Tag: hypnosis

Look, I’ll be the first one to admit, that I kind of fucked up the whole fatherhood thing. But hell, getting laid-off from the job you’ve had for thirty years…I never thought I’d end up working for some construction company, but that’s what happened. The marriage slipped around then too. I was just so tired of pretending, you know? Pretending to love her, pretending to want to fuck her, it just…it was impossible. Jack got kind of shoved to the side, I admit. I wasn’t always there for him. I was off being single again, I was partying and fucking, so what if I…I should have been there, I know, but how in the hell do you try and bridge that gap, you know? He fuckin’ hated me, and I never saw him until the state dumped him on me, after his mom ended up in prison for drug possession. It wasn’t what either of us wanted, believe me, but I tried my best. I got him to school every day, I tried to make sure he had dinner. I sacrificed, I didn’t fuck nearly as many men as I wanted to, I had to resort mostly to blowing and getting blown on the construction site with the rest of the guys, with the occasional quiet fuck back at home. Well, they were never that quiet, I guess, but I scream when I cum, I can’t fuckin’ help it!

When I tried to talk to him, he’d just bottle up, or we’d fight. “You’ve changed!” he’d say. Well yeah, so fucking what! It fucking happens, I’d tell him. I told him he’d change too. That one day he’d look at himself in the mirror and not recognize himself either. It’s called growing up, and being a fucking man. Did I think I’d be this slobby muscle bear chain smoking cigars back in my twenties? Freshly married, with an office job, and a kid on the way? Fuck no. You never think you’re gonna change, and then you fucking do. Because you have to. Because you want to. He was always so insistent. He had this fuckin’ image of me, from when he was kid. Like I wasn’t allowed to be who I wanted to be, if he didn’t like it. Well fuck him, I’d say, and then call a guy up and fuck his brains out against our shared wall, ramming the dude in to it, making the fuckin’ plaster shake. Heh, Jack fuckin’ hated that, good fuckin’ times. There’s no better fuck than an angry fuck, you know?

Anyway, he wanted to go to college, but I had no money to send him there, and I was still paying off my own loans nearly twenty years later. What had college gotten me anyway? Almost none of the guys I worked with had gone to college and they were all doing just fine. I was venting to Foreman about it one night, when he’d invited me to stick around and suck his cock for a while, and he was the one with the idea. Why not bring Jack to work with me for a week? Let him see what I did, and how much I liked it. It was a great idea, but then Foreman always has great ideas, so I wasn’t surprised. Jack hated the idea, but I made it conditional. He had to come work with me for a week, and if he could handle it, then I’d cosign his college loans if he still wanted to go. His eyes lit up at that–selfish fucker. Don’t blame him though, he got it from that bitch.

Heh, that first day he stuck out like a sore thumb. I introduced him to the crew, all of us hulking, hairy, filthy roughnecks stinkin’ of beer and cigar smoke, and he’s this chubby eighteen year old kid–fuck. Foreman though, he put on the charm, and put Jack right at ease with a few jokes, and led him off to his trailer to complete some paperwork. I lost track of him that first day–I was workin’ with Max on some stuff, but we got so horny we ended up fuckin’ on a pile of bricks all through lunch. That afternoon, I saw Jack working with Carlos, mixing cement, and something about my boy workin’ with his hands made me so damn proud. Goin home that night, he even admitted to enjoying his day somewhat, but he kept lookin’ at me a bit odd–or rather, at my cigar. He’d never been curious about my smoking–he’d ridiculed me for it from the day he’d started living with me, but that night he asked if he could have one. I was only too happy to help him out, and we shared a stogie and a few beers, stayed up to late, and were both a bit hungover the next day at work.

Over the rest of the week, Jack spent most of his time in the morning with Foreman, and then worked with the rest of us in the afternoons. On Wednesday, Foreman and I had a long chat while he fucked my ass over his desk, and he suggested that Jack and I leave work early, and go take him to the barber and to get some real clothes for the worksite. Another great idea–Foreman is just fuckin’ full of them. When I left to go find my son, I found him on his knees in front of Luis, sucking his cock! Fuck, I was kind of freaked out, but I hid and watched, and damn my boy could work that shaft, it was makin’ me jealous. I didn’t say anything. I waited until they were finished, before walkin’ over.

We got him a fauxhawk, some workwear and boots, and on a whim, we decided to get our nipples pierced. At home, we had cigars and beer to celebrate, and I got him plastered. He couldn’t resist, I had his mouth around my cock, fuck, he was hungry for it. He must have wanted me for so long–guess that means this gay shit’s genetic right? Turns out Jack was a raging fag just like me. By Friday, he was just one more guy on the site, like the rest of us. Bullshittin’, smokin’, drinkin’, fuckin’. He fucked me while everybody watched before we all went out for Friday night beers (and bears) at the Eagle, fuck, I was so proud of him. Needless to say, he decided college wasn’t for him–he dropped out of school and came to work with us. We still live together, ‘n we couldn’t be happier. See? Things always change, and you never know when they might change for the better.

***

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Commission: Too Big

Cowgirl style, yeah, I’m gonna make her ride it, tell her she only has to take as much as she wants, but she’s gonna want it all, all twelve inches, they always do. And then I get to watch her face, watch the pain as I split her pussy wide open, and then the pleasure once my entire fat cock is in her, she’s gonna–

“Sam, is there something out the window more interesting than chemical solutions?”

Sam snapped out of his fantasy, but didn’t take his hand away from the hard cock in the front of his jeans, and rolled his eyes at his science teacher, Mr. Mulford. Who fucking cares? He was getting laid tonight–that’s all he wanted to think about. “Sorry dude,” he said, “Guess I just don’t give a fuck.”

The rest of the class laughed and he smirked. His pudgy, short teacher’s face got a bit red, but he kept composure. “Well, maybe we can find something to interest you up here. How would you like to test these solutions I’ve made for the class?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, I can understand that you might be a bit nervous, but I can assure you everything I’ve been mixing is perfectly harmless.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Sam said. Mr. Mulford shrugged, the class looked at Sam, wondering what he might do. Socially cornered, he got up from his desk his foot long cock still rock hard in his jeans, but he didn’t care. His huge cock was myth at the school, and he liked it that way–it kept the girls coming in droves. He made sure to stretch at the front of the room, showing it off for the whole class, before joining his teacher by his table, where he had a number of colorful solutions sitting in various beakers. Mr. Mulford had him touch a few (slick and slimy, one colored his finger blue), smell another (fake banana, but Sam said it smelled like ass), and then taste one last one. It coated his tongue, and tasted overwhelmingly of mint, and then Mr. Mulford excused him back to his seat.

Sam tried to get the taste out of his mouth, but it was cloying, and he was starting to feel a bit strange. Still, science was his last class of the day–he was probably just tired. He tried to get back into his fantasy, but instead just felt dazed and confused. He heard the bell and saw the rest of the class get up and leave–he tried to follow them, but his body was just so heavy all of a sudden. He was flailing weakly when Mr. Mulford came over and sat down next to him.

“You know Sam, I’d like to thank you for staying after class to meet with me. There’s something that we need to discuss, something I’ve…noticed about you.”

Sam had no idea what his teacher was talking about. He hadn’t planned on staying after class, had he? And yet, now that Mr. Mulford had said it, he could almost remember, he could remember, yeah, he’d…he’d agreed to stay after class. He was still trying to figure out what was happening to him, when his middle aged teacher reached into his lap, unbuttoned his jeans, and unzipped his fly. “What…you doing?” he asked, but the words seemed too quiet to really be heard.

Mr/ Mulford simply reached into the front of Sam’s pants and grabbed the top of his student’s underwear, and pulled it down underneath his massive cock and huge sack of balls. It had gone soft, but with a bit of attention from the teacher’s fingers, it quickly grew to full size, jutting up between Sam’s abs and the desk, Sam giving off a soft groan.

“Goodness, it really is disgusting,” Mr. Mulford said.

“Disgusting?” Sam slurred, “What’s disgusting…?”

“Why, this huge, nasty sewer pipe of a cock. I mean, I’d heard rumors around school, but I see why you’ve been trying to hide it for so long, if people knew you were a freak, why, you’d be an outcast. People would hate you–laugh at you in the halls.”

“But…but big is good…”

His teacher laughed, “Big is good, but this is too big. No wonder you’re a virgin, you couldn’t even fit this in someone.”

He wasn’t a virgin, was he? But he could almost remember…or not remember…what was wrong with his head? Mr. Mulford pressed his advantage, berating Sam’s huge cock and heavy sack, laughing at him, shaming him, humiliating him over and over until Sam was in literal tears. He was a freak. He’d always been a freak, terrified of his own massive cock. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have just been normal? Even a tiny button cock would have been better than this massive dick. Or a cock like Mr. Mulford’s. Mr Mulford showed him his own cock, seven inches, big and thick but not too big like his. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. He couldn’t let anyone know he was a freak! The lengths he’d gone to to make sure no one knew–changing late during sports, or skipping the showers entirely. Wearing baggy pants all the time. Refusing to date any girl, even when they were interested. He couldn’t have sex with anyone, but now Mr. Mulford knew his secret.

“You…you won’t tell anyone will you? You can’t–I’d be…everyone would hate me…” he begged on his hands and knees.

Mr. Mulford massaged his cock, smiling down at his student. “Why, of course I won’t tell anyone–so long as you do everything I say. I mean, keeping a secret this big–you’re going to have to do me some favors. In fact, I think you’re going to come over to my house after school every day after school for a special study session, isn’t that right?”

“But–But I have practice–”

“You fucking idiot–Don’t you realize what a risk sports been for you? What if someone sees your freakish cock in the locker room? I think you’re going to have to quit. It’s for the best.”

Quit? But he was the star receiver. Still, the thought of his friends seeing him naked–what would they say? They’d laugh, they’d tell the whole school! Mr. Mulford was right, he had to quit, he had to.

“Now, how about you do me a favor today Sam–how about you suck my perfect cock off?”

“But I’m not gay…”

“Do you want me to tell everyone or not, freak?”

Sam gulped, but he had no choice. He took his teacher’s cock into his mouth and let him fuck his throat for a few minutes, until he shot a load and forced Sam to swallow his seed, and finally sent him on his way with an address in hand. His first study session was tomorrow, and Sam had a feeling that sucking dick wasn’t the only thing his faggot teacher would require to keep his secret safe.

***

No one knew what had happened to Sam. One day, he was his normal, outgoing, cocky self, his huge cock displayed prominently in tight jeans, and the next–it was like a whole new person had taken his place. His clothes were loose, he was suspicious of his friends. He no longer returned girl’s calls, and broke up with his girlfriend. He quit the football team in the middle of the season. His parents were concerned–he would be gone most every afternoon and never wanted to tell them where he’d been, saying only that he’d been studying at a friends house. Of course, after a few weeks of strange behavior, he had no friends–none that he could trust, anyway. He could only trust Master Mulford. Master was the only person who understood him, who could love and appreciate him even though he was a freak of nature. And even though he didn’t always like what Master did to him, even though he knew it was wrong, his freakish cock…it wouldn’t stop getting hard, thinking about his afternoon sessions, thinking about the things Master might do to him each afternoon, as he sat in science, daydreaming.

Sure, Master was old and ugly, short and pudgy, but he had the perfect cock. Sam couldn’t help himself now that he knew what his teacher had in his pants–truly it was a cock worthy of worship, unlike his own nasty, massive member. He wasn’t gay, but even now, thinking about it, his mouth was watering. He’d been a good freak though, he’d gone over the weekend and done exactly what his Master had asked him to do. His nipples were still tender, the head of his cock ached, but he had to obey. He had to, or everyone would know his secret. In fact, he suspected that they already did. Everyone whispered as he walked past them. They were all trying to figure out what was wrong with him. How could he tell them? How could he admit that he had a monstrous cock? It was better that people hated him and ignored him. At least he had master. Master wouldn’t tell anyone as long as Sam did everything he said. His secret was safe with him.

Another terrible day at school was over, and Sam walked the now familiar path to his teacher’s house, knowing that Master would arrive first in his car. It took half an hour to walk there, and he wondered what he might have planned. It was difficult to guess–it seemed like every day was some entirely new form of suffering, but the pain always gave way to pleasure, just like Master promised, and Sam would always beg for more, plead with him. He was such a freak. How could he have not noticed before? How could he have ever thought he was normal?

He knocked on the door, and master let him inside, telling him to go down into the basement, strip, and have his drink. Sam nodded. Master’s basement was a fully equipped sex dungeon, and at the foot of the stairs Sam removed his clothes, careful not to hurt his nipples and cock which he had gotten pierced Saturday on Master’s orders. The rings were huge–if he wore a tight shirt, anyone would be able to see them. The same with the PA he’d put in the head of his cock–it served to make his dick even more obscene. He hated it, but Master told him he’d learn to accept the freakishness of it eventually. Master had told him he planned on making Sam’s cock into the freak of nature it is, pierced all over, tattooed. The PA was just the first step–the rest would come later. Naked, he walked to the table and drank down the minty solution he’d first tried in the lab. The haze descended on him faster now–by the time Master joined him downstairs, clad in skimpy leather gear that showed off his chubby, bearish body, it was already difficult to think clearly.

Master’s eyes lit up at the sight of the piercings. “Perfect, just what I wanted,” he said, and tugged gingerly on both nipple rings. “I bet you groaned and got hard when you got them. And that nasty pipe–the piercing artist laughed at you, didn’t he? He was so disgusted at the sight of your cock.”

In fact, the piercings had simply been painful, and the man had been shocked at the size of his dick, but not disgusted. However, at master’s prompting, he happily forgot what had happened and remembered a new version, how he’d moaned at the sensation of the needle in his flesh, how the man had almost refused to pierce his dick; Sam had begged him–after all, if he hadn’t gotten the piercing, Master would have posted those pictures of him naked to the web for everyone to see.

“Now, I have something new for you today. Get on your knees. I want to introduce you to the humbler.”

Sam did as ordered, and Master brought out a curved metal device that looked sort of like shackles. Indeed, the two ends locked around both ankles, but the center had a hole through the shaft–where Master Mulford pulled his balls through and closed the ring tight, so that if he were to stand up, he would rip his sack apart. Just kneeling was uncomfortable, and he tried to adjust his stance to tug on his balls the least. Master cuffed Sam’s hands behind his back, and then without warning, shoved Sam forward. Unable to catch himself, his landed on the hard floor face first, trying to keep his knees bent as much as possible, his balls exposed beneath the humbler, and his master began slapping them with his hands.

“Yeah, look at this nasty sack of filthy cum–it’s fucking obscene. You know what I think we’re gonna do Sam? I think we’re gonna start stretching this sack of yours down, weigh it down all the time, until these fat balls swing between your knees, you fucking disgusting freak.” He got a paddle and started smaking Sam’s sack harder, until the student started crying out, his eyes tearing up from the gut churning pain. “Oh quit whining, you fucking love this, you pain freak. For whatever fucked up reason, this feels good, doesn’t it? You’re fucking enjoying this–I can see that filthy cock of yours getting hard. You’re fucking disgusting.”

It did feel good. It always hurt at first, but Master was right, he did like it. He liked it a lot. He started flexing his legs, pulling his sack tauter, wondering what it would be like to have his sack swinging between his knees. Freak. He would be such a freak. He is a freak, a total pain freak. His balls were swollen from the abuse, and Master Mulford finally hung up the paddle, massaging his perfectly sized cock with one gloved hand. “Gonna fuck that hole now boy, you like getting fucked, don’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“That sewer pipe of yours is gonna leak that filthy cum like a faucet as soon as my dick rips open your hole.”

“Yes sir.”

“You want me to use lube?”

“No sir.”

“Why not boy.”

“Because I like pain sir. I’m a pain freak sir. I want you to make it hurt, the more it hurts…the more I love it.”

The old man started shoving his cock into Sam’s hole, listening to him gasp with pain and pleasure. Mulford loved Mondays, he loved how Sam’s ass started to recover and tighten up again, he went in as deep and as quick as he could, making it hurt. “You know, this hole loves being fucked.”

“Yes sir, it does.”

“I bet this hole would love getting fisted. What do you think, slave? Would you like to feel my fat fist burrowing into your hole?”

“Would…would it hurt?”

“Oh yeah slave, it would hurt a lot. It would hurt way more than me fucking you.”

Sam was silent for a moment, and then croaked a quiet, “Yes…Yes, if it would hurt, fucking hurt me sir.”

Master fucked him, but didn’t shoot yet. He pulled out and went back to paddling, smacking not only Sam’s sack, but his ass as well, making him count out the blows. Only after fifty smacks, did he let Sam beg him to finish fucking him. Mulford was only too happy to oblige, and only after seeding his pain slave’s hole did he help him back up onto his knees, and undo his cuffs and his humbler.

“That’s enough for today slave. I’ll see you tomorrow for another session.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said, and wished his heart wasn’t secretly looking forward to whatever pain his Master would choose to inflict on him the next day, and the next, and the next.

Commission: The Secrets of Fitzroy Abbey (Part 2)

Commissioned by Anonymous

It had been a whole week now–should he count himself lucky? Surely it could have been worse, right? Then why did it feel like he was sitting here, just waiting for the Master Fitzroy’s other perfectly shined shoe to drop? Mr. Windsor mopped up the gravy on the plate with a hunk of bread, and then got up from the table. He was still hungry, but the cooks had given him a sour look when he’d gone in for a third helping. Why the kitchen was still so busy at this time of evening was a bit of a mystery to him, but he was thankful for the extra food all the same. His gut was pleading for food all the time now, and he no longer had the willpower to resist the temptation to eat every chance he got. Mr. Livingston, however, had looked absolutely delighted when he’d seen Mr. Windsor’s plate piled high with food. He’d been an especially smug twat all week, ever since the master had sentenced Mr. Windsor to another round of edification, but if all Mr. Windsor had to deal with was an insatiable hunger, he would count himself lucky. He’d been especially on guard with himself all week, desperately trying to check himself and his actions, searching for anything new about himself that the Master had intended him to not notice. Still, he was almost certain he had forgotten something important…but what?

A bell rang. It struck Mr. Windsor with a pang of deja vu. He could remember…he could almost recall…

“Room 205–is that one of yours, Mr. Windsor?”

He started, and looked up into the face of another servant, Mr. Hooker. He had been here longer than Mr. Windsor, but not so long that he had forgotten himself entirely like Mr. Livingston. From their casual dealings, he seemed to be a firm pragmatist about their situation here. “N–No. I do believe Mr. Williams is assisting that guest.”

Mr. Hooker sighed, “He’s probably sobbing in his room. I’ll go fetch him.”

Mr. Williams was slightly newer than them both, and still spent much of his personal time lamenting his new position. While everyone regarded him with a bit of pity, they all hoped he would resign himself soon. His weeping tended to keep the men in the rooms next to him up at night.

Alone in the room, Mr. Windsor considered actually licking his plate clean, but besides feeling it might be a bit humiliating if someone walked in, it also seemed to be outside the bounds of his required decorum. He hefted himself up to return the plate to the kitchen for washing, when Mr. Livingston poked his head in.

“I thought I’d find you in here, stuffing yourself,” he said, with a rather cruel grin, “The Master of the House requests your presence in the dining room, immediately.”

Apparently, this snide tone was the sound of the other shoe. His heart thumping loudly in his ears, his nose reddening, he stood up and made his way to the main floor of the abbey, and saw that evening had well and truly passed into twilight. The rest of the guests were in their rooms or out on the grounds, enjoying themselves and each other as the master wished, but Master Fitzroy was not among them. He was standing in the dining room, with a stocky, heavy gutted, fat faced cook from the kitchen, someone Mr. Windsor didn’t recognize. He hadn’t heard that anyone new was joining the staff yet this summer–what was going on, and what did it have to do with him?

“Welcome Mr. Windsor,” Master Fitzroy said, “Would you kindly take a seat at the table? At the head there is fine, don’t be shy.”

He settled himself down into the chair usually reserved for the master himself, carefully, and stammered, “I–I’m not sure I know what is going on, sir.”

“Oh, I know you do not, yet. I simply wanted to take this chance to personally re-introduce you to our newest member of the kitchen crew. His name is Mr. Bartholomew Marsden, but you were previously acquainted with him as the guest in room 307.”

Memories flashed back across his mind, memories the master had locked away from him for an entire week. How could he have forgotten them? How could he have forgotten…forgotten…his name, what had Mr. Marsden’s name been? Bar…Bart? No, that was the Master’s name for him! Not Bart, something…something else. Something else! He’d heard his old name too, but it was gone, they were both gone now.

“Following our discussion that evening, I called on Mr. Marsden, and suggested kindly that he forget all about what he had seen, but he proved…reluctant. In fact, he seemed determined to rescue you from service here, long before I planned on retiring you. After all, I don’t think you have learned your lesson quite yet, Rudolph. Regardless, Mr. Marsden became rather belligerent. I decided to bring him on as a temporary staff member–although, depending on his temperament, he could very well obtain a long term position like yourself…but we’ve already discussed that in detail, haven’t we, Mr. Marsden?”

“Yes…Yes sir…” the cook said, when the master stared at him. His puffy cheeks burned red, and he looked at the ground.

“Just so you are aware of our terms, Mr. Windsor, I have brought on Mr. Marsden as your private chef. You see, we have only a short six months until Christmas, and I realized that you would make an excellent Santa Claus to entertain my guests–but with your finicky eating, I doubted you would be able to obtain the girth needed for such a role. Mr. Marsden will be assisting you–and if he can fatten you up such that you are the heaviest man on staff by Christmas, then I have promised to terminate his employment here, and send him home in his original body, none the wiser. However, should he fail…well, he will be employed here for significantly longer.”

Mr. Windsor saw his friend gulp, and look away, his triple chin jiggling slightly.

“Now, as you may or may not know, it is Mr. Parker, the head chef, who is currently the largest servant here, weighing in at 42 stone, or just shy of 600 pounds! So, Mr. Marsden certainly has a lot of work to do…as do you, Mr. Windsor.”

“I…I think this situation is rather manipulative, sir,” Mr. Windsor said, in the kindest tone his tongue could force out, “I sincerely resent this, and suggest that, perhaps, you simply consider allowing us to go free, together.”

“Oh, Mr. Windsor, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Well, then I simply will have to refuse to eat.”

“Oh? Will you?” the master said, chuckling, “I’ve heard about your new appetite, Mr. Windsor. You seem to be rather insatiable. But you must realize how cruel you sound, to Mr. Marsden here. After all, if you don’t cooperate, he, too, will be employed here for the foreseeable future. Would you really consign him to such a fate, simply because you still have lessons to learn and reparations to make? You may be a fool, but you are not vicious, though you like to believe you are, like many fools.”

His bluff had been called, and he knew it. He remained silent.

“As I was saying, you both have quite a bit of work to do, and I am nothing, if not a fair sport. Mr. Marsden has been given the assistance of the entire kitchen staff for your first meal tonight, and I must say, they have prepared quite the feast for you. I’m confident that, by the end of the night, you will be happily stuffed.” The master plucked a bell off the table and rang it. The wait staff entered, bearing platters of food, easily enough to feed eight or ten guests. “And don’t think about leaving anything behind, Mr. Windsor–that would be so wasteful! Mr. Marsden will be on hand to ensure you finish every bite–including dessert, right Mr. Marsden?”

The fat man nodded, and the master took his leave of the dining room. The meal lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Mr. Windsor would stuff himself, but eventually resist, and stop. Mr. Marsden would begin feeding and encouraging him, telling him that if he escaped, he could bring help. Of course, they both knew that if he were retired, he would have no memory of his time as a cook in the master’s service, but it was enough of a hope to keep Mr. Windsor eating for another hour, and then another. Much to his horror, he realized that as he grew fuller and fuller, he was also becoming rather aroused. He enjoyed the sensation of a full belly, and in the midst of dinner, with a loud groan, he realized that he had cum for the first time in months, right into the crotch of his livery. It became clear that Mr. Marsden was enjoying his role as well, and while neither of them could remove their clothing, he would grind up against Mr. Windsor’s side until he too came, multiple times over the course of the meal.

Finally, they finished dessert, both of them exhausted. Mr. Marsden had to help Mr. Windsor up from the chair, and down to their private quarters, where they discovered they would be sharing a double room–the doubles were reserved for those pairs of servants who the master hoped would share a special relationship. Inside, Mr. Marsden helped Mr. Windsor undress, and then stripped off his own chef whites. Unable to even think of sleep so soon after such a meal, Mr. Windsor instead gawked at himself in the mirror, his old flabby body, his taut, bloated and stuffed gut. He was already over 300 pounds–how would he look with three hundred pounds more? He would need a new livery. He would have rolls of fat, rolls hanging off of rolls. He would…he would be so…so…sexy.

Yes, sexy. Yes, he could picture himself, stuffed into a suit slightly too small, the seams stretching a bit, the confinement, the knowledge that he was so large that the tailor had to make a uniform specifically for him. The guests would gawk, but…but he would want them to. He would be swine, and yet revel in it. And at Christmas–at Christmas! He would have a beautiful red velvet suit. Master found grow him a fabulous, snow white beard. Jolly, he would be so jolly, yes he would. He rubbed his belly, feeling his cock grow hard again. On one of the beds, Mr Marsden sat, feeling his own gut, covered with grey hairs, watching his old lover caress himself, feeling his own short, stubby cock grow hard as well. Mr. Marsden crossed the room, got down on his knees, and began massaging Mr. Windsor’s huge gut, heaving it up so he could find the small, two inch cock beneath and suck on it, working his own cock as he did, until they both came one final time. Finally exhausted, they climbed into their respective beds, both creaking under their weight, and dreamed of feedings to come, praying that they wouldn’t enjoy them as much as they secretly sensed they would.

Commission: The Secrets of Fitzroy Abbey (Part 1)

Commissioned by Anonymous

It was late in the evening, the midsummer sun still setting through the west side windows of the abbey, and Mr. Rudolph Windsor was downstairs in the servant’s mess, finally getting a chance to eat dinner. The abbey’s guests had already eaten, their needs attended to, giving him a moment to sit quietly, and try to remember his old name. Today he believed that it had begun with the letter “H”. Perhaps Hal? Or had that been a character on a TV show? The abbey had no television, and even then, Rudolph’s mind had been made to forget much of what the outside world contained, beyond the abbey grounds. But a name–it seemed so simple, and yet it was gone. Perhaps Henry, or Harry. Those were both nice names, at least.

Another servant came in, an older gentleman named Mr. Livingston. Rudolph had no idea how long he had been a servant of the house, only that he had been working here long enough to forget the truth of things entirely, or to at least pretend forgetfulness. “Good evening Mr. Windsor,” the older gentleman said, beaming at the sourer face of his fellow servant, “The master certainly has found a nice crop of guests for the summer, eh chap?”

Mr. Windsor didn’t reply. He hated speaking, and did it as rarely as he could. His voice–it wasn’t his anymore.

Mr. Livingston was unfazzed–he’d seen many men come into service at the house in his years here–it wouldn’t be long before Windsor was a cheery old chap like the rest of them. “Is that all you’re eating?” he said, looking at the small salad in front of Mr. Windsor, “Do be careful, or you might start wasting away.”

“Wasting away is the goal,” Mr. Windsor said, “I’d very much like to try and rid myself of some of this belly–I don’t particularly enjoy being this rotund, to be honest.” His sentence faded away as he spoke–nothing came out of his mouth right anymore; he was always so polite now. What he’d wanted to say was something more like:

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard! I may be trapped in some old fat body, but fuck you if you think I’m not going to try to lose some of this fucking disgusting gut and be slightly less disgusting to look at in the mirror!”

“Oh goodness, I don’t think Master Fitzroy would be very keen on the idea of any of us losing weight. You know he’s very particular on how us servants present ourselves.” Mr. Livingston loomed over him, his own gut, restrained by his livery, mere inches from Mr. Windsor’s face. “I won’t make any mention of it, for your own sake. You are still relatively new here after all, but do keep yourself fed. I won’t have anyone starving themselves around here for no good reason.”

“No good reason?” Mr. Windsor said, “I do believe, sir, that there are numerous good reasons for why we should do whatever we can against Master Fitzroy. I don’t particularly care whether I make him upset or not. What could he possibly do to me which is worse than what he has already done to me? To all of us?”

Mr. Livingston didn’t move, and said nothing. The disapproval was palpable. “I should go tell him what you’ve said, Mr. Windsor. You would be sent to edification immediately.”

“So then go tell him, after…after who he brought here, as a guest…” Mr. Windsor stuttered–his proper tongue unable to twist what he wanted to say into anything dignified, and so remained twisted tight. A bell rang on the wall, signalling that one of the guest rooms had requested service.

Mr. Livingston, checked the bell. “It would appear that a guest on the third floor would like service. One of your guests, I do believe, Mr. Windsor. Room number 307?”

Room 307. Of course, it would be that one. “Yes, that is indeed my room. I’ll go attend to him.”

“Well, do try to find some positivity along the way–then again, that dour face of yours is only making your nose glow brighter, and it isn’t even Christmas season. So at least that can cheer everyone else up.” Mr. Windsor scowled. The bulbous ruddy nose was another one of the master’s jokes at his expense–and it didn’t help that whenever he drank it would burn a deep red. The fact that this body shook if it didn’t get enough alcohol didn’t much help matters–he alleviated the worst of it by carrying a flask in his vest, but that insured his rose was red almost all the time. When he’d give his full name to a guest, they generally replied with a snicker.

He hefted himself up out of his chair, straightened his vest and coat, but before mounting the back stairs to the third floor, he took a moment to examine himself in the mirror, making sure he was well groomed. He had some crumbs in his thick bushy mustache–he pulled a comb from his pocket and ran it through the hairs, and then examined the rest of his face, and sighed. Jowls. His fat red nose. Wrinkles. The ridiculous glasses he had to wear, now that he could barely see anything without them. The uniform grey hair, which he was compelled to groom into a comb-over. It did nothing to hide his baldness, and in fact accentuated it. He scanned his eyes down the front of his servant’s livery, mentally checking that everything was still in place. He’d never worn so much as a suit before all of this happened, but now he felt absolutely naked in anything less than his starched uniform. He heaved a sigh, watching his jowls shake and his mustache flutter, and then started up the stairs of the abbey to the third floor.

Room 307 was the summer home of the last person Mr. Windsor had ever expected to see here, and the last person he had ever wanted to see him like this. Tanner Marcus–the young man who had broken up with him the year before, back when he’d had that other name (Huck? Harvey?) and that other body, and that other life he could barely remember. And now Tanner was here, in room 307, just another young man for the master to toy with all summer long, and all Mr. Windsor could do was watch–and wait on him hand and foot. He knocked on the door, and after a moment, a deep voice shouted for him to enter. It wasn’t Tanner’s voice, however–it was Master Fitzroy.

Mr. Windsor opened the door and stepped inside, finding Tanner bent over the side of the bed, Master Fitzroy behind him, his hairy gut hefted up onto the small of the younger man’s back, his cock buried deep in his hole. “Good evening Mr. Windsor,” Master Fitzroy said, he huffed and puffed a moment, “I am sorry, I had hoped to be finished by the time you came in–please give us a moment. Mr. Marcus and I became rather close over dinner, and he invited me to his room, isn’t that right Tanner?”

“Oh yes, Master Fitzroy, I…I invited you here to plow my hole good, sir.”

“Would…would you like me to wait in the hall, sir?” Mr. Windsor asked.

“Oh, no need–I’d rather you watched this. Closely.”

“Y–Yes sir…” Mr. Windsor said.

Contrary to what Master Fitzroy had said, he was nowhere near finished–he continued fucking for a good fifteen minutes, encouraging Tanner to moan louder and louder, and narrate what it felt like to be fucked by a real gentleman. Unable to look away, Mr. Windsor stared at the scene. It was not the first time he had walked in on Master Fitzroy having his way with one of his guests, but that did not make this any easier to digest. Worse was the fact that, despite all that had happened, he was still very attracted to Tanner–and yet, this old, worthless body given to him by the master couldn’t even get hard, not that it would have mattered. His two inch button cock wouldn’t even be able to get into an ass if he were allowed to try. Master Fitzroy preferred his servants celibate–he didn’t want any of them spoiling his guests after all.

Tanner was moaning louder, the older man behind him thrusting faster, and with a loud groan, the master finally came deep inside Tanner’s ass with several violent shudders. When he was certain that he was finished, he removed himself and stepped back from Tanner’s behind. “Mr. Marcus, while Mr. Windsor helps me dress, would you be so kind as to jack off for me? I’d like to see you cum before I leave. Mr. Windsor, if you would please.”

He began gathering up Master Fitzroy’s clothes, which had been scattered about the room, and helping him put his suit back on. Several pieces were rather wrinkled, and Mr. Windsor did his best to smooth them out as he did. Tanner was on his back on the bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, jacking wildly–he was so close, but he had to wait until permission had been granted. Once he was fully dressed, Fitzroy allowed him to cum, and Tanner shot his load up onto his smooth body and face, back arched. Mr. Windsor had never seen him so…thrilled. Was he angry? Sad? Did it even matter? There was nothing he could do, so what did it even matter how he felt?

“That was quite a pleasure, Mr. Tanner–I’m thrilled you’ll be staying here for a few weeks, I’d love to spend some more time with you.”

“Oh thank you, Master,” Tanner said, “I’m…I’d love that…that too…”

“Mr. Windsor, perhaps would you kindly help Mr. Marcus clean himself up, and get into bed for the night? I seem to have fucked his brains out for the moment,” Master Fitzroy said, and excused himself from the suite.

Tanner was lolling and groaning on the bed; Mr. Windsor went into the adjoining bathroom to start filling the tub, and then returned to help him up. He had indeed been fucked out of his mind–Tanner could barely stand unassisted, meaning Mr. Windsor had to carry-drag him into the bathroom and heave him into the tub. By the end of it, he was nearly as wet, and had smears of the master’s cum across the front and side of his suitcoat and vest. He helped Tanner wash himself, neither of them saying anything, and slowly the guest returned to a quasi-awareness. He couldn’t quite remember what had just happened, but was equally certain that it was nothing to worry about, and Mr. Windsor assured him that was certainly the case. And then, Mr. Windsor leaned over to get the bar of soap which had dropped to the floor, and Tanner saw the end of a dark birthmark snaking it’s way up past the collar of Mr. Windsor’s neck, to the base of his ear–the exact same birthmark he’d seen on the side of Teddy’s face countless times, Teddy who he’d broken up with the year before, Teddy who had gone on a winter vacation for Christmas and disappeared without a trace.

Mr. Windsor got the bar of soap and went to return it to Tanner’s hands, only to be greeted by a face of shock. “Is…is something the matter? Mr. Marcus?”

“T–Ted? Is…is that you?”

His name? Is that what it was? How had Tanner even recognized him?

“Your…your birthmark, I know that birthmark, you’re Ted, what the fuck happened to you? What’s going on here?”

He stammered. He couldn’t tell him the truth–the Master’s programming had made certain of that. How could he tell him what had happened? What kind of danger he was in? “N–No, I’m afraid…I think you must have mistaken me for…for a younger lover,” he said, managing to slip in a sign that he knew what was happening, and he saw that Tanner had understood him loud and clear. But why was he standing up? Why was he leaving the room? Master Fitzroy, he was going to see Master Fitzroy, he was going to have to tell him what just happened, he’d broken the rules, he’d broken the rules, and he had to be punished.

Tanner was trying to get out of the bath, but his body still wasn’t fully cooperating. “God damn it, Ted? Where are you going? Don’t go! Let me help you!”

“I’m sorry to excuse myself sir, but I must go report my indiscretion to the master of the house. I’d…I’d suggest you forget about what I said as soon as you are able, for your own sake,” Mr. Windsor managed to say as he left the suite, and he hoped Tanner would take his advice. His legs took him back to the servant stairs, continuing up to the top floor of the abbey, where the master’s apartment took up the entire top floor. He found Fitzroy speaking with Mr. Livingston in his study–they grew quiet as he entered.

“I apologize for interrupting, sir, but I had to come immediately in order to report a personal indiscretion. Mr. Marcus recognized me while I was bathing him, and rather than lie, I confirmed his suspicion that I am in fact…am…I…” Mr. Windsor stammered. His name, he’d just heard it? Tanner had said it, it had been…been…how could he have forgotten it so quickly?

“Please excuse us, Mr. Livingston. I believe I need to have a delicate discussion with Mr. Windsor.”

Mr. Livingston bowed, and excused himself. He wouldn’t look Mr. Windsor in the eye as he passed, and he realized his fellow servant must have been reporting to the master on his scant eating habits and earlier outbursts. Master Fitzroy sighed, and crossed his hands over one knee, staring at Mr. Windsor through his spectacles. “What am I going to do with you, Mr. Windsor? You certainly aren’t the most stubborn servant I’ve taken on, but you do seem bound and determined to become the most irritating.”

“My apologies, sir.”

“It does put quite the kink in my plans as well. You, me, and Mr. Marcus were going to have such fun over the next several weeks. I was confident that by the time he left, you would have given up this silly resistance of yours. Now, I suppose, we will have to try something else.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “No matter, I have an idea. Report to the dungeon for edification every night until further notice. You’re excused.”

Mr. Windsor bowed out of the room, a knot in his gut. Edification–a kind word for the extreme brainwashing and hypnosis programs the master of the house employed to keep his guests and servants under control. He’d hoped to toe the line, manipulate his situation as best he could to avoid further hypnosis, but now what? He’d overplayed his hand. Who knew what Master Fitzroy would instill in his mind now? His hands were shaking, he paused at the top of the stairs to guzzle down as much whiskey as he could swallow, and then took the stairs all the way to the basement dungeon–the only space in the abbey which had kept pace with the modern world, it seemed. A riot of wires and screens, he saw a number of guests and servants were already reclining in chairs, helmets over their ears and eyes, zoned out for the night. The servants on staff were expecting him–with few words, they directed him to a chaise of his own, and put the helmet over his head. A flash of light from the helmet burned into his retinas, and everything was gone.

To Be Continued 

Commission: Twenty Years Delayed

CAUTION: This is a nasty one.

“His name is Blake Kingston, bitch! He has to be here, you’re just not looking hard enough, ya dumb cunt!” Freddie said, leaning across the folding table and glaring at the middle aged woman seated in front of a pile of name tags. Above the table at the entrance of the high school gym was a banner that read “Treston High School Class of 1994 Reunion.” He leaned closer; she squirmed away from him as gracefully as she could, but couldn’t avoid the cloud of breath which seemed to be some horrid combination of toilet and ashtray.

“Sir, please don’t yell at me, I still have his nametag here. If he’s arrived already, he hasn’t picked it up. Now…if I can get your name, I can get your registration taken care of…and…and you can’t smoke in here.”

Freddie clenched his teeth down harder on his cigar. “You gonna take it from me?”

She made no further mention of it. He gave her his name when she asked again, and she startled, looked up at him. Freddie Williams? Sweet little shy chubby Freddie? She’d seen him at the last reunion, and he’d been so…normal. Still, she could recognize his eyes, through the plume of smoke, and wondered what in the hell had happened to turn him into…this thing. This leather clad, foul smelling, crude, hairy beast of a biker. Happy that she could feel pity instead of anger, she handed him his name tag with a smile, and waved him into the gym. Suspicious, Freddie took it and clipped it to his ratty leather vest, and lumbered into the gym he barely recognized. The school had been through a remodel in the last few years, and he felt almost no connection to the place anymore. He was only here to see Blake anyway–he’d promised he’d be here. Still, maybe Freddie had just arrived first. He hung around by the door, checking out everyone who came in. But the attendees stopped arriving at around seven, and angry that he’d been stood up, he scarfed down as much as he could from the buffet before someone told him to stop, and then started cruising his middle aged classmates.

Many of them, now almost in their forties, had started to fill out. More than a few had grown in beards. Unfortunately, most had wives and girlfriends in tow. Still, that didn’t mean much, right? Hell, he’d thought he was straight too, before he’d met Blake–both times, in fact. He’d taught him how to please a cock back in high school, and shown him again at the last reunion ten years later. He set his eyes on a few men who didn’t seem entirely disgusted by him. By this point, Freddie was good and drunk–the two drink limit didn’t apply when you had a flask of cheap whisky in your vest. He struck up conversations with a few guys, and eventually followed one of them to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, what drunken Freddie had taken to be sexual arousal was simply an attempt at being polite. In fact, the man had excused himself to the bathroom in an attempt to avoid further conversation. When Freddie clomped into the bathroom, came up to the man at the urinal and grabbed his cock from behind, he was less than pleased.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Come on man, I know yer fuckin’ horny. I got stood up tonight, at least give me a load a cum for the ride home, I’m fuckin’ thirsty.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hell yeah I am,” Freddie leaned in closer, “I’ll be as disgusting as ya want. Drink yer piss, hell I even eat shit. Go on, take a shit, I’ll eat it out a the bowl while ya fuck my nasty asshole.”

“You’re fucking insane!” the man said, tried to get away, but Freddie pinned him up against the outside wall of the stall with his massively fat, four hundred pound body.

“Fuck you man, fuck you ‘n your fuckin’ attitude. I came in here for some fuckin’ cum, ‘n I’m not leavin’ without you fuckin’ one of my holes. So pick one, and feed this pig.”

The man tried to hit Freddie, but his fist just sank into Freddie’s fat body. When Freddie countered with a slap of his leather gloved hand, the man stood there, shocked, giving Freddie the opportunity to drop the man’s slacks, get down on his knees, and start sucking on his soft cock. Much to the man’s embarrassment, it didn’t stay soft for long, and he let off a moan. As disgusting as Freddie was, he knew what to do with his mouth. Figuring it would be better to just let the brute have his way, the man tried to cum as quickly as possible, shot a load down Freddie’s throat, and then zipped up and fled as quick as he could. Freddie savored the taste for a moment, gave a great big belch, and headed back to the gym. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste after all.

He scanned the crowd–still no sign of Blake. Where the fuck was he? Freddie heaved a sigh, and noticed someone across the floor staring at him, someone he hadn’t noticed earlier. He was too old to be a member of his class–short, with a round gut, bushy white beard and wire rimmed glasses, he had to be at least sixty, if not seventy. And something about him seemed…oddly familiar. Still, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be interested in a guy like him, so he steered clear, but as he hunted for another cock to suck, he realized the older man was never too far away, and being more than a little creepy. Still, what could a fat old man do to a pig like him? Freddie managed to scare another ex-jock classmate into a trip to the bathroom, and licking his lips, followed after a minute later. The older man waited a couple more, and then set off down the hall after them both.

Freddie was in the middle of trying to rip open the man’s pants when the older man stepped into the room, and said, “Nasty Slut Pig, trance out.”

Immediately, Freddie’s eyes glazed over, his limbs limp. The man stepped away, not at all sure what was happening, and ran out of the room as fast as he could.

The older man stepped up to Freddie and spoke to him for a couple of minutes. When Freddie shook himself awake, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself compelled to leave the reunion with the older gentleman, and follow him on his hog back to the man’s house. None of this worried him in the least–and that worried him most of all.

***

“I know you don’t remember who I am,” the older man said as he handed Freddie a glass of bourbon, “Maybe in time, I can help you put some of those memories back together, but that will have to wait until I have you under better control. I’m happy the trigger worked for me as well as it works for Blake–hypnosis can be so…fickle at times.”

Freddie just stared at the bourbon, and knocked it back in a few chugs. He needed a drink badly. Why in the hell was he even here, and what did Blake have to do with this old man? “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

“Because this is where you should have been, twenty years ago. You never showed up, and I never pursued you, because I was just happy you never reported me! Imagine my surprise when the issue was that you’d simply had that nasty concussion. Now, why don’t you go ahead and strip for me? I’ve only seen pictures, but Blake has been working so hard on you all these years now–I’d love to see the changes for myself.”

Before Freddie could process the request, his hands were already pulling off his clothes. Trying to catch up to himself, he found that he couldn’t quite control his body. A moment later, he was naked, his clothes strewn about, and the older man came up and started inspecting him. “Goodness, you are a fat pig, aren’t you? How much do you weigh now?”

“Uh…435, last I checked.”

“And your tattoos–absolutely filthy, I love them. Blake chose them well.”

Freddie stepped away from the man, “Alright, who the fuck are you, and how do you know Blake? This shit is gettin’ creepy.”

“Oh Freddie, the three of us have quite a bit of history together–it’s a shame you can’t remember the first part. I was your psychology teacher, Mr. Weylan. You and Blake were…well, you were an experiment–and a very successful one at that.”

The name rang a bell, but it wasn’t tied to any memories–his head started hurting, like it always did when he tried to think of the time before he got that concussion in that car accident just before graduation. He’d been lucky that all he’d suffered was some amnesia. But none of this made any sense at all. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“That’s quite alright–you’re just a dumb pig anyway, no reason for you to trouble yourself. But Blake, well, Blake has been a very naughty slave, trying to keep you a secret from me, and he really must be punished for it. Luckily you’re here now, and you can help me out. Why don’t you come downstairs and into the dungeon with me, and we can see how Blake is coming along.”

Fighting himself the whole way, Blake calmly followed Mr. Weylan down into the basement, where he saw Blake strapped into a chair against the wall, some strange helmet covering his face, pads on his nipples and his cock. Cum was splattered all over the floor in front of him. He was even larger than Freddie remembered–at the ten year reunion a decade earlier, Blake had strutted into the gym, muscle bound, wearing nothing but leather, reeking of sweat and cum. He remembered talking to Blake a lot, but couldn’t much of the conversation. In fact, he’d done a lot of listening, now that he thought about it.

Mr. Weylan walked up to a computer next to the chair, and examined it. “It looks like somewhere between ninety and ninety-five percent trained–certainly enough for a test drive, eh Freddie?”

Before Freddie could ask for an explanation, Mr. Weylan had shut down the program and pulled the helmet from Blake’s head. His friend looked around, trying to process the thoughts streaming through his mind, nostrils flaring, and he dove from the chair to his hands and knees, licking up all of his cum from the cement floor.

“Oh yes, very good Blake, but don’t you see who’s here? It’s Freddie–why don’t you show him some of what you’ve been learning.”

The eyes that turned to Freddie were nearly feral with lust. Blake sprung up and charged at him, sending them both crashing to the ground, Blake burying his tongue and nose in every nasty flap and fold of the pig’s fat body. Freddie tried to push him off and get away, but Blake was on top and much stronger. Seeing him struggle, Mr. Weylan called out, “Nasty Slut Pig, freeze,” and all of Freddie’s muscles tensed in place, allowing Blake to focus on licking his friend’s filthy body clean.

“Goodness, he is an eager little filth slave, eh Freddie?” Mr Weylan said, standing over them both, “I know Blake intended for you to be his bottom. Can you imagine, the two of you running off together? I think this will be much more interesting. Still, I bet Blake is hungry and very thirsty–he’s been down here for almost two days straight! Go on, and piss yourself Freddie.”

The strong scent of his piss streaming from his cock, flowing out from his gunt, attracted Blake down to his crotch, where he lapped up as much as he could.

“Good, now go ahead and shit too–pump out all that nasty crap for Blake to eat, pig.”

Freddie felt his ass loosen beyond his control, his shit flowing out onto the ground beneath him, smearing across his ass. Blake forcefully rolled him over and dove headlong into his brown crack, eating as much as he could, Freddie still frozen in place. He could see Mr. Weylan looming over him, his cock out, jacking off.

“Oh yes, this is going to be a lot of fun, I think. I have so many techniques now! Blake has done a fine job with what he had access to, those subliminals and those skype chats of yours. But now we can continue what we started all those years ago! Why, before long, you’re going to be the nastiest fucker ever–pissing and shitting yourself uncontrollably, dominating Blake here, forcing him to fatten up like you. Maybe we’ll even castrate him together–how does that sound? Make him a real hog. It’s what he fucking deserves, for what he tried to do, the fucker–fuck!”

Mr. Weyland’s cock shot out a load of cum which landed across the back of Freddie’s shaven head. He was terrified, but without any control over himself, all he could do was shake with fear.

“Goodness, I got a bit carried away there, I think. Blake, hold off for a moment, let Freddie here stand up.”

Blake reluctantly crawled off Freddie, and he stood up. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Go sit in the chair, Freddie. I’ve got to get your program loaded up.”

Freddie went and sat down in the chair where Blake had been–the seat had an open bottom, and he could smell Blake’s piss and shit in the bucket under the hole. He was terrified, and yet more turned on than he could even fathom. Mr. Weylan worked at the computer for a moment, Blake dragging out the bucket and scarfing down the contents while their old teacher came over and tightened the straps on Freddie’s limbs.

“Don’t worry, when you wake up in a few days, everything will make much more sense, I promise.” He set the helmet over Freddie’s head, and said something he couldn’t quite make out. Then, the visor exploded in a shock of color, Freddie’s mouth went slack, and his training, twenty years delayed, resumed.

Finally gonna get some motherfuckin’ answers from this motherfucker. What the fuck is going on with my son? First those fucking cigars, and now tattoos? And he’s dropping out of college? Apartment 305…305, here it is, bang on the door, let him know I mean business.

Naturally, the fucker doesn’t have the balls to answer. I’ll just fucking wait for him. Wait–the door’s unlocked? Good enough for me, let’s find this fucker. Living room’s empty, not in the kitchen, try the bedroom…what the hell? He’s just laying there, groping himself…staring at me. I yell, he doesn’t do anything, just keeps staring at me, stroking himself, so fucking rhythmic…

*

Fuck…how long…how long have I been watching him? He hasn’t stopped once. I just…I just got here right? I can’t take my eyes away, what the hell is he doing to me? What the fuck is wrong with…with…

*

When did it get so hot in here, better…better take my shirt off…pants…pants too. Don’t look away though…keep watching him, keep staring, gotta keep staring at him…

*

Yeah, groping my cock now, like him. So fuckin’ horny. Can’t…didn’t I…come here to ask about…about something? My head feels so fuckin’ empty all of a sudden. Damn, his bulge is big, bigger than mine. He must have a huge cock, I wonder how big it is?

*

What…how did…I’m closer now, on my knees in front of him, just staring, his groin right there, fuckin’…a foot away, and he’s just rubbing himself. He…he should let me do that for him. He should let me please him…let me…serve him, yeah, serve him. He should let me serve him like…like a slave…

*

Why won’t he let me help him! He just keeps teasing me. Doesn’t he know how much this hurts? How much it hurts that he won’t let me please him? I’m just a fuckin’ slave, I don’t have any other purpose, I’m just a worthless old faggot, but he just keeps staring at me, gloating, he’s not going to let me have it, is he? I have…I have to…to earn it…Show him…show him how much of a faggot I am. There’s…there’s something in the other room, something I should put on…I don’t want to stop watching, but…

*

Not enough, I’m all dressed, but he still won’t let me please him…I’ll…I need his body. Wait, something, he’s moving his foot, yes, please let me serve you sir, let me…oh fuck, his socks reek, so fucking disgusting, gotta suck the sweat out of them, fuck! Gotta be a good slave, gotta show him what a good slave I am, what a worthless faggot I am, if I want to serve him properly. Take the sock off with my teeth, yeah, pull it off, tongue between his nasty toes, lick him clean, lick his feet clean, fuck…

*

Finally! Finally his cock, finally what I came for, finally I can serve him. Oh fuck, it tastes so good, just how I always imagined. I’m such a good slave, just a worthless slave for cock, for my master, I promise I’ll serve you forever, I’ll do anything you say, anything you want for the rest of my life.

*****

Hank, Tim’s father, had left to confront Julian the afternoon on the eighth, and his car didn’t pull back into the driveway until over twenty-four hours later, with the sun starting to set. He parked his car and swung both his feet out–it had been hard to work the pedals with his feet chained together, but he had to be a good slave, had to be a proper slave for master. His body was sweating in the rubber suit, especially under the summer sun, but he stood up, hair drenched with sweat, as Julian got out of the passenger seat and stretched.  

Across the street, Mr. Clark was washing his truck, and his jaw dropped when he saw Hank in the driveway. Hank gave a wave and a big smile, his eyes oddly empty, and then he shuffled his way up the walk to the front door, opened the door, but waited for Julian to enter before following in after him.

Tim was sitting in a chair, smoking a cigar, and he looked up and saw Julian enter the front door. “Fuck, what the hell took you so long?”

Julian laughed, stepped to the side and let Tim get a look at his rubber clad father, grinning stupidly at them both, waiting for orders.

Tim broke out in laughter, “Holy shit! What the fuck did you do to him?”

“He’s our new rubber slave–it just took some work breaking his mind to bits is all. Slave, get down there and suck your son’s cock.”

“Yes sir,” Hank said, shuffled over with his chains scraping across the floor, got down on his knees and started sucking Tim’s cock.

“Fuck man, he’s better at it than I would have thought.”

“He had some practice already. So what do you say? Do you like your gift?”

“Fuck man,” Tim said, “I fuckin’ love it. He’s been driving me crazy lately.”

“Heh, I bet. Still, I have a few more ideas on how I could improve your relationship together, eh?” Julian said, and started massaging his crotch. While Hank kept sucking, Tim found his mind go deliciously blank, staring at Julian’s crotch, feeling all sorts of new, perverse thoughts flow into him, humiliating ideas, cruel ideas, things he would have never imagined.

“Yeah, you’re going to be one cruel master for this rubber pig, eh man?” Julian said, and stopped groping himself.

Tim sneered down at his slave, pulled his cock out and said, “Open wide, bitch,” and when his father’s mouth was open, he tapped the hot ashes from his cigar into his mouth, “Swallow.” Hank did as he was told, choking down the hot, dry dust. “Good pig,” Tim added, and grabbed the back of his father’s head, skull fucking him like a proper thug.

“Fuckin’ hot,” Julian said, came up to him, opened the fly of his jeans and let Tim suck his cock while his father blew him.

Rick took another drag off his cigarette in the alley behind the club. Tuesday, and a slow night even for a Tuesday, and another three hours before his shift was over. Hopefully someone in there would get drunk and rowdy, give him something to do. As boring as bouncing could be, when it was fun–well, it was fun. He thought about his little pet project back at home that he’d been working on for a couple of weeks now, and massaged his half hard cock through the denim of his jeans, when he heard some voices coming down the alley towards him.

“Dude, this is a gay bar though!”

“I fucking know that, but this is where he’s been going.”

“So wait, Max–big butch defensive line Max has been a closet fag this whole fuckin’ time?”

“Look, let’s just try and find him, alright?”

Rick watched the two kids from the local college some down the alley towards him. They were well built. Probably athletes, and at this time of year, most likely football. They were probably looking for his project. “Something I can help you boys with?” he said, “The alley’s off limits.”

The two football players were big–but neither of them were a match for Rick as he stood up from the steps, all six foot five and two hundred and seventy five pounds of muscle staring down at them both.

“Oh…fuck. Sorry man, it’s just…we got a bit turned around, and–hey…uh…do you work here? In the bar?”

“I’m a bouncer–why?”

“Well…a teammate of ours. His name’s Max. He was coming here off and on, and well, we haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks. Coach said he dropped out of college, but…well, he won’t even answer his phone, and his parents think he’s still at school. We’re worried something happened to him.”

The bouncer slipped a hand into his pocket where his phone was. “Huh…well, what’s the guy look like?”

“Well, he’s on the defensive line, so he’s kind of chubby. Redhead. Bushy beard.”

“He’s really loud, and he can get pretty rowdy when he gets drunk.”

Rick thought for a moment, and then shook his head, “Nope, can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that…hey, hold on, I’m getting a phone call.”

Rick pulled his phone out of his pocket, and the speaker was emitting a high pitched whine. The two students winced at the sound, but within thirty seconds, their eyes had gone blank, and both of them were swaying where they stood. “Now boys–what’s your names?”

“Alex.”

“Trevor.”

“Alright Alex and Trevor. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to forget all about Max–he did drop out. In fact, you both talked to him last week, and remember him telling you that, don’t you?”

Alex and Trevor nodded.

“Good. Now, I’d like both of you to give me your phone numbers please, so I can call you if I need anything.”

He entered their numbers into his phone, and then turned off the noise his phone was making. Both of the students shook their heads like they were waking up, Rick finished a fake phone call and hung up the phone. “Now, you boys wanted to know something?”

Alex and Trevor looked at each other, neither of them sure what they were doing in this alley with the huge bouncer, shook their heads and retreated, trying to figure out what had just happened. Rick chuckled–the meatheads were always so easy to fuck around with. His break was over, so he stamped out his cigarette and headed back into the club to finish his shift. It was as boring as he’d hoped it wouldn’t be. Finally, the club closed for the night, Rick climbed into his truck, stopped by the local pizza shop (it stayed open late just for him) picked up his five pizza standing order, and headed home.

He let himself in, setting down the pizzas by the door, and walked over to where Max was tied to a chair, eyes blank, earbuds stuffed in each ear, playing a loop of Rick’s homemade hypnosis tracks and subliminals, but he took a moment to admire his handy work, especially after seeing Alex and Trevor earlier. One of his first tasks had been to get rid of all the fucking hair on Max’s body–and now, after some special treatments, his body would be completely smooth for the rest of his life. Tonight was going to be special though–the mix he’d put on for Max to listen to had a new track he was excited to test out–finally, he pulled out the earbuds, and after a couple of minutes, Max shook his head in a daze, and looked up at Rick. The look was dread. Week one had been anger. Week two had been fear. But now, Max was learning to dread. Rick always liked that look–but he really liked what would happen in a few more weeks, when Max would start to enjoy it. When he’d look up at him eagerly, excited to find out how Rick had chosen to twist and warp his mind that day.

“How are you doing, slave? Hungry?” Rick asked.

“Yes–S–sir…”

“Still fighting that one, eh?”

“N–No sir, sorry sir…I’m not fighting anything sir.” Max had learned that resisting the hypnosis would only lead Rick to entrance him further, usually with some extra suggestion as punishment. Max had fought calling him Sir and Master at first–and so, as extra incentive, Rick had hypnotized him to feel someone squeeze down on his balls everytime he forgot. He’d figured it out pretty quickly after that.

“Well, I have dinner for you, pig, but first, I want to see how today’s files worked out. See, I thought of something special to do to you today, and I’m curious to see how it worked. So, shall we?” Rick reached down and grabbed a hold of Max’s limp cock, and Max got an odd look on his face, and then just stared at Rick.

“Well? How does it feel, pig?”

“I can’t…I don’t…what did you do to me sir? I can’t…it’s just…numb.”

“So, if I start stroking it, you mean you can’t feel any of this?” Rick said, as he toyed and stroked Max’s cock, but it stayed perfectly limp the entire time. “That’s good–very good. Just what I wanted.”

Max sniffled, holding back tears, unable to believe it. He couldn’t feel his cock at all–as far as he could tell, it’s like he didn’t even have one.

“Don’t worry pig, it’s not that I don’t want you to feel anything–I just want your attention focused somewhere else, is all,” Rick said, then reached up and ran his finger over Max’s nipple. It immediately hardened, and Max let out a sigh of pleasure. “See? A nipple pig–well, nipples and something else too.” Rick wormed a hand between the chair and Max’s ass, a finger sliding against his hole, and again Max gasped in pleasure. “Very nice, very nice indeed. I’m very happy.”

“Please…please sir, just let me go, I’m sorry…”

“Oh piggy,” Rick said, and set his hand on Max’ shaved head. Max shivered and groaned, feeling immediately submissive, his thoughts suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to serve his master. Rick unzipped his fly with his other hand, letting out his hard cock, and allowed Max to suck it. “Oh piggy, I will let you go, eventually. You’ll be your own man, although very different from the man you were. But that old, closeted Max will be gone, and instead you’ll be a horny, kinky pig bitch, begging for cock, happily tugging on your nipples all the time. But I have some news to share, pig. It’s my day off tomorrow, you know, so guess what? We’re going out on the town–you’re gonna be getting your first tattoos. Isn’t that exciting?”

Max wasn’t really listening. He was too focused on sucking his master’s cock, on serving him. The sensation of a hand on his shaved scalp–something about it made him so docile. He couldn’t help but obey whoever was palming his skull.

“But here’s what I’m really excited for. See, I’m so happy that file worked as well as it did, because I have plans for that cock of yours, pig. I’ve already made an appointment with the plastic surgeon even–we’re gonna cut this cock of yours down to size–by the time we’re done, it’s gonna be a one inch nub, permanently soft and numb. Not even a clit–cause you aren’t going to be feeling anything down there.”

Max could sense Master was getting close. His own cock was soft though–still, that didn’t matter. His cock was worthless after all. Why, he didn’t even need a cock, really. What good was a cock that couldn’t feel anything?

“And when we get to the office, if you ask me real nicely, I might ask the surgeon to go ahead and throw in a castration, turn you into a proper hog. Maybe put some steel balls in there instead to weigh down that sack of yours, keep you weak and docile for the rest of your life. Oh fuck yeah–you’re gonna fuckin’ beg me to take your balls–that’s gonna be so fuckin’ hot!”

Master was cumming, and Max sucked it all down. He was starving–he hadn’t eaten all day. Between his master’s hypnosis and his nightly binging, he was already packing on the pounds. Rick removed his hand, and Max felt some semblance of freedom return to him, but it was too late to spit out Master’s cum–not that he wanted to anyway…right? He…liked how cum tasted.

Rick stripped down to his underwear, and then pulled a chair over beside Max, and fed him all five pizzas, slice by slice, and as he did, he told Max about Alex and Trevor, and how they’d been looking for him in the alley. He wasn’t sure which one he’d start with once he was finished with Max–in fact, he might do them both together. He hadn’t made many tops lately–he kind of liked the idea of turning them into identical muscle twins. But before that, he’d be sure to invite them both over a few times so they can fuck Max at both ends for fun. Max didn’t want to think that was hot, but he did anyway.

Finally, the pizzas were gone, and Rick yawned. “Alright pig, it’s time for me to go to bed, and for you to listen some more. I have another new track for you tonight–I hope you’ll like it. I’m very excited to see how it works in the morning.”

Max begged him to not do it, but both of the earbuds were back in his ears, and in less then a minute, the pig was zoned out, listening to his master’s voice. Rick went over to his computer and adjusted the playlist, and then went to bed. He was going to have a nice day tomorrow, at least–he always liked giving these pigs their first tattoos. And with Max suddenly feeling pain as pleasure–he had a feeling Max would enjoy it quite a bit too.

Mr. Jackson wasn’t quite sure how he felt about his new tenant–in fact, he couldn’t quite remember why he’d even agreed to let him stay here in his house in the first place. To keep the bills paid, he liked to rent out his son’s old room now that he had moved out, but he generally tried to rent to someone more respectable than Randy. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he had a job, and he can’t remember ever doing an employment or a background check on him. Still, it probably wasn’t worth worrying about, right? He did need this month’s rent payment though–it was already two days late. He hadn’t really wanted to say anything about it, mostly because he wanted to interact with Randy as little possible. He heard the front door open and Randy tromped in, looking like trash, and smelling a bit like it too.

“Oh, hey Randy. Do you have this month’s rent? You’re two days late, but if you just forgot–”

“Oh, I didn’t forget, I was just waiting for you to come collect. I’ve been waiting every night, faggot. Did you forget about our deal?” Mr. Jackson looked up from his checkbook, a bit taken aback. Randy walked up to him at the kitchen table and tweaked one of his nipples. “I do like the view though, teasing me, walking around shirtless all day, showing off that old hairy gut. Pig. You’re the one who’s late though–so how about we head up to my bedroom and settle up?”

“I don’t…I think I might have missed something…” Mr. Jackson noticed that Randy was still speaking, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Still, how stupid was he? Of course they’d made a deal. Randy was unemployed at the moment, but Mr. Jackson agreed to accept his nasty cum in lieu of rent. And if Randy had been storing it up for two days now, fuck, he must have quite the payment to collect!

“I’m….sorry Randy. Let’s go settle up right…right away.” The world was lurching, and everything felt like it was moving too slowly.

“You’re already at the table though–why don’t I just feed you here?”

That…that made sense. Mr. Jackson licked his lips, watching Randy drop his muddy jeans to the kitchen floor. The briefs he had on underneath were crusty, but his uncut, seven inch cock slipped right out a whole in the front, and Mr. Jackson swallowed it down. He’d never sucked cock before, and he gagged. Randy took control, grabbing his hair and ramming the stinking shaft down Mr. Jackson’s throat. He looked up, and saw that Randy was still talking, but Mr. Jackson couldn’t understand any of it. It didn’t matter, he was just a stupid pig anyway. Yeah, just a stupid worthless piggy, and when Randy fed him his first month’s rent, Mr. Jackson begged him to pay him last months too. And since it came at the end, it only made sense to pump it deep in his piggy asshole, right?

There on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor, Randy drilling his dick into him, Mr. Jackson found himself able to hear again, hear himself snorting and grunting like a pig, rutting with his tenant. Fuck, the first time he’d seen Randy, he’d had to have him. He loved renting to nasty fucks like him. Real men who knew how to treat piggies like Mr. Jackson. His cock was leaking on the tile–Randy behind him calling him all sorts of filthy names. So many hot, filthy, piggy names.

He came, his old cock pumping out a load of pig cum onto the tile. When Randy was finished making payments, he pulled up his pants and headed up to his room, while Mr. Jackson crawled back and lapped up his own cum off the floor. Might as well pay himself too, right? He got up and sat down at the table again, sweaty and panting, but he couldn’t seem to get his head back to where it used to be. He couldn’t stop thinking about Randy, about his hot nasty tenant, and finally he got up, panting, rock hard, and went to Randy’s room, and knocked.

“Sir…I was wondering if we could maybe renegotiate the terms of your rent?”

Randy opened the door. He had on his sleeveless shirt still, but was missing his pants and underwear entirely. “And what might you have in mind pig?”

“I don’t…well, I think I’m going to have to raise the rent. Perhaps you could make a payment every…every week?”

Randy smiled. “Oh Mr. Jackson, you’re underselling yourself here. You’re too generous. I’d be happy to pay a pig like you much more than that.”

“You…You would?”

“Oh yes…” Randy said, “How about this. I’ll give you two payments every day, one at each end. And as a bonus, I’ll save all my piss for you in jugs, and you can do whatever you’d like with it. Bathe in it. Drink it. Just think of it as a tip for being such a good piggy landlord. But…well, if I’m going to be paying you so handsomely, I might need a few…well, perks myself.”

“That sounds amazing, sir…but…but what kind of perks?”

“Well, you see….I like my pigs to look a certain way, you see? And I have some ideas for you that might make you an even better piggy than you already are,” Randy stepped to the side, “But why don’t you come on in here and we can negotiate?”

It was a couple hours later, when Mr. Jackson emerged, smiling, Randy’s cum splattered across his face, knowing he had definitely gotten the best deal through some hard negotiation. He was up to three payments a day, all of Randy’s piss (which he’d had the pleasure of sampling to test it’s quality) as well as all of his filthy cum and piss stained underwear, and he would even get to give Randy a tongue bath once a week! All Mr. Jackson had to do was agree to wear leather gear at all times in the house, stop trimming his beard and hair, and go get some nasty looking tattoos.

Still, he had better get going, he had some leather gear to buy. Randy had told him about a friend of his looking to sell some spare gear, and even better, he liked getting paid in blowjobs too! It would probably require a long payment plan, but Mr. Jackson didn’t think he’d mind. He belched, tasting cum on his breath, and hurried out, already eager for tomorrow’s rent.

Sal’s Sons

[Pictured: Top left – Jack. Top Right – Sal. Bottom – Sal’s twin sons.]

“It’s odd, I didn’t even know he was moving out.”

“Well, sometimes people just need a change, right?” The older man who’d introduced himself as Sal, when Jack had approached down the hall. They were standing outside the apartment across from his, while Sal’s twin sons tromped up and down the stairs, hauling boxes and furniture, dressed in identical jean shorts and white wife beaters. Neither of them had said anything, and Sal hadn’t offered him their names. Every time they passed them, Jack couldn’t help but notice that they moved at a very careful tandem. Once, he saw one twin about to drop a box, and the twin walking in front of him swooped around and helped steady him. They could be acrobats, Jack thought idly, Well, they could be acrobats if they weren’t so fucking fat.

Sal was short and plump and his glasses seemed perpetually ready to slip from his too short nose. Jack towered over him awkwardly. No fan of small talk, Sal had him conversationally cornered into details about how long he’d spent looking for an apartment with enough room for him and his sons, how he worked from home while they went to college nearby. Jack eventually managed to slip away with the excuse that he had an early morning the next day, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could already tell he would have to do his best to avoid running into Sal if he could help it.

Over the next few weeks, however, their encounters seemed predestined. Either coming home from work or the gym, or when he was leaving with a date for the movies, he would invariably run into Sal outside the apartment or on the stairs, and the old man would forcibly engage him in conversation. It was so boring that Jack rarely remembered what the man was saying for long afterwards, but he managed to speak rapidly enough that Jack’s chances to slip away without insulting the man were few and far between. Before long, Jack would just say hi and keep walking, Sal sometimes pursuing him with his thoughts on the dinner his sons had cooked the night before, and other times just shout at him as he walked away about how he was disappointed that the apartment pool was going to be out of service until mid-summer.

Sal never seemed perturbed by this disinterest, and Jack assumed he was lonely. Three weeks later, he realized he still had no idea what the twins’ names were. He hadn’t even seen them nearly as often as Sal, and he assumed they spent much of their time at the college and away from their dad–he couldn’t blame them really, the guy was a bore even if he meant well. The worst encounter came one day when, somehow, Jack locked himself out of his apartment without his keys or his cell phone. Luckily, Sal was home to call a locksmith, but unluckily, he had to spend an hour waiting for the man to arrive in Sal’s apartment.

That something strange was going on between Sal and his son’s was dreadfully obvious, or rather, that there seemed to be something very strange going on between his sons. The twins never spoke, and Sal rarely acknowledged their existence, even as they bustled about, serving them coffee and some leftover cake. The twins moved fluidly, finishing each other’s actions, stopping and starting in perfect symmetry. Sal treated all of this as perfectly normal, and the few times Jack, attempted to engage them in the conversation, Sal interjected. “They’re very shy and don’t like speaking if they can help it, but I can answer that for you…” The locksmith finally arrived and Jack resolved to never go over there again if he could help it.

After that, jack was caught up in a wave of problems that drove any concern about Sal and his son’s to the side. Missing clothing. Items found in places where he would have never put them. He asked the landlord to change the locks on his apartment, afraid that someone had gotten his keys and copied them somehow, but without any real evidence, the lazy owners did nothing. Even if Jack was uninterested in him, Sal was omnipresent, talking at him every day in the hallways and stairwells. Laundry day was the worst, when Sal would corner him in the building’s basement for the entirely of both cycles. It was on one such day that Jack, trying to be polite, accidentally accepted an offer for an afternoon snack in Sal’s apartment. It was another awkward hour with the mysterious twins serving them coffee too sweet and creamy, and he idly wondered how Sal could speak at such a clip for so long about everything so trite. He finally escaped, returned to his apartment, and two hours later was shivering with a fever of one hundred and five, his stomach vomited empty.

Unable to sleep because of his body burning from the inside, he could only manage intermittent dreams of varying lucidity. He thought, once or twice, of calling work but the thought of first finding and then using his phone filled him with such nausea he abandoned the idea. He hallucinated that he wasn’t alone, that he was surrounded by strange beings pinning him down, ripping away his covers and examining him. Aliens? Spirits? He entered a period of weightlessness, a sensation that he was hovering through the air on a pillar of wind, a cloud, a couch. He became aware of voices in his head, or perhaps one voice and an immediate echo. The burning subsided into a perpetual, full body ache stuttered with spasms and cramps. He screamed, not as often as before. He was aware that they sounded only in his head, or perhaps he simply couldn’t hear his own voice any longer.

He woke to the sunshine on his body and it didn’t burn. He was human again, but not unchanged. He felt heavier, weaker. The voices that had been dampened by sickness hadn’t disappeared but had only gained clarity. His mind felt thick and undone. The voices told him to get up from the bed. He didn’t believe that he had the strength, and found himself caught between the echoing voices and his failure of a body. He spent hours rising, first rolling to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over (such heavy, thick legs) and pushing himself up to sitting. It felt like there was no room in his head for any thoughts of his own. Looking up, he saw a mirrored closet door, and the sight of himself–fat, short, hairy, the spitting image of one of Sal’s sons, could not raise any reaction in him because he had no room to consider it in comparison to anything else. He was no longer certain he’d ever looked different. He was no longer sure what different might mean. He had to stand up. He had to stand up and go out into the living room.

His body was recovering, but his mind continued to dissolve. His past and history was melting down and the voices reclaimed their space. He finally stood on shaky legs, adjusting naturally to the heavy gut in front of him, and slid his his feet out of the bedroom and down the hall of Sal’s apartment, father’s apartment, his apartment, to where his two brothers sat on the couch. Having fulfilled his task, his mind went quiet, allowing Jack a moment to surge back, far weaker than he should have been, he’d lost so much of himself already.

His words, he had no words for anything any longer. Before he could even mutter, the voices commanded him to never speak or else father will punish us, and his lips sealed themselves forever. Father is out, he learned. Father wants us to train today, and tonight we must be ready. His brothers began masturbating each other on the sofa, and the pleasure surged into Jack’s mind, overwhelming him once more. His own cock was as hard as theirs, and he stroked it in rhythm for a few minutes until his brother’s stood up and approached him. In a circle, they jerked each other off, their pleasures uniting as one for the sake of their father, and Jack receded further until he merged entirely into the triplet mind.

That evening, Sal returned to find his three sons patiently waiting for his return. As one, they undressed him, and he led them into his bedroom. They served him for hours, each taking their turn nursing at their father’s small cock, abusing and degrading themselves and each other for his amusement, their biological nature able to anticipate their sire’s needs and desires before he could even voice them. The youngest of them was, by now, indistinguishable from the other two in both body and mind. After his final climax, one son’s tongue buried deep in his father’s ass, while Sal sucked another’s cock and the third sucked his father, they disentangled.

“Time for dinner boys,” Sal said, “And while you’re cooking, I’ll start looking for another genetic match. I’ve always wanted to have quadruplets.”

The FAT Retreat (Part 6)

Warning: Still extreme stuff.

– Day 6 –

The flourescents flickered on in their room, and Max shielded his eyes from them, not quite able to handle their glare this morning. He rolled over, the mattress beneath him wet and cold, his cock hard and leaking as always, and looked over across the room where his son was awake already. Leon, the pig, face buried in the toilet bowl, swallowing down the muck, and aware that the lights had come on, he hauled his face up, covered in shit that dribbled down onto the rim and the floor, and he just stared at his father and master, like a dog caught with a bag of treats in it’s mouth.

To punish or not to punish? Max erred on the latter–Leon had been well behaved all week (hadn’t he? he couldn’t seem to remember much of it actually) and so he got up from the bed, stroking his cock, getting himself to the edge as he crossed the room, so that as he slid his huge cock into his son’s amazing hole he came almost immediately, and then he started fucking properly, bending over the pig’s massive, 600 pound frame to shove it’s face into the toilet bowl, giving it unspoken permission to finish its first breakfast.

Leon had drained the toilet and was licking the bowl, rim and floor clean around the toilet when the door finally slid open, and the intercom announced that it was time to eat. Max finished off his sixth orgasm, feeling slightly less horny and able to function for the moment, and yanked on Leon’s collar, telling his son to follow him out of the room.

Neither of them had clothing on. Max enjoyed parading his huge body down the hall, staring down all the men he passed. He stood at least head taller than most of them, and between his musk and his glare, everyone hurried to get out of the brute’s way, the man’s pig following behind him, shit covered face to the floor, lapping up the dribbles of cum that seeped out of it’s father’s cock as he walked, still hungry, always hungry, never big enough, always disgusting, but never enough, never good enough (for his father? For his dead father? A dream, more than a dream?) for anything more than this.

Breakfast proceeded as usual. Max ate first, and Leon cleaned up after him, eating the scraps, drinking the piss that suddenly streamed from his master’s cock as he devoured a massive chocolate cake, taking the moments in between to clean bits of Max’s body–his feet, his asscrack, his shitty cockhead. When Max was full, he turned his attention to his massive pig, positioning him next to a table and stuffing him as quickly as he could. Leon had long since become used to eating like this (Like this, he’d never eaten like this) and so he focused on swallowing it all down, knowing that the merest slip up would leave him choking on the floor, and that his father would probably just abandon him to die, not even good enough to be fed like a proper pig, and that would it, that would be everything. So he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, afraid of his father, afraid of wasting away even now, afraid of everything–a true coward of feeble mind and weaker soul.

The rest of the morning was a blur to Leon–his master paid him little attention in their only morning session–an exit interview with a doctor in a since study, a study Leon didn’t want to enter, because he could tell he didn’t belong there, that he would just ruin it all with his filth, but the doctor brought him in anyway, and he crawled gingerly accross the carpet, trying to leave as little of himself there as possible.

The doctor was very pleased with them, and Max was very pleased with the retreat–it was exactly what he and his pig slave had needed, and he felt so well rested and relaxed now, it was wonderful. The doctor was very pleased, and got up to open a window, the musk of them both combined with Max’s cigar smoke too much for him. The doctor finished by talking about them and their future plans. Of course, they would continue trucking around the culture and uploading their “cabcast” to FAT’s collection of websites. After all, men all over the world loved the saga of the huge beast of a trucker and his filthy pig son. FAT had also assembled an itinerary for the both of them over the next six months, a collection of orgies and porn shoots for Maxc, Leon, or both of them to participate in, for which FAT would pay them of course–they needed to keep up with their rising food costs somehow, right? But what about after those six months? Had they thought that far ahead yet?

“Honestly,” Max said, “I haven’t really planned very far ahead at all. I woke up feeling kind of…odd actually, like–”

“Yes, I know how things can feel, but that’s not really important. I’m sure uyou’ll feel right as rain before too long, but we really do need to discuss a few things, especially about your pig. He’s over 600 pounds now, and is gaining faster than we expected. We ought to begin planning for his eventual immobility.”

“You mean, when he can’t move at all? Hell, he’d be fucking worthless if you ask me.”

“Well, when that day comes–soon I’m sure–we’d be happy to take him off your hands. We have programs for the immobile. I can assure you your son–”

“He’s not my son.”

“Yes, well, your slave would be well cared for and have a very enjoyable life, given his interests.”

“I don’t care what you’d want to do with him to be honest.”

“Well, we have some openings remaining in our winter retreat six months from now–why don’t both of you attend, and we can see what we’d like to do about you both then. You, Max, I think will be very popular with all sorts of men–I can’t wait to see what you might do when your pig isn’t of use to you anymore.”

“Heh, well, I’d miss him a little probably, but like I said–a worthless pig is a pig I don’t want. So, are we free to go now?”

“You certainly are,” the doctor said, and indicated two bins against the wall, “The clothes you arrived in are in those bins, and your truck is outside where you parked it. I’m excited to see you in six months, it’s going to be a very exciting time, I think.”

Max rolled his eyes at the doctor, obviously impatient, and the doctor glared at him. “Subject 367, sleep now.”

Max, who had been in the midst of standing up from the chair he was in, plopped back down, his bearded shin smacking against his chest. Leon looked up at his master and over at the doctor, not sure what to do, and decided to just do nothing, and think about other things. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to the conversation, and so he never did remember what the doctor told his master, that over the next six months, Max would find himself falling deeply in love with his pig. Not just emotionally, but physically. He would find himself desiring the pig’s cum, his piss, and his shit as deeply as Leon desires his. He would hate these new feelings but find them irresitible, and the thought of being separated from his son forever would seem like the worst torture in the world.

He woke Max up after a few minutes, and sent them both on their way, reclothed in their old (new?) clothes that neither of them could quite remember wearing ever before in their lives. Max squeezed his huge body into a pair of ragged jeans, the seat brown and crusted with shit, and threw on an old denim jacket which had been crudly cut up into a vest, and lastly pulled on a pair of mud and shit crusted boots. Leon was put into the pair of overalls he’d worn for almost two years straight now, and it was nearly time to give his pig a new pair to ruin, Max figured. The knees were ripped open, Leon could barely fit his massive rolls of fat into them, and one of the straps had broken off entirely during an orgy they’d been at a year ago. Still, they smelled so good, like his pig, his son, he loved that smell so much–

Max shook his head, not at all sure where those thoughts had come from, and utterly disturbed by them. He hated that pig, he hated him more than anyone he’d ever met. There was no love for him, none at all, and the thought scared him that he, a huge alpha male, could ever love something as weak and disgusting as that.

He fucked Leon roughly in the office, right then and there, just to reassure himself of his hatred, the doctor just watching it happen, head cocked to one side, thinking. Max, his confidence restored for the moment, dragged Leon away by his lead and stormed out of the building and into the parking lot.

Leon blinked a couple of times, the glare of the sun not so different from the halogens he’d been living under for the last several days, but it seemed to stir in him something he could not recall precisely. A feeling of…excitement? The FAT headquarters loomed behind him, Max in front of him, the bookends of his life. Max was scanning the parking lot, almost like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do now that the retreat was behind him, before finally finding the thoughts to spring into action, he lumbered off towards the side of the parking lot where his rig was parked, Leon following behind on his hands and knees.

The cab smelled strangely clean. It seemed to him that the cab had always had a strong scent of his father’s messes, considering he usually drove for hours, shitting and pissing his seat, Leon’s face buried in his crotch most of the way, draining his dad’s balls for him, but it had to be their truck, right? It was probably just his memory being wrong. Besides, it would smell like home soon enough, he was certain. Max hefted himself up with considerable more ease and gave his son a rare smile. The retreat had been good for him, Leon thought, good for them both. A chance to relax and unwind for a little bit, and eat, of course.

Max turned the key and checked his itinerary–they were due for a shit orgy in Baton Rouge in two days, and then a pig party in Houston after that–checked the cameras in the cab, and pulled out. Leon smelled the piss before Max did, and leaned over, sucking it from the denim as it leaked out, and they pulled out of the parking lot, their new lives behind them, eyes on the future, and already looking forward to their next FAT retreat in a few months.

THE END