Donkey Dick (Part 2)

“What the fuck do you mean, by ‘more of a glue that a lube’?! What the fuck did you put on my cock?”

“Look, you’re overreacting, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Derek pushed back against Jude’s hypnosis, fighting to stay angry at him, as he hefted his cock in one hand. “Fix this. This isn’t my cock.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have even said anything, but no, I have to try and be reasonable every time–”

“Reasonable? You call this fucking reasonable?” Derek stalked forward towards Jude, reaching out to grab him, punch him anything, but with a word–a word he didn’t quite catch, he was frozen in place, Jude stepping out of reach. “This is all going to be just fine, Derek, I promise. After all, you want this just as much as I do, you just don’t realize it yet, but you will. Now, I’m going to count backwards from ten, you’re going to fall into your trance, and then we’re going to talk about this like adults, right? I really think that’s the best outcome here.”

Derek fought, as Jude started counting backwards. He pushed against the numbness, the sleepiness, creeping over his mind, putting him slowly to sleep, but just like Jude ordered, when he reached one, his eyes flickered shut, his chin hit his chest, his breathing deep and even.

“Good, that’s good,” Jude said, running his hand over his friend’s still hard, rubber cock, and then inspected it. It had worked better than he’d ever imagined, this living latex–he couldn’t tell where the rubber ended and the skin began at all–and the rubber even felt like skin…sort of. It was warm, but it was hard like a dildo–it had no real give like a real cock might. He could still feel cum leaking from his hole too–so it was more than functional. But what he needed was less resistance–much less. “Go sit down in the chair, Derek. You and I need to have a nice, long chat….and you know, maybe a few other additions might help you understand…eh?”

Nine…you’re rising up out of the darkness, back into your own body once again, and completely ready to wake up…and finally ten, you’re awake.”

Derek felt like he’d been asleep for ages, and he tried to push himself up from the chair. He had to get away, he had to get away from Jude, that was what he was trying to focus on, but his friend pushed him back down into the chair where he’d been sitting. “No…You…What did you do to me?”

“Everything you wanted me to do, Derek, just like you asked.”

Like he’d…asked? So Jude had fixed him? He’d given him his cock back? No…What had he asked for again? Everything was so fuzzy all of a sudden, but he looked down, and it was his cock…or was it? What cock was he even supposed to have? He gripped the thick shaft of his (new? old?) donkey dick, and felt his massive balls churning beneath it. Yeah, he felt them up with his other hand, his massive, low hanging donkey balls, churning with cum. He…He hadn’t really believed Jude could do it, but he had…and it felt so fucking amazing.

“How does it feel man? How does it feel to have the cock you’d always dreamed of? The one you’d always fantasized about? And those falls, brimming with donkey seed? Ready to spurt?” Jude got down and licked the shaft from base to head. It still tasted and felt like rubber to him, the same with the balls, but from now on, they would be perfectly real to Derek. The rubber sack he’d glued on over his balls would have absorbed his testicles by now as well, pumping out something not quite cum–just a milky, sticky protein substitute, but again, it wasn’t realness that Jude craved–it was size. If Derek needed it to be real, well, hypnosis would help him accept it.

Derek was trying to order his thoughts, but the pleasure coursing through his cock and balls kept shutting his mind down and derailing anything close to reason. He’d begun braying again, but that…that was normal for him. Had always been normal for him, when he got excited…right? Right? But if this was right, then why did everything feel so wrong? What had Jude done to him when he’d put him to sleep, just now? He could remember being…so angry, before, but now…now he was fine with it? With all of it? No…No, he was going to get the truth. He shoved Jude away from his huge cock, and stood up, shakily.

“No! Fucking…No!” he said, trying to get the urge to bray under control. “You did this to me because you…you wanted it. Not me. Not me! Now change me back, fucking give me back my cock! My real cock.”

Jude sighed, “Derek, don’t you get it? There is no going back for you. That rubber is you now–that’s what’s going to be your cock for the rest of your life. Don’t you get it? Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you just see how good this can be for the both of us?”

“Good? For both of us? I never fucking wanted this!” Derek screamed, “Fuck you, I’m getting the fuck out of here, I’m leaving, and I’m calling the fucking cops on your ass and…and uh…”

Jude had said something. That same thing as before, and his mind was shutting down. He fought towards the door, but the air felt like water, pushing against him, but before he fell, Jude hurried over and caught him, his hard rubber cock still jutting up towards the ceiling. “You know, I was hoping this would be enough for you, but you just refuse to be satisfied. I suppose we’re just going to have to make it even more clear to you, what you are, eh? I wasn’t planning on things going this fast, of course, but at least I’m well prepared.”

My Boys (Part 2)

“It’s stupid, this whole trip–you can say it, Nick, we both know it,” Sean said.

“Look, Dad wanted this for us, it’s the least we could do, really,” Nick said, but Sean was more interested in feeling frustrated than talking. He waited a moment, and added, “I have things I’d rather be doing too, you know. You’re still in school–you’re on vacation. Do you have any idea how much shit I’m going to have to catch up on?”

Sean just rolled his eyes at him, and Nick leaned back in the sagging, well worn booth. “Look, can you at least pretend to enjoy yourself a little bit? Dad needs this.”

“Dad needs to get a fucking life.”

The chef came around to take their orders–Nick got a salad, Sean a burger–and then they stayed quiet, until their new dad walked in, chuffing on his pipe, beard to his gut, saw his sons, grinned and walked over. “Scoot over, boy. Make room for your Pa,” he said to Nick.

Nick looked up, and his eyes went wide, and he looked to Sean. He had no idea what was going on either. There’s no way that this could be their dad…and yet they both knew, somehow, that this was him. He was in the right clothes, but the beard, and the hair, and the pipe smoke…

“I…I don’t think you can smoke…that in here.”

“Daddy never puts out a pipe before it’s done smokin’, you know that boy. Now scoot.”

Nick slid over slowly, and Bruce plopped down into the booth with a sigh and a grunt. “Fuck, I’m fuckin’ famished boys. What did you two order?”

“Just…Just a burger and fries.”

“A salad–everything else is too damn greasy. I have new suits I have to be able to fit into when I get home,” Nick said.

Bruce stared at Nick for a moment, and then blew a plume of smoke from his nose with a snort. “No fuckin’ son of mine is gonna be eatin’ fuckin’ salad while I’m fuckin’ alive,” he grumbled, and then called out at the chef, “Hey! My boy here wants to change his order. In fact, just bring all three a us two burgers each, and a shitload of fries, got it?”

“Sure man, whatever you want,” the chef grumbled. Nick tried to object, but before he could speak, he coughed–the smoke had gotten stuck in his throat all of a sudden. Bruce pounded him on the back a couple of times, telling him to man up.

“Dad…are you…feeling alright?” Sean asked.

“Never felt better boy–but what the fuck’s up with you two? Ya’ll look like you’re at a damn funeral,” he turned to the kitchen again, “Hey, you got beer?”

“Sure do,” the chef said.

“Give us a round.”

The chef brought out three bottles. Sean was happy for a drink, but Nick tried to object–Bruce bullied him into drinking it, and then gave him his as well.

“Damn, got my work cut out with the two of you, don’t I?”

Neither of them had any idea what that meant. Sean shrugged and looked to Nick, but his older brother had no idea what was going on either. The three of them sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, and Nick gave a start when his father’s hand landed on his thigh, and then slipped inside his thigh, over to his crotch, groping at his cock. He kept trying to tell him off, to yell at him but his throat had sealed itself from the smoke, and the more his father exhaled in his direction, the more he relaxed into the booth. He looked to Sean, wondering if he could signal his brother somehow, but he too seemed to have zoned out, lying back against the back of the booth, mouth slack, taking deep breaths of his father’s pipe smoke.

“That’s better, you boys are just tired after a long day’s ride, right? Tired and hungry,” Bruce said, leaned in closer to Nick, “No boy of mine is gonna be eatin’ fuckin’ salad tonight–hell, you ain’t gonna be touchin’ a salad for the rest of your damn life.”

Nick’s frustration and confusion were growing into anger and fear. He didn’t understand what his father was doing, what he was saying. And why was he touching him like this? His father had never done anything like this–it was like he’d become a completely different person. Their food arrived, and all three of them tucked in, but Bruce ate slower than both of his boys, neither of whom felt hungrier than either could remember being in a long time. So hungry, that neither of them noticed when Bruce told the chef to make each of his boys another double helping of burgers and fries. Nick in particular found himself caught in a position he’d never felt before, with his father’s hand massaging his cock while he ate. He found himself…almost enjoying the act of eating in a way he never had before.

Finally, they finished eating, and the cook came around to clear their mess. Nick managed to look up and saw that the big, greasy lug looked just as dazed and confused as they were. His father reached out and grabbed his hand as he reached for his empty basket. “Hey man, those burgers were fuckin’ fabulous, just great. Thanks for all the cookin’ you were doin’ back there.”

“I…You’re welcome, sir.”

“I wanna give you a tip. Or rather, my boy there, he wants to give you a tip, don’t you boy?” he said, looking to Sean, “Go on man, let out your cock, my boy would love a load of cum for dessert.”

Sean’s eyes went wide, as did the cook’s, but neither of them could stop themselves, Sean twisting out of the booth to face the cook, who pulled off his apron and dropped his shorts to his ankles, letting the young man start sucking on his cock.

Nick started thrashing weakly. This was wrong, all of this was wrong, so fucking wrong. Bruce’s grip on his cock tightened, his other hand grabbed his son’s face and pulled him around. Before Nick could do anything, he locked lips and exhaled a full lung of smoke right into him. Nick took it in, the heat of the smoke horrible, and yet he pushed it back, and they shared it for a few moments. When he released Nick, he wasn’t struggling anymore–and when Bruce freed his cock, Nick bent over, careful of his very full gut, and started sucking his father’s cock, and Bruce heaved a sigh of smoke over all of them.

Coach’s Lil’ Fuckpig (Sketch)

“Fuckin’ great game, wasn’t it Tommy?” Coach Billings came up behind the chubby linebacker in the locker room and gave him a smack on the ass–between the cheeks, right on the plug the young man had had shoved in his hole all evening, under his uniform. He tried to suppress his shock, feeling his cock leak a bit of precum into the pouch of his jock. Billings knew the plug was there of course–Billings himself had put it there before the rest of the team had arrived in the locker room.

Four weeks now. Four fucking weeks he’d been his coach’s “little fuckpig” as he often referred to him in private, or whispered in his ear, making the young man blush heavily. He didn’t even remember how it had started–one day coach had asked him to stick around for a moment after practice, and without really understanding why, he’d ended up on his knees in the coach’s office, his cock down his throat. He’d never had so much as a gay thought in his life, but from that moment on, if Coach needed satisfaction, then Tommy was going to provide it. He’d tried to report it, but he hadn’t been able to get a word out–either because of the shame of it all…or because coach wouldn’t allow it, and he wasn’t sure which possibility would be worse.

Coach had already told him that he’d need to stay late, and so he milled around, leaving his uniform on. He got a few odd looks from his teammates, who wondered why he wasn’t at least changing back into his street clothes, but Coach had been very specific before hand–leave the uniform on, keep the plug in, and wait further instructions. After about ten minutes, the rest of the team had filed out, leaving them alone, and with a couple of words from the coach, words he knew and yet…didn’t, it was like the world turned blurry, like he was there, but not. Coach was talking to him gently, just above a whisper, and again, while part of him understood him and internalized his instructions–even answering back when prompted–Tommy had no idea what he was talking about, like he had been forced from his body, and could only return when Coach started counting down from ten–by the time he hit one, he shook his head, unsteady on his feet, and the coach helped steady him, pulling him into a hug…but something felt…off.

Small. He felt…small, in the coach’s arms. Granted, Billings was a sizeable guy–a few inches over six feet, and while he was out of shape, he had remained beefy into his mid-forties. But in his arms, Tommy suddenly felt…weak and small and…and safe, and comfortable. Billings hugged him closer, breath hot on the back of his neck, and he licked the sweat and grit from the player, and then released him, and Tom stumbled, not quite steady without his daddy holding him tight. What in the hell was wrong with him all of a sudden? He took a few steps and got to a mirror in the locker room, only to gasp.

What in the world was wrong with him? He was still in his uniform, but he looked like he’d…shrunk. He knew that wasn’t possible, that it couldn’t be possible–people didn’t just shrink! Coach Billings just watched him walk to the scale used by the wrestling team, and he stepped on it–260 pounds, the same as he always was. Then what it the world was wrong with him? Why did his body suddenly look so puny in the mirror?

“What…what did you do to me, daddy?” He asked Billings, “Why do I look so…small?”

“Because you’re just a little boy, Tommy–my little boy. Still, if you’re good, then we can make sure you become big and strong like before…if that’s what you want.” He stepped closer to him, and even though they were nearly the same height, Tommy felt helpless in his arms, his daddy pulling him over to the sink, pulling down his uniform pants, and hauling the plug from his boy’s hole. “Here, let me show you what I can do for you.”

It hurt–but not as much as it did sometimes. The plug had him loose, but his Coach–his Daddy–he was always rough, but…but he did kind of like it…didn’t he? He tried to push the thought away, knowing it had been planted in there, but his cock was hard and pressing against his cup in his shorts, and he was pushing back into his daddy’s thrusts, and when he looked up and saw himself in the mirror, it looked like…like he was inflating. Each time his daddy slammed into him, he got a bit bigger–soon, he looked even bigger than he had been before, and he was eagerly pushing back, wanting to see how big his daddy could make him, when Billing’s finally grabbed onto his shoulder pads, buried deep in his boy’s hole, and let loose, and Tommy had never felt so…so huge. And…and so horny. When coach pulled out, he already had his hands in his pants, jacking his cock, but as soon as he did, he watched his figure begin to shrink and wither again–terrified, he yanked his hand away from his cock.

It was all a trick, just a trick of his eyes, and yet…

“I’d be careful, touching your cock. You might just wither away to nothing.”

This…this fucker.

“You don’t want to be small, do you? You don’t want to be weak? You want to be a man, a real man, like your daddy, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, then we’re going to have to keep it under control, right? And you’re going to have to start working out much more, I think. And we’ll have to talk about your caloric intake too, right? If you want to be a man, that is. I can help you, but only if you ask. Only if you agree to do everything I tell you, without question…or else I might not help you at all, anymore.”

No. No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t say it. No, no…No!

***

He said yes, of course.

It was several hours later when he was finally permitted to leave. Coach had iced his boy’s cock and locked it up for him–to make sure he’d be able to resist the urge to play with it. He’d just have to focus on his new weight lifting regimen and the 4000 calorie a day diet his daddy was insisting on. He got back to his room, and looked at himself. He was still…big, but he was shrinking still–the coach’s load of cum was only good for so long. He’d look puny in the morning–thankfully he had his first weight session with his coach tomorrow morning–he had a feeling he’d be feeling pretty pumped by the end of it.

And as much as he hated admitting it, he was looking forward to it–his cock was pressing against in his new cage, the dirty plug still in his hole, and he fucked himself to sleep–well aware that he was in a cage much larger than the one holding his cock.

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 3)

“It’s just like, doesn’t he understand? I’m a young buck, you know? I’m horny all the time. I guess that makes me needy, but what the hell should I do, Professor?”

“I don’t think you’re being unreasonable.”

“You don’t?”

“No! Certainly not. After all, it isn’t like it takes much effort for him to bend over and let his boyfriend pump a quick load in his hole.”

“That’s what I was thinking! I’m glad I’m not crazy.”

“If anything, it’s rude of him to refuse.”

“But what can I do? It’s not like I can just…force him.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?”

“Aaron, you may be big and strong, but you aren’t very smart, are you?”

“I ain’t too smart, you know that.”

“Look, you like being in control, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you should be in charge, right? You like feeling in charge? Certainly if anyone should be holding the reins in this relationship its you. You’re the one wearing the pants, certainly.”

“I don’t know, he is a professor.”

“Outside the bedroom. But inside he’s your bitch. Your hole. You made him that–and it’s your job to put him in his place.”

“I mean–”

“I can see you, strutting in there, your massive cock hanging out of those jeans of yours. What’s he going to say to that? Even if he says no, you know he’s really thinking yes. So make him say it. Rip down those trousers of his and make him scream. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, you got me hard just saying it.”

“Then do it–you’re a man of action, not a thinker, so go fucking take his hole. Claim, and make him regret telling you no at all.”

***

“It’s over.”

“Now Eddie, be serious–”

“I am being serious! It’s over.”

“You’re just letting your emotions get a hold of you. I could hear you in here, and you were obviously enjoying yourself immensely.”

“You could…you heard us?”

“Oh now calm down, no one else is here this late.”

“But what if someone had been here! I can’t do this, I can’t keep doing this.”

“Look, all subs get cold feet on occasion, and maybe he just pushed you a bit too far. That’s not a reason to throw him away! That’s a reason to give in.”

“I mean…wait, what?”

“Look, Eddie, Aaron is good for you! I haven’t seen you looking this satisfied in ages.”

“That’s not really the point, I don’t think–”

“But of course it is! You need this, Eddie. I mean, look at you. A fat, old, size queen like you, I mean, how often is this going to walk into your life? Just give him what he wants, and you’ll get what you want to.”

“I don’t think you really understand–”

“I understand better than you think. You’re scared, right?”

“Of course I’m scared!”

“You’re scared of giving up control.”

“That’s, no!”

“Please, Eddie. I can tell.”

“I mean, that’s not…all of it.”

“You’re scared of giving up control, but you want to. You like it when he dominates you, when he forces you, when he gets rough with you and rams that huge cock in your hole. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“…”

“And you even like how dirty it makes you feel. How humiliated you feel, knowing someone so much younger, someone as stupid as Aaron, owns your hole.”

“…”

You got very quiet.”

“Shut–shut up.”

“You know I’m right.”

“…Fine…Fine, you’re right, and I–maybe I fucked everything up.”

“Look, you have to stop fighting him, Eddie. Here’s what you need to do. Go to him, find him, and get on your knees, and give yourself to him. You need to stop trying to be his boyfriend, and you need to let yourself become his slave. That’s what you both want.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I know you can. Now go on, before you let your master get away, go find him and tell him what you really want from him.”

“…Alright. Alright, you’re right, I have to…I have to find him, thank you Harold, thank you for everything.”

“No trouble at all, Eddie, no trouble at all.”

***

“All I’m saying Aaron, is that I just don’t think college is the best option for you.”

“Fuck Professor, ya really think so?”

“I do. I mean, to be honest, I’m not quite sure how you got in to begin with.”

“Yeah, I guess I ain’t too good with my head, am I?”

“That’s not to say you don’t have plenty of other redeeming qualities, of course. I mean, that cock of yours, for one thing.”

“Fuck yeah man, fuck yeah, right? This things a fuckin’ beast! Keep suckin’ bitch, I wanna see that jaw stretch!”

“Your slave sure looks happy.”

“Yeah, he gets ideas sometimes. Ideas that ‘cause he’s a professor he should be the one in charge, but I set ‘em straight right quick.”

“Oh…he hasn’t given you much trouble lately, has he?”

“Nah, he’s been real good, right bitch?”

*Mmmph*

“He said yes.”

“Look, as I was saying, I just don’t think college is the best step for you–oh goodness, I forgot to offer you something to smoke! Would you like a cigar?”

“Hell yeah, you know I’m always up for a stogie.”

Here…let me get you lit up…Like I was saying, I think you’re much too free a spirit to be tied down to a school. I think a man like you, big, burly, hairy bear like you, you need to be on the road! Go buy yourself a bike, and take off! Go explore. I think you’ll be happier.”

“Fuck, that does sound nice…but…”

“But what?”

“But what about my slave? I can’t just leave him here.”

“Well, take him with you. He can learn how to ride, I’m sure.”

*Mmmph!* Wait, but I can’t just leave in the middle of a semester, I–”

*Slap*

“Did I say you could stop sucking, bitch?”

“No sir, sorry sir.”

“Eddie, I know what you’re trying to say, but you have to face reality sometime–I just don’t think you’re fit to work here anymore.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“I mean look at you. You’ve been skipping classes. You have reams of papers from all of your classes you haven’t graded. Your head just isn’t in it–your head is focused on your master, where it belongs.”

“But–”

“You have to let it go, Eddie. You have to let this go, so you can be the best slave you can be. Besides, you’re getting on in age now–you’re over seventy, you just aren’t as sharp as you were before.”

“But what about the department?”

“I’ll be happy to take over as chair–on a temporary basis of course. Me and a few others can cover your classes for you. I promise, after a few days on the road, you won’t even remember that you were a teacher, will you?”

“N-No..?”

“Nope. You’ll be so caught up in being a slave that all your memories of teaching will just float away. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Won’t that be freeing?”

“I…I guess so.”

“So it’s decided then. Finish sucking your master’s cock, and then send your letter of resignation to the faculty. Everything will run much smoother when you’re gone, and you’ll both be so much happier, I think–no, I know you will, and you both believe me, don’t you? Have I led you astray before?”

“Nope.”

“I guess not…”

“Good. I think this all worked out for the best, don’t you?”

If you want to read the rest, you’ll have to support me on Patreon! For five dollars a month you’ll also get access to a massive archive of unpublished work, access to patron-only stories (including this one), and plenty more to come. Plus you get to help make sure I can provide more stories and collections in the future. Thanks again to everyone contributing already!

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 2)

The continuation of “The Power of Belief”, featuring the further rise and eventual fall of Professor Larson, is up on Patreon for everyone contributing five dollars or more a month. You can find the download link here if you’re a contributor. It’s quite long, and I’ll be posting the first few chunks of the story here on tumblr, but if you want to read the whole thing, Patreon is the only place to find it (for now).

It worked–the watch had worked. The high frequency signal allowed him to change beliefs in subjects while they were conscious–so long as he could be persuasive enough. It had required a bit more power than he would have liked, to get Aaron to go along with his desires, and he checked the power supply as he walked down the hall to Professor Hubert’s office–the current chair of the department. Over half a battery left–plenty, if he was efficient. Of course, the persuasion was only part of what he needed–the other was authority. The more social capital he had, the easier it would be to realize his desired reality, and that was why Professor Hubert needed to retire–so that Professor Larson could become the new department chair. He knocked on the door, and Professor Hubert shouted “Come in!” Professor Larson opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

Professor Hubert looked exhausted—then again, why wouldn’t he be? He was in the midst of a rather nasty divorce. Professor Larson had felt guilty about that–his wife had been one of his earlier test subjects, and Hubert hadn’t been allowed home in weeks, forcing him to sleep in his office. But that gave Professor Larson the opening he needed, and weakened his opponent in one move–now, he just had to give things a little stronger push. “How are you doing, Eddie?”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Eddie Hubert replied, rubbing his eyes.

“She still won’t even talk to you?”

He shook his head. “I just don’t understand. She won’t even tell me why!”

“Well, I heard that she just wants to save you the embarrassment of anyone finding out, you know?”

Hubert looked at him in a funny way. “What?”

“You don’t have to play coy with me, Hubert. I just don’t know why you never told me we play for the same team.”

It was obvious that Eddie still had no idea what his colleague was talking about. Harold rolled his eyes, came around his desk, and started opening a series of folders he’d created on Eddie’s computer a few days earlier, “Cynthia told me all about it,” he said, making sure the watch was close to Hubert’s ear, watching his eyes glaze over slightly, “about your stash, about the kind of thing you’re really looking for.”

He opened the last folder, revealing a huge stockpile of photos. Photos of men, all kinds of men–young and old, fat and thin, from all walks of life. There was just one similarity between all of them–the size of their cocks. The shortest was nine inches, any number of them looked like they’d been morphed larger than humanly possible.

“That’s not…mine. I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to deny it, Eddie. I know your secret, but I won’t tell anyone. I just wish I had known sooner. You can’t blame Cynthia for being a bit embarrassed–no wonder you haven’t ever been able to perform with her, when the only thing that gets you hard is a huge cock.”

It couldn’t be true. He loved his wife. Sure, he’d had a hard time performing sometimes, but this…no, it couldn’t be true…could it? One of his hands was in his lap, and his cock was hard. Why would his cock be hard if he wasn’t turned on by what he was looking at? Being gay wasn’t something to be ashamed of, just like Harold was saying. He shouldn’t be ashamed of what he wanted. He started stroking his cock, while Harold kept talking, looking through his collection, his own, two inch cock, hard at the thought of some of these monsters he was looking at. Thinking about trying to take them down his throat, and up his ass. He didn’t notice the knock on the door, but Harold went over and opened it while he kept jacking off, Aaron stepping inside, a bit nervous, seeing Professor Hubert jacking off openly, but Harold assured him everything was fine.

“Now Eddie, I know that you could use a pick-me-up, and I just happened to have a student with just the sort of thing you’re interested in, right Aaron? Go on, show Professor Hubert here what you’re packing, boy.”

Aaron looked at the older, fat professor. “Are…Are you sure?”

“Come on Aaron, I know you aren’t shy–you love showing off your big cock.”

He did like it, now that he thought about it, and he dropped his pants, revealing his ten inch cock, which he stroked until it was hard. Professor Hubert’s jaw dropped at the sight, and he kept playing with his puny cock.

“Now Aaron, you like to fuck, right? Anyone with a cock that big has to love fucking.”

“Yes, Professor, I love fucking.”

“I bet a young man like you, I bet you don’t even care what you fuck, right? As long as it’s a hole?”

Aaron nodded, but it was hard paying attention, now that his cock was hard.

“Eddie, I bet you have a hole for Aaron to use, don’t you? I bet getting fucked by his huge cock would improve your mood quite a bit.”Professor Hubert was two steps ahead of him; he was already up, dropping his trousers, and coming around the desk, bending over it, presenting his hole to Aaron.

“Come on boy, show my hole what you can do with that huge cock of yours.”

They fucked for as long as the battery in Larson’s watch lasted, Aaron blasting load after load of cum into the professor’s hole, and Harold spent his time talking to both of them, telling them that they both loved how they other made them feel, that they couldn’t wait to fuck again, that they needed each other more than anything, and most importantly, that they couldn’t tell anyone about their budding relationship–well, aside from Harold, of course. In fact, he made sure that each of them would want to come by his office regularly, to discuss what was happening to them.

He couldn’t resist making a few additional changes to them, of course. By the time Aaron left the office, he’d put on quite a bit more body hair and grown a full beard, not to mention lost a large amount of his IQ. Still, Harold didn’t want him smart–the stupider he was, the easier it would be to keep him under his thumb. Eddie Hubert, on the other hand, finished up quite a bit fatter, and quite a bit older than he had been, with his hole plugged by a dildo, his one inch cock unable to get hard, but he happily sucked a load of cum from his colleague’s own massive cock once his student boyfriend had left the room. Things were going perfectly, and once he was finished, Larson left and headed home to recharge his watch, and watch the video he’d recorded of the two of them fucking. In a few weeks time, he had a feeling Eddie and Aaron wouldn’t be at the school any longer, but that didn’t bother Harold–sometimes you had to ruin a few lives to get ahead, right?

The Power of Reality – Preview (Part 1)

Professor Harold Larson had quickly discovered that belief can only get you so far, in this world. “So far” had turned out to be a massive house full of personal slaves, all of them previous students of his, all of them helping keep his butler, Carter, company, and keep the house in perfect order. Two fat cooks, who believed they were identical twins, made him meals when they weren’t cleaning each other’s fat bodies. Two more butlers, as old and weak minded as Carter himself, tended to him and his occasional guests, and would often spend their free time outside, being fucked by the massive gardeners and pool boys. But beyond his house, every attempt to change the world beyond his small realm had proved nearly impossible.

It was, he discovered, rather impossible to believe something if everyone else around you didn’t believe it along with you. He tried making several of his students smokers, but generally they would quit after a day or two, and eventually they wouldn’t remember smoking at all. Attempts to make his fellow professors gay perverts like him had all ended disastrously–thank goodness none of them had any memories of what he’d done, or he would have been jailed for certain. Worse, he could feel that wall of belief wearing on him every day–no one took him seriously. Few believed him to be as old as he claimed, or as fat, or as mean spirited and selfish as he believed himself to be. Worse, he would come home each night, and have to reinforce his own self-image, or he might very well return to being ‘Harry’–stupid, young, thin, straight, naive Harry. That would never happen if he could help it. And so, he’d started tinkering with Carter’s original device, and he’d come up with a new plan.

***

“Thank you for coming to see me, Aaron,” Professor Larson said, “Please, have a seat.”

He was perfect. Relatively dumb, desperate to please, willing to believe. Aaron Gorman was a freshman athlete from the professor’s introductory seminar. If he wanted to stay on the team, then he’d need at least a passing grade–and he was just under it, with only a few weeks left in the semester. Still, if he was willing to help his Professor out with a special project, he could probably see a way to helping him out.

“What did you want to talk about, Professor?” Aaron asked, taking a seat. He looked around the room–there was a strange buzzing in the air, like static from a TV, but he didn’t quite know where it was coming from exactly.

“I wanted to ask you here to talk about your grade. I know that you need a passing mark to keep your athletic scholarship, but after that last test result, I’m afraid its looking like you’ll need some extra credit to pass.”

“Really? I thought I’d done pretty well on it.”

In truth, he had done well–well enough to push his grade up, but the test the Professor handed him was covered with red marks. “I mean, it’s really not a surprise you did so poorly, you were having quite a hard time focusing that day. In fact, it seems like you have a hard time focusing in my class regularly.”

That much was true. Honestly, Aaron just found engineering rather boring, and now that the professor said something…he could remember having trouble on the test. It wasn’t really a surprise he’d failed, now that he thought about it.

Professor Larson leaned back in his chair–this was the hard part, if he could just get him to go along with him. “Is everything alright with your health? I notice that you seem to touch your crotch often.”

Aaron looked slightly aghast, “What?”

“Now, I know it’s somewhat embarrassing, but whenever you’re distracted in class, I notice your hand is in your lap.”

“No it isn’t! I mean…”

“It’s in your lap right now, Aaron–you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t you?”

Aaron pulled his hand away from his lap, and stood up. He had to leave, this was too strange.

“Sit down Aaron, I really think you should talk to me about what’s wrong. If your cock in distracting you, I assure you I can help.”

Aaron felt pulled in two different directions at once. Something told him he should sit back down, that he should listen to what his professor wanted to say, but the rest of him told him to get out, and get out fast. The buzzing grew louder, and the first voice started to make more sense; he eased himself back down into the chair, but kept his eyes on the door.

The Professor had been holding his breath, one hand on his watch, adjusting the dial up. He kept it high, and spoke again. “Listen, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?”

“R-Right.”

“It’s just a body after all.”

“Of course. I’m not, it’s just…”

“I mean, an athlete like you, I bet you’re rather proud of your body.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“And you probably like showing it off, displaying yourself for other people to see.”

Aaron blushed a bit, but that was true–he did like having people stare at him.

“So let’s see what’s wrong–go on, drop your pants and let me have a look.”

He shouldn’t do this, but why not? It made sense…didn’t it? He stood up and dropped his pants and underwear–immediately the Professor let out a whistle. “Well goodness boy, no wonder you’re having a hard time focusing in class–that’s big, massive cock of yours must be quite demanding!”

Big, massive cock? It had always seemed pretty normal to him, but when he looked down, it did seem…bigger than he’d remembered.

“It’s no surprise you’re always jacking off in class, if you’re trying to keep that ten inch cock in check, especially with those huge balls of yours too. I bet you jack off, what, fifteen times a day?”

That seemed excessive, didn’t it? But he did jack off a lot. “I don’t know, I never really thought to count.”

“Well, it just so happens that you have just the kind of equipment I’ve been looking for, to help me out with a little problem of mine. If you’d help me out, I’ll make sure you get a passing grade in my class–how does that sound?”

“That sounds great, professor!” Aaron said, not noticing he’d started stroking his now huge cock absent mindedly.

“Alright, here’s what I need you to do–go ahead and wait here for a few minutes. Say, ten or so. And then, I’d like you to walk down the hall and knock on Professor Hubert’s office door, alright? I just have to have a quick chat with him about some things, and then you can come help me out–how does that sound?”

Aaron wasn’t really paying attention–he was too busy jacking off. After a minute, he finally came, pumping a torrent of cum onto the professor’s desk.

“It sure is good that you love the taste of cum, and you’ll clean that up for me, right Aaron?”

Aaron nodded, still in an orgasmic daze, got down and started licking up his own seed.

“Good boy. Now finish cleaning up, and then come down to Professor Hubert’s office, won’t you?”

“Yes Professor.”

“Good boy, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Master of Men (Part 2)

Craig opened a trapdoor in the floor of his garage, revealing a staircase which descended into the ground below. Paul followed him, no longer able to think of doing anything beyond following the stink of the older man’s sweat down into the depths. The stairs gave way to a ramp, the tunnel linked up with other tunnels, and soon they emerged into a broad, high ceiling cavern. In the center of the room was a dias poised a story and a half off the ground–it looked ancient, and far too well crafted to have been made by anything crude–rather, it seemed to have erupted from the ground as a fluid mass, before something froze it in place. Paul reacted instinctively, tugging back when he saw it, but Craig yanked the lead, and he followed him up a winding stair to the surface above.

The men of the neighborhood were already there, milling about, finding their places around the circle. Paul saw Jason there, limping, but he wouldn’t look at him. Unlike the other men, who all bore plain robes, he was naked aside from a solid ring of steel around his cock and balls. Paul wanted to cry for help, but his jaw was slack. He didn’t think he could even muster a single word. The surface of the dais was perfectly even, yet bore an intricate pattern of metal inlay, winding around the black rock, glinting in the torchlight. However, as soon as Craig stepped into the circle, the metal began to glow a dull red, the other men hurrying to the edge of the circle, where they knelt in a ring around them both.

He waited for them to settle, and for the cavern to return to silence, before booming out, “Welcome, my Men.”

“Glory to the Master of Men,” they replied, in unison.

“Today, my men, is a very special day! A day all of you know well, a day when we welcome a man into our midst, the day we elevate another to our height, a day when we add another to our service. Jason, come here, come, stand tall and be joyful! Today is your day, a day you have been working toward for such a long time.”

Jason stood, he limped into the circle, head bowed away from his brother, and stood on the other side of Craig.

“You have completed your duties, as an initiate, and you have provided a worthy sacrifice. Today, you will claim what you seek, the true manhood you desire. We shall witness your re-manning, and we shall welcome you into our midst.”

Craig waved his hand over the floor, and the metal shimmered, slithering up as though it were alive, before grasping Paul’s neck, ankles and wrists, tugging him down to his knees, and then all fours, holding him in place on the floor. He tried to fight against the enchantment addling his brain, but he couldn’t, just drool on the stone, as Craig turned to his brother.

“Your brother has failed to use his gifts. You shall make better use of them than he has. But the Beast in him will not give up easily–a true man must be firm of hand and strong of spirit. If you want to join us, you must take from him what he has abused.”

Craig stepped to the edge of the circle, leaving the two brother’s alone in the center of the platform. Jason stood still for a moment, and then walked around behind Paul, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I…I can’t…”

“Ja….son…” Paul managed to force from his slack mouth, but it dissolved into a moan, as his brother’s thick fingers slid into his sweaty hole, loosening him, and then he felt Jason’s cock push into him. It was hot, it was so hot, and he wanted to crawl away, but the metal held him tightly in place, as Jason fucked him. Craig began a chant; the men around them were soon following him, and floor began to glow a brighter red. Jason was panting, but he was close. The chant grew louder, and he groaned loudly, cumming into his brother’s hole, and Paul felt a searing force push it’s way into him from his brother, twisting him, destroying him. He fought it, he but it was so strong–it ripped his defenses to shreds. His body was gurgling, and his muscles began to fade as fat filled up the place they left behind, his barrel chest dissolving into a heavy gut and two pendulous moobs, and his knee. His right knee, it hurt–a desperate, searing pain. Is this what Jason had felt? Is this what he’d suffered with for so long?

The force ebbed, the tatters of himself settling within him, and Jason withdrew, standing up. Craig approached, “Welcome! Welcome, my newest Man!” he said. Paul couldn’t turn his head with the metal clamped around his neck, but Craig led him around his fat body, and he could see his brother–he was huge. At least seven feet tall, and packed solid with muscle, far more muscle than he could have simply stolen from Paul. He was sobbing. He was sobbing, and he fell to his knees before Craig, “Master…Master, thank you. It doesn’t hurt. The pain–”

“I know,” Craig said, caressing his bearded face, “I know, and you are a Man now. Your sacrifice was great–you should be proud.”

“I promise…I promise to serve you, to obey, anything, anything for you Master, anything, I swear, for what you’ve given me…” Jason tried to continue, but he dissolved into wrenching tears, and Paul could only watch. Craig stepped away, the men of the neighborhood came forward and helped Jason stand, bringing him back out of the circle. But what about him? What about his sacrifice? Paul was broken too–why should he be forced to carry Jason’s burdens as well as his own? How was that fair?

Craig walked back to him, and kneeled in front of Paul. His face was kind, and that only made Paul angrier. “You provided your brother with a great thing, you know. You should be proud.”

Anger. Anger greater than anything he’d ever felt in his life, greater than anything he’d felt in war welled in him, pushing Craig’s musk from him. He screamed and cursed at him, his body tensing, but the metal refused to give an inch. In that moment, he felt like all of the layers of himself were being stripped away, and he was simply an animal. Craig didn’t flinch, he waited until he stopped, heaving for breath, before standing up and turning to the men behind him. “All men are broken. All men are flawed, are deficient. They are prone to vice and sin. This man, is more than broken however. He was welcomed the Beast into his heart. It is not his fault–he has been trained to shurg off empathy and fellowship, to replace them with hatred and rage. This, my Men, is no man at all, but a beast in the guise of a man. But I am the Master, and I can free him of his self-imposed illusion. Bear witness to my miracles.”

“We are the men who witness,” the men reply.

Blank Skin

Everyone wanted to know about the shaved head, and his missing beard. Wasn’t the cue ball look a bit too radical, for someone like him? A wealthy, older man like him in his fifties, who dressed in fancy suits tailored to his large gut? He told them he’d wanted a change, and they all just passed it off as a mid life crisis. He couldn’t tell any of them the truth, he wasn’t allowed to, and it was frustrating, so frustrating. He acted a bit strange all day long, in his meetings. It seemed to his co-worker’s like it was hard for him to get comfortable–he kept fidgeting in his seat, and glancing to the clock, like he had somewhere else that he needed to be. A man who was known for short, practical lunches rescheduled meetings and was gone for an hour and a half so he go to some all you can eat buffet nearby. However, other than those relatively minor oddities, he played his role, as usual, leading the team, directing their focus, but when five o’clock struck, a man who rarely left earlier than seven or eight instead grabbed his briefcase and rushed out of the office as quickly as he could. He knew something none of them knew, he knew a secret he couldn’t tell anyone. The secret was, that Mitchell Pratten wasn’t a person anymore–Mitchell Pratten was just a hog in a fancy suit.

That Friday, he’d left later than usual, and the subway had been empty, aside from a rough looking, burly skinhead, face full of piercings, arms coated with tattoos, carrying a backpack. Mitchell had been wary, but unprepared for the man to spring at him and shove a needle in his neck–but after they’d had a chat, everything had been sorted out, and he’d let the skinhead follow him home and into his apartment.

But he was almost back now, he was so eager to get out of these clothes. It was stifling him, the real him. He couldn’t be himself in it, he had to be “Mitchell Pratten” and do “Mitchell Pratten” things, like read the paper and scowl at young punks when what he really wanted to do was crawl over and beg the young men to fist his ass with their big hands. He reached his stop, and he hurried to his building, taking the elevator up to his condo, where he opened the door with shaking hands, and stepped inside, immediately ripping at the suit, tearing it away from his body, so he could be rid of this horrid fabric skin.

Master had taught him so many important things, on Friday night, in his condo. He’d taught him that he wasn’t a person at all, that once you stripped away the clothes, that once you stripped away the hair and the beard and the fur coating his body, he wasn’t anything at all–just a blank page. And blank pages needed to be written on, right? And so master had written on him, had taken the tattoo gun he’d brought along in his backpack and helped fill in all the gaps. He wasn’t blank anymore, as he stood at the door, free of “Mitchell Pratten” for the day, his entire arms and chest were covered with crudely drawn words and pictures, all of them marking him for what he was. A whore. A hog. A pervert. A masochist. A hole. A slave for his master. He rubbed his smooth skin, still sore from Master’s work, and let out a snort of pleasure, before getting down on all fours and crawling where his master was sitting, and began licking his boots. He served him for the evening, licking his body clean of any sort of filth, before Master finally allowed him to eat, setting a huge steel bowl on the floor, watching as his pig shoved his face into the slop and devoured it hungrily. He was a glutton now. He was gluttonous pig, and Master liked his pigs fat, so very fat. The fatter he was, after all, the more skin he had, and the more Master could fill him in. That was why Master had insisted on cutting off his balls this weekend–hogs grew fatter much faster than boars, after all. It had hurt, but he’d already noticed the difference. He was calmer, more focused. His pleasure didn’t matter–the only thing that mattered was pleasing his master. Master told him that once that wound had healed, he’d remove his cock as well–after all, he didn’t need it, right? Right–the hog would be more than happy for it to be gone as well.

He emptied the huge bowl four times–only then did Master help wipe his face clean with a rag, and afterwards, Master told him that it was time for him to fill in more of the hog’s body, and he grew excited. He loved having his master fill him up, he loved everything his master did to him. It hurt as he tattooed him, working on his back, and as he did, Master told him what he was writing. That this hog was not only a cumdump and a fisthole, but a urinal too. This hog craved the taste of piss, and would drink whenever he could, fresh or old, and when his Master fed his his first load, he knew it was true, that he’d spend the rest of his life drinking piss and getting pissed on by his Master and any other man. But by that time, it was very late, and they were both exhausted. Master climbed into his large bed, and Hog curled up on the floor next to him, already dreading the morning.

He would have to be Mitchell Pratten again, for the day. He’d have to be Mitchell Pratten for ten or eleven long hours. Master told him he’d have to play the role for quite a while, that a good hog would want to make lots of money for his master, and Mitch did make lots, and lots of money. But the hog wasn’t happy. The hog didn’t like meetings and suits. He didn’t want to discuss business strategies–he wanted to suck his coworker’s cocks and drink their piss. At least Master had ordered him to stuff himself silly during Mitchell’s lunches–that was the one moment when he’d felt the most free. Still, he was just a hog–he didn’t get to choose, he could only obey. Just a hog–something gussied up in a suit–but at the end of the day a hog through and through.

Make Up (Part 3)

“…Ten. Wakey, Wakey.”

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

It was bare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze.

No.

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

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

The tape kept running, but it was just silence.

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

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

“All set then, pig?” Master asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Make Up – Part 2

“…Seven…Eight…You’re closer to the surface now, you’re coming back to yourself, Chase, rising back up…”

He was, but slowly, so slowly. He felt like he’d been asleep for days. He felt strange too, so strange, but he was coming back, he was almost there.

“…Nine…you’re in your body again, you’re back to being Chase, and…Ten. Wakey, wakey.”

Chase groaned, “Fuck…Phillip, that must have been a long ass day of filming, I’m fucking wiped.”

“Phillip? Oh goodness, you really don’t remember much, do you?”

That wasn’t Phillip’s voice. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at Rudy. What in the hell was Rudy doing here? He hadn’t seen him in months. He looked around at the room and saw he also wasn’t in his trailer, but some rundown apartment. He tried to sit up but something pushed back against him. He looked down and saw a fat gut pushing out of his belly, sticking out from under some filthy wifebeater. What movie was this? Why couldn’t he remember anything? No…No, he did remember something. He could remember Rudy putting some…‘old man’ makeup on him, but it was just a dim memory. “What…movie is this? What’s going on?”

Rudy just cocked his head to one side and smirked. Chase shook his head. He didn’t really care what was going on with Rudy, he just wanted out of this makeup, whatever it was. He heaved himself up and walked to the apartment bathroom. He wasn’t quite sure how he *knew* where the bathroom was, but he did. And whatever this fat suit was made of, it was the most realistic thing he’d felt before–and it was fucking heavy. He pulled off the wifebeater as he stepped in front of the mirror, and gasped. Whatever character he was playing, he was an ugly fucker. Mostly bald with hair growing long in the back, thick mutton chops, and even a set of false teeth, all crooked with a few missing. It was fantastic–the makeup that is. Hell, the body suit even had fake hair all over it, and…and he couldn’t see any straps. In fact, it looked like flesh. He ran his hands over it and…and he could feel his hands on the fat…because…because it wasn’t a suit at all.

It was real.

He shook it, watching it shake and jiggle in the mirror. He grabbed hold of the mutton chops and yanked on them, but they too, were real. His hair, but not his usual beard, it must have been dyed grey, and felt brittle and stiff to the touch. He ran his hand over the scalp, and sure enough, it wasn’t a bald cap. What the hell had happened to him? His memory was coming back now, he could remember Rudy putting the makeup on him and talking about his dead uncle. How he’d been…kidnapped. How Rudy had put him under like Phillip always did, how–

“What do you think, Chase? It took over two years of hard work, but you’re finally my Uncle Ned, from head to toe.” Chase turned to him, angry and terrified, but before he could so much as try and rush him, Rudy said “Safety measures, Chase,” and try as he might, he couldn’t even try and hit him. Instead, Chase pushed past him, running for the door, but he couldn’t seem to grab hold of the doorknob. He was panicking now, breathing heavy, and he hurried over to the side table, grabbed a cigar from the humidor there and lit it, taking a few deep long inhales before realizing what he was doing. He’d never smoked before in his life, and he’d just grabbed a cigar on instinct?

“Heh, looks like your character wore off a bit on you, Chase,” Rudy said, coming around the corner, “Then again, you’re used to smoking them almost constantly, so I’m not surprised your body would want one after a shock like this.”

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Oh, I assure you, you did most of it to yourself. All that binge eating, the shaving, the electrolysis. I helped out, of course, bleaching out your hair, aging that young movie star skin of yours, the hair growth all over your body. Just a few special formulas I’ve been developing. Oh, and I did have to date that oral surgeon for a while before he agreed to fuck up that pretty mouth of yours, but I never could imagine an Uncle Ned with perfect teeth. Phillip helped too–he’s the one who found you that janitorial work with the studio, provided he gets to use your mouth and ass whenever he wants, just like I do. Yeah, you love your nephew’s cock, don’t you uncle?” Rudy added, grabbing his crotch. “Still, this is just the prologue, you know? We’ve only just established your desires and motives! I have all sorts of plot twists in mind for you, all kinds of character development I want to see. Would you like a taste, Uncle?”

Rudy picked up the remote to the TV and turned it on, a video starting up. It looked like an amateur porno, and as the camera panned around, he could see some big brute fucking some other man in a sling. Some fat fucker dressed in leather, hair all over his body. “What the fuck is that supposed to be?” he asked around the cigar–he’d already forgotten he was smoking–it felt so natural. His hand had also drifted to his crotch, and was rubbing his cock–Rudy noticed, and smirked.

“That, in the sling, is you, ‘Ned’. From last night at the club. Your first night at the club, I should say. You do love the camera, though, no matter what angle or role you’re playing. Hell, it already has 300 views on xtube, and I just uploaded in this morning. Yes, my perverse Uncle Ned, just beginning to explore his kinky side. What kind of sexual freak might be be in a year? In five years? Why, I simply can’t wait to find out. Isn’t this exciting, Chase? After all, you’re the star of the show, just like you always wanted to be, and I’ll be there to support you the whole way, I promise. We’ll be together forever, one way or another.”

“No, No–you can’t, please–”

“Sleep tight, Chase,” Rudy said, and watched the actor’s eyes flicker shut, “Just wait until the next time you come up for air–you’re going to be a whole new man, all over again.”