Coach Ray Gets Trained (Sketch)

Ray gave a start, and shook his head; he was falling asleep at his computer again, so it must be time to head home. He looked up at the clock in his office, in the high school locker room, and was surprised that it was already seven. He must have really dozed off there, for a while. Ray Montaigne was the head coach at River Hills High School, and he was one of the student bodies favorite teachers. He wasn’t quite in peak physical shape anymore, unfortunately–he was in his late forties, had a bit of a gut, but he could still run a nine minute mile, and bench press 200, so he wasn’t doing too badly.

He put his arms up in a stretch, and caught a whiff of his pits–damn, they stank today, he hadn’t even really done much activity himself. He mostly taught health, as well as a few PE classes, and it was right at the beginning of the winter trimester, so the sport teams hadn’t even gotten going yet. Had…had he taken a shower this morning? Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t, had he? Had he taken one yesterday? He leaned in and took another sniff, and then another, then stuck out his tongue and gave it a lick–and only after that did he question what he was doing. This was disgusting–why in the hell had he just licked his own armpit? Why…why did he want to do it some more? And why was his cock getting hard in his shorts?

Leaving one arm up, he pushed the shorts down, revealing his jockstrap, tented by his cock. It was…kind of odd that he was wearing a jock. Sure, he made his athletes wear them, but he’d always found boxers more comfortable. Last week though, he’d…kind of wanted to wear a jock, and had…had he even changed it since? Another, funkier smell his his nose, making his cock throb, and he realized he hadn’t. He’d worn the same jock for a week–he didn’t think he’d even taken it off once. That…that was disgusting, right? He definitely shouldn’t be so turned on by how…how rank it smelled…right? Then…then why was he groping his cock through the mesh? He realized he had, without realizing it, turned his face into his other pit, and had been taking deep, long snorts of his own musk at the same time–he tried to stop, but…but he couldn’t. In fact, he suddenly felt like his entire body was running on autopilot, like he couldn’t even control himself. And so, it was with great embarrassment that he saw through the glass window of his office someone enter the locker room in a hoodie, look around, and head for his office door, open it, and step inside.

He couldn’t see who it was–not with his face stuck in his armpit. The person just laughed softly, set something down on the desk in front of him, and then turned around and left as quickly as he’d come. Ray managed to rip his face away long enough to see what it was, and found himself looking at a dildo. A…sizable dildo, in fact. His hand pulled itself away from his cock and grabbed it, his face turning back to his armpit for another lick, and he put his feet up on the desk, tipping his office chair back, feeling his hole as he started pushing the dildo in dry, groaning and muttering in pain, but he couldn’t stop himself–and then he saw that he was being observed.

Outside his office, through the window, he saw the man in the hoodie who’d just left the dildo had been joined by another man–this one, however, he recognized. It was Jullian Porter–the computer science teacher who had quit the year before, after being accused of molesting several seniors in his classes. Ray had good reason to know him–two of his football players had been targets, and he was the person who had first accused Jullian. No one had been able to prove anything; none of the boys could remember details of what had happened while they were alone with Mr. Porter, but he’d been forced out all the same. Julian smiled at him, and pulled back the hoodie on the person with him, revealing…Noah. Noah Ambert, his star quarterback, who, after the humiliation of the entire ordeal, had dropped out of school shortly after Porter had quit, and no one had heard from him since. They…they were together?

He had to clench his eyes, the dildo hurt so much, but he couldn’t stop. There were another couple of inches to go, but he already felt so fucking full…his hand didn’t care, it just kept twisting and pushing and shoving, and as soon as the dildo was lodged to the root, he felt his cock start spasming, pumping cum into the mesh of his jock, Ray whimpering in something between pain and pleasure–he looked up again, and Julian was still watching him, but Noah was on his knees…sucking Julian’s cock, right in front of him, and he couldn’t do anything. His hand was pumping the dildo now, and he could feel it sliding in and out a bit easier now…and he was kind of enjoying it, even though he knew, in his head, that this couldn’t be happening. This kept going for several minutes, until Julian came down Noah’s throat, and then he walked around and into Ray’s office, behind him.

“Good to see you’ve taken so well to the programs coach,” he said in Ray’s ear, “You’re going to be so much fun in my stable. You aren’t really my kind of man, of course, I like them a bit…younger, smoother, muscled…but I’m sure we can find a use for you, once you’re…well seasoned.” Before Ray could respond, he added, “End trial, enter neutral state.” Ray’s eyes went blank, his mouth gaping–his feet slipped from the desk and he returned to a normal sitting position. Julian leaned in and gave him a kiss on the neck, before saying into his ear, “Erase memory of program trial. Add desire, dildo. Enhance desire, pit musk. Enhance desire, jock musk. Resume consciousness in two minutes.”

Julian turned and left the locker room, Noah getting up and following after him. Two minutes later, Ray gave a start, and shook his head; he was falling asleep at his computer again, so it must be time to head home. He looked up at the clock in his office, in the high school locker room, and was surprised that it was already seven forty-five. He must have really dozed off there, for a while. He rocked a bit on the dildo in his ass and moaned a bit, before he pulled his shorts up and got his things together, turned out the lights, and headed home.

Getting Bigger With F.A.T. (Part 4)

We didn’t hear it at first–both of us were a bit busy eating. I think I was the first one, and I nudged Jay to go see who it was. It was his house, after all. Mostly I just wanted a chance to stuff my face on my own for a moment–I had to try and get every advantage, if I wanted to be as large as Jay, right? Jay, I think, was just hoping that whoever it was would just go away, but they just kept knocking, and finally he was aggravated by it that he went to the door to at least tell them to go away. I heard the door open, and Jay gave a strange cry–I left the food and went after him to see what the matter was.

I found Jay at the door with a strange man–a sexy man, don’t get me wrong, he was beautiful. At least as large as Jay was at this point, he was wearing a black t-shirt with the words “Fat Action Team” down the front. He was smoking a cigar and had a big beard all over his face–and he was showing Jay something on his phone. I recognized it immediately–Jay was in one of those trances, like I’d seen him in before we’d started training together–his eyes and mouth slack, arms hanging at his sides as best they could, since his fat rolls wouldn’t let them hang straight any longer.

I asked the man what was going on. He told me to not worry–that he was simply a representative of the Fat Action Team, and had come by in order to give us a preliminary examination, and to prepare us for the next stages in our training. Before I could ask him what he meant by that, however, he’d swung the phone around, and the prismatic spiral there simply…wiped away my awareness. I don’t know how long he was there with us, but I think it was a few days, at least. I…recall surfacing on occasion, but it wasn’t very often. It was always…he kept trying to…to force me to do something I didn’t want to do, and…and I’d fight him. I remember looking at him, like he was seeing just how hard I was willing to push, how much fight I had in me. I mean, I always gave in eventually, there wasn’t…there wasn’t anything I could do, not really, but I tried all the same.

When he left us there, neither of us knew what to think about what had just happened to us, and we were exhausted, like neither of us had slept in days. We immediately went to bed, and curled up together, just enjoying the sensation of our fat pressed together, of the bed sagging under our combined weight, and when we woke up the next morning, each of us discovered that FAT had sent us a new training file, and even though neither of us really wanted to, were were helpless as we loaded the files up, and gave them a listen.

I was out for a few hours. When the file finally ended, I remember I was no longer by the computer, but sitting in an armchair in the living room, smoking a cigar and jacking my cock as I did, savoring the smoke like I’d been doing it all my life. I…I told myself that I hated smokers, that I’d always hated them, but I now felt like that was just a lie. I needed smoke as much as I needed food–I’d never be able to get enough of it. Jay was nowhere to be seen–I got up and found him in the kitchen, stuffing his face, but where before he’d always had a look of supreme joy on his face while he was eating, now he seemed…terrified.

“Please, I can’t stop, I’m so hungry, I didn’t know I could be this hungry,” he said in between mouthfuls, “Help me…”

So I helped him. I stuffed food into his mouth as fast as I could, making him eat it, and…and fuck, it felt good, force feeding him like that. Being in control of him like that. It felt so good that I had to stop, shove him down onto his hands and knees and plow his hole, smoke billowing from my nose as I came deep in his fat ass with a growl, and then we kept stuffing him silly.

That…that was years ago now, though. After I completed that next training, FAT was more than happy to hire me on as a compliance agent. Now, it’s my job to go to FAT members who are resisting their programming, and I…encourage them for a while, to make sure they meet their goals of getting bigger. I’ve gotten bigger myself, of course–I just passed 500 pounds a while back, and FAT, to celebrate, has given me a free pass to one of their legendary retreats next month. I’d take Jay along with me, of course…but Jay can’t go anywhere.

I can’t believe how quickly he grew, after that training. Thankfully FAT agreed to supply us with food in exchange for filling the house with webcams, so people online could watch his progress–but he’s already 850 pounds, and isn’t showing any sign of stopping. He’s bedridden at this point, and I spend pretty much all day stuffing his face with food, making sure his enormous hunger is sated, and that he keeps on growing like a good pig. Still, after that tumble, when he broke his legs, FAT decided it would be better to just amputate–he’s bedridden for life, now, and he couldn’t be happier. I…I’m happy too, I think. At least, FAT tells me I’m just a bit stressed, and that this retreat will help me refocus on my real priorities. I…I don’t know what priorities they mean; they’re really vague sometimes. Still, FAT has given me all this, so I can trust them, right?

Getting Bigger with F.A.T. (Part 3)

It’s…hard to remember precisely how it felt, because it feels so normal now. I reached up and pulled out my earbuds, and my arms felt so heavy. I mean, they’d always felt heavy, or at least they’d been feeling heavy, from all the effort I’d been putting in making them bigger, but this wasn’t the heaviness of exhaustion–no, they were literally heavy in a way I hadn’t quite expected. I looked down at myself, and I couldn’t speak, I could barely even understand what I was looking at. I don’t quite know what I’d been expecting–some part of me, I think, had been expecting to see muscles there. I mean, I’d been spending all of that time at the gym, hadn’t I?

No, not the gym. Why would I have been at the gym? I’d been eating, of course. Eating and eating and eating, just like the training had told me to.

Those thoughts, they hit so hard in my head, and it was impossible to disbelieve them, but I still felt like they weren’t mine. Like…like they’d been put in there somehow, I could still see the and feel the places where they’d been stitched it without even realizing they’d been put there. I tried to think around them, but every time I tried to challenge them, it was like they’d force my brain back onto the proper track. About how good it felt to be fat, about how hard I’d worked to look like this, about how much I wanted this. And the more I thought it, the fainter the seams became, the more the thoughts seemed…like mine.

I could barely even process my body, at first. It was such a…difference! How it the world had I not noticed? All this time, I’d thought nothing had been happening, and in fact I’d been growing so much. When Jay had first introduced me to the program, I had been about 220, a little pudgy sure, but still relatively fit. Now, though–I ran my thick hands around the sides of my gut, pushing up gently as I did, feeling them press into the flab there, before releasing it down. I…I jiggled, and my cock twitched. I ran my hands over it again, and this time went up, pressing into myself, amazed at the softness, until I reached my moobs, where my pecs had been, and I cupped them both, feeling their heft, pinching my nipples, and I groaned. My cock was…was so hard. I was so happy like this, this made me feel so good. I was so happy that all of my training hadn’t been for nothing.

I looked over, and Jay was there–I also hadn’t been able to see what had been happening to him. I was big, sure–when we finally managed to weigh ourselves later, I was 365 pounds, and Jay had crested 405. His gut sagged further than mine, so far that some of it drooped over his crotch. He was…crying, when I looked at him. I think they might have started out of fear, but my the time he looked up at me, they were obviously tears of happiness. And why not? We’d both been working so hard on this, on our bodies. He looked…he looked good, too. And sure, I was a bit jealous. I’d tried so hard, but how in the world had Jay gotten that much larger than me in the same amount of time? Still, I wasn’t…unsatisfied with my own body, but the idea that I could get even bigger–my gut was rock solid now, and pressing against the bottom of my gut, as I walked over to…to touch Jay’s body. I had to feel it, and he…he wanted to feel mine too, and then we were kissing, and…and everything just kind of snowballed from there.

Neither of us had thought we were gay. We’d both been with women–that is, not recently, of course. We’d been much too busy training to date anyone, of course. But when our eyes met, I think we both felt a hunger neither of us really understood until we were pressing our fat together, feeling how…how good it felt, how warm we both were, how soft. How hungry were were, not for food, but for contact, and validation, and…and for someone who wanted to get bigger too. We did it right there on the floor–he sucked me off first, and then I dug around in his amazing fatpad until I could fish out his cock (it was surprisingly small, actually. He’d always told me he had a good sized piece of meat, but it couldn’t have been more than three inches) and sucked on the head until he came with a long groan, and I swallowed all the cum down, and fuck the taste of it! It was one of the greatest things I’d ever had, and I knew right then I was gay. Or even if I wasn’t, cum was the only thing I would crave out of sex anymore.

We laid there on the floor for a few minutes, sweaty and tired and too happy to try and figure out how to get up from the carpet. His gut grumbled first, and mine followed soon after, and it was that which finally propelled us back up and into his kitchen, where we proceeded to stuff each other’s faces, pausing on occasion to suck down another load of cum as soon as one of us got close to exploding. It was…I was so…happy, but at the same time, I was so terrified. I…I couldn’t control myself. I’d never acted like this in my life, and yet it felt so natural, it felt like I’d been doing it all the time. My body was moving before my brain could catch up. By the end…it felt better, but the lag was still there. I’m still not sure I’m ever in control, really, and I…I want to be in control, you know? Maybe that’s why we ended up going in different directions, after that, Jay and I, I mean. Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What happened next, was that towards the end of our meal, someone knocked on Jay’s front door.

Getting Bigger With F.A.T. (Part 2)

I didn’t see him for a few days, but he came into the gym, looked around, saw me, and made a beeline for me. I just hoped he wasn’t planning on punching me out or something, but all he did was tell me that he’d been…hypnotized. That I had to believe him. That he’d had no idea what he’d been doing–he’d thought he’d been at the gym the entire time. Apparently, he’d stumbled upon a website called the Fat Action Team, which claimed to be dedicated to helping men “Get Bigger,” which he’d thought was a reference to getting more built. I thought that was ridiculous, that if he wanted to gorge himself, that’s fine, I just didn’t get why he had to lie about it. I went back to my cycling, and then he…put a set of headphones on me, telling me that I’d understand if I just heard it…and I don’t…I don’t remember what happened after that, very well. I had a really good work out, I know that–both me and Jay did. He’s my workout buddy. We were both exhausted, but he gave me this website I really needed to check out–they make these awesome workout music mixes, he told me. In fact, he’d already referred me–all I had to do was enter the code, and they’d set me up with a custom mix for free. I took the card he gave me…and I already knew that as soon as I got home, I’d be on my computer getting my first mix–but at the same time, I had this…feeling. That…that I should be able to remember the last couple of hours better. That when I looked at Jay’s face, he had food crusted around his mouth–and my hands felt greasy, and my gut was grumbling–but I couldn’t quite tell if I was hungry, overstuffed, or just nervous for reasons I couldn’t quite explain.

Still, I signed in using the information Jay had given me, and all of those worries disappeared as soon as I heard the first track the training company sent me. I’d…I’d been looking for something like this, actually, something to help me take my training to the next level. I’d always wanted to be…to be bigger

yeah bigger fucking fat fucking so fucking fat I can’t see my cock so fat I can’t see my feet I wanna wheeze I wanna be stuffing my face all day long gotta be fat fat gotta eat gotta get big big gonna be fat pig gonna be fat

I shook my head–what the hell had that been? I looked at the clock, and I’d been listening to that file for quite a few hours–and my shirt was filthy, as was the desk. It looked like grease stains and…crumbs? I was probably just having a snack, I thought. Still, I needed to get to bed, so I could get to work.

Jay and I synced our workout schedules together, and both of us were definitely progressing well. It was so much better having someone to help you lift, you know? Someone else there, by your side, helping you get…get bigger, and watching them get bigger too. I was feeling ripped, and powerful. Hell, I had to buy a whole new wardrobe, can you believe it? Still, it was hard seeing progress in the mirror for some reason, but I kept getting comments from people at work–

“Have you been going to the gym?”

“Wow man, you look…different today.”

It always felt good, getting positive reinforcement from people like that, and I always had Jay. In fact, Jay and I started spending a lot more time together after a few months as workout partners. We didn’t really have much in common, I mean, aside from our training and desperate, crippling desire to get as big as possible, but the more I was with him, the more I kind of liked him. Sure, he was a bit of an asshole sometimes, and a braggart. It was pretty wearing, really, but since I usually had my earbuds in while we were together, I didn’t actually have to listen to him all that much. What I appreciated was his commitment, his desire to get bigger, and he was such a help, you know? I could have never done something like this on my own. I…I needed him, and he told me one night that he needed me too. We decided, then, that for the sake of our training, and to get even bigger, it would help if we just moved in together.

My place wasn’t that big, and I didn’t have a ton of stuff, so it was easier for me to just sell some of my stuff, cancel my lease, and move into his house one weekend. Fuck, that was a lot of work! You’d think that with all of our time at the gym we’d have no trouble moving a couch, but both of us were exhausted after that day. We were probably just tired from all the time we’d spent at the gym lately, getting bigger. We’d also started a calisthenics routine at his house in the evenings, so were working out twice as much!

It was a shock when I realized a year had passed since we’d both first started training together in earnest. It wasn’t too much longer after that one year anniversary that we both got an email from the training company, letting us know that we’d finally finished our first round of training! Included in the email was a final training lesson we needed to listen to–the company said it would help us reorient our worlds and self-perception, help us grapple with these new, bigger bodies we’d crafted for ourselves. Both of us were so excited, and we agreed to listen to it right away. The file was shorter than usual–but it was what happened when we both woke up which was the biggest surprise for us both.

Getting Bigger With F.A.T. (Part 1)

I’m not sure the first time I noticed it, to be honest. I’d been going to the gym pretty regularly–you know, decided to finally try and lose those twenty-five pounds I could feel at the end of my shifts. I got the gym membership free through my insurance, so I figured it couldn’t hurt. But this guy–we’d never spoken or anything, but one morning I saw him come in, all pumped and excited for his workout, right? He had sort of…an off season body. Muscled, but a big gut too. He’d head over to the free weights, put his earbuds in his ears, turn on his player…and then he’d just turn around and walk right back out the door of the gym, earbuds still in. The first time I saw it happen, I assumed that he must have forgotten something in his car, but I kept looking over from my stationary bike, and he never came back in. From that day on, I saw it happen a few more times–always the same guy. He’d come in, psyched. He’d put in his earbuds, and he’d leave again–I never actually saw him lift a single weight. So…I was a bit curious, you know? Why have a gym membership if you weren’t going to actually work out?

My work schedule shifted up a bit a few weeks later, after some turnover at the store. I started going to the gym in the afternoons a few days a week, and there he was again…only this time it was the reverse. He’d come into the gym, lumbering, looking kind of tired, leaning back oddly. He’d go over by the weights, take his earbuds out, wipe his forehead like he’d just finished a long weight routine, and then leave. I worked it out–he usually arrived at the gym at around eleven, and that day I say him leave it was about two–what in the hell had he been doing for three hours? Curiosity got the better of me–on one of my morning workouts, he came in and left, like usual–so I got up and followed him out to see where he was going.

I kind of expected him to go to a car–instead he walked off down the sidewalk, and I followed him at a slight distance. I knew I was being a bit…creepy, but I was honestly curious what was going on with this guy. We walked two blocks, and I remember how…odd he seemed to be walking. A little stiff, head straight ahead, not looking from side to side at all. Waiting for the crosswalk, he just…stood there like a statue. Anyway, he turned into a doorway, and I couldn’t believe where he’d ended up–it was a fucking all you can eat buffet. I watched him outside, through the window, as he paid, got his seat and proceeded to start shovelling food in his mouth–plate after plate, I had never seen anyone eat like that. I went in and got a place of my own, eating slowly, and sure enough, for two straight hours he pounded back load after load, before getting up and leaving in time to get back to the gym around two. I followed him back. Saw him walking with the same strange gait as before, and when he got back to the gym, he did the same routine–pulled out his earbuds, heaved a few breaths like he’d just pumped a staggering amount of iron, went and got a drink, and then left.

Should I ask him about it? I pondered what to do for a week. It seemed…so strange, and yet I couldn’t help but feel like I’d witnessed some forbidden secret pleasure of his, because…because the way he’d been eating, it was obvious it had given him some…some incredible pleasure. But I needed to know. I didn’t really know why I needed to know, I was just…what would make someone do that? Pretend to go to the gym, just so they could stuff their face? So the next chance I got, I followed him again, but this time, on the way, a hurried to catch up to him on the sidewalk, walking beside him, and tried to ask him what he was doing. He didn’t even notice me–he just kept walking, eyes unblinking, face forward. I tried again–could he not even hear me through the music? What was he listening to exactly? So I…I pulled an earbud out–well, both of them came out, actually, and I shouted at him again, asking him what he’s doing. He blinked a couple of times, and stopped walking, looking around like he had no clue where he was.

“Hey. Are you alright?” I asked.

He turned to me, “I…where am I? I thought I was at the gym.”

I did my best to explain to him. That he wasn’t at the gym because he’d left the gym, because every day he went and stuffed his face at a buffet. He didn’t believe me–he just put the earbuds back in, his eyes glazed over and kept walking like he hadn’t even talked to me. So I followed him to the buffet, I waited until he’d gotten his first plate and was devouring it, before I pulled the earbuds out again. He recognized me, but I could see he was still confused–so I showed him, that this is where he’d been going…and, well, he freaked out. I mean, screaming freak out, and then he started cursing something, shouting something about some fucking training company, and left at a jog. I followed, and saw him get into his car and speed away from the gym, wondering what in the hell that had all been about.

“How does that feel, Timmy? Does it feel as good as you’d imagined it might?”

“Oh God Grandpa, it feels…it feels so…so full, in there! So…good…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Now that grandpa has his whole fucking hand in you, do you know what that makes you, Timmy?”

“N-No…?”

“It means you’re my puppet, Timmy. It means I have my whole hand in you, and now I can control you, can;t I? You can feel my hand getting bigger inside you, pushing deeper, your body hollowing out? Feel yourself going limp?”

“Y-Yes…”

“That’s a good boy, that’s a good puppet. My hand’s so big now, it’s all the way up in your brain–you can feel it in there, I bet–because I control your brain now, because now, we’re going to get rid of all that shame, all that fear, and the only thing this puppet’s brain is going to want is to be grandpa’s little pig–would you like that? To be a piggy puppet, just for Grandpa?”

“I…it hurts…”

“Oh, it won’t hurt for long. Look how fat you’re getting, how pudgy, little piggy. No more talking for you, all you’re gonna do is oink and squeal, right pig?”

*SNORT*

“Yeah, that’s good–you’ll feel empty without me, you you’ll feel me in there again soon–for now, I wanna get my cock in that fat piggy hole, and I wanna hear by grandpig squeal!”

Requested by @andyreworld.

WARNING: SCAT AHEAD

Kyle liked going to the gym in the mid-morning–everyone who got a workout in before work had left, and everyone who came around lunchtime wasn’t there yet–it gave him a good hour and half with most of the weights to himself, to focus on lifting. He’d sure been working out long enough to learn patterns like this, he’d been a gym rat for years, and maintained a near flawless physique–low body fat and ripped with muscle. Still, he wasn’t a far of people–especially fags–staring at his body, unless he wanted them staring, so he preferred off-hours. Usually he had peace, but, today, some fat fuck was crowding his space.

He’d seen him around the gym before, but Kyle didn’t usually care about what other people were doing, and if he wanted to work out, good for him. But it seemed like every time he turned around, the guy was within five feet of him, lifting something, or on the next machine over–and then the first one came, loud enough that Kyle could hear it over his music, a massive, horrific fart that lasted at least five seconds.

He looked over at the pig, disgusted, but the guy just leered back at him–and then Kyle smelt it–it was horrific, one of the worst things he’d ever smelt in his life. It was so strong that it was almost like his mind and body blew a fuse–he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think–his eyes went glassy, his jaw gaping as the pig got up, pulled the headphones from his head, leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Finally got you. Come on, you’re gonna spot me today.”

Kyle did as he was told, even though he fought the compulsion as best he could, but his body wasn’t his anymore. The smell lingered in his nose, and just as he’d start shaking the pig’s control off, the fat fuck would nearly shit his pants again, and he’d…lose it all over again. The pig kept talking to him while he lifted, telling Kyle how much he loved the smell of him, how much he loved his farts, how much he loved submitting. Soon, as much as he hated himself for it, he started craving it, the smell, the filthy thoughts his master whispered in his ear. Finally, he couldn’t resist it anymore–his master was doing squats, and let a huge fart loose, and something in Kyle broke. Snorting and grunting, he got down behind him, shoved his head to the man’s ass and started crewing at his shorts, cum spewing in his jockstrap.

“That’s a good pig–I think you’re ready for your post-workout meal, don’t you?”

Kyle didn’t know what he meant, but he crawled after his master, who went into the locker room, commandeered the large stall, and sat backwards, his hole right in Kyle’s face. He fought as hard as he could, hesitating, but a wet fart pulled him in, lips locked to his master’s hole, tongue burrowing in, ready and eager for his first feeding.

Ruining Mr. Fisher (part 1)

Ned’s heart leapt into his throat when he pushed the janitor cart around the corner, and saw the light in the corner office of the fourteenth floor was still on. The office where Gerard Fisher worked, an upper level manager in the bank which owned the building–the same bank which had, a few years back, foreclosed on Ned’s home. The same company whose offices he’d been cleaning for over a decade, under contract with a cleaning company sure, but every fucking day he was here, cleaning up after these wealthy fucks. It had been enough though, to get a little piece of property, until the mortgage rate had skyrocketed out of his budget. The bank had been merciless, his credit was ruined, his savings evaporated, he was living in a shitty trailer park, commuting an hour to work every day, a commute he couldn’t afford for a job he couldn’t afford to give up. It wasn’t rational to pin the blame to Gerard, there in the corner office, but the way he’d always sneered at Ned, when Ned was pushing the cart through, on these nights he worked late…

Ned was from a poor working class family. He’d done poorly in school, but he wasn’t stupid. The stress of the last few years had sent him ballooning larger and larger, until now he was about 400 pounds but couldn’t stop eating, and couldn’t pay to eat better. It didn’t help matters much that he was also gay, but had spent his entire life in the closet, only fucking around rarely. Still, he was a hard worker, but he could see the game was rigged, and the men rigging it were the Gerard Fishers of the whole fucking world. He’d assumed his whole life he’d never be able to stand up to someone like that and survive in the world, and so he’d kept his pride low and head down, but now…but now was his chance–a meager chance, but a chance all the same.

Through his grungy coveralls he reached in and pulled the medallion out, letting it hang on the outside of his clothing, glinting oddly in the light. He hadn’t really believed the old man he’d run into while he was cruising for sex at the rest area a few miles down the highway. The stranger had looked like a hitchhiking derelict–he’d pleaded with Ned to take the gold medallion from him, telling him that he could get revenge, that he could use it to destroy the lives of those who had wronged him. Ned had to admit that he’d liked the sound of that, and even if it was bunk (which it had to be, right?) then he could always pawn the gold for some extra cash. But he’d taken it from the man, and it was like time had stopped around him, and his eyes–it was like they’d been opened to some strange reality he’d never even known existed. And in that flash, he saw that the man had indeed been telling him the truth, but not the whole truth. Yes, the medallion would allow the person wielding it to destroy the lives of others, but it also made that person incapable of improving themselves.

But it was worse than that–Ned looked down at himself, at his fat, slobby, grungy body, his dirty clothes, and where he’d always been disgusted with himself, suddenly he…he liked it. He went back to his truck and jacked off, thinking about what a fat failure he was, about…about how much he wanted others to be fat, nasty failures like he was. He couldn’t stop, he didn’t want to stop, and all he could do was think about Gerard Fisher in his corner office.

So here Ned was–a slightly different Ned. He hadn’t showered in a few weeks, or done laundry either, since he’d first touched the amulet. He had a rather wild beard, his hair was shaggy, his eyes…glinting with an odd golden hue as he looked at the lit window of that corner office, that office he knew he’d never have, especially now, but that office no one should have–especially not Mr. Fisher. His cock was hard, just thinking about it, and he abandoned the cart, walked down to the office door, knocked, and stepped inside before being invited in.

Mr. Fisher was in his forties, but he didn’t look like it. He was meticulous about keeping himself in shape, kept every little wisp of grey plucked or colored, kept up with all the latest fashions. He had the perfect wife, and the perfect son about to go to college. But most important, he despised everything about the janitor who stepped into his office, grinning like he owned the place, a strange necklace around his neck shining in the light. It took him a moment to realize it was the same fat slob who always cleaned the floor when he stayed late–it was just that he was looking fatter and slobbier than usual.

“I think you can wait until I’m gone for the evening to clean my office,” Mr. Fisher said, “Although it doesn’t look like you know how to clean anything. I’ll be reporting your hygiene to the contractor, just so you know.”

“No Mr. Fisher, I’m not here to clean your office. I’m here to show you something,” Ned said, and pulled the medallion from around his neck, and started swinging it gently in the air in front of him. Mr. Fisher found his eyes drawn to the medallion immediately, and when the fat slob started moving closer…he wanted to move away–but he couldn’t move a muscle. Distantly he heard the slob talking, as one hand unzipped the front of his coveralls, allowing the slob to haul out a disgusting cock which…Mr. Fisher started sucking on behind his desk like it was the most normal thing to do. Ned smiled–it was a good mouth, actually. In fact, everything about Mr. Fisher’s body–everything about his life–was perfect, and Ned couldn’t wait to ruin all of it.

Male Bonding (Part 5)

Life was never quite the same for any of those men. Jared and Trevor continued to bond over his father’s vacation time, and by the end of it, his father had completely accepted his proper position in life as his son’s whore. He spent his days at work, trying his best to pretend to be a version of himself which never existed any longer, but only felt fulfilled when he was at home, being plowed by the various men Trevor would bring over to abuse him. Trevor seemed like an expert at finding men to have sex with his father, actually–to be honest, Jared wondered if he simply walked out on the street, and picked randomly from the men passing by. After all, it wasn’t like anyone was going to say no, with his son’s ring glinting in their eyes.

A few months later, Maurice and Laura had a falling out, after she caught her husband once again drinking his own piss in the bathroom, and she kicked him out of the house. With nowhere to go, Maurice came over to Jared’s house, and begged Trevor for a place to stay while he sorted himself out. Trevor was more than happy to let him stay, on the condition that he become the house’s permanent urinal, though Trevor would occasionally rent him out to various clubs, so the pig could help make a bit of extra income for the house. Kirk, too, had a falling out with his wife, and ended up moving in with Trevor and Jared as well. Forbidden to shower now, he was a rank mess, begging men to let him suck on their feet or clean out their holes for them, after they got done abusing Maurice or Jared. His special treat, when he was especially well behaved, was that he got to eat all of the cum men had shot up Jared’s ass that day, and he live for it, gobbling all of it fresh from his hole. He also was often rented out alongside Maurice–thought Kirk got the job of being the club’s reusable toilet paper for the evening, while his old co-worker had a gut sloshing with piss.

Carter, Ryan, and Dustin managed to keep their lives together–somewhat. Carter had to get a divorce–he no longer had any interested in his wife, now that he understood how…intensely pleasurable it was him to have an arm shoved deep in his hole. He had to keep at least a six inch dildo in all day long, just to keep that damn itch at bay–thankfully he had Ryan in the office to help him out on a regular basis. In fact, Ryan was the boss of the entire department now–after Carter’s performance had slipped, he got transferred laterally, and the new and improved Ryan had been a perfect fit for the position. Dustin’s attitude was much improved as well, and he had proven to be an excellent assistant to Ryan now that he understood his proper position in the company, and in bed. It was Dustin who had perhaps taken his changes most to heart. he’d packed on close to fifty pounds in under six months, and Ryan was happy to make him eat all of the words he’d used to insult his new master in the past. He wasn’t going to let Ryan stop until he was over 400 pounds, and his slave wouldn’t get his cock free again until he hit 300. If he wanted the cage off his cock, then he was going to have to grow and grow and grow.

Ryan and Trevor became fast friends–at least, that’s how it seemed to Trevor. He liked Ryan, and he liked Ryan’s new attitude even more. How abusive he’d become, how he treated his inferiors. It made Trevor…proud to have made him. What he hadn’t realized, was that Ryan was playing him too–Ryan no longer kept his eye on Trevor’s ring out of bedazzlement, but out of envy. He waited patiently, until one night Trevor slipped up–drank too much, and blacked out, giving Ryan the perfect chance to pry the ring off his finger, slip in onto his own, and when Trevor woke up a few hours later, he and his new master had a little…chat, and Trevor realized just how much sense it made to let Ryan be in charge after all, and Ryan made his own rules–in particular, that no man inferior to him could weigh less than him, and so they all began gaining.

A year later, not one of them was less than 500 hundred pounds, because Ryan himself had ballooned up to 515. Still, his team of men (including Trevor, who had finally managed to find himself a good job working with his father, as well as Carter, who Ryan had transferred back under his proper sway) they were recognized as one of the most effective teams in the company, When asked what their secret was, all Ryan would say was that they had managed to bond not only as a team, but as men, in a way he could have hardly thought possible, and he smirked, shone his ring in the CEO’s face, and had one of his little chats.

Male Bonding (Part 3)

“Hey! Glad you two could make it!” Maurice said, opening the door. An older man in his early fifties, he was the geezer of the poker group, and the man who organized it. Jared and Trevor stepped inside, and found the rest of the group already seated around the card tables in the living room. Maurice was well known as being everyone’s friend, and so the group was a bit of an odd assortment. There was Carter, who was everyone’s boss. Next to him was Ryan–a young, shy coder who knew his way around a keyboard much better than a social circle. Maurice had been trying to mentor him, and the kid took to poker like water. Opposite Carter was Dustin–a young, assistant manager sort who everyone knew was gunning for Carter’s position. The two men hated each other, and had completely opposite styles of leadership. For the record, almost everyone liked Carter better. Also at the table was Kirk, a longtime friend of Maurice , and also getting on in years at the company. “Come on in and have a seat. Laura’s out for the night with the girls, so it’s just us guys tonight.”

“Sounds perfect,” Trevor said, and took a seat, Jared next to him, “My dad’s said so much about all of you, but it’s great to finally meet face to face.”

Introductions were passed, and then Maurice sat down and started dealing. All of the men around the table, however, were more focused on Trevor–or more accurately, on the ring around his finger, glinting in the dim light of the room. So focused, in fact, that Maurice set the deck to the side, but forgot to deal the cards for about fifteen minutes, the men all chatting…though none of them could really recall what was said–if anything, it seemed like Trevor had done most of the talking.

“Oh! I forgot. I brought something we can all share,” Trevor finally said, snapping the men out of their state, while he reached down and grabbed something, “What’s poker night without cigars, right?” he said, and started passing the thick cigars he’d bought on the way there. None of the men there were smokers, but all of them picked the cigars up and lit them without a second thought, Trevor passing around a couple of lighters. Each man coughed a bit–especially Ryan–but they all made do. After all, you had to smoke during poker…right?

They played a few rounds of Texas Hold’em. Eventually, chatter turned to Jared and Trevor, and how things were doing between them. Jared hadn’t said a word all evening, and everyone was a bit curious why, but Trevor piped up anyway. “Oh, well, it was a bit rough, right dad? Still, everything got easier once you came to terms with the fact that you’re a cocksucking faggot pig, right?”

“That’s…That’s right. I’m a cocksucking faggot pig, and I especially love sucking my son’s cock,” Jared said–his first words of the night. The rest of the men just stared, Trevor undid the fly of his pants.

“You want to show all your friends?”

Jared nodded, got off his chair and started slurping at his son’s cock. The rest of them men–they knew it was crazy…and yet it did make sense. All of them had, at times, harbored suspicions that Jared was, indeed, a faggot cocksucking pig. At least he was happy, right?

“Now, how about we make this game more interesting,” Trevor said, “How about we go ahead and make this a game a strip poker, eh guys? But let’s not bet money–after all, you’re all going to happily give me everything on the table right now, right?”

The men all nodded, as Trevor pulled the pile of loose cash over to him.

“Good. No, instead, I think the losers–the guys who have to strip completely naked–they’ll all have to be punished. But the winner who lasts to the end? He’s going to get something good, I think.”

“I…I don’t think we really–” Maurice started to say, but a glint from the ring cut the words in his throat.

“You’re right–you don’t think, Maurice. You don’t think at all. I do the thinking around this table. Now–deal the damn cards. I’m not playing, I’m going to be referee. My faggot dad is out too–hear that pig? That means you’d better strip. So that means the game is between you four–now let’s see who wins, eh?”

None of the men wanted to play, but none of them could stop themselves. They switched over to five card draw, and the clothes started peeling away. Still, none of them knew what kind of stakes they were playing for, until poor Maurice lost his underwear. Ever since Trevor told the older man he didn’t think, he’d been having a hard time figuring out what to do, and had to keep asking Trevor for advice–and Trevor was more than happy to help him out by throwing away pairs for him whenever he got them. He sat in his chair, naked, looking from man to man, Trevor getting up and placing the ring in front of his face. “Sorry Maurice–you’re the first loser. You don’t seem to be very good at poker, but I know something you are good at.”

“W-What?”

“Drinking piss. It’s you’re favorite thing, right? Just an old urinal, that’s who you are.”

“No…No! I’m not–”

“What did I tell you about thinking Maurice? Do you want me to empty out that head of yours even more?”

“No, but I don’t, I mean, I’ve never drank piss in my life? How can I be good at it?”

“Well, have you ever tried?” Trevor said, and put his cock to Maurice’s lips. Open up and have a taste. I guarantee you’ll love it, and drink down every drop.”

The rest of them men watched in horror as their colleague drank all of Trevor’s piss, and then, delighted with his new hobby, filled his empty beer glass, pissed in it, and drank that down too. But after that, it didn’t really seem so strange at all. Maurice was well known as the office urinal–the guy would do anything for the stuff. Maurice got down under the table, where Jared was still nursing his son’s cock, and started drinking piss as the men needed it–after all, they needed to get back to the game, and no one could afford a bathroom break.