The FAT Retreat (Part 3)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day 3 –

“So tell me Leon, how do you feel about yourself? About your size?”

“What…what did you do to me? I…I don’t understand…”

“Just focus on answering the questions please. How do you feel about your size?”

Leon didn’t know how long he had been tied down, with the gas pumping into him. He didn’t know what had happened to him, he didn’t know what to do as he looked down at himself, as the massive amounts of fat hanging off of him. He was even larger than Max now and that was so…so hot! He’d always wanted to be big, right? Bigger? The biggest? But then why wasn’t he happier? Why did he have these nagging doubts that something was wrong? “I…I mean, I love being fat…right? I’m supposed to love it, but…no, I don’t…”

“You don’t love being fat?”

“No, I mean…it’s just so blurry, I don’t understand what happened…”

“Hmmm…” the doctor said, making a few marks on the clipboard he was carrying with him, and then looked thoughtfully at Leon. He was still attached to the cross where he’d been before, but the mask had been removed. It had done it’s job–Leon’s muscular physique was no more–but still, he wasn’t huge, or at least not by the standards of some of the men he’d seen at the retreat. The doctor gave him an eyeball guess of around 275 pounds, and he was very good at guessing at this point. “It seems that you still have some residual cognitive dissonance. I anticipate that the feeling will dissipate over the course of the retreat. You’ll be feeling normal in no time. Still, the sleep study you just completed shows that you’re at risk for sleep apnea, so I’m going to have to prescribe a CPAP machine for you. It’ll be in your room tonight for you to start using.”

“You mean…you mean a…a mask? I don’t want to wear a mask anymore, I don’t want to put that back on, please don’t put it back on me…”

“If you don’t, then you might suffocate in your sleep, and we can’t have that, Leon.”

Leon felt his heart catch in his throat. He knew what those machines were like–his father had had one, he’d seen him sleep with it many times, and that was one reason he’d promised to never get fat…right? But then why is he fat now? And why…why does he kind of like it? Why did he kind of want to get bigger? “What’s happened to me? I don’t want this…not this…”

The doctor looked at him thoughtfully for a second. “Why don’t you want this, Leon?”

“I’m fucking scared shitless, you fucker!” Leon shouted, “Fucking look at me! I’m gonna fucking die!. I’m gonna get fucking diabetes, and my legs and arms are gonna fall off, and this fucking fat is gonna crush the fucking life out of me, and…” Leon tried to continue, but he was sobbing now, and it was the truth. He was terrified. As much as he loved being fat, as much as he wanted to get fatter, the terror of his father haunted him, and the doctor nodded a few times, and then came up and unbuckled Leon’s restraints. “Alright, well, for your first session this morning, I’m prescribing some MentCon–you seem to have some issues you need help sorting out.”

Leon almost fell over when the doctor released him, his legs and arms were numb from being pinned in position, and the doctor helped him into a wheelchair and wheeled him out of the lab, Leon embarrassed to be seen being wheeled around like a mound of trash, and even though he insisted that he could walk, the doctor ignored him and pushed him down several hallways until they came to a series of room labeled MentCon, and he pushed him into one, where he found himself in a cozy office with a large gentleman sitting behind a desk. “Good morning,” the man said, smiling warmly at Leon, and then looked up at the doctor, “What have you got for me?”

“Classic Pocrescophobia. I figured you would be the best for that.”

“Oh I love those–he’ll be as right as rain by lunchtime.”

The therapist left Leon in the wheelchair, and left the office, and he looked around nervously, before hefting himself up out of the chair, aghast at being wheeled around like an invalid.

“That really isn’t necessary, subject 436–have a seat.”

Leon didn’t pay him any mind, and walked over to a wide mirror on the wall and looked at himself. He was still naked–aside from his collar. No one had even bothered to dress him. Looking at his reflection, he was so beautifully fat, but then why was he so terrified? Still, he could look even better. Maybe with another hundred pounds…or maybe two hundred…The thought terrified him, but he couldn’t stop, imagining himself the size of Max–now there was a big man, what a fucking hot piece of meat his roommate was. He wished he’d played around with him when he’d had the chance.

The therapist settled back down behind his desk, and flipped through Leon’s file that the doctor had left behind. “Hmmm…subject 436, would you be so kind as to lay down on the couch for me over there?” Leon looked at the couch by the desk, and unable to resist the command, he waddled over and gingerly sat down on the couch, wondering if he would be able to get back up if he laid down, but he did as the therapist asked. He helped him breathe and relax for a few moments, and then he said into his bracelet, “Sleep, subject 436,” and Leon eyes flickered shut.

“Subject 436, tell me–do you know why you are so afraid of being fat?”

In his slumber, Leon tried to keep a handle on everything he’d kept bottled up for so long, but between the hypnotic compulsion and the terror of the last few days, everything came spilling out. How he’d watched his obese father slowly succumb to diabetes, how he’d hated watching him kill himself with food, how he’d sworn that he would never let that same fate happen to him. However, as it flooded out of him, the therapist started contradicting him, started muddling things up. What had seemed so clear to him before started to seem hazy. He couldn’t remember much of anything about his father, suddenly, and as his memory faded, the fear faded too, like someone had taken it and thrown a thick rug over it, enough to smash it flat and make it unnoticible, and it felt like a great relief, to not have to be afraid any longer, but then the therapist kept talking, filling his head with new memories, and new fears. How he’d been hungry his entire childhood, how he’d spent it terrified that he might go hungry, that he might wither away if he didn’t eat as much as he could, all the time. How he’d always envied fat people, and from that, grown attracted to them. He wanted to be fat more than anything–it didn’t matter what the risks were, it didn’t matter what might happen to him, so long as he kept growing.

A realization came to Leon as he listened to the therapist, a growing knot in him, and he realized he was hungry. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t even remember when his last meal had been, and that filled him with such terror that he flung himself awake from his trance in a panic, and didn’t stop muttering and crying until the therapist dug out a bag of chips from the bin behind his desk and gave it to Leon, who started devouring the chips, and the therapist assured him that his fears were completely legitimate. He should want to be fat, after all, what was the alternative? Wasting away into a stick? Leon couldn’t agree more, and he was so happy that the therapist understood what he was feeling.

“I just feel like a giant weight has been lifted off of me,” Leon said between fistfulls of chips, “I’ so happy that there are other people like me.”

“Yes, there are more of us than you might have realized,” the therapist said, getting up from behind the desk and walking over to Leon. Like all of the people working the retreat, the therapist was a large man, and Leon found himself watching him walk over, his belly jiggling with every step, the therapist reaching down to tweak his nipples with his hands. Leon really wanted to jack off–he was so horny–but the hunger wouldn’t abate, and he had to keep eating–he had to not starve. “You know,” the therapist said, “I saw your roommate, subject 367, last night–Max, right? Tell me, what do you think of Max?”

“I…I suppose he’s hot. But we only saw each other for a little while, when I got here. We didn’t have a chance to…uh…do anything, really.”

“Still, what would you like to do with him? Do you think he’s attractive?”

“I…I mean, yeah…he’s really big. I’d like to be as big as him one day.”

“I bet you would,” the therapist said, dropping his hand down and kneading Leon’s comparatively small gut. He was starting to breathe quickly, being this close to such a large man, but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop eating the chips, at least until he reached the bottom of the bag and emptied the crumbs into his mouth.

“Do…do you have anything else?” Leon asked in a whisper, feeling the therapist press his gut into his chest, “I…I’m still hungry.”

“Sleep subject 436,” the therapist said, and watched Leon’s eyes flicker shut. “subject 436–for the next hour, you are no longer Leon. You are just a dumb fat whore with no name at all–all you care about is sucking cock and begging men to fuck your fat ass.”

“Y–yes sir…” Leon said, and when the therapist slid his thick cock into Leon’s slack mouth, he came alive–sucking it for all it was worth, listening to the therapist moan, happy that he was sucking cock, happy that he was nothing more than a dumb, fat whore. The therapist dragged him off the couch and made the whore beg him for his cock, licking his dress shoes first, tasting the shoe shine on them, before the therapist finally gave in and fucking him roughly, the whore begging him to fuck him harder, and harder still.

Leon woke up on the floor, his mouth and ass sore, but feeling refreshed and not at all worried about what might have happened. He’d just fallen off the couch after all, and the therapist was helpful enough to help him up from the ground.

“Yes subject 436, I think the Fat Action Team is just the place for you–we’ll take good care of you, I promise. Now, it’s almost time for lunch–why don’t you go eat something more substantial?”

The thought of lunch already had Leon salivating, and he struggled up from the couch, fighting against his new gut, and he lumbered out the door naked, cum dribbling from his ass and down the inside of his thighs. He headed down the hall, not paying the therapist any more mind, joining the throng of men as they headed towards the massive mess hall. He lost himself there, in the tables laden with food, desperate to fill the pit of fear in his gut with something–anything–and he gorged like he’d never eaten before, and knowing that he was working to make himself bigger, knowing that today, he wasn’t going to wither, it was making him hard, and he had to pause for a moment to reach underneath his gut, jacking his cock with one food coated hand, shoving cake into his mouth with the other, until he came violently, and returned to the feast.

Still, it ended too soon, but he was ferried towards the doors with the rest, sorting himself into the proper doorway, where the men directed him to Metabolics Lab 15. When he arrived, however, he discovered that he wasn’t alone, like he had been before. In the room was close to a dozen subjects, and they could be easily split into two groups–guys like him, who were relatively clean, and then a set of guys who were filthier than he could even imagine. It took him a moment to recognize one of the men in the other group–it was Max, but his clothing was soaked through with sweat, and he watched as his roommate let off a massive fart, and then sat back into the stench, moaning and massaging his crotch as he did, letting off a huge belch afterwards. It was disgusting, and he couldn’t believe he’d been fantasizing about him in the therapist’s office. How in the hell had he become such a mess in just one day? Had he been out even longer than he’d thought?

They waited for a few minutes, until a few more people arrived for the session, and by then the smell in the room was horrendous, and Leon could see that he wasn’t the only person disgusted by the filthy, fat men in the room. Still, each of them were all sat down and secured into chairs, the clean men facing the filthy ones across the room, but while the clean men were only fitted with masks like the one which had fattened Leon up overnight, something he was increasingly thankful for, considering how close he had been to starving himself, the filthy men across from them were given some sort of injection, and sealed into some kind of glass pod.

As soon as the pods were sealed, Leon saw Max, who was directly across from him, start to writhe in something between pain and ecstasy, and he watched as his roommate suddenly pissed himself in the capsule, the piss puddling around his feet at the bottom of the pod, and then he was cumming as well, huge amounts of semen flowing into the growing puddle as well, and while he couldn’t hear it, or smell it, it looked like he was belching and farting a massive amount, and the thick cigar Max was smoking quickly shrouded the entire pod in a heavy haze. Then, suddenly, he could smell it. It was like the mask he had on had a direct line to Max’s pod, and the funk of his roommate’s body, fluids, and smoke drove it’s way into his lungs, and he tried to gag, but before he could, he started feeling light headed, like he’d felt from the fat gas, and it wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it was kind of hot, smelling Max’s filthy body, and somehow he knew it was Max, but he couldn’t say why–some residual memory of the cigar smoke from that first night, some hidden remembrance of the man’s subtle BO, but heightened a thousand fold now, and pumped into his lungs, making his cock harder than it had ever been, and unable to stop himself,he spasmed in the chair, and came, shooting across his fat thighs.

He wasn’t alone either–all of the clean men were succumbing to the ecstasy of the filthy men across from them, and they came over and over again. They came again when drains opened up in the bottom of the pods, sucking down the pool of piss and cum that had collected there and pumped it directly into their masks, forcing them all to swallow it down, not that they had any interest in objecting. Some of them began cumming at a near constant clip, and one on the far end actually drained his balls, dry cumming over and over again, nearly seizing in pleasure.

And then, it was over–but not really. Leon had been profoundly changed by his experience, and he fought with him restraints as the doctor freed him from the chair, and he rushed over to Max, getting down and licking the sweat from his wide belly, burying his face into the trucker’s stinking flab, and he came again without even touching himself, and the men all left the lab in pairs, heading to dinner, but Leon spent nearly as much time behind Max sniffing down his farts and cleaning his crack as he did at the table, stuffing his face, the fear still gnawing away at his bones. He was bigger than he’d ever been in his life, but he was still too small, he could still starve, he just wasn’t big enough–would never be big enough to keep the fear away, but at least he could eat, and Max helped him, stuffing his face before belching down his throat, watching Leon swallow down his gas, cumming again, splattering the floor with his seed.

Leon didn’t really remember how he and Max got back to their room–his obsession with Max’s body refused to abate. Every time he smelled him it was like the first time. He would do anything to be near him, he suddenly couldn’t even imagine being apart from him. Back in their room, still without even speaking to each other, Max sat down on the toilet and Leon knelt in front of him, drinking down his piss and then drinking in his farts, the stench of Max’s shit, licked his body clean for him, and finally, after what felt like hours, long after the lights had clicked off, the two of them found their drives winding down, and they were able to regain some of their self-control.

Fumbling in the dark, they discovered that their bunk beds had been replaced with a single king, but neither of them minded. Leon didn’t think he would have been able to sleep away from Max at all. They laid down on the bed together, but Leon felt a strange panic start growing in him as he laid there, coupled with a hard time breathing, and he groped around his side of the bed until he felt something plastic he recognized by feeling as a mask. Of course, he’d have to wear that to sleep now, how could he have forgotten? He pulled on his C-PAP mask, and felt air push it’s way against his face, the sickly sweet smell of fat from his night long growth, coupled with Max’s musk. The big trucker rolled over next to him and spooned him from behind, and the two massive men fell asleep, exhausted, unable to even wonder what the rest of the retreat may have in store for them.

The FAT Retreat (Part 2)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gift for Gaynerpig

– Day Two –

The lights in the room turned on suddenly, and Max snorted himself awake in the lower bunk, and looked around, momentarily confused about where he was. A voice came on from the PA in the room:

Good morning FAT members. Breakfast is scheduled in half an hour. Please be dressed and ready at the door in that time, clothing has been provided for you in your rooms.

Max hefted himself up off the bed and took a moment to rub his gut. He was getting so big now, he loved it. He could only vaguely remember his life before his first FAT meeting, how he’d always felt so guilty about his size, but no longer–now he just wanted to get bigger, and the videos he’d seen of himself on the web were so hot he couldn’t wait to star in a few more. He secretly hoped, though, that he wasn’t going to be staring in any with Leon–the slim guy just wasn’t his type at all. Thinking about Leon, he got up off the bed and looked in the top bunk, but it was empty–and he looked around his room, and there was no sign of his bunkmate anywhere. That was certainly strange, but he didn’t think too much of it–there was probably some sort of rational reason for his disappearance. Still, the young man had been pretty delusional–no one was here under duress after all–so he hoped he hadn’t run off or something.

Max looked around, and saw that a loose fitting shirt and some sweats had been hung on a bar by the door, and Max looked around, puzzled about where the clothes he’d been wearing the day before had gone. He gave a shrug, took a moment to use the toilet, and then pulled on his clothing. The clothes were very big on him, even at his size, and the shirt had a number printed in a large typeface on both sides, “367” but he didn’t know what that meant. He sat down on his bunk for a few minutes and smoked one of several cigars he found in his sweats pocket, until the door slid open, and he got up again and looked out into the hallway, as the voice spoke again:

FAT members, please follow the yellow lights lining the top of the walls to the mess hall. After breakfast, you will be directed to your first personalized session of the retreat.

The hallway was already packed with men, all of them around Max’s size, trudging down the hallway, and Max pushed his way into the throng and followed the current, seeing the yellow lights guiding their path up where the walls met the ceiling, and after a short walk, the hallway emptied out into a massive room which reminded Max of an airplane hanger with a horribly low ceiling. Still, the smells! He was starving, and pushing forward he could see that the tables were heaped with food of all kinds–it seemed like each was set differently, and while he wanted to look at them all and see what each offered, he saw that the mass of men was already crowding around the tables, not even using the chairs and benches, and he got the sudden sense that if he did not choose now, he would eat nothing, like a massive game of musical chairs, the runt who didn’t get to the bitch’s nipple in time. The fear of not eating raced through him, and he shoved his way up to the nearest table and simply ate–it didn’t matter what he was eating, all that mattered was that he didn’t go hungry. The competition of the feed consumed him for the next three hours, as the men ate each and every table in the room down to scraps, demolishing one before moving onto the next which was relatively unoccupied, and by the end of breakfast time they milled about, none of them hungry, and yet all of them desperate to eat, plucking scraps off the empty tables, biding time, and the men turned their attention to each other, eyeing each other guts appreciatively, and a few brasher men began kissing, licking the leftover food from each other’s faces, and perhaps smearing a glob of butter on another’s penis, feeling their fat shiver as they jacked them quickly.

Sensing the restlessness of the room, at least ten doors on both the long sides of the mess hall slid open, and the voice came on again:

FAT members, on your shirt is your subject number for the duration of the retreat. Please make your way to the gate your number falls within, and you will be directed to your first FAT session.

Max looked down at his shirt, and saw it was covered with food, but wiping some of it away he could make out his number, and pushed his way through the crowd to the gate marked “350-400” and queued up, where they were slowly filed through, and Max was collected by a robust man in a white lab coat and escorted down several hallways until they came to a small laboratory labeled “Metabolics Lab #3”. There was one other subject there already, slightly smaller than Max, in one of the chairs of the room, and a young, cubbish lab assistant was strapping him to the chair. The man who’d escorted him sat Max in the next seat, and when the assistant finished with the first man, he began securing Max to the seat, and he got a little scared. He’d participated in one light bondage flick with FAT, but this seemed a bit strange. Two more men were eventually escorted into the lab and similarly secured, before the door slid closed and the doctor came over.

“Welcome gentlemen,” he said, “We will be starting you off with a metabolic manipulation this morning. This will require several subcutaneous and intravenous injections, and then we will monitor your progress over the next three hours, to insure there are no unwanted effects.”

“Wait, injections?” one of the men in the room said, “I hate needles.”

The doctor simply ignored him, and he and the assistant progressed down the line, giving each man a number of injections in many parts of their bodies, and the first man, the one with the fear of needles, gave the greatest struggle, but otherwise the process was rather smooth, and after the shots had been given, the assistant and the doctor retreated back behind a row of computers to observe, though it wasn’t long before the doctor had his hands down the chubby cub’s pants and his tongue down the younger man’s throat.

The four men in the room, meanwhile, were watching the scene, all of them turned on, and Max noticed that he was starting to sweat. The temperature in the lab wasn’t too great, and yet in a matter of minutes, his shirt was nearly soaked through, and his hair and beard were sopping wet. Looking at the other men, he saw that they were all in a similar condition, their food stained shirts matted to their bodies, and then they started to smell. It started as a fairly normal scent of body odor, but as the hours passed, it grew worse and worse, until each of the men had started to feel a bit sick to their stomachs.

“Oh god, what the…is this normal?” one of the men said, as another retched a bit from the fuck rolling off his body.

“Yes… oh fuck yes…” the doctor said from the floor behind the computers where he was fucking the cub’s ass, but none of the men knew whether he was talking about them or not. Finally, the doctor and the cub finished up, and they started walking from man to man, examining them in turn, giving them each a pill to help with the nausea, and took samples of their sweat on cotton swabs from various areas of their bodies, especially their armpits, crotch and ass crack, and set them aside.

Max kept hoping the sweating would stop, but it seemed to only grow worse, and he was actually getting thirsty. Sensing their need, the doctor and assistant helped keep them hydrated, and by the end of the first session, all of the men were reeking like they hadn’t showered in weeks. The doctor checked the time, and started unbuckling the straps on each of the men, “Alright, everything looks normal–go have lunch, your first session is over.”

“Wait, what?” one of the men said, “You’re just…I mean, when will I stop sweating like this?”

“Yeah, I mean, this is kind of gross…” Max said.

“Don’t worry gentlemen, everything will be taken care of. Go enjoy lunch, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

They were all hungry, but that was nothing new. Still, the four of them left the room and followed the yellow lights back to the mess hall, where they all devoured another meal, trying not to be alarmed by their new scent. The men in the room all seemed disconcerted for various reasons, but Max was too busy feeling embarrassed by his stink to think about what everyone else must have been going through, and he tried to find tables which were lightly packed, because every time he pushed up next to someone, they would retch or give him the worst scowl, and it made him feel awful.

Lunch ended eventually, and he made his way back to the gate, where a different sort of man escorted him off. Instead of being dressed in a labcoat, he was simply dressed in a business suit, and appeared unfazed by Max’s new stench, which he was thankful for. The man even offered him a cigar as they walked, and they arrived in a cozy looking office labeled “Mental Conditioning Rm. 33”, with a cushy armchair facing a massive TV mounted on the wall. The man had Max sit down in the chair, and then dimmed the lights, but before Max could ask what was going on, the TV turned on and a massive prismatic spiral drew him in within seconds, and Max’s entire world collapsed, but off in the distance, he could almost make out the suited man talking to him, telling him how much he loved his filthy stink, how smelling like a sweat and cum stained rag turned him on, how he smoked nearly constantly and loved the stench of strong tobacco, and how he refused to shower, wash his hands, brush his teeth, or even change his clothes, preferring to be as dirty and grimy as possible.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he came back to himself, the lights were back up and the TV was off, like no time had passed at all, and he took a deep inhale of his stench, and let out a sigh of pleasure, his cock hardening beneath his belly.

“Alright subject 367, I just need to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”

“Huh? Oh…uh…sure…” Max said, but he was more interested in his armpit for some reason, and he lifted an arm and took a deep sniff of the funk there, and then licked up his own sweat with a moan.

“Alright, on a scale of one to ten, with one being low and ten being high, please tell me how much you like your current hygiene level.”

“Fuck, can I answer eleven? I smell so fuckin’ hot…” Max said, and unable to help himself, reached into his pants and started groping at his cock. “Oh yeah, definitely a…well,, maybe a nine, but only because I bet I…I bet I can get even filthier, oh fuck…”

“Now, how many showers would you say you plan to take in the next month.”

“None, I don’t shower ever.”

“Alright, and how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“You mean, like, when I take a shit?”

“Yes.”

“Uh…I guess not very often. Maybe if it’s a real messy one, but not usually.”

“Sleep, subject 367,” the doctor said, and Max’s eyes went blank, “You do not wipe your ass after taking a shit. Never. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir…”

“Wake subject 367,” Max jolted up again, and without missing a beat the man repeated his question, “Subject 367, how frequently do you wipe after defecating?”

“Oh, never. My underwear takes care of that.”

“Alright. Now, how often do you change your clothes?”

“I don’t. I fuckin’ love wearin’ clothes until they’re stinkin’ rags.”

“And you’re a smoker, right?”

“I am–cigars, preferably.”

“What kind of cigars do you like to smoke, 367?”

“Oh man, the smellier the better. They’d better reek, and make me reek too, for hours after I’m done with them…speaking of which…” Max added, figiting a bit, “Do you mind if I light up? Feels like I haven’t smoked in hours.”

“Well, I suspect you haven’t. And here, try one of these, I’m sure you’ll like them, given your tastes.” The doctor handed him a large, rough cigar, and the smoke was far more acrid and thick than Max was used to, but man did it stink. It was giving him a hard on, sitting in a cloud of foul smoke and musk, and the doctor, smiling a bit, got up and shoved a hand down the front of Max’s sweat soaked pants, into his gummy fatpad and jacked him off quickly, Max happy for the attention, even if the suddenness left him feeling a bit uneasy. The doctor wiped his cum soaked hand across Max’s beard, letting him lick the last bit off his fingers, before sitting down again.

‘Alright 367, everything seems to be in order. Just one last question. How important is it for a sexual partner to approve of your hygiene?”

“Oh, very important, man, I need a man who fuckin’ loves my stinkin’ body like I do.”

“Alright, it looks like you check out. Why don’t you go to dinner?”

“Dinner?” Max asked, “But I just ate lunch, like, half an hour ago.”

“Lunch was three hours ago. Now, go on and eat, and then return to your room. You’ve had a long day.”

A bit confused, Max got up out of the chair and followed the throngs of men outside the door to the mess hall, where he devoured another massive meal, but this time, instead of avoiding people, he pushed his way into the throngs, loving how his stench could drive men away, letting him get closer than anyone else. After eating way too much, even for himself, Max waddled off back to his room and lumbered inside, where the first thing he did was take a massive shit, and then he sat on the toilet, smelling the stench and jacked off, wiping the cum on his sweaty gut and into his gunt, enjoying the sticky feeling, before getting off and flushing. Then, he stripped out of his clothes and laid down on the bunk, smoking cigar after cigar while jacking off over and over, licking up his sweat and smelling his funk for several hours before finally collapsing and falling asleep long after the lights had turned off, wondering what the next day would have in store for him.

Bob was always on the hunt for a good workout music mix, something that would keep him going, but nothing that would draw his focus away from his workout. He’d been working out for a few months now, and he liked the progress he’d made, dropping some weight off and gaining some energy, but the weekly routine was starting to wear on him. He tried a few playlists over the next week, but he didn’t really enjoy any of them until he found a link to a “Zone Out Mix” on a weightlifting website.

He gave it a try during his next workout, and zone out was definitely an accurate description. He accidentally ended up staying at the gym for an extra hour, and he hadn’t even noticed. He couldn’t actually recall what the music on the playlist had been, and the thing came as one long playlist, so he couldn’t break it apart. Still, it became his regular workout track, and before long his four days at the gym had become six, and his hour and a half routine had grown to three. In fact, the gym had started cutting into some of his friendships, and he ended up cutting off his girlfriend of two years. She’d been harping about him going to the gym all the time, but he needed to get bigger, right? That was all that was really important.

It was soon after he’d broken up with her that the insomnia started. He was getting maybe two or three hours of sleep a night, and it was getting hard to focus at work, and the zone out mix was the only thing that kept him going to the gym. Now, he could barely remember being at the gym anymore. He’d put the mix on as he left his apartment to jog to the gym, and would come to back in his apartment three or four hours later, exhausted, every muscle on fire.

On one sleepless night, on the internet, he found another file by the guy who’d made the Zone Out Mix, a track designed to help people sleep. Desperate for a good night’s rest at this point, he downloaded it and listened to it on his earbuds, and had the first restful night he’d had in weeks. Thankful, he also found a second Zone Out Mix, and downloaded that as well. Before too long, his periods of lucidity were growing fewer and farther between. He woke up in the bathroom staring at his muscular body, and saw that he’d shaven off all of his hair–all of it. His scalp, his beard, his body, his pubes. Still, it looked real damn good.

Another time, he came to on his bed, a thick, seven inch dildo rammed deep in his ass. He yanked it out, terrified of what he was doing, but zoned out again almost immediately, and came to hours later, coated in his own cum, and from that moment on, going without something in his ass was nearly impossible. He never met his master–eventually, he simply zoned out so deep that he never came back. He abandoned his apartment and moved in with his master across the country, just another muscle beast working out all day, and pimped out to wealthy men every night, eyes empty, mouth drooling around the parade of cocks that were rammed down his throat, happy as could be.

The FAT Retreat (Part 1)

by Wesley Bracken

Commissioned by / Gifted to Gaynerpig

– Forward –

So, a while back, Gaynerpig told me he wanted to expand two captions I’d done into longer pieces, the first, about the Fat Action Team, and the second about this young man’s gassing experience. I suggested that we try and put the two together into one story, and, as things sometimes to, it ran a bit longer than I’d been expecting. So, he did commission some of it, but mostly it’s just a gift from me to him, and hopefully a few of you. Enjoy.

– Day One –

“No, you don’t understand! You hired me so you could test out a new training program! I mean, please, do I look like I belong in a fucking fat camp?” Leon said, protesting as the two white suited orderlies came up behind him.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Grindel, but our programs are non-refundable, and the contract we sent you, which you signed here, is still binding. I’m going to have to ask you to stay for the entire camp–don’t worry, after a few days, you’ll understand how much you need the Fat Action Team,” the chubby, suited man behind the information table said, and waved the large man in line behind Leon forward to the registration table.

Leon backed up, but ran right into the belly of the first orderly and swung around. Leon was by no means small–a few inches over six feet and massive–he’d been building muscle for years, working out in his family’s shed from the first time he’d realized he could make his body look like the ones he’d seen in the muscle magazines he used to flip through on shopping trips with his mom. He’d just gotten his body fat down to seven percent, and he was looking better than he ever had in his life, but he’d really needed a second job, and so he’d jumped at the opportunity to be a counselor at a fat camp, or at least that’s what he’d thought he’d been signing up for. These creeps thought he was supposed to be attending the camp instead of leading it! Still, the man blocking his way was a bit taller than him and hugely fat–probably close to three hundred pounds–but his body was also packed with muscle. At 180 pounds, Leon figured he would have a hard time fighting him, because of the orderlies’ weight advantage.

“Sir, if you could come with us, we’ll show you to your room.”

“No, this is bullshit–I’m leaving,” Leon said, and tried to step around him, but the second orderly stepped up, blocking his path again, and Leon just tried to push his way between them, which ended up being a mistake, as one of the men grabbed him in a big bear hug while the second slipped a metal collar around his neck and sealed it in place in some manner that he couldn’t fathom, when the orderly released him and he tried to figure out how to undo the collar. “What the fuck is this?” he shouted, “I’m calling the police.”

The first orderly raised his wrist, where a small metal bracelet was clasped, and spoke into it, “Subject 436, follow us to your room.”

Leon didn’t really know how to describe what happened next, other than he found himself compelled to walk after the men down the hallways of the massive complex, which seemed to be more of a science facility than a fat camp. In fact, as the walked down numerous hallways, he passed by several open doors that led into white, sterile research labs of some sort, and he felt a pang of fear that he couldn’t quite describe. What in the world had he gotten himself into? Still, he protested loudly making sure everyone in earshot knew he was there against his will, and asked the people he passed to help him, but none of the doctors–all of them male, and all of them overweight, bothered to even look up from their clipboards as Leon passed them.

Finally after what had seemed like ages of seamless hallways–Leon didn’t even think he would be able to find his way back out if the collar would let him try and escape, which he figured it probably wouldn’t. The orderlies eventually stopped in front of a door and it slid open, the first speaking into his bracelet again, “Subject 436, enter your room and remain inside of it until you are collected for your first session tomorrow morning. Do not try to escape.”

Leon entered the room, and the door slid closed behind him, melding almost seamlessly with the white wall, but he couldn’t even look for some way to open it back up–the collar wouldn’t let the thought of getting out translate into any sort of action. Instead, he sat down on the bunk bed–the only furniture in the room besides a single toilet with no privacy screen–reminding him more of a prison cell that anything else, and tried desperately to get the collar off of his neck. Still, he couldn’t find a seam anywhere–if felt like one perfectly round circle of metal, and every time he tried to get a grip on it, it felt like the metal actually contracted around his neck, threatening to choke him if he kept at it. Unable to get the collar off, and unable to explore the room far before finding himself restrained by the order to not escape, he used the toilet and then laid down on the bed, trying to sleep, but the light permeated the room, and the terror and confusion he was feeling refused to leave him. When the door finally slid open, he honestly thought for a moment that it might be morning, but then a massively fat man smoking a cigar stepped into the room, looked over at Leon and smiled, “Hi! You must be my roommate, the name’s Max.”

Leon wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this development–he thought about the possibility that he’d get a roommate given the bunk bed, but he’d expected it to be someone like him, muscular and also there under duress, but Max didn’t even have a collar, and he looked relaxed and unworried about what was happening. “Ok, what’s the fucking deal with this? Did they give you a collar, or what?”

“A collar?” Max asked, not quite understanding what Leon was talking about until he saw the metal around Leon’s neck, and then he rolled his eyes, “Oh, I got put with a newbie–now I get it.”

“A newbie? You mean you’ve done this before?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been a FAT member for about a year now,” Max said, and gave his huge, fat belly a hard slap, “Looking good, right?”

“Wait, you’ve been a member for a year, and you look like this?”

“Trust me, it’s taken a lot of work.”

Leon wondered how big Max must have been to begin with, if this three or four hundred pound frame was an improvement. “Well…keep working at it, I guess…” he said, and then added, “So wait, none of this seems strange to you? You actually want to be here?”

“Trust me, I know how it is when you attend your first event–I’m surprised they have any newbies here actually–I thought this retreat was by invitation only.”

“Well, I thought I was going to be hired as a counselor in an experimental training program–” Leon stared to say, and then Max laughed, “What?”

“Oh, just the thought of someone looking like you being a counselor–dang, you’re a bit delusional.”

“You’re the fucking delusional one!” Leon said, “They put this collar on me, and they’re fucking controlling me somehow! What the fuck is going on–what do you know that I don’t?”

Max took a drag off his cigar and just shook his head, “Fucking newbies.” Just then, a voice came on over the loudspeaker, in the room, and announced that lights out would commence in half an hour. “Guess we might as well get ready for bed then, eh?” Max added, “How about you take the top bunk–I doubt I could even get up there.”

Leon was still utterly confused by what was going on, but he agreed, and climbed up onto the top bunk, wondering what the hell was going to happen to him. His worry was interrupted by a loud grunt from Max, and he realized the big man was on the toilet, shitting, and he tried not to think about it, and before too long there was a five minute warning for lights out, and a few minutes later, they were plunged into darkness.

Leon still couldn’t sleep at all–and the fact that Max snored loud enough to wake the dead didn’t help. He must have laid awake for hours, and the lights in the room were still out when the door to the room slid open silently–Leon wouldn’t have even noticed if not for the sudden rectangle of light that appeared on the floor, and he got down quickly out of bed–still in only his underwear, and peeked around the corner, before leaving the room and walking quickly down the unattended hallway in the direction he hoped the exit was.

However, he’d taken a few steps when he realized he wasn’t walking of his own volition–his feet were moving for him, just like they had with the orderlies, and he realized that he wasn’t escaping at all–he was going somewhere. Somehow his feet knew where to go, and they walked deeper into the complex before finally arriving at a staffed lab, and he walked in, finding a couple of doctors in labcoats looking at some computer monitors. “Sir, the subject is here,” one of them said, and a fatter doctor with a bushy white beard, looked over at Leon and smiled, “Ah, Subject 436, welcome. I’m glad you found us alright.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Well, that’s true, but still, in a day or two we won’t need that collar on you at all. Now, subject 436, if you’d be so kind as to follow me, we’ll get you situated.”

It sounded like a kind enough request, but the doctor spoke into a bracelet identical to the one the orderly had used, compelling Leon to follow him into the middle of the lab, where he found himself strapped to some sort of cross shaped like an “X” with a series of plastic straps. After he was situated, the doctor took some scissors and cut away his underwear, leaving him completely naked, and then the doctor secured some sort of mask over his nose and mouth, which fed had a tube connected to a series of massive metal tanks of some sort of gas against one wall of the lab.

“Alright,” the doctor said, “Are we recording? We know we don’t want this to be like the last trial–no recording means fewer subscriptions. We want the full narrative on this one.We’re good?”

“Yes sir, all cameras are recording.”

“Good. Then lets begin the administration of gas batch #36.”

Leon watched as the clear tube filled with some sort of grey-black smoke, drawn down into his mask, but he held his breath for as long as he could, before finally inhaling as shallowly as he could. The smell of it was almost sickly sweet but with a strange burnt tinge, like caramel that had gone a bit too long on the stove. Still, it didn’t smell harmful, and he didn’t really have much choice after the doctor ordered him to simply breathe normally. He did for a few minutes, and as he did, he began to feel a strange tingling sensation all over his body. At first he thought it was just the discomfort from being strapped in such a strange position, but the tingling changed into something else strange, almost like a bubbling underneath his skin. He could still move his neck, and he looked down at his belly and nearly threw up–it looked almost like there were worms crawling beneath his skin, slowly squirming over his muscle, but as soon as they settled, they seemed to sag and dissolve away, and yet, after an hour of fascinated watching, he realized that the worms were something else–it was fat. Already, his six pack had become barely a two pack, the rest of it obscured by the beginnings of a paunch, and the rest of him was putting on weight as well. He tried fighting and struggling, but orders from the doctor to remain calm and not struggle had more power than his growing panic. What sort of experiment had he volunteered for exactly?

“Alright subject 436, we have a baseline, and it looks like you’re accepting batch #36 as we’d expected. Now, it’s time for your first round of conditioning,” the doctor said. He brought over a set of goggles which he fastened over Leon’s eyes, blocking out all of the light, and the a set of heavy headphones which shut out all of the sound from the room around him. He struggled for a second, trying to dislodge one or the other, but a few seconds later, the screen inside the goggles leapt to life with a massive swirl of bright color, too dazzling for him to keep his eyes open, and yet he couldn’t blink. In fact, he couldn’t do anything–his body had gone completely relaxed, and in his mind, he fought back as hard as he could, trying to regain control, but even that was becoming difficult. It was so much easier just to let himself be sucked in, just let himself be washed away. He could hear something as well, someone saying something, but he didn’t know what. It didn’t matter, he just needed to listen and watch and obey, always obey.

Time disappeared for him. It could have been a minute, or hours, or days even, in front of that screen. Eventually, the lights faded away, leaving him with a bright afterimage in the darkness of the goggles, the silence of the headphones lifted as the scientist removed them, and then the goggles, and when Leon saw him standing in front of him, his heart immediately leapt up into his throat. This massively fat man in a lab coat, the man who had so disgusted him when the goggles had gone on, was now…so amazingly sexy. Leon had a hard on before he could even try to control himself, and looking down, he quickly realized that he could barely see his cock. The two pack he’d sported when the goggles went on had grown substantially, and now could only be called a gut, and it looked damn good on him, didn’t it?

Leon shook his head, trying to fight off these feelings. He didn’t want to be fat–he was terrified of being fat! But then why in the hell did it feel so damn good? He was starting to hyperventilate, breathing in even more of the sweet gas from the mask, and the doctor came around into view again, now completely naked, and said, “Subject 436, why don’t you go ahead and calm down. Now, I’m going to go ahead and see how the conditioning worked for you. Just enjoy yourself.”

The doctor came close, his huge apron rubbing up against Leon’s much smaller gut, and he groaned, unable to help himself. The older man kneaded his softening pecs and twisted his nipples, and all Leon could do was mumble through the mask, begging him to stop, but his cock was so hard, and this man was so fucking sexy, why would he want him to stop, really? The doctor leaned in and licked and nibbled at the fat willing in under Leon’s chin and around his neck, pulling harder on his nipples, before one hand reached down and started stroking his rock hard cock, getting it slick with precum. He hefted up his apron with one hand and guided Leon’s cock underneath. The doctor’s fat pat was massive, and it swallowed Leon’s cock nearly to the hilt, and he rammed his huge body up against Leon, over and over, their cock head’s ramming into each other deep in the doctor’s fat, and after a few slams, Leon felt his cock shoot filling up the doctor’s fat pad, and the doctor came a few moments after, panting from the exertion, and he stepped back, cum dripping onto the floor between his feet. “Assistant, clean me up please,” the doctor said, and his cub hurried over, getting down on his knees and burying his face under the doctor’s apron, lapping up all of the cum there, before cleaning the tile floor as well.

“Well, that was a great response from just one conditioning set–most guys need three or four before they respond that well–subject 436, I must say that you’re quite the natural at this. I have a feeling you’re going to have a very successful retreat if you keep this up. Now, how about a few more rounds of conditioning? We’re going to have you loving fat and nothing else by the time you’re finished here, just you wait.”

Leon tried to fight off the doctor as he put the goggles and headphones on Leon again, but the lights returned like an old, comforting friend in a time of need, and Leon was more than happy to fall into them again. It was better than watching himself grow fatter, wasn’t it? Still, he would be so beautiful by the end of it, he couldn’t wait to see.

When their new neighbors invited Leif and his son, Mac over for dinner, they didn’t realize that the two older men’s cum would be on the menu. However, it didn’t take long for the spell the two older bears cast on them to deprive them both of their free will, and as they sucked their new master’s off in the kitchen, the two bears congratulated each other.

“See, I fuckin’ told you it would work! Damn, this boy’s mouth is fuckin’ hot as fuck–gonna love havin’ you as my new boy.”

“Fuck yeah–this old fuck though, what are we gonna do with him?”

“I already got a buyer–and he wants him untrained, which makes it even better. Said he would be coming by tonight.”

Sure enough, a couple of hours later there was a knock on the door, and the older, leather clad master came in, took a look at Leif, and dragged him out the door by the metal collar he shackled around his neck, before he could even say goodbye to his son–not that Mac was paying attention. He was too focused on pleasing his new dads–in fact, he already forgotten about his old one entirely by the time the night was through. From that moment on, he was his dad’s sexy rubbercub, ready for a load of cum or piss at any moment, but there was nothing he loved more than getting plowed by his dads from both ends.

Lief on the other hand, didn’t have as nice of a training session. He still remembered everything, and his master–an older man whose real name he never had the chance to learn, beat him mercilessly, training him into a sniveling old boot licker who he’d drag to the clubs, where Lief would be fisted for hours on end, and he would, on occasion, see his son there too, watching him from a far, growing up with his two dads into a chubby bear slut, and the desire for vengeance burned it’s way through him. Still, he would never be able to get to him, would he? Unless he managed to get his hands on some magic of his own, of course…

Officer Daniels had had a long day, and all he really wanted to do when he got home was relax in front of the TV and forget about all of the bullshit he’d just had to deal with down at the station. A drug ring kingpin that he’d helped bring down looked like he was going to get off on a technicality because Daniels had conducted an improper interview, and the entire brass was holding his feet to the fire. If he was unlucky, he might end up with internal affairs breathing down his neck or worse. The worst part was that he couldn’t seem to remember the interview much at all, so he’d had a hard time trying to muster any kind of defense.

He let himself into his apartment and was surprised to find a small, gift wrapped box on the floor right in the entryway. Who in the hell had been in his apartment? Still in his uniform, he stooped down and picked up the box, unwrapped it, and found it contained a small jewel case with a DVD labeled “Watch me.” Curious, and a bit angry that someone had been in his apartment, he put the DVD in his player and started the disc.

He gave a start when the film started, and he found himself looking at a burly guy laying on his stomach, arms and legs bound with leather straps, wearing what looked to be a diaper, and then two masked men entered the scene, and he nearly shouted in fear. They rolled the man over, and he found himself looking at himself, eyes dazed, his mouth stuffed with some sort of cloth, and he was moaning in what sounded like…pleasure.

One of the men pulled the cloth out, and he saw it was a sweaty, cumstained jockstrap, and the other smiled down at him. “How’s Baby Daniels today? Have you been a good boy? Did you wet your diaper for me like a good boy? You like being a good boy for daddy, right?”

“Yes daddy, I like being a good boy…” Daniels said, both in the video and in his apartment, and he was distantly aware of a spreading warmth in his uniform pants as he pissed himself, unable to take his eyes away as the men checked to make sure his diaper was wet, and then rewarded him with two cocks to suck. Both men shot their loads on his face, and he licked up as much as he could, smiling wide. Then, one of the men started massaging the front of his diaper, and said, “Alright Baby Daniels, it’s time for baby to cum!”

In his apartment, Officer Daniels gave a loud groan as he filled the front of his pants with cum, feeling it join the piss there, and the screen finally went black with some words on it.

Be a good boy, and this video will never see the light of day. Back off.

Before Daniels could react, someone slammed something into the back of his head, crumpling him to the floor, and the man ripped down his pants and rammed his cock into the cop’s ass. All Daniels could do was beg for the man to fuck him harder, and in a minute, after the man came, he stood up, zipped his fly, and left Daniels’ apartment, leaving the officer to wonder what in the world he’d gotten himself into, and whether it really would be over after the investigation was dead.

Jackson grinned as he checked his email, and saw the email, the subject line: Your custom file. Jackson was a bit of a hypnosis freak–in particular, he liked the idea of being hypnotized into becoming a rough, muscular leather master. He was just a fucking middle manager at some massive corporate firm, completely powerless, but with hypnosis, he could at least be somebody. And his own custom file, from one of his favorite writers. He didn’t like most of his stories, but he had a way of making the files and stories seem so real, when he was in a trance–when he found out that the guy made custom made, tailored guided imagery, he couldn’t help but order one.

He plugged in his special headphones and pulled his cock out of his suit pants, letting himself drift off as the induction played, as the voice he was listening to started talking to him in that soft, soothing voice…

Fuck you’re horny, just can’t stop touching your cock on the work site, can you? Feeling it in your grubby work pants, go on, slip into that porta-potty there, drop those pants and sit down on that grimy seat a bit wet from one of your mate’s piss, but you like that, don’t you?…

What was this? This isn’t what he’d asked for. He tried to take off the headphones, and stop the file, but he…he wasn’t at a computer, was he? He was…was…

Rub that cock in that dirty jock of yours, feel those cum and piss stains you’ve been building up for months, but you need a cigarette too–what’s a good wank without a cigarette? You pull one out and light it up, feeling that rush, feel that throb in your cock. You savor it for a moment, your reeking pits, the stench of the filth beneath you. Your cock is dripping now, soaking the front of your jock…

It was so real, so more real than the other ones, he could feel his body, his pudgy gut, the stubble on his face, his hard hat as he slipped his cock out of his filthy jockstrap and started jacking it, taking a few deep draws off his cigarette.

Getting close aren’t you? Thinking about your mates outside the toilet, their musky, sweaty bodies. Good thing they all know your a faggot right? A nasty, cocksucking faggot, drinking their piss, slurping down their cum like a total slut. You love it, you’re so close now, you nasty fucker…

Jackson groaned as he came, shooting cum all over the front of his suit, still zoned out, and the file still had close to half an hour remaining. And he would listen to it many, many more times over the coming months, coming closer to his new ideal–rarely showering, smoking like a chimney, slurping up his own cum and piss at every moment–and ordering more files of course. As many files as he could afford with his severance pay, after he was fired for pissing all over himself in the bathroom at his job.

Are you never going to measure up to your goals? Do you worry that your life and future are just going to disappoint you? Then you should try Release Hypnosis! Here’s Sam’s story, whose life was much improved by our files.

Before Release Hypnosis, I was a wreck. I was in college, and excelling, but the stress was killing me. There was this pressure to succeed, it came from everywhere, from my parents, from my teachers, from my girlfriends, it was so much, I couldn’t handle it. If I hadn’t found Release Hypnosis, I might have actually made something of myself.

The effect was immediate. After my first listen, my school work just didn’t matter to me–it was so much easier just to lounge around my dorm room, eating and drinking and watching porn all day long. I just didn’t care–it was so easy! I listened to more and more from that moment on, and dropping out of college just seemed like the most natural decision. I found an easy job working construction, and I couldn’t have been happier. Well, or so I thought.

Release Hypnosis is still a big part of my life. I’ve been working on their empty mind series lately. Even after I stopped feeling the pressure to succeed, I still thought a lot. Now though, my head is so empty I can just zone out for hours in front of the TV, stuffing my face and jacking off all day long. The no-shame series was also recommended to me by the program. See, even after listening to the files, I’d always feel bad about the way I was behaving, and a bit ashamed of myself. Now though, I relish it. I love being a slob, a fucking loser, and I want everyone to know it. Fuck, I walk down the street without a shirt, showing off my filthy, hairy belly, and the looks I get from people get me so horny, I usually have to duck into an alleyway to jack off. I’d definitely recommend Release Hypnosis–it made a huge difference to my life, and I know it can make yours better too!

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

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

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

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

Sometimes Rudy hated the subway at night. He was a member at a twenty-four hour gym, and with his work schedule it was just easier to work out late at night or in the early morning. On occasion it was wonderful–an empty car maybe, or just a couple other people, being quiet or reading a book. At worst, in was a group of young hooligans or creepy homeless guys, or old faggots leering at him–and tonight that was what he was dealing with. Some old retired guy–saggy body, wrinkled skin–sitting across from him on the subway, just eyeing him up and down as they rode. Rudy did his best to ignore him, but there was one thing he couldn’t seem to ignore–the light on the guy’s phone kept blinking like a strobe light, and he couldn’t…quite seem to look away…it was getting hard…to…

***

What was he doing here?

“Just give me one more moment, you stud–I’m almost up and ready.”

He looked around at the shabby old apartment he was in, and then looked down, and realized he was naked. “What…what the fuck?” he shouted, and a moment later, the old man from the train came through the doorway, his cock the only thing solid about him.

“Oh, a strong willed one, eh? Don’t worry, we have all night to wear you down,” the old man said, and then his phone was blinking again…he tried to look…away but couldn’t…

***

Why did his ass hurt? What was happening?

“Say it–say you’re a whore for old man cock!”

“No…” Rudy managed to squeak out, but why was he so weak? The light…just look at the light…so…

***

Rudy moaned and rolled over in the bed, and found himself looking at one of the hottest geezers he’s seen in his life. The saggy skin, the wrinkles, the lecherous smile–everything was just right. The man was standing up at the side of the bed, his cock hard as a rock, and Rudy licked his lips.

“Hungry, boy?”

“You know it, daddy.”

“Then get over here and suck me off. And make it quick, I have five more old guys coming over who want to fuck you, so that hole of yours had better be ready slut.”

The man reached over and started probing Rudy’s tight hole, and he groaned. God, he was such a whore for old man cock, and he fucking loved it. Riding the subway can be the fucking best.