another grumble of thunder outside, he started to feel anxious, and he had to fight off a full scale panic. He had no idea what had triggered it, but he took deep inhales off his cigar for a minute to calm down, and then resumed his climb to the second floor, finally reaching the top in several minutes, when it used to take him ten seconds flat.

The hallway was littered with Bud’s clothes, and Carl took a moment to smell the stale, humid air, feeling his cock shiver at the musk. It smelled like home, it smelled like him even. He lifted his arm up and took a deep smell of himself, and realized his passing thought was true–he and Bud did smell the same, that same scent of heavy musk and stale beer which had so attracted him to him at first…hadn’t it? Or had he thought it was disgusting? It seemed so fuzzy now, and it didn’t really matter. Still, he should probably get some clothes of his own, because he’d simply been wearing all of Bud’s cast offs and none of them were in particularly good shape, and he was so fat that many didn’t even fit. He was wearing a pair of clammy, jersey boxers stretched tight over his thighs and ass, and the wifebeater he had was stained with cigar ash, food and sweat, with one hole in the breast large enough that his moob tended to hang out of it if he did nothing.

He went into the upstairs bathroom, and the place was filthy, and stank of piss and shit. The shower was still in pieces, but he found it hard to care. If he’d already gone this long without a shower, what harm was there in going even longer? he obviously didn’t need them. He paused at the sink and looked himself over in the mirror, a bit disgusted by himself. His hairline had receded back past the crown of his head, and the majority of his hair was now grey. He looked older than Bud now even, and the mustache didn’t really help. At Bud’s insistence he had started growing out a horseshoe around his mouth, and the white hairs on his lip were already staining yellow with smoke. He looked old, and he looked tired. What had gone so wrong? Shaking his head, he dug around under the sink and found the scale, turned it on and stepped on it. He couldn’t read the number past his gut, so he had to step back off it quickly before the number disappeared, and he couldn’t believe his eyes the first time, so he did it again, and then again.

“Three hundred and sixty-nine?” he said to himself. “Three hundred and sixty nine pounds?”

He managed to get the scale up off the floor, figuring it had to be calibrated wrong, or measuring kilograms, or something. That couldn’t be right, it just couldn’t be. He threw the scale back under the sink and left the bathroom, sucking on his cigar nervously, but rather than go back downstairs, he went down the hall towards Bud’s room, but as he did he passed by a room he hadn’t used in weeks. He couldn’t even remember what it was for, actually. He opened the door, and felt it coming back to him–it was his office.

About a month ago, Bud had told him he was going to paint it over a few days, and suggested Carl just take a brief vacation from work. Carl hadn’t really protested, because it had been really hard for him to get much of anything done, but he’d completely forgotten about it, and it looked like Bud had too. The furniture was all shoved into the middle of the room, arranged so he couldn’t even get to the computer, which was unplugged, and while tarp was laid out and the walls taped, nothing had been painted, aside for one wall of primer. But his work, his job, his clients–he’d been awol for almost an entire month. He’d had deadlines, consultations…what had he done? What had he been doing?

He felt like he was going to throw up, and the panic which had hammered into him suddenly on the stairs minutes before rammed into him again. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He was fucked–just absolutely fucked. All of his credibility, all of his customer base–if it hadn’t evaporated yet, he would never be able to salvage this. A computer meltdown? An illness? He didn’t have an excuse, he couldn’t think of anything to even say, and all he wanted to do was gorge and drink himself into a stupor, and beg Bud to fuck him when he got home. That wasn’t a solution though, that was the problem. This had all started with these damn renovations, this had all started with Bud. The anger that hit next was so unexpected, that when he punched the wall and his hand disappeared into the plaster, he just stared at it for a moment, and then pulled it out of the hole he’d made, and stared at his bloody knuckles, and then punched the wall again, and then he marched into Bud’s room, and started hurling the things he’d brought with him out the window and onto the front lawn, where it had just started to rain.

“You fucker!” he shouted into the storm, “You ruined my fucking life!”

Bud drove up in his truck and parked on the sidewalk, just in time to see a heap of clothes fly from the bedroom window and fall with the rain onto the walk and the lawn, and he got out and walked up underneath the window, and shouted up, “Carl, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Fuck you!” Carl shouted down, “Fucking–fuck!” He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even look at him, and he grabbed a glass ashtray and chucked it at Bud’s head. He dodged to the side, and the ashtray struck the lawn and stuck in the ground, like a coin on it’s side, the wet, sludgy ash clumping on the grass. “Fuck!”

Bud went up to the front door, and Carl realized he could get into the house, and he knew he had to get down there and lock the door, but this fucking body, this shitty fat fucking body couldn’t do anything. He got to the top of the stairs as Bud got to the bottom, and they started at each other for a moment, Carl huffing and red in the face. “Carl, what the fuck are you doing,” Bud asked.

“You…I don’t…” Carl said, trying to unravel the bundle of emotions and humiliation in his chest enough to force out the words he suddenly couldn’t formulate. “You…you did something. You fucked up my whole life!” Carl shouted. “What the fuck did you do to me? I weigh…I weight, three hundred and seventy pounds, Bud. I weighed one hundred and eighty when I hired you. Where in the fuck…how in the fuck did I gain three hundred pounds in two months? How in the fuck Bud?”

“A hundred eighty? Are you fucking with my Carl?” Bud said, “You’ve been a fucking fatass since the day we met! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Carl just stared at him. He’d expected denial, he’d expected…he didn’t know what he’d expected, but not that.

Bud pressed the silence, “Get out there, and pick up my fucking clothes, you fucking nutter.”

“No,” Carl said, “I want you out. I want you out of my fucking house. I want you out of my room, I want you to leave and never fucking come back, I never want to see you again.”

“You don’t fucking mean–”

“Yes I fucking mean it! Don’t fucking try and tell me what I fucking think!” Carl shouted, spit flying down the stairs, and then he was crying, and he couldn’t stop. He’d run out of anger, and he just collapsed into the top step, and when Bud tried to pull him close, he lashed out, hitting at him, but Bud just shoved his arms down to his sides, and then his head was against Bud’s familiar chest and he was sobbing, and he didn’t even know why anymore, he couldn’t even remember.

Bud didn’t let go, he just held him close as Carl sobbed, letting it out, and waited it out, waited for him to exhaust himself, and then he asked him what had happened, and Carl told him what he’d done, and how he’d been feeling. The restlessness, the forgetful feeling that had been haunting him, the anxiety and panic. How he’s weighed himself, and the unbelievable result, his office, his work neglected, and when he finished his story, Bud just pulled him closer, and said, “God, you’re such a fuckup.”

Carl had bared his heart to Bud for a moment, and that single phrase was enough to cut him even deeper than he could immediately grasp. He couldn’t even speak.

“You’ve always been a fuckup Carl, you know that. You should have never tried to do all of this without me. Running a business, are you fucking with me? Of course it was going to turn out like this, you just aren’t capable, Carl.”

“I…I was doing fine before…before…”

“No you weren’t,” Bud said, “This house was falling apart. Hell, I’ve just barely been able to get it put back together, but you were living in a fucking sty, bro. You were a mess! You can’t even work a computer, much less run a business.”

“I did to have a business! It was…it was…” Carl said, but he couldn’t quite figure out what he had been doing, “It was design…design something.”

“Don’t lie to me Carl.”

“No, no it–”

“Carl,” Bud said, pulling away so he could look him in the eye, “You’re my brother Carl, you’re my brother, and I love you, but you gotta stop this. You have to stop living in these fucking fantasies. You have to face the fact that you’re in way over your head. You have to trust me, and you have to let me help you.”

“But…but my work…my fucking life…” Carl said.

“You don’t have a fucking life, Carl. You fucking live on my couch!”

“It’s my fucking couch! This is my fucking house, and I fucking want you out!”

Carl started beating Bud back, and frustrated, Bud grabbed Carl around the neck and pushed him down, shoving him against the hallway floor, looming over him. “Not anymore, you fucked this all up Carl, you fucked it up–you. You ruined yourself, you did all of this. You fucking need me, you fucking pig, you’re fucking worthless.”

Carl still fought him, and Bud released him, and thought for a moment, and then got up and went into the office. Carl saw where he was going, and fought himself back up to standing, and hurried after him, pushing through the doorway in time to see Bud grab the desktop monitor, and hurl out the open window and into the back yard, where he heard it smash to bits in the rain. “No!” Carl said, but while he tried to stop him, Bud shoved him back against the wall, grabbed the computer tower, and chucked that out too, and Carl just slumped to the carpet and sobbed.

“You made me do that, Carl!” Bud said, standing over him, “You made me do that, you fucking piece of shit, you made me smash my own fucking computer!”

“You’re…you’re a…” Carl started to say, but he just sobbed, not at all certain what to believe, and Carl knelt down and wiped his tears from a cheek, Carl flinching away, and when Bud kissed him he didn’t resist, and when Bud started kneading his heavy, sweaty moobs, he moaned and thrust his chest up, closer to him, his cock hard against the bottom of his fat. He let Carl fuck his face against the wall, let him ram his cock hard against him, slamming the back of his head into the wall roughly, neither of them speaking, but the horniness was overwhelming him again, and when Bud grabbed him by the hand and pushed him down the hall into the bedroom, Carl went, discarding Bud’s used boxers as he walked, bending over the side of the bed like Bud liked, spreading his legs apart, giving him his ass, and Bud took it, he took it raw, and it hurt like that first time, but Carl, for some reason, he knew he deserved it, and he heard himself say as Bud fucking him, “I’m sorry, Bud, I’m sorry…” over and over, but Bud didn’t say anything back.

He finished with a grunt and pulled out of Carl’s and then said, “Get out–fucking get out of my room, you fat piece of shit,” and Carl did. He left, suddenly certain that he had been in the wrong in all of this, but not entirely sure why he felt that way. Crying, he went downstairs, and with his hands shaking, lit a cigar and chugged a beer. Bud had done so much for him, hadn’t he? And…and he’d just…what had he done? He started out in horror at the piles of crap he’d thrown into the yard, and rushed out, picking up everything that the high wind hadn’t swept off down the street. He wanted to dry the wet clothes, but the washer and dryer had been broken for weeks now, and so he hung them up around the living room and kitchen, and the he looked out the sliding glass door at the shattered computer, and couldn’t even recall why it had been so important to him, and drank himself to sleep on the couch.

He woke up with a hangover more severe than usual, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he could still clearly recall the argument from the night before in all of its detail, but when he thought about it now, he couldn’t believe what he’d done. What in the world had possessed him to behave like that in front of Bud? He sat up on the couch, and spotted an unopened beer on the coffee table, and chugged it back, trying to chase the feeling of horror away, and it was only after he’d chucked the empty can away across the room that he noticed the tattoos, and he just stared down at his arms and gawked for a moment.

They were both covered in full sleeves, and getting a closer look at them, he saw that his left arm was done in a smoke motif, littered with cigars and ashtrays, and his right arm looked more like some sort of liquid pouring down all the way to the top of his wrist, and he saw that on his shoulder he had a huge beer can pouring it down his entire arm, and he didn’t even know how to feel about it. On one level, shouldn’t he feel ashamed? But why? He did love cigars, and he did love beer, right? On his gut he saw something else written in thick, black letters, and he got up and went to the mirror, and saw written in bold lettering, “FAT, DUMB, LAZY and PROUD.”

He laughed, looking at it, but it was true–he was proud of it, wasn’t he? He rubbed his gut, feeling how big it was, and he really did love it. Why had he been so freaked out by the weight last night? There was nothing wrong with being this big, why should he fucking worry about what other people might think, so long as he liked it? Well, he did care what Bud thought–he cared what Bud thought about him a lot, he realized, and the shame of how he’d acted threatened to overwhelm him again. He had to do something to make up for how he’d acted, he had to…he didn’t know.

He lit his first cigar of the day and thought about getting something to eat, but he really wasn’t hungry. Instead he went around the room and checked on Bud’s stuff that he’d recovered the night before, seeing how it was coming along. The clothes were still pretty wet, but nothing had been broken or destroyed at least. He finished his inspection, and then tried to figure out what to do next, when he realized what he should do–he should make Bud breakfast. That would show him that he was sorry, and that he’d been wrong the night before, and that he just wanted everything to go back to normal.

He dug around in the pantry and found some pancake mix, and then in the fridge, finding some eggs, but then had to spend five or ten minutes trying to figure out the directions on the back of the package. He couldn’t really seem to focus, and it was like as soon as he read a sentence, he would forget what he’d read in the last one, and reading was hard. The words swam in front of him, and he couldn’t quite piece some of the words together, trying to sound some of them out, but he was flummoxed. He ended up just pouring some of the mix in a mostly clean bowl with some eggs, milk and oil, but the result seemed way too runny to be right. Still, he pressed on, and found a frying pan, but he kept forgetting to check the pancakes, and before long he just had a stack of burnt, thin cakes piling up on a dirty plate, and he heard footsteps upstairs, and Bud call down, “Is something burning? Fuck CJ, what the fuck have you done this time?”

Carl didn’t know what to do, and so he just stepped back from the stove and when Bud came into the kitchen, he stammered, “Bud I…I jus’ wanted tah make ya breakfast, bro. Look, I’m sorry ‘bout last night, man, I don’ know what I was doin’ it was jus’ a mess man.”

Carl listened to himself, and he sounded like a bumbling idiot, slurring some of the words, his voice deep and raspy from the smoke, and he just felt this huge wave of shame well up over him, and he tried not to start crying in front of Bud, who just looked from Carl to the stove, at the lumpy, runny pancake mix, and the black stack next to the stove, and he sighed. “CJ…”

“God, I know, I’m a fuck up, alright?” Carl said, “I know, I can’ even make ya a fuckin’ batch a pancakes right. I’m just a fuckin’ piece a shit.”

Bud walked over and pulled him into a tight hug, and Carl let him, “Look, I’m here for you CJ, I’m your brother–I’ll always be here for you, but you just gotta…you gotta stop trying so hard. You just aren’t what you thought you were, you know? You’re just a fat loser, living on his brother’s couch, no job, an alcoholic, and when you accept that, when you realize that, it’ll be better, alright?” and then he chuckled, “and maybe leave the cooking to me? You know, someone who can read a recipe?”

“I can read a recipe!” Carl insisted, “That one was just confusing.”

“CJ, you dropped out of school in the eighth grade, you can’t even read a fucking book.”

“I didn’t, I mean, I went to college, I was…I…” Carl said, but while he thought he was telling the truth, he couldn’t actually scrounge up any facts to back up what he was claiming. He couldn’t remember the name of the college, hell, he couldn’t even remember the name of his high school. “Well, you didn’t do much better, you dropped out at sixteen,” he added defensively, not entirely sure how he knew that about Bud, but he knew it was the truth.

“Ha, well, you have me there. Still, why don’t we start over with pancakes, eh? I don’t really want those.”

Carl nodded, and helped Bud clean up, and then sat down at the table, watching his brother make these perfect pancakes, just a bit amazed at him. He was the big brother after all, he should be the one in charge, but he was just hopeless most of the time. Even that didn’t seem right to him–Bud wasn’t his brother. But he could remember them growing up together, he could remember the first time he’d begged Bud to fuck him, when he was in his twenties and Bud was just seventeen. Carl stood up suddenly from the table, in the middle of one of his panic attacks, feeling like he’d suddenly realized he was in a cage a bit too small for him, and Bud hurried over, shouting the name CJ at him a few times before slapping him across the face, bringing Carl around to him.

“Why the fuck are you calling me CJ?” Carl shouted, “My name is Carl, man, why…”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’ve always gone by CJ.”

“But…but my last name doesn’t even start with ‘J’…”

“We have the same last name, bro, Johnson. We’re brothers.”

“No…no, I…that’s not.”

“CJ!” Bud shouted at him, and slapped him again, “Fucking stop it! Quit it with this fucking fantasy you fucking insist on trying to live! You don’t own this house, you don’t have a fucking job, you don’t have a fucking life! Fucking shut the fuck up, and quit playing these fucking games!” He shoved CJ back into the chair, and went over to the stove, cussing, “You made me fucking burn one, you piece of shit…”

“Sorry…sorry…” Carl muttered, and just stayed silent, looking down at his arms and gut, at his tattoos that he’d had for years, even though he couldn’t remember having them last night. Looking over at his brother cooking breakfast for him that he’d completely forgotten about, and wondered what was wrong with him. What had he been doing? It felt like he’d been in the most beautiful dream–he’d been thin, successful, ambitious, everything he should have been, and he was slowly waking up into a reality which was none of those things, and somehow the dream felt more real to him than his actual life, and he wanted to fall back asleep, he just wanted to go back to the dream, but now that he knew it wasn’t real, now that he knew it was a lie, he couldn’t even get there.

The two of them ate breakfast, mostly in silence, Carl trying to think about what was happening, and about what was real, and he couldn’t even imagine what Bud was thinking about. After breakfast, Bud said he was going out for a bit, and Carl settled onto the couch, watching TV and masturbating, discovering he had a PA like his brother’s through his cock now. It was disturbing finding it, because again, he couldn’t remember getting it, but it felt like it had been there forever, and it was…it was hot, having it, and he came two or three times, fantasizing about his brother, like he always had, all of his life, and as another storm developed in the afternoon, he started to wonder where Bud had gone, and part of him even started to worry that he might have been abandoned. He was so relieved when Bud’s truck pulled up, that a knot of worry he hadn’t even noticed building up in him immediately released, and he didn’t know what he would do without him. What would he do? He was just a hopeless loser.

Bud came in the house with a small bag, and he told Carl that they needed to have a talk, and so Carl plopped down on the couch, and Bud thought for a moment, before he spoke. “CJ…I need to know that what happened last night will never happen again.”

“It won’t,” Carl said immediately, “It won’t I promise it won’t, I swear.”

“I can’t trust you CJ, I can’t trust you if you won’t listen to me. If you keep insisting on these fantasies, if you keep trying to lie to me.”

“I’m not…I’m not lying…”

“That’s what I mean, I can’t have you here, CJ, I can’t have you say things like that, and still keep you here.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Carl said, “Are…are you throwing me out? Please, please Bud, I’m sorry, I’ll do my best, I will. I can’t…I can’t live without you, I need you, I’m fuckin’ hopeless on my own, I can’t even get a job, I have nowhere tah go…”

“But I can’t have you fucking up my life, and fucking up my stuff.”

“I don’t know what came over me Bud, I don’t. But it won’t happen again, I promise.”

“How can I believe you CJ? How can I believe you, when you try to tell me we aren’t brothers? When you can’t even remember that you haven’t ever, not once in your life, ever asked to be called Carl. I mean, I feel like I don’t even know who you are sometimes, like you’re a completely different person.”

“I…I feel like that too…sometimes.”

“That’s a problem CJ. That’s a really big problem. Look, I know you aren’t always happy with who you are, but where’s the brother I remember man? Where’s the brother who loved life, and loved drinking and smoking? He was so fun man, what the fuck happened to him?”

“I don’ know! I don’ even remember, I don’ know…”

Bud just sighed, and then pulled something out of the bag, a two inch wide strip of leather which Carl saw was a collar, and he was confused. “I need you to trust me Bud. I need you to trust me more than you trust yourself. I need you to believe what I say, more than what your own head says. I need you to do that. I need you to do that, or I can’t let you stay here.”

“I…I don’t…”

“I need you to remember all of it CJ, I need to remember what you promised me. I need you to trust me like you used to, before all of this bullshit happened, before you went fucking crazy.”

“I’m not crazy.”

Bud just stared at him, and Carl looked away from him, sheepishly. He had been pretty crazy last night, even he could admit that. Still, he’d had a good reason, right? Even if he couldn’t quite remember what it was…

“Bud…I’m sorry, I don’t know, I’m just so confused.”

“Do you remember that first time, when you came into my room? Dad was passed out on the couch, and you were living with us, do you remember what you asked me to do?”

“I asked you to fuck me.”

“No, you asked me for more than a fuck, I didn’t even know how to react. You asked me…you asked me to own you, CJ. You told me you wanted to be my slave, that you wanted me to collar you, and fuck you, and you were so drunk man. I fucked you, and it was awesome, I know, but I wasn’t…I didn’t know about all the rest, and you never mentioned it again. You were back on the road, or Dad kicked you out, and I didn’t see you again for a while.”

“I don’t…I don’t remember that, but I was…pretty drunk that night,” he said, blushing.

“Do you still want it?”

Carl just stared at his brother, not sure how to answer. He hadn’t…he hadn’t thought about it, he didn’t know what to say, but…but looking at that collar hanging in Bud’s hand, he gulped and felt his cock start to harden. “I don’t know.”

“You’d be my slave, CJ. I would fucking own you. You’d do what I say, when I say it. You’d believe what I tell you, even if you think otherwise. If I say something is wrong, you trust me first, and your own head second. I’ll keep you safe, CJ. I will, I swear, but sometimes you scare me, when you get lost in these fantasies. I feel like I should have just said yes all those years ago, but I didn’t but here I am, I’ll be your master CJ, do you still want it?”

“If I say no, do I have to leave?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s…it’s not really a choice is it? I mean…I mean, where else would I go, Bud?”

“I don’t know, but this is my offer. You wanted this, this was your idea CJ. I’m just trying to give you what you want, I’m trying to be the best brother I can be, but do you trust me? Do you really want to be with me?”

“Yes! Yes, I do, but…but I…”

“Don’t do this to me CJ, don’t make me throw you out.”

“I’m not…”

“You’d be homeless, you’d probably just end up sucking cock in some alley behind a gay bar, is that what you want?”

Carl was crying now. He didn’t know what to say, and his cock was completely hard now, and he couldn’t look away from the collar, imagining what it might feel like around his fat neck, “Can…can I try it on?” he said, “Just…just try it, see what it feels like.”

“No. If it goes on, it stays on,” Bud said, and pulled out a small padlock, “It stays on, and only I can decide if it ever comes off.”

Carl felt the panic in him start rising up like bile. He wanted to scream, he wanted to throw something, he wanted to beg, he wanted to get fucked harder than Bud had ever fucked him before, he wanted his dream back, his fantasy, his old life, but it would never come back, this was what he had to deal with, this was his life, and he couldn’t be on his own, he couldn’t be alone again, and the word fell out of his mouth, “Yes, yes, please Bud, be my master, please. I trust you, I do, more than I trust myself. I can’t…I can’t take this, please, just do it.”

Bud walked around the coffee table, and Carl was shaking where he sat, but he lifted up his chin, allowing Bud to wrap the leather around his neck, and he shivered as Bud pulled it tight–a bit too tight for him to ever forget he was wearing it, and then padlocked it on, and with that click, it felt both like he had been trapped and freed from a prison at the same time, and he leaned into Bud’s gut while his brother rubbed his head. He’d made the right choice, he knew he had, but it still scared him to death.

Bud grabbed his collar in both hands and pulled Carl’s face down, where he found his brother’s hard, dribbling cock, and he opened wide for it, letting his brother face fuck him on the couch, listening as Bud talked about what he was going to do to him, and how happy he was.

“You don’t have to worry anymore, CJ. I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to worry about fucking up your life anymore.”

“Gonna have to get you some leather gear, eh? Dress you up like some tough biker and then parade you around on a leash. Gotta get you some dildos too, keep that hole of yours filled all the time.”

“I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be like second nature to a loser like you. Just let me do all the thinking, make all decisions. You’ll be your happy-go-lucky self again before you know it.”

He was going to be happy wasn’t he? Carl felt the panic start to slowly unknot itself, and this time he actively willed it away. It wasn’t important, what had all of that panic and anger gotten him? He’d almost lost Bud, he’d almost ruined his life even more than he had already. Why couldn’t he just he happy? Why couldn’t he just be thankful for what he had? He looked up at Bud from where he was, watching the smoke curl away from the end of his brother’s cigar, the little brother who had always been better at living than he was, and he realized that all he wanted was to be like him. As carefree as him, as happy as him. He couldn’t be as smart as he was, but maybe that was ok. Bud was smart enough to think for both of them now–all Carl needed to worry about was making sure his brother was happy, and obeying his every command. Not just because it was the right thing to do, but because it would make them both happy.

Bud, apparently tired of his mouth, pulled his cock out, and yanked Carl up by the collar, spun him around, and then shoved him forward so he bent over, his ass ready for Bud’s cock, and Carl whimpered as the shaft ran up and down his sweaty ass crack, and he heard a low rumble of thunder from outside. “Do you want me to fuck your hole, slave?”

“Ye–Yes…” Bud said, but let out a sharp cry as Bud smacked his ass cheek hard.

“That is not how you address me pig, try again.”

“Yes sir, please…please fuck me sir.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then repeat after me. ‘I am a giant fuck up.’”

Carl gulped, his mouth dry, and he replied, “I am a giant fuckup,” and whimpered as the head of his brother’s cock slipped into his ass and stayed there. He tried to push back, but Bud retreated, keeping just the head in.

“I am a giant fuck up, and I owe my brother everything for being kind enough to rule me and control my life.”

Carl felt a tear roll down, but he said the phrase back to Bud, “I am a giant…a giant fuck up, and I owe my brother everything–everything for being kind enough to rule me and control my life.” He was rewarded with another inch of his cock into his ass.

“I am an illiterate, filthy dumbass–an obese, cigar smoking, alcoholic slob, and I love it. It’s the only way I want to live.”

Bud drove his cock in a little deeper, and reached around to fondle Carl’s balls. “I am an ill–illiterate, filthy dumbass–an obese, cigar smokin’, alcoholic slob, and I love it, sir. I love it, it’s the only way I wanna live.”

“My name is CJ Johnson. My brother Bud is my keeper and my owner. I’m his slave, his whore, and his pig.”

Bud’s cock was all the way in now, “My name is CJ…My name…” he said, but couldn’t get the rest of it out, and Bud reached around him, grabbed his nipples and gave them a sharp twist, making Carl cry out.

“Say it you fucker, say it, or I take my cock out and you leave right now, naked.”

“My name…My name is CJ Johnson. My…My brother Bud is my keeper. I’m his slave,” Bud started thrusting his cock, “his whore,” too late, Carl felt what was coming, he could feel his ball churning. He tried to hold it off, “his…his…fuck!” He was cumming, his cock was pumping cum all over the couch, “I’m sorry Bud, I’m sorry sir, I–”

“You fucking–god damn it, you’re fucking hopeless, you fucking piece of shit!” Bud said, smacking Carl’s ass as he started fucking him harder, “Don’t think you won’t pay for that, don’t think you won’t fucking regret that.”

“I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry…” Carl said, but Bud shoved his head down, muffling him in the couch cushions and fucked him fast, pounding it in with a few final jerks as he came, and then he pulled out his still leaking cock and started pounding Carl’s ass with his hand, making him cry out in pain with each spank. Bud made him count them out, and when he started crying from the pain, Bud told him he was adding twenty more for being a pussy.

“Man the fuck up and take it pig!”

“I can’t fucking hear you. Fucking count! You can count right, or are you so stupid you didn’t learn that either?”

“You did this! You fucking made me do this, you son of a bitch, so quit your blubbering and take it.”

When he finished, he let Carl stand up, and then pulled him into a hug, Carl not sure what to feel anymore, but what finally came through, in his chest where that knot of anger and fear and panic had been, was love. This overwhelming love for his brother, and he hated that he’d disappointed him yet again. “I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry–it won’t happen again, I swear, I promise bro–sir. I promise.”

“I can’t do this for you CJ, I can’t fix you up if you don’t let me help you, if you don’t do what I say.”

“I will, I promise, I will.”

Bud kissed him, and Carl kissed him back, and then Bud grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs, where they fucked again on his bed, and when Carl woke up, he was still there, his brother’s cock still in his ass, and he stayed still, not wanting to wake him up, and not wanting the moment to end. However, Bud was awake behind him, and smiling, looking at his brother’s back, where a new tattoo had appeared overnight:

~My Brother is My Keeper~

CJ gave a whimper and pushed closer to Bud, and he pulled his brother tighter to him, as tightly as he could, and didn’t let go for a long while.

Renovations (Part 2)

– June –

The heatwave never broke–it only intensified as summer settled over the house in a miasma. It was too hot to do much of anything, it was too hot to think, it was too hot to worry about these sorts of things. Carl stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, looking intently at his face, looking at the sweat bead on it and run down, but mostly he was looking at two things. First, he was looking at his hairline, and second, he was looking at a single white hair which had appeared overnight next to his left ear.

He was looking at his hairline, because he had noticed, over the last two weeks, since Bud had finally finished painting the outside of the house and had moved onto the rooms inside, that his hairline had begun receding. Each day, he would wake up, and scattered on his pillows in bed, or more likely, on the cushions of the couch where he was sleeping more and more often, would be a smattering of hairs, and he would look at himself in the mirror, and from day to day he could almost watch it retreat up his head, thinning out as he did. Already, the two divots on either side of his head had connected, leaving him with a thinning tuft in the center of his forehead, and with his hand, he reached back and felt the small patch of bare skin where his whirl had been days before.

Was it the heat? Was it the stress? Was it the sex? He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it. His father still had a full head of hair. His grandfathers all had had full heads of hair when they died. And here he was, twenty-nine and losing everything all at once, and now grey hair even, on top of that. Right there, staring him right in the face. He grabbed at it with his fingers and tried to pull it out, but it was too slick with sweat for him to get a grip on it, and he sighed, turned around and stared for a few minutes at the ruins of his shower behind him.

The past month, Bud’s work had been slipping steadily. Ever since that night when Carl had blown him for the first time, the contractor had seemed more interest in having sex, drinking beer, and smoking cigars than getting any work done. Still, every time Carl tried to have a conversation with him about, he would either be busy and attest that Carl was just imagining things, or he would be relaxing, and simply tell Carl that it was too hot to work, and–

“Why don’t ya get those sweet lips of yours over here and suck me dry, man?”

Carl spun around, and found Bud behind him, naked in the doorway, one hand stroking his cock, and a beer in the other, leering.

Carl ignored him. “How much longer are you going to be working on the shower, Bud?” he asked, “It’s been three days, and I want to cool off–not to mention the fact that I reek.”

“I like the way you reek though,” Bud said, coming close, pulling Carl close to him and licking the sweat up from the side of Carl’s neck.

“Bud, come on, not right now, I’m too damn hot.”

“I’m hot too, but not in the way you’re thinking. Come on man, quit being such a buzzkill. You know what we need to do? We need to get you good and drunk–I bet you’d be such a good lay if you were fucking smashed.”

Carl managed to push him away and slip past him to the door, “Why don’t you fix the shower Bud, and then we fuck? How about getting some goddamn work done for a change?” He walked off down the hallway and to his office, Bud chuckling behind him and heading downstairs to get his tools, Carl hoped.

In his office, he shut the door behind him, sat down at his computer and tried to immerse himself in the websites he needed to design for his clients, but it was so hot, and his focus kept slipping, because that short stint with Bud had him hard and nothing was helping calm him down. He bit his lip, and then slid open a drawer and pulled out a cigar, lighter and ashtray and lit up, taking a long inhale of smoke before exhaling a plume towards the window and sighed.

He couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to pick up this disgusting habit. He’d promised himself that it would only be an occasional thing. Something he’d do around Bud, they’d smoke a cigar or two, and fuck–it did make their fucks amazing–but lately it seemed like he needed to smoke to do much of anything. With the smoke easing his nerves a bit, he managed to get some work done, but the smoke kept him hard, and he kept leaning back in his chair, massaging his cock in his damp khakis and boxers.

He should be the one walking around naked, he thought, not Bud. This was his house after all, but he felt like his clothing was a shield almost, something he could use against Bud to keep him off of him if he didn’t feel like fucking. If he was naked, well, then what would he have? Hell, even being dressed didn’t help all the time–Bud was almost constantly horny, but then again, Carl was horny all the time too. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, he pulled up some porn and started jacking, but as had become usual, he didn’t even pay attention to the video, he was thinking about Bud. Thinking about how hot it was to have his thick cock down his throat, that big ring resting hard down there, thinking about his musk, about how Carl could spend an hour sometimes just smelling Bud’s pits, licking the sweat from them, thinking about his big gut, and how hot it was, feeling it pushing back against his face as he tried to swallow as much of the shaft as he could, wondering what it might feel like to have it up his ass…

He shot his load at that thought, before his mind could wander too far down that path. Carl still hadn’t let Bud fuck him, but he could sense that Bud wanted it. He wanted it too, but the previous times that he’d tried to take something up his ass, it had simply hurt too much to even consider it as a kind of sex for him. And yet, even though Bud’s cock was bigger than any of his previous boyfriends’, even though he was certain it would hurt more than anything he’d ever tried, he still wanted it. Hell, Bud had managed to rid him of his gag reflex in about a week, he was sure Bud could work miracles on his hole as well, and yet something still seemed to hold him back. It felt like…like if things went that far, then what little bit of control Carl still had over this entire situation would vanish, and he’d never be able to reclaim it.

He cleaned himself up, and took a few minutes at the window to finish the cigar, watching the late evening sun advance across the southern sky, baking everything underneath it. What a summer so far. There was a drought, and water shortages, and everyone’s lawns were brown and dying. He snubbed out the cigar and sat back down at the computer, feeling a bit better. He managed to sink into the zone for a little bit, getting more work done than he’d managed over the previous days, and the sun finally sank low enough behind a hill on the horizon, bringing a welcome relief from the heat. It wasn’t too long after that, when there was a knock on the door of his office, he got up and answered, and found Bud fully clothed for a change.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted some pizza? I’m kind of hungry, and this shower is giving me some problems. I was gonna keep working on it tonight, if you don’t mind, after we eat.”

“Oh, uh…sure,” Carl said, “Feel free.”

Carl assumed that that would settle the discussion, but Bud hung around at the door, for a few moments, almost like he was expecting something, and he finally added, “I’m working for you–I’m not buying.”

Carl rolled his eyes, pulled out his wallet and gave Bud a twenty.

“Twenty? Come on, who do you think we’re feeding here? And I wanted to get some beer and cigars too, you know, in case we wanted them for later.”

“How much do you want?”

“Sixty should do it.”

“Sixty?” Carl said, “Seriously?”

Bud just waited for him, saying nothing, and so he pulled out his wallet and gave him two more twenties and left it at that, Bud giving him a grin and a peck on the cheek, before running down to his truck and driving off. Carl took a moment to take a look at the bathroom again, and it looked like the shower was in even worse condition than earlier in the day, and he sighed, and returned to his office. At least he worked at home, where the only other person who had to smell him was Bud, and the contractor seemed to enjoy that a bit more than Carl thought was healthy. He tried to get back into the zone of work, but Bud had successfully shaken him out of it, and he tried to jack off again, but couldn’t quite finish before he heard the front door open and Bud come back in, calling “Dinner!” from down in the living room.

Carl went downstairs, and saw that Bud hadn’t been joking–he must have been hungry. There were five large pizzas stacked up on the coffee table, two twenty four packs of cheap beer, and a pile of cellophane wrapped cigars. “Dang man, are we having a party or something?”

“Nah, I’m just starved!” Carl said, “This heat must be getting to me. Still, we can always eat the leftovers tomorrow, right? Come on, take a seat, take a break! You work too hard.”

“Yeah, and you don’t work hard enough. What’s up with the shower? It’s a disaster in there.”

‘Not sure, I’m still trying to figure it out,” Bud said, popping open a beer, and chugging most of it down, before letting off a loud belch of approval.

Carl walked around to the couch and sat down, opening up the top pizza box and taking a slice, which he started eating. Bud found the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found a wrestling match, and then joined Carl on the couch, naked again, and he started undressing Carl next to him, talking as he did, like usual.

“I don’t understand how you keep wearing this shit everyday–aren’t you hot in all of this stuff?”

“Fuckin’ white collar types, never could understand you guys. Wouldn’t you rather just let it all hang out?”

“Looks like you’re putting on a paunch man–guess you’d better kiss those abs you had goodbye, eh?”

A bit surprised at the last comment, Carl looked down and noticed he had put on a bit of a belly. When in the world had that happened, and how had he not even noticed? Bud gave in a rub and then a sharp slap, making Carl jump.

“Fuck, I bet you thought you’d be thin all your life eh? Just another gym rat, toned body until you die, guess that’s not gonna happen–you’re just a lazy fuck at heart, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you Bud, I go to the gym,” Carl said, but then he realized, he hadn’t been to the gym lately. In fact, he hadn’t been to the gym in weeks. He’d had a routine, he would get up every morning and do his weights and cardio, and he’d just stopped doing it. All of it. When had he stopped? He thought back, and realized the first day had been in May, when he’d woken up still on the couch, Bud’s boxers draped over his face, and he blushed. He still had those boxers actually, he had them stashed under his mattress. Bud had never asked for them back, either.

“Have another slice,” Bud said, grabbing another piece of pizza, and holding it up to Carl’s mouth.

“I think I’m full actually.”

“Eat it, piggy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I said eat it.”

Carl tried to get up from the couch, but Bud suddenly straddled him, pushing him back into the couch, and Carl realized he didn’t really have a choice in the matter, and that this treatment had him hard all over again, and so he opened his mouth and let Bud feed him the slice of pizza. However, it didn’t stop after one slice, Bud just grabbed a fresh box of pizza and started feeding him the entire pie, stopping on occasion to make him guzzle an entire can of beer, or take a drag off a cigar, the entire time urging him on, and humiliating him for doing what Bud told him.

“You are a pig, aren’t you? You fucking love eating–it’s ok, just give in, just accept it.”

“Have you ever thought about being fat? I bet you have. I bet it scares you, but it makes you hard sometimes too, doesn’t it? Does the thought of weighing 300, 400 pounds scare you? Does that get you hard piggy?”

“Eat it–don’t fucking gag, we dealt with that already, just eat, it’s all your fucking good for.”

Carl finished one pie, and then another one. He wasn’t sure when exactly, but Bud had moved one of Carl’s hands down so that he was stroking his own cock as Bud fed him, and he was hard, but not because of the food, right? He just felt so full, and so drunk, and the entire room was either too dark, or too bright depending on where he was looking.

“Come on pig, come on, shoot that load with this full belly of yours.”

Carl gasped as he came, and it hurt, trying to bend forward as he shot, but his belly, now stretched into a hard gut, refused to yield, and he felt bile well up but he quelled it back somehow. He’d never felt this full in his entire life, and he felt sick, but he also felt good, and horny, and drunk.

He looked up a Bud, but couldn’t quite focus on him somehow, and heard a voice say, “Fuck me.” No, it wasn’t a voice, it was his voice. He’d said that, and he did want it. “Fuck me, Bud. No one’s fucked me before, but fuck me–please. I’m scared, but…but I think…I think I need it. I’m so horny, please…”

“What a fucking slut,” Bud said to Carl, as he ran his hand through the globs of cum on Carl’s belly, “Just a fucking little whore, eh? Never been fucked before? I’ll be the fuckin’ judge of that, that cherry better be tight, boy.” He took his cum wet fingers and slipped them between Carl’s legs, and then between his cheeks. He started probing the hole with his middle finger, and Carl groaned. “I bet you’ve fantasized about this, boy. Having a real man like me fuck you rough–because it’s gonna be rough boy. I’m gonna make you a man tonight–you want that? You want daddy to make you a man?”

Carl nodded as Bud slid his finger into his ass, and he didn’t know whether it was the beer loosening him up, or just how horny he was, but it felt entirely different from the other times he’d ever played with his ass, when it had hurt like a hard knot. Bud’s fingers though, they slipped into him like they belonged there–like the hole had been waiting for him to claim it all this time, and it felt good. It felt good having him in there. It felt right. He did his best to slide down onto his hand, but his heavy gut wouldn’t let him move far, and he gave it a rub. It was so big–it couldn’t be that big could it?

Carl’s worry was interrupted by Bud bending down and grabbing both of his ankles in his hand, and throwing his legs up in the air, lifting him up high enough that he could rub his hard, leaking cock against his hole. “No…not here,” Carl said, his words slurring themselves, “The bedroom.”

“I’m gonna fuck you wherever I want, and whenever I want, boy,” Bud said, and to punctuate his point, he drove the head into Carl’s hole, watching him gasp. The contractor’s thick cock was a different matter than his fingers, but Bud wasn’t going to take no for an answer. This was his hole now, and Carl was more than happy to give it to him, and so he nodded, and focused on taking Bud’s cock, trying not to let out how painful it was, while still trying to do what Bud told him to do.

“Raise up. I said raise up! Fuck, you’re fuckin’ hopeless. Get me that fuckin’ pillow, since you’re such a lazy fuck.”

“Push down. Push down like you’re shitting, and you’ll open up…That’s it…that’s it boy, daddy’s home, better let him all the way in.”

“Feel that? Feel that? I’m all the way in boy, you took me to the hilt you fucking slut. Feels good doesn’t it? You’re gonna be fuckin’ insatiable, you’re gonna want me in ya day ‘n night.”

Bud didn’t last too long, once he had his cock all the way in. Carl had barely adjusted to the size of his cock by the time he let out a strange cry, pumping cum into his ass, and then he collapsed down, right onto Carl’s massive gut, making Carl lurch, and then he pulled out and rolled off onto the couch next to him, and Carl could feel the cum leaking out of his hole and onto the cushion beneath him, but all he could do was massage his sore gut, and when Bud handed him a lit cigar he happily smoked it down. The rest of the evening, Bud told Carl how proud of him he was for all of that, pulling him close so Carl’s face ended up in the crook of his armpit, and Carl would always end up licking and nibbling at the musk there. He was already drunk, but Bud didn’t stop with his feeding, plying him with more beer, and they both finished the last pizza together, or at least they must have, because when Carl woke up the next morning, on his couch, the sun already high and blazing, all of the boxes were empty, and he was starving and hungover, his ass hurt and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, so he grabbed a warm beer and chugged it down, letting off a belch, and then lit himself a cigar, and laid back on the couch, nursing his swollen gut.

His gut.

“What the fuck…” Carl said, looking down at the swollen mound that had erupted from his belly overnight. It was even bigger than he could remember from the night before. He got up off the couch and nearly lost his balance. It was much heavier than he was expecting, and he walked over to where a mirror hung by the front door and got a better look at himself, and realized there was no other way to look at it. He was fat–not even overweight. He’d gone from slightly out of shape to obese in a single night. He grabbed his love handles and gave the gut a jiggle, and it felt surprisingly hot, his cock rising to half-mast from the sensation of fat rubbing against it, but that was so wrong. He had moobs too, actual flab where his pecs had been, and he groped them a few times, the first couple experimentally, and the next few because it felt so sensual he didn’t really want to stop, but then he noticed his hair.

His hairline had receded at least an inch from where he’d inspected it the day before, and the single white hair he’d found had multiplied into two large patches covering his temples. He couldn’t take this, he couldn’t fucking handle this right now. He took a deep drag off his cigar, pulling as much smoke into his lungs as he could, and then did the only thing he could think of. He plopped back down on the couch and had another beer, and when that one didn’t make him feel better, he had another, and another. He’d drank five down by the time he heard a grunt and a yawn from the stairs behind him, and he saw Bud yawning as he came down naked, looking like he’d just woken up.

Carl stood up from the couch, swaying a bit as he did. How much had he just drank? It didn’t matter, none of this mattered beyond getting some fucking answers. “What the fuck Bud, what the fuck happened to me? I’m fucking fat.”

Bud just stared at him, looking a bit confused. “Of course you’re fat, bro. Are you drunk already? Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?”

“I’m fucking fat, Bud. I must have gained, I don’t know, a hundred pounds last night, what the fuck did you do to me? And did you sleep here last night? What the fucking hell! This is my goddamn house Bud, and you’re just my fucking contractor–you don’t get to sleep in my bed.”

“Well the couch was taken, and it was late. I didn’t think you’d throw a tantrum. Besides, I guess I kind of assumed that, well, after last night…I guess I just…”

“What, you thought I wanted to date you?” Carl asked, “Bud, what the hell is going on here, there’s…I mean…I just feel so…fucked up all of a sudden.”

Carl felt himself start crying suddenly, and he was too drunk now to try and hold it back, and when Bud came over and pulled him into a hug, he let him. He felt so safe in Bud’s arms, smelling him. It was so familiar now–and he had the sudden realization that if Bud left, if he kicked Bud out–he’d never get to smell him again. He’d never smell this, for feel his arms, or his rough hands, or any of it, and he’d miss it. He’d miss it so much.

“Look,” Bud said, “It’s all alright, eh? It was just a rough night, everything’s ok bro, I promise. Here, how about I make us some breakfast, will that make you feel better. I bet you just have low blood sugar or somethin’.”

Carl nodded, and he kept smoking cigars and drinking beers all through breakfast, and by the end of the meal, he was laughing and joking along with Bud, although all of Bud’s jokes seemed to end up with Carl being the butt of them.

“Dang bro, how in the hell did you manage to lose all of your hair already? You’re gonna look like a damn geezer. Might as well just admit defeat and shave it all off.”

“Do you have to eat like such a pig? Close your mouth for Christ’s sake, and it’s not gonna run away, maybe take your time? Though I’m happy you like my cookin’.”

“Save some beer for the rest of us, fuck. It’s not even noon yet man. Oh wait, is it? Ha! It’s two in the afternoon, and we’re eating breakfast, fuck–what a night.”

They never managed to clean up after breakfast, because before long Bud had moved over to Carl’s side of the table and started feeding his gut, Carl moaning through eggs, pancakes and beer, his cock hard again, and then right there on the kitchen floor, he got down on his hands and knees begging Bud to fuck him again, and the contactor was more than happy to do so. When they finished, they went back to the living room and watched TV, and the only moment of worry Carl had was while Bud was taking his time in the bathroom, and he got up to look himself in the mirror again, but now the gut didn’t seem strange at all. In fact, he kind of liked it, and it was suddenly hard to imagine himself without it, but just a month earlier he’d had a full head of hair, and muscles and all of it. Almost trying to prove it to himself, he found the khakis he’d stripped out of the night before, but he couldn’t even fit one of his legs into them. The same with the shirts–there was no hope for them to even button over his new belly.

“What the fuck are you trying to wear that shit for?” Bud said behind him.

“I just…these fit yesterday, I swear they did. I just…I can’t shake the feeling that something weird is happening.”

“You don’t really want to wear that stuff do you? It’s too hot for shit like that.”

“I guess, but–”

“Here, you know what? Just wear some of my stuff,” Bud said, picking up a wifebeater and pair of boxers off the floor and handing them to Carl. He hesitated for a moment, but tried them on anyway, and they were rank with sweat, but they smelled like Bud, and he started getting hard almost immediately, but the clothes did fit.

“Thanks…hey, I gotta go piss,” Carl said, and pushed past Bud and into the downstairs bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and quickly rubbed one off, fondling his fat and smelling Bud’s dirty clothes he was now wearing, imagining the sweat wearing off onto him, imagining that if he kept wearing them, he might even start smelling like Bud. He finally came when he reached between his legs and fingered his loose hole for a moment, letting out a soft moan. Outside the door, Bud stroked his own cock, listening, and then chuckled and sat back down on the couch, waiting for his pig to join him for another cigar, another beer, another meal, and another fuck.

Troy’s Shopping Trip

(Based on an idea and photo submitted by kenai88.)

It was going to be a killer party tonight, Troy thought as he parked his car towards the back of the lot, got out, and headed for the supermarket. Of course, it wasn’t going to anything like the slaughter on Saturday, when his college rugby team faced their cross town rivals in their first match. Rivals was really too kind a word–their team was awful, and Troy’s was vicious. In fact, a few years back they’d made a secret pledge to always wound one of the players in the game. Last year, their captain and the son of their coach had to be carried off with a broken leg–apparently he’d gotten so fat while recovering that he’d never play again. And then, as Troy headed for the doors, who should step out but that very coach and father, pushing an empty shopping cart.

He tried to play it cool and ignore him, and thankfully it didn’t seem like he recognized him. Instead, the older man just offered him his cart, and Troy took it to be gracious, thankful the guy hadn’t screamed at him. He’d been certain that his son’s injury had been no accident, and while Troy hadn’t been the one to do it, he’d been the one to suggest him as a target. Still, what’s done is done, right? The snacks were closest, and Troy parked the cart in the middle of the aisle and started grabbing bags in twos and threes off the shelves and dumping them into the cart, making sure to grab the favorites of each person on the team. When he was satisfied, he headed back to the cart–only to discover that it was empty.

Had someone taken it? He looked up and down the aisle, but there was no one there–just him and an empty cart. Fuck, he was thirsty all of a sudden. His mouth felt like he’d taken an entire shaker of salt and dumped it down his throat. Unable to help himself, he let out a big belch and patted his gut, feeling it jiggle a bit.

Wait, gut?

He looked down at himself, and tried to figure out what had happened. One part of his head was telling him that he should look like this, and another part was screaming in terror. He was fat! He hadn’t been fat when he’d come in here, had he? He groped his gut, feeling it’s heft, and underneath he felt his cock start to harden, and he blushed. Playing with his fat always seemed to get him hard, but it wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. He reached under and readjusted the front of his shorts, and tried to figure out what he had been doing. He was thirsty–better head for the pop and the beer–he could get the snacks later.

Something about his body felt strange today, like he wasn’t used to taking up this much space. He went to the pop and started loading two liter bottles of several varieties into the cart, but again, when he turned around to survey what he’d put in, the cart was completely empty.

Another belch–this one massively loud. God, he was such a pig, and he secretly loved it…didn’t he? He looked down at himself, and the same terror struck him–he wasn’t just fat now–he was fucking obese. His shirt could barely cover the gut overflowing past the waistband of his shorts, and his second and third chins wouldn’t let him get that good of a look. Fuck, he was hot though. Hot fucking fatass pig, fuck yeah. He checked up and down the aisles, but he was alone. He gave his huge apron a shake, feeling it reverberate around him, and he shuddered. His cock was hard, but he had another problem–he had to piss like a fucking racehorse. He hadn’t even had anything to drink lately either, but apparently his bladder disagreed. Still, he might as well go now before he had a full cart to deal with, and he lumbered off to the back of the store and the bathroom there, leaving his empty cart outside it.

He stepped inside, and found someone there washing his hands–the coach of the rugby team across town. How did he even know that? He didn’t play rugby. All he did was lounge around all day, stuffing his face and jacking off like a nasty pig–fuck! He was so fucking horny now. The coach finished washing his hands and turned around to look at Troy, sneering. “Lose some weight, you nasty fucker,” he said, and left the bathroom. The words somehow managed to shame Troy and turn him on at the same time. He was a nasty obese pig, and he loved the looks he got, he loved how much people were disgusted by him. He stepped up to the urinal, aiming blind, and pissed what felt like several gallons, before wrapping one chubby hand around the shaft and jacking off into the urinal, grunting as he did. “Fucking nasty pig, fuck yeah,” he said to himself, “Massive, nasty fat fucker, fuck *grunt*,” and he came, accidentally coating the underside of his apron, but it felt good there, being such a fucking slob felt great. He left it and hiked up his shorts, only to realize someone was in the stall and had heard every word that he’d just said. He left quickly, embarrassed to death, licking the cum off his hand absentmindedly.

Outside, the position of his cart had shifted, but he didn’t think much of it. He went and grabbed some beer since it was near the bathroom, vaguely fearful for some reason that it would disappear when his back was turned, but nothing happened. The same with the snacks and the pop, and he finally checked out his massive cart and headed out into the parking lot, but as he was loading the food into the back of his SUV, he saw the man from the bathroom leaning against a truck, away from the storefront, his cock hard and jutting from his jeans.

Troy drooled. He could totally use a cock right now, drinking down a load of cum would feel so damn good. “Sooooeeeyyy!” The man shouted, shaking his cock and staring Troy down. He couldn’t just…just suck him off in the parking lot, could he? It turned out that he totally could. He waddled over and dropped to his knees, feeling his bulk settle around him, and swallowed the man’s cock down into his gullet. “Yeah, how’s that taste you fucking pig?”

It tasted amazing. Troy didn’t know why he’d never sucked a dick before, but he kept glancing around, sucking fast, eager to get the man to swallow before someone could see him. He wasn’t fast enough–an older man walked back and saw what they were doing and froze. Troy wanted to die, knowing someone had seen him like this.

“Pig’s got a hot mouth,” the coach said, “Want to fuck it after me?”

The man glanced around nervously, and then walked over to the truck, set down his groceries, and waited. The coach finished quickly, hauling his cock out and spraying his cum across Troy’s fat face.

“Your turn man.”

Troy wanted to object, but what could he say? The man pulled his cock out of his jeans and Troy swallowed it down as well, and then the coach got down next to him, slid a hand down the back of his pants and began fingering his hole. It felt so good, and Troy began grunting uncontrollably, cumming in the front of his shorts before the stranger came down his throat. His ordeal over, he heaved himself up, only remembering halfway home that his face was covered with spunk. He wiped it up with his hands, licked it up, and then jacked off again at a stoplight.

That night, the rugby team didn’t seem to know what the huge fat man was doing there, but they all knew him somehow. Troy sat at the bar, shirtless in the hot, humid house of dancing men, watching their guts balloon as they devoured his snacks, soda, and beer. Thirty pizzas arrived which no one ordered, but they were demolished by morning, eaten up by the huge group of gainer pigs who had replaced the rugby team in the campus house.

The FAT Retreat (Part 5)

***If you want to pussy out, now’s probably the time. Extreme scat, pain play, and humiliation ahead.***

– Day 5 –

Max had had a terrible night.

Of course, he’d had a terrible time ever since parting with Leon in the hallway, mostly because it had been that long since he’d had the chance to feel his amazing ass wrapped around his huge cock, and masturbation just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He’d slept fitfully, dozing for a few hours before waking up, angry and unsatisfied, jerking his cock raw, coating himself in load after load of cum while smelling the funk of the toilet that at this point was nearly brimming with his piss and shit, and all he could really feel now, as the lights in the room finally clicked on, was anger. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life, and try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to bottle it up. Then again, he supposed that was the point of the last session he’d gone to.

After splitting up with Leon, he’d made his way to his own afternoon session, where a doctor and several assistants had told him he would be getting a few shots, and they would be monitoring his reactions to the drugs. They’d restrained him and then given him a large shot in his ass–nothing happened for a few minutes, and then he started to sweat, and he wondered if they were going to be wreaking his hygiene even more. In fact, the drug was what the doctor called a hyper-steroid–designed to do in a single dose what years of steroid abuse would do to a person’s body, without the need for constant application. Anxious, Max had asked the doctor whether that meant he would lose his fat and be muscular, and the doctor assured him that he would keep all of his fat–just bulk up underneath it.

The doctor hadn’t been kidding, and the entire session had been horrendously painful, as muscle tissue broke down and reknit over and over again, bulking up all over his body, filling him out, forcing the lab assistants to loosen his restraints every half hour as they became too tight for his growing form. True to the man’s word, Max lost none of his four hundred pounds of fat–he simply gained close to an extra hundred and fifty of muscle. By the time the drug’s effects began to subside, Max’s soft moobs had become huge, meaty pecs jutting out over his gut which, while still very flabby, was supported by a massively strong core. His shoulders and neck had grown thick, and nearly grown together, and his arms had bulked up to the size of a normal man’s leg, soft, but still capable of bending the iron bar the doctor gave to him to test his physical strength.

The men helped him stand up on legs as thick as trees, his thighs so wide he had to readjust how he walked, with a wide, heavy gait that could make the room shake slightly if he was heavy footed, his massive cock swinging from side to side, though it looked a bit more normal on him now, and the rush of hormones! He felt so damn powerful and aggressive, all he wanted to do was find someone to fuck, but the only person he wanted was Leon. At dinner, unable to find his roommate at the tables, he’d tried grabbing another cub, slamming him up against the wall and raping his ass, listening to him cry for help as Max rammed his cock in, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing felt like Leon’s ass, and that’s what he wanted–what he needed, and without it, he was growing angrier by the minute.

As he came again, he noticed something about the bed he was still lying on–it was wet. Well, not just wet, but kind of slimy, and…

Max sat up and looked at the bed, and saw that it was soaked with yellow. He’d pissed the bed in the night, and he hadn’t even noticed, and now that he was paying attention, he lifted his ass up and saw that he’d shit the bed as well, and apparently rolled in it all night long, judging by the way in was coating his thighs…He rubbed his hand in the muck and slathered it over his cock, helplessly jacking off again, unable to believe he’d made such a mess and loving it at the same time. That must have been what those other shots they’d given him had been for. he could vaguely remember the doctor shooting something into the ring of his ass, as well as into his taint. Had they made him incontinent? The thrill of it made him momentarily ashamed, but it was so hot that he couldn’t stop himself. But still, eventually he had to stop when the door to his room finally slid open, and the voice announced that it was time for breakfast.

He got up and pulled on the same set of clothes he’d been wearing the whole retreat, stinking of his sweat, piss and filth–although he could barely fit into them now at his new size. After his growth from the testosterone transference and the steroids, the pants were stretched tight across his thighs and could only reach the tops of his calves, and he ripped the shirt down the front, freeing his belly, the fabric stretched across his back and arms like a vest, and he ripped the sleeves off to complete the look, before leaving in search of breakfast. he was halfway to the mess when he felt something warm in the front of his pants–he was pissing, and he stopped, a bit embarrassed, feeling it puddle around his bare feet, but it felt so good he massaged his cock a couple of times to get off a shuddered load, and continued onward.

It was hard to believe, but somehow he was even hungrier than before. Then again, he was feeding a body several hundred pounds heavier than usual. Luckily, he was able to commandeer entire tables with his size, and anyone who challenged him usually ended up with at least a black eye, if not something worse. It wasn’t that Max really intended to hurt them; but whenever one of them came near his territory, this unthinking rage seemed to take over his entire body, and before he could stop himself he’d tackled someone to the ground and was pounding their face in with his fists until the hunger dragged him off and back to the table. In the midst of his feast, he felt a fart rip it’s way out of his ass along with a load of shit, and his pants were so tight it just backed up in his crack, but he didn’t notice until he was already out of the mess hall and on his way to his assigned lab, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to make it through the day like this.

However, his concern was wiped away when he walked into the lab and saw the massive, tattooed man waiting for him, and his jaw dropped. What in the world had they done to Leon? It was no wonder he hadn’t gotten back to the room yesterday–he must have been in a lab all night if they tattooed him from head to toe–and it really was head to toe. However, that was all the attention he could give to the tattoos before Leon, who smelled Max’s filth as soon as he’d entered, started waddling over, eyes hungry, tongue out and panting, and Max slammed into him, throwing his roommate to the ground, rolling him over with one big foot and ramming his cock into Leon’s tight ass in one single thrust that made Leon scream out in a muddle of pain and pleasure.

It was as amazing as he remembered, and he could already tell that no other ass could make him feel like this. After two thrusts he’d already cum once, but Max was far from done, and as he fucked, it was like a flood of cum worked it’s way into Leon’s hole until it had been filled to capacity, and it just started spilling out every time max pulled his cock back. Leon just kept shouting and grunting, yelling at Max to fuck him harder, to make it hurt, but Max wasn’t listening–the entire world had disappeared as soon as he entered Leon’s ass, and all the anger that had built up overnight finally had a channel, and be beat that ass with his cock for what felt like hours, but it was only twenty minutes later that he finally regained some semblance of self-control and managed to withdraw.

“Thank you, that was a very nice control sample of your sexual dynamics,” someone was saying, and Max focused up, seeing a fat doctor making some marks on a clipboard. “I think you both are ready for induction. Both of you look here please,” the doctor said, holding up a strange, flashing light, and as soon as Max looked at it, he couldn’t look away, and then the whole world melted apart for a moment until he came back to himself, shaking his head and looking around the room, wondering what had just happened.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he heard someone say.

Max looked down and he saw Leon crawling towards him, but when he saw his roommate, he suddenly saw him in a completely different light. He wasn’t a hot fuck and a nice guy–he was a fucking disgusting piece of filth. In fact, just staring at him was making Max’s stomach turn, and when Leon tried to lick Max’s foot clean, he took a step back, sneered, and said, “What the fuck are you doing, you disgusting pig? What in the hell makes you think I want something like you touching me?”

Leon looked up at him, obviously wounded by the comment, but something had changed in him as well. Where the old Leon would have slung back with a barbed insult, or maybe even a fist, this new Leon, he knew that Max was right. He was disgusting. He was a pig. No one would want to have sex with him, why would they, really? But he wanted them, he wanted to make them happy, he wanted to service them. “Please, sir? Please? I just…I just want to clean your feet, I know I’m just a worthless pig sir, but I’m so hungry, and I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do everything you say, I swear.”

“Fuck off.”

“Please!” Leon said, begging now, his head against the ground, inches from Max’s feet, just staring at his filthy toes, “Please, I just…I just want to be a good pig sir, I just want to try and make you happy.”

“I’d be happiest if you were out of my sight.”

“Please don’t…don’t say that sir, please….please just let me try.”

Max looked down at the pig, a bit curious now. “Open your mouth.”

Leon did, and Max took his cigar and dumped a chunk of hot ash into the pig’s open mouth. The heat was nearly unbearable, but he knew what was expected of him. He soaked the ember in his spit and choked it down, before adding, “Thank you, sir.”

Max cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the pig’s eagerness. “Fine, you want to try to please me? A disgusting piece of trash isn’t worthy of my feet though. If you want to serve me, you’re gonna have to prove that you’re a real pig, that you’ll do anything for me,” Max said, and turned around, revealing his pants which were still bulging with the load of shit he let out into them earlier, “You’re gonna have to be my toilet pig. You want it? You want to eat my load of shit?”

Leon balked, and sat back on his knees, “I–I…I mean…”

“This is your only chance pig, either get your face in here, or get the fuck out.”

Leon stared at the brown seat of Max’s pants and at the door, and as much as he hated to admit it, the decision was easy–he just didn’t want it to be easy. he crawled up and started licking at the back of Leon’s pants, tasting the shit seeping through, and Max reached around with both hands, grabbed the pants and ripped them apart, the shit spilling out onto Leon’s face, and like a good pig he ate as much as he could, rubbing his face in the mess, eating it all up, Max urging him on. When he’d eaten everything out of the crack and started licking it clean, Max turned around and started picking up shit where it had fallen on the floor and crammed it into Leon’s mouth, packing it full before ramming his cock down the pig’s throat, listening to him gag and sputter, trying to breathe, swallow and pleasure Max’s huge cock all at the same time, and the huge brute came over and over, washing the shit down with torrents of his cum, skullfucking Leon without caring, and Leon didn’t want him to care. He wanted the abuse, he wanted to be hated, he wanted to be humiliated more than anything by this beastly god.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said, “Now if you could both look here again?”

It was the light again, and with his cock still down Leon’s throat, Max felt himself sucked back into the light, his world twisted upside down, and then he was spat back out, and he was looking down at the pig, and a flash of anger ripped through him, and he reached down, grabbed hold of the two huge rings the pig had through his fat man tits and gave them a wrenching twist, watching the pig howl in pain around his cock. “Yeah, that’s good, fucking scream, bitch!” Max twisted harder, watching Leon moan and twist, and he realized the pig was pulling away from Max’s hands, making it hurt more. The pig liked it–the pig was a glutton for punishment. Max let go if the pig’s rings took the cigar out of his mouth, grinding the hot butt against Leon’s forehead, watching the spot blister as Leon screamed, and then threw him to the ground and kicked Leon until he rolled over onto his huge stomach.

It was still slick with his cum from earlier, and that was all the lube he needed to slide his fist all the way inside of Leon’s hole, the pig sighing, and then Max was punching the pig’s insides, hammering at his prostate with as much power as he could muster, watching the pig shiver and quake, and then he started working in his other hand, stretching Leon’s hole to the ripping point, listening to him beg and shout for more–more pain, more fucking, and between both of his hands, Max slid in his still hard cock as well. “Your hole is so fucking loose I might as well climb inside your cunt,” Max said, jacking his cock with both hands inside of Leon’s ass, “Fucking worthless–you think an ass this loose can fucking please me? Why in the fuck would I want such a worthless, shitty pig? Still, you want me though, don’t you? You want me to hurt you so fucking much…”

“Oh god sir, please–it hurts so bad, but I deserve it, I need it. You can do whatever you want to me, I don’t care, but I need you sir, I need to be with you. I know I’m–I’m not worth anything. I know there are hundreds of pigs you’d rather have, but I have to serve you sir, no one can make me hurt like you do, no one can abuse me like you will…”

“Fuck pig, you may be disgusting, but you know how to get a guy horny,” Max said, and came again in Leon’s ass, milking as much of his cum out as he could with his hands, worming his way in deeper still, and the doctor comes up with his clipboard, scribbling more notes.

“That’s better, I think one more time, please.”

He held up the light and Max felt himself blink, and one second he had his cock and both hands buried in Leon’s cunt, and the next he was standing up on the other side of the room, and something felt different. He was clothed, not in his rags, but in a set of filthy, worn leathers–chaps, motorcycle boots, leather harness strapped tight against his fat and muscle, a muir cap tipped forward on his head, and there across the room, his fucking worthless pig slave, naked, covered in shit and cum, his hands bound up in mitts, it’s disgusting face well hidden behind the hood moulded to look like a pig’s head, and hood sealed to it’s neck by a thick steel collar.

Max reached down and felt the heavy wooden paddle hanging on the belt of his chaps, and he hefted it up, striding around behind the pig, smacking it softly against his gloved hand, letting the slave know what was coming, but the first blow connected not with the pig’s ass, but with the top of his back, behind the shoulder blades, hard enough for the pig’s arms to collapse, and then Max started slamming the paddle against his raised ass with glee, taking a break on occasion to grind the pig’s face into the tiled floor with a boot before paddling him some more, not stopping until the pig’s ass was bright red and welted, and then he threw the paddle to the side and started fucking his pig.

Yes. His pig. He owned this pigslave, it was his property. Sure, it was disgusting. Sure, he despised it, but it served him eagerly and there was something to be said for that. As he was fucking him, ramming his hips hard against the pig’s sore cheeks, he felt a warmth as well, and he realized he was actually pissing in his slave’s ass. He buried in deep, making sure the pig knew what was happening. Making sure the pig knew it was just a toilet, a urinal, an object–nothing more. Making sure it had no illusions. That Max didn’t care about it, didn’t love it, didn’t respect it. Making sure it knew that as soon as it could no longer serve, it would be abandoned at the first rest area they passed, chained to the wall for anyone to use and take if they wanted a worthless, broken down, second hand pig. And Leon did know it. He knew it all, and he accepted his role with all his heart. He wanted it. He didn’t want to be loved. He didn’t deserve love or respect. he hated himself, but he was happy serving. He was happy to be of some small use to a beautiful, brutal god like his master.

The doctor let Max fuck his pig for the remainder of the session, and when it was time for lunch he gave Max a leash for his pig, and he led Leon back to the mess hall on his hands and knees, Leon behind him the entire time, watching his master’s ass in case Max had an accident that he might need to clean up quickly. For the first half of their lunch, Max was the only one eating. Leon would follow behind him, only allowed to eat the scraps that fell to the floor as Max ate–that and Max’s shit. As his master was devouring a massive cake with his hands, Leon saw his master’s ass start to distend, and he quickly moved to catch the shit and devour it as quickly as he could like a good pig toilet. Max didn’t even notice–all he could focus on was making sure he kept up his bulk.

When Max was satisfied, he parked Leon next to a table and started stuffing food down his throat as fast as he could, Leon eating more than he’d ever managed to before, his master taunting him the entire time, telling him how disgusting fat he was going to be, telling him that if he was going to be a pig, he was going to be the biggest, fattest pig on the face of the planet. Leon was just happy for the attention, happy for the acknowledgement from his master, happy being fed, knowing that he wouldn’t be wasting away today, that for the moment he didn’t have to be afraid of withering.

Before long, Max wasn’t shoving food in with his hands, but with his cock, and suddenly he threw Leon to the floor and was ramming his cock into his pigslave’s hole. Leon struggled to get down the pile of food still in his mouth, and with his hands reached down and yanked on the rings through his moobs, feeling his worthless cock seep cum into his fatpad. Looking around the room, he could see that the rest of the men at the retreat had formed a wide circle around them, with most of them just staring. All of them looked to have gained a substantial amount of weight since they’d arrived, but none of them looked to be as extreme as him. He was the lowest–he was always going to be the lowest, and that was where he deserved to be. In his dull mind, he tried to connect back some of what he thought he could remember, how he’d arrived just days earlier, muscular and ready to help a bunch of fat men lose weight, but how could he have gone from that to this so quickly? He could barely remember everything that had happened to him, and with his poor memory, everything he seemed like it could just have easily have been imagined from horny fantasies in his mind.

The doors had slid open, signalling the end of lunch, but as far as Max was concerned, lunch wasn’t finished until he was satisfied. A good ten minutes later, the room almost entirely empty, he finally withdrew, picked up Leon’s collar and yanked him along, the two of them directed by the orderlies to another lab. Leon was still in his strange head space of trying to figure out what was going on–in his simplified mind, it seemed to amplify everything around him in the present. Nothing was permanent to him, nothing could seem to stick in his memory, rendering it as a dream, and he prayed with each moment that he wouldn’t wake up, that he wouldn’t go back to that skinny body, near death, without his master. Nothing could be worse than that, could it?

The lab, it turned out, was the same lab, with the same doctor, they’d been with in the morning, however, the room had been sanitized and scrubbed clean, and there were two chairs surrounded by electrical equipment which they were directed into. Max settled into one on his own, but the doctor and his assistants had to help Leon into his. For some reason, standing up and sitting down felt so awkward and human to him. It wasn’t a position which came naturally to him any longer. The doctor and his assistants began wiring up them both, and the doctor explained what would be happening in the session, although Leon and Max understood almost none of what he was saying.

It was, the doctor said, to be a two stage process. First, long term memories would be scrubbed and withered with targeted EST, and then the write on would begin, scribing new long term memories in their place, enough that they both would be able to fill in the blanks on their own. Leon wanted to know more, he was secretly afraid that he would be returning to his slim body that he could remember distantly, but before he could get his concerns out, a sharp pain ripped through his head and face, sending him into a violent convulsion, and in the mental space that remained as he shook, there was…nothing. No memories of himself, he felt like a clean slate, all of his concerns, all of his memories of that horrid body he may or may not have had wiped clean, and in their absence, a relief Leon couldn’t explain overcame him. Everything was going to be ok now, he was safe. He no longer knew what he was safe from, but it was gone–gone forever.

The second wave of shocks were less painful, but only because they were so powerful that they knocked both Leon and Max out the moment the struck. Max resisted more, as hard as he could, his hardened will and aggression no longer willing to cede ground, but the force of the electricity overwhelmed him, and room faded to black, and he something began to swim to the surface of his mind, memories, but not his memories, surely. But if not his, then whose?

–He was climbing out of his beat up F-150 a few years ago, before he’d been laid off from the plant and started trucking cross country, heading up the steps of his single wide where he lived with his son, Leon. What a disappointment. Max was a man’s man. Burly, hairy, muscular, tough, and his son was nothing like him. In his heart, he’d always secretly wondered if he was even his, whenever he looked at his fat frame, his hairless body, it had always been a bit disgusting to him, actually. He climbed the steps and let himself in the trailer door, and stopped short, when he smelled sex and his brother’s brand of cigars, and there on the couch, Randy was balls deep in his son’s ass on the couch, Leon moaning and grunting like a whore.

Randy, wide eyed, had stopped fucking and looked back at Max. He’d always been littler than his big brother, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The brothers had fooled around plenty since they were kids, but, well, fucking your nephew was territory he hadn’t expected to enter. Still, Leon had begged him for his cock, getting him all horny, telling him how half the football team had been using his fat ass as a cum dump for months now, how he’d always wondered what his uncle’s cock might taste like, how it might feel in his pigcunt, and how could Randy say no, really?

Max however, wasn’t surprised, but he was angry. Not at Randy–he was a horndog who’d stick his cock anywhere. Not even really at Leon, not directly. The boy was a pig–of course he was a worthless fucking bottom. But indirectly? It was somewhat his fault, his fault for siring a fucking pig–but if Leon wanted to be a pig, then Max was happy to oblige. He dropped his pants, letting his huge cock flop out, and walked around to Leon’s face.

“Not a fucking surprise. You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you? What a fucking disgrace.”

Leon tried to say something. An apology? A request for his dad to fuck his face? Before he could say anything Max had already delivered on the second, and when he and Randy were satisfied, they’d tied Leon up and Max made a few calls to all of his friends and fuck buddies in the county, announcing open season on his son’s hole–

Darkness, memories coming faster than either of them could process now, and they would occasionally catch larger snippets of them as they passed by.

–Leon had thought he’d wanted this. Thought he’d wanted to his dad’s slave, his pig, but tied to a chair, being force fed food for hours on end, he was begging for his father to stop. Max, however, would have none of it.

“You told me this is what you’d wanted, and from how hard that little clit cock of yours is, I’d suggest you open up and shut up, bitch.”

It was during one of their marathon feedings that Max had discovered something new about his son–how sensitive he was to pain. More than that, pain made him compliant. Pain seemed to make Leon…happy. Max didn’t understand it. How could such a worthless piece of trash be his? He considered selling him off, but yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to his scream for more, slapping and punching him around was so satisfying–

Even faster, and more vivid now. The electricity was just a dull hum in the room, each of them rigid. Max was still trying to fight them, but it was purely instinct. There was nothing he could do to stop these thoughts, nothing at all. But still, looking at what he’d done to his son, he was so proud of what a man he’d been. This had been the right thing to do, and he liked having a pig, but he didn’t love that slave, couldn’t love him, not really…could he?

–They were coming along great. His son would never be able to hide his pig self now, not with tatts all over his body, not with piercings slammed in everywhere Max could fit them. Even better, this was actually his pigs reward! Leon begs him to go get more tattoos and piercings, he loves how the guns and needles feel in his body, he loves the pain. This one is a reward for being a good little pig and learning how to drink down all of his daddy’s piss, and this next week, well, Max isn’t planning on using the toilet ever again. Leon doesn’t know what’s coming, but from now on, he’s going to be a full service pigtoilet, and Max has a feeling he’s going to love it–

Next to him, Leon was spasming, his puny pig cock leaking piss, the sheer eroticism of what his dad had done to him making him so happy. Still, his mind was so wrecked that as soon as a memory occured they simply faded away almost immediately, forming a long haze of abuse and pain stretching back as far as he could reach.

–”You’re going to eat it.”

“No, dad–”

“I’m not you’re fucking father, and you’re not my fucking son, you fucking know better bitch!”

Max punched Leon in his face, feeling his son’s nose fracture, blood gushing down onto his tattooed chest and belly, but even though it must hurt, all Leon can do is grunt and moan in pleasure at being abused.

“You’re going to eat it, or here’s what’s going to happen. I know a biker gang, I met them on my last trip out to Cali, and they’re always looking for pig slaves, but they ain’t as nice as I am. First, they’ll rip out your teeth, and pop out your eyes, and cup off your hands and feet, and chain you to the fuckin’ wall, and that’s where you’ll fuckin’ stay for fuckin’ ever, a real fuckin’ toilet, and if you’d rather have that, by all means keep doin’ what you’re doin’ slave, because I’m gettin’ real tired of this bullshit of yours.

Leon was crying now, and when Max squatted over his face this time, he didn’t protest.

“That’s a good pig, eat up for daddy,” Max said, yanking on Leon’s tits, listening to him gag–

They were rocketing towards the present now, and the memories were growing clearer, but still shooting by at an incredible pace. The electricity was dying down as they entered the last couple of years, and FAT came into their relationship.

–Truly the Fat Action Team is the best thing Max had ever found. He’d never known that there were so many guys in the world who would pay to watch him fuck his fat pig slave of a son on their cross country drives. Of course he’d do anything the Fat Action Team told him to do, he’d already made plenty of sacrifices to increase his ratings. He’d happily taken on the steroid treatments, but sure, he’d balked at the incontinence. Still, he loved the sensation of pissing himself night and day, of shitting the back of his pants, and the guys watching his cams loved it too. He owed the Fat Action Team everything, he’d do anything for them, because they were everything to him–

Finally, the rush was sowing down, they could start coming back to themselves, move their bodies, but the memories kept coming, pushing out all of their old lives. They didn’t exist anymore–this was their past and their reality–their lives.

–Fuck, they were giving it to him rough, but Leon was a real trooper, Max thought, holding the camera as the two huge bikers took his pig from both ends in a rest stop bathroom. Over the last year, ever since working with FAT, he’d started to appreciate his son a bit more for the pig he was. Sure, he was a disgusting piece of filth, by damn, when the pig wanted something, well, he had a way of getting it. Kind of like Max, as much as he hated admitting it. Maybe the two of them had more in common than he wanted to believe.

The biker’s finished up and Leon thanked them for letting him serve their cocks. Max turned off the camera, and walked over to Leon, getting down and rubbing his son’s smooth, tattooed head, “Ya know, you might actually manage to make me proud one day, pig,” he said, and Leon smirked. Max gave him a playful slap, and then gave his son a kiss, tasting his foul mouth, piss sweat, shit, cum, ash–

The doctor shut off the electricity, and watched the two subjects sag in their seats, pleased with the memory induction, and certain it would take hold. Now, however, the subjects would sleep until morning, he was sure. He called for several orderlies, and together they all managed to heft both huge men into wide wheelchairs and drive them off to their room. Another successful retreat, the doctor thought with a nod, excited to do it all again with a new batch of men next week.

“So, do you like it?”

“Like it? It’s great. I still can’t believe you’re only offering it for a thousand bucks a month. I was sure that was a typo,” Derrick said as the older landlord showed him around the room.

“Nope, it isn’t a typo at all–still, I do have several other interested parties, however. Would you like to take the lease? It’s a year long, but if you don’t bite now, I can’t guarantee it’ll be here later.”

Derrick looked around the bare apartment again, and couldn’t help but feel a bit pressured. There had to be something he was missing, but the guy seemed on the level about everything, and he’d given an honest tour, pointing out the deficiencies of the apartment, and the reason it was only one thousand bucks a month. Still, it was better than living with his parents any longer, and so he shrugged and asked, “Where do I sign?”

The landlord helped him through the contract, filled with his initials and signatures, after Derrick had read a summary of what the contract included. Still, when he hit the final line, and added his signature there, he felt a sudden jolt of energy from his pen, and he was blown back, toppling over the chair where he landed with a thud on the ground.

Groaning and aching, he rolled over and hefted himself upright, feeling a bunch of aches and pains that he didn’t even recognize, and looked over at the landlord–or the guy who was where the landlord had been sitting. He looked to be a good thirty years younger–and that was when Derrick looked down at himself, at his flabby hairy belly, and felt his balding head, and freaked out. He ran for the door and flung it open, only to smack right into some sort of invisible barrier keeping him inside.

“What, trying to leave your new home so soon, Derrick? Thanks for the thirty years by the way–I was getting tired of being that old. After a few thousand years, bodies have a way of running out faster than usual–I need young men like you every few months just to stay young. Still I’m sure you’re going to love your new living situation–I’ve even arranged for you to work from home, since you won’t be leaving for a good long while.”

The landlord explained that part of the lease bound Derrick to become a gay gainer–he eat for the cameras he installed in his in the room, as well as consent to being fed by whoever the landlord let into his room. Derrick, of course, was horrified and tried to resist, but the contract was very, very binding, as the landlord ordered then ten pizzas and stuffed every single one down into his growing gut. By the end of the year when his lease was up, Derrick was just another perfectly compliant tennet, weighing in at over 500 pounds. He happily signed a new fifty year lease on the spot, planning on living there for the rest of his life.

“Aww fuck dad, that feels so nice, you really were paying good attention during that cocksucker hypno lesson I just played for you, weren’t you? You can’t fucking resist cock anymore, and from the way you’re moaning, I bet you are getting hard just from the taste of my precum. Damn dad, you’ve actually got me leaking, even if you keep using your teeth like a fucking novice. We’re gonna have to give you lots of practice I think, before you’re ready for customers.

“Now smile for the camera, or better yet, give me that sultry look of all those fucking whores you used to bring around here, the whores you spent all of our fucking money on, you fucking sex addict. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out that you spent my entire college savings fund? That was from mom’s fucking death benefit, you sick fucker—still, I have a feeling I’ll be able to use those holes to recoup some of the costs.

“Yeah, that’s good—just a few more. I can’t wait to start advertising your services. Too good for jobs eh? Not anymore—you’re gonna be my bitch, my fucking manwhore for the rest of your fucking life. You’re gonna be sucking cocks from now until I decide you’re too fucking worthless, until your ass can’t close anymore, until nobody wants you, and then maybe I’ll put you out to pasture in some rundown nursery home. Still, that’s a good thirty years away, if you’re lucky. For now, go ahead and smile like you love this—oh hell, who am I kidding, you do love this, don’t you? You never thought sucking cock could be so amazing, right? Well have I got some news for you.

“You know Bill? Of course you know Bill—he’s our neighbor—did you know that he’s a fag? A total pervert too, when I told him what I was going to do to you, he wanted to be the first one to rent you, and you know what, he paid me 1000 bucks for one week. He’s gonna keep you in his dungeon dad, and he’s gonna open up that cunt of yours with both his fists. He’s gonna lock your cock up, shave off that beard of yours, and fucking humiliate you day and night—sounds like fun, right? How about another lesson then? After all, he’s gonna pick you up in two days, and I need to make sure you’re a compliant little whore by then. How about Ass Whore: Volume One? That sounds good to me.”

Something for Something (Part 2)

Commissioned by Anonymous

Before Dr. Taylor could respond, the smoke curling from between the man’s bearded lips snaked up and coiled in on itself, and then flung its way across the room, slamming into his chest and binding itself tightly around him, holding his arms to his sides as he struggled, and through the smoke, he could see the man differently, almost as though there were two men standing in one place–the short, old hairy troll, and then behind him was Miles, that foolish student he’d had blacklisted, and a shiver of terror shot through him. “Miles? Miles, is that you? What the hell happened to you?”

“You happened to me, you fucker!” Miles shouted, “You happened to me, but you know what? Everything’s going to be alright bitch, because I’m here to punish you, and what a sweet fucking punishment it’s going to be. Strip him–no fucking rip his clothes off.”

The smoke tightened around the professor, gripping his suit, and then exploded outward, the fabric ripping to shreds in a flurry around him, and the professor was sitting in front of Miles in his chair, naked, and Miles glared at him. The professor was in his mid 50’s, but was still fairly slim, with an angular, clean shaven face, and Miles could see that he had a decent sized cock and balls, and a relatively smooth body. The professor, in that moment for freedom, tried to stand up and get to the door, but the smoke collected around him again, tripping him and sending him crashing to the floor face first at Miles’ feet. “Who…who are you? What is this.”

“This is payback. This is revenge, you fucker, for ruining my life, so I figured I might as well ruin yours–what do you say? I think that’ll be pretty fair, don’t you? How about we change your attitude first though? I’m sick of looking at that snide fucking look of yours.”

He inhaled deep, and sent out another plume of smoke which curled out of his mouth in a thick tendril, curled in on itself for a moment, and then shot down, pushing it’s way into Dr. Taylor’s mouth in one thick, choking column, and he tried not to breath, but it felt like the smoke was permeating him, driving itself into his body, into his blood, and then into his mind, which began to cloud, almost as though he were drunk or high. He tried to regain his bearings, but it felt like the entire room was spinning aside from the short, wide man in front of him. He looked so stable, he looked so…powerful, and so sexy…

Dr. Taylor tried to shake his head clear, he tried to protest, but the thoughts refused to go away, and they only grew more intense. The idea of being controlled and demeaned and humiliated by this man was turning him on so much…he had done so much wrong in his life, and he wanted to be punished. He craved it suddenly, and he let out a moan, and heard himself say, “Please…please, sir…I…” and then his throat cracked and dried out, but he needed to say something, he needed to show how much he wanted to serve him, and so he crawled forward as best he could with the smoke binding his naked body, until he reached one of Mile’s leather shoes, and he started licking it, tasting the smooth leather, feeling his cock harden against the carpet as he groaned in pleasure.

“You piece of shit. How does it feel, licking my fucking shoes clean? You like being down there, don’t you? I know I can’t quite tower over you, so I think you’re going to spend a whole lot of your life crawling from now on. Hell, maybe I’ll even ride you around like a fucking pony. You’d like that I bet, feeling my huge body crushing your back, eh bitch?”

Dr. Taylor just muttered and moaned. His head was somewhere else, this mind wasn’t his…was it? He had to get back, he had to find his way back, but the smoke was still inside of him, and it wasn’t clouding his thoughts, it was rewriting them. The cloud began to fade, slowly but surely, and these new needs only intensified and grew sharper. He needed to serve this man. He wanted to debase himself. The fact that he was completely naked in front of this troll, licking his shoes clean, only made him hornier.

Miles looked down at his Goliath and smiled. He’d wanted this for so long, and he hadn’t even known it, wanted to see this old fool on the ground naked, but it wasn’t enough yet. He pulled his foot back and walked around Dr. Taylor where he was bound on the floor, willing the smoke to push his ass up a bit so Miles could reach out and knead it with his old hands. “I bet you want me to fuck you, don’t you? I bet you want this big cock of mind to rip open your cherry, I bet you want me to punish you.”

“Y–Yes…” Dr. Taylor sighed, “Please sir, please…fuck me. Fuck me, I deserve it, do whatever you want to me, I need it, please…”

Miles reached under his huge gut and undid the fly of his suit, pulling out his massive, thick cock, amazed at it’s girth. He could barely reach his small hand around the entire shaft, but he wasn’t going to need to jack it off anytime soon. Dr. Taylor was going to be his cumdump from now on. He hefted his apron up and rested it on the small of Dr. Taylor’s back, letting it rest there for a moment as he ran the massive head up and down his crack, feeling it catch on the doctor’s ass each time, feeling the man stiffen with need each time, teasing him, and then he started working it in dry, listening to the man beneath him groan and cry out in pain.

“What, you didn’t think I was going to lube up for your worthless ass, did you? Fuck now, you aren’t worth my spit. You’re getting my cock dry, or you’re not getting it at all, and how would it feel, if I never fucked you?”

“Horrible,” Dr. Taylor muttered, “It would be horrible sir, but please, it’s so big–it hurts.”

“I can take it out. I can take it out and not fuck you at all, is that what you want?”

“No! No, please fuck me, sir.”

“Then beg me to fuck you raw. Ask me to make it hurt. You want it to hurt, pain feels so good, bitch, and you know it, but you’re just a fucking pussy–it hurts every time, but you love it. So fucking beg me for it, and maybe I’ll keep fucking you.”

“Please…” Dr. Taylor moaned, and he felt the words forming in his mind, and he tried one last time to resist, to reassert himself, but the old him was so far away now, this new Dr. Taylor was just a simpering piece of shit, just a worthless cum dump for Miles, for his Master, yes, his master, it was so obvious. “Please fuck me as hard as you can, make it hurt, sir…Make me scream…”

Dr. Taylor did scream, but he didn’t regret his words, it felt great, feeling that monster cock splitting open his ass. Miles was taking deep breaths of the smoke, but none of it was leaving him, it was pulling itself down into his body, into his balls, and it only took his a few dry thrusts once he was all the way in to start cumming, and along with his seed, smoke poured into Dr. Taylor’s ass, the heat of it nearly as excruciating as the short fuck had been, but he felt it first surge into his balls, and he was cumming onto the carpet, unable to stop himself, and he could feel his cock shriveling up, feel his ball emptying and drying and shrinking, and by the time he’d finished, his balls were smaller than grapes, his sack pulled tight up under his miniscule one inch cock. He knew in his mind that he would never get hard again, that it would just flail about during sex, maybe dripping out a bit of sour cum once in a while, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was serving his master.

Miles kept hammering his cock in and out as he came, and as he did, he watched the smoke still binding Dr. Taylor’s body form itself into thick black stripes before solidifying into a leather harness with straps two inches thick. The bottom strap couldn’t actually attach to his cock and balls with a ring–they were too small, so instead it morphed into a longer strap, and as he pulled his cock out, the smoke solidified into a massive dildo and the strap went between his legs, attaching there instead, smashing the doctor’s cock and balls against his body. Finally, the remaining smoke in the room, coalesced around the doctor’s neck and formed into a thick metal collar, and neither the harness, nor the collar, showed any signs of a seam. The doctor would be wearing them underneath his clothes for the rest of his life, when he taught classes, stuttering stupidly along, unable to focus without being near his master Miles, the new head of the chemistry department who had enslaved him.

Miles sighed, and felt the heat start to dissipate as the pipe burned out. He looked up, his cock still out and dribbling cum, and saw Ed in the doorway smirking at him, and Miles glared at him for a second before giving him a smile, and then the guard slipped out before Dr. Taylor could see him.

“Get up you worthless sack of shit,’” Miles said, rolling Dr. Taylor over with his shoe, “Let’s go home, I think we need some time in the dungeon tonight.”

“Y–Yes sir…” Dr. Taylor said, his voice meek. He got up off the floor and put on his spare suit from the wardrobe, covering up his true self beneath it, and then followed his Master out of the building, and drove him to his house. He could dimly remember there being a wife and kids living there with him, but that was ridiculous. He’d always lived here with his Master–no one else, serving him day and night, when he wasn’t teach courses at the college of course, and doing all of the grading for his Master’s courses as well. The entered the house and Dr. Taylor immediately stripped away his suit, and Miles said, “Get down in the dungeon, in the cage. I’ll be down eventually.”

“Yes, Sir…” the slave said, and made his way quickly to the basement door, went down into the fully outfitted dungeon and locked himself into the cage there, to wait for his punishment. Miles meanwhile went up to the master bedroom–to his master bedroom, and stripped out of his own suit, and stared at his naked, fat, hairy body.

“It was worth it, wasn’t it?” he said gruffly, and then smiled, and packed a big pipe that would last him through most of the session he was planning for his slave. He went to his closet and hung up his suit on the rods dropped down a few feet so he could reach them, and then found his leather uniform, and smiled. He could still be an officer in one way, at least, and he pulled it on slowly, wanting to make the doctor wait, like he had waited. He had waited for revenge, and he had gotten it. He had lost much, but in the end, gained more than he could have ever imagined.

When the hedge fund came to take over the factory, it was billed as something which would be good for the entire community. Of course, nine months later, when all of the workers showed up for work only to discover that they had been locked out and the factory closed down, there was an uproar, but Phillip didn’t give a shit about that. He celebrated with a cigar as the fund took all of the company’s assets, including the worker’s pensions, and used it to give themselves all huge–and in their minds–well deserved bonuses.

It was a couple months later when the group of men stormed into his mansion. They called themselves the Personal Hedge Fund, and after subduing Phillip with a special drug, which left him completely open to their suggestions, he gave them complete control over his personal finances and all of his property, allowing them to completely empty his accounts and sell off all of his property, but he soon discovered that the PHF wasn’t done there–they weren’t done my a long shot.

What followed was months of mental programming. Forcing him to speak in an uneducated accent, giving him tattoos all over his body, including some on his neck and wrists that he couldn’t hide. And then, when they were satisfied, they dumped him in a trailer park not too far from the now run down factory he and his friends had ruined, and left him there, laughing all the way to the bank, and Phillip soon discovered that the other trailers were all occupied by his old co-workers–but the PHF had taken over and ruined their lives too. They soon discovered what it truly meant to be poor, in a place with no economy, and they spent the rest of their lives living in the trailers, while the PHF gave all of their wealth to the men and women whose lives they had ruined.

The Loser Part Three

Wilton froze, trying to remain hidden and quiet in the stall, hoping the janitor would leave for a moment so he could slip away unobserved. However, in a moment, his phone chimed loudly–another email.

“Hello? Is someone in here?” the janitor asked, and Wilton hurried to check the phone, and found a new task.

Lightning round! It’s your final task!

Beg the janitor to let you suck his cock. If he refuses, you lose. If you can’t get him to cum in five minutes, you lose. If you don’t cum in your new diaper before he cums down your throat, you lose.

“Fuck!” Wilton said, and then covered his mouth.

“Sorry, are you busy? I can come back in a few minutes…” the janitor said.

“No! No, hold on,” Wilton said, bumbling out of the door, realizing a moment too late that all he was wearing was a sopping wet diaper. The janitor was a young guy, probably in his early twenties, and Wilton gulped as the guy looked at him in shock. “Hey…uh…hey, can I suck your cock?”

“What the fuck kind of faggot shit is this!” the janitor said, and backed away.

“No! Please, you don’t understand, I need to suck your cock!” he said, and tried to grab the janitor before he could leave, but the kid turned and punched him in the face, and then booked it out of the bathroom, and he heard another chime on his phone, and dreading what it could be this time, he looked at the new email.

God, you’re such a loser. This game is over–but here’s your final change.

Congrats–you’re now 78 years old. In addition, since you failed so badly, you’re also going to become a complete faggot pervert, one who particularly likes paying young men to humiliate and abuse you over webcam or at your house while you worship their young, muscular bodies.

Enjoy your new life, loser!

It was too late. When he looked up from his phone, Wilton was back in his home, now retired, the diaper he was wearing soiled beyond belief, but at the thought, he found his cock starting to harden in the front of it. He sat down at the computer, grinding the shit up his crack as he did, and turned on his cam. Maybe he could find a hot stud to ridicule him tonight–he was such a loser, he definitely deserved it.

The End